The story of a Dragonborn Barbarian
Rakin looked out over over the bow of the ship, the sprawl of wooden buildings that made up the port of Zoa loomed ahead. It looked safe, impregnable with large wooden walls, a far cry from his home.
He had come from the dying Khy'dal Tribe, deep in the Khydoban Desert, they had little care for architecture, their homes where built for necessity, usually just large enough to cover them during day. At night, no one rested, especially the dead. Each night, grotesque monsters would arise from the desert itself, and seek to kill anything that moved. His people had to battle with these abominations, constantly. Their lives revolved around this battle, even the eldest never knew peace or safety. Each morning, slightly less of his people would come back. They where strong though, they had to be, they would not break, never, to the last they would fight. Fear and despair where not emotions they would ever obey or give in to. They represented the last of their ancient kind, and would not dishonor their legacy.
He was made of this mettle, one of the dying Khy'Dal Tribe, the humans on this ship where so soft, even their skin was soft. He could not imagine how the survived, how they lived, such weakness, supremely pathetic. Why he was chosen to initiate trade with such creatures was a mystery. But since he was young he would travel to Dynaj to fulfill this task.
Looking back he saw one of his employers, a pale softie, no name given, the man who had brought him to Zoa.
It started with a group of extremely well supplied men, looking to take an expedition deep into the Khydoban Desert. No one in Dynaj would go, or stomach the trip, their last resort was his people. The next time Rakin visited to trade, they approached him on the outskirts of the city. A large supply of arms, amazingly crafted, was given, with promises of more, in return, take them to an ancient ruin deep in the Khydoban Desert. He complied and after the trip, on returning to Dynaj, they offered him one final job, he just had to guard one of them on his trip to Zoa, in return even more crucial supplies for his tribe.
It was a tiring, unevenetful trip, the lack of battle or intense danger was completely foreign to Rakin, and nights where spent restlessly patrolling, watching the ocean for any signs of beasts arising to kill them all. The lack of alertness in the crew shocked him...
A jolt of action as the sailors prepared to dock changed his thoughts.
He was not sure what to make of the city before him, or what he would do while awaiting a return voyage back to Dynaj, he didn't really care though, these people did not intimidate in the least, it was the safest he had ever felt. The only discomfort would be having to wear a cloak everywhere, but that was so slight compared to raving grotesque undead monstrosities that he almost chuckled.
Rakin looked out over over the bow of the ship, the sprawl of wooden buildings that made up the port of Zoa loomed ahead. It looked safe, impregnable with large wooden walls, a far cry from his home.
He had come from the dying Khy'dal Tribe, deep in the Khydoban Desert, they had little care for architecture, their homes where built for necessity, usually just large enough to cover them during day. At night, no one rested, especially the dead. Each night, grotesque monsters would arise from the desert itself, and seek to kill anything that moved. His people had to battle with these abominations, constantly. Their lives revolved around this battle, even the eldest never knew peace or safety. Each morning, slightly less of his people would come back. They where strong though, they had to be, they would not break, never, to the last they would fight. Fear and despair where not emotions they would ever obey or give in to. They represented the last of their ancient kind, and would not dishonor their legacy.
He was made of this mettle, one of the dying Khy'Dal Tribe, the humans on this ship where so soft, even their skin was soft. He could not imagine how the survived, how they lived, such weakness, supremely pathetic. Why he was chosen to initiate trade with such creatures was a mystery. But since he was young he would travel to Dynaj to fulfill this task.
Looking back he saw one of his employers, a pale softie, no name given, the man who had brought him to Zoa.
It started with a group of extremely well supplied men, looking to take an expedition deep into the Khydoban Desert. No one in Dynaj would go, or stomach the trip, their last resort was his people. The next time Rakin visited to trade, they approached him on the outskirts of the city. A large supply of arms, amazingly crafted, was given, with promises of more, in return, take them to an ancient ruin deep in the Khydoban Desert. He complied and after the trip, on returning to Dynaj, they offered him one final job, he just had to guard one of them on his trip to Zoa, in return even more crucial supplies for his tribe.
It was a tiring, unevenetful trip, the lack of battle or intense danger was completely foreign to Rakin, and nights where spent restlessly patrolling, watching the ocean for any signs of beasts arising to kill them all. The lack of alertness in the crew shocked him...
A jolt of action as the sailors prepared to dock changed his thoughts.
He was not sure what to make of the city before him, or what he would do while awaiting a return voyage back to Dynaj, he didn't really care though, these people did not intimidate in the least, it was the safest he had ever felt. The only discomfort would be having to wear a cloak everywhere, but that was so slight compared to raving grotesque undead monstrosities that he almost chuckled.