Year 3043 AGD
Month: Ragnós
Second Fourthday
Continent of Terroval
Southwest of Asylum
When Victor entered the impromptu camp, he noticed people staring at him. His first thought was that he had missed some blood while he was cleaning, but after a quick check with the mirror from his pack, he decided that wasn’t it. Then he thought that maybe they were just looking, staring off as they occasionally did, and he was just imagining that they were looking at him. After a few minutes, however, he abandoned that theory, as people kept talking amongst themselves and looking discreetly in his direction. Fiddling with his dagger and a small piece of wood, he felt rather uncomfortable.
After a few minutes, he walked over to where Bredwin and Za’erath were treating their half-ogre companion. He noticed as he walked down the embankment that someone had taken the time to remove the head from the other dracair warrior and nodded in approval. Grimbash was still lying near the body of the dracair dreadnaught, but his size had returned to normal—which was still large.
“How is he?” Victor asked the grey elf.
“He’ll be okay. He woke up once, and that was when we got him to release his Shapings so we could manage him more easily. Of course, it was easier treating the wound when he was bigger, but since it is treated, it will heal better now that it is smaller.” Victor was looking at his companion in a new light after the battle that had occurred. After a few moments of silence, Victor looked up from the half-ogre. Za’erath and Bredwin were both looking at him in the same way the rest of the group had been. Fiddling with the handle of his dagger for a moment, Victor waved to the two healers and walked back towards the stream.
Leaning over the water, Victor looked at his reflection. Still not seeing any blood on his face or clothes, he sat on the bank, dumbfounded. A short while later, Victor sensed the presence of someone a few yards behind him. He didn’t feel threatened by the person, but he knew it wasn’t Nim. He could feel the eyes probing him, though, and felt that uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades. Whoever it was, they were standing upwind from him, so he couldn’t catch their scent. The softness of the footfalls told him it wasn’t one of the dwarves. Even though one of the dwarves was rather good at sneaking around, his footfalls still sounded heavy compared to those he was hearing now.
“I wonder what thoughts plague a mind such as yours, Victor,” a soft voice from behind said. He recognized the voice as Elandria, the half-elven archer.
With a snicker of cynical amusement, Victor replied, “I often wonder what thoughts don’t plague my mind. It’s those that I need to worry about.”
Elandria walked up beside him before sitting down next to him on the bank of the stream. Victor looked over at her and realized that she wasn’t wearing her leather armor, and that she had put on light travel clothes. Her hair, which she usually had back in a ponytail, was down and free to flow over her shoulders. She must have noticed his careful consideration of her from his reflection in the water, because a slight grin appeared on her face as she stared down into the gently flowing water.
“I suppose you are right, but most of us don’t expect a person your age to consider such things. How old are you, anyway?” She looked at him, really looked, as few others had ever done to him, and it made him feel odd.
“Eight and a half,” he said, his voice coming out in a whisper.
She let out a low whistle, and then chuckled softly. It was a soft laugh that made Victor feel comfortable. Shaylyn had often laughed in much the same manner. He wasn’t sure if he should be offended that she was laughing, but something told him that she was laughing more at the universe than she was at him.
“You may have noticed people looking at you.” When Victor nodded slightly, she continued. “It isn’t meant as disrespect to you—in fact, it is probably quite the opposite. You see, there is something that all of us here have in common. It is why we work so well together, and why we are known as a unit that gets the job done and survives.” She paused briefly as if gathering her thoughts. “We all share the heritage of the blood.”
Victor looked at her carefully and wondered where this conversation was going. He quickly perused his memories to see if he had ever heard of this before, but the only memory he could recall was from several years earlier. He concentrated on the image that he had grasped onto and focused on it. It was one of the outings that Shaylyn had taken him on for his training. They were sitting at a small campfire, and they had just accosted a small band of goblin-kin that had raided a small farm.
“You did well back there, Victor.” Shaylyn looked at him carefully.
