Galiena Eldingar's Backstory

I’ve always been a bit of a troublemaker—well, I guess that's kind of a lie. We're off to a great start.

I’ve always been a troublemaker, terrible as troublemakers come, and such has been my reputation throughout my life. My family never really appreciated the sort of lifestyle I was always in pursuit of as a little girl, so naturally, I made their lives harder. It was no fault of my own they were miserable, they simply refused to give in to my antics. All I wanted was no rules—I wanted free reign, bliss, whatever you want to call it. I broke things, I threw tantrums, but my parents always knew just what punishments set my teeth on edge. Of course, nothing kept me from misbehaving, but at the very least, their Hail Mary attempts to control my outrageous tendencies slowed me down.

I don’t want to come across as heartless and evil, at least not entirely. My parents kept me fed, bathed, and sheltered, but that was about all. Growing up, my siblings (brother, Beau, and sister, Marcella) and I were more servants than anything. My father was a drunken bastard who spent his days flitting from one tavern—and often one woman—to the next, while my mother was a raging whore who "bewitched" men for money as she so eloquently put it. The pair of them, toxic for each other in their self-destructive ways often took their frustrations out on me. After all, I wouldn’t let them take their obnoxious fits out on my siblings. We did the best we could to steer clear of them, but there was always the threat at the back of my mind that they targeted me specifically. No, it wasn’t because I was older, it was because of what I am.

You see, my family is very unique to say the least. We are born of dragon blood. Magic and power runs within us, in our veins. While we can all feel it, my parents do not embrace the power. They refuse to. They see it as more of a curse than a blessing, and lack any insight as to why they feel such inhuman things at times. They ignore the call of their draconic ancestors, and scoff at any indication my siblings or I might want to answer said call. Why do I think they target me most of all? Simple: I am beginning to remind them of our heritage.

The pupils of my eyes, from a young age, have grown less round, and more slitted like that of a snake. My arms and legs have begun to grow scale-like in appearance, with bursts of deep blue running over the natural olive tones. The most noticeable thing about my gradual transformation is how much my face has changed. More than half of it is now covered in blue scales, stretching across my eye on the right, making it look as if I wear some gaudy eyepatch every minute of every day. While I admired the work my genes conducted on my appearance, my parents would spit at me should they have seen my full face in broad daylight. I learned to let my hair down and cover my forehead with cloth to keep it somewhat concealed.

Nevertheless, my appearance, combined with my spotty behavior, often resulted in one punishment after the next, and it only grew worse as I matured. However, this didn’t entirely ruin my childhood. When I wasn’t set to work in the pig pens for bad behavior, I was out running amuck on my own, exploring the woods, picking pockets in the village, and riding the family horse—a proud appaloosa by the name of Nanuck. I took care of and rode that horse day in and day out whenever I felt particularly troubled. I’d have these incredible urges at times to fly away somewhere, my only guess as to why exactly could be traced back to my ancestry. While my parents did their best to keep our past shrouded in mystery, I did my best to put the pieces together with the information I could muster out of them. I’ve always thought Nanuck was the fastest horse on this end of the earth. Only he could run so fast as to feed the illusion of flight I’d allow myself to believe at times.

As I entered my teen years, I began making plans to explore what lay beyond the reaches of my family home, where the cruelty I’d endured in my youth I was certain would not dare venture. I wanted to see the world, make a name for myself despite the unfortunate hand life had dealt me. Perhaps the most incessant thing I wanted was to learn what I could do. I knew magic flowed within me, I knew I had power at my fingertips, but I had no idea how to access it. On a particularly misty day in autumn, I gathered what few keepsakes and belongings I had and set out to find my destiny, leaving behind a coded roll of parchment for my siblings should they ever want to find me in my travels. I knew I could never take them with me as knew nothing of the dangers that awaited me. All I could do was hope someday they’d seek freedom as I did, and come searching.

Many years passed as I wandered the world. As I ventured through mountains and forests, village after village, I knew passersby gave me second glances. At times, folk would simply stop and stare at my perplexing appearance. While I knew their looks only to be riddled with curiosity, perhaps even concern, I grew to despise those I came in contact with in these small, seemingly endless arrays of towns and cities. All small-minded pinheads out for themselves, without a care in the world. While it sickened me to be in such close association with them at times, I did learn a thing or two. I might have been a troublemaker when I was young, but that knack for mischief and deception proved rather useful in my adulthood. I found I could talk my way out of anything, mingle among those who considered themselves “highborn” while avoiding discovery, and disappear without a trace whenever I felt it was time to move on. I could come across as sincere and friendly as they come, but when I needed to, I could also be as cold-hearted and stone-faced as a menacing dragon.

As an ode to my nomadic existence, I also came across many men in my travels claiming to be sorcerers or mortals possessed with an assortment of gifts. I would study alongside these men, humor their beliefs if I sensed there was no magic within them, and through my efforts I managed to learn certain spells. These men would come to towns and cities by caravan carrying a vast array of treasures with them: books, bottles filled with other-worldly liquids, scrolls of parchment, strange stones and gems, weaponry (of sorts), and instruments I could only guess one might keep in an elaborate chemistry set. As I studied for several years, reading book after book, I began to feel as though the magic that had faded to a dying ember was now glowing with a desire to turn to flame. I found I could channel the feeling, allow the power beneath my scales to roll throughout my body. The spells became easier as time went on, and before long, I knew I was a force to be reckoned with.

On one rainy day in one of those long forgotten cities I visited, there was a gentleman who had acquired weapons and rather curious objects that were just too hard to resist. I forget exactly why I stole them, perhaps his back was turned and I simply seized the opportunity. I remember lunging for the quarterstaff first- a beautiful staff of cedar with carvings of vine-like patterns running up and down. Next, I snatched the crossbow, and finally, nicked a sizeable dagger, all in a matter of seconds while the man dealt with an interested buyer who had come to bargain with him for his wares. I laughed as I made out like a bandit, clutching the quarterstaff firmly as I exited the city never to return. I named it Nanuck, and to this day, have used it time and time again to help channel my powers so I might have better control.

As the years rolled on, and I became bored with what the unexplored world had to offer, I also became fretfully lonely. People are always very aware of my presence should I ever find myself amongst them. They grow weary and more guarded, but at the same time, they understand there is a frightful truth surrounding the odd markings on my face, the strange shape and color of my eyes, and even the ground I walk on. People can sense the pain, the resentment, the anger I feel, even if it comes off merely as a quiet whisper. I know now more than ever there is something lurking within me. Something dark perhaps, something powerful. Something deadly.