Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 2: No Mercy for the Virtuous

The journey from Waterdeep to Tymanther had taken almost six months, but it would soon be drawing to a close. If the caravan pushed hard it could reach the capital of Djerad Thymar within a ten-day. However the journey along the road from the port city of Delzimmer had taken its toll. The horses were weary, and the people were even more so.

The caravan had decided to take a rest day before pushing forward to the Dragonborn capital. The horses had been unhooked from the carts and wagons and the fifty or so travellers had made camp a few hundred meters from the road in one of the few grassed areas bordering the Black Ash Plain. The caravan comprised mostly of humans and dwarves, with the odd elf here and there. As this was a working caravan all except one of the travellers were adults, working their way along the roadway.

Ellana was a rather precocious young girl of thirteen years. She had been brought along by her father Baroghan Dawnbearer, a Paladin of Lathander and the leader of the caravan, and her mother Elisya. They had wished to give her some experience of the world through this adventure, as up until now she had spent her entire life in the family home in Waterdeep. Her elder brother Saronten had already seen some of the land as a squire serving at his father’s side, and had no interest in joining them on this long and arduous journey. He had decided to stay in Waterdeep in the comfort of their estate.

Being the only child amongst dozens of working adults meant that it should have been a lonely journey for Ellana. Quite the contrary, she had found the trip quite stimulating. Ellana spent much of her time admiring the landscape alongside a seemingly gruff but kind-hearted Dwarf and long-time friend of Baroghan named Darak Shieldbreaker. Her close relationship with Darak had been something of a surprise for both of them.

Ellana had never spoken with a Dwarf before setting foot on the boat from Waterdeep, and within the first thirty seconds of meeting Darak she had trodden on his foot, yanked on his beared, knocked one of his axes into the sea, and called him ma’am. The two-hundred year old Dwarf had never really liked humans, and after going through this ordeal proceeded to berate the young girl for her ineptitude leading her to burst into tears.

Darak Shieldbreaker

By the end of that first day, Darak had apologised to Ellana and made amends for his actions. Ellana quickly forgave him, and the two became close friends over the course of the long journey across the seas. Being a seasoned adventurer, Darak had seen much of the world and delighted in regaling her with his stories, though he censored the more gruesome parts (more to appease Ellana’s parents than anything else). Despite his age he felt young in his heart whilst entertaining Ellana. After decades of persisting with a demeanour as rough as his beard it was a relief for him to open up to someone. Ellana likewise found it a relief as Darak was the first adult she knew that didn’t treat her like a child (most of the time).

The sun was high in the sky and Ellana was sitting high atop a wagon watching Darak dance enthusiastically to music being played by several Elven bards. As she laughed at his comical gyrations she noticed one of the caravan guards hurriedly make his way to her father, who was deep in conversation with several of the merchants in their convoy. Turning to see where the guard had come from she saw three indistinct figures on horseback had turned off the road towards them.

Within only a few breaths the strangers had arrived at the caravan and Ellana could identify them clearly. They were three Dragonborn who were members of a caravan which they had passed only the day before heading in the opposite direction. Baroghan met them as they dismounted along with Darak, whom Ellana had not notice extricated himself from the frivolities. The Dragonborn appeared injured, and Baroghan quickly called over one of the clerics travelling with the caravan to attend to them.

Giving in to her curiosity about the new arrivals, Ellana climbed down from her perch and made her way towards the group. Standing outside the group she could see that one of the Dragonborn had several broken arrow shafts protruding from his torso, a second was bleeding from a deep cut across his chest. The third Dragonborn, whom Ellana knew was named Meshkar, was conversing with Baroghan and at first appeared uninjured, though Ellana could see small amounts of blood dripping from beneath her hide armour.

“We were not prepared for their assault. I ordered everyone to flee once I realized they were too much for our guards.” Meshkar winced as one of the clerics attempted to check her for wounds. The proud Dragonborn pushed him away. “I don’t know how many got away.”

“Do you know who they were?” asked Baroghan.

“Yes” replied Meshkar. “They were Dragonborn wearing black leather armour. We have heard of them – they a savage clan that lives in the mountains on the other side of the plain.”

Baroghan looked ruefully at the group before speaking. “Rest here, I will take some of my guards and search for your people. If any of them still live, we will find them and bring them back here.”

“I will come with you” responded Meshkar.

Baroghan looked her up and down. Ellana could see he was weighing up his options. Dragonborn were notoriously stubborn, something they had learned only the day before. “Very well, but only if you let one of my clerics attend to that arrow wound.” Meshkar bowed her head before succumbing to the request.