“That was neat, Shaylyn. My heart was beating so fast! I could hear it in my ears. When that goblin had that club raised at me, I thought I was gonna die. It was great!” Victor said with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old boy that didn’t quite understand his own mortality.
“Yes, great…” She chuckled softly. “Victor, you have to be more cautious. If you get so preoccupied with what is happening in front of you, then you won’t notice the blade entering your back until it is too late.” She put her hand on her head and sighed. “I really wish I didn’t have to teach you these things yet.”
“I was thinking about that,” Victor said softly. “Why is it that I can’t show what I can do to the other kids? You said that they can’t do things like me, but why? Why am I different? Why…”
“Okay Victor, that’s enough Why’s for the moment. Let me answer them as they come so I don’t lose track.” Shaylyn said seriously. “As to the first, you cannot show other kids or even adults what you can do because you are not supposed to be able to do it. Most people do not learn most of the things you know before their mid or early teens, if they are gifted. As to why you are different and able to do things that people three times your age cannot, it is because your blood heritage is stronger than most before you.”
Forestalling the onslaught of questions that she saw coming, she held up her hand to silence him. “The blood heritage is a term the dragons used. It is a gift from the parents and ancestors to their children. The blood heritage is made up of memories and other things that the ones before you knew. When the dragons took human form fully and mated with the other races, it changed this heritage into something that the non-draconic races had not seen before. In humans and half-elves, it means that at a certain point in a person’s life, they may develop dreams or feel a guiding force from inside that they don’t know what it is or where it came from. For others, the bond develops much stronger. When the heritage of the blood manifests itself fully in some, they receive the full memories, and in some cases the skills, that their parents and grandparents had. These tend to manifest themselves slowly over time. Most of those who receive these gifts do so at an age during or after their teen years, or in a time of great distress.”
Victor hadn’t understood what she had meant at the time, but he realized now that she hadn’t meant for him to understand it then. She had known that at a point in his future he would need to know this information, and so she was giving it to him. Their conversation had gone on from there, but he knew that was the information he needed. Bringing his thoughts back into the present, he looked up at the half-elf in front of him and saw Shaylyn for a moment before blinking.
Victor grinned. “You know, you’re a very pretty woman.”
She laughed with what Victor might have described as a giggle if she wasn’t a very capable warrior. “If you were eight or ten years older, I’d either punch you or kiss you for that comment, depending on my mood. I’m going to take it from that look you had just a few moments ago, and the fact that you didn’t ask me what it was, that you have at least a basic knowledge of what the blood heritage is, a fact which is surprising to me because not many like to talk about it. Essentially, it’s a very strong bond by our blood that allows us to remember and even experience in our dreams things that those who came before us did. I myself trained with the knights as a dirge, and if you don’t know what that is, you’ll have to find someone else other than myself to explain it to you.
“Three years ago, I started having dreams about a silver dragon. Sometime later, it was dreams of a copper one. Then, the dreams turned to people. After a while, I would hear suggestions like those that an instructor would give. About two years ago, I got the urge to pick up a bow after one of those dreams. I found that I had become more skilled in its use than I had been previously. From there, the memories and dreams increased in frequency and scope. One life after another. I found that most had taken up archery because of the blood heritage, and over time, the skill had developed beyond that of many others.
“Thousands of years had given my family, on my elven mother’s side, dozens of lifetimes of experience. My father’s side was not as strong in the memories as my mother’s, and they were mostly farmers and soldiers, from the memories I can dredge up. Out of all the Protectorate Forces, there is a small percentage of those of us who are so strong in the heritage. This squad, and some if not most of the higher ranked members of the armies, are stronger in the blood heritage.”
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“So, what’s this have to do with everyone staring at me?” Victor didn’t quite whine.
“Victor, you just removed the head of a Magnus Dracani. Not only did no one tell you it needed to be done, but there is only one way to do it. You performed the task with a single-minded determination and skill that could only be developed after doing a job like that dozens of times. Nim is the only one with a good enough skill to do that job without making a huge mess or ripping apart areas by hacking at them. I’m sure Nim won’t say it, but you did that more skillfully than I think he could.”
