[ Berserker isn't one for sentimentality, at least not in front of most people. Few get to see his softer side, but there's a good reason for him displaying such vulnerability today. These wreaths aren't being made for his sake, but for the sake of those he grew to care so deeply about. Geralt, the one he became close to when Dorchacht was a waking nightmare, and Flat, the unexpected boy that befriended a cranky dragon.

Normally, he'd be quite protective of his memories, but these are memories of his bonded and they deserve to be memorialized. If someone takes a look at his handiwork, he doesn't try to hide it. ]

Do you really want to see what I've put into these?

[ If one chooses to sniff them, you will get one of two memories: a large dragon on the docks, curled up around an older, scarred white-haired man, having an indiscernible conversation

or

something less wholesome: Berserker and a blonde, slender young man torturing and murdering someone in a dark alley. They both seem quite happy to be doing this -- the blonde is the one doing most of the torture, pulling out organs and the like, while Berserker holds their victim down.

No one ever accused him of being well-adjusted. ]

[ He hadn't come prepared for a battle -- his spear was left in Aefenglom. It didn't matter, though, because there was no way he was going to just flee without a fight. Saving lives didn't matter to him, only killing those that would stand in his way. ]

Can you fight? If you can't, run now...Get to safety.

[ Unspoken was the fact he would cover their flight and keep pursuers off of them as best he could. If they were willing to stand and fight with him, he wouldn't say no to the help, too. ]

The fighting is fierce enough that he assumes his full-sized form. His plates and scales provide much more protection against whatever weapons the agitators may use against himself. It also makes him a considerably larger target, for better or for worse.

Berserker uses his size to his advantage, swiping his tail to take down a group of attackers. A path has been cleared -- instead of rushing towards it, he pauses and lowers himself down. It's an offer.

Get on... [ His voice is distorted in this form, deeper and more guttural. ] Whether you want to flee or fight, you're better off with me.

[ Maybe not the whole truth, but it's hard to argue with a very large poison dragon. ]

[ Exhausted and bearing numerous wounds, Berserker can no longer fight. He can barely walk, maintaining his full-sized form is taking almost all of his remaining energy. The dragon soon collapses on the street with a frustrated growl. Just because he's down doesn't mean he isn't still dangerous, to some degree. If someone approaches him, he pushes himself up, teeth bared, to face them. ]

Leave me...I can take care of myself. Go help somewhere else.

[ It's a weak protest, at best. Given the shape he's in, it's a wonder he's still conscious at all. ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something out? Drop me a starter or PM me here or on discord glitzkrieg#0673! ]