Legends of Belariath
Darien Dragonsong
So many swirling dreams, a million and one separate spirits, spiraling around this void of blackness until the tiny lights collide, simmering with their arcane reactions, all trapped in the consciousness of one mighty wyrm. In a bellowing, sulphur-scented volcano that was as if a bleeding postule on the face of Belariath, a vast, towering creature skulked about, plates of gold coursing down the colossal reptilian body of this cataclysmic dragon. For so long asleep as he awaited the stars to properly align, he dreamed of his time for revenge. The elder dragons conspired to banish him to this isolated lake of fire for his crimes, of devouring the souls of untold victims to fuel his own dominance and power against the others.
When a particularly intense desire pours into this being's dreams, energies shift, and the fabric of reality itself alters in small ways. In times, he can dream the same dream over again, as if picking up where he left off from before. Here is the tale of one of Argothia the gold's most favored, a dream born of the greatest anguish, and the moment he learned how to deal with his eternal banishment for his crimes against the others of his kin.
It was a pitched battle that had raged across a cloudy sky, the dark and ominous clouds reflecting the tangerine glint of blazing wild-fires on the tall grasses below. From the sweltering flames emerged a creature as if forged out of that mass. To this being, he can recall nothing before that blanket of grass-fire, and as such, it may as well have been his egg. A drak sen of the single most exalted status one can be afforded, instinct caressed every sinew of the savage and yet somehow sophisticated creature, a warrior at his very inception, and a gentleman as experiences guided his coming days.
It was all a haze, his right of passage into this world. One hand clutched the helm of an approaching charger, ripping a horned helm back and exposing the neck. It didn't matter that this dream had a human's maw, he didn't seem to understand that just yet. Flames scalded his flesh where striped embers antagonized him. He needed his release from this pain. He sank down, separating windpipe from spinal column, dropping the gurgling victim in a heap of thudded metal.
One by one, this enraged, abandoned spirit took out his anguish and his anger at such an excruciating first moment of existence upon one soldier or another, sides an irrelevant thing. Still empowered and consumed by the void of his dragon's spirit, losing that link was an agony that set him off, though he didn't have the ability to voice what it was that was taken away. His only companions were a towering column of fire on this burning savannah of a battlefield; urging him like a roaring chorus of gladiatorial spectators, and the mangled, charred corpses of warriors who contended with him as well as the fires, and each-other.
It was only as a chance storm rolled in, that the fires were quenched, and his agony was consumed. Through the entire downpour, Darien clutched his face in his hands, streaming hot tears against the cold rain, trembling, abhorred at what he had done, and heart-broken, soul-less without his link to Argothia. What could he do? Where could he go? What was the purpose of even existing? The tears washed down his ash-soaken knees and thighs, smoke choking him in a diabolic caress.
**Lengthy flashback**
Images flashed, of a life that was never his, or was it? Children playing, cool winds blowing across amber fields, neighing horses, dancing women, and the majestic sight of a second sun, born in the shape of a winged serpent.
Curiosity became dread, stinging desert heat where the creature's presence evaporated lush forests into ashen graves. It landed, quaking the earth with four towers for legs, its reflective form blinding. It spoke in a sonic scream that shattered glass and cracked masonry. The bellowing tone bleeding frail human ears, which stood before this shining calamity, the size of ants by comparison. "Fear not..."A thousand captured souls rumbled in brooding chorus, and parts of a crowd began to drop from their hearts bursting in terror. "A greater destiny awaits you..."Everyone around Darien seemed to crumble into death. He had no such instincts however, letting out a cry of anguish as he charged this vengeful monstrosity, whose smallest tooth was no shorter than his entire bulk. Falling from the sheer heat around the dragon's body, he was crawling on hands and knees to face this genocidal nightmare.
Such efforts were futile, but the brave spirit caught his attention, a tiny, flickering soul shining brighter than the rest. His voice was the taunting jeers of an entire pantheon. "How amusing, little one...Do not despair..."Argothia would say, ascending the collapsed morsel onto one talon's tip, bringing him up between the steaming nostrils to observe his tiny features up close. he was dizzy from the blur of sky that he crossed so swiftly, opening his eyes as if that space of Argothia's muzzle, so many sharp horns and fiery golden scales, was the gate to Hades itself. His voice was a tremble, the beast had to strain to hear. "Why would I not, monster! You've devoured all that ever was!"
