Avoiders, Yachonisir, in my native tongue. We were members of gangs in out homeland. We were particularly quick, and could be used for reconaissance missions, burglaries, anything, and we were good at escaping the new people coming to our land. We lived in dense, swampy jungles. All sorts of draconic people, but we were particularly powerful. We were clever as wood elves, as adept at magic as high elves, and as powerful as orcs. We had a society, but we had no supplies, yes we had wooden huts... Yes we had no currency (often enough to make constant). But we were still a society, but the elves disagreed. They hated us for some reason, although for political reasons would never admit it. They were constantly sending rogues and scouts in, waiting for a time to mobilize so they could industrialize our jungle. We were'nt going to let it happen. So we created the Yachonisir. We were counter spies, essentially highly trained renegades, weilding small axes and short swords. I was stationed in the woods to the south west of the village. I was with a new guy, worst thing ever, they almost always get killed. We saw shaking trees, we went to investigate.
We moved silently through the trees, getting closer to the site of disturbance. I saw two elvish scouts. I whispered in a lizard like voice, "Vaecaesin, ocuir? Kurik." Which meant, "Elves, see? Slaughter." We jumped to the boughs of the tree they were on. These were not any normal intelligence gathering scouts, they were fully armored and armed. They came at us with magical weapons, elven scimitars. Sgiathatch Ndengina, wyrm killer, and Ailkoli Rista, the Wyrm cleaver. These were officers. We dodged around them, as the magical aspect to them lopped limbs off of the tree, singed the bark. One struck at me, and the other at my new guy. The new guy, was wounded, he managed to grab the elf, and jump out of the tree, forcing the elf down first. They both died in that moment. I was left with the other one. I dodged the fluent, quick strikes of his scimitar, attacking with what seemed now to be slow, lumbering attacks with my axe, I was soon disarmed, but we have a saying among the dragon born. Kurik veth gix eht oth. Fight with claw and tooth.
He swung again, I ducked under the blade. The weapon was so sharp it had embedded itself in the tree. I took my opening. I kicked the elf in front of me in the chest. He stumbled back onto the branch. I stepped forward, hands at my side, arms tensed, palms facing him, teeth showing. He was in my domain, on my land, fighting where I had the upper hand. He punched me a few times, only to be met with the hardened armor the dragonborn have, and the brunt of a punch, coupled with the stinging gash of razor sharp claws. I stpped forward in his confusion, and tore out his throat with my teeth, a fitting end for an elf.
I climbed down the tree, and headed toward the village, it was some walk. I approached the clearing of the village, only to hear screams. To the general effect of "Ghik!" or "Ghontix". The elves had employed orcish mercenaries with ogres to kill us off. They didn't want to get any dirt on their hands. I had the medals of the men I had killed with the new guy. I approached the neares orc, only to be clubbed by an ogre. The last thing I remember, being dragged away to an elvish camp. A long cart ride, I dark stone room, shackles.... A cold hard floor.
