Legends of Belariath


Drak Sen Story

He didn't know his true master well, he'd seen him only once, never heard his voice, nor been beckoned to his aid, but the Onyx Drak Sen who had met him, revered him, and led the rest of the Clan in the reverence. The Master Dragon from whom all the Clan served was Lariot, a powerful dark Dragon with a lustful taste for the flesh of humans. As Lariot aged as did his lust for that fiery blood that lived in those short lived creatures, those two-legged humans, that slashed and burned the lands and beauty that Gaea had created for them all to revere and love. He believed himself a guardian over time, a Paladin for Gaea of the highest calibur, for what is more powerful than a Dragon save for a god? He presented these ideals onto his clan, and worked to make them stronger, increase their numbers and above all, loyal to eachother.

Lariot's clan grew in time, seldom called into service, from a few to many, cluttering their subterrian home with a small village of Onyx Draks. Their confinement, the close quarters of the subterrian world, and their small numbers made them a closely-knit group. The women of the Clan cared for the village, kept it neat and the men happy, and the women were well respected for this huge burden by their male counterparts. Over time, traditions were born, one of these traditions was a Claim Braid. A male Drak Sen Warrior was permitted to grow a braid in his hair that signified his status as a Warrior for the Clan, a Hunter and Guardian. The more braids the male had, the higher his status, some had as many as twelve. That was not the true purpose of the Claim Braid however. The true purpose was a way for the powerful, the ones with many braids, to improve the clan, and to realize Lariot's dream of a powerful following. They were permitted to cut a braid in half, and only once could each braid be cut. This braid was given to a female of the village as his Mark. The powerful could Mark many females, the weak few. Master Lariot, when breaking away from his delusions of a Holy Avenger for Gaea, might peer in on his Clan, his servants, and see the need to make yet another servant, build his Clan, his following, his powerbase. When he did this, he would look to the Claim Braids for guidance. Picking a Claim Pair, he would dream them up a child, a Dream-Child, they were called. This Dream-Child is created with that attributes of the pair, and this gave the Drak Sen family, it gave them fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, making them even closer. Fathers could teach there Dream-Sons to be strong, proud, determined and loyal. Mothers could teach there Dream-Daughters service, pride in their ways, in their tradition, as women were the Guardians of all things Cultural, and above all, they could teach the Dream-Daughters there history.

Aramourn was one of these Dream-Sons, born from a prominant Dream-Pair and given the name of his Master Lariot's brother. Geld, Aramourn's Dream-Father, promised he would make him strong, make him a true warrior, and Aramourn believed him. Though as he matured, and grew into a adolecent, he took on some attributes of his Dream-Mother, whom was thin, agile and swift. Geld was dissappointed in his boy, a boy who was supposed to be broud chested and packed with strength. Again and again he voiced this dissappointment Aramourn failed to win lifting contests, failed to grapple his play partners to there knees swiftly. Though his Dream-Mother had realized her son was not built for strength, he was built like her, for speed, for agility, like the flying Dragons who watched over the lands from their ariel perches, Divers, she called them. Geld would not nuture his son's positive attributes, only scold him for his weakness, despite the effort Aramourn put forth to recieve his father's praise, he never recieved it. His father had promised to make him strong, and he could not, Geld hated himself and he hated his son for it. Thaladia, the Dream-Mother could not bare the pain of their tattered relationship any longer, she was heartbroken when she'd see her son, eyes moist with tears, looking upon his powerful father, and praying, hoping upon all hope just to be looked upon with pride. Geld would never give him that. She did what any mother would for the son she loved, she would make him strong in other ways. She brought Aramourn to meet Alaterial, a female Drak Sen who renounced her womanly duties for that of a man. Lacking the strength of her counter-parts, Alaterial had honed what attributes she had, the same attributes Aramourn had. She used daggers, she avoided battle when she could just kill, she hid, she snuck and she was lethal in all of these. She was, a Rogue.

