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The Origin of Shiva - Ishgardian Orthodoxy Records

Once, in those days of glory when the Good King yet reigned and his honored Knights Twelve yet stood beside him, there lived a girl of most exquisite beauty, yet the blackest of hearts.

The girl was named Shiva, and she was the only daughter of a knight who did then serve the Good King. With hair of moonspun silver and eyes the pale powder-blue of ice, with delicately thin fingers and gracefully curved ears, with a grand stature that would one day put the bridge of her nose at the level of the crown of many a man’s head as she looked down upon him with disdain, she was enchanting from her earliest days, a certain aura around her drawing the hapless in as they fell victim to the unholy aether surrounding a spirit that yearned to consume them whole. 

‘Her father is a good knight!’ cried the people in those first few years following her birth. ‘Mayhap in his servitude, he hath earned a blessing from the Fury, gifted unto his first and only babe. For his servitude, her father hath earned himself a space in the Fury’s Halls, and his daughter good fortune,’ cawed the mistaken as the child aged into a young woman, the taint of her soul not yet apparent. ‘In his sacrifice to protect the Good King, he hath instilled in his only daughter a strength of spirit, and she shall most surely follow in his footsteps when she doth come of age!’ did the blind yet insist when the girl’s father died and the base of Shiva’s treachery began to form. 

But the good people of Ishgard, the loyal followers of the Good King, knew naught how mistaken they were. They knew naught of the sins which the Temptress would commit, nor of the corruption that did stain her soul, nor the betrayal and overwhelming destruction which would follow in her wake. They knew naught of the death that would cling to her every step, beginning with her own mother lost in childbirth and spreading far beyond to the countless innocents whom her actions would condemn in the years hence.

For Shiva was no daughter of the Fury.

Shiva- with her hair of moonspun silver and eyes of icy blue, with her delicate fingers and long ears, with her unnatural height and unholy aura- was a Heretic of the highest degree. A wellspring of corruption, whose life and actions would seed her heresy throughout Ishgard over the course of her life; a nagging evil whose core could never truly be uprooted. 

Shiva was indeed the daughter of a man who did give his life for Good King Thordan. However, though most might take from such a noble sacrifice a lesson of servitude and humility, Shiva instead grew bitter and wicked. To sacrifice one’s life in the name of the King - and thus the name of the Fury - is the greatest of honors. It grants the deceased a place in Halone’s Halls. It is worthy. Yet Shiva, heretic as she was, did spurn Halone in her sinful life, and turned her back on the man for whom her father had died. On the Good King’s death she wrongfully swore her life not to the man for whom her father had died, but for the enemy who had slayed him. She swore not to Thordan, who sought only to follow the Fury and elevate their people, but to the wicked Dragons who sought to claim the Holy Land the Fury had given their people, cruelly and happily spilling the blood of a people who only sought peace and the ownership of that which they had rightfully been given.

Yet Shiva, wicked though she was, was gifted in many a thing. She held knowledge beyond her years- beyond her station- and used her wicked knowledge to sway the innocent and naive to her cause. The corruption of her spirit was so strong as to corrupt those around her, her aether winding its way ‘round the souls of the unknowing and dragging them into her sinful ways.

In the early days of her sinful plan, Shiva moved subtly. Whispered words and carefully spread parchments passed her word in the days in which she still hid, waiting for an opportune moment to pass judgment upon a people to whom she held no right of judgment. 

It was upon the Good King’s death that Shiva’s first heresy began to grow. 

It was in these days that she did reach out to Nidhogg, assisting him in his fights against Haldrath. It was in this time that she came to be the consort of an ally of the Dread Wyrm Nidhogg: the White Wyrm Hraesvelgr. They were of a kind, both bearing hearts of ice and a sickening malice unrivaled by any man. 

The Origin of Shiva - A 'Heretic' Account

…Or so the official Ishgardian lore documents the tale. But there are many faults with this story; first and foremost that Shiva lived and died well over a century before King Thordan was even a babe in his mother’s womb. Her death in the year 370 brought about an age of peace for Ishgard, yet the way the Orthodoxy tells it, one would think it brought only pain and chaos. Her father was no knight and her mother did not die in childbirth; rather, her father died while Shiva was but a babe, and her mother died in Shiva’s late adolescence from a wasting disease. Some tales also say Shiva had a brother, though his existence is highly debated, and completely absent in official Ishgardian accounts. 

Yet the tales did speak true of her beauty, though the details differ in the slightest. Her hair was indeed of moonspun silver, bright and silky enough to seem a snowy white in the morning light. Eyes of crystalline blue sat above an aquiline nose, her ears a perfectly average length and curve- though length might be treasured in elezen, there are no accounts of dragons having that particular proclivity, so she would not have needed such a feature to attract her beloved-, and fingers the calloused thing of a woman who put her hands to good use. She was on the taller side, yes, and of a height that put her equal with many men, but not amazingly so. 

It seems that over the years the tales of her stature and beauty were elevated, as if to explain away the reason for her popularity as being one born of attraction, not the righteousness of her cause or the intelligence and reason behind her words. But it was her cunning and intelligence and logic that won her her followers. It was her strength of spirit. Her devotion. Her skill. All things fought for and worked for and earned.  

Shiva did not have any sort of divine revelations, corrupt or nay. Whether she had what modern scholars would call the Echo is up to debate- but it is likely she did not, or if she did it would matter little given dragons bear the ability to translate their words themselves. 

What can be said is that Shiva was a kind woman, of warm and welcoming heart. She cared for her people - whether they agreed with her crusade or not - and fought for the salvation and prosperity of all who called Coerthas and Dravania home; man and dragon alike. 

Whether Shiva and Nidhogg met is unknown; some accounts claim that the black wyrm avoided her in his hatred of mankind and distaste for his brother's choice of lover, while others claim he met her once and never again for he found her wanting, while yet others, more common now in the wake of the great war's end, claim they saw each other often in the early days of that glorious society of allied wyrms and men that Shiva and Hraesvelgr fought so hard to create.

As of this time, official confirmation of any story has yet to have been received. Delegates to Dravania blessed enough to be received of the mighty Hraesvelgr's presence reported that any question of Shiva's actions, or personality, or mere presence are met with the coldest of gazes and the most impenetrable of hearts, a grief so potent that even the least aetherically-sensitive delegates feel cowed, stopping the discussion before it can be had. It is no surprise; for dragons the past is as the present, and the grief of a wyrm separated from his beloved due to the incompatibilities of their very lifespans can be neither understated nor properly described. 

What little is known of Shiva's life survives through the few tales spoken of by the White Wyrm's daughter Vidofnir and the precious documents and oral histories preserved by the descendants of Saint Shiva's allies in life. 

So- to counter the typical Ishgardian claims- a few facts must first be made known.

Saint Shiva was born sometime between the years 300 and 310 of the Sixth Astral Era, in the time when the elezen of Coerthas were largely a nomadic folk, the first major villages of the Highlands only having just begun to appear in the dawn of the then-newest Astral Era. Neither Thordan nor even the foundations of what would one day be the great city of Ishgard existed while she drew breath. 

Though the elezen and dragons fought at the outskirts of Dravania, their occasional skirmishes were far from what one would call war; especially in comparison to the true Dragonsong War which would not begin until Ratatoskr met her end at the hands of Thordan and his men two centuries later. 

Fighting did occur, yes, and it would be fair to call their spats a conflict, but it was not so organized as to deserve that particular designation of war. Elezen who ventured too far into Dravania would be picked off by the more territorial of wyrms, and occasionally bands of hunters ventured into the depths of Dravania to launch attacks as revenge. The occasional wyrm traveled to the edges of the Highlands, where it might attack an elezen if particularly hungry, or if scared or wounded, and these acts certainly earned the animosity of men. Men feared wyrms, and wyrms did not care much for men, but the relationship was similar to one between elezen and the other beasts in the area; for they knew not at that time the depths of intelligence the dragons held. Yet animosity and conflicts are not war, and thus, though there existed hatred between the two peoples, the gulf was not impassable, and was driven more by ignorance-driven fear than true hate.

But regardless of the relationship that existed ‘tween dragons and elezen prior to her activity- Shiva never lead any dragons against any men. She and those who agreed with her fought for a society in which man and dragon were equals; in which dragon and man could stand side-by-side without any fear of harm from the other; in which the two combined their strength for a society which flourished beyond the sum of that which could be accomplished were the two to work separately. Her successes can still be seen by any who visits the Western half of the Dravanian Forelands, or who ascends Sohm Al and sets their gaze out across the horizon. Though a thousand years have passed and a new Astral Era has come about, still do the monuments constructed in the Age of Alliance stand tall. The peace she won lasted a mere two centuries, yet the feats accomplished in that time persist even until today, even if time has worn many down. 

Shiva was an amazing figure. It is thanks to her that we elezen of Coerthas yet live, for if it were not for her love and her sacrifice, who is to say Ishgard would have prevailed against Nidhogg on the Steps of Faith were her love Hraesvelgr to not have arrived to aid us?

