world building thing

Ther was something about the air. The moment he had entered the room everything took an uncomfortable stillness, everything settled with in large radius around him as though the air had became too intimidated to move with in it.

Martial Cunningway stood there. The armor adorning his shoulders and elbows were covered in runes that the nature of could only be spoken of were someone brave enough to approach him.

His boots were capped with metal, and his gloves were very carefully wrapped with tape. The bullet proof vest read 'security' in bold yellow across his back. His clothing was loose fitting but only slightly so.  The Rifle, held by a well worn hide strap along his side, were anyone to ask him, was semi-auto and the bullets with in it's magazine were blessed silver calibur.

Martial Cunningway was tall, had black hair, and resembled a scarecrow more so than any human in the settlement built with in the old shopping center.

Everyone gave a wide birth when they saw him. No one dared looked at him, no one wanted to meet his eyes. The slitted green eyes that were surrounded by scales down to his cheek bones.

Martial Cunningway was cursed. Some unpleasant and unholy combination of radiation and magic had coalesced with in him making him less and more than human. If one were to peer in on him in a private moment they would find large swathing patches of grey and green scales across his body. His lungs burned. His teeth were jagged and pointed, tongue narreled from a second equally sharpened row of teeth having grown in with in his jaw.

Martial Cunningway was what the fants would call “a dragon born” or what passes as a dragonborn in the current state of affairs.

In what some call the old days, Dragons can. And still often do, breed with whatever they take a particular fancy to.  However in the days of The Epilogue. There are very few dragons left, the nomadic isolationist creatures only ever seem to stay somewhere for a few years and depart as soon as they've rekindled their strength. Leaving lingering magic with in the area. The Dragons as a species were born of the ether,  made from raw magic and given form through the elements with in their birthplace and through out their lives they give off magical discharge, leaving lingering spells and curses in their wake when they do.

And Martial Cunningway had been unlucky enough to have made a camp in a place where a dragon had long kept a horde with in a valley that had became radiated. The geiger counter never clicked once through out the time he had made camp. Three days after leaving the horde he was no longer human.