Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 5: An Unlikely Ally

Ellana stared out at Raxogar. When she had first looked upon him earlier that evening she had seen him as a monster, a feral animal of impulse and rage. As he turned to face her, Ellana’s eyes met with his. The inky blackness she had first seen in them was gone, replaced instead by a warm golden glow. As she peered into his eyes, Ellana felt a sense of ease wash over her.

Raxogar’s gaze switched between Ellana and the woman lying near her on the ground partly obscured by the wagon. He swivelled around but saw no one else in the vicinity. He then realized he could not hear any sounds of battle either. The fighting was over, but there was no way to know which side was victorious.

Quickly and with purpose, Raxogar strode over to where Ellana was kneeling on the ground near her mother. Instinctively she scrambled backwards, but stopped as Raxogar neared and held out his hand towards her. Though it was covered in blood, Ellana took his hand and pulled herself with his assistance to her feet. As she once again gazed into his eyes she felt a measure of safety by his presence.

“We must go” Raxogar stated. Ellana heard only the guttural articulation of the draconic language, but by his tone and body language she understood his meaning. She nodded and turned to where her mother’s unconscious form still lay.

Raxogar bent down over Elisya and looked her over. Apart from her unconscious state, she appeared uninjured. He placed one arm under her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and carefully picked her up. Looking over his shoulder he nodded at Ellana and together they strode around the corner of the wagon towards the darkness.

As Ellana turned the corner she encountered a sight that shocked her more than anything she had seen so far that night. Due to her mother’s quick thinking Ellana did not witness the death of Darak at the hands of Mondaresh. Having now come into view of where he fell she froze, staring at the Dwarven warrior’s head, unable to move or look away.

As she started to tremble, Ellana felt a strong feeling of dread pervade her body. Her heart raced and her muscles tensed. She felt the overwhelming desire to turn and run away into the darkness, but her legs would not let her. She could feel Raxogar staring at her but could neither say nor do anything to explain her current state.

With great courage Ellana stepped forwards towards her fallen friend. Upon approaching his severed head she fell to her knees and started sobbing uncontrollably. As she struggled to breathe through her dry mouth she stared into his still open eyes. With a trembling hand she reached over her friends face and closed his eyes, closing her own as she did so.

After several minutes Ellana started to recover from the shock and despair she had felt for her fallen friend. Wiping the tears from her eyes she slowly stood up and turned towards Raxogar. He stood motionless, his head bowed solemnly, Elisya bearing heavily upon his arms. Upon her approach Raxogar raised his eyes towards Ellana, his empathy towards visible in the furled brow and slumped shoulders. Without words the two turned away and walked forward into the darkness.

The two made their way quickly through the dimness with only the light of the crescent moon to illuminate their path. Though exhausted after the fight against his brother, Raxogar pushed on for several hours until fatigue started to slow him down. He stumbled several times on the loose earth before tripping on a tree root and falling to his knees. Still holding the unconscious Elisya, with great effort he lifted his leg to get back to his feet.

Seeing the exhaustion on his face, Ellana laid a hand on his shoulder and smiled at him. “You should rest” she said softly. As he attempted to stand again she pushed down more forcibly on his shoulder.

Bowing his head, Raxogar gave in to the obvious signal from Ellana. He carefully laid the form of her mother on the ground before slumping backwards onto the ground. His head falling backwards, he took several long deep breaths as he let his muscles relax without the weight of Ellana’s mother weighing him down.

After several minutes of silent rest, the quiet stillness was interrupted by a soft moan. Elisya’s body shifted as she started to regain consciousness. Ellana, who had been sitting next to her mother holding her hand, knelt over her and gently shook her by the shoulders.

“Mother?” she questioned as she attempted to rouse her. Her pensive look softened as Elisya’s eyes slowly opened.

“Ellana?” she softly spoke. Through unfocused eyes she could barely make out her daughter’s face, but there was no mistaking her soft voice. She reached up towards her daughter, cupping her check in her hand. Still lying on her back, as her eyes refocused she looked around at trees above her.

“Where are we? What happened?” she asked.

As Ellana helped her mother into a sitting position she explained what had happened. “We were attacked by another one of those creatures. We managed to escape…” Ellana paused as she figured out a way to explain their current circumstances. “… With a little help from a new friend.” Ellana bit her lip nervously as her eyes shifted towards Raxogar.

