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Here's the beginning of a little story I'm writing about my Dragoon character for the server, any constructive criticism would be much appreciated. Enjoy!
The night had just fallen, the last rays of the sun falling past the hills in the distance and a cool breeze blew through the sleepy village. It was the beginning of the winter and the first snow was not long in coming; clouds covering the star filled sky threatening to unleash the first of what was to become many nights of snow falling softly over the land. The houses in the village were all dark, with the only light coming from old Wanlorn, the watchman of the village for the past thirty years.
Wanlorn sighed, and took another swig from his skin filed for cold nights like these. The wine poured down ?sweeter than his first wife?s kiss?, Wanlorn thought to himself fondly. He had been a widower for these last few years, ever since his second wife had died giving birth to his one and only child, Lionel. Lionel had the eyes of his mother, but his father?s strong jaw and tough demeanor. Wanlorn thanked Tymora for his good fortune of having a child so late in his life. He had seen many things and traveled across the reaches of Faerun, but he had had no experience like raising a young sandy hair boy like Lionel. His second wife had been so radiant when she was pregnant, happy as can be and always brightening the mood of everyone around her. It was as if he had met the reincarnation of his first wife, Elizabeth all over again and fallen in love. The result was the boy sleeping soundly in his bed at home; snoring as if there would be no tomorrow. He was a strong lad, easily beating his fellows at contests of strength and speed. Nothing had made Wanlorn prouder than seeing Lionel beat the other lads at a wooden sword contest last spring, winning enough money to buy a gift for the other ten year old girl who had come in second to him, Sion Goodfellow. Of course, she was not the girl to be pitied, and smartly beat Lionel?s face in after she had chased him through the town a few times. Old Wanlorn had had a good laugh at that and treated the boy to his first cup of good ale, after which the boy passed out. Later that night, after tucking the boy into his bed, Wanlorn went to the cemetery and told his second wife about the boy?s adventures during the day, and had fallen asleep drunk on her grave.
While deeply entrenched in his thoughts, Wanlorn had failed to notice a dark-hooded man walking slowly up the last hill to reach the small village. Instantly sobered, Wanlorn put his hand on his trusty great sword that had seen many battles, those between men and creatures of death and despair, and even a smaller wyrm or two.
?Halt, m?good man! You have reached the town of Snowfall, please state your business!? Wanlorn tried his very hardest to keep his eyes focused and his voice even, but the wine was burning in his belly fiercer than a demon?s breath. The hooded man shifted the large pack he was carrying with the seemingly greatest of ease and looked slowly around, sniffing the air. Wanlorn, taken aback somewhat, continued trying to act as if he was in charge.
?Please sir, state your business or leave! We have had problems this season trying to keep the bandits from raiding our crops and the bog lizards causing trouble enough. If you?d like I can rouse the tavern keeper from his bed to get you a room, but if not please move on!? The hooded man stopped sniffing, seemingly to look at the man as if for the first time.
?Tell me, is there a girl named Windspear in this town??
Wanlorn stiffened, a look of shock coming over his face, and shook his head. ?I?m sorry good sir, but Lady Windspear passed away eleven years ago giving birth.?
The hooded man did not say a word, but one could feel his rage from Wanlorn?s range. As the hooded man uncovered his visage, the last thought that ran through Wanlorn?s head was a prayer that his son would live to see another day, and then only flames?..
A man walked through the wreckage of the small town, the snow falling softly around him, making the horrifying scene seem peaceful. The man could be described as old, but the hard muscle could be seen under clothes, making it look as if he was half his actual age. His hair was a dark grey, streaked with white, adding to his shocking appearance. He carried with him a long cloth-covered bundle, quite possibly a spear. It was his eyes though that made him stand out, and made those who thought he was a harmless old man think differently. They were hard silver, with his pupils slit, like those of a cat, or dragon. The man walked slowly around, taking in the carnage with hardly more than a glance left or right. Suddenly he stopped. He heard a noise, a soft moan of pain coming from under the wreckage of one of the houses. As he walked closer he saw a boy caught under a large wooden beam. His head was covered by blood, but his golden hair could be seen under the bloody mess. The man crouched down, looking at the boy, thoughtfully thinking to himself.
He made a choice that would cost him his life.
The boy blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get rid of the blurriness. When it was gone, he saw only trees around him, huge trees that stretched to the sky. He then realized he was being carried by a man with sliver hair, and asked himself why in the world was he here, who was this strange man, and most importantly, who was he? He tried to think of his name, and only came up with a blank. The man turned around and looked at him. ?What?s your name boy?? The boy blinked and said, ?I dunno.? The man grunted and kept walking. The boy thought to himself for a little, and said ?What do you think my name is?? The man said, ?I don?t care what you call yourself boy, you could call yourself a Gold Dragon and I could care less.? The boy blinked a few times more and said, ?Ok, I?ll call myself Draco.? The man dropped the boy unceremoniously onto the ground. He turned around and looked at the boy with his hard silver glare that had made enemies that would scare the most battle-hardened veteran cry like a small child. Draco only looked back at him and smiled. The man looked troubled for a moment and then?..
