Wind rushed through Valerik's hair, which whipped around his face. The cool ocean breeze stung him, and the rising sun reflected off his pale skin. The morning had awoken, and the light was rising. Luckily, he had feed recently, and was tolerante of sunlight. It stung slightly, but after centuries of its presence, he was used to it.

Valerik rode on the back of Akor, his ash dragon. He sat on the enlarged saddle which fit smugly on the massive back of Akor. He was still getting used to controlling such a massive beast, and the dragon was getting used to the extra weight on his back. They were both inexperianced, making the flight somewhat rocky and uncomfortable.

Finally, Akor reached a steady, calm gliding postion, ocassionally flapping his wings. They were flying above an ocean, and due to their last location, Valerik predicted the Palanen. The cool waters brought a salty taste to the air.

Suddenly, Akor opened his mouth. Poisonous gases spewed out and under the water. The dragon flew over the spot, and made a risky manuever. It was his first turn while Valerik was on his back. The dragon turned sharply, causing Valerik to slip out of his saddle slightly. But overall, it was a okay first turn.

Valerik knew the whole purpose of this strange behaviour. Akor swooped down below, mouth agap, scooping water and dead fish into his mouth. The air now tasted of dead fish and smog, which overpowered the salty aroma. A grin spread across Valerik's face. His dragon was hunting, without even consuming energy.

They continued to head back the direction they had started in. Towards the shore. The two would land, and Valerik would let the dragon take a rest. Akor had been flying for about seven hours, which was quite some time. A beam of light shone brightly into the eyes of the vampire.

The sunlight was reflecting off the yellow sand, giving a golden hue on the shore. Akor began to decent, lowering himself. The water was getting closer, and the tips of Akor's wings hit the water when he flapped him. He finally landed in the sand, bringing up the golden specks all around him.

Akor laid up against a large rock, gesturing for Akor to rest as well. The dragon took a few steps, shaking the ground as he walked. He stopped near him, and sat, curling his long neck to his side, folding his wings back. Valerik placed his hand on the dragon's cold scales, feeling so overjoyed.

He felt love. Joy, happiness, strength, power. He felt on top of the world. Valerik fell into a slumber, glad that his dragon and himself would make an excellent team. Valerik and Akor, the DragonForce. He dreamt of poison and skies, wind and wings. But something strange filled his dreams as well. Blue streaks cluttered them, followed by thunder. He dreamt about what was about to become his passion. Lightning

The sun and the playful breeze, though pleasant and enjoyable together, brought not but a frown to the naga's tanned face. Issith's lips seemed perpetually tipped downwards. Today was only different in that her forked tongue actively slipped through them, tasting the air, searching for meat—or alcohol (as unlikely as finding this was)—but more importantly, anything that she could eat. A week earlier her pockets brimmed with the fruits of her mercenary exploits. Rather than saving it or investing in another armament, she traveled straight to the nearest tavern. A week later, here she was, half-starved and irritable, disgusted that she should have to hunt in such a way.

Breaking through the underbrush of the forest, a sound that drifted through the air moments earlier became louder; it was the breaking of waves against rocks and beach. The naga crossed her hands over her chest, slithering over the beach grass until waves lapped the bottom of her yellow scales; of a hue not unlike the sand around her. Pah! She sighed, in her mind. The fates toy with me. One moment I'm assured work for weeks to come, and the next, I'm scrounging through the forest in search of food! Only to find a damned ocean. Sevhan knew how to treat a priestess. Memories of her homeland crawled through her mind. Her scowl grew deeper. She'd return there one day and get what was hers. But first she needed to get stronger.

Staring into the horizon (or better yet, glaring into it), Issith's eye fell upon a black figure gliding through the sky, and skimming the ocean's surface. At once she knew it not to be a bird; from that distance, it must have been quite a bit larger. A dragon? She wondered, quirking an eyebrow. They were dumb beasts, but they had their uses. Teeth that could be carved into weapons, scales used as armor plating, and dragon hearts were known to carry magical properties. But their flesh! Dragon steaks were a delicacy back in Sevhan, even if it was rumored dragons and nagas shared a common ancestor.