While his father slept, Aramourn would sneak from their cavern, to meet Alaterial in the halls, to practice sneaking by guards, to practice throwing daggers, using his slender fingers like a surgeon and building the agility and speed of a light weight combat effective killer. She taught him if his enemy is stronger, don't over power it, level the playing field with what you know. You know you are faster, you know you can dance away from their blows, wear them out, make them chase you, and when they are not ready for it, strike with lethal force, a single blow, that is what it is to be a Rogue. Aramourn learned well from her, and as he grew into a young adult, he began winning the tournaments for status in his age group. Geld was still not impressed, his said the way his son dodges blows and hops around is not the ways of a warrior, it is the ways of a coward.

He had two braides, nothing compareds to his father's nine and a half, but it was something, more than many Dream-Sons his age, when they were summoned into service by Lariot. Finally, the old, vicious creature had stepped too deeply into a pool of human blood, and now he was paying for it. A small hired army of Dragon Hunters had brought the great Holy Avenger to his knees. Trapped beneath a multitude of cables and chains, massive spikes thrust through his wings, sticking him to tree, fired from ballista, all held him in place. It was only an hour before the entire male population of Lariot's Clan were on the surface, their weapons sharpened, their skills honed, and their emotions run high from the scene the Speaker had shown them. Silently they formed a line, and walked swiftly towards there destination, towards a battle against superior numbers, superior odds and an army trained and designed specifically to take down the creatures that created them. In the front was the Great Hunter, Bez, the Clans greatest warrior, followed by Axa, then Geld. Near the rear was Aramourn, dagger in hand, head bowed. He would fight and die like the rest of them, this is not a battle they could avoid, there Master had called, their All-Father, they will succeed or parish. Behind him were the One-Braids, and those with no braids who had volunteered to come despite their obvious lack of training. At the very end, twenty paces from the whole column, was Alaterial. They refused to let her march with them, so she marched alone. She owed Lariot as much as they did for her life, she would not stand idle and see her Master in pain, she would fight like a man, she would die like a man.

The column of black wings and black tails, with one dot at the rear, glinting with weaponry, marched on for several hours, none of them spoke, none of them slowed. They were summoned, and they would not stop to even drink. They would march, they would fight, and most would die. By then Aramourn had come to terms with his death, what did it matter? He'll never -truly- be dead, and what good is a son who's father will not even look at him for the shame he brings? However this coming of terms was severly shaken when he saw the scene from the ridge, as was many of the other young men when they beheld the would-be-battlefield from the ridge of a cliff as they moved down to battle in silence. At the bottom of the valley, outside the village, was their Master, a massive black Dragon, the ground around the beast was soaked red, and after the day of captivity, he still fought his bonds, and roared through a chain-muzzled jaw. Camped around Lariot were tents.. Enough tents for two-hundred soldiers, atleast, Aramourn tried to count them, and lost track as he became dizzy with fright. The column stopped and he bumped into the man infront of him. Though the bumpee said nothing to the bumper. Bez was speaking in loud, fiery tones...

"Look at this, men, look at what they have done to our Master. The vile creatures have taken away his free will, held him upon the ground where no creature of flight truly belongs, and forced him to bleed onto Gaea's green grass. We will not stand idly by, we will fight, to the very last man, and by the Gods, we will free our master! Hear me in this, if you hear nothing else I've ever said to you, each one of you matters in this, you -must- give your all, it is absolutely imparative this battle be won. We have lived together and I'll be dammed if we will not die together. We are all we have in this battle, eachother and our weapons, nothing more. Show pride in what you are, show pride in your Master and destroy that which has attempted to destroy him. Fight, men, fight with your all for we are a last hope, we are a shadow of our creator and so long as he is tied down as are we!.. Even a woman, Alaterial has stepped out to fight for what she believes in, and I'll be dammed if I don't respect her for it. Now.. Draw weapons!"

