Centuries ago dragons ruled the earth, powerful ruling, stealing and terrifying humans. Through the years the lands became barren and the gold and jewels soon dried up more than the land, the dragon became bored of the weakness of the world and slowly they took their leave. With this shift humans became bolder greedier and began to seek power of their own, in the years that followed it would come down to a battle between two armies, the first from the East by the name of Vitos greedy and determined to take over where the dragon had left off promising his followers a share if they helped him. The other a leader from the West by the name of Exos dreamed of a peaceful land like the days of old where land was plentiful and humans lived in harmony. On the eve of battle and sensing that he would be defeated Exos went a walk through the woods to the last great dragon cave, a pact was made: dragon strength and wisdom for the promise that he Exos would follow his heart’s desire and restore the lands upon winning this war. This pact came with a warning for once you are touched by a dragon it cannot be undone, future generations would be affected by the ruler’s choices and it could be a blessing or a curse in the bloodline. The dragon used its magic to craft a goblet of twisted tree roots and filled it with blood and as Exos drank it the dragon said
“chose your future wisely”
As the last drop hit, a raging fire became lit in his stomach, falling over clutching in pain, a scream of pain bursting from his jaws as Exos looked around wildly the dragon was gone. His muscles pulled and stretched and the fire spread, there is no one to hear those screams now.
The battle raged for almost a week many men lost their lives and more wished they had. The two leaders found themselves face to face and for hours they battled until Exos dealt the final blow of a sword to Vitos’s gut and it was over. In this brief moment the internal fire began to rage and the dragon words echoed I in his head, but the power was too great and greed consumed him. For many years the king ruled bleeding his people dry of their riches and becoming a tyrant. His bloodline spread throughout the world, however like all tyranny it does eventually end, a rebellion would see the king and all his descendants murdered accept one….
Targa stood at the top of the hill over looking the village, it was miserable place, surrounded by barren lands. Thin streams of smoke rising from the chimneys of little thatched roofs, the villagers trudging their way through the mud grunting acknowledgments at each other. The rain battered the ground so hard not even the worms would dare to break the surface, a pitiful place but the only one who would accept him.
He turned his head towards a grave marked only by draconic language which read Het nok unnamed gein (here lies the unnamed one.)
“I don’t know why you ever brought us here….” His voice was deep and old, and he spoke with bitterness through gritted teeth, placing his clawed hand upon the words, with a sigh he continued
“but I suppose I should be glad you did……. Mother”
As he wandered down the hill, the rain ran off his scales giving them the alluring look of pearls but falling to the ground like snow after grazing his cold scales. His dragon like feet sunk into the mud so deeply that if it was not for his size and great strength would have seen him stuck there. Other villages he entered has screamed and ran away from his unnatural appearance but not here, not Vallea, this was home.
Targa carried on through the village waving to the people as he past with a smile, stopping only to sooth a troubled horse and help free it from the mud he always had an ability with animals no one could really understand. He walked to the other side if the village, crossing a dangerously worn stone bridge caused by the raging rapid which passed underneath it directly from the mountains.
Targa began to sneak his way around the lifeless house, silently climbing the tree outside to effortlessly reach the upper floors. Maintaining this silence, he glanced in the window and sensing nothing he opened the window sneaking through. Choosing his steps carefully he made his way down the stairs missing a few that he knew creaked and pausing only at the bottom, sensing no presence he grinned striding across the kitchen and reached for the fresh bread laid on the table.
“phew you need a wash”
Saeclus was the oldest of the villagers and its advisor and leader of many years, the people trusted his judgment and not surprising due to the stories that had been passed down the generations. Now he lived in peace and age it seemed came a price of loosing his eye sight but as often happens his other senses heightened so much so that even Targa as cunning and stealthy as he was could sneak up on him. Targa had come to him as a baby in the arms of his mother fleeing her fate, she stumbled upon the village cold, hungry and scared. She knew that she could not outrun the hounds forever and so she begged Saeclus to take her son and hide him and in return she would run and never return. When the king’s men arrived in the village with the hounds they searched the houses but found nothing and they continued on down the road, but word spread that the girl was killed and fed to the hounds.
Saeclus raised Targa as his own and taught him farming, but also told him of his fate to better prepare him for the world that would fear and shun him.
Targa washed his giant hands returning to the table to tear at the bread like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“I suppose you will hunt again tonight?”
With a grunt Targa responded “bread and ale are no way to live old man”
Saeclus’s voice was filled with concern “but to do what you do, only draws attention to your existence”
Targa kissed the old man on the forehead causing him to drop his mug which was caught in the clawed hand returned to the old man.
“let them come”
“Targa… That power you have must be controlled, if not we don’t know what will happen or who you will become”
Targa at the door now wrapped a long clock around him, he opened the door being greeted by a now darkening pink sky and as he pulled the cloak to cover his face he said
“I won’t lose control”
For almost a week he hunted gather as much food as his arm could carry, enough to feed the village for a week. He whistled as he reached the crest of the hill looking at his mothers tree a pride filling him to be home…. Only the dull, muddy village now burned, hounds chased what was left of the villagers Targa dropped his haul and began to sneak his only thought now as a rage burned inside him…. Saeclus
The house, his home was alight but he heard it faint and weak he heard the cries for help from upstairs. Targa leaped smashing through the window as a guard drove his blade deep into Saeclus, the rage building he grabbed the guard throwing him as his hound latched onto Targa’s arm its teeth barely scratching the skins surface but a yelp escaped it as its eyes locked with Targa’s and its coward for a moment before turning on it’s former master. Targa took Saeclus in his great arms and jumped out the window taking some of the drapes with him, as the screams of the guard faded, he realised it was too late and a darkness of despair consumed him as he realised that this was his fault. The hound was at his side its head hanging in morning as the fire raged engulfing the house Targa grew up in.
His eyes turned an ice blue as he wiped the tears from his face, a fire began to swirl in the pit of his stomach but no pain came with it, he stood up pulling his sword and his staff wrapping the torn drapes from under his foot and fastening it to his belt, he charged across the bridge the hound running with him at his heel and into the guards.
He went into a frenzy drawing the hounds to him with every meeting and they guided him to the guards where he showed no mercy. Until there was only one guard left, crawling backwards away from Targa fear in his eye the leader of these fowl creatures. He was pitiful and Targa was filled with an uncontrollable rage now reminding himself of his last promise.
“by the order of the king I sentence you to death”
Targa eyes whitened and he tilted his head at the guard as he continued
“your king demands your allegiance”
As Targa responded a blue fire ran down his arm, he found the words in draconic causing the guard to shake in fear.
“Zu’u lost nid jun uv mir “ (I have no king or allegiance)
With that the fire burst from him, leaving nothing, no guards, no hounds and the village was gone. The rain began to fall killing the last of the flames from Targa’s arm, he looked to the West and began walking.