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The Church Griss grew up within was almost as cold as the blustering Elusian winter just beyond the old, creaking doors. It crept under his thin linen robes, curling its claws deep into his skin... Sinking all the way to his bones. His teeth chattered late into the night. He awoke each morning to wispy breaths and frozen sweat.
Life was harsh in service to Lord Sombron... The ice continued to chill his blood as it sluggishly spilled onto the tile, numbing his mind to everything else each and every day.
Until, he realised he'd simply gotten used to the shivering.
A smile with sharp fangs, inhumanly warm fingers tipped with claws, razor-pointed ears. Unnatural swirling purple eyes burning. Zephia the Mage Dragon was beautiful, deadly—perfect—and as she pulled his frozen self from the bleeding, scarred pile of human flesh he’d become... Taking Griss far away from the crumbling Church he’d been locked within for so long– as though barred inside by constant blizzards.
He decided then he would pledge every drop of his inhospitable blood to her and her cause. Weather even the worst his Homeland had to offer... Just to see that dangerous grin.
Anything for her.
Gradlon burned. Lava leaked from deep within the earth, forming scolding, bubbling lakes. This was the land he’d learnt of in his endless scripture lessons when he was still a scared little runt - Homeland of his Lord.
His Mistress gazed upon it with something forlorn flickering in those searing purple. Yet, Griss wouldn’t question it. Not mention it unless she wished to share her thoughts.
He was but the loyal soldier, the rabid dog...
His enemy—red and blue eyes filled with cruel conviction—approached.
And he would rip apart anyone that tried to lay a hand upon her.