The tale of Shiva is one which should persist. There exists many a false history, propagated by the Orthodoxy in an attempt to stain her name and drive the unknowing to their corrupting arms. Yet we who know the truth will labor to ensure her legacy is not squandered. And so the truth will live on, as best as we are able to tell it.

First Encounter - Ishgardian Folklore

Shiva’s first sin was dishonesty. 

In the wake of Nidhogg’s defeat, his horde ran wild ‘cross the lands of Coerthas, the retreat of their leader sending them into a frenzy even as their sire laid low in fear of Haldrath’s might. The destruction wrought at the hands of the many lesser wyrms was nothing to be ignored, though it could not hope to match against that of their sire. 

Haldrath did all within his power to bring peace to Coerthas, and his accomplishments were grand and many. Yet Haldrath was only a single man. One whom no wyrm could hope to defeat, but who could not appear in all places at once. And so did the men of Ishgard take up arms to serve as instruments of Halone’s will in those lands where Haldrath’s spear could not at the time reach. For their wandering prince and the burgeoning nation he’d devoted his life for, they would give their all. 

With spears and swords and bows and  staves did they pursue their foes, striking wyrm from the sky and piercing hide that fell low. Yet many a dragon was an unfairly clever foe. And so while many threw themselves upon the knights’ spears with nary a thought for survival- only the bloodshed which their very being urged them wreak- others still had in them foresight enough to flee upon injury. In an echo of Haldrath’s March did good knights set out across the realm in pursuit of their foes, that no civilian be hurt by a fleeing wyrm and that their job be done. Most wyrms met a quick end as their injuries robbed them of strength and the good knights of Ishgard set blade and staff to deal the final blow, bringing peace to a countryside still mourning the loss of the Last King. 

Yet some wyrms survived- not because of their own intelligence- but through the guiles of the Temptress whose lies would see their pursuers misled and the dragons led safely home.

Such came to pass on a fine summer’s eve when the woman’s first sin was made known.

‘Twas the eve following a grand battle at Harrier’s Nest where a company of knights had brought many a wyvern to its end. Yet one managed to escape- injured, but alive- and so the company sent off a fledgling knight to see the fleeing foe lain low.

Thus did the good knight set forward, armor shining silver and spirit shining bright. He seemed in a hurry, for in a hurry he rightfully was; there was blood on his hauberk, a stain of ruby red, and a man who let dragon’s blood coat him for too long was a man who would soon be dead. For the blood of dragons is a taint too deep to name. And any who willfully wears it should be subject to greatest shame.

In the race of his pursuit, the good knight came upon a girl fair sweet and brave. For the dragon must have come toward her, yet still she stood unbothered in front of a cave. Her skirts swayed in the wind as she batted lashes long, and as he looked upon her, her corrupting aura told him she could do no wrong. If any had seen the direction his quarry had gone, it would surely have been her, for it had headed straight in her path and such a large beast could not have escaped unseen and unheard. 

So it was that to her he posed his ask: 

“Dear girl, have you seen any dragons? Any creatures large and scaled, oft winged, and horned, and exuding an evil air? 

“I am a man of Thordan- a servant of Halone- and it is my duty to stay their corruption ‘afore it makes itself known. 

“Dragons are terrible, dear girl, and they must not be suffered to live. Should you know aught of the dragon’s path, then this knowledge, I beg of you give.”

And the girl, her smile just a little too wide, answered with aplomb. And with her words a knight’s downfall would soon be sure to come. 

“Good ser knight I have not seen any dragons,” the girl did respond, “But should any cross my path, I would send word to you anon.”

And the good knight, though fair and brave and strong, made the mistake of taking her by her word, for her treachery had just begun, and of it he’d not yet heard. The good knight, in his honor, went on about his way, knowing not that the target of his search did in the cave yet lay. 

“Girl, why did you not answer him true?” asked the wyrm once the knight was gone. “Had you let him slay me, surely your family would be heaped with praise and treasure. I see no gain in a fair elezen such as you taking such a measure. Would you not reap better reward were you to leave and I to die?”

The girl laughed, ice-blue eyes sparkling with a knowledge so deep even the dragon was alarmed. “Oh, dear dragon, there is your first mistake! I’ve no family to earn reward, nor is there any treasure Thordan’s men could give me that I desire. For the last king hath stolen my father, and there is naught left that I hold dear. No, dear dragon, I desire only one thing- to strike Thordan’s knights and people down with fear.

“For that reason I thought to save you- you, who can see his men downed. So rest and recover dear dragon, and in doing so regain your strength. When you feel well enough to leave I will make my request. Then can we speak at length.”

So did the dragon come to be safe, hiding in the cave the girl guarded day and night. She brought it game from the forest, and asked of it all sorts of things. Where it had been born, what it thought of man’s strife; where it liked to hunt and fly, and how it felt to end a life. 

A sennight passed and another battle occurred. A pack of aevis had set upon a nearby village, and once again could the victory cries of the knights of Ishgard be heard. But the wyrms were many and one did run, and so was another long chase begun.

“Here, dear dragon!” did the girl call, when the dragon’s wounds had bled it enough it was made to fall. With strength unearthly did she run to the dragon and latch onto its hide, and with a ferocity enough to startle the beast did she drag it into the cave and place the wyrm at its brother's side. 

She ran to the river to wash the blood from her hands, and it was on her rush back that she and the pursuing knight came face to face. 

Smiling sweet, she turned to him, expression a blinding mask.

Unknowing of her history and deluded by her charm, it was to her the knight posed his ask.

“Dear girl, have you seen any dragons? Any creatures large and scaled, oft winged, and horned, and exuding an evil air? 

“I am a man of Thordan- a servant of Halone- and it is my duty to stay their corruption ‘afore it makes itself known. 

“Dragons are terrible, dear girl, and they must not be suffered to live. Should you know aught of the dragon’s path, then this knowledge, I beg of you give.”

“As a matter of fact, I did see a dragon!” the girl did respond, “See you the trail of blood that to the river leads? An aevis passed me as I went to gather water- I think it meant to flee. In my hurry to escape, sadly the current carried away my pail- I’ve naught to show for the fright it gave me, a disappointment for my travail.”

“Worry not, dear girl,” the knight assured her, confidence grown. “I shall follow the dragon’s path and soon shall its death be known!”

And so the good knight, though fair and brave and strong, made the mistake of taking her by her word, for her treachery had just begun, and of it he’d not yet heard. The good knight, in his honor, went on about his way, knowing not that the target of his search did in the cave yet lay. 

To the cave the girl returned, and in it two dragons lied. Two dragons who, through her efforts, had not done the world good and gone and died. 

“What desire you, girl?” did the wyvern ask. “What do you hope to gain from such a wicked task?”

“Exactly what I said before! Did your injury impact your ear?  I desire only one thing- to strike Thordan’s knights and people down with fear. 

“But worry not, dear dragon, I shall not leave you unrewarded for leaving me be. Just wait, my dearest dragon, and a reward you soon will see.”

And so did the girl return to the outside, and so did the dragons speak amongst themselves as they continued to wait and hide.

Another sennight passed and with it was another battle fought. And in its wake did the girl act again as further treachery was wrought.

Towards the cave came a vouivre, and in her victory did the girl already bask.

For not long after came a knight, and unknowing, did he ask:

“Dear girl, have you seen any dragons? Any creatures large and scaled, oft winged, and horned, and exuding an evil air? 

“I am a man of Thordan- a servant of Halone- and it is my duty to stay their corruption ‘afore it makes itself known. 

“Dragons are terrible, dear girl, and they must not be suffered to live. Should you know aught of the dragon’s path, then this knowledge, I beg of you give.”

“Indeed, I did see a dragon!” the wretched girl did cry, “Into the cave went the dragon- oh-so quickly did it fly. Go on, look inside dear knight, and kill it ‘afore it may heal. I fear if I get any closer I shall soon be its next meal!”

And so the good knight, with courage afire in his breast, did go into the deep darkness where he thought an injured dragon to rest.

But in the darkness of the cave he was not able to see- that the sole dragon he meant to slay was in fact dragons three.

A bell passed and three dragons did exit the cave. One fully healed, one mostly, and one not. Yet the hunger of all was sated, and with this was their loyalty bought.

“What desire you, fair maiden?” the wyvern did ask. “Your gift is well appreciated. For you, I will fulfill one task.”

The girl smiled, her bright smile impossibly wide. “Take me to Nidhogg’s aery, where your sire does now rest. I have a request to make, and only he can fulfill it best.”

So was the girl brought to wyrm, and an age of torment given a new source.

First Encounter - Shiva's Life as it Was

It had been a hard year. The fall harvest had had a poor yield, an uncommonly-cold few nights having flash-frozen the fields in a way some of the plants had been unable to harvest from, and a drawn-out conflict with a nearby dragon nest had left her village with fewer arms for the harvest and fewer hands to process it with. As winter crept in the hope for recovery dropped, the injured lain low by the way the morning frost sucked the strength from their very beings and the better-off drained by the increased workload left to them in their neighbors’ stead. 