"Oho!" A chest as wide across as a wheat field bellowed with laughter, and he would bring the defiant little man close, so that his very breath scalded his skin. "Fear not, mortal...For soon, all you have ever loved, will be reborn, as a part of me..."And with that, a lazy exhale of coursing alabaster flames consumed him. A booming echo erupted in the pit of his soul, seeming to devour his entire world in a flash of thermal heat. Every vision of life disintegrating away as if a loose sand sculpture in the midst of a strong wind. Alone he stood in this imaginary pocket of his twisted mind, watching as his own skin blistered and boiled as if tanned water, steaming off of his red sinews. His scream tearing into the armageddon as that next layer of his being burned away in the searing light. His skeleton still obeyed his command, until in his silent agony, he dropped to his knees, and felt that too, crumble into dust against that scaly claw.
The answer to Argothia's return to power, was ever so simple. His dreams were not cut off from the world of men, and if he could send enough of them forth, to let them grow in power and knowledge, they could return to him, giving him a boost of might and magic that would allow him to shatter these arcane chains around him, signaling a new age of havoc for the dragon-kind. As he focused his idle dreams, wrought with greed and agony in a twisting waltz, he came across the soul of that defiant little whelp. An idea came to the beast just then, as he set the bubble holding his soul between two talon-tips. "Wake, little one...You are special." A line repeated dozens of times, but maybe Argothia believed it himself, this time.
"Serve me, do my bidding, return to me with your findings, and you will find paradise..." For some reason, the sluggish spirit found himself craving life, and he'd give a hazy, vague nod. From there, the talons crushed that bubble, and as if he plunged through all the heavens, his form screamed out from a wavering pillar of fire. The battlefield was clashed with steel, with flames burning the earth and blood quenching the ashen remains. There was pain, all over. Flames, perhaps? Yes, flames. But little did the devoured dream realize, that some of that pain forged as a result of wings, a tail, and horns intertwined to his ethereal image. All he could recall, are these burning, smoldering fires, and with a cry of anguish, the newly imagined drak sen charged in his anguish towards an armored warrior, slamming back his helm, and finding a vent to his frustrations as teeth dully buried into his pulsing throat.
And so this cycle continued, as one by one, more victims helped to assuage his utter misery. When all was said and done, and he sat within the choking curtain of smoke, the rain washing that black soot down his body, tears steaming through fingers splayed across his contorted face, Darien had his introduction to life, aware only of that moment encased between two talons, being given the offer of life, and promise of paradise for his service.
**End Lengthy Flashback**
The victorious war-lord had seen the savagery of this suddenly congealed creature, and offered him a place in his company. It was under the guidance of that great minotaur lord, Goristros the blood-horn, that Darien learned his trade. He dealt death, maiming, and scorched earth as the horde moved over distant lands, plundering what they could to survive in the harsh, wilder lands. After years of wielding weapons, ending lives, and ravaging the victims of razed villages, Darien hungered for more, a greater destiny than simple barbarism.
Goristros let him wander away, and were the two to meet this day, there would be a feast in honor of whomever was the visitor. Many times, Darien would recite the wisdom of the hardened and aged mino, a fond memory of camaraderie that is a light in the dark of his tormented soul. "Journey well, Little-Horn...(A nickname given for the tiny points jutting from his forehead). And remember, better to die one glorious death than a thousand whimpering ones."
"Better indeed," he always mused to himself. Through foreign lands he wandered, seeking that unattainable filler to the void that was his shattered link. Like an orphaned child, he wandered in search of a sense of belonging. But these were superstitious times, and in these lands he was an oddity among barbarian human peoples. He was accepted for a time only for his sword-arm, and as a mercenary he had plied his trade for a time, careful to learn this little trick or that little trade where he went.
Through the years, he has sheltered hints of pleasure given by well-tested harem girls, the flick of a weapon trick from adept duelists, the countless theories on the meaning of life from all walks of life, from warlord to farm-hand. Hungering for more substantial answers to what haunted him, he kept traveling, earning his living in odd-jobs of blade or labor, until those travels took him to a Valencia caravan route on a fateful day. Having once been a pillaging raider himself, he proved to be an ideal guard, knowing what to watch for, as if a fox given charge of stopping an invasion of the hen-house.
This took him inevitably into Nanthalion, a place where there were more who struggled to understand the dreams. Here, it is not but the individual's strength which determined the degree of welcome, and the opportunities in this aspiring, lonely empire amongst a wild world proved too much to pass up just yet. When he landed, the dreams of his dragon ran harder in his mind, taunting him, promising a greater contact if his bidding was done. Taking it as an omen, Darien remained in this empire for a time, learning, plying his craft, and seeking ways to fill the void in his violent heart, and serve fervently for his place in paradise.