Following Meshkar’s acquiescence, Ellana observed a flurry of activity. Within ten minutes Darak had organized a small party of guards and clerics that were to accompany Baroghan and Meshkar in the search for survivors. Her father had spent much of the time conversing with her as she sat on a log being attended to by one of the clerics.

After the cleric finished his work, Meshkar rose and made her way back towards her horse. As she did so, Baroghan turned towards where Ellana was still standing. Ellana did not realize that she had not moved from her position since her father had agreed to help their wounded guests, nor had she realized that her mother was standing beside her with her arm around her shoulder. She felt oddly nervous about the situation. Baroghan spoke softly and succinctly to Elisya.

“Darak will maintain the guard here. If we are not back by morning he has orders to carry on to Djerad Thymar without us.”

Elisya nodded curtly. She knew her husband well enough to not openly contest the point of leaving without him. “We will see you in the morning then.”

Baroghan knelt down to his daughter and smiled. “Keep your mother safe” he said softly.

Seeing her father’s smile Ellana felt at ease. “I will” she responded.

Baroghan cupped her cheek with his hand, making her smile. He rose to his feet, turned on his heel and made to join the company of humans, dwarves and Dragonborn making ready to depart. He mounted his steed and wordlessly set off, followed by the dozen or so compatriots.

Ellana had seen her father leave many times, often heading into unknown and dangerous situations, however her unease which had temporarily abated slowly returned. She averted her eyes from the scene as she feared watching him disappear into the horizon, possibly never to return.

The camp was solemn for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Occasionally the bards tried to lighten the mood with a song or two, but the tunes quickly evaporated into the cooling evening air. The tense atmosphere was not helped by the remaining guards, who kept a much closer watch than usual.

 As the sky grew darker and the evening drew in, Ellana came to sit by the camp fire with her mother. Outside the circle of light from the main fire the only things Ellana could only make out were the stars, the moon, and the ring of torches encircling the camp. Each torch moved slightly from side to side, indicating that they were being held by a guard rather than staked in the ground. After surveying them for some time Ellana looked back, deep into the heart of the warm blaze in front of her. She lost herself in the dancing flames, picturing them as the breath of a mighty dragon. As one of the burning logs crumbled into the coals she gave a shiver. Elisya noticed her daughters’ discomfort.

“Surely it’s not cold enough for you to be shivering?” remarked Elisya.

Ellana thought for a moment. The air had cooled over the course of the evening, but not enough for her to feel any level of discomfort. Coupled with the fact that she was sitting before a blazing fire, Ellana could not explain to herself why she had shivered so. With great effort she broke herself from the trance she found herself in and looked again around at the camp perimeter. It was then that Ellana noticed something peculiar.

She had noted before that each of the torches carried by the remaining guards moved back and forth as their bearers patrolled their area, however there was one torch that was no longer moving at all. She thought it may be a trick of the darkness but she also thought that it was sitting lower than the other lights, as though it had been stuck into the ground.

She was about to explain it away on the probability that the guard was relieving them self when she noticed a torch nearby to it extinguish into darkness. She waited, praying that it was just a coincidence that the torch had gone out and that the guard was trying to relight it, when the light of second torch, this time on the far side of the camp, vanished into darkness.

“Mum…” she said nervously.

“Yes, dear?” her mother replied.

“I think something has happened to…” Her words were interrupted by a painful scream, followed by several guttural roars. As the primal bellows permeated through her body Ellana felt a wave of fear wash over her, seemingly paralysing her. The following seconds turned into an eternity as her senses also seemed to fail. She did not even notice that her mother had grasped her around the waist and carried her bodily behind a nearby cart.

In her petrified state Ellana could not make out the words her mother was saying to her. Slowly the words became clearer, but their meaning still eluded her. It wasn’t until her field of vision became obscured by a bulky figure that she was able to break free of her torpid state.

Darak’s gruff voice addressed Elisya hurriedly. “The perimeter guards have fallen and we are outnumbered. We need to run.” Ellana looked up into his usually sparkling eyes and saw that they were dark and narrow. He held his broad Greataxe in his right hand, blood smeared across the blade. “You make for the trees, I’ll cover you.”

Elisya nodded. Once again she grabbed Ellana around the waist with her left arm whilst in her right hand, Ellana noticed, she was grasping one of Baroghan’s longswords. As they made to move away from the cart towards the trees two Dragonborns came around the near side.

With reflexes sharpened by decades of adventuring, Darak stepped around Elisya and Ellana and swung his axe at the first Dragonborn. Unready for his attack, the Dragonborn staggered backwards into his companion. His comrade however was more alert to the possibility of an attack and swiftly pulled his partner by the back of the neck behind himself, swinging his crude sword around with his opposite hand.