As Elisya turned and saw the Dragonborn, now standing again and only a few meters away from them, she instinctively scrambled backwards in self-preservation. Grabbing Ellana by the arm she made to get to her feet and escape, but Ellana resisted.

“Run! Go!” she yelled, trying to pull Ellana with her.

“It’s ok mom” Ellana pleaded, attempting to hold her mother from fleeing. “He saved us from them. He got us out of there, both of us!”

Still looking terrified, Elisya looked from Ellana to the young Dragonborn. He stood silently watching them. Her actions and tone made it clear what she was saying, even if her words did not. Attempting to assist in calming her, Raxogar took half a step forward, his hand reaching in front of him. As he noticed Elisya recoil he stopped to think. After a brief pause he retracted his hand and calmly thought of a better way to assure her of his intentions. He took back his step and knelt down on one knee, bowing his head in submission.

Elisya took several deep breaths as she thought about the situation. Looking from her daughter to Raxogar and back again, she relaxed her grip on Ellana’s arm and seemingly accepted her account. Seeing the young Dragonborn in supplication, she took a step towards him.

The crisp crack of a broken twig rent through the still night air. Elisya’s grip on her daughter’s arm once again tightened, and Raxogar sprang to his feet turning towards the source of the sound. Concentrating all of his attention toward the source of the disturbance, Raxogar squinted in an effort to make out the cause.

After several tense moments of silence, Raxogar relaxed. Elisya released her breath, not realising she had been holding it during that moment of tension. She lowered her eyes and lessened her grip on her daughter’s arm before looking back up at the face of the young Dragonborn. Raxogar too looked at her, and in a moment of eye contact each understood that it was in their best interests to work together to survive this night. That moment of understanding however was suddenly broken.

With a soft thud, an arrow lodged itself in Raxogar’s back. The Dragonborn grimaced in pain as the impact forced him forward a step. He turned towards what he thought to be the source of the attack, only to be hit again by another arrow, this one lodging itself in his chest below the clavicle.

Raxogar again growled in pain as he stumbled backwards on to one knee. Searching again for the source he saw emerging from the darkness a large figure carrying a heavy bow. Though he could not distinguish any facial features, by the size and shape of the mysterious figure he quickly identified the form.

Into the soft moonlight stepped a large Dragonborn, one of the largest of his clan. His immense frame was covered in rippling muscles. His scales were a reddish brown with crimson tinges around the edges. Across one side of his bare chest were a series of claw marks, undoubtedly from previous combat with large beast of some kind. Strung across his back he bore an immense two-handed Greataxe, and in his left hand he held a gnarled longbow.

Raxogar felt a sudden weight in his chest drop as the imposing figure of Draakor, Warmaster of the Krakdargarok clan, bore down upon him. Draakor was the most powerful Dragonborn of his clan, undefeated in battle. He took no prisoners, felt no remorse. The edges of his scales had been stained red by all of the blood he had shed over his lifetime. Having seen him in battle firsthand, Raxogar knew he was no match for the Warmaster.

Grasping the shaft of the arrow embedded in his chest, Raxogar snapped the end off in his hand and bitterly threw it into the dirt. Closing his eyes, Raxogar quietly accepted defeat.

Death had come.

To be continued …

Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 4: Sibling Rivalry

Raxogar sat motionless. He was completely lost. Nothing was making sense to him anymore. He had been brought up as a fighter, taught to kill without mercy. With that world crumbling in front of him, he no longer knew what he was or what he should do. He looked down at his hands and wondered what they were for if not for fighting. The anxiety spread in him like a virus, starting at his heart and continuing to his extremities. His fingers felt like they were moulded from clay – unfeeling and unresponsive.

As he sat, his life unravelling before his eyes, a piercing scream permeated through the mental fog that surrounded him. It was the same scream he had heard only moments before, the cry that had started the end of his life has his knew it. This time though, the scream was cut short.

As his eyes refocused Raxogar could see his brother Mondaresh with his hand around the neck of Ellana, his meaty paw lifting her off the ground, choking the life out of her. She kicked and clawed at him, but Mondaresh was too strong. He held her aloft, staring into her eyes as he watched the life slowly drain from her. Gradually her attempts to extricate herself from his grip grew weaker and her eyelids drooped. Just before she passed into the next world, the meaty grip on her neck vanished and she dropped to the ground with a thud.

