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As
the storm raged about them, the grizzled warrior barked the orders to secure the
camp from the tortuous weather, his words almost lost in the pained moans of the
trees. His men toiled and strained against the wind and driving rain.
Lightning stabbed out of the foul night sky to momentarily steal their
sight, causing them to more than once trip over each other, sprawling into the
muddy earth beneath them.
The warrior, ever wary of the dangers of the wild, decided
to have one last look around, when his eyes caught with that of his steed. An
animal bred and trained for up close battle was wild with fear and not of the
storm for they had weathered worse before. This unsettled the warrior greatly.
Before he had time to think a faint whistling grew to an
enormous thundering, as a gout of flame roared by him and into the tent.
He watched as if in slow motion as the flames ripped through the material
and swiftly consumed everything they touched.
The warrior watched helplessly as his friends and brothers died, flesh
burning away from their bones. His quick reflexes brought his mighty shield to
bear as the dragon swept its breath from the pyre to the warrior. He could feel
the heat of its breath singeing his hair even as the magical shield parted the
flames and protected him from the hellish blast.
Man and beast paused to lock eyes, daring the other to move
first. Like a cat pouncing on a bird the dragon struck swiftly, lashing out with
its claws, jaws snapping closed on empty air as the warrior dove under the great
beast. The warrior sprang to his
feet, reorienting on the foul drake’s back.
Leaping and running for all he was worth, he managed to scale the great
beasts back. Hacking and tearing into the beasts hide; he felt his hand and arm
begin to tingle with raw power, as if something ancient and powerful had been
awakened in the blade, grateful to be plunging into the flesh of the Great Wyrm.
His advantage was soon to wear thins, as the dragon shook
off the impact with the trees and blows raining down on it’s back.
Quickly it extended its wings out full and flapped once, jumping as it
did, rolling in the air as it jumped, flipping the warrior into the air and
turning to follow his short flight to the ground.
The dragon deftly clawed at him halting his movement towards the ground
and tossing him into the air like a rag doll. The warrior felt bones snapping
and flesh tearing as he sailed into the air, eyes barely seeing through the rage
and the pain. The sword let loose a
flash of energy infinitely brighter than the lightning, blinding both with
searing white pain. As the flash subsided, a burning like none the warrior had
ever felt pulsed through his body, consuming, purifying and remaking the flesh
and bone as it went.
Finding himself whole and on the ground, the warrior
quickly took stock of the rended battlefield.
The dragon lay about 50 feet away in a heap, steam pouring from its
scales. No sign of breathing or
movement. That was good. He looked
to the area where the tent had been, the earth would be scarred for many years
from the unnatural heat. There was
nothing left. No sign that there
had been 10 good men, loyal and hardworking to the end, relaxing after a hard
days travel. The cowardly beast didn’t have the honor enough to allow them a
warrior’s death.
He raised the blade up to inspect the same weapon that was
passed from father to son, one generation to the next. Never before had his
father spoken of any powers in the weapon.
Nor did the blade ever glow, blue-green as it was now.
As he watched, the glow grew brighter and began pulsing like it had a
heartbeat of it’s own.
Looking to where the corpse was, he blinked in
astonishment, as the dragon was nowhere to be seen.
The warrior wheeled in a circle to locate the wretched beast.
A powerful voice thrust through his confusion. A simple
command that caused him to crouch and spring to the side. The great Wyrm
thundered into the ground where he’d been a moment before, causing great
chunks of grass and mud to spray out everywhere from the impact.
Seeing his opportunity, the warrior leaped on the great beast. Steel and fangs blurred in a furious exchange as lighting lanced through the rain and night sky. The warrior exhausted by the raging battle knew that if the killing blow did not come soon he would be finished. In desperation, he launched himself into the air, trying to gain purchase on the dragon’s head. The dragon sensing what his opponent was attempting, snapped his jaws shut on the warriors sword arm, almost tearing it from the fighters body.
The agony of the wound caused the warrior to lose grip on
the ancient weapon. The sword caught in the creature’s throat causing the
great beast tremendous pain. The
beast bunched its neck muscles in preparation for the hellish blast of its
breath. The warrior knew his end
had come. Flames blasted out of the creature’s nose and mouth, in an attempt
to dislodge the weapon and slay the warrior.
In silence the warrior stood his ground, not even bothering to raise his
shield. The flames washed over the warrior setting his skin ablaze.
Suddenly the sword seemed to magically shatter under the great heat, its
own ancient powers being released in a magical blast the consumed both man and
Wyrm.
A hundred years had passed since the great battle. A
dwarven smith had taken refuge in the clearing of that battle, hoping to shelter
himself and his family fro the raging storm that caught them unawares.
As he struggled against wind and the driving rain to erect his tent, he
tripped over something solid. Cursing
the gods for his misfortune, the dwarf dug through the mud to see what had
tripped him up.
The moment he touched the blade, he knew what had happened
here. The thoughts and images of man and beast racing through his head. Holding
the sword in his hand he vowed that the warriors story would not go untold, his
kin, even if they be grand children and great grand children must know of his
valor in the face of a daunting enemy. He also vowed that if ever a beast,
creature, or man ever perpetrated a cowardly act of this nature, they would
surely die.
Upon completion of his words, the sword began to glow,
faint blue-green. The lightning increased in intensity and crashed down around
the clearing. A great bolt from the
heavens struck the sword as the dwarf raised it into the air. In but a moment the dwarf lay unconscious in the mud.
When he awoke, his friends and family surrounded him. His
body ached and it pained him to breath, but he knew he was whole and safe.
“Bring me my weapon”. He bellowed. A young dwarf came forward bearing the
tattered scabbard. The smith drew the blade forth and saw the symbol that was
etched in fine diamond dust on the blade.
Instantly his arm throbbed. Pulling the sleeve of his tunic
up, he saw that he had the same mark on his arm as the sword.
It was then the sword spoke to him. “Take me up and
fulfill the oath you took in the clearing. For you are now Branded.
Make all creatures and peoples know of your wrath for the treachery that
you have witnessed through me.”
And so…. The warrior told all that he knew of the battle
that was fought a hundred years ago. As
the smith finished, one by one, his family, friends, and sword brothers stood
and came forward, asking that they too be Branded…
Ylushiun Iliphar- Sage of the Ages, Branded