It was an early morning in the spring-time on Lonefang Mountain near the shores of the northern sea.
The sun was rising from her cloudy bed, and while spreading her beautiful gold hair over the sky, her gleams fell on a set of shining White Scales. The owner of those Scales raised his head, a tired expression on his grizzled features.
The birds slowly started singing, and tone by tone, the morning symphony was created, by the mere happiness of waking up.
The creature smirked in amusement, as he thought of how cheerful these silly little lumps of feathers could be, just to wake up.
It amused him, and yet, he did not find anything stupid about it. The only thing he thought was stupid, was that weird species … humans, who merely got up, just to work all day, and do things against their own will.
But what did he know of it … Arauthator was born a master of his world, and had never had the need, nor desire to learn from the hand and mind of another.
He got up from his bed of leaves, stretched out with his front legs, and shook his head in a lazy manner. He sniffed the spring-breeze, and greeted the still raising sun with a respectful nod.
She blinked for a moment, as if to return his gesture, and then she let a small streak of light strike his dog-like nose, while still deeply concentrating on painting the clouds in the most spectacular pink-orange and light-blue colors.
“Always trying to overdo herself,” he thought with a shake of his head. He then whipped a nearby tree with his long white tail, making a shower of raindrops and dew fall down on his body. It was chillingly cold, but he liked it that way. It was the way of the nature, and that would always be the only right way, he thought sternly. He had thought this way as long as he could remember, and that was not about to change.
He blinked the water out of his eyes, and then with a small yawn, he took off, to bid the world his own kind of good morning; to a new age - his age he thought. He had a plan and today he would put that plan into action.
Tiamat had been making progress in the Dragonfall War with Bahamt, a war for complete control over the known world that few outside of the Dragon Race even knew was being raged. But Arauthator knew, and he knew what he must do. If Tiamat defeats Bahamt then his world will fall under her control and he will be at her mercy, and she was not merciful. He was going to raise his own army to defend his lands against Tiamat should she succeed.
He had been watching a High Elvin Mage for some time and thought that by mixing his blood with that lineage he could produce a powerful half-dragon mage and start forming his army. But as we said before, he had not the need, nor desire to learn from the hand and mind of another. He would be mistaken.
My father was a cold-drake; revenge and malice flowed through him as blood through a lesser being. He stole the only daughter of a high Elvin Mage from her walk along the cliffs of Storm Tower and sprouted his seed within her womb, then tore the babe — me — from her dying body. He thought that mixing his Dragon Blood with powerful Elvin Arcane Blood would produce a powerful mage which he could raise to do his bidding. What he did not know was that there are powers in this world that flow deeper and more powerful than Dragon Blood. His evil character did not mix as he anticipated with the good character of my mother. Since the two opposites did not mix, what he saw in me was nothing more than a mutant. I looked more like an elf than a Dragon and he could sense right away that I was not born a powerful mage. He named me Veditoa Lowan, which means ‘the cold death’ in the speech of the cold drakes, then cast me into the sea to die. A mistake that he may very well regret in the future.
I lived. After all I was half cold-drake, and my body shaped itself to the waves and my teeth to the fish I caught: so I grew strong.
I wandered too far south one year and a fisherman caught me in his nets, bound me tight in cord and fishing weights, then drew me out of the water into air. I do not recall it well, save for light and heat and pain, but the fisherman told me later that I was a serpent who cried in a voice like a seagull’s and wept. I had dried, and like a cold drake, my skin had cracked into pieces, releasing the form within. But unlike a drake, my inner form was humanoid.
“Put her skin in this box,” said the fisherman, and his crew did, unwrapping the net to remove each piece while I blinked at them, newborn to land. As they lifted the last piece away, some part of my sea-grown mind understood what they took, and I reached for it. For my trouble I gained a single scale before they locked my old life away from me. Pressed to my finger, it bonded to my nail, pearly-white and silver, as sharp as whetted steel.
I did not how to survive in this new form so I began to gasp and die there on the deck of his ship. The Fisherman knew what lay before him and what he had to do; his wife heard the calling and left to become a dragonborn a long time ago, but she still held her love for him and visited him occasionally, until the time she was killed in a battle with a “white” dragon called Arauthator. He began to prey to her spirit to help this creature dying in his arms and she heard his call. She pleaded with Bahamt to do something and save this half blood dragon, even though I was the spawn of Arauthator, I did not ask for that curse and I deserved to live. So Bahamt feeling he could do something for the fisherman in reward for his wives service, granted me the rite of rebirth as a Dragonborn. I grew wings and my eyes became silver and my pupils slit like my fathers. While Bahamt tried, he could not bring me to good, but he did succeed to erase the ultimate evil of my father.
The fisherman then brought me to shore and wrapped me in one of his dead wife’s gowns and stepped back to look at me. He also slipped on a pair of what looked and felt like soft doeskin gloves. When he put the gloves on, they seemed to disappear and my dragon appearance dissipated.
I do not know what he saw, but I can imagine; my shape was slim and sleekly curved, like a Drake, but even more so like the Elvin woman my mother had been. The gown, moth-eaten and forgotten so long in her chests, hung on me as a rag.