“Oh no, I’ll say so. That was the best work I’ve ever seen,” a voice from behind them said.
“You’re getting better at that, Nim,” Victor said, turning his head and grinning.
“I just have to remember to block your senses, so that I can sneak up on you,” Nim said as he walked from the edge of the clearing a few feet away from where Victor and Elandria were sitting. “Though I didn’t want to get any closer or I think you still would have known.” He sat down on the other side of Victor and grinned at him.
“Nim, I never thought I’d hear you admit someone was better than you at something,” Elandria chided.
“Ah, now I may be arrogant, egotistical, and supercilious, but what kind of man would I be if I couldn’t show pride in the work of one that I’ve helped train?” He laughed the hearty laugh that Victor liked hearing from his friend and mentor. The dry rasp of his draconic heritage could be heard in that laugh, but for some reason, it wasn’t a malicious sound when made by Nim.
“Victor and I were just having a discussion about the blood heritage,” Elandria stated.
“Yes, I heard most of the conversation. I’m just glad that I didn’t have to be the one to tell him. Of course, I didn’t think it would show any signs of breaking through for a few more years.” Nim looked down at Victor with pride in his eyes. “Even with his exceptional nature.”
When the three of them returned to the camp, Victor no longer felt like he didn’t belong with these people. The small doubts he had were gone, and what replaced them was a sense of kinship. They made a campfire not too far away from the bodies of the Dracair. No scavengers would go near the dead predators for some time; it would take days for the draconic smell to dissipate enough for most creatures to consider it just another dead animal.
Year 3043 AGD
Month: Ragnós
Second Sixthday
Continent of Terroval
Southwest of Stalwart
Blood Orc Encampment
“Here, bite down on this,” Ashur said, putting a piece of rolled up cloth that he had ripped from his cloak and cleaned in the water that Dunnagan had purified this morning into Shawnrik’s mouth.
“I ain’t seen anyone in that much pain without havin’ a big hole in ‘em,” Dunnagan said, looking down at his writhing companion. “What do ye think is wrong with ‘em?”
Ashur kneeled beside Shawnrik, who lay on the stone slab that sat in the corner of the room to act as a bed for anyone wishing to avoid rats. “I don’t know; can’t you find out what’s wrong?”
“I could, lad, but that bit o’ delvin’ takes a bit more energy than purifyin’ some water. If I was to use that much energy, someone would be sure ta feel it.”
“I don’t think we have a choice at this point. If you don’t give him some help, the pain is going to kill him before whatever is making him writhe.” Ashur’s voice held a hint of fear that Dunnagan had never heard in the many years he had traveled with the man.
“Alright, lad.” Dunnagan moved Ashur aside enough so that he could delve what was wrong with Shawnrik. Pricking his finger, he drew the dwarven rune of healing upon Shawnrik’s forehead and began feeding energy into it. He placed his hand on the young man’s chest and stood immobile over Shawnrik for what felt like an hour to Ashur, but he knew it must only have been a few minutes.
Ashur paced back and forth along the ten paces that their cell held. He heard a commotion through the outer door to their cell area and knew that Dunnagan didn’t have much more time before they were disturbed. He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but the only thing in the room was the bucket they used for water, and that was too big to reach between the bars.
Dunnagan began moving at the same moment that the door to the cell chamber opened loudly. Ashur recognized the man that entered as Tallion, their dracair captor.
“What are you doing in here?!” he asked in a harsh rasp. “I do not care if you use your magic to create food, or to gather and purify water to keep yourselves alive, but you had better explain yourselves, or you shall have an unpleasant evening. The only reason I do not shoot you now is that I know you were not using it to communicate outside of these walls.”
Dunnagan turned away from Shawnrik wearily. “Sorry about that. The boy is sick, and I ‘ad ta know what’s wrong wit’ him.”
“Well, what’s wrong?” Ashur and Tallion said at the same time, and then looked at each other as if they had threatened each other. After a moment of glaring, they both turned their heads back towards the dwarf.
