DNP; Tremor Wyrm information

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Basic information

Habitat: the tremor wyrm typically dwells within deserts and mountains but a subspecies has been reported in the sea. They favor warm sand to snack on as means of grit as well as fertile ground to lay their eggs. A tremor wyrm can be found underground, wedged between boulders, or welded into a cliff for a home. They love to be able to burrow and while they can take a cave as shelter will create tunnels to appease that need.



Age:
-egg [depends on fertility of ground and warmth]

-wyrmling [1 day-4 years] A wyrmling will bond with whatever living thing it sees when it first hatches. A wyrmling is very vulnerable and 1/3 survives after hatching. They are easily killed and must learn survival basics from their parents. Once born they have a limited and basic understanding of the human language as they are related to the intelligent dragon. Wyrmlings are curious but will never stray far from their parents. Complete balance and motor skills of the body will not mature until at least 1-3 months of age. Hunting begins as soon as hatched, limited to scavenging, digging for roots, insects and small animals. Size is that of a pony, rock growths are blunt and rounded to better protect the clumsy wyrmling. Severe teething tendency.

-young [5-14 years] The young stage is the most exciting for the parents. Speech skills escalate rapidly and the voice becomes more pronounced. Motor skills are complete for bodily function and they begin to leap from place to place. They will begin to attempt to take down prey larger than themselves and assert themselves in a rank within the herd's hatchlings. They still teeth and they don't get much larger at this age. Although their rocky protrusions begin to thicken and lengthen into formidable shapes to better protect them. Young wyrms will wander from their parents and begin to explore their surroundings.

-juvenile [15-19 years] At this age only the parents and older herd members are safe. Juveniles, especially males, will become highly territorial as their hormones begin to churn through their system. This is when a pecking order is further established as juveniles will lead younger wyrms as well as tend to them should the parents be absent at any given time. Juveniles will begin to hunt in small packs, often alongside the older hunters. They are known to attack anything due to their heightened hostility. Juveniles grow to be larger than a draft horse. Around eighteen years of age they begin to seek a lifelong mate.

-adult [20-429 years] Their hostility drops down but this doesn't make them safe to approach. Adults, while not territorial, are very wary of strange wyrms and unknown species. At this stage of life they will secure a lifelong mate and will have countless offspring with that single wyrm. Forming a herd to live within they find safety in numbers and are assigned a rank within their herd by an elder. Adults breed in the wild have been known to barter with other species for specific items, namely fruits they cannot easily reach in the wild. They will grow to the size of an elephant if not larger. Females are notably larger than males.

-elder [430-999 years] Elders are unable to reproduce. However they become the leaders of a herd due to their age. Depending on their gender they will be known as either a "matriarch" or a "patriarch" but collectively are the herd's "council". Elders are noted by spots on their underbellies.

-ancient [1,000-4,999 years] They appear to be moving mountains, now at considerable size. Ancients are by far the most peaceful age level of tremor wyrms. They also become very sociable inter-species wise. Most ancients will remain solidly in one spot for days, feeding off of whatever tumbles within sight.

-great wyrm [5,000+ years] not much is known about the great wyrm stage save that they will part from their herd to live alone or wander the land with their mate. Extremely rare.



Diet: the tremor wyrm, while devouring anything from the earth's ground, is a well known omnivore. They hunt in small packs made up of at least two or more juvenile and/or older wyrms. Dingos, equines, wyrms, eggs, avians, small mammals, reptiles and insects are their most common sources of protein. A tremor wyrm will not purposefully hunt a humanoid as means of food unless provoked, starving, or trained by a master to do so. Tremor wyrms need to have a source of water at all times, drinking as much, if not more, as they eat. They love vegetables and will see fruits as a treat. They dig around for roots as well and have been known to flock to cacti to chew at the pulp for hydration before spitting it out. These hardy creatures will also dine on Devil's Pine and seem to become sedated by large quantities of the raw leaf. Due to their mineral intake, their heated bodies and the pressure of their build, tremor wyrms are able to grow diamonds within their gullets and thusly produce them when the diamond becomes a discomfort.



