Post by Loendal on Jan 11, 2014 5:21:40 GMT -5
Chapter 2
The Dragonlord Speaks
My first crystal clear vision came three months after I had made the rank of Captain. It had been a particularly grueling month. The Nation was in a heightened state of readiness for war. Our mountainous eastern border was beginning to come under raids by our neighbors, and the new recruits were thrice their usual amount, and a great majority was sent to my academy. Panic and suspicion crept into the minds of the people. Stories began to fly around of great dangers outside and away from the eastern conflicts. They spoke of monsters on the rise. Some heard rumors of increased orc and goblin movements. Some of the more mythical legends were woven into the fabric of people minds. Suddenly people claimed to be spotting Unicorns and Fairies more and more. Signs of good fortune in the bleak confusion that lingers before warfare. With these stories in the minds of the people, they began to feel comforted, not knowing of the true danger. We were the second line of defense should the eastern forts fall under the flame and war break out amongst our people. With our sister-school further north in Axtonary Falls, the two of us formed a barrier 35 miles long of patrolling troops and garrisons. I was worn out with the training process, and though I began to see my visions more clearly, they still confused me. One night, while drilling a group of new recruits I heard a voice that chilled me to the bone. A deep voice, though not a voice at all. A trio of voices somehow combined into one echoed into my mind with a single word, “Dragonblade”. I was completely taken by surprise and faltered in my commands to the new recruits. I heard a few snickers in the crowd and that irritated me even more. I felt as if a fever had gripped me and my poor students were forced to face the fury of a confused man. They marched in full regalia around the encampment that entire night, my angry voice yelling at them with each step. They never again snickered in formation. When the dawn came, I collapsed into my chambers wearily, gripping my throbbing head tightly as if to ease the pressure within. I didn’t even bother to change into my nightclothes before I passed out into an exhaustive sleep. That night, I again heard that voice say “Dragonblade” in my dreams. The word accompanied by a flash of bright orange fire and a cloud of heavy gray smoke. From within this smoke a solid black sword spun outwards. I had never seen such a masterfully crafted sword. The edges were razor sharp and thin. It was if the entire sword were a symbol of perfection to my eyes. It’s glossy black blade glimmering in that orange fire. I reached out for it, but it seemed eternally out of my reach. Before I could rise to grab at the sword it vanished back into the cloud of smoke and I awoke to the sound of trumpets blaring a war-cry. Shouts and hollers of a relayed message echoing through the Academy “To arms! To Arms! The eastern forts have fallen!”
The next month was a blur of activity. Between leading my men into skirmishes out east and training the newcomers I barely had time to sleep, let alone concentrate upon my visions. They began to fade from my mind as I was preparing for the reality of all out war. I could never quite escape the vision of that perfect sword, The Dragonblade as I assumed it to be called. After all, the voice called it that, why shouldn’t I? General Mobius came to Roxen to plan a strategy with my men and I. His plan consisted of a quick massive strike, he would have done better to have just called my men bait for the slaughter. If all the armed forces merged into this ‘quick massive strike’ it would be my men who would catch the runoff of the fight, unprepared and unprotected. I protested on the grounds that my men were still green, still not used to full warfare, but General Mobius was a stubborn man and he felt his plan was solid. He ordered some of his own captains to gather together men from both my academy and Axtonary’s. They created a force of 2000 men in total and sent them east to find and hold the foe at bay. I was under orders to stand guard here in town, that fool of a General took my protests as a sign of weakness, and he denied me the right to aid in his campaign. So there I was, captain in the guard, bearing many titles and championships under my belt, standing watch at the town gates, just like those men I worshiped as a boy. From grand champion to Town Guard in a single step. It was ironic in a way.
