Valamtoszaryx

Few creatures can hope to match the vainglorious nature of a red dragon. Valamtoszaryx would be - in the eyes of a devout follower of Tiamat - a paragon of what all of her kind stand for. Greed, lust , power and anger. There is little the dragon desires more in the multiverse then material gain. Gold, gems, rare artifacts of magical origin, the corpses of powerful beings - all worthy additions to her hoard. She adores the sensation of bathing in it, her bedding made of a hill-sized mound of gold large enough to compass her entire gargantuan form. Often times, this greed and need to possess new things goes far beyond simple material gain. She lusts for new forms of power, new servants of all shapes and sizes , half-breeds born of her that will shatter the world in awe and claims of victory over beings that dare to mock the chromatic breed with squalor and threats.

Often times when approaching new people , her first option is to use intimidation. Often times her entrances are extravagant and graceful or thunderous and mighty - her own design, of course. In a way, she has become use to theatrics of many kinds, considering it nothing but a spark of genius every time she organizes a way to wow a particular populace or single person into her service with merely a simple landing. Following that, she often leers over her victim, allowing her natural fear presence to take hold and be channeled through her eyes. If the first two options fail, she resorts to violence indifferently, attempting to inflict pain upon her target until they bend a knee or accidentally get crushed.


When intimidation is out of the question or simply not her choice of the day - then it is time to play it safe. Far from a one trick dragon, she can be charismatic when the situation calls for it. Far from the most delicate form of diplomacy, she tends to try charming others with promises of power or wealth, often times intending to deliver...in the short run. She rarely approaches a powerful individual without having researched them prior - and even when that is not the case, she often keeps a fair distance from anything she cannot read.

Inevitably, she has very little care for creatures beyond her own kind. And even then, that is a slim line. Beings of inferior size are seen as nothing more then gnats or potential slaves to serve her in some way. Anything of enough strength or power to threaten her is treated as - well - a threat above all else. To be sought out and annihilated before it can harm her. At times, she might find powerful creatures to be particularly useful allies under certain situation, and may refrain from trying to do battle in order to gain an advantage. Dragons tend to have a variable fare with her. Metallic dragons are outright reviled by her - often times attacked on sight or fled from if they are elder, more powerful wyrms. Little mercy is shown for them either way - and she would not hesitate to use dirty and cowardly acts such as sending in her minions to attack their nests and slaughter their eggs. Though she enjoys committing the task herself. Chromatic dragons aren't instantly subject to an open welcome to her territory either. Many of them are seen as rivals or potential invaders at the very least. Her own kind get a form of tolerance that could almost be called respect. Often times they are allowed to fly through unmolested. Instinct has a lot to do with her choice on this - often times females are easier to earn her ire, whilst males - especially elder and stronger males - are considered potential mates or at the very least - useful. Under the right circumstances.

Respect is rarely given by her - after all, she comes from a race that rarely acknowledges superiority of anything that ISN'T themselves. However, the qualities she respects the most in other beings is a passion for control, domination and a lust for power and wealth. Half-dragons and draconic creatures of inferior status are considered 'pets' by her, which compared to the rank of 'lowly slave' is a bit of a step up! She has a strong fascination with bastards and half-breeds of all kinds, and finds some odd sympathy within herself for them. Demons and creatures born of the Abyss, however, are utter beauty to her. The fiendish taint resting within her bosom is only part of why this is so. She finds creatures that have such a drive for pure and unfocused destruction to have an odd delightful nature to them - like watching a thunderstorm or fireworks. Wild, untameable and often times the ideal underlings to serve either under her or at her side, she finds they are her favored minions.

Often times she is blighted by insecurity and disdain, quickly growing envious of those around her. She is still not of a great old age, she cannot compare to wyrms and often times finds herself barely containing her ire against them, simply out of fear of being punished. She fears creatures of greater power and above all - she has a searing paranoia when it comes to those attempting to be uniquely loyal or friendly to her. Instinct prevents her from trusting someone for too long, often times requiring a display of trust or some way of binding them to her indefinitely.

Ambitions are born early for a dragon. They know who they are before even leaving their shell. Many set their life-goals up in the first moments of their sentience, the very first things they hear.

Valam could hear it very clearly, the first time she could feel the vibrations of something penetrating her shell, the sounds making sense when filtered through her cortex. Innate knowledge passed down through blood, hot blood that boiled deep within her mother's belly before she even laid. The words she spoke even when she was far from hatching.

Those words were the first things that were implanted into her mind. Some would call this a form of premature brainwashing. And indeed, the parents often are major influences on their young. She can only imagine what she whispered to her other siblings in the days to come, but she can remember those days perfectly. The first sensation of egg shell against her snout, the breaking and the piercing spears of light burning into her. The hot flame vomiting forth from her belly, pushing the shell open. Meat. Glorious meat. She remembered the first hunt she ever flew to, observed by her parent and yet undisturbed. For a hunter must learn to hunt on their own. The Draka - the Mother. She remembered her alone, the great behemoth that she was. Still relatively young, likely choosing to raise this clutch on her own to see what it would bare. Perhaps she was even proud of what she saw before her, Valam took no notice of what she held in her eye. She took no notice of her siblings, many of which were ripped to shreds by one another, her included. The weak had to perish, the strong had to persist.

