Relics of Avandorn

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

As a boy, Soren remembered walking these paths countless times. Lush green grass beneath his feet, golden sunlight peeking through the trees below a crystal blue sky, and fresh air in his lungs. Now, the ash on the ground was up to his ankles. The blackened dead trees reached upward like emaciated fingers toward a sickly yellow, cloud covered sky. And the air was heavy with smoke and fog that made every breath a struggle to not cough and retch.

No one knows why the dragons came, flying in from some distant land in the north. And no one knows why they ended their journey in the valley. They didn’t spread to anywhere else and didn't continue flying farther south. One day they just swooped in, dragonfire raining down, scorching everything. Anyone that wasn’t immediately incinerated was hunted down and devoured by the monstrous beasts. So many lives lost in an instant.

The sound of a twig breaking snapped Soren out of his thoughts. He held his hand up, a signal to stop and be cautious, and the fifteen or so refugees behind him obliged by crouching down into the ash. Though dragons were obviously the most dangerous thing they had to watch out for, there were now plenty of other creatures that could kill you. Ghouls, morblins, direbears, the list was extensive.

One would think that the sum total of all these perils would rule out the valley as a viable escape route from Luvia but the other options were simply, less survivable. The Nalyrian Deserts certainly had less threatening fauna but traversing sands that reached temperatures hotter than the inside of a kiln, was simply not possible with whatever meager supplies the refugees were carrying on their backs.

The only other option was the Quiet Mountains. Their name must have been someone’s idea of a joke, as no one would describe them as such. Winds there blow hard enough to take someone off their feet, sending them plummeting into the sharp crevices below. Accompanying the winds, torrential rains or blinding snow that seemingly had no qualms about appearing out of nowhere.

Soren’s fingers tightened on the grip of his longsword and he brought his shield up to rest below his eyes. His breath was silent as he waited a full minute, motionless. A second minute passed and he allowed himself to relax. He signaled the others to get up and keep moving, and they obliged without protest. Whatever made the noise wasn’t a threat or not interested in them. If only luck had been with them for the whole journey.

It takes six days realistically to traverse across the valley and they were on their third day. Things were not going well. They were a party of twenty when they first began and that had immediately left Soren with an uneasy feeling as he never guided this many people at once. But the gold was just too damn good to pass up. One hundred gold pieces for every person that survived the journey.

Within the first few hours they lost two to a shambler and another was poisoned by some kind of fungus the poor fool stepped on. Three others were wounded but still breathing thanks to Soren fighting off a pack of rottingdogs.

To top it all off, Lord Beckler, the man that was supposed to be paying Soren, left their campfire last night, taking with him that plucky mage Rhea. Soren protested strongly but Lord Beckler assured him they would return promptly, that he needed to check the ruins of a nearby monastery for something that had once belonged to him.

It was stupid.

Soren knew it was stupid even with the mage protecting the Lord, but his warnings weren’t heeded and come the morning, they had not returned.

Morale was obviously low. The entire group was Lord Beckler’s family and a few servants. What was left of them anyway. The kingdom of Luvia, north of the valley, was in its death throes.

Feasted upon by barbarian hordes that had poured out of the Agregian Steppes to the north. The Monarchy had fled through the only functioning warpgate and promptly destroyed it from the other side so no one could follow. Chaos and panic ensued.

The only thing staunching the barbarian raids and maintaining a modicum of order was the Silver Battalion. A peace keeping and protection force that had been left behind. But their ranks were slowly thinning, either from the incessant barbarian attacks or disillusioned knights that deserted to become sellswords. Soren himself was a sellsword, his knowledge of the routes through the valley made him very much in demand as a guide to refugees.

For a price of course.

When Lord Beckler accepted his terms, Soren decided this would be his last job. He would finally have enough gold to leave this place behind. Maybe buy himself a small villa on the Arrich Coast. Somewhere away from all of this mess. Some nicer clothes too. His breastplate and leather armor had seen better days.