?Fine Draco, whatever. But I need you to do something for me.?
The newly-named Draco looked at the man and said, ?What do you need Old Man??
The old man gave Draco a fierce glare, and unwrapped a normal looking spear, with the exception of a dragon?s tail curling around the shaft of the weapon, leading to the extremely sharp point at the end. The old man dropped the spear onto the ground, and much to Draco?s surprise, cracked the earth beneath it, so that it formed to the weapon?s shape. Eyes wide, Draco looked back up at the man. ?I want you to pick up this spear. If you do, I will take you on as my foster son and student. If you do not, I will leave you to your own devices. There is a town about 5 miles north, and you can ask the tavern master to give you a job as a stable boy. There you will live in harmony and relative peace for the rest of your life. However?..? The old man looked at Draco with his bizarre stare ?should you pick up the spear, your life will never be the same, and power and glory will be yours should you choose it.?
Draco gulped loudly, and looked at the seemingly weightless spear embedded in the ground. ?How in the world am I supposed to pick that thing up? It has to weight at least two hundred pounds!? The old man shrugged, and went to go sit down on a rock with a piece of grass in his mouth he had just picked. The man leaned backward against the rock and fell promptly asleep. Draco looked at the man and then to the spear and back again. He rolled up his sleeves, got a good grip in the spear, and pulled with all of his might. The spear remained motionless, as if mocking Draco for his incompetence. The day continued as such, with Draco trying everything in his power to pick up this spear, but the small boy refused to give in.
It was beginning to get dark, and the old man woke up silently and quickly, as he had done every day in the last forty years. He listened to the sounds around him, the forest singing to him its song that he had never forgotten, through all his years of wandering and fighting. He listened for the sounds of the boy, his pants and his growls of frustration every few minutes. He decided he would give the boy a few more minutes, but then he wo----. BAM! The man opened his eyes, thinking an enemy might have been upon them. However, all he saw was the protruding end of the spear from the rock he was leaning against. The spear had cracked the rock, breaking in about five or six inches. Draco was panting heavily, his small body looking like it was about to collapse. The boy grinned at him, and promptly passed out on the forest floor. The old man then did something that the boy would only see years later, after much trial and pain and heartbreak.
He smiled.
The night had just fallen, the last rays of the sun falling past the hills in the distance and a cool breeze blew through the sleepy village. It was the beginning of the winter and the first snow was not long in coming; clouds covering the star filled sky threatening to unleash the first of what was to become many nights of snow falling softly over the land. The houses in the village were all dark, with the only light coming from old Wanlorn, the watchman of the village for the past thirty years.
Wanlorn sighed, and took another swig from his skin filed for cold nights like these. The wine poured down ?sweeter than his first wife?s kiss?, Wanlorn thought to himself fondly. He had been a widower for these last few years, ever since his second wife had died giving birth to his one and only child, Lionel. Lionel had the eyes of his mother, but his father?s strong jaw and tough demeanor. Wanlorn thanked Tymora for his good fortune of having a child so late in his life. He had seen many things and traveled across the reaches of Faerun, but he had had no experience like raising a young sandy hair boy like Lionel. His second wife had been so radiant when she was pregnant, happy as can be and always brightening the mood of everyone around her. It was as if he had met the reincarnation of his first wife, Elizabeth all over again and fallen in love. The result was the boy sleeping soundly in his bed at home; snoring as if there would be no tomorrow. He was a strong lad, easily beating his fellows at contests of strength and speed. Nothing had made Wanlorn prouder than seeing Lionel beat the other lads at a wooden sword contest last spring, winning enough money to buy a gift for the other ten year old girl who had come in second to him, Sion Goodfellow. Of course, she was not the girl to be pitied, and smartly beat Lionel?s face in after she had chased him through the town a few times. Old Wanlorn had had a good laugh at that and treated the boy to his first cup of good ale, after which the boy passed out. Later that night, after tucking the boy into his bed, Wanlorn went to the cemetery and told his second wife about the boy?s adventures during the day, and had fallen asleep drunk on her grave.
While deeply entrenched in his thoughts, Wanlorn had failed to notice a dark-hooded man walking slowly up the last hill to reach the small village. Instantly sobered, Wanlorn put his hand on his trusty great sword that had seen many battles, those between men and creatures of death and despair, and even a smaller wyrm or two.
?Halt, m?good man! You have reached the town of Snowfall, please state your business!? Wanlorn tried his very hardest to keep his eyes focused and his voice even, but the wine was burning in his belly fiercer than a demon?s breath. The hooded man shifted the large pack he was carrying with the seemingly greatest of ease and looked slowly around, sniffing the air. Wanlorn, taken aback somewhat, continued trying to act as if he was in charge.
