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…