But now that was all out the window. What the hell was Lord Beckler thinking? What sort of man just leaves his family behind?

“Your face tells the story of a man burdened by his thoughts,” said Kenton Beckler as he walked up beside Soren.

He was Lord Beckler’s cousin, an earnest, agreeable sort of man. He likely was an athletic man in his youth, but the lifestyle of nobility was a sure way to widen one’s stomach.

“Just making sure this is the safest way,” Soren deflected. Kenton saw through the attempt.

“You’re thinking of my cousin running off and how you will be compensated upon the completion of your task,” replied Kenton without any hint of cynicism, “Do not worry. A large portion of our family’s wealth sits in the bank of Highburne. You will have your gold if we make it there.”

“I appreciate your words,” Soren said, “Truthfully I was remembering when I grew up here. How different it looked before the dragons came, and all the other creatures too.”

“Aye, it’s true. After the beasts came, it’s almost like they were a beacon for all manner of evil things to fester and grow here,”

The observation made Soren feel uneasy so he changed the subject.

“How are the others faring?”

Kenton shrugged.

“The poor sods that got torn up by those disgusting dogs are managing. A pity Rhea didn’t specialize in healing magic. The two children haven’t spoken a word since their mother was slain by that abomination with all the mouths. Aside from that, everyone is tired. I dare say you are the last bit of thread that is keeping them all from unraveling.”

The sellword felt like the man was implying something.

“Pay or no pay. I won’t abandon anyone out here. I’ll see this through one way or another,” promised Soren. Kenton smiled dryly.

“Glad to know there is still a measure of honor in that world weary body of yours.”

“Just a little.”

“Look!” shouted one of the children from behind. Everyone’s eyes followed the child’s outstretched finger pointing to something shining on the ground a short distance to their right side, in front of a rocky outcropping adorned with dead thistle bushes.

“Keep your voice down,” Soren hissed.

“What do you suppose that is?” wondered Kenton.

“I’m not sure,” replied Soren, “Keep everyone back while I check it out.”

The sellsword moved cautiously through the ash, his eyes sweeping for any sign of a threat. Once he was a few meters away, he could tell that the object was a breastplate. It was half buried in the ash and a corpse was still occupying it. Soren crept closer until he was standing over the body. He reached down and grabbed the top of the armor, lifting it up slightly. Ash spilled away from the body revealing what was left of a face. The flesh had been charred but Soren recognized who it had belonged to.

Morton Leens. Another sellsword.

Plying the same trade as Soren, guiding refugees through the valley. He was a brash, incautious man and it seemed that those qualities finally caught up with him. Soren felt a twinge of pity for the poor souls who paid Morton to keep them alive. Unlikely they still were.

A thought wormed its way through Soren’s mind. Dragonfire clearly killed the dolt. But dragons weren’t known to leave food lying around. Their appetites were ravenous, eating something as soon as they killed it. What made this one leave Morton half roasted on the ground?

The hair on Soren’s neck stood straight up as a deep low growl emanated from behind him. He turned to see an inky black cave in the rocky outcropping that had been hidden in the shadows of the thistle bushes.

Staring at him within the black maw of the cave, a pair of eyes glowed with white hot intensity. Beneath the eyes, Soren could make out razor-sharp teeth, barred in two crescent rows. Slowly the dragon emerged from its hiding place.

Its scales were nearly as black as the darkness from whence it came. Cruel looking horns adorned its head, trailing in a ridge down its back. It stretched its massive leathery wings as they found room and its wicked looking claws sunk into the ash with dull thuds.

Over two meters tall at its shoulder, it raised its muscular neck until it towered four meters above Soren. Another growl came from its mouth as it sized up its prey. Soren could see the heat waves billowing out of its mouth and nostrils.

He swore at himself for falling for the dragon’s trap.

It must have learned that leaving a body in the open sooner or later will bring more bodies to eat. Judging by its size, this one was only a few years old. A juvenile. The sellword readied his sword and shield. This one was dangerous, yes.