Illness ran free through the village, brought in by the family of a man who’d married into the village some years before. Fevers snatched many of the uninjured in their claws, while phlegmy coughs suffocated those who insisted on going about their life anyway. The village’s only conjurer had been one of the first stricken. And though her life was not taken by her illness- as had happened to far too many for a single, terrible moon- she was left too weak to cast even the simplest of spells. As such, the only reprieve available for the villagers was that of herbs and broths and hand-crafted remedies. There was no other with the power to heal. Their only other spellcaster was a thaumaturge who’d lost a leg to infection after the last dragon attack, and even sealing a small cut was beyond their power. 

People were growing desperate. Many feared to leave their houses. More feared getting within a few yalms of another person, knowing naught about how the illness spread save that it seemed that any who breathed the corrupt air of the ill soon came down with the dreaded illness themselves.  

Shiva had been one of the first to fall ill. For the plague-bringer had been none other than the father of her brother’s wife, and it was in her own household that the illness first spread. For a miracle, she’d recovered swiftly. For a few days her breath had been stolen and her blood had run hot, but her throat stayed moist and her cough never grew to be more than a slight detriment to her daily life. She did not grow sick again after that. 

So it was that Shiva had taken it upon herself to aid those not well enough to aid themselves. For it would be shameful to do naught when she had the strength to aid others, and it was not in her soul to leave others to suffer when she bore even the slightest ability to ease what plagued them. 

Three weeks into the village plague, the chest of herbs kept in the apothecary lay bare. The number of afflicted far outpaced the rate at which the beds behind the apothecary grew comfrey, and Shiva and the few who joined her on her errands had picked the local fields clean.  Just as their standard crops had withered in the fall, so too had the wild plants nearby. There was naught left to be gathered.

That was- in the area the village claimed.

And so Shiva, determined to save all those within her power, put on her most sturdy boots and hiked up her skirts, as many bags strapped to her belts as she could carry and walking stick in hand. 

For though the village had exhausted all the wild herbs in their vicinity, Shiva knew they had not exhausted all in existence. One of the primary herbs they used was a vibrant violet shade that she’d seen in no other. It was a distinct shade, and one that was easy to spot from a distance.

Thus was she certain she’d seen it o’er the river by the fields’ edge. Growing heartily and in quantities far beyond that they needed.

So it was that she determined to claim some. She would let none suffer whom she could aid.

“Shiva, please!” her brother asked her when he caught her mid-departure, face distraught. “You know why none cross the river. The dragons will claw you down ‘ere you have a chance to scream.”

She shook his hand off. “Better death in action than watching my loved ones fade to oblivion around me.”

“You must reconsider,” he insisted. “If we lose you, who will help those still here?”

“You,” she said. “Your wife still needs you. She’s not yet recovered.” Her lips formed a tight line, done to still the tremble. “And having been so long, I fear she shall not if she does not receive additional aid. So let me go, brother. Let me help her and all the rest. Let me do my part.”

Her brother grit his teeth, but voiced no further opposition. Shiva had always been a stubborn woman, and he knew well which battles ‘gainst her were not worth fighting. “...At least bring your bow, that you might have a chance against any foe who might come.”

“...I shall,” Shiva acquiesced. 

Not that she would use it.

For her plan was twofold- first and foremost, to secure the herbs her people needed. But beyond that…

She would do no harm to the dragons. Not even if they charged.

For long had she dreamed of an alliance with them; of an end to the conflict between their two peoples and all the suffering it brought. What use was it to heal her people from their illness if they lost their lives not a moon later to a dragon who thought they’d encroached upon its land? The elezen of Coerthas couldn’t hope to eliminate the dragons. Their only chance for peace was through alliance. Not extermination. Besides- she’d heard tales of dragons who could talk! If they truly were intelligent creatures, was it not terrible to cut them down?

Such thoughts accompanied her on her journey across the river, made possible by a set of stones just tall enough to allow her passage. They accompanied her as she picked the bright violet herbs that were in fact what she thought. They accompanied her as she spotted a muted yellow further into the dragons’ territory, which upon examination turned out to be a second type of herb that the apothecary had also run out of- one meant for the staunching of wounds, not illness, but essential nonetheless. They accompanied her as she made her way back to the village without the yellow herbs, her satchels full but self unharmed and unbothered by any dragon or other creature that called the area home.

She spent the night processing the herbs. 

She returned to the yellow field the next day.

But on this day, as she approached the flowers, she found them stained by the brightest and purest of reds- the red of dragon blood. 

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze- and soon thereafter body, for she couldn’t not go- followed the trail to its source. And at the end of the path lay a wyrm with white scales and wings longer than she was tall, its breaths slow and heavy as its side leaked the precious lifeblood that had led her to it.

“Mortal,” the dragon growled. “Thou shouldst know well the limits of thy territory. Thou art not welcome here.”

“You’re hurt,” Shiva responded, ignoring the vitriol in the dragon’s voice. A voice which, though she tried not to show it, had startled her to her very core when words different than those the dragon spoke somehow projected themselves into her very mind. 

“Hast thou come to me to gloat? My wounds were not dealt by thy people- ‘twas a Bandersnatch whom, in my foolishness, I allowed too near.”

“Of course not!” Shiva insisted. “I’ve no conflict with you, and see no reason to celebrate your injury.”

She stepped nearer, trying to get a better look at the wound. The dragon bristled. 

“Canst thou not let me die in peace? I’ve naught to offer you, girl. Leave ‘afore I call my brethren to do as to thee as the Bandersnatch has to me.”

She was almost close enough to touch the dragon. An idea formed in her head. “If you can call for them, why have you not done so already? Could they not aid you?”

The dragon snorted. The sound was so…mundane. Normal. Full of amusement and bitterness both, in the way Shiva had heard from her own friends and family a million times over. “How? Dragons do not possess healing magicks as thy people do. We survive on our own vitality- when that is spent, our lives then fade. I would not inflict the pain of witnessing mine end upon those dear to me. The wound has grown foul. They can do naught to purge it of its sickness.”

“Are there not any medicines you can use?”

The dragon’s face twitched in a way reminiscent of a raised brow. “...Medicines? I know not of what you speak.”

“Concoctions made to aid in the healing process, formed of herbs and other plants. That’s why I’m here- my village has run out, and the flowers I’ve gathered-” she pulled out a handful to show the dragon, “-can be used to create it. Do dragons not have something similar?”

“No,” the dragon answered plainly.

Shiva bit her lip. Suddenly, an avenue to alliance had presented itself to her. “Then I shall make you some, that you might live to see your brethren another day.”

A snort. “And wherefore should I trust thee?”

“You’re already dying. What have you to lose?”

It cocked its head to the side, wary. “...Naught, I suppose. Give unto me thy medicine, and I shall be the judge of its efficacy.”

“I don’t have any on me now, but if you can wait a bell or so, I can use the flowers to make some more and return to slather it on your wound.”

“A…bell?” The dragon asked, head inclined.

Shiva stared at it. “A short while,” she responded carefully. How many other words did not translate?

It didn’t matter. The dragon sent her a nod, and Shiva ran on her way. When she returned a bell later she did as she said, the dragon hissing as she slathered the cream she’d made on its wound.

She dodged a swipe from the dragon’s wing with a wince. “Sorry, but I thought it best not to mention the sting in advance, lest you hesitate.”

“Vile woman. If this ‘medicine’ doth not aid me, thou shalt pay tenfold for the pain thou hast inflicted upon me.”

Shiva waved it off, unconcerned. “If you say so. Just give it a chance, will you? The effects are not instant, but it should begin to help soon.” She looked out to the mountains, where the sun was beginning to set. “I must return to my village before someone is sent looking for me, but I will return on the morrow to check on the wound.”

“Hmph. If thou dost not, know that I shall call my brethren to meet thee and thine ‘cross the river with all haste. In what way, I shall leave to thine imagination.”

Shiva nodded. Then, she left.

The dragon was still there when she returned for herb collection the next day. It did not speak as she gathered her herbs. It watched her in silence, occasionally shifting but otherwise leaving her be as she separated seed from pod. It huffed when she reapplied the poultice that evening, but did not swipe at her.

The next day she returned to much of the same. This time, about halfway through the day it asked her for more information on medicine, which she happily provided. 

The day after was much of the same- save that this time, Shiva asked of how dragons healed. The dragon seemed honored by her interest, and regaled her with tales of healing and battle alike.

By then she’d gathered enough herbs for her village, so she spent the daylight hours of the following sennight aiding those in her village, sneaking over the river by moonlight to check on the injured wyrm. Its wound continued to improve, the infection fading. One day she returned to find the wyrm gone. 

She found herself missing her companion. She hadn’t learned its name before it had departed, but she’d grown fond of its- of her voice, and the tales she had to share. 

Yet Shiva’s life was busy as she worked to aid her village, and so she could not dwell in her sadness overlong. As the weeks went by, life gradually returned to normal.

