Veloden

The floorboards creak under your weight, groaning and shifting as you make your way through the library. Perhaps that's what has you on-edge, nervously clutching a scrap of parchment with the name of a tome you've been sent to collect. Or perhaps it's the eerie sense of solitude that seems to fall over the room like a blanket, thick and stifling. Whatever it may be, it's sending shivers down your spine and makes your skin crawl. The sooner you can get out of this stuffy library, the better.

"Can I help you?"

You jump, claws scraping against the ground and leaving shallow gouges in the floorboards as you whip around to face the voice behind you. You were certain you were alone; how could anyone have snuck up on you? Stepping back, you stare at the gaunt, hooded figure before you uncomprehendingly, and your upper lip curls back involuntarily as the reek of embalming fluids and rotting parchment hits you.

The figure, though you can't see his face, exudes annoyance and repeats his question in the same, raspy whisper as before.

"Can I help you?"

Slowly, you hold out the piece of parchment delicately between two claws, and the hooded wildclaw only takes a single glance at it before nodding and turning, swishing his bandaged tail behind him and ruffling his wings as he walks. The movement aggravates a small cloud of dust, and you cough, batting it away with your own wings. As it clears, you can't help but wonder if it's light hitting the dust just right, or if some of what came off of his parchment-encrusted wings looks like the sparkling residue from activating runic spells. The wildclaw stops when he notices you're not following him, and swishes his tail again to usher you closer.

"Come. The book you seek is this way. I'm not growing any younger; I have other tomes to attend to," he rasps, and you can't decide if you've caught a glimmer of humor from the seemingly soulless husk of a dragon, or if he meant it seriously. You don't take the time to puzzle it out and instead do as he asks, lest you annoy him further and find out if those runes on his wings really can still cast spells.

Lore by Volkihar


As a young wyrm, Veloden longed to explore. By the time he was out of the nest, he had been on many adventures and quests. Being considered one of the strongest, fastest dragons in all of Sornieth, Veloden was fit and healthy.

At least, that was over 3,000 years ago.

While exploring and excavating the ruin of an Arcanist shrine with his team, a trap was set off, closing off their only exit with rocks. The room was small and cramped, with only a faint glow coming from one of the walls. They immediately began to panic, realizing that they only had enough food rations for the next three or so days. After a fruitless struggle to unblock the ruin entrance, they gave up. The team huddled up against each other, the cold underground beginning to take its toll. They began rationing their food and water, but Veloden refused to take any. He wished for his teammates to thrive as long as they could.

For the next few days, the group became increasingly weak and exhausted. Laying in their own filth, they choked on dust and ran out of water very quickly. Veloden's condition was nowhere near as dire as his team due to his good health. His teammates knew very well that none of them were going to survive; none of the clan they had left knew where they were. They offered Veloden their food rations, so he could live on and, maybe, tell their families what happened if he was ever rescued. He continued to refuse, telling them that their lives were more valuable than his. They had families to go home to, while Veloden lived alone.

Little did they know that the Arcanist was watching them through the glowing wall. Intrigued by Veloden's selflessness and morals, he observed the team, watching their slow, impending demise.

After the food had run out, it was only a matter of time. Veloden had just enough strength to end their misery before they faced the pain of starving to death. One by one Veloden let them rest in piece with as little pain as possible, while he stayed to suffer in silence, contemplating his last thoughts.

At the very moment of his death, the Arcanist called upon his acolytes buried deep within the shrine when it was first erected. The acolytes, through the word of the Arcanist, gave Veloden life once more, and sent the bodies of the team home to their worried families.

Veloden cried and protested, begging them to put him back to rest, where he would not have to relive the loss of his friends, as well as his own, lives. For the sake of wonder, the Arcanist refused. He explained to him the conditions behind his immortal life:

~You will always keep the form you had passed with.
~You will never grow hungry or thirsty again.
~You will not die of old age, injury or illness.
~You must always protect the shrine and all of the valuable knowledge within.
~You may leave and enter as you please.
~No dragon, wyrm, or beast may enter.

Unable to rid himself of his misery due to the Arcanist's curiosity, Veloden is cursed to live eternally, protecting the shrine and all of the knowledge within. He guards the tomes, relics and textiles that are buried deep inside. His body is just the same as when he died; frail, weak, emaciated and mangled. After centuries of protecting this shrine and not speaking to others, Veloden now has a limited vocabulary. His emotions are nonexistent, only expressing the longing of a mortal life. He now only functions to serve the Arcanist and his temple, while the god simply watches and takes notes.

Lore by ReikiMuroichi


*Being introduced to this clan by one of the others, you were pleased to know that most of the members were indeed more friendly than the average ruthless dragons out in the Scarred Wastelands. The fact they told you that there was a library in the lair was even more surprising, but you didn't doubt that there was some books that shouldn't be opened carelessly. Walking into the place, you wondered which book you should peek into first, your fingertip nearly touching one of the books. You nearly jumped out of your rags when you heard a voice;* Don't touch that book, traveler. It's documents about some of the cruelest things the Plaguebringer has done - not for the weak of hearts.