A storm moved in that night, and the winds were steadily blowing in from the north. The chill wind was nothing compared to the reality that we came face to face with. One of General Mobius’ captains limped into town late one night, battered and bleeding to death. He was stricken in panic, and kept babbling ‘Granite walls…. Death on high… Fury unhindered… Evil…Hateful evil’. We took his ramblings as delusions brought on by the terror of the battle he must have fought. He was horribly wounded, and would most likely not live through the night. The burns on his side showed that much. Obviously the enemy had stronger capabilities then we gave them credit for. If they can hurl Greek fire from catapults or have magic on their side, we would be in dire straights. Our force had no magicians, and there were none close enough to arrive any time soon. As the storm raged stronger overhead, we doubled our guard around the town. We weren’t about to let these eastern fools take our town. I wasn’t about to let these fools take MY town. The rage that filled me in battle began to well up inside as I ordered my men into strategic positions on the wall and in patrols. A flash of lightning lit up the sky with a brilliant show, though the horror it revealed we were not ready for. There was an ominous shape high overhead, blocking out the flashes of lightning with its size. It moved silently, but with purpose. I was not the only one to see this thing, some of the other guardsmen saw it and their skin became as white as the lightning flashing around them. The rain began to pour down with a heavy clap of thunder as the dragon made its first strike, swooping down overhead to let loose a blast of fire upon the town hall. Screams of terror and pain shot through the night as the hall began to burn fitfully. I ran in a blind rush towards the hall, calling along the few men that weren’t riveted to the spot in panic and fear. We began to hurl buckets of water onto the hall to try and extinguish the flame as the dragon circled overhead and upwards, it’s red hide glimmering like hell itself in the glow of the flames. I followed its path and assumed it would be landing on the other side of town. I ran full speed towards the opposite gate, calling for more men to come with me to bring this beast down to its defeat. Seven of my guardsmen came with me, blades already out and at the ready as the great red landed with a ground shaking thud outside the gate, roaring in fury. I was unmoved from my course, and charged towards the beast with a warcry I hadn’t yelled since I left the tournaments. My men turned and ran in a panic after the beast roared its rage at us. As I closed the gap between us I raised my blade high over my head, ready to carve this beasts head in two. That mysterious trio of voices yelled into my mind again, a single, powerful command, “NO!” I was held in place, something kept me from striking this beast. A strange calm washed over me. The dragon was just as surprised as I and stared at me in amazement, a bizarre kind of curiosity in this creature’s eyes. He tilted his head to side as a puppy does and regarded me a moment. I lowered my blade and spoke softly but with authority. “Begone… Harm us no more”. The dragon snorted a moment then lowered his head in a reverent bow to me. It turned away and leapt up into the air, it’s wings beating heavily in the late evening storm. It’s form silhouetted against the lightning’s flash as it flew away towards the eastern mountains.
I took a deep breath, relaxing as best I could in the dwindling rain. I watched and made sure the creature was out of sight completely before I turned around to see the dozens of ashen faces, their jaws dropped so low as to nearly step on them. I squirmed under their silent scrutiny and amazement for a few moments, then regained my composure. “Come on then! We have a fire to put out!” This caught them by surprise and they snapped out of their trance, hurriedly moving to extinguish the flames still burning the City Hall and surrounding buildings.
No one stayed to close to me during the water brigade, the fear and shock which crept into their minds kept them at a safe distance. When we finally got the fires out the townspeople continued to stare at me, dumbfounded. A few even followed me back to the academy, staying a constant ten feet away, staring. Staring at the man that just talked to a dragon, not only talked to, but turned away a dragon by those few words alone. Murmurs began to settle in around me,
“He speaks with Dragons.. He must be in league with the foul beasts..”
“The Gods above have blessed him.. But why him?”
“Who is this fool that tempts fate and lowers a blade before a foe? Why is he our Guard Captain?”
A constant chatter began to rise up around me, a mystique that no one could actually explain, least of all me. I knew that voice, but I was not about to go and tell others about all these visions of mine. Not yet I wouldn’t, nor could I. I needed guidance, someone who could tell me more about the voice and what happened. What exactly it meant or at the very least, what He – the voice – meant for me. I was granted some time away from my post, much against my protests. My superiors soon heard of what happened that night and took steps to quickly remove the problem if possible. They attributed such a ludicrous act to be the result of mental strain from concern and duty. And as such, made sure that the strain was relieved lest it overcome me and I come completely undone. Such political nonsense bores me, but I was under orders to take leave, a perfect opportunity to visit with mother and concentrate upon my visions.