Until, that was, Shiva awoke one morning to find muted-yellow flowers strewn across the village. It was a grand mystery- the apothecary stated their stocks to be just as high as the day prior, and none claimed responsibility for the strange occurrence. It was as if the flowers had manifested all on their own.

Yet…suspicion grew in Shiva’s chest. For the flowers on their side of the river had yet to regrow, small buds popping up but the blooms nt yet spread, meaning the flowers must have come from across the way. From the territory of the dragons.

Once again she made a midnight crossing o’er the river path, and once again she was greeted with the sight of an injured dragon. This time, however, it was not alone. 

“Thou didst get my message,” the dragon from before greeted her as Shiva came up to her injured companion, a much smaller wyrm whose wings were even larger in place of missing forelegs. “Didst thou bring thy ‘medicine?’”

“I have,” Shiva breathed. She couldn’t believe her luck- believe the trust she’d earned.

“Worry not, young one. This woman hath proven her character,” the white dragon said as Shiva kneeled down at the other wyrm’s side to begin her treatment. 

“Hm. We shall see,” the dragon grumbled. 

“Yes, we shall…” Shiva whispered. 

The smaller wyrm was not the last that Shiva’s companion- Vidofnir, she said she was named- brought to her. Her brother worried over Shiva’s midnight excursions, but he never stopped her, only looked with a question in his gaze. 

Eventually, Vidofnir asked a simple question: “Is there aught I can do to repay thee?”

Finally, Shiva had the opportunity to voice a desire that had long since burned in her breast. “This alliance we have- I see no reason why it ought to stop between myself and those you know. If there is someone I could speak to about expanding it, might you bring me to them?”

Beyond her hope for an alliance there was also her fascination with dragons; the intelligence she’d observed in Vidofnir and her companions and the knowledge she’d gleaned from Vidofnir’s stories had her hungry for further encounters.

Vidofnir paused a moment, considering her request. Then, after nearly a minute of silence, she spoke: “My sire doth care little for men. Yet he hath grown curious of the source of my brethren’s unlikely recoveries, which until now I have withheld. Mayhap it is time for me to reveal it.”

Shiva’s eyes lit up. “Then you’ll…?”

“Dress warmly and return to me on the morrow. I shall take thee to where his lair doth lay.”

At that Shiva smiled wide. The chance had come. A grand opportunity shone brilliantly before her. 

Meeting Hraesvelgr - Ishgardian Folklore

‘Twas in the wake of the Good King’s death that the Temptress’ treachery began its steepest ascent, beginning with the wicked seduction of the White Wyrm. 

In return for the aid she’d given his children, Shiva was granted an audience with the Black Wyrm Nidhogg, to whom she threw herself in supplication, offering herself in body and soul. 

“Oh Lord Nidhogg,” the Temptress screeched, “I've come to offer my aid! For Thordan has wronged me, and I would accompany you in your quest.”

Yet foul as she was, she had not yet earned the Black Wyrm’s trust, so he gave unto her a task:

“Prove thy loyalty,” the Black Wyrm boomed, voice rumbling with the crackling fires that sat within his breast. “If thou dost truly wish to aid me, thou canst begin by thyself. Spread thy wickedness among thy people, and if I deem thee worthy, only then shall I consider offering thee a true place at my side.”

Wicked as she was, the Temptress accepted. For there was no foulness she thought below her, no misdeed she was unwilling to enact.

At that time the Four High Lords and the first Archbishop of the Holy See were hard at work building the nation the Good King had sacrificed his life to create. ‘Twas their duty to establish life in the Holy Land that Halone had led them to, and all labored hard to see it through. Already had the first stones of what would one day be Saint Reymanaud's Cathedral been lain, thought it would be years yet before its modern incarnation would be known. So too had the isle upon which Ishgard stands been freed from the vicious claws of wyrms, good men and women already settling down and living in accordance with the newly-penned Enchiridion and Halonic Code.

Yet their burgeoning peace would not last. For soon would the Temptress make her way towards the faithful, and in her wake would much unrest threaten the land that, were she of pure heart, could have been her own.

It began with poisoning.

The first time the knights grew ill, it was blamed upon a foul component of their group meal. None had perished, merely been sickened, and so it was not of great concern. ‘Twas unfortunate but otherwise not noteworthy. 

The second time the knights grew ill, it was blamed upon the cook. It was assumed they were either an enemy, or otherwise too incompetent to maintain such an honored position. 

By the third appearance of the illness an investigation was launched, after which it was discovered that someone had been tampering with the knights’ storehouse. Previously swept-away dead rats were noted as having perished after sneaking into the granary, and the locks on the back of the building had been cut. And, most damning of all, was the strange sigil carved into one of the storehouse walls. The sigil of Shiva, which they did not yet recognize, but would soon come to know and fear.

Yet why did Shiva sicken the knights, but not kill?

Because sick knights cannot fight, but dead knights invite more to replace them. Shiva, in her wicked intelligence, knew this well. She sought to cripple in subtlety. Once this treachery was discovered and the storehouse put under careful guard, she moved to another tactic.

The winter that followed was cold. Many risked freezing in their temporary shelters, the city not old enough to have built the grand manors and monuments that would one day serve as the heart of Ishgard. Knowing this, the Church set to aiding those faithful who needed aid, giving blankets and nourishment to the faithful on the morning of Lightsday services that they might have the strength to see Halone’s crown jewel built. Yet their plan for aid was ruined by a fire to the storehouse one winter’s eve, the blaze burning so quickly and so intensely that there was naught any could do to save those resources they’d set aside. And in the light of the fire was the sigil of Shiva carved into the nearby stone well visible for all to see.

Again did none die, but death was not needed to further the Tempress’ goals- for her goal was suffering; the slow whittling away of her people’s hope and livelihoods. For the moment, at least. She would save death for her master- for the Black Wyrm- like a farmhand preparing animals for slaughter that the butcher might have his way. 

Such destruction tested the faith of those who called Ishgard home, frightened by the tragedies which had occurred. Hope dimmed. Fear grew. 

Yet Halone would never abandon Her people, nor the Church Her flock, and so life continued on. They would not be cowed by Her enemy. Knowing their Goddess would not allow evil to triumph, they continued on.

Seeing this, Shiva set about a new phase of her plan: corruption.

Flyers with her sigil began to appear around the city, promising reward and such niceties as could not possibly exist to those who foreswore Halone in favor of a false deity- none other than the profane Shiva herself. They claimed the suffering the people had recently endured to be a sign that Halone did not protect them, that She was not all powerful as we know Her to be, that if the people sought salvation, it was not to be found in the bosom of the Church and the High Houses which supported her. Baseless claims- for had Halone not protected Her people, then they would not have all survived Shiva’s attempts at sabotage- but for those who had not attended the weekly services in which the Fury’s blessings and miracles were made known, the words seemed unfortunately plausible.

It was then that the Temptress made her first appearance within Ishgard to spout false drivel meant to sway those good-hearted people away from Halone and toward herself. A false prophet, Shiva’s words failed to sway most. Yet the weak hearted had not the experience to see her faults. Thus when she began to speak of an alternate religion, urging people to abandon the Church that she claimed could not help them and the Goddess she claimed could not save them in favor of the dragons whose strength they had witnessed time and time again- nevermind that it was in the slaughter of their own people- some desperate few began to believe her. For those who had not shielded their souls with the words of the Fury, Shiva’s unholy aura was enough to corrupt them, her foul magicks bringing them under her sway and making them see false reason in words any well man would see as naught but contemptible.

Her seeds sown, the Temptress returned unto Nidhogg’s lair. 

“See you what I have accomplished in your name?” Shiva asked from her place at Nidhogg’s feet. “The damage I have done and the doubt I have spread?”

The Black Wyrm snorted, his dark heart skipping in amusement at the desperation of man. For there was naught man could do that could truly please so evil a being such as he- nothing one could do to earn true approval or praise such as that which Halone bestowed upon her faithful- and in the betrayal of her people, she’d won little. 

Yet the Black Wyrm reveled in the corruption of men, and saw fair chance to further it. So it was that he spoke:

“Yes,” the Black Wyrm growled, regarding the thing at his feet. “But I’ve no room for humans at my side.

“Instead, I shall gift thee unto mine aid, Hraesvelgr. Long hath he been lonely. If thou wishest to be of service, then thou canst offer thyself in supplication to him instead.”

And Shiva, in her wretchedness, looked upon the White Wyrm who lay at Nidhogg’s side with a wicked smile.

“Yes,” she hissed, approaching the beast. “I would like that very much.”

And it was there that the most ungodly of all sins was born- upon which the apostate who would lay with dragons met her match. 

Meeting Hraesvelgr - Shiva's Life as it Was

Though Vidofnir had offered to fly Shiva from their meeting place to Hraesvelgr’s home, she declined the offer in favor of ascending the mountain herself. Sohm Al, Vidofnir named it. Her nest lay in the caves at its foot. 

