Vercada

In a colorless land, covered in ice and snow,
Lively dragons claimed the wasteland as their own
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The Tale

Deep within an abandoned plane of ice, a guardian prowls at the fringes of society. Dragons vary socially, from pack animals to hoards to territorial individuals, starting in families and working their way to holding their own territories and their own rules. With the rise of modern civilizations, these behaviors are less prevalent - but not all dragons have adapted to this new social world. Usually, a dragon of territorial nature, remaining savage and instinctual, would find themselves somewhere plentiful. Somewhere that provides for them...

Sometimes, dragons find themselves at the mercy of fate's sadistic lust for suffering, and no such bounty is possible to have. Such is the case of a speckled guardian, far removed from what could ever be called a homeland. Such is true for Vercada, roaming the snow with colors and scale, biology and experience alien to the snow. How could such a massive dragon find herself so lost in the ice? How did she gain so many scars, around her neck, and legs, and face?

Sometimes, dragons find themselves driven to desperation by birth. Vercada hatched from a weak-shelled egg in a nest of twins, earlier than her much larger brother. Her parents weren't the diligent type; in fact, they hadn't returned to the nest for several days. She awoke to nothing, with a strong hunger that yowling brought no refuge to. However, she could smell what was inside the nest next to her; with no understanding of what it was. Her parents would have, should have separated her from her sibling's egg until he hatched, to prevent such shames from happening. But they were still gone the next day, and the next, and the hatchling only got hungrier...

Well, she was right next to food. Breaking the shell, she ate her fill; and her parents came back with a clear sight of which on of their children was fittest to survive. She would be strong; they would make sure of it, to make up from the loss. They showed her how to use her claws and bite; how to take on another dragon. They were harsh, too much for a youngling; but she didn't know any different in order to make a fuss. This was life.

She lived her life learning everything backwards. She couldn't speak in adolescence, yet brought down the alphas of the cold rocky flats she'd been born on alone. Her parents were a travelling type, unwilling to settle as they pursued their obsessions and abilities. Her mother loved her father, and her father loved to fly; thus, even when their daughter couldn't yet leave the ground, they were off and away. She had to feed herself, teach herself, lick off her own wounds; she never learned how to really be a dragon, as her role models were the non-sentient creatures of the surrounding rocks and woods.

Eventually, her parents realized how independent she was, and didn't come back. They didn't care and never had, leaving a barren nesting cave with their nearly-adult child. She barely noticed, living through the harsh world without a thought of the future. But eventually...

Something came along to inspire a dull dragon. The idea of joy, in the form of her own birthed obsession.
The hunt. It was all she knew and all she loved, it was the inevitable choice for her species' obsessive bond. She grew bolder, and then bolder still; she didn't take risks, but she didn't play it safe. As long as she survived, she'd challenge herself to tougher and tougher fights with monsters, handicaps like hunting without her claws or challenging groups with time to prepare for her. She extended her territory and marked it all with deep claw marks on the trees, never having known that other dragons lived nearby. She didn't understand how much trouble this could cause.

She was a guardian, and guardians are massive. She was a guardian, encroaching on the territory of other larger guardians. She was a guardian, and so was he; the fire dragon to the west of her home, whom she left scraps and claw marks around. He wasn't a kind soul, and followed her through his stolen territory into hers.

It was meant to be a verbal confrontation, but before his first words came a claw strike so rough it tore out one of his nostrils. She wasn't a dragon - she was an animal, like all those she lived around and with, like all those she dominated. She would only be able to be treated like one.

He was much stronger than her, yet still her ferocity left him with far more wounds than he wanted. The chaos of two battling giants left her territory in ruins, trees bashed into kindling and blood splattering every rock. It ended with him on top of her, her back legs pinned under his, her right arm barely attached and her left nearly breaking under the pressure. Her throat, inside his jaws, punctured and bleeding. Her eyes full of rage, and fear, but not a light of recognition of being bested. She didn't know how to lose; she'd never been taught. For a minute, they both were silent; the fire dragon breathing heavily, hot breath on Vercada's neck and her fallen scales stuck in his teeth.

LEAVE. She'd at least know one word, right?

She did, when he snarled it enough times to get through her head. He removed himself once she'd stopped straining and gone limp in in claws, as he limped away with wings too torn to fly. If he saw her again... she would die. that was a promise she didn't need to hear to know.

She healed in her cave, and went on her exile south. Down over the ocean, down over the icebergs, to an abandoned nowhere to find rest in. She didn't know what she was doing, where she was going, any purpose or idea. The only things she knew were leave, and hunt, and she was doing both.

Until, after stopping to eat her fill for the night, she saw a peculiar, small dragon trying to slink into the cave she'd picked to rest in... carrying fish. She'd never had that before. He looked strong - small, puny even, but his muscle and sharp teeth were interesting. She'd seen little dragons like him on the ground as she'd flown to this wilderness, and they were fast runners who worked well in packs. A new idea for a challenge... A packmate. A mate.

A silent nudge, and they were together.

Over the years and with help from her mate and adopted son, Vercada learned to speak basic phrases and understand others. She's never wanted much and still doesn't; but the joy of hunting has been greatly improved by Tarmeux's help... So why look for more anyways? This is good. Good enough for a guardian.

Tarmeux, the Claws to Her Fangs, Mates

Tarmeux, the one dragon she listens to and follows the instructions of! Ever since she met her mate, she'd been quietly fascinated by how such a small dragon is so well adapted to the thick snow and freezing waters of the surrounding ocean. She was perfectly fine hunting for herself before she met him, usually losing prey to the chase but finding more to replace what she lost. But now, with him to run it down? She hardly ever misses a kill! The effectiveness of their tag team hunting is a horror to all the animals around; but they can't be afraid anymore once they're caught in her jaws. Her extremely powerful bite compliments his quick claws, her strength lets her carry their prey or even him while flying, and life is good when he's around. Such a perfect combination seems destined to be. She's rather attached. If anything happened to Tarmeux... There would be no survivors. But with his savagery, she has no fear of that potential future. Or anything, for that matter.