Incredibly so. But not invincible.

Not a colossal behemoth like the ones that first came here. If he was careful with his movement, precise with his strikes, it wasn’t an impossibility he could slay it.

The refugees, seeing the danger, began to scream and panic.

“Keep back!” Soren shouted, “Stay out of sight!”

The dragon drew in its breath deeply before spewing a stream of flames down at Soren. The sellsword leaped and rolled out of the way. Fire splashed on to the ground where he had been a moment before, incinerating what was left of Morton Leeds. As he came out of the roll, Soren brought up his shield, rightfully expecting the clawed strike that came immediately after. The dragon’s claw glanced off the shield, leaving an opening for Soren’s longsword to find its mark.

The blade found purchase between the scales of the beast’s elbow, releasing a small spurt of dark blood into the air. Enraged, the dragon let out a terrifying roar and spun its body, letting the momentum of the move carry its heavy tail straight into Soren’s shield.

Soren’s guard held firm, but the force of the blow launched him off his feet and backwards several meters. Again, he rolled with the momentum and allowed it to carry him back on his feet. His arm ached from absorbing the hit.

He wouldn’t be able to shake off many more attacks like that one.

His thought was interrupted by the dragon barreling towards him. It was a clumsy charge, born out of anger. Soren could see this and waited. The dragon’s jaws flashed forward but Soren was quicker, sidestepping like a bullfighter, delivering a vicious upward slash into the giant reptile’s neck.

More dark blood spilled onto the ground. The dragon tried to reach back to bite Soren but its momentum from the charge caused it to trip and slide onto its side.

This was the opening Soren was waiting for. He sprung forward and mercilessly swung his sword again and again into the beast’s exposed belly. It writhed in agony, its clawed limbs thrashing but Soren kept his shield up to deflect the panicked strikes.

Another slash. And another.

The sword was stained red with the dragon’s blood. He was hurting it but not delivering a death blow. He grabbed onto a horned scale and began climbing onto the beast for a better striking position.

The claws of the dragon finally found traction on the ground and pushed itself from the dirt. The wings opened and suddenly the two of them were soaring above the trees. Soren’s shield hand was able to grip one of the horns protruding from the dragon’s side and he kept swinging his sword for all he was worth. They weren’t precision swings. Most of them glanced off the dragon’s thick scales but every third one or so pierced flesh.

The dragon flew erratically, desperate to free itself from its malicious passenger. One wayward sword swing nicked the dragon’s wing. Folding in to recoil from the sword, the wing no longer provided lift and both man and beast fell sharply back to the ground.

Soren tumbled into the ash, landing flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. The dragon was first to its feet and upon seeing its opponent was vulnerable, quickly blew all the fire it could muster at him.

Soren only had time to bring himself to his knees and hide behind his shield as the fire rushed up to him.

The fire streamed around the shield like water rushing around a boulder in a river. Still more fire poured out of the dragon’s mouth, trying to cook the sellsword where he crouched.

Sweat beaded and dripped from Soren’s brow. He could feel his arm getting hotter and hotter. The shield started to glow from the heat, Soren gritted his teeth from the burning pain.

After what felt like an eternity, the dragon’s breath petered out, having exhausted all the fire it could muster. Soren dropped the near melting shield on the ground and tried to rise to his feet. He didn’t have the breath or the stamina to avoid the dragon’s claw and it knocked him back into the ash.

Before he knew it, the dragon's massive clawed hand pinned him to the ground. He struggled but the massive weight was too much to wriggle out from. His sword lay uselessly just out of reach. The dragon let out a roar in triumph.

It was over.

Soren had lost. He couldn’t see fault in his effort. This beast had shrugged off over a dozen wounds from his sword while he could barely survive one.

He didn’t know where the refugees were but hopefully they had the sense to flee before the dragon was finished with him. The sellsword relaxed, accepting his fate. He could feel the dragon’s hot breath on his face as it leaned down, its jaws opening wide.