The battlemage retreated to the forest as the dragon turned and headed for the beach. It wasn't long before it landed, and a detail Issith hadn't noticed before became apparent: it had a rider. A dragon rider? She pondered, watching him dismount. He wore dark clothing and was unnaturally thin; so much so that the naga wondered if he was living at all, or some reanimated corpse. Either way, a human smell lingered through the air, which she caught with her tongue, so he had been of the lesser race at one point. To a rocky stretch he walked, beckoning for his mount to follow, and soon the two lay upon the briny stones relaxing.

This was fortuitous on the naga's part. What better way to hone her skills than against such an exotic being? But, he looked so content; she'd have to egg him into fighting. And without his beast. At least, to start with.

Emerging from the forest several yards from the man, Issith stopped at the water's edge and stretched her arms, with a yawn. She turned her head to the man after a moment. “A dragon rider and his mount—how touching.” Her voice dripped of condescension. She turned back to the water. “But, without that beast, you're nothing, are you? To rely so much on another's strength! A sign of a weakling, if there is one.” She turned to him with a devious smile, wondering if he'd attack her outright, or ignore her threats. “But, perhaps I'm mistaken. Care for a little bout?” The mace strapped to her side gleamed, as if hoping to coerce the man into fighting.

Valerik jumped up from the voice he heard. Immediately, he turned around, seeing a naga emerging from the forest several yards away. Valerik quickly looked around, checking to see if any others were present. The vampire had a bad experience with the vicious snake hybrids, and knew their violent nature.

He placed a hand on his dragon's scale, his dreams of power rushing in his head. Booms of thunder and the smell of lightning seemed close to his nose, his ears ringing as if the noises from his dreams actually were true. He shook his head, reawakening.

'Why does my dream to have to end?' he thought exasperated. All the power, all the strength. It was over. He sighed, listening to the naga, scowling as she spoke of him. Weakling? He was not weak, he tamed the ferocious beast, capable of much more than that bestial snake creature. He glared, not interrupting her, just listening with a look of disgust on his face.

With a sigh, he said, "What is this? You awoke my sleep so that you could fight? A snake? Fighting? Your probably as graceful as a camel," he said with a snort, laughing at his own joke. He drew his short sword from his side, chuckling. He would humor her, not using his dragon.

But he was offended. Although he would not admit it, the challenge had struck a nerve. Calling him weakling, one who used the dragon to mask his own weakness. He scowled again, just at the thought. He was hurt, but would not admit it to her. He was strong, hardened by centuries of misery, starvation, agony, living countless battles, enduring beatings from townspeople, just because of his nature.

After his centuries of wandering, he became battle hardened. His hatred grew through years, intensifying. Not only did his malice and fury expand, his consciousness slowly whittled away, disappearing. Now not only did he feel that mortals were inferior, but he could kill them without a second thought. Although he did kill the one's he infected, it was not through kindness or mercy, but pity. He did not want even a mortal to endure what he did.

Valerik's sword shone against the sand as a ray of the morning sun reflected against it. He motioned to Akor, commanding him to stop. He would not need the help. He began the fight, not waiting for a response. Without thinking, he focused his energy from his core, up his arm. He pointed at a spot above his opponent, commanding his energy to summon lightning.

The lightning bolt crashed towards the naga. Thoughts and emotions buzzed around Valerik's head. 'This is the force I dreamt about!' Valerik thought excitedly. 'This is the power that, that, destroys! Lightning,' he thought, excitement still buzzing through him. He found a power, force of nature, that he loved, could use, could destroy with. A grin spread across his face. 'I found the force in my dreams!' he repeated again in his head, with the same amount enthusiasm. Energy pulsed through him, as if even his mana enjoyed casting lightning magic. This was his passion.

Comments of being 'awoken' nearly brought a laugh to the naga's lips. Aww, he was tired from all that riding of his beast? Needed a nap? Of course, with a form resembling that of a twig, it wasn't surprising that the man was weak of constitution. She suddenly wondered if he'd be much of a challenge without the dragon aiding him. Her lips widened as mild amusement turned to utter glee. He was insulting here? What the Hell was a camel? She wiped a tuft of white hair from her face. A weak-looking fool or not, he had the right attitude.