A sad, frightened look was my greeting when I arrived home. Mother didn’t understand, and was frightened of me. The poor woman was suddenly under the siege of dozens of fellow peasants, constantly trying to find out more about her son, the one they call the Master of Dragons. I gave them a cold icy glare from my mother’s side and they withered away, leaving us to our peace. I had a chance to try and explain things to another person now, and who better to speak with on personal troubles then ones own mother? She was completely overwhelmed by the scope of things, or maybe it was the fact that I rambled on for a solid 2 hours without rest and little breath. I tried my best to help her to understand that her son wasn’t a demon or in league with the ‘winged devils’, nor was I completely insane. After a thorough, exhaustive explanation she seemed to understand. She formulated it in her own way, so as to grant her some grasp of the concept. She called me ‘chosen’. By whom or what, neither of us could say. We only hoped that Whomever it was had chosen me for goodness and not evil. I spent the better portion of the next 3 weeks with my mother, with nearly daily visits to old Randall, the Librarian. Randall was considered the wisest man for leagues around, and his dusty old tomes granted him such a reputation. Randall was a small man, thinner then he should have been. His hair was balding in a nearly perfect circle from the center of his head. His constantly-in-need-of-cleaning spectacles never quite fit right, and hung on the end of his nose like wire hooks when he wasn't constantly adjusting them back up to his eyes. With his nasal voice and stooped over posture he made for a comical figure at times, but he was the only man I thought might be able to help me in my quest for knowledge. I knew all the horror stories about dragons, I had heard the legends and myths. What I needed to know was what was it that made them act as they do. Who or what spoke into a Dragon’s mind and said ‘Go now… Strike here, and lay claim to more’. Those were my only perceptions of dragons up till that time. I believed the stories of violent tempers and raging arrogance, little did I know what their true purpose was. When I came and posed my questions to the old man he was of course overwhelmed. I had a thousand questions and made very little sense. With his infinite patience and wisdom we slowly began to piece together bits of the puzzle, yet missed the key portions to make the picture whole again. He came upon old tomes which hinted at something grander in the designs of the world. In an age-worn tome of elven history we noticed an alarming number of references to the now-extinct High Elves. The tome was worm-eaten and the text written in an ancient elven script that even Randall in all his knowledge had trouble translating. The High-Elves were revered as the longest living and noblest of the elven peoples. Many viewed them as the only truly immortal beings that walked upon this plane of existence. Though they no longer exist, their history shapes the rest of the world, even the dragons. According to those dusty old tomes, the high-elves were in constant contact with the dragons, even so much so as to have sketches depicting those noble beings standing side by side with dragons. This made very little sense to us at that time, certainly the dragons shown in this tome couldn’t be the same as the ones we knew. A Dragon would fall upon such a frail and beautiful creature like the High-Elves for mere sport alone, the thrill of the slaughter. But the tomes depicted them standing side by side. It didn’t make sense. We could find no other references like those in any other tome throughout the library, and my hopes began to fall short. Maybe it was insanity, perhaps my mind was nearing the breaking point. Maybe I just needed a good nights sleep, one without dreams and visions. It was not to be.
I thanked Randall heartily for all his hard work and effort, granting him triple his requested pay for his time. I walked home through a cold, chilling wind, my mind heavy and lost in thought. My mother and I sat down to a quiet meal that evening, and I retired early. The past weeks strain was beginning to play heavily upon me and I wanted to sleep, just to relax and forget about magical blades forged of black rock, forget about a dragon that bowed before me, forget about the people’s stares and quiet murmuring as I walked by. I just wanted to forget it all. As I lay down in my bed, the familiar scents and memories of my room filled my senses with an overpowering flood of peace and relaxation. I took a long, steady breath and closed my eyes for what would be the worst nights sleep in my life. As I faded into the realm of dreams I could feel my body relaxing soundly in my comfortable bed.
