Dadrian

Dadrian
Status
Race	Rakash
Gender	Male
Guild	undisclosed
Instance	Prime

Early Years

Raindrops pelted the long dirt road as the hooded figure trudged along, a harsh wind tearing at his tattered clothing. The man, a middle-aged Rakash, clutched his cloak tightly around his body to ward off the onslaught as he plodded ever onwards. A distance up the road, a faint light could be seen peeking through the driving storm and the faint outline of an old stone house began to take form. He stumbled slightly over unsteady footing, but managed to gather himself with practiced ease. The rains had been particularly hard this season and the trade routes had suffered dearly for it. The man stopped for a moment, crouching down next to the road to rest, his eyes trailing back down the road to the enveloping forest. A flash of lightning illuminated his weathered face as the wind whipped his hood about it. Bold, angular features and long silvery-gray hair made for a hardened countenance - the past few years had aged him greatly, what with the war raging around them...them. His wife and two daughters and his infant son. His heart ached as he pulled the small bundle in his arms closer to his body. His wife and oldest daughter lay dead in the fore of their country manor, a small settlement far west through the forests bordering the Crossing, his youngest daughter forever lost - deep in the heart of the treacherous Forisaad.

Lightning dashed against a taller tree along the tree-line revealing a lone horseman mounted atop a tall, dark steed. The two locked eyes across the distance as the rain seemed to intensify. The Rakash bolted, his hood falling back freely in the wind as he sprinted down the muddy road towards that lonely beacon of hope in the distance. The horseman spurred his horse into action. The horse's nostrils flared, hooves thundering as it gained ground on the fleeing Rakash. The rider drew a long, slender blade from his chest-sheath, his slight frame poised to strike.

Frantic foot steps splashed beneath him, his heart racing as he drove on towards the approaching shelter. His hands shook as the muddy road gave way to gravel, but the assassin was nearly upon him. He shouted, his voice lost in the rolling thunder. His pursuer hit him like a battering ram, leaping from his horse and dragging them both to the ground. The Halfling was easily two to three feet shorter, but made up for his lack of height with uncanny speed. The Rakash drug himself up from the muddy earth as his combatant slowly circled him, blade glinting in the moonlight. A stabbing pain radiated from the taller man's ribs, several broken ribs for certain. His bundle began crying loudly, the pain and shock of the collision waking it. The Halfling drew closer, his eyes narrowing as he spoke, "You and your line end tonight, traitorous dog." The Rakash backed slowly away, protecting his wounded side with one hand as he clumsily removed his cloak. Gently, he rested the child at his feet, draping his shroud over it. "Your master will fall, Aldroan. Sorrow's madness will consume him and all of you that escape the Zoluren infantry. Walk away and leave my son and I in peace." Aldroan's eyes widened with rage. "The only peace you'll have is death, Verod!", he spat. Lightning crashed as the two lunged for each other.

A form appeared, filling the doorway of the weather beaten, stone house. A large, dark-skinned Gor'Togg looked on in confusion as the two figures battled each other in the stormy night. The cries rang out again and he turned his gaze to the small bundle just off his porch steps. His gaze flashed back to the combatants as the taller let out a cry of pain, slumping sideways into the mud. The smaller figure, an Olvi he presumed, approached the collapsed form and with a brief utterance of some foul language, drove his dagger deep into the heart of his adversary. The man sputterd and choked as blood ran from his mouth his eyes coming to rest on the infant's makeshift shelter before glazing over in death.

The looming figure stared across the short yard at Aldroan. A peasant farmer, no doubt, but one that would have to be silenced. No matter, he enjoyed the spilling of blood. The small, rain-soaked bundle thrashed about as the infant protested the uncaring downpour. The assassin moved towards it, but stopped suddenly as the burly Gor'Togg moved to intercept him. Taken aback by the farmers sheer size, Aldroan hesitated for a second, formulating a plan of attack. "Very well", he said, his voice barely managing to conceal the intimidation he felt pressing on him. "You've seen to much as it were. Unfortunate really, that I must kill your family as well." His resolve hardened as a cruel smile formed on his face. He moved quickly towards the farmer, his dagger clenched tightly, but as he drew back to attack, he met the back of the giant's hand which sent him reeling. He laid there a moment, dazed; white spots dancing across his vision. His dagger lay several yards away in a small, muddy puddle. He raised himself up slightly, still sluggish from the blow, and began to crawl towards it when he suddenly felt an enormous weight between his shoulder blades which crushed him down into the gravely earth. Aldroan wheezed, the wind crushed from his lungs. The weight lifted slightly as he felt a strong hand tighten around the base of his neck, lifting him high in the air. "You already have." a voice whispered in his ear. With a sharp jerk, his world ended as a loud *CRACK* accompanied the brilliant lightening arc in the night sky.

The Good Son

The sun peaked above the distant horizon, chasing the early morning mists from the stone courtyard. Already, two figures toiled away in a large forge next to the well. A large Gor'Togg, his ebon skin glistening with remnants of the dew and perspiration, pounded his hammer against a white-hot length of steel. Attending him, a young boy of about 15 years struggled with the bellows, keeping the forge burning hot. The two men worked wordlessly, save for the occasional grunt as the Gor'Togg inspected his work. He brought the hammer down once more, a shower of sparks falling to the floor. "You're no son of mine, that's for sure," he exhaled disapprovingly as he looked up from his work. The boy was hunched over, breathing heavily - he looked up at the man as he spoke. "but you're the best I have so we'll continue after I've had some breakfast." He hated the man.