He looked at me and said, “You shall be Jinan, which means ‘white’ in the old language.” And I was white, white-haired and silver-eyed, my skin as pale as the doeskin gloves he had put upon my hands. So I came to be known as Jinan Veditoa Lowan, “The White Cold Death”. Whenever I wore the gloves I looked like my mother and not the spawn of my father.
The fisherman took me in and showed me the ways of the seas above the water, on-board a ship. He taught how to rig the sails, and navigate by the stars. He also showed me how to survive long times at see above water (which I thought strange as I could always jump in the water for plenty of food and shelter from the fierce elements above the waves).
Then it happened, the event that turned me towards the life I have now, that of a thief. We were sailing in the southern waters where the fisherman had originally pulled me from the sea, when we were set upon by Pirates.
“Jarves, git yer feathery carcass over her right now”
Sharky’s pet parrot obediently flew over to her master’s outstretched forearm. “Yes Master.”
He took in a long, slow breath as his crew gathered up the little loot left behind by the fisherman’s crew. Sharkey was upset. The lookout told him he had spotted what looked like a nobleman or a rich mage of some sort aboard; and so Sharky thought the rickety fishing boat was a decoy. But, there was no sign of any white haired mage to be found, only poor fisherman, with relatively little booty. So the lookout’s fate became the same as the fisherman.
“Captain, we got a survivor here”
The captain of the boat lay in a pool of his own blood, gasping a prayer. Sharkey limped over and bent down to look him in the eye.
“No healing prayers allowed, lad. Captains orders.” Sharky swung the hook he had for a right hand into the Captain’s forehead.
The crew squirmed in sympathy as a geyser of red erupted into the sky. A grim silence fell over the ship. Captain Sharky was as ruthless a Pirate as has ever lived.
For the first time in my life I felt revenge and malice flow my veins as it had my fathers, I pulled the gloves off, put them in my pouch and then I jumped from behind the barrel where I had been hiding to seek my revenge. One of the crew shouted ”Thar be the mage Capin” Sharky turned around just in time for me to lung at him with my silvery claw. "Ye geou visit Davey Jones' Locker ihk batobot ye srow – translation - Ye will visit Davey Jones' Locker for that ye scum". I had spoken in cold drake for the first time in my life and it surprised even Sharkey, at least enough that I managed to gouge out his left eye before I was tackled by his scum.
The captain scowled in pain. “Ye whore, I’ll make ye pay for that.? Ye do not need to travel across th' briny deep for battle. We shall take th' battle to ye. Liven up mateys, we’re going to have some entertainment tonight.”
Enraged, he said that cutting my throat would be too good for me, so they bound me, beat me and tried to lash me while tied to the mizzen mast, and then they made me walk the plank. Using my claw I had the bounds cut almost as soon as I hit the water and swam up under the ship intent to get my revenge. There I stayed clinging to the ship above the water line but out of sight, buying my time until they pulled into harbor at Sansarrine. I waited until the crew had gone ashore for all of their groggin' and revelin' and wrenchin' and rummin'. Captain Sharky you see, preferred to stay on the Tomahawk for his perceived safety, you can’t be one of the most ruthless pirates ever to have lived without having a few enemies.
I waited until he drifted asleep and crept up the side of the ship and on deck. The first thing I did before cutting off the head of Jarves, that feathery carcass, was to kill the lone watchman left behind. Then I crept into Sharky’s cabin. Before I slit his throat with his own sword, I woke him up with a quick jab in the forehead with my claw, just like he had done to my benefactor; I wanted him to see who was sending him to the ninth plane of hell.
"Valeij hefoc vi stuffed goh ye slime. Lor charnag ias ve fiexnah vur keffal svabol awaits ye persvek uoinota. – translation - Bleed like a stuffed pig ye slime. Look deep into me eyes and see what awaits ye in hell."
Then as he lay there paralyzed in fear looking into my silvery eyes, with blood spurting from his forehead, I dragged his sword across his throat until it hit the spine below.
I took his sword, daggers and as much treasure as I could carry, went back on deck and set the ship on fire. Then I jumped in the water and swam away. I put my special gloves back on and slipped ashore mixing in with the hustle and bustle of merchants and tradesman’s in the Shadowshore district of Sanssarine.
That was some 20 years ago and legend still tells of the night that Sharky was killed by a demon in the night before setting his ship ablaze. I have never made known that it was I who did those deeds that fateful night.
In the beginning I was scared to be in this new city with all of the shadows. But in time I placed my treasure in the relative safety offered by Honest Brank’s (I learned that they know not to ask questions there). I then took up residence behind Last Ditch Lovers, one of the brothels in the Shadowshore district. I made new friends and learned how to fight and the trades of a thief (one really doesn’t have a choice but to learn these skills while living in Shadowshore).
I have thus far managed, with the help of my special gloves, to live with some obscurity, excepting my silver eyes and white hair. During these times I have sailed with many ships as a mercenary further honing my skills. I am beginning to make a name for myself and some of the captains will ask for me by name when they are looking to fill their rosters.
Tonight if you walk into the Plucked Parrot and you pay attention, you might see me sitting in the corner sipping some rum. I am wearing my trademark leather pants and boots along with my leather shirt which is cut open in the front to allow my movement. I have my white hair pulled back into a single ponytail and I may or may not be wearing a bandana tied around my head. Around waist is my belt wear I carry my sword, a couple of daggers and a pouch with a small amount o booty.