There was a moment of silence, wherein the naga's eyes gleamed. He was insulted by my words, wasn't he? But her thoughts were cut short by the flash of light running up his sword, so quickly brought to hand. So you accept! Very well; here is your doom! Tugging the handle of her mace, the buckles hanging about her side released, yielding the cudgel to her hand. The thing was longer than a regular mace, and heavier; lined at the top with razor-sharp spikes. These were the only bright objects on her weapon. The rest was dull and scuffed, having seen much use, apparently.

Expecting a charge, Issith brought her mace high and diagonal before her. Her prediction was wrong, however. Raising his hand and beckoning to the heavens, her opponent began to invoke a spell. The air became tense, and charged; the naga's hair lifted slightly as electricity hummed around the man. The naga already held her free, left hand close to her chest. At once, a cackle resounded through the air, clearly of lightning. The battlemage's voice was clear and fierce, though, bringing about her own counter-spell.

“Tumbicc Magicka!”

Her hand shot out in front of her, fingers spread and energy swirling through them. A dull flash of purple light broke between the two. There was a fizzle, and a low whining noise. The man's spell (or what was soon to be it) disappeared with a weak, comical whimper. Issith broke into condescending laughter, before propelling herself forward on her muscled tail. “Not but pathetic effort, fool!” She cried, bringing her flanged mace about his form with quick, hungry strikes. Each attack in the flurry was aimed at his body, with the majority being horizontal in motion.

“Nothing... but... a fool!” She laughed, bloodthirsty and maniacal, striking at him. Without the joys of The Pits back in Sevhan, Issith's hunger for violence was backing up. There just wasn't enough blood shed in this new land. Luckily, every so often she'd stumble upon a quick-to-anger fool, who thought himself more than a match for the experienced naga. More often than not, he was wrong.

Valerik was caught off guard as his foe casted a counter spell, purple energy colliding with his own spell. He stood their, in awe, watching the magic take place. Her fingers were spread out, aimed at the destination Valerik commanded his spell. She spoke the words, "Tumicc Magika,".This was one of Valerik's major flaws. He had grown to respect and love magic (particularly lightning), and stopped to observe it when someone cast it. Even if the magician performing the spell was an opponent. She charged Valerik, her mace drawn, aimed for his general body area. His lightning spell sputtered out, not even reaching its target

A look of astonishment spread across Valerik's face. How could this mystifying, powerful force be conquered by a snake hybrid? What kind of magic could conquer this force he dreamt about, lived for, died for. How powerful a magician would be required to cancel out the force of lightning, wielded by a vampire? A grim look replaced his astonished countenance. Obviously, she was powerful, more powerful that he could give her credit. He raised his sword, focusing on the fight.

When his attention returned to the battle at hand, it was to late to avoid the onslaught of blows. “Nothing... but... a fool!” she laughed hysterically. Her mace cut into his flesh, each blow pushing him back a bit. He managed to brace himself for the brunt of the onslaught, but was caught off guard by her powerful strikes. At the last few strikes, he was exhausted, resulting in no defence in his position. Her final strike landed on him. He flew through the air, landing a few inches away, a ferocious splash rising above him.

A grunt of pain escaped his lips, as he struggled to get up. He wiped his hair away from his face, his shirt cut up from the attack. Blood leaked from his wounds. A new Valerik emerged. A low, malicious chuckle sounded softly underneath his breath. He brought a finger to his wound, scraping some of the blood, placing it in his mouth.

An overwhelming hunger for blood intruded into his mind. 'I want her blood!' That was the only thought that went through his mind. A toothy smile spread across his face, revealing his two, pointed fangs. "I believe that whenever a mortal comes across a hungry vampire," he said, "they should run," He charged, his movement slightly impeded as he trudged through the water. He reached the beach, launching his attack. He brought his up, aimed at the top of her head, hoping to cleave her in half.