Working for the Gor'Togg was rarely pleasant, but he owed a debt and it had to be repaid. Khol, as the man was known to those he dealt with, was an older fellow in age only. He was still quite strong and quick of both body and mind. Traders came and went quite frequently these days, quite unlike in years past during the great war. His lucrative forging business allowed a great many repairs and renovations to the now fully functional smithy. Khol was a very practical man, and nearly all the money he earned went into the maintenance and improvement of his workshop; very little ever made its way towards luxury. He was all business. His ward, or "Boy" as he had come to call the young Rakash, was for all intents his property. He felt no shame in reminding him of this constantly. He, after all, owed him his very life and the more than generous lodging that was provided had to be made up for in some way.

Boy lived in a tired and worn old shack that was in no way less extravagant than the others in his 'neighborhood'; they were all quite equal in their disrepair. They lined six in all, three on each side of the gravely path leading from the courtyard out to the main trade road. He lived alone now that he was old enough to manage for himself, which was more than adequate as he'd never gotten along well with the Human family which had raised him. They were a quiet and peaceful group, no doubt, but their acceptance of the poverty in which they'd found themselves was sickening. They had but one son, a boy his own age by the name of Dadrian. Dadrian was the very definition of average, in no way standing out in either physical or mental acuity. His only defining characteristic was a constant desire to earn the respect and adulation of his superiors which he fulfilled through shameless flattery. This had made him an easy rival to Boy as they both knew that Khol would eventually take on an apprentice to his trade, and eventually manage the smithy itself once the elder Gor'Togg had passed on. It was a bitter rivalry.

Boy returned from the short recess to find the forge empty. Khol had obviously not returned yet which gave him plenty of time to stoke the fires and have everything in working order prior to the blacksmith's return. He took hold of the bellows and prepared to operate it when shouting outside caught his attention. He left the station and ventured to the door just in time to see Dadrian tear past. Boy watched as Dadrian cleared the fence all the while shouting for his father. Boy's gaze traveled back to the stone house as Khol emerged, an amused grin on his face. Dadrian had won the contest for his approval. Khol swaggered across the courtyard rolling up his sleeves idly; he entered the forge and wordlessly donned his work apron. He looked up to see his ward staring at him; the amused expression disappeared almost immediately. "Stop lazing about!", he barked. "These blades must be finished today!" With that he turned back to inspect the lengths of steel arrayed on the anvil in front of him, muttering to himself. Boy felt the emotions boiling up inside him. He wanted to run, run far from here and never look back, but there was nowhere to run to - nowhere to go. The young Rakash took his place at the bellows, working the heavy chains that operated it in silent anguish. Dadrian appeared in the doorway, the two boys locked eyes. "I'm ready to begin, Mr. Khol." he said with his mouth curving up in a triumphant smile. Boy's left eye ticked slightly. The Gor'Togg beckoned him over to the anvil as he placed one of the unfinished blades into the fires of the great forge. The two began conversing amongst themselves, the boy occasionally offering a question to which Khol would let loose a deep laugh that echoed throughout the building. Tick. He indicated two of the blades that Boy and he had worked on since before sunrise, commenting on the desired outcomes and the various steps needed to achieve them. Tick. Khol glanced back over his shoulder and roared "Why aren't you working that bellows, boy!? I swear I'll have your hide if I have to tell you again!" Tick. Dadrian glanced back at him and asked Khol a hushed question. Khol snorted in response and made no efforts to hide his response. "Far to lazy, though I'd expect little else from a Rakash." Tick. "He'll best serve us working the bellows, I can't really trust him with anything else." Dadrian smiled back at Boy as the Gor'Togg returned to describing the pounding process. Tick. The bellows went silent. Khol stopped mid-sentence, a large vein appearing on his forehead. He turned around to hurl another insult or possibly a motivating blow just in time for the white-hot poker to pierce his heart. His eyes grew wide, his mouth open in silent agony as the flesh around the metal sizzled and popped. He slumped to his knees as Dadrian backed away in fear and confusion. Khol fell to his side, his last breath escaping his lungs. Boy's eyes were locked on Dadrian's, his face an emotionless canvas; cold and resolute. He moved forward, tracing his fingertips along the anvil. Dadrian backed away, bumping against the wall. "W-what have you done?", he stammered quietly. Tick. Boy drew closer, his hand running across the steel blades. "Don't do this. I-it was an accident. They'll have to believe us." Tick. "Damnit, why'd you do that!? What's wrong with you?" With a fluid motion, the blade leapt from the anvil and sliced through the air. Dadrian fell to the ground in a cry of pain, his chest flayed wide by the sharpened steel. His eyes closed as Boy turned and calmly walked towards the door. 'Y-you'll regret this..." he whispered as his life faded. "I doubt that very much." Boy responded, a blank expression on his face.

Smoke arose over the trees to the west, a tragic fire had broken out at the secluded smithy. At least that's what the young Rakash lad had relayed to her. Much to far for any meaningful assistance to be offered in any case. Unfortunate. The guard turned her attention back to the traffic passing back and forth through the western gates of the Crossing. "What's your business?" the gatekeeper asked, his log book before him. "I'm here for work, sir.", came the response. "Name, please?" the gatekeeper inquired from behind his thick spectacles. The youth gazed back silently for a moment, a name. A name. "Dadrian.", he replied with a smile.

-Work in Progress-