Coughing and spluttering, Ellana crawled to her knees. She looked to where her captor was now wrestling with the blue Dragonborn she had just encountered. Scrambling backwards away from them, with confusion she watched as the two creatures tussled, throwing punches and kicks at each other. She could see that, whilst a fair bit smaller that his counterpart, the blue Dragonborn was much quicker and was able to block or dodge many of his opponent’s blows.

Raxogar didn’t know why he had attacked his brother. He had no loyalty or feeling towards the girl being strangled, so why should it matter to him? Regardless, he had felt an overwhelming force lift him from his torpid state and push him into the confrontation with his brother. Without any forethought he had tackled his brother to the ground, forcing him to release his grip on the young girl. His brother retaliated with his fists and feet, and Raxogar responded in kind.

Still on the ground with his brother on top of him, Mondaresh grabbed Raxogar by the front of his leather tunic and, with an acrobatic flip, threw him over his head and onto his back. Both Dragonborn rolled off their backs and onto their feet, crouching low in preparedness. Now face to face with his quarry, Mondaresh growled angrily at his sibling.

“Traitor! I will take pleasure in finally ripping the life from you!”

Raxogar stared deep into his brother’s eyes. Not until now did he see the monster that his brother was, the monster that he himself was so close to becoming.

“Whether you kill me or not, I will ensure you never touch her again.” Though he spoke with confidence, he felt anxious inside. He did not want to fight his brother, but he knew there was no option now.

“Raaaaarrgh!” Mondaresh roared in anger, baring his teeth at his now former brother. He dashed the few meters towards him before leaping into the air. With all of his weight behind him he came crushing down on Raxogar with both fists.

Raxogar had little time to react to his brother’s attack. He crossed both forearms above him to block the strike, but the strength of Mondaresh combined with his greater weight was too much. Raxogar’s left knee buckled under the blow, putting him off balance.

Seeing his quarries weakness, Mondaresh continued with a vicious assault. He followed several quick punches the abdomen of Raxogar with a nasty jab to the face, breaking the Dragonborn’s cheekbone. This gave him an opening for a knee to the stomach and a left hook across the head.

Blood spurted from Raxogar’s mouth onto the cold dirt. He had seen and fought his brother many times, but this assault was far beyond anything he had experience. He felt blow after blow connect, unable to dodge or block them. As he felt his flesh rend and his bones break, Raxogar’s will faded. His defences dropped as he turned into little more than a punching bag for this brother.

With a mighty blow, Mondaresh kicked his former brother to the ground. He then knelt over the hapless Dragonborn and proceeded to pummel his near lifeless body. With each blow Mondaresh’s bloodlust grew as Raxogar’s hold on Iife diminished.

Raxogar’s body fell limp. Seeing he was at the edge of death, Mondaresh stood up and walked over to where he had dropped his sword. As he retrieved the blade, he felt with relish the idea of finally driving it through the runt’s body. He turned with a sinister smile back towards the helpless Dragonborn.

Raxogar looked up at the sky through his one open eye. Unable to move, he felt death’s cold hands grasping him, pulling him below the earth. As he closed his eye and accepted his fate, he thought he could hear angels singing to him from the other side. However, it was neither an angel nor singing that was calling to him.

After she was release from Mondaresh’s grip, Ellana had crawled over to her still unconscious mother. Unable to rouse her, Ellana grabbed her underneath the shoulders and dragged her beneath the nearby wagon. From there she cowered as she watched the fight ensue between the two Dragonborn. She watched as her saviour was beaten mercilessly to the edge of death by his larger opponent.

When Mondaresh retrieved his sword, Ellana knew the end was nigh. If the blue Dragonborn perished then surely she and her mother would also die at this monster’s hand. Without thinking, Ellana screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Get up!” she cried.

Raxogar’s head flopped to the side from which the voice came. With immense effort he opened his one good eye. Though he couldn’t understand what was being said to him, he could see the little girl crying desperately ay him. As he saw her pleading he tried to raise his arm and reach for her, but could only summon the strength to raise the palm of his hand an inch off the ground.

Ellana continued to scream at Raxogar to get up, tears now streaming down her face. As Mondaresh moved over him, Ellana looked down onto the ground beside her to where her mother had dropped her father’s sword. As Mondaresh raised his own blade above the blue Dragonborn, Ellana grabbed the sword and sprang forth from beneath the wagon. Knowing she would not make it to the pair in time, she hurled the blade towards Raxogar.

