Written by: Cherise McDunnough & Vanatosis Arentire
Images by: Filipa Thespian
The Story of Vanthorin & Nerudiamethis
The mighty Mithral dragon perches upon an outcropping of rock in the territory of a sly and exceptionally skilled Green dragoness. He’d been hunting for just such a conquest for some time now. Thrilled upon discovering this Green’s existence, he studied her ways intently, learned her hunting patterns, found out in which mountain stronghold she lived and obtained her true name.
“Nerudiaceruthin” he says in a deep long hiss of a voice, testing the sound of her name upon his lips. He liked it, that’s for certain. He enjoyed the feel of the magical syllables as they rolled off his long forked tongue. He enjoyed the power he’d obtain over her, that those few syllables would invoke.
Enslaved by his true name to an unknown Drow, betrayed by his own kind, Shezbaverdin was once a force of good to be reckoned with but now … so dark has become his soul of late, his scales growing cold and black to match, the brilliant glowing blue of his horns and wings, of his heritage, about completely dulled to an ominous erie blue-greenish hue, the magnificent glow nearly gone. Evil are his thoughts and plans, so twisted and tortured is his mind. He crouches upon his perch, waiting, watching for her, the Green, ready to take flight and then … her.
She would bear an intriguing breed of power and slyness with his seed indeed. For Greens were well known among dragons to be the most instinctively deceptive, lying as easily as those pathetic humans speak, convincing even a starving man he were full, or a rich man that he were poor. A Green could manipulate someone into just about anything, so good are they at warping the minds of others, that they could convince a humanoid to beg to be eaten. With acid breath, the ability to breath under water and a close affinity for and ability to blend into the forest … yes, a Green was exactly what he needed to create a wyrmling that would grow into something very unique, very useful to him and his dark purposes. And being a dragon, he could wait for the whelp to grow and mature … aye … he could wait.
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His thoughts stray as he sits there, for long is the memory of a dragon as old as he, a Great Wyrm of incredible power and prowess. He remembers a time, long before his will was stolen from him, a time when he had claimed his mate, his love, and reared his first wyrmling, Van. Those were times of peace, of familial ties, of goodness, purity and caring. So long it has been that now they seem almost as dreams, tortured dreams his evil soul uses to further corrupt him. He often wondered what had become of them, how his offspring had turned out, how powerful he was, where he was, but these were the longings of a long dead heart and meant little to him now.
His mental ramblings seem to skip about, returning to his purpose here with this Green dragoness. To mix such mentally skilled blood with his own, imbuing this mind, these skills, with the power of a Mithral, well he nearly quivered with the anticipation to see the final results. Would the wyrmling possess his superior heritage?
He had this vision, a magnificent large green, hidden in the woods, imbibed with its mother’s innate ability to manipulate and his uncanny insight. Would it have visions? Use magic? Be free to traverse the astral realms as he was, would it’s breath weapon be the powerful mix of acid and energy, gifts from both parents? To see this sight would indeed make him happy, well as happy as one as dark as he might get.
The wind suddenly picks up pulling him from his musings. The Mithral’s head shifts ever so slightly to the side, catching a scent, one he’d been waiting for, for some time. It was her, the Green. His body comes alive with adrenaline and he shifts on his haunches, muscles bunching and tightening in anticipation ready to dart from above and descend upon her from the clouds.
“There she is,” he says in a very quiet hiss, catching sight of her magnificent green scales as they glint in the descending sunlight. Her form seems to flit and soar easily through the sky below the cloud line, peeking in and out of view between the light puffy wisps.
With no warning, no sign that he is about to leave the outcropping of rock, he dives, unfurling his wings when he is nearly upon her. His talons sink into her magnificent hide, only then does the impressive spread of his wings unfurl. He digs in hard, holding on to her with all he is worth, prepared for the fight he is certain will come. And indeed his hopes for battle are not dashed.
The Green roars in pain and fury, the scent of her own blood on the air igniting her insatiable desire for blood, sending her into a crazed state. She rolls, and twists, bucks and writhes, her wings sweep up to bash into him, their talons slicing along his underbelly but doing little damage.
Shezebaverdin laughs, a deep evil sound, a mocking torturous sound that makes the Green screech in fury. She begins to twist her form one way only to change with no warning to contort her form in the other direction, finally unseating him from her back. Immediately she dives for the ground, gaining speed before arching her path back up into the sky. Her great wings working the air, propelling her further and further up before diving down upon him. But he knows she is coming, he lays in wait, letting her think she’s gotten the best of him.
She plans to land on his back and tear at his throat with her great teeth, gouge out his scales and slice holes in his great wings. Her talons are outstretched and ready, teeth bared but silent is this beautiful and powerful dragoness.
Almost there, her body tensed for the fight, delighting in the rush. But at the very last moment, the great black Mithral turns over and she dives straight into his claws, into his teeth as they waste no time to sink into her long throat and hold her. His wings wrap around her, pinning hers in against herself rendering her useless in battle even as his claws grip at hers and hold them at bay.
Together they fall for what seems forever before suddenly, subtly, he begins to hiss the one word that he knows will end her struggles for all time. Barely does he release her as his jaw and tongue work out the word he’d traversed through hell and back again to retrieve … “Nerudiaceruthin,” he speaks her true name. The one thing that no dragon ever truly knows without the keeper of names releasing it, the one thing in this plane and any other that can enslave a dragon to the will of another. She falls still in his grip the one uttering of her name enough to enthrall her for eternity and yet, he speaks it again, “Nerudiaceruthin” and again, “Nerudiaceruthin.” He chuckles ominously … she was his…
And thus begins the story of two siblings from very different mothers, purposes of birth and upbringings. Vanthorin, a full Mithral Dragon born of a mated pair of Mithrals and Nerudiamethis, the mixed blood spawn of evil, hatred and scheming.
Will he be full of his pure heritage and superior ability? Will she be vile and wicked as a green or as evil as Shezbeverdin? How do these siblings find each other and what happens when they do?
Be sure to grab the next issue of Roleplay Guide Magazine to find out!
Reproduced with permission from Roleplay Guide Magazine.
Issues as printed are found here: Roleplay Guide at Joomag