Dragnara: The Last Dragon Rel (First Draft)

Prologue

It was a hellish day. My good mood had been cut-off throughout the entire evening. The mighty Aeolus was blowing cold air in my face fighting me, but not in a spiteful way at all. As a matter of fact it seemed as if he was protecting me from what I was about to see. I can still feel the terror as I looked at the dead body in front of me. He was a boy in his teens and he was also severely burnt by a dragon. From what was left I could see an expression on his face, this expression still haunts me even at this very moment in time. I wanted to vomit, but that's just disrespectful. I decided to curse under my breath instead. The air was so cold. I could even see my breath traveling like mist or tobacco smoke. I knew that I shouldn't stay out for too long. In this part of Dragnara the city of Belon, it's not safe to stay out for too long. It was getting dark and the natives of this land the orcs, have been known to travel in packs and they will steal anything of value.

I vowed to myself that if I see that damned dragon around in the city of Belon. I will kill him. I had enough reason to show no mercy on this particular dragon. This particular dragon's life means nothing to me. I take that previous statement back his life means anger and resentment; two of my personal emotions that I preferred to keep to my inner-self. Because of him I robbed myself the comfort of this secrecy. This is the very same dragon that left me heartless. I show little to no sympathy for anyone now. This dragon's name is Racon, he is not 100 percent dragon at all he is 50 percent human too, and he is what's known as a Dragon-Rel. He is the last of the Dragon-Rels, which still gives him no right to justify murder. Racon, the king of evil Rels, killed my entire family, my mother, my brother and my sister. All of these deaths were written in blood on his hands and his terms. I now have nobody, except of course my grandfather, who was my mother's father. 

I decided that the dead body at least deserves a proper burial, even if most of his body was eaten up by goblins and some parts even burnt to a tar-black crisp from the fierce fire of the vile creature we humans call Racon. I started my quest to make a grave. I dug deep into the snow with my hands. I just ignored the searing prickly pain caused by the harsh weather; the pain began to throb from my hands until they went numb and blue. I then hit something hard with my numb finger-tips, I heard it of course but I did not feel it. I imagined what the bruises on my hands the next day would look like. With my worries brushed aside I frantically took my digging to the next level. It was a shield. A kite shield, it sported a royal blue crest on the front side. The symbol looked like a cube with a knife touching the surface. It was an odd symbol and not the most creative one either.

Was this boy a knight? No and judging by the remaindering of his ash and soot covered face. He was far too young for that. This boy was squire at the most. I re-examined the shield; there was a coat of arms on it. From the look of it, it was a family crest coat of arms. An heirloom, it was obvious this boy was of important blood. That canceled out my thoughts of him being a lowly squire, he must be a prince, I thought to myself. I glanced back to the red splotched snow where I had found the shield and I saw a golden hilt with an engraving on it. The hilt was made of real gold. I remember thinking; I wonder how many pounds of meat I could get off of this. I knew that I didn't need it to use. I am an archer. A pretty damn good one too; I knew that the gods weren't trying to tell me something. And even at close range I keep a dirk dagger in a leg sheath on my right leg.

I pulled the hilt from the heap of snow with my right hand. My left hand was occupied with the heirloom-shield. The sword was magnificent. I put the shield face up in the snow, so that my left hand could accommodate my right hand. I twirled the sword around in my hand a few times, and it was so beautiful to me. The sword looked as if it had been made by the King of Elves himself, Grandon. Elves, tricky little beings as they are, they have an abnormal skill for creating weapons of great style and efficiency. I looked down at the sword thinking, I can at least get a couple hundred pounds of meat for this sword. That means me and Grandpa won't have to go lightly on food for a long time. After I caught a glance at my head full of red hair in the reflection of the metal blade; I put the sword in-between my waist-line and my belt carefully trying not to cut my leather strapped belt.