Whether by skill, luck, or divine intervention, the blade’s handle fell on top of Raxogar’s outstretched hand. As soon as the weapon touched his skin, Raxogar felt a surge of energy flow through him. He felt a searing pain across him as his broken bones mended and his lacerations closed. As he turned his head to look up at his brother, he felt the sword pull his arm from the ground and parry Mondaresh’s death blow.

Stunned by this turn, Mondaresh paused in confusion. This was the only opening Raxogar needed. He deftly kicked him in the stomach, forcing him a few paces backwards. With a dexterity he had never known before, Raxogar flipped off of his back and onto his feet. He stared at his bewildered opponent, not with anger or hate, but with a calm resolve permeating through every fibre of his being.

Still shocked but his adversary’s revival, Mondaresh roared and swung his blade at Raxogar. Raxogar calmly dodged and parried his blows with perfect efficiency. Strike after strike, Mondaresh grew angrier and more desperate. After attempting a particularly wild swing which Raxogar swayed out the way of, Mondaresh over balanced and fell face first onto the ground.

Spitting dirt out of his mouth he snarled at Raxogar. “What is this trickery? You were dead. How can you still be fighting?”

With a calm resolve Raxogar pointed the tip of his sword towards his brother. “Dead or not, I vowed that I would stop you.”

Mondaresh snarled once again. Dropping all pretences, he jumped up and charged at Raxogar. In a blink of an eye it was over – Raxogar parried his brother’s blade and plunged his own into Mondaresh’s chest. For a brief moment there was a look of surprise on Mondaresh’s face before it slackened and his body fell to the ground, Raxogar’s sword still protruding from his chest.

Raxogar looked down at his brother. Whilst he felt sorry for him, he knew in his heart he had done the right thing in ending it there. He stared down at his hands which were covered in his brother’s blood. They felt strong and with purpose. His mind was now clear as to his path. He would no longer fight out of fear or anger. He would fight to protect.

To be continued…

Rise of the Dawnbearer - Part 3: A Change of Heart

The afternoon drew long as a group of three Dragonborn laid low in the tall grass. Peering over the supple blades they observed the activities of a caravan of travellers that had made camp a few hundred meters from the main road. They had been hidden there, watching the camp since late morning making careful note of the defences. Their mission of destroying the caravan had looked unlikely when they first started watching the travellers as they appeared well armed and in overwhelming numbers. Early in the afternoon however, a development had made their task much easier.

Just after noon the three brothers had observed several Dragonborn ride into camp. The brothers knew that these Dragonborn were not of their clan – they were easily identifiable as being from the Dragonborn capital Djerad Thymar. Mondaresh, the leader of the three brothers, watched as the camp bustled with activity around the new arrivals for a number of minutes before a contingent of armed guards left with them, heading back the way they came. The sum result of this development was that the defence surrounding the camp was greatly reduced.

The sun was hanging low over the horizon when the three brothers retreated from their hiding position in the grass back to where their brethren lay in wait. Mondaresh drew himself into the inner circle of the group where the eldest of his kin strategized over their plan of attack.

“We will wait until the plains are covered in darkness” Jokral snarled. “With the element of surprise we can take out the guards surrounding the camp before anyone notices.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Dernark. “We should wait until dawn. They’ll be tired and it will be easier to slaughter them.” He nodded in self approval of his plan.

Jokral stared at Dernark. “If we wait, we risk the other guards returning before we strike. We would not be able to take down their combined forces.”

Dernark snarled at Jokral, not because her plan was better but because she had made him look foolish (although this was rather easy with Dernark). Onferaar, one of the older Dragonborn in the group, spoke softly but with a commanding weight behind his words.

“It is settled. We attack after nightfall. One group will take out the guards on the north side, while a second comes in from the east. Our remaining fighters will hold in the long grass to the south west and ambush any who attempt to flee.”

The group looked in agreement. “Mondaresh.” Jokral looked toward the young combatant. “Take Dernark and Talynar, along with your brothers, and circle around to the east. Take out any targets of opportunity, but wait until our signal before advancing on the main camp.”

At this, Mondaresh nodded and left the circle. When Jokral had said ‘your brothers’ he knew she meant to include Raxogar, however Mondaresh had no desire to bring the runt along – he would only get in their way, and Mondaresh knew it would take all of his skill to fight fully trained and experienced humans. He caught the eye of the two brothers we wanted, and along with Dernark and Talynar started heading around the caravan to the eastern side, giving it a wide berth so as not to draw attention.