Anatomy: basic structure

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Social interaction

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Example posts of Fam's wrymling

A quadruped cousin of the sand wyrm, the more feared and most encountered of the wyrm species within Katarr*. Tremor wyrms are known for their weight and the fact that over time as they consume natural earthen materials, it begins to collect and expand their bodies. Yet without proper nutrients, namely fresh protein, this growth is impossible. Especially for a malnourished and underdeveloped runt. Guar's jaw hangs open as he utters distressed yelps in short bursts. The wyrmling's parents were the size of elephants when they chased him out of the nest for his lack of strength as a newborn. His thin tail drags along behind his cracked haunches. At the end is a thick mass of muscle, bone and rock matter. Tremor wyrms always have a tail with a bludgeoning use for defense. Guar is too weak and young to use his own just yet, or at least to use it properly. He cannot lift it high enough so it doesn't leave an obvious trail in the dunes as he trudges wearily through the barren desert. The wyrmling is the size of a pony at the moment, his horned and ridged head coming to about an average human male's elbow. Weak, pale claws too depleted of proper nutrition, have become soft and useless. He might as well have been born with slippers. Out here in the desert the baby will have to be as alert as possible. His vision is poor, eyes pale with malady and nostrils caked by blood and mucus. A clear sign of infection and respiratory disorders. As a runt he was out casted because he would only be a waste of space and devoured food meant for his stronger siblings.

Gray limbs continue to heave ho the infantile creature along. Just as his tail hangs so does his head. The neck muscles have not yet formed and before them, what should have formed, are thick plates to help manifest the growth chambers. His cervical plates are soft and pale as his claws. Most of his scales are. Nearly fleshy but still considerably thicker than that of any other creature, the wyrmling could go down easily if overwhelmed by an opponent or outnumbered. And even worse Guar has not yet learned of pain. No harm has befallen him just yet. Just the crumpling confusion as to why his sire and dam forced him out of the nesting chamber, away from the pack's lair and well away from the tremor wyrmling caverns. Inhaling through his jaws he exhales through his nostrils, spewing some mucus and dried blood. The blood began to leak from his nose last night after he had a violent coughing fit. His undeveloped limbs twitch, joints giving way. Guar takes a tumble and lands hard on his knees. Thanks to the thick padding there he doesn't feel it, but is rather baffled he is now at a lower height against his will. Front legs tucked in he leaves his rump in the air. The wyrmling looks around, incredulous, demanding an explanation for gravity. Instead gravity demands an explanation of this lone hatchling. It forces his thick hind legs to sway until they flop over in the sand. A large smokescreen appears around Guar. And something very, very strange begins to start in his body.

Tiny particles of sand have entered his stuffy nostrils. Most get caught in the sickly concoction while a few make it to the back of the throat after brushing over the tissue. Guar's eyes narrow and his jaw snaps open in alarm. His throat begins to tickle and he wiggles his toes anxiously. What? What's happening now?! He hates these sensations in his body, oh how the wyrmling hates them! His thick head is slung down to rest his rocky snout against the earth, neck arched painfully. His legs are splayed in a foppish manner. And a useless tail limply remains behind him. Something begins to gather in his nose and Guar opens his mouth wider in alarm, trying to ward off whatever is assaulting him now. Yesterday something was hurting his stomach. Making him wretch and hack, eventually refusing to keep down the grit he would swallow. And last night a tiny insect flew into his eye. Here no one is there to nuzzle his neck and stroke his square jaw, to teach him of the world and how he must survive. No one but the sun to comfort the wyrmling. Now whatever ails him begins to crawl and seep into his mouth. Jerking his head back in alarm Guar emits a mighty sneeze and repeats this involuntarily another two times. Eyes tingling and feeling somewhat dizzy he snorts. A long tongue flicks out to clear his nares to ease his breathing. As he tilts his head to stare accusingly at the sky a flicker of movement gets his attention. Something golden with four legs is approaching him stiffly. Or, at least, it and three other golden things are. They look sleek, mangy and covered in coarse fur. Guar does not yet understand true pain nor the fact that he may become prey. He knows nothing of the hunt, the hunter nor the hunted. Nor does he know of a pack of hungry dingos that may wish him harm.