Blades, axes, spears glinted into the evening sun in a crash of steel on steel. Aramourn only drew his dagger slowly, examining it.. He wished he could use a sword, or an axe. His slate colored eyes slide back to Alaterial, the woman that had drawn out his strengths and used it to cover his weaknesses. He wished he had made love to her when she asked, for they both know well, this will be the last time they lay eyes on eachother alive. She shook her head, dark curls cascading across her shoulders. She saw it in Aramourn's eyes, he had regrets, and she dammed him for it, she would not let him have those regrets and she stole them away with that shake of her head. His attention was drawn back to Bez as he spoke once more, this tone loud, harsh, vicious, through clenched teeth with his massive sword pointed down the ridge with one hand.

"Drak Sen of the Lariot Clan, to battle!"

A burst of rumbling came down the cliffside as forty plus Drak Sen charged down it, weapons at the ready, a line of do or die warriors ready to throw their lives on the line for their beliefs. The humans were not ready, they were fat and lazy from their victory over Lariot, and when the Onyx force met there's, it was bloody. The melee ensued all around Lariot, as his booming laughed maniacally against the restraints and the muzzle. He knew his sons were here, and they would save him or they would all die. Once the Dragon Hunters were up and moving the melee became far more bloody, no longer were just humans dying but Drak Sen as well. Aramourn could see his father fighting three men alone, and winning, shouting out as his vicious blows came against sword and shield, despite the heavy wounds he'd recieved, and in a fleeting moment, Aramourn felt his love and admiration for the man return. Snapped from his reverie by a blow to the legs from a mace Aramourn hit the ground hard. Over him was an armored man, hidiously scared face and heavy armor, he lifted the mace again, to deal the final blow. Aramourn shut his eyes and waited for pain and death to take him. The blow never came and he heard Alaterial shouting at him, "Get up Ara, get up! Fight damn you!" He grinned as his eyes snapped open and peered into her fiery green eyes, He got up, and the two parted ways. Aramourn was doing well, despite the blood pouring from his legs, and some how, he managed to survive to battles end. There was his father, clutching his chest, one of the last standing, and swinging his axe one-handed at a massive human. The axe was met with a shield, again, and again. Aramourn rushed to his father's aid, wounds burning, muscled starved and ached.. It was too late, the axe fell from Geld hand after his head fell from his shoulders, the body hit the ground with a lifeless, cold, dead, thud. Enraged, injured, burned and battered Aramourn attempted to tackle the human. A mistake. The enemies blade met Aramourn's naked chest with a downward slide, and he fell to his knees as his blood pooled in his lap and all around him, "Father.." The dead man did not respond, of course he didn't. Things fadded to black as Aramourn landed at his father's side, convulsing as his blood raced from his body, like a flood finally breeching its damn. He was unconcious.

To his own amazement, Aramourn's eyes opened again.. It was night, the moon was the only light showing down upon him. He sat up slowly, hand rising to his chest. There was no gaping slash, just a hideous scar. He looked around, and saw his father's body beside him, Alaterial curled at his side, stuck full of arrows. He touched her.. Cold. The Cold that only comes with death. He turned his head and vomited blood and his breakfast at his dead father's feet, and would've kept vomiting, had Lariot not peered down at him with massive, red eyes. The voice was low, powerful and in his mind.

"Listen to me, Aramourn. I have given you life again, for one single purpose, -my- purpose. Leave this place of death and destruction, leave this graveyard of your father and your first love, and avenge them. Find the men that ran from here, find them and kill every single one of them in cold blood. You are special, you are a rogue, you are -my- assassin, sharpen your skills and conquor, young Drak Sen, I, Master Lariot, Command you!. Go!"

He stumbled to his feet, shaking from death's cold shock, dizzy from pain and exhausted. He clutched the chest that still pained him and stumbled into a run, to where, he had no idea, but he was ordered, and he wanted to go home. He would do as he was commanded, he would kill them all, kill the men that had taken away his father, kill the men that had taken away his only love, kill the men that had tried to rule a creature that would not be ruled, men that took away his only true home.. possibly forever.