Raxogar watched as the small group of Dragonborn, which had been in discussion about tactics, broke up gathered together with other members of their kin to form two groups. As he watched the two groups leave, he realised that he had not been included in either of them. As he felt a mixture of anger and disappointment at being left out, he decided that for better or worse he should follow the group which included his three brothers, though he would keep a healthy distance behind them.

By the time Mondaresh and his companions had reached the east side of the caravan, the sun had completely set and the only light left to them was from the crescent moon hanging low in the sky. Raxogar, some twenty meters behind his brothers, could make out two pinpoints of light about thirty meters ahead of the group, along with a camp fire in the distance, partially obscured by two carts.

Raxogar lay himself low onto the ground. The grass here was particularly thick, so if he lay flat he would be completely obscured from the vision of any guards that wandered by. As he thought about this, one of the small light sources started approaching his location. As it drew nearer, Raxogar started to panic that he had been seen, and that the approaching guard was intending to attack him. He quietly unsheathed his sword and held it low in the grass next to him. He also coiled his right leg beneath himself. He knew that if it came to it he would need to make the first move.

The light grew closer and closer. Raxogar could see the torch was being carried by a bearded man wearing a leather jerkin. More importantly, he could see a longsword at his belt. Raxogar nervously swallowed, his mouth unusually dry. He placed his left hand on the ground in front of him whilst his right hand grasped the hilt of his crude blade. Readying himself to spring forth Raxogar focused all the rage and hatred that had building in him since his birth. He took several deep breaths, then counted to himself “three, two …”

Just as Raxogar was about to spring forth, the man stopped, barely six meters away from where the young Dragonborn lay hidden. Raxogar froze, not sure if he had been spotted and unsure as to whether he should begin his assault. The man bent over and stabbed the stave of his torch into the ground. He then took a couple of steps to his right, undid the front of his trousers, and proceed to relieve himself into the long grass.

Raxogar had not moved an inch as he watched this scene unfold. He lay, half coiled to spring, watching as the man urinated into the long grass. The man tilted his head back, his eyes closed, with a look of great relief on his face. Raxogar suddenly realised that this would be the most opportune time to attack, while the man literally had his pants around his ankles. Before he could make a move though, he realised that his kin had the same idea.

From out of the grass directly in front of the man came a hand holding a dagger. With his head tilted back, the man didn’t even see the blade as it plunged into neck. As he reached to his throat, spluttering, he collapsed on top of Mondaresh, who retracted the blade from the man’s neck and shrugged the dying body off him into the coarse grass. Mondaresh didn’t look back as he darted away into the darkness followed closely and quietly by his brethren.

Raxogar approached the man. He watched quietly as the man gurgled his last breath, his blood mingling with the dirt. As the body stopped moving, Raxogar sighed heavily. He didn’t know if he was relieved or angry by his brothers’ intervention. As he started questioned whether he would have been able to make the fatal blow himself, a loud roar echoed across the plains. Raxogar was startled out of his daydream and back to the realisation of the present – the raid had begun.

Without conscious thought Raxogar’s legs started propelling him forward towards the source of the bestial bellow. As he drew closer towards the encampment he could hear the sounds of clashing steel and anguished cries. He continued to press forward without hesitation or any perception of his surroundings until he was bowled over by an unseen shape.

As Raxogar regained his feet and his composure he caught a brief glimpse of steel as a sword swung over his head. Had he been as tall as his brothers he may have taken a fatal blow, but in this instance his diminutive stature was a blessing instead of a hindrance. He steadied himself and faced his unknown adversary.

The human soldier swung his sword repeatedly at his foe. Raxogar, due to his intense training with his brothers, dodged and parried the blows efficiently, but was reticent to attack. He didn’t know why, but he felt no animosity against his counterpart, and had no desire to do him harm. The anger he had mustered earlier had strangely evaporated, now replaced by anxiousness and fear. This went unnoticed by his foe, who continued to attack relentlessly.

Not wanting to advance on his quarry, Raxogar stepped backwards a few steps, unknowingly tripping on a lute which had been left on the ground. The sound of the trampled lute and the scene of a Dragonborn falling head over heels backwards would have been a comical one, had it not been for the fact that he had been in the midst of a fight for his life. Left prone by the fall, Raxogar looked up to see the human bearing down on him with a finishing blow. Unable to raise his weapon in time, Raxogar prepared for the searing pain of steel ripping through flesh.