I felt a strange sensation, as if being awoken by a gentle touch. Thinking I had slept the night away, I blearily opened my eyes. There was an unexpected glow before me, a bright orange light. I instinctively raised up my arm to block away the brightness. I felt a searing heat all around me as consciousness took hold. Flames and fire roared all around me, consuming the walls and ceiling. My home was on fire! I stumbled blindly through the flames and smoke, running towards my mother’s room. I stood in the archway and scanned the room from one end to the other in search of her. I made out her sleeping form, curled tightly under the covers of her bed. I yelled out and began to make my way towards her. She bolted upright in bed with the covers pulled to her chest and let out a cry as the dramatic realization of her surroundings caught hold.
“Loey!” she yelled, extending a hand towards me.
I was choking and gasping on the smoke and heat and stumbled my way over towards her as the wall behind her and the ceiling above her gave way, sending a torrent of fire and brick tumbling onto the bed and blocking my path. I heard a terrified, painful scream that is now forever etched on my memory. I fell to my knees and stared at the roaring blaze that was my mother and father’s bed, completely oblivious to the fires raging around me. She continued to wail, and I, unable to help her, could only kneel nearby in shock and disbelief, my eyes unwilling to move away from that fateful spot. A voice called into my mind, that bizarre trio of voices, deep and rumbling.
“Go my son… Go… I will hold her close and warm… You must live on… Go now..”
That voice could not drown out my mothers fading wails. And I shook my head, resolutely refusing to go anywhere.
“My place is here… I will die with her”
“You would cast aside all that she made for you? All the sweat, blood, love and tears that they both shed? You would hurl these things unto the flames? No.. This is something I can not allow, your purpose goes beyond here… Go now, and live that purpose”
The house continued to burn around me, tumbling down on all sides. In my shock I had no clue that the rest of the town was in much the same state. The forces from the east had arrived in town, their magi hurling balls of flames into the homes and businesses of the people, whilst the warriors began to tear down Roxen Academy. Our forces were in shambles, corpses littered the fields outside. A few of our own held fast to their positions, but were fighting a losing battle. The cries and torment of the peasants shot through the night, their pain and anguish rolling up into the heavens with the smoke from their burning homes. The enemy dragged young and old alike into the streets to be slaughtered or enslaved, even as the Magi continued to burn the town to ashes.
“What purpose!? This is my family! She is all I have left!”
“No.. You have me… And you have hundreds of thousands more family awaiting you elsewhere. If’n you should die here they will never know you, nor will they know me. I need you, my son. Go!”
“Who are you!? Why do you torment me!? What are you…”
My words were cut short by the crash of the central supporting wall as it collapsed behind me, nearly sending me tumbling into the flames. I rolled away from that fiery death and came up to look behind me. A familiar face stood there, his face bloodied and blade drawn and at the ready. It was Talinon, a fellow academy officer.
“Come Sir! The town is lost! We must flee!”
It was then I noticed the town, and the horrors within it. Anger welled up within me and my fists clenched. Talinon all but shoved me over a tumbled wall and out towards the fields behind Sundberry, exactly the opposite way I wanted to go. I wanted to dive into the oncoming forces, die for the city I grew up in, die in battle for my mother and father. Only through a swift blow to the temple did Talinon ‘persuade’ me from that course. Talinon was by no means a weak lad, his strength was jealously regarded by most of the other recruits and officers. His brownish-blonde hair was kept short, and his face clean. His eyes were always penetrating and stern. When Talinon crossed his arms and glared down from his six foot height upon a recruit the sweat poured freely. He sheathed his broad sword and hefted me over his shoulder like a sack of grain and made for the woods. A short time later, I was roused back into consciousness by the thudding of his awkward gait and opened my eyes blearily to look back over the burning city. I could see the orange glow through the trees, it’s hazy outline reminded me much of a the sun’s setting at dusk. The wind carried the louder screams of panic and pain to us across the field and into the woods, along with the smoke. I closed my eyes again, unwilling and uncaring to see or hear anything. The despair of my grief overtook me and sent me into sadness unending again. I couldn’t escape the scene happening over and over again in my dreams. My mother’s hand, the collapsing walls. Those forlorn and helpless cries of pain as the fire burned away my mother’s life. The mysterious voice telling me of destiny. I didn’t understand why… And I did not care… I forced away the dreams by willpower, concentrating upon my surroundings to stay awake. Better to live without sleep then to live in a constant nightmare.