Tales from the Forgotten Realms: Tarakhin Grimscale

Chapter 4: Hell Hath No Fury

Tarakhin's journey was long and arduous. What was an eight hour run became a day long walk, and so Tarakhin decided to camp out for the night. He was in the thick of the forest, and knew full well that sleeping on the forest floor would leave him prey to all manner of poisonous creatures, so he began to climb. It was slow and steady progress. His thick claws dug into the tree bark, as he began to scale the tree. The bears head, still lodged under his arm, made climbing difficult, but still he made his way up. He reached the largest branch of the largest tree and began to make himself comfortable. He laid his weapons in a hole in the trunk, and used the bears snout as a make-shift pillow. Still smiling at himself, he allowed his eyes to close, welcoming dreams of his triumph to come.

The near constant bustle of woodland creatures filled the air. For hours, crickets chirped, birds sang and frogs ribbitted. A wolf howl cut through the air, some miles away, clearly agitated by the two full moons which sailed across the dark night sky. But amidst the forests chorus, another sound could be heard, barely perceptible, but getting louder.

Hiss.

Tarakhin awoke in an instant. A snake. It wriggled its enormous body out of the hole in the tree trunk. The hole which contained Tarakhin's weapons. It froze the instant it spotted the dragonborn. They both stared. The silence between the two grew and grew in intensity until the snake snapped. Its coiled body unsprang, as it launched itself at speed towards the dragonborn's head. Tarakhin reacted with split-second reflexes, gripping the snake out of the air only millimetres from his face. It's ivory fangs dripped with dark green venom, which seared and sizzled when it touched Tarakhin's scales. It continued to snap at the dragonborn's head, being hopelessly frustrated by the hand it was caught in. The snakes lower half began to slither its way towards the dragonborn, wrapping around him as he lay staring in shock. It began to squeeze, crushing the ribcage of the hulking dragonborn and causing his eyes to bulge. Tarakhin snapped out of his stupor and reached his other hand in to the snakes mouth. Gripping its upper jaw with his left and its lower jaw with his right, he tore in opposite directions, showering his branch with blood. For a moment, he laid still. He remembered now why he hated the forest.

After regathering his strength, Tarakhin decided not to let a good opportunity go to waste. He pulled out the snakes fangs and began to drain its potent venom onto his crossbow bolts. The liquid dried onto the end of the bolts, and smelled like a mix of sulphur and dried blood. This is enough poison to kill another bear, he thought. He resettled into his sleeping position, discarding the dead snake onto the forest floor, and drifted back off to a restful sleep.

When dawn broke, Tarakhin was greeted by the warm rays of the sun gently caressing his scales. He collected his weapons and climbed back down the tree, taking a moment to admire the dead snake before setting off on his way again.

It was many hours until he came to a clearing he recognised as marking the end of his journey. He beamed with excitement as he began to speed up his footsteps, passing the creaky footbridge, the old wooden rope swing and the dirt-covered combat square.

"I am back, everyone!" Tarakhin shouted, "and I have a BIG surprise!".

He was met by silence. That was strange. They should have been able to hear him by now.

"Hellooo?" Tarakhin continued, "where have you all gone?".

Still nothing. Tarakhin continued further, his hurried footsteps sounding more desperate than excited. He passed the entryway to The village and glanced over the courtyard. Empty. Perhaps there was a big trial. Tarakhin started heading towards his father's hall, passing the blacksmith, tailor and butchers shop. All silent. He continued on until he crested the top of the central hill, and as he glanced over the other side, his heart dropped.

Rows and rows of them. Crucified. Every person he had ever known. Ever loved. Dead.

Their hands and feet were nailed to crosses. Their chests were graffitied with messages of "freak", "monster" and "scum". Tarakhin vomited black bile. He collapsed to his knees and the bear head under his arm fell to the floor. His eyes streamed with tears as he began hacking up desperate sobs. This couldn't be. He searched the faces of his friends, hoping there would be ones that got away. No luck. He roared at the unfairness of it all. He looked for his father's face in the crowd. He wasn't there. Tarakhin had one morsel of hope to hang on to. He choked back his tears and steadied his feet, taking one last look at his fallen friends before he headed inside the grand hall.

The main atrium was hauntingly quiet. The rows of benches were in disarray and the throne was overturned. On the ground were 7 bodies. 6 human soldiers. All pale. All unmoving. Dead. Shock still plastered on their faces. And in the middle, a large red dragonborn with a dagger still held in his grip. Tarakhin's father was gone. He was on his own now. As the grief tore through his body, Tarakhin was struck by one thought. The sword. Where was the sword. He knew that his father usually kept it in his bedroom. Since the day his mother died it had been locked in a case underneath the bed. Tarakhin made a start towards the door behind the throne, stepping over the bodies of the fallen men, he reached it. The door opened, without so much as a creak, revealing a modest, but homely room. The straw packed bed was shifted to the side and underneath was a long, black leather case. The two latches on the case were lifted and the top was cracked open. Inside, lay the sword. Tarakhin looked on, awed by the majesty of it. It fit into his grip perfectly, like it was made for him, and images flashed into his mind of his birth. The gemstone shone with a mysterious sentience, and Tarakhin spoke.

Fragment of the lord of nightmares

Release to me your gift for retribution

Blade of cold, black nothingness

Become my power, become my body

Together, let us walk the path of destruction

And sever even the souls of the Gods

The sword seemed to assess Tarakhin, accepting him as its wielder, and it spoke into his mind the words of an unbreakable pact.

Heed me thou that art redder than blood

Heed me thou that art darker than dusk

In the name of that buried in the passing of time

Make this vow to the endless abyss

Mark all ye fools that standeth in our way

Let thine strength merge with mine

So that we may deliver doom to all alike

As the final word was spoken, the darkness from the gem began to spread. It ran down Tarakhin's hand and spread across his body. The darkness rippled through him, burning red-hot as it tore through his soul, turning his once red scales into a colour darker than night.

Tarakhin stood. He held the gemstone close to his head, and if he listened closely, he could hear the voices of his fallen friends. His mother. His father. Adakai. Morreki. They would all remain with him. They would all guide him.

The effects of the pact invigorated Tarakhin. He felt stronger, faster and smarter. He wielded the sword as if he had been trained in it his whole life, and he felt a potent magic coursing through his fiery veins. His deep red eyes served as the only reminder of the dragonborn he once was.

All that remained of him was hate. Hate for humans, and hate for civilisation. He had no home left here, and that was their fault. He decided to leave. Tarakhin said his last goodbyes to his fallen tribe. A wave of loneliness washed over him. His only company was now a sword. What a sad existence. But Tarakhin would not dwell or complain. He could make it on his own, and besides, he knew a place with a pretty nice cave.