*Telepathy? You spoke out, seeing if you can provoke a conversation.* Then what would you recommend? Perhaps you would like to come out and talk instead?
Tempting, but I'm not able to speak like the rest. I'm not a marvelous sight myself.
I've seen worse, I'll bet. It won't be the first time I've witness the gruesome hand of the plaguebringer or her servants.
...Very well, if you're sure.

*Your eyes bulged a bit at the scrawny and semi-mummified figure of the wildclaw that came out to greet you. It did not seem like the Plaguebringer did this entirely due to all of the scriptures on his wings, making you curious about his past.* Well...It's not the worse, but still a surprise for those unprepared.
Your heart is certainly stronger than I presumed as well. I'm Veloden; the historian and librarian of this lair.

*After introducing yourself formally, your curiosity grew stronger now.* May I ask what's your story? I never seen anything like this done to any dragon before.
That's the oddest question anyone has ever asked me. Most of the time, everyone believes that it was very rude to even ask me about my past.
Oh? Then I apologize if it was.
No need. It's just information and history to me anyway.
Is that so? Then tell what you won't mind sharing.

*Veloden nodded, making what looks to be a weak smile on his slightly crusty-looking face.* I was normal like everyone else a millennium back. But dragons in the Scarred Wastelands lacked proper protection for their collected knowledge in that time when it was nothing but war at the doorsteps of every den. I too was a fighter back then, traveling to unveil new knowledge for the Arcanist to collect upon my offering devotion. It was just the wrong place and time for me in the Plaguebringer's domain as a group of bandits ambushed me. I was beaten, clawed, and left for dead when they found out that my only valuables were my tattered books and knowledge.

*You found yourself refraining from interrupting the story with your own words before he continued.* I was found and aided by another group of plague dragons, but I was already dying. It was one of those old dragons who looked through my tomes and books to find various methods to preserve a dragon's magic energy, which was buying me time. One of the arcane dragons of that old clan offered that they perform a beastclan ritual to preserve the dead's body for my dying frame. Given the lack of the whole method, it put me into a half-dead state with the other magics involved.

I lost many of my precious memories, but gained all of the knowledge from within my destroyed books and tomes. My wings became like paper, allowing more preservative magic to be used for me. Telepathy, keen memory, and ways to continue to live as close to normal as I could were all sprawled upon my body. I do thank them for having sympathy for me, but I did not appreciate becoming a husk of my former self. I withdrew myself into their library, guarding this new sanctuary and learning things I felt I never knew from my now forgotten past. Eventually, the dragons stopped coming into their own library. I kept waiting for new relics, scrolls, and books to occupy myself for what seemed to be a very long time.

Stopped visiting? That was suspicious, wasn't it? *You couldn't help yourself there. Veloden didn't seem to disagree with your logic.* It was. I was growing hungry without the annual food being delivered to me, so I ventured out of the library for a change. I was surprised to find no one besides myself and the library still lived in this place. Having lost many emotions, it was a relief to feel the thoughts of worry, caution, and fear once again. Then I met this clan.

They were on guard at the sight of me at first, wondering if I was some monster. When I assured them that I was a dragon and was wanting to know about my clan, they became less edgy and exchanged information with me. If I wasn't reduced to this, my face would have shown distress, startle, and pain once I had learned that a thousand years have passed and my saviors died out, making history as one of the most victorious clans in this treacherous domain.

The new clan, however...Saw that my preservation has allowed the knowledge of my old clan to live on, giving them the idea that this would become their new home and perhaps make history once again, valuing me as a new member to their ranks.
*Seeing that the rest is common knowledge now, you smiled at seeing that his woe was met with new life.* Perhaps we should celebrate that story with adding some of my own gathered knowledge and stories into your library.
And why do that? You are not part of this clan.
Because one good turn deserves another, my new friend. This library is sentimental to you, being a place of both memories and secrets. I'm offering you a new memory you can freely share or look back to whenever you like.

*You swore that you saw emotions on that mummified face, a bigger smile than you last saw, and maybe there would have been tears if any fluid remains in him. He nodded and pulled out a blank book, quill, and ink.* Memories it is. I feel...More alive than I had before I became this way. Thank you.

*You felt the same, dipping the feather into the ink and started working, relaying interesting bouts with magic you had on your own adventures. Maybe this book will also encourage the dragons in his clan to interact with Veloden more, seeing him as something more than a long-standing guardian of this library. You were also handed a note by the dry wildclaw, being asked that it makes its way to the Arcanist so the deity would know what has happened to a missing member from long ago.*

Lore by TheMimic1013