Being a "wild" creature he has very little in his ownership. Specifically now that he's an outcast of the herd and left for dead. All Guar has is his name. At each hatching the parents easily name their offspring right then and there, informing the wyrmling repeatedly so that it may stick and they can fumble with their first words. And this is all Guar has to himself and in his experience. A limited vocabulary and his name. Hopefully now he'll have some friends. The wyrmling blinks and tilts his head at an incredible angle as the desert toasted things inch towards him. Do they really move so slow or are they cautious of him? Oh there's no need to be shy of him! He'll gladly play with these new creatures and maybe even travel with them, find himself a herd right here. "Hiii." rasps the infant, making the dingos sink their paws into the sand out of fear this may be the beginning of their end; a slow projection onward for a cry for the wyrmling's parents. No bellowing cries sound in response nor does the earth shake to signify the galloping parents. This wyrmling has obviously been disbanded from the herd and is now free game. The dingos lick their chops as they circle Guar. Their only challenge now is to chew through his thick armor or flip him over to rip his belly open.

Well that's just rude. They've said nothing in return! Guar tilts his head the opposite way now. Neck still arched and forehead pressing into the earth this topsy-turvy world is amusing to the baby. He wiggles a soft stretch of his tail before rising on his legs. Now it would seem these funny looking beasts want to play. While they're smaller than the wyrmling they're considerably more agile and healthy. One darts forth and kisses his foreleg. At least Guar thinks it was a kiss. Certainly felt like one. Inwardly this pangs him as it reminds him of watching his parents fuss and kiss all over his siblings while he was left in his split eggshell. A dud waiting to be born before being thrown out. The rest of the creatures start kissing his legs and shoulders, making the wyrmling squeal in excitement. He's never gotten to really play with another creature before. Sometimes he could sneak a game or two with his siblings until his sire would headbutt him out of the nesting cavern. Guar exhales lightly, attempting a playful hiss as he opens his jaws and bucks his chin against one of the dingos' side. This doesn't go over too well. A creature lunges and with sharp teeth, latches onto his caked snout. Having never felt pain before he doesn't know what to make of this. Eyes watering from the sensitive spot being clamped onto, Guar bellows in distress with his hoarse infantile voice. This spooks the dingos to jump back before trying to snap at him again. Oh no. He doesn't want to feel that again, it wasn't pleasant at all. Ducking and curling his legs into his belly he stretches his neck forth, falling on his side, to go over his curled legs and tightened abdomen before biting down onto the bulb at the end of his tail.

While a wyrmling he has seen the juveniles do this when fleeing one another as well as a few hunters in order to accelerate after prey. Some of the dingos jump on him and try to tug one of his limbs out. Guar squeals unhappily before thrashing as much as he can to force the pack away. With enough momentum the wyrmling has become partially upright, but it's enough to start him rolling off like a wheel. It's certainly faster than the trudging pace he had earlier. The pack easily keep stride, snapping at the rolling wrymling and yipping in anticipation of an easy meal. Eyes shut tightly the terrified thing doesn't see the cluster of boulders he's about to meet unceremoniously. WHUMP. His front gets wedged betwixt two large rocks as the dingos scramble around the crevices, sniffing and barking. They're going to try and find a way around to his exposed underbelly. Guar's struggles are futile as he bleats pathetically. His legs begin to hurt from being squeezed at such an angle and the frail weight of his body pressing down into his sacrum and tail bone don't make him anymore comfortable. And knowing that the dingos might try to hurt him again isn't all that appealing either. So maybe the runt will have one last go at trying to call for any from his herd. Not that they'd recognize his voice. Wyrmlings aren't introduced to the herd by their parents until they're at least two weeks of age. Guar was kicked out two days after hatching. Still he bleats and cries, trying to alert any passing hunters. The din of the dingos nearly drowns out his feeble complaints.

*credit of Katarr goes to Dusty