Soren closed his eyes.

A blast of red lightning arced across the clearing and surged into the dragon’s shoulder.

It reared up and roared in pain. Soren looked over to the source of the magic and saw it belonged to Rhea. The lightning continued flowing out of her staff as she moved toward them. Her robes and red hair billowed around her from the spell's energy.

The dragon released its hold on Soren, too distracted by its anguish. He wasted no time and pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his sword on the way up. As the dragon’s head came down, Soren’s blade went up, piercing through the bottom of its jaw and continuing into its skull.

The dragon gave one final screech and collapsed to the ground, dead.

Soren stood and stared at the massive beast’s corpse, catching his breath. He turned to look at Rhea as she sauntered up to him with a cheery demeanor. He could also see Lord Beckler approaching with the rest of the refugees.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked crossly.

“My goodness! I expected a smidgen of gratitude from a man of your stature Sir Soren!” Rhea said playfully.

“I am not a Sir. Not anymore. I was about to be wyrm food until you decided to return from your vacation and grace us with your presence.” Soren angrily retorted.

The nerve of this girl!

Still, he would be well and truly dead if she hadn’t intervened.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Aww think nothing of it!” she said with the same cheery voice, “I just came in for the assist. You did most of the damage.”

“I agree,” came Lord Beckler’s voice suddenly behind them, “You fought with bravery and cunning against impossible odds. Thank you for keeping my family safe,”

The compliment did little to improve Soren's mood.

“Lord Beckler. I trust that you found what you were looking for on your little side venture?”

“Oh indeed I did.”

The Lord held up an incredibly ancient leather bound book, its trimmings and clasp made of silver. A strange, unreadable language was printed on the cover.

“Do you know what this is?” Lord Beckler asked coyly.

Soren wasn’t a scholar but he knew enough to understand what he was looking at.

“A relic of Avandorn?” he asked curiously, “What was it doing at a monastery in this forsaken place?”

Avandorn was the name of the ancient kingdom that had covered most of the known world thousands of years ago. There were very little traces of that forgotten era left, making the said relics incredibly valuable.

“It appears that some worship of Avandornian Gods has survived into modern times.” offered Rhea.

It still didn't make sense to Soren.

“You are already a wealthy man. You went to all that trouble to find a relic to sell it?”

“Sell it?” Lord Beckler laughed “I am not so short sighted. I have a rudimentary grasp on the language of Avandorn and from what I can glean, there are directions to another location in this book. I know a man in Highburne who possesses a far greater understanding of this language. I wish to have him translate the book.”

“Fair enough then. Then let’s focus on getting to the other side of the valley so you can see your plan through.”

“Actually Soren, I was hoping that you would extend your services to me again once this contract is complete. Your fee would be... considerably larger.”

The sellsword wasn't convinced.

“You honor me Lord Beckler. But I have had enough brushes with death. I’ll take my gold and find somewhere quiet to spend the rest of my days.”

“Ah but Soren my boy. Do you know what Avandorn was believed to have had mastery over?”

Soren thought for a moment.

“Dragons?”

“Exactly!" Lord Beckler said excitedly, "Control of dragons! Perhaps wherever this book may lead us could give us answers on how they accomplished such a feat. Perhaps... what we learn could help drive the dragons from this valley! We could change the whole world for the better! Haven't you wished you could have your childhood home back? ”

“C’mon Soren! We need someone like you for this quest!” Rhea piped up, “I gotta feeling that danger will be a constant companion on this journey.”

Soren stared out at the charred black valley, contemplating the offer. This used to be his home. Could what Lord Beckler say really be true? Could green grass and lush trees grow here again? And be a safe haven for those left in Luvia?

It would certainly go a long way to balance the scales concerning his desertion. Either way, this Lord will have to pay out the nose to afford him.

He walked over and picked up his shield. It had cooled enough to hold again. Slinging it on his back, he turned to face everyone. He sighed heavily before speaking.

“About my fee...”