The days came and went, and before long the comfort of a mother was no longer required. Fitting - considering she also no longer required them. The warmth and familiarity all dragons feel to their newborns quickly died. And like most chromatic dragons - territorial urges quickly kicked in. Suddenly the little creatures she helped raised looked less like cute babies and more akin to fiends plotting to overthrow her and take her land. So with blazing pain at her back and the threat of death right behind her, Valam found herself in the wild. Alone, but large enough to survive, wise enough to survive.

However, survival was not enough for the dragon. No, she still thirsted for power like a fresh drink. Upon growing large enough to be a threat to most humanoids, she won her first conquest by attacking the barely-guarded keep of a noble family that seemed to have been on it's way into decline anyway. A keep full of scorched corpses and a freshly conquered lair later, Valam was no longer a mere wyrmling. No longer did she need a draka. She was the draka. She was mother - mother of victory and conquest. And one little keep was just the beginning.






Ambition continued to grow over the years. Adulthood was finally at hand, and Valam had managed to not only conquer a few more easy to take locations, but also claim a sizable following of lesser creatures. Goblins, stray kobold tribes and even a few orcs had begun to follow in the dragon's shadow, seeing her as a symbol of vengeful fury. It wasn't a following she ignored, and before long she took it upon herself to lead this growing band of outcasts. After all - someone had to get the dirty work done for her. Few dared to challenge her - especially with her considerable physical power. This rather interestingly quick 'growth spurt' attracted the attention of a male that seemed to lair close to her newfound territory. Now, a stronger, elder male offering protection was a welcome sight to any female dragon. Often times they would seek them out to mate with and prosper under their protection. In this case, she took advantage of just such an opportunity , birthing her first clutch in the process. However, the male offered her more then a simply breeding partner. Instead, during a casual conversation about the nature of worship, he had drawn her into a rather curious point. What if there was an option to dedicate yourself to something that would inevitably bring you further from yourself...but closer to the perfection you sought. At great risk, comes great reward. Valam always fancied herself a risk taker, even if it was never really the case. For the dragoness tended to be cowardly when faced with overwhelming odds, freely giving her followers' lives to save her own hide.

A few decades of learning under him later, and Valam soon found herself being introduced to others with his sensibilities. Red dragons, bound together by a singular cause refusing to fight one another openly. A cult, a cult as loosely knit as they come - dedicated to an exemplar of their kind.

Ashardalon.

Stories of the demon-heart spread wide. His duel with the great druid Dydd, the loss of his heart - his infusion of a balor as a replacement that brought with it immense power. He was a legend amongst his kind, talked about with respect and admiration - a rarity amongst red dragons. Some spoke with envy, but the bottom line is that many wanted to emulate him. The Disciples of Ashardalon were just that - emulators. They trained with one another in magical rites to prepare themselves to undergo the same process. She watched many times as members of the cult either became infused with the powerful demonic essence they hijacked, or merely overpowered and killed in the process. Inevitably, her turn came up. She had spent centuries in training, having grown older and wiser in that time. The moment was at hand - she found herself undertaking the ritual herself. Her quarry was a powerful one - a captured Glabrezu known as Shazrogal. A lieutenant of Demogorgon, this was a demon of pure rage and malicious fury. Not a very easy thing to bind to you. First came the pain. She could do little but watch as one of her fellow cultists ripped her breast open, chest plates split and bones rended as her heart was bared, even her mighty body being savaged by immense agony. Then the demonic essence was infused into her, causing her further agony as her insides were being burned, her body seemingly ablaze from the inside out. Those that were too weak either died of agony or were reduced to a gutted husk by the end of the infusion, but not her. The demon fed off the innate anger and greed within her heart - and it found her a vessel that fed him well. His guard down, his very being soon fused into her injured heart, which soon exploded into an infernal core that beat and pumped demonic blood into her veins. Her scales became a brigher hue, combined with molten eyes that radiated ahead of their time. Her innate pool of magic increased, and fiendish traits were added to her own natural abilities, along with her overall appearance. The scar over her chest had sealed during the ritual, leaving her weak and also leaving a rather jagged and noticable cut across her chest, the burned scale and flesh visible for all to see, barely containing an infernal red light that still poured from between scales.

She had become something wonderful - an abomination in the eyes of many. She had taken a being of great power and fused it to herself, increasing her own strength substantially. As soon as she was free of the cult, Valam went on a rampage. In utter estacy of her new found power and absorbed by Shazrogal's rage, she flew into her own territory and decimated all of it. Keeps, destroyed. Her own followers were slaughtered immediately and turned into ash before her very breath. Her newfound abilities allowed her to call forth living blasphemies, unholy auras helped her wither her own slaves into half-living husks. Before long, the land she owned was naught but a multi-mile stretch of burnt land and corpses. The old had to be no more. She was new now, beautiful, perfect. She made flight towards The Smoking Mountains, establishing her lair amidst what seemed to be a newly formed volcano within the region.


Before long, she had once again begun the process of drawing new followers to her. But now the plan had been addled. The new presence within her mind drove her towards new lows - of subtlety and preparation. The time had come to begin working from behind the shadows. To slowly amass more power until she could overpower her betters. Time was meaningless to her now. She could see the power Ashardalon bore within his bosom on the day he first sipped from the Bastion of Broken Souls. One day, that would be her legend. Her myth.

Her...legacy.