[quote][color=red][i][b]"Pawns follow oaths for their entire lives until they're slain. It's only when one of them realizes that those whom they fight for aren't worthy of commanding them, that they have a chance of becoming a queen."[/b][/i][/color][/quote]

Shivanfrir was, in essence, a model for all monstrous races during her time as a paladin. She had her missteps, sure, but she gave off the energy that those around her craved from the barbaric half-breeds. Charisma, bashfulness, humility and most important of all, being more than willing to follow any direction given to her. Oh, she battled valiantly against the foul beasts that they ordered her against, be it orc, goblin, troll or even a human. She'd wield her blade and cut them down with the ferocity of her draconic ancestors. Smite after smite after smite against whomever dared to deface the church's sacred earth with their simple existence. She'd even gotten to the point where she became a bit of a model soldier as well, with many fans and suitors.

However, the king had one final task for Shivanfrir to complete before she was able to have her name inscribed along other legends in the city's grand hall. One single feat to prove that she had undoubtedly purged herself of the savage nature of her blood and had become a pure soldier.

She was to slay a black dragon whom had plundered the livestock of the land for many years before, alone. And bring its head to the throne.

Of course, devout to finally ridding herself of her bothersome scales, Shivanfrir accepted. Holding a shining blade, she immediately headed out towards the dragon's lair, easily deposing of the troublesome mooks that laid in her wake. Confidently, she stomped through the foul swamp, her goddess' blessing shielding her from any taint that the corrupted beast could possibly unleash on her. Until, she took a good look at the creature she had sworn to slay. The wyrm that laid in the midst of the cavern was old and frail, his scales hung low with copious amounts of dead skin tainting his floor, his wings were riddled with huge gaps. Worst of all, was the slant-eyed look of mirth that it gave her, knowing exactly that he had no chance of fighting against such a warrior. It reminded the paladin most of her father... Shivanfrir approached the disease-riddled dragon, gleaming sword at her side, but the drake simply let out a small chuckle and ducked its head in surrender. [i]"You've grown so strong, little mutt. But know that the king gave me a handsome fee to slay your father as well."[/i]

It was just as she feared, just as her father was slain by a knight in his venerable years, she was to put this framed creature out of his misery too. What of her? If there came a point where she was useless to the kingdom, who was to say that there wouldn't be a blade to her skin as well? The half-dragoness, exhausted, confused and pent up with innate rage she'd been unable to express properly for years, let out a war cry of rage and tore the old dragon apart limb from limb. In an act of savagery, she even chose to tear out the old drake's innards and consume them as he shrieked in his death throes. The fullness of being pure escaped her skin, but it soon found itself replaced with a new vigor. A drive to cleave apart anyone whom she saw fit to die by her hands. The strength of the Insinuator.