Oathbreaker

III: The Druid

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Fifty four, fifty five, fifty six.."

Knock knock. Knock. Knock.

"Sixty, sixty one, sixty two.."

Knock.

"Sixty eight, sixty nine.. and seventy."

The downed log creaked as the hulking mass of a Druid sat upon it. Several birds, two rabbits and even a red-eyed tree frog had gathered around him as they awaited the song that was about to be played. The Druid drew a small wooden flute from his boot, licked his lips and drew in a deep, cool breath. He pressed the mouthpiece to his lips, and began his tune. He started slow, letting the notes rise through the air and bounce off the leaves and trees. The echoes of each note resonated in his ears. One of the gathered birds, a blue jay, began to match the notes of the song the Druid was playing.

The notes that vibrated through the Druid's ears drew forth from his mind a memory. A faint, nearly lost memory, but one that he held nearer than any other. It was a memory of home. Tucked away in the far mountains lived Clan Stormscale, a fearsome clan of bronze Dragonborn, known for their warrior heritage. Many of the Clan Stormscale elders were known throughout the lands as valiant and powerful fighters. These warriors were known to seek out armies in need of fighters, and if the aims of these armies were noble enough, these warriors would join and fight alongside them, like a mercenary who's payment was that of honor for the Stormscale name.

Drakarax Stormscale, a newly born hatchling, was one such born into this clan. He was one born in a time of great hardship for the clan. Not a single egg had come to hatch in a generation until the day of his hatching. A curse of unknown sort had been placed on the clan, one of which they worked diligently yet unsuccessfully to free themselves of over the span of these years. On the day of Drakarax's hatching, Clan Stormscale's Grand Elder, Voldroken Stormscale, placed a blessing upon young Drakarax's head. As the first hatchling born in a generation, it was the clan's duty to train his new soul in the war of the warrior.

By the time young Drakarax was 10 years old, he'd already grown to his full adult size. Even for Dragonborn standard, he was a hulking mass of scale and muscle. The horns and crest on his head grew in uneven clusters, giving him a menacing appearance. By this time, Drakarax could already wield a sword and shield, sport heavy armor and he had begun work on mastering his dragon breath. Upon Drakarax's tenth birthday, Voldroken tasked him with a new test. One to test his survival skills and his determination to honor Clan Stormscale.

"Young Drakarax," Voldroken began. He stood upon a grand stage in front of an amphitheater, other clan elders sat beside him and the rest of Clan Stormscale were sat in audience of the amphitheater.

"Grand Elder Voldroken. I am here" Drakarax called, kneeling in front of the stage where Voldroken stood.

"You have been deemed ready the Circle of Elders of Clan Stormscale to receive your next trial." Voldroken voice roared over the amphitheater.

"I am ready for this trial, Grand Elder." Drakarax stated.

"You tasked to travel to the Nel Ulihm, a dwarven city nested within these mountains. There you must find a human sorcerer of bronze Dragonblood. His name is Naramir.  You are tasked with bringing this sorcerer here to our village, making sure he arrives alive and well. Do you accept this task, youngling?"

Drakarax stood proudly, and turned to the audience of the amphitheater. "I do. For the honor of Clan Stormscale." He boldly said. Voldroken bowed his head toward the young Dragonborn, clasped his hands together and chanted a prayer. As he spoke, a torrent of air began to swirl around Drakarax, building to a great funnel of fog that shrouded him from view of the audience. Drakarax felt himself begin to change. His muscles bolstered, his scales hardened and his mind quickened. He heard a thousand different voices flow through his mind and through his body.