“Well, far as I can tell, he’s going through puberty.” Forestalling the questions he saw coming he held up his hand. “‘is body is growin’ at a rate which isn’t supposed ta happen. His metabolism has increased greatly, and everythin’ in ‘is body is workin’ overtime. His blood is changin’, and it probably feels like he’s bein’ ripped apart from within.”
Nodding, Tallion looked at the young man with what Ashur thought might be a sort of compassion. Finding it odd that a Dracair could feel compassion for anything, he knew it must be serious. He went back beside Shawnrik and took the young man’s hand. Hold it together, Shawnrik.
“Do you know what this is, Tallion?” Ashur said, without looking away from Shawnrik.
“Yesss,” the man said in the hiss that Ashur was used to from the man by now. “It is heard of when those of a smaller race have mated with those of a larger. There comes an age when a change will occur—it can be anything from a growing of the muscles, to a full body growth. It appears your friend here has gotten the worst of it.”
“What happens ta the ones that go through this change?” Dunnagan asked, regaining some of his strength after his link with Shawnrik.
The dracair assassin took an intake of breath that grated Ashur’s ears. “From our experiences, it is about a one in five chance that he will survive. You may use your magic to comfort the boy, and should it come to pass, make his exit easier. It could last some time. Feed him what you can—he will need the strength. I will bring some of the fruit we feed the ones going through the blood change. I do not know if it will work for a human, but you can be the judge of that.” He turned and walked towards the door, stopping long enough to look Dunnagan in the eyes. “If you try to use your magic to escape, or to contact allies, you will be killed on the spot. We will know.” With that, he opened the door and went out.
“Oh laddie,” Dunnagan said, walking over to where Shawnrik lay. He edged in beside Ashur at the head of the slab. “I’m gonna ta try ta loosen some of his muscles, he’s crampin’ all over. I’m also going to try to dull his nerves, so he doesn’t feel the pain as much.” Dunnagan began a series of prayers that were answered with more fervency than he was used to. “I don’t think we are the only ones that want to see the boy make it through this.”
Ashur looked at his companion questioningly, but the dwarf was too busy to reply even if he had noticed his friend’s look. You have to live, Shawnrik. Who is going to watch after Victor if you die? Besides, I’ve gotten too used to you being around. I don’t like to see any of those I travel with die. Ragnós knows I’ve seen too many already. Keep fighting, lad. We’ll be right here beside you.
What’s going on? Shawnrik cried.
Shawnrik? Is that you?
Shawnrik knew that voice, but he couldn’t place it at the moment. His whole body felt numb. It’s better than the pain, he thought, but couldn’t remember what pain he meant.
What pain? Are you okay?
The voice broke through his thoughts again, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. He knew that he trusted the voice, yet he couldn’t call up the face behind it.
Tell me where you are. The voice became more insistent.
Who are you? Shawnrik asked the voice.
It’s me, Victor. Where are you? the voice asked again.
A flood of images flew through Shawnrik’s mind. He knew Victor. He trusted the boy with his life. I can’t recall. I remember being tired, and then the pain.
Pain? Are you hurt? Is someone hurting you? the voice of Victor asked.
Shawnrik shook his head but realized that the voice probably couldn’t see that. No, I don’t think so. I can’t remember. I know that I’m with two people. His memories weren’t coming as fast as he was used to. Fearing that he was losing himself, he began to panic. Victor, I’m scared.
Are you with Ashur and Dunnagan? Victor’s voice asked.
More images flowed into Shawnrik’s head. As always, Victor’s presence brought out more in Shawnrik than he knew he had. Yes! We are… being held. I can’t remember where. We were heading for a town, but something held us up.
Were you heading towards Stalwart, or had you gotten there already?
Yes, Stalwart. That is where we were heading. I remember a girl. She… she got captured. Shawnrik was trying to recall by what, but he couldn’t bring it forward. He felt a tinge of the pain that his memory recalled, and he felt himself being pulled away. Victor, it hurts.