In a single fluid movement Darak parried the blow from the second Dragonborn with the butt of his axe’s handle, then followed through downwards with the direction of the sword’s swing so as to pin it to the ground in the crook of his axe’s blade. With the Dragonborn bent forwards Darak released his grip on the axe with his right hand and counter-attacked with an elbow into his foe’s rib cage.

The young Dragonborn was not prepared for this strike. He fell to his knees gasping as the air was forced from his lungs. A second blow from the dwarf to the back of the neck left him prone and unconscious.

The few seconds it took to disarm and incapacitate the Dragonborn was enough to allow Darak’s initial quarry to steady and respond. The first young Dragonborn leapt over his fallen brother and tackled the dwarf to the ground. The two’s weapons spilt from their hands as they disentangled themselves from each other. The Dragonborn rolled to his feet, crouching low so as to be at the same eye level as his Dwarven prey.

“Come at me ya’ filthy lizard!” taunted Darak. He waited on the balls of his feet knowing that his young and inexperienced foe would fall for his trap. Sure enough, the Dragonborn charged again. This time Darak was ready, and as the Dragonborn reached out with his fist Darak grabbed it and flipped his adversary head over heels. The young Dragonborn fell hard on his back and had no time to react as Darak’s heavy fist made contact his head. The Dragonborn, like his brother, was unconscious.

For a moment Darak stood over the bodies of his fallen adversaries. He knew that if he left them here that, once they regained consciousness, they would track down Darak and his friends. As he picked his axe up off of the ground Darak contemplated ending their lives whilst they lay there, unable to defend themselves. But being an honourable Dwarf, he could not bring himself to murder them in cold blood.

Knowing that for the time being they posed no threat, Darak turned his back on them and looked over to where Elisya and Ellana were standing, transfixed by the assault. He gave a wry smile and stepped towards them before shuddering to an immediate halt.

To Elisya and Ellana it looked as though Darak had walked into an invisible wall. He had stopped almost mid stride, his smile dropping just as suddenly from his face into a look of disbelief. After a few moments they watched as Darak fell to his knees, the shocked look on his face unchanged. It was only then that they could see a spear protruding from between the Dwarf’s should blades.

From the darkness behind Darak emerged a third Dragonborn. There was smug look of satisfaction on the young warrior as he strode confidently out of the dark towards the Dwarf. As Mondaresh stepped over his two unconscious brothers, Darak gathered himself and heaved himself to his feet. Knowing he would be limited in his movement with a spear in his back and that he would not be able to remove it unassisted, with great effort he swung his axe behind his shoulders, slicing through the spear’s shaft.

Mondaresh’s smile widened at the prospect of combat. He raised his blade and advanced, swinging at the Dwarfs’ head. Darak parried with his axe, and Mondaresh quickly swung again.

A second parry, quickly followed by a third, had Darak on the heels of his feet. The skill of the young Dragonborn surprised him and he was finding it difficult to find his balance. He noted that despite his foes’ aggressive nature there were very few openings in his form. Finally the Dragonborn overextended on his swing, and Darak seized his opportunity.

He thrust forward with the head of axe, attempting to catch his adversary in the chest. Mondaresh swayed backwards, and only then was it that Darak realized that the Dragonborn’s drop in technique had been a feint. The burly young fighter had left himself open purposely to draw in Darak’s attack. Mondaresh had dropped his sword, and before Darak could respond he had grabbed the Dwarfs’ axe hilt with both hands.

Darak was confused by this move. Not only had the Dragonborn left himself open to attack on purpose, he had now dropped his weapon as well. Even with part of a spear between his shoulder blades, he felt as though he now had the upper hand against his inexperienced opponent. It was only as Mondaresh dropped his shoulder into Darak’s Dwarven chest that he realized his enemies plan.

With all his strength, Mondaresh shoved the Dwarf backwards into a tree. The broken hilt of the spear dug deep into the bark of the tree, causing the head of the spear to push forwards through Darak’s back and into his lungs.

Mondaresh stepped back from the Dwarf who stuck to the tree, spluttering and coughing up blood. He slowly walked back and retrieved his sword from where he had dropped it. He turned and made his way once more towards the helpless Dwarf. Then, with one final swing into the trunk of the tree he severed Darak’s head from his neck.

To be continued …

Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 1: The Raiders and the Runt

The land of Faerûn is home to a wide myriad of civilized races. From the tall and graceful Elves to the compact and hardy Dwarves, the burly Half-Orcs, the energetic Gnomes, and the always indomitable Humans, the inhabitants of Faerûn are each as unique as a snowflake. However there is one race that stands apart from the rest: shaped by draconic gods as a combination of the best attributes of humans and dragons, the Dragonborn are a proud race who fearlessly stride across the land acting as they see fit.