“Do you not get flooded out by the rain with such an open entrance?” Shiva asked, wary of the few dragons who looked at her with confusion clear enough to come across even their foreign features.

“Some,” Vidofnir replied, her steps slow as to not outpace her companion. “But it is better than no shelter at all. Thy people care far more about such things than we.”

“Why not make a door? Or build something more…” she made the shape of a box with her hands. “Secure.”

“Build? We have built as much as we care to. There is little else to be built.”

Shiva huffed. “I disagree….”

Vidofnir hummed. “And what, pray tell, shouldst my people do with our fangs and claws much larger than thine?”

“Mayhap if our peoples worked together, we could accomplish that which neither could alone. There are many accomplished artisans amongst the peoples of Coerthas, who’ve not built much for lack of a strong hand. Mayhap my people with their small hands could do the precise work, while your people with their strength and size could lift and place that which a dozen men might struggle to move.”

A snort from Vidofnir had Shiva’s cheeks turning redder than just the cold of the wind. “Thou speakest of wild dreams, child. Yet if there are those amongst thy people who think and act as thou dost, mayhap it would be possible.”

The rest of their ascent was colored by discussions of what man and dragon could bring to a possible relationship, Vidofnir curious to hear of the many things Shiva had dreamed over the years, and Shiva excited to finally have someone from the other side to speak to. Their conversation continued over the high winds, shouted by Shiva and projected by Vidofnir, until silence finally claimed the former at the sight before her.

Shiva found herself breathless upon reaching the peak of Sohm Al. Not because of the exertion of the climb- or not solely, as the air was thin and such exercise would leave anyone winded- but because of the view. 

Where she’d anticipated to see a standard mountaintop, she was instead greeted with dozens of interconnected floating islands. The fauna was not any she was familiar with, giant dandelion-like trees swaying in the wind over short grasses that seemed more like moss clinging to rocky outcropping. Silver trees spread sparsely across the area, their twisted, tangled roots burrowed so deep they hung freely on the underside of the islands they populated. More mesmerizing than the fauna was the flashing produced by the sunset filtering through the giant, glimmering masses of crystals that clung to a few of the islands, the variety in hue and shape capturing the light in a way reminiscent of stained glass.

The sight felt almost holy.

But beyond that- beyond the unbelievable landscape, beyond the unfamiliar plants and the awe-inspiring crystal- were the dragons. 

A trio some quarter-malm away flitted through the sky, diving and darting forth and swooping back as if playing a game of tag. Another lay on top one of the closer masses, a red wyrm roughly the size of Vidofnir whose spikes glowed in a pulse matching their breath as they seemed to peacefully slumber. Far in the distance were a series of dots that Shiva would’ve first assumed to be birds in any other case, flying in such a way it reminded her of a dance. On the next landmass were wingless, serpentine creatures with barbs enough to pierce even just her arm a thousand times over, their bodies oscillating with a strange grace she could not hope to match. Around them balls of lightning bobbed as if lures in a lake, occasionally drifting back and forth as if searching for something- sprites, Shiva thought, though she’d only seen those of wind and earth until her ascent. 

“Shiva,”  Vidofnir called, breaking the spell that had come over Shiva, “The aether hath begun to churn. Soon shall the lightning storms be upon us, and I worry for thee shouldst thou be caught in one. I have allowed thee to walk with thine own power until now, but I insist thou dost allow me bear you hence. ‘Twould not do to allow any harm to come to my benefactor.”

Shiva looked up to the sky. There were a few clouds, but they were light and didn’t engulf the sky by any means. Were she home, she’d have called Vidofnir’s statement unnecessary anxiety. Yet this was not her home, and Vidofnir had referred not to a sign in the sky that Shiva used for her weather predictions, but to a sign in the very aether. 

Shiva was an archer, not a mage. Her awareness of aether was next to none.

Thus she acquiesced to Vidofnir’s demand. 

“How would you take me?” 

“Upon my back. I have seen thy people mount chocobos. It does not appear very difficult.”

Shiva snorted as she approached Vidofnir, looking for a good place to put her foot to hop on. “You say so only because you’ve never tried it. Flighty creatures they are, and it takes a good deal of strength to ride for long periods. The first time I rode one ended with my thighs feeling like jelly.” Vidofnir shifted one of her wings, allowing Shiva to step as gently as she could on Vidofnir’s foreleg to vault onto the dragon’s back.

“Jelly?” Vidofnir shifted, but voiced no complaint. 

Shiva wrapped her arms around Vidofnir’s neck, trying to stabilize herself. She had neither saddle nor reins as she was used to. “An elezen delight, formed of fruits and sugar. I can bring you some next we meet if you would like to try some.” For there would be a next time. Shiva would succeed. Surely.

Vidofnir hummed. “If it is anywhere as good as thy medicine, I think I would like that very much.”

Before Shiva could voice her reply Vidofnir burst into the skies with a surge of power, the abrupt motion stealing Shiva’s breath away.

She clung tight to her companion, urging her heartbeat to slow as the two began to cross chasms so wide that, were Shiva to fall, it would probably take at least a good minute before she hit the ground.

“The winds are strong, today,”  Vidofnir noted, the resonance of her voice carrying over the wind that whipped harshly about them thanks to her speed. “My sire doth like to hunt in such weather. But he hath most like returned to his Aery with the approaching storm, so it us unto that place I shall bear thee.”

As the two flew forth the sky turned dark, a shade reminiscent of cobalt engulfing the sky. Shiva could feel the static cling to her as lightning danced across the heavens, clouds growing heavy and air growing thick. Vidofnir expertly flew through the clouds around them, lightning never once touching them despite a few close calls. It was mesmerizing. Enchanting. Wonderful.

After Shiva dismounted on a floating island higher than she’d ever been, Vidofnir let out a loud roar.

Less than a minute later, a dragon far larger than Shiva had ever imagined touched down before her. 

He was white, as his daughter was, but where Vidofnir was covered head to toe in scales, this new wyrm was of a softer sort; his wings were covered in brilliant plumage while his nape and spine bore rough fur. His four curved horns could’ve speared Shiva right through should the wyrm wish it; as he lowered his head to examine her, she realized she was barely taller than his snout.

Beyond his imposing size was the impact of his sheer presence. Shiva did not have words for the power he exuded; ‘twas unlike anything she’d ever experienced. When he looked at her, he seemed to gaze into her very soul.

When he spoke, she felt almost certain he was peering into the deepest depths of her mind.

“Thou art the woman who hast healed mine offspring?” he asked, the vibrations from his voice echoing through every inch of Shiva’s flesh. Where Vidofnir’s voice had once rattled her, this wyrm’s words shook her to her very core.

“I am,” she answered. She stood tall. She would not be intimidated by this creature. She was stronger than that.

“Thou art the one who doth wish for an alliance between thy kin and mine?”

“I am.”

“What dost thou callest thyself, child?”

“Shiva, my lord. And you?”

The wyrm huffed. “My people do not use such titles. I am called Hraesvelgr. I know not whether to call thee brave or foolish for visiting mine aery, where I could smite thee in an instant without opposition if I did decide I cared not for thy presence.”

Shiva continued on, heart steeled. “Vidofnir said she is your child, and she has treated me well. She did not harm me when she could have, and she has listened to my requests. ‘Twould make you a poor father to discount her attempts at friendship.”

“Ha!” Hraselveglr snorted, throwing his head back with such force Shiva had to adjust her stance to keep from falling over. Even his regular movements were strong enough to stir the air. “Mayhap I shouldst call thee bold, to so brazenly insult one of the First Brood with no weapons to defend thyself.”

“‘Tis no insult if you do not commit a discounting act,” Shiva countered. “‘Twas simply a remark, which I’ve yet to see you attempt to disprove.”

“Thou art as an ant before me. If I consumed thee now, or mayhap after graciously entertaining your first plea, my maw well large enough to crush thee in a single bite, wouldst thou regret thy boldness?”

“No. Because in coming here, I have seen sights far beyond my imagination, and caught glimpse of a better world I would never have otherwise seen. You do not intimidate me, Hraesvelgr. Threatening me will not make me give any ground.”

“Thou needest not lie, Shiva. I can smell the sweat upon thy person; hear the racing of thine heart. Though I must admit I do admire thy courage. ‘Tis more than I expected from thy kind.” He brought his head down, eye level with Shiva’s head. “Vidofnir hath relayed thy conversations, yet I would hear of thy desires from thine own lips. Tell me, child, of the outrageous dream thou dost hold so dear. I would hear it, even if only as momentary entertainment in the face of an impossible wish.” 

Shiva took a deep breath, centering herself. As calm washed over her body her determination soared, and the courage Hraesvelgr spoke of multiplied tenfold.

She laid a hand on the great creature's snout, and with a fire in her breast, she began to speak-

The Great Frost - Ishgardian Orthodoxy Records

In the year 553, Shiva brought forth a most abhorrent catastrophe; an unforgivable loss of life made all the worse by her abuse of the realm over which the Great Fury does preside:

The blighted night of the Great Frost. 