?Please sir, state your business or leave! We have had problems this season trying to keep the bandits from raiding our crops and the bog lizards causing trouble enough. If you?d like I can rouse the tavern keeper from his bed to get you a room, but if not please move on!? The hooded man stopped sniffing, seemingly to look at the man as if for the first time.
?Tell me, is there a girl named Windspear in this town??
Wanlorn stiffened, a look of shock coming over his face, and shook his head. ?I?m sorry good sir, but Lady Windspear passed away eleven years ago giving birth.?
The hooded man did not say a word, but one could feel his rage from Wanlorn?s range. As the hooded man uncovered his visage, the last thought that ran through Wanlorn?s head was a prayer that his son would live to see another day, and then only flames?..
A man walked through the wreckage of the small town, the snow falling softly around him, making the horrifying scene seem peaceful. The man could be described as old, but the hard muscle could be seen under clothes, making it look as if he was half his actual age. His hair was a dark grey, streaked with white, adding to his shocking appearance. He carried with him a long cloth-covered bundle, quite possibly a spear. It was his eyes though that made him stand out, and made those who thought he was a harmless old man think differently. They were hard silver, with his pupils slit, like those of a cat, or dragon. The man walked slowly around, taking in the carnage with hardly more than a glance left or right. Suddenly he stopped. He heard a noise, a soft moan of pain coming from under the wreckage of one of the houses. As he walked closer he saw a boy caught under a large wooden beam. His head was covered by blood, but his golden hair could be seen under the bloody mess. The man crouched down, looking at the boy, thoughtfully thinking to himself.
He made a choice that would cost him his life.
The boy blinked his eyes a few times, trying to get rid of the blurriness. When it was gone, he saw only trees around him, huge trees that stretched to the sky. He then realized he was being carried by a man with sliver hair, and asked himself why in the world was he here, who was this strange man, and most importantly, who was he? He tried to think of his name, and only came up with a blank. The man turned around and looked at him. ?What?s your name boy?? The boy blinked and said, ?I dunno.? The man grunted and kept walking. The boy thought to himself for a little, and said ?What do you think my name is?? The man said, ?I don?t care what you call yourself boy, you could call yourself a Gold Dragon and I could care less.? The boy blinked a few times more and said, ?Ok, I?ll call myself Draco.? The man dropped the boy unceremoniously onto the ground. He turned around and looked at the boy with his hard silver glare that had made enemies that would scare the most battle-hardened veteran cry like a small child. Draco only looked back at him and smiled. The man looked troubled for a moment and then?..
?Fine Draco, whatever. But I need you to do something for me.?
The newly-named Draco looked at the man and said, ?What do you need Old Man??
The old man gave Draco a fierce glare, and unwrapped a normal looking spear, with the exception of a dragon?s tail curling around the shaft of the weapon, leading to the extremely sharp point at the end. The old man dropped the spear onto the ground, and much to Draco?s surprise, cracked the earth beneath it, so that it formed to the weapon?s shape. Eyes wide, Draco looked back up at the man. ?I want you to pick up this spear. If you do, I will take you on as my foster son and student. If you do not, I will leave you to your own devices. There is a town about 5 miles north, and you can ask the tavern master to give you a job as a stable boy. There you will live in harmony and relative peace for the rest of your life. However?..? The old man looked at Draco with his bizarre stare ?should you pick up the spear, your life will never be the same, and power and glory will be yours should you choose it.?
Draco gulped loudly, and looked at the seemingly weightless spear embedded in the ground. ?How in the world am I supposed to pick that thing up? It has to weight at least two hundred pounds!? The old man shrugged, and went to go sit down on a rock with a piece of grass in his mouth he had just picked. The man leaned backward against the rock and fell promptly asleep. Draco looked at the man and then to the spear and back again. He rolled up his sleeves, got a good grip in the spear, and pulled with all of his might. The spear remained motionless, as if mocking Draco for his incompetence. The day continued as such, with Draco trying everything in his power to pick up this spear, but the small boy refused to give in.
It was beginning to get dark, and the old man woke up silently and quickly, as he had done every day in the last forty years. He listened to the sounds around him, the forest singing to him its song that he had never forgotten, through all his years of wandering and fighting. He listened for the sounds of the boy, his pants and his growls of frustration every few minutes. He decided he would give the boy a few more minutes, but then he wo----. BAM! The man opened his eyes, thinking an enemy might have been upon them. However, all he saw was the protruding end of the spear from the rock he was leaning against. The spear had cracked the rock, breaking in about five or six inches. Draco was panting heavily, his small body looking like it was about to collapse. The boy grinned at him, and promptly passed out on the forest floor. The old man then did something that the boy would only see years later, after much trial and pain and heartbreak.
He smiled.
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