Dragonborn

High in the Smoking Mountains above the Black Ash Plain lived the Krakdargarok clan of Dragonborn. The Krakdargarok clan were not like the other clans of the Faerûn. Many Dragonborn clans live far detached from their draconic ancestry, living alongside communities of the other races in peace. This was not true of the Krakdargarok clan.  For them, dragons were gods and they were their disciples. Every action of every day for these Dragonborn was in service of their masters. Starting from the day they are able to walk (usually only several hours after being born), every Dragonborn is schooled in the ways of combat. No day is complete without a few bruises or cuts.

It was on a cool summers’ evening that Raxogar hatched alongside his three clutch mates. It is normal for Dragonborn to be born in clutches of two to three eggs, so for a clutch to contain four eggs was uncommon but by no means rare. However it was obvious from the moment he broke free from the eggs’ shell that Raxogar was different. His three brothers, Varakrark, Mondaresh, and Keskabor, were all average sized newborn Dragonborn, large by human standards. Raxogar however was no bigger than a newborn Dwarf, noticeably smaller than his kin. He would have been identified immediately by the adults of the clan as being a weakling – this was usually accompanied by a lifetime of taunting and teasing. However his size, or rather the lack thereof, was not Raxogar’s most prominent feature.

Whilst they once boasted thick scales in the vibrant colours of their progenitors, due to generations of inbreeding most Dragonborn in the Faerûn bore small scales in earthen hues with only accents of colour to indicate their draconic heritage. The Krakdargarok clan was no different, with all of the clan members bearing scales in ruddy hues. Once he had emerged from his incubation, it was clear to see that Raxogar’s scales were not red, nor were they a copper green or even a rusty orange. Raxogar’s scales were a twinkling cobalt blue.

Throughout his childhood, Raxogar was always a half a foot shorter and a few dozen pounds lighter than his clutch mates. As a result of his meagre stature his clutch mates started referring to him as ‘Runt’, often accompanying the name with a swift punch to the back of the head. It was not long before other children, and even adults, started calling him by this nickname. Every time he heard that name the well of anger and resentment inside of him grew. Like his fellow Dragonborn he tried to focus those emotions into his training, but whenever he did so he felt his senses dull and his strength wane. The rage which fuelled many of his kin seemed only to weaken him.

Dragonborn grow much faster than humans do – at only three years of age Raxogar and his brothers had grown to the size and stature of a ten year old human child. By the age of eight they were over five feet tall and starting to develop the muscular stature of an adolescent human. It is around this stage of life that Dragonborn of the Krakdargarok clan undertake a trial of strength.  The trial is used as a way to weed out the weak, as only the strongest would survive. Whilst the trial was different every time, it always pitted young Dragonborn against a challenge beyond their years. This year it would be no different.

It was the morning of the trial. Raxogar was asleep when he was abruptly awoken by a swift kick in the back.

“Get up, Runt” growled Mondaresh.

After more than eight years of starting the day in this manner, Raxogar was used to waking up to a strike from his eldest clutch mate. Mondaresh as usual was flanked by his other two clutch mates - Varakrark and Keskabor. Mondaresh was the alpha of the clutch. Though he was no taller than his brothers, he was stockier and fiercer in his physique. His scales were tinged with a deep red and he had a prominent brow line. He was also the most skilled of the four, competing in combat on level terms with Dragonborn several years older than himself. Like the rest of the clan, he was not fond of his blue brother and was not backward in showing it.

“I said get up.” Mondaresh coiled his leg for a second swing, but held off when Raxogar rolled away towards the door of the small mud hut and pushed himself to his feet. Raxogar knew well that Mondaresh would not waste his time following through with the kick if he had to reposition himself to make contact. Instead, Mondaresh turned and made his way out of the hut, dropping his shoulder into the blue Dragonborns’ chest as he walked out.

“The trial is starting. You’re late.”

Raxogar turned to face out the doorway of the earthen shelter. He knew that today was an important day for the clan. All of the younglings that had past the age of eight years were to be sent on a trial which would test their abilities as Dragonborn. Raxogar knew that those who completed the challenge would no longer been seen as younglings, but would be initiated into the clan as fully fledged Dragonborn.

After donning a set of leather armour, Raxogar made his way across the village towards the altar where the Clanmaster, Brogdelark, was preparing to announce to the challengers in the trial the details of their task. The rest of the clan, almost a hundred Dragonborn in total, was already gathered in a semicircle surrounding a group of a dozen or so young Dragonborn fighters standing in two lines, including his three brothers. They were clearly distinguishable from the rest of the clan by the black and red armour they wore, the same armour that Raxogar had just put on, and each carrying a spear.