Long had the Temptress toiled to bring the faithful to her cause, holding rallies in villages not yet connected to the burgeoning See and not yet protected by the good Temple Knights who might have cut her down ‘afore the sinful words left her lips, her words weaving her magicks ‘round their unguarded souls that she might bring them under her sway. Yet though the See had not yet the men to protect each hamlet of Coerthas, the Archbishop Thibault I knew well of the Temptress’ attempts to convert the unknowing to her wretched ways, and sent his missionaries across the land, that the peoples of Coerthas might learn the ways of the Fury and protect themselves from the unfaithful such as the deceitful Temptress. The good missionaries spread warning of the Temptress’ lies, exposing her as the false prophet that she was and guiding the ignorant towards the true salvation that only the Fury might offer. 

So it was that Shiva soon found her recruitment waning, knowledge of the Fury and most importantly the people’s new practices of the Orthodoxy shielding those innocent people from the evil magicks the Temptress did like to employ. Her failures enraged her, malcontent at the falsity of her words and the mendacity of her person being made known.  

So it was that the Temptress made her decision: If she could not corrupt the people to join her, she would instead cast them down, their deaths preferable to their disdain.

So it was that the wretched Shiva did twist the power of their Goddess, their Fury, the Great Halone, for her own foul deeds, as if to say she was a Goddess herself. 

So it was that she brought forth a Great Frost which devoured the Western Highlands, destroying the villages of Fir’s Grove, Roaringale, and Milfort, and consuming malms of fields and forests surrounding them. 

By the Grace of Fury this detestable perversion of the Her element did not last, for soon after Shiva’s ice did cover the land, the Fury Herself intervened and destroyed it. She would not allow Her own element to be used ‘gainst Her people like so. Yet the damage had been done, lives lost and crops ravaged to uselessness, and for this, the people suffered.

And Shiva, wretched Shiva, did revel in the people’s suffering. As did she use this monstrous demonstration of her unholy power to sway more to her side. 

Look upon me! the Temptress did cry. Look upon me and witness my power! Thy putrid Goddess means nothing before a true Saint such as I! Those who do not agree with me shall find themselves struck down, those who curse me maimed, and those who do look for my head summarily executed. 

Many a knight was sent after the Temptress, sword and shield and lance and bow at the ready. With fire in their breasts and the grace of Halone in their hearts did they pursue her, cutting down legions of heretics and former friends who had been caught in the Temptress’ foul aura and were unable to escape. 

Yet the Temptress, unholy though her power was, was bathed in it, and from this incident did she once more make her escape. 

By the grace of the Fury were only few of the faithful lost, but Shiva’s capture would be forwarded to another day.

The Great Frost - Shiva's Life as it Was

Shiva and Hraesvelgr met many times over the moons following their first encounter, with Shiva most often visiting him atop Sohm Al, though on a few occasions he descended the mountain to meet somewhere that would not take up nearly so much of Shiva’s time. She still had her duties within the village, while Hraesvelgr’s days went according to whichever whims captured him that morn. 

Hraesvelgr began to see merit in Shiva’s ideas, speaking of them to his children while Shiva worked to convince the people of her village to see the light as well. 

And in the midst of it all, a few years after the day on which they first set eyes upon each other, their mutual respect and admiration turned to love.

What was once an alliance for a people became an unbreakable bond for a pair. Still did they care for their people, and still did they put forth much effort to not only aid, but ally, their respective peoples, but their work was newly for so much more. 

Hraesvelgr’s job was the far easier of the two; should he wish it, he could simply compel them to follow, though instead he spoke as a father to children whose paternal loyalty far outstripped that of the elezen Shiva knew. 

Shiva’s acquaintances were far more wary of allying with the dragons. A single dragon could kill a score of men without trouble, while oftentimes a single man couldn’t take down even a wyrmling if said wyrmling was prepared for the attack.

Thus Shiva’s work was far more arduous and lengthy, begun with speeches and amplified by the occasional show of gratitude or aid from some of the smaller, less-barbed dragons which did not instill as much fear as the gargantuan Hraesvelgr or the spined brobinyak that numbered amongst the wyrms. Some of the dragons brought offerings of food, large animals the elezen struggled to catch dropped at the village outskirts for Shiva’s people to claim. When a landslide covered one of the main paths to a nearby settlement with boulders, a trio of wyverns helped clear the path. When a hunting party was lost in the woods, several voiuvre soared across the region until the party was located and help could be delivered. 

The ways in which the dragons aided men were numerous. The ways in which men aided dragons were far fewer. Hraesvelgr held an authority that Shiva- a simple villager, even if respected- did not yet command. Yet with work from both did more and more men begin to see a possibility for an alliance with the dragons, even if the majority still clung to the fear which they had been raised on.

The incident which won the most support- until Shiva’s death, which none yet foresaw- was known as the Great Frost.

Some twelve years into Shiva and Hraesvelgr’s alliance, a wildfire the intensity and scale of which Coerthas had never before seen in the Elezen’s time there raged across the land. Swathes of land were devoured by the flames, golden-green fields made red, then ash-gray by the blaze that consumed them. When the flames reached the firs of the forests that separated them from the great pastel trees that marked the Forelands, the residents of Western Coerthas consigned themselves to an approaching reality in which all was lost and they would be forced to evacuate, watch their homes burn, and attempt to rebuild with supplies which they did not know the source of, seeing as the hearty trees form which they typically built their homes were soon to burn as well.

Yet this reality did not come to pass. These fears, though not irrational, and though not fully avoided, were not made fully manifest.

For before the flames reached the forest which would spread them to the cropping of villages that lie within and around its borders, salvation came in the form of a Great Wyrm.

Shiva, having realized the fire had far outgrown any which the village elders had seen and any their histories had records of, had left her village while her fields burned to make for Anyx Trine. Upon arriving she told Vidofnir of how the fire raged, and what it meant for her people. To dragons, a few dozen years of rebuilding was a minor inconvenience. They who did not construct abodes of wood and who could fly to greener pastures did not feel the same fear men did upon the fire’s spread. 

But Vidofnir could feel the fear emanating from Shiva, and so she sped with her father’s favored upon her back to reach the one who Shiva wished to see most.

“Oh love, I beg of you, lend us your breath,” Shiva said to Hraesvelgr once the two were together again. “Tragedy has reared its head, and its strength shall only increase if naught is done. The flames threaten to consume everything my people have worked for. Already have they consumed much of what we have. Our mages do not have the power to stop the flames’ advance, but your magic is far stronger than theirs, and a cast from above could do far more than any effort they can put forth on the ground. Please, my love, help us. Please.”

Hraesvelgr snorted, putting his head low that Shiva might take his cheek in her hands. “Thou needst not beg of me this aid- I would give thee any and all within my power with but a single word. Thou hast captured my heart, and with it, my power is thine. Lead me unto the place of this tragedy of which you speak. I shall see it meet its end.”

“Thank you,” Shiva told him, resting her head against his. Then she mounted him, climbing up his neck and resting in the soft fur of his mane as she clung fast for a trip that would steal the breath from the most experienced rider.

The two sped down to the Western Highlands, Hrasevelgr heading first for the villages, that he might create a wall of ice to prevent the fires’ spread. Shiva had already told her people to evacuate, urging them to make their way south while she gathered aid. On her first flight with Vidofnir she’d bade the dragon to recruit her brethren to search for those lost in the flames and fly those able to hold on to them, and as Shiva and Hraesvelgr approached, she could see scaled forms in the skies before them that meant her request had been fulfilled. 

They flew through the night, Shiva guiding Hraesvelgr to those places she thought most needed to be frozen first and Hraesvelgr breathing down ice to quench the flames as best he could. The heat of the flames melted some of the ice, but it was of no consequence. The water would in turn put the flames out. What ice was left once the flames died would melt in but a few days at most. 

The actions of Shiva and Hraesvelgr saved the land, sparing many villages complete destruction and countless villagers a grisly end. Some crops and homes and trees were lost, yes, but had the two not intervened, the destruction would’ve been far, far worse.

So it was that the Great Fire was stopped and the Great Frost emerged; land once aflame made freezing by the breath of a Great Wyrm, and land ready to burn frozen ‘afore it could catch by the power of one so enamored by his love that he would see the world encased in ice if only to see her smile. 

Death of a Sinner - Ishgardian Orthodoxy Records

Long did Shiva sow the seeds of discourse in Ishgard, whether through a twisted tongue or cruel misdeeds. Two score and five summers did her reign of terror last, until Halone, seeing her people were yet grieving in the face of their lost King, and realizing they were in need of aid during the advent of the unending war that Nidhogg would inflict upon them, did at last thrust her spear to cut the Temptress’ life short. 

Though elezen of that age oft lived to a century when not cast down by plague or pain, the Temptress did not see past her sixty-third winter. For in the cold of the winter's embrace, Halone sent a rot upon the chill which Shiva, in her rash courage, thought beneath her. Shiva, who thought herself the true Mistress of Ice, did not fear the cold. Yet the cold was never hers to rule. It was the element of the Fury, and the Fury would not for a second longer tolerate an imposter who threatened Her people. So, in a winter whose chill permeated Coerthas and Ishgard as none had before, Shiva fell ill. 