It was over before Raxogar even knew what happened. All he saw was a glint steel behind the guard’s back followed by spurts of blood as the human fell forward onto him. Confused, he looked over the dying man’s shoulder to see one of his kin snort in disgust at Raxogar, clearly regretting his actions in saving the young Dragonborn, before disappearing back into the darkness.

With great effort, Raxogar heaved the dead body off of him. Relieved, but also confused, he pushed himself up off the ground and started walking away. He looked back at the dead man and wondered why he had not wanted to strike the man down. Years of training had prepared him for the moment when he would unfeelingly strike down his foe, yet when the time came he did not have it within him. Knowing that this was the wrong choice for a Dragonborn of his clan, Raxogar resolved himself that, next time the opportunity came, he would unthinkingly and unrelentingly strike at his foe.

Whilst still within his inner thoughts, Raxogar turned away from the corpse that he had been staring at and rounded the side of a nearby wagon. At that moment, a human woman came around the corner of the wagon in the opposite direction. Perhaps because of his last encounter running into a human, Raxogar instinctively drove his shoulder into the woman’s chest.

The woman tumbled over backwards, hitting her head on the wheel of the wagon. She fell, unconscious, into the grass in front of Raxogar, her sword spilling a few feet from her hand. Raxogar rounded his sword on her and took several deep breathes as he gathered his resolve to end her life.

For the third time that night, Raxogar hesitated before striking. He looked down at the defenceless woman, her long blonde hair draped across her face. He grimaced as he tightened the grip on his blade. Tensing his muscles, he raised his elbow in line with the blade of his sword and leaned in to strike, but as he did so he heard a scream, which was followed by one of the most bewildering scenes the Dragonborn had ever our would ever see.

A young girl, seemingly no older than Raxogar himself, and with the same long blonde hair as the woman lying before him, lunged out of the dark and grabbed the blade of his sword with her bare hands.

In complete shock, Raxogar froze. Of all the things he had expected to happen, this was not one of them. After a moment of bewilderment Raxogar pulled at the sword, expecting the blade to slice through the girl’s hands and out of her grasp.

Raxogar tugged on the hilt of the sword, but the girl did not let go. Instead, she turned inside of his arms, her now bloody hands grasping firmly onto the cold steel of the sword.

“Let go!” Raxogar growled. He knew the girl probably didn’t understand him, but he needed to vent his frustration at her. He pushed and pulled at the sword, but the young girl did not relinquish her grasp. As he jostled her to let go, Raxogar could see the blood from her hands spurting across her face and into her hair.

“I said let go!” With a surge of force, Raxogar pushed the girl face down to the ground. As she fell, she unwillingly let go of the sword blade.

Raxogar stood over the young girl, his bloody blade pointed down at her. She turned her face upwards, and for the first time Raxogar looked upon her face.

For a moment the world turned quiet as Raxogar stared into Ellana’s eyes. As he stared at her he saw the fear in her face. In his years of training he had never seen anyone look at him with fear. He felt a swell of emotion wash over him, not understanding what it was or why.

A hollow feeling had filled Raxogar's chest. Shaking himself he tried to focus on the pent up anger and rage. He grasped the hilt of sword ever tighter, hoping that muscle memory would take over and he would strike down the enemy lying before him. Gritting his teeth, Raxogar let out a bellowing roar at the young girl, but not of his physical or mental attempts to convince himself to strike worked. After a few moments he let out a long sigh and his form slumped. As his eyes unfocused, for the first time ever Raxogar started to contemplate what he was, where he was, and why he was at that moment standing over a defenceless girl with blade pointed at her throat.

After what seemed an eternity, Raxogar came to a shocking realisation. The vicious monster that stood over a young girl with murderous intent, the soldier who had trained all of his life to kill humans, the monster that attacked a caravan to kill and pillage, that Dragonborn no longer existed. As he stared into Ellana’s eyes his will to fight had faded away.

Feeling without purpose, Raxogar dropped his sword on the ground and fell to his knees. As he continued to look at Ellana, he could see a mixture of confusion and relief on her face. He continued to stare in her direction, though his eyes unfocused and he lost himself in his own confusion.

Ellana slowly and warily crawled to her feet whilst still keeping her eyes on the Dragonborn. She backed away from him and, only after putting a safe distance between them, turned away and ran over to her mother who still lay unconscious on the ground.

To be continued…

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…