As Raxogar made his way to the front of the crowd he noticed the clan Warmaster Draakor along with eight of his elite fighters clad in black leather armour leaving the village. This seemed very odd, not only because they were leaving before the start of the trial, but also because they were armed with longbows - Draakor and his warriors were bloodthirsty savages and relished in the visceral feel of steel slicing through flesh. Raxogar had no time to worry about this though as he had other things to worry about.

In addition to his part in the trial, Raxogar had the responsibility of preparing the equipment for the challenge, a job that was usually allocated to a younger member of the clan for it involved a lot of time and little to no skill. He had spent the last week polishing the armour and sharpening the weapons for today’s trial. He was approaching the edge of the crowd when he heard the Clanmaster speak.

“Where are the weapons?” snarled Brogdelark. “Runt! Where are you?”

Raxogar trotted the last few meters around the crowd to where he had left the stack of weapons the night before, just a few meters to the side of where the irritated Clanmaster was now standing. He picked several of the swords from the rack and carried them towards the awaiting challengers.

“Useless cur. Hurry up with those blades.”

Raxogar hurriedly passed out the weapons, keeping his eyes down to avoid the burning gaze of his superior. Each challenger snatched his weapon with contempt from the young Dragonborn. As he handed out the last blade he turned back towards the pile of weapons with the intent of gathering several of the spears for distribution. At that moment Mondaresh stuck his foot out, tripping the youngling.

Several sniggers echoed through the crowd.  The Clanmaster growled towards the blue Dragonborn. Raxogar kept his eyes down as he picked himself up and made his way towards the end of the line.

“Challengers” bellowed Brogdelark. “If you wish to be true Dragonborn, you must show that you are worthy of the Dragon Queen. Today you will have an opportunity to prove your worth. Our scouts have sent word of a human caravan traveling through the low hills lining the Black Ash Plain. You have been given the privilege of exterminating these vermin from our lands. Do so, and you will be welcomed into this clan as equals. Fail, and you will not live long enough to regret it.”

“For the Dragon Queen!” bellowed the challenger at the far end of the line.

“For the Dragon Queen!” replied the entire clan in unison.

The line of challengers turned and made their way through a parting in the crowd. Raxogar gathered his sword and spear and quickly made his way after the group, keeping a respectable distance so as to not have to endure any of their hostility. The group moved quickly through the dense terrain, so it was not difficult to avoid the ire of the otherwise occupied Dragonborn.

After a half day of moving at a brisk pace through the mountains surrounding their village, the contingent of Dragonborn made their way into the Black Ash Plains. Whilst the mountains were rocky and treacherous, the plains were benign. The greatest threat from passing through them was a potential rash from the sparse shrubbery. Raxogar found it difficult to stay with the group without being open to their barbs.

They had not long been crossing the plains before the main group slowed down so as to let the young Dragonborn catch up. Raxogar knew that they had not done this out of concern or a sense of camaraderie. He knew that now that they were in open terrain, it was an ideal time to have some fun at the younglings’ expense. Sure enough, as Raxogar joined them one of the older and larger Dragonborn in the group started harassing him.

“You’re a long way from home Runt” said the Jokral. “Better be careful out here – you could get eaten by an owlbear.” Several of the Dragonborns companions chuckled.

“Naw, he’s too small to be of any interest to an owlbear” added Varakrark. “If I was him I would be more worried about being gnawed on by a kobold.”

Mondaresh walked around behind Raxogar and slapped him on the arm with the flat side of his sword. Raxogar said nothing, keeping his anger bottled up. “What’s the matter Runt, don’t like our jokes?”

Raxogar stayed silent and kept his eyes down. He knew all too well that responding would only escalate the situation, and he knew that he and his fellows would need all their strength in the upcoming trial.

“He’s not hearing us. Maybe we should open his ear holes up a bit.” Mondaresh lifted the blade of sword towards Raxogar’s ear, but before he could do anything the Jokral growled.

Raxogar snarled and curled his fist in anger.

“Look over there, smoke.” He motioned over the nearest hill. “Must be the caravan we are after.” He chuckled maliciously as the rest of the group turned to look.

“Enough with this runt” exclaimed Mondaresh excitedly. “Let’s go reap man flesh!” With that, he pushed Raxogar to the ground and led the group towards the evidence of a fire. Raxogar lifted himself up to his knees, spitting a mouthful of grass and dirt out of his mouth, and slowly made his way in the same direction.

To be continued…