The rot caught in her lungs, draining the strength from Shiva moon by moon, until she was hardly more than a husk. Yet the Temptress clung to life even as her body wasted away, the foul magicks she employed to corrupt innocent men directed instead within herself, stealing their energy that their life might sustain her own, however pitiful it was. 

Some say Shiva simply wasted away, never to be seen again. That the rot ate at her until she perished where she lay.

Yet it is well known to those in the higher ranks of the clergy that Shiva's death was much more active; that Halone, having weakened Her enemy, did send down Her Spears to smite Shiva when she scrambled out of her hideaway to beg aid of those she had turned her back on. 

“Wicked Temptress,” the Fury did say, standing before the sinner on her final day, “Thy deeds have been cruel, thy methods crueler, and no longer by those can I abide. 

“My faithful have endured much in these great founding years, and by thy hand have they endured the worst. Yet despite the hardships and travails they have faced, they have yet always put me first. To them I shall bestow a gift- the gift of your life's end. There exists little hope for one who proclaims herself a wyrm’s friend.

“Yet I am a Goddess fair, so I shall grant thee one last chance: Repent, Sinner, Temptress Foul. Denounce thine allegiance to the wyrms, and those atrocities which thou hast committed ‘gainst the See, and mayhap I shall find within myself a shred of blessed mercy. But shouldst thou hold fast unto thy wicked deeds- shouldst thou yet claim thy deeds as fair- thou shalt be punished for eternity, for thy utter lack of care.”

“Hark!” Cried Shiva, her smile dark and turned, “Listen to this so-called Goddess cry! You think you hold power over me? I, who can do all you can and more? Mover of Glaciers you are called. Yet look around you- the ice answers to me! I am the Goddess these people should worship; ‘Tis I and the Wyrms whom I have bonded that shall bring this land to heel. 

“Thordan and his people shall pay for their crimes, forgotten though they seem! And never shall I rest until my victory does brightly gleam. Their deaths will do me nicely; their heads soon shall roll. I think it shall sound quite very nice when the death bells begin to toll.”

Shiva threw back her head and let out a wicked cry, magicks building in wrinkled palms and illuminating the sky. In her folly she thought herself above the Fury, and made to cast a spell. 

Yet ever was and ever will the Fury be supreme, and no ice answered Shiva’s call. She stood and she gaped as her magicks did then stall. ‘Twas her blind greed and doubt of the Fury that brought about her fall. Halone, having offered mercy and received only disdain, brought down upon the Temptress a cold, silver rain. Her spears struck Her enemy true- so quickly did Shiva fall. And the wyrms, heartless beings they were, never came to answer Shiva’s dying call.  

Thus, Shiva’s life was cut short by her own sinful pride, and none cared to mourn her, as only one was saddened when she died. 

For though they did not help her, still of her death the wyrms did hear. And the White Wyrm, his lover lost, was himself lost in grief, wasting away day by day until he, too, left this world.

‘Twas the only good deed the vile, wicked Temptress ever did perform; ridding the world of a wyrm who would no longer take the great Ishgard by storm.  

Yet even with his brother's death Nidhogg did not think to cease his war, and the plague of Shiva’s existence has ever been to Ishgard as an open sore. 

Death of a Saint - Shiva's Life as it Was

It was on the thirty-second anniversary of her mother's death that Shiva finally acknowledged the fate that had come to claim her.

“Vidofnir,” Shiva began, speaking to the dragon who had come to bring her back to Zenith after Shiva's latest round of peace talks with the various peoples of Coerthas, “if you knew that death had come to take you, would you tell your loved ones of death's swift approach, that they might be more prepared when the scythe falls? Or would you keep it a secret until the end, that you might spare them the pain of mourning your loss even before your time has come?”

Dragons did not make the same expressions as men did, the shapes of their faces and the way they expressed their emotions different than those of elezen, but Shiva did not need to see Vidofnir's face to sense the immediate unease that washed over the dragon.

“Why dost thou speak of such things? Thou art yet young. Do thy people not live for a century, meager as that may be to mine own?”  Vidofnir asked, her voice ringing through Shiva's mind where the wind carried the words away. Vidofnir had taken to speaking the common tongue in recent years, wishing to help bridge the gap with men, but she still used the magic tongue of dragons from time to time when its convenience proved too alluring.

“Because I-” Shiva's breath caught in her throat.

How was she to say it? How was she to tell her- well, Vidofnir wasn't her daughter-in-law, exactly, as Shiva and Hraesvelgr had never officially been wed, nor did she consider him a husband, more an eternal partner- but how was she to tell one so close to her that her already-comparably short life was to be even shorter? That the many things Hraesvelgr still wished to show her would likely never be done, for the years left to her were not nearly as numerous as they had planned for? 

“Because I shall not live for a century, much as I wish it were so.”

Vidofnir missed a beat of her wings, Shiva's stomach dropping out from her in a way worse than her dread had already accomplished. Vidofnir righted herself a heartbeat later.

“...This conversation is not one which I should take part in. Speak thy heart to my sire. Not I. It is not my place.”

‘Is it not your place, or does the topic upset you too much to bear?’ Shiva thought.

What she said was instead this: “Then you think it best to deliver unto him his grief in advance? That I not spare him even a few moons of mourning by allowing him to continue basking in what we have?”

Vidofnir hummed. “When we met, I told thee that I did not wish to call my brethren in my hour of injury, for I did not wish to inflict the pain of witnessing mine end upon those dear to me. To watch and know they could do naught seemed a cruel and horrible thing. 

“Yet in the time since, in seeing thee speak to thy short-lived brethren, I have come to realize there is good to be found in the final conversation. Closure, I have heard thy people name it.

“I would not deny this to my sire. Though it may pain thee to tell, and though I know he shall be pained to hear it, he doth deserve the knowledge nonetheless.”

“I see,” Shiva whispered.

The wind carried Shiva's voice far across the sky, the sound dispersed in the rushing air around them. She pulled her shawl tighter in that moment, the chill feeling all the deeper now that she'd finally accepted the inevitability of her coming end. 

For there was naught she could do. The illness that had claimed her mother had come for her too, and there was no medicine, no magic, no cure that could excise the rot from her flesh and bones. Slowly but surely the breath would be stolen from her- was already being stolen from her, had been growing shorter and shorter for moons if not years now, though she'd always excused it as a result of overextending herself in her active lifestyle- and she would grow weak, until she could no longer rise from bed, and eventually ceased to draw breath altogether.

It had not been a pleasant end to watch. 

Shiva feared wasting away, feared the worsening of the decline she was already on and the pain that would bring. But beyond that fear- stronger than the dread she felt facing the certainty of the slow death that was already beginning to eat at her- she could not bear the thought of making Hraesvelgr watch as she was robbed of her strength and spirit bit by bit until she was left as nothing more than a husk. 

Shiva's mother had insisted until the end that she was grateful for each and every day she had. That through the pain and the discomfort, the sight of her children, grown and doing well, and the love they gave her, was more than enough to make up for all that she had lost. She said that she was proud of them; that she loved them more than words or deeds could ever express. That, though she too mourned the years she would not experience, spending her final moments with her children brought her peace. 

One of her final requests had been that her children remembered her not as the frail, emaciated woman confined to her bed, but as the woman who used to traverse mountains with a child on her back and a smile. As the woman she truly was, before a rot she'd inherited from her own grandmother had settled deep in her bones.

And Shiva did. She always would. She kept the memory of her smiling, strong, happy mother near and dear to her heart. It hurt, having lost her, but Shiva had pressed on comforted by the memories of the happiness they had once shared

But Hraesvelgr?

Hraesvelgr was a dragon. And Shiva had come to learn that dragons did not experience time as men did, nor did their emotions come so easily or fade as quickly as men did.

If she wasted away until there was nothing left of her, she was certain that that was the image that would remain with Hraesvelgr. That the moons-long pain of watching her decline day by day until the last slip of life left her body would be what persisted in Hraesvelgr for centuries to come. She could say she was happy to spend her final moments at his side- and she was sure she would be!- but she feared that he would not be able to look past the decline to see it. That he would be haunted by the bad.

She could not burden him so. She did not want him to experience that pain. She did not want herself to be remembered that way.

So, when Vidofnir deposited her in Hraesvelgr's nest with a wish for good luck before a swift flight away, Shiva made her decision.

“My love,” she began, taking in a breath as the pressure in her breast- born not solely from the rot, but from her own mounting worries- threatened to silence her.

Hraesvelgr drew closer, pushing forth his muzzle that she might set a hand upon it. 

Shiva hesitated a moment. For some reason, the thought of touching him hurt. She wanted to be left alone. She did not want to speak of her troubles. She did not want to speak of the reality that was to come; for to speak of it with Hraesvelvr was to fully accept what was to come. Shiva had acknowledged the future, yes, but she had not yet truly accepted it.

But she had come here for a reason. Though her body may have been on the path to failing her, she would not have it be said that she was not strong of heart.

So, her love trembling with trepidation under her gloved hand, Shiva took a breath.

“I am dying,” she told him. Simple. Plain. To the point. She would drag this out no longer.

Hraesvelgr froze under her touch. “Beloved? What dost thou mean?”

“Exactly what I said. I am dying. I doubt I will see the next winter. Given my condition, even autumn may be a fanciful hope.”

“That cannot be!” Hraesvelvr roared, his voice- in this case his physical voice, the Dragonspeak she had been learning from him in the past few decades that she loved so much- echoing through her very bones.

Hraesvelgr began to tremble under her fingers again. This time, it was not of fear, but of rage; an emotion Shiva had only seen him bear a handful of times at most.

Her heart ached for him. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean-”

Hraesvelgr was quick to interrupt her before she could berate herself any more. It was not something Shiva often did- confident in her abilities and her self the majority of the time- but Hraevelgr had always been good at sensing her emotions and doing all in his power to comfort her. “The fault is not thine. ‘Tis not to thee that I direct mine ire, but the forces which hath made thee believe thine end is to come so soon.”

Shiva scoffed, “Made me believe it? This is not some…some anxious babbling! It is true. It is real. Certain. I told you of the illness that claimed my mother, of the rot which-”

Hraesvelgr made a choking noise, pulling back from Shiva so he could look upon her in full. “Thy mother's end need not be thine own-”

“But it will!” Shiva shouted. Her chest heaved, breaths short. Shorter than they should have been. The rot had already begun to settle in her lungs. But she took a deep breath anyway- as deep as she could, though not as deep as she may once have, and whispered once more, more a breath than anything. “But it will.”

She could see the pain already building in Hraesvelgr; the way his body tensed, the way the hairs of his mane stood on end, the way his feathers poked out and his body coiled like the serpents the stories so often likened the Great Wyrms to. 

“Thou art well gifted in thine art of medicine. Is there not some remedy thou couldst create?”

Shiva shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Not for this.”

“But how-” Hraesvelgr's voice broke, sorrow already clawing its way into his words. “How am I to continue without thee?”

Shiva stepped forward, reaching towards her love. He lowered his head, his maw resting in her outstretched hands once more.

“We knew this day would come eventually. It was inevitable.”

“But it is too soon.”

“We've had four wonderful decades together.”

“And four more should have been ours to enjoy-!”

“Yet they will not be.”

Hraesvelgr swallowed, the words stolen from him. He wasn't always particularly verbose, but few were the times Shiva had seen him so at a loss for words. Seeing him so pained hurt her. Yet she could not hide this from him. It would only pain them more were she to have kept quiet, she'd come to realize. The realization did little to ease the pain of the moment.

“But I am not dead yet. I cannot say for certain when the rot will claim me, but it will not be for some moons yet. We have time. Time enough to do at least a few more things, and watch at least a few more sunrises and sunsets together.” She smiled warmly, gazing out over the Churning Mists. “The view from here is just as breathtaking as it was all those years ago. We've stories aplenty of dragons hoarding riches, but before meeting you I hadn't realized picturesque vantage points were among them.”

Hraesvelgr rumbled. “Thou hast always had a most peculiar sense of humor.”

Shiva snorted. “I'm not trying to be funny! I'm being honest. It really is a beautiful view up here.” She leaned against him, Hraesvelgr having lowered his head as he spoke. “And I don't want my last few moons to be enveloped by sorrow. I do not want you to mourn me before I'm gone. I don't want to be remembered through a haze of pain and hopelessness.”

“I cannot say I shall not mourn thee once thou hast passed.”

“Mourning me once I'm dead and gone is fine. It's the advance mourning I don't want. I want to spend the time we have left together together, not with you distracted by thoughts of all the things we might not be able to do and how you'll miss me once I’m gone.”

“...Though our time together hath encompassed only a small portion of my life, no longer can I imagine a life without thee. A future without the ‘together’ of which thou speakest, once death hath stolen thou from me.”

She relaxed against him. “Stolen me, huh? I suppose.

Shiva took in a long breath. “…I don't know what happens after you die. The old faith says we are reincarnated into other beings, while the new faith says those who've lived honest lives go to the Halls of the Goddess, where Paradise awaits. In either case, I would be parted from you against my wishes.”

“I would not deny thee a chance at the happiness of either a second life or a ‘paradise’ by thy faith's words, for thou deservest all the happiness and good of this star and more. Yet all the same do I wish there were a way to keep thee close to me for eternity. For our souls to remain by one another in perpetuity.”

Shiva looked across the land once more. Wyrms went about their daily business, their forms pinpricks along the horizon.

“There may be a way.”

Hraevselge perked up. “Truly!?”

She bit her lip. “I cannot be certain it is something you’d want as well.”

“To keep thee by my side, I would do anything. I would raze the land and eliminate mine own people if shouldst thou only give the word.”

“Well it's a good thing for both our peoples I wouldn't dare ask for that!” Shiva replied with a short laugh. She was delaying it. Though it was a preferable death to the Other, it would be death nonetheless, and death was a terrifying thing.

Yet she had come so far, and no longer would she delay what needed to be said. “But in truth…I don’t want to spend an eternity without you in some paradise, nor for you to either be pained by the unending loss of my reincarnations if you do meet again, or the loneliness of watching my reincarnated self go with another. So I have a request: when this illness begins to truly claim me, when the rot has spread until the pain begins to grow unbearable and I hardly feel myself…consume me.”

Hraesvelgr froze beneath her ministrations once more.

Shiva continued, voice growing stronger, more sure. “Consume me and bring my soul into your own, holding it tight, that we might never be parted again, our souls entwined for eternity. For even if our respective lifespans have dictated I cannot spend eternity with you in the flesh, I would at least like to be with you in spirit. I would remain at your side in the only way I know how.”

“...”

“Please, Hraevelgr.”

“...”

“My love.”

“...”

“Please, at least respond!”

Hraesvelgr flared his wings. “...Thou hast asked of me a deed which I do not think myself able to perform. To murder thee, my very heart-”

“I am not asking you to kill me. I’m asking you to help me live.”  Shiva grabbed onto one of Hraesvelgr’s horns, pulling him close. Even were she not plagued by the weakness of the rot she wouldn’t have had anywhere near the strength required to move Hraesvelgr had he not wanted to be moved. But he was ever as putty under her hands, and so move he did. “This illness will claim me whether we want it to or not. I will die. My life’s flame will be extinguished. And I-” her voice broke. Shiva swallowed, trying to set it even. It worked somewhat. “I do not want to waste away. I saw what happened to my mother and I’m scared. Already my body aches and my lungs struggle to draw in breath when I come on high to visit you. My energy wanes far more quickly than it once did, and dizziness bites at me when I try to do the more active things I love. I don’t want my last moments to be in complete misery. If I must die, then I would have it be on my own terms. If I must die, then I would have you remember me as I am, not as a woman eaten by rot. I know you. I know that if I get to that point, that will be the woman you remember most strongly. Not the woman I’ve been all these years; the woman whose poor end you will never forget.

“So please, Hraesvelgr. You need not do it today. I’m not ready yet. There are still things we both could do. Will do.

“But in a few moons’ time, when the rot has progressed to the point I can no longer stand it and my death is soon to come regardless of your actions, I ask of you: consume me. Let our two souls come to be one. Let me remain at your side in the way I so dearly wish it could, but know cannot be. Please. Please.”

Hraesvelgr remained silent for a good few minutes, ruminating on her words. Shiva was no stranger to Hraesvelgr’s silences, well aware that their perception of time was not the same.

Yet this silence ate at her, so when he finally spoke, it brought her great relief.

“...Dearest Shiva. Thou hast asked much of me. To end thy life with mine own maw does not sound a pleasant death for thee, nor anything pleasant for myself. To do such a thing would weigh much on me.

“Yet ever have I been unable to refuse thee, and I can feel the truth in thy words, as well as the passion of thy spirit. And, though the end of thy life doth scare me well true, a future with thy soul entwined with my own is the best consolation I can see.”

He brought one of his wings forward then, petting Shiva with the soft feathers along the edge. It was a wonderful comfort. 

“So, in a few moons’ time, when thou hast weathered thine illness to thy wit’s- or thy desire’s- end, I shall do as thou now ask. 

“And in the years that come, always shall I remember the fire that was Shiva. The passion which hath lit mine heart aflame. The love which I have for thee, and thou hast for me in turn.

“My Shiva. My dear, sweet Shiva. My love. Always shall I treasure thee. Always shall I honor thy memory. Ask me anything, and I shall see it done.”

“Thank you, Hraesvelgr. And I love you. Now and forevermore.”

His wings enveloped her, enclosing the two in their private world.

So would the life of Shiva come to an end.

So would a love so great it held a wyrm’s heart through millenia approach the dawn of its final flesh-held days, though in spirit, as both desired, ever would it persist.