Drakes of the North

There weren’t always dragons in the valley… My father seldom spoke of it, but I know he was among the few to have survived their arrival in our lands. He was their at the fall of North Watch, the Fraendi Mannskadi, as we call it. The Kinsman-Great-Loss, in the primary southern translation. He was also there at the Torrlegge Mannhringr, the reclamation of the Greater Realm’s Capital. There was a dragon there they say, albeit a small one. My father fought alongside the legendary Five Champions then. He was one of them, though they themselves were not yet truly champions until later.

All this to be said, there was a time when the children of my people roamed and played throughout this valley. Boys would hunt with their fathers on the middle and lower slopes which make its walls. Girls would pick wildflowers freely in the lush grasses. And a Great Light once illuminated both the summits and the valley.

That was all before the Black Wyrm came.

It’s cold here in the North. Even though this valley is the southernmost portion of our ancestral homeland, it was always too cold for most of those soft-bellied southlanders. Snow usually blankets the valley this time of year, and makes the mountains impassable. That always served us well as a natural defense against the skuggdraugr- shadow monsters… Its melt in spring would adorn ground with a blanket of emerald growth.

Now the valley is scorched and barren. The once light granite faces are all blackened, sooty, smoldering cliff sides which turn both rain and snow to steam before it can sink into the desiccated soil… Despite this lack of water, boiling mud may yet be found. Created by the pooling of the great wyrms’ bodily secretions. I guess it somehow keeps the scales from bristling, or becoming brittle.

Yes the dragons ruined our valley… But they are not the reason I am out here, fleeing for my life, hiding in this hellscape and sleeping amidst the crags like the pika rodent. No. I have family to thank for that… A brother really.

Call it family politics.

Our family is the most influential family across the three Northern Provinces; Norland as the southlanders generalize it… They know nothing of the differences between the Norge, the Skanni and the Ostmen, my people. To them we are all still only a step beyond our ancestral barbarism. But let them think what they like. The skuggdraugr chose our Valley to infest because they know the Greater Realm cannot withstand them without the strength of my people.

All my life that is what my father told me. When the Northmen arrive is when the battle is decided. But he never told me what would happen if the Northmen turned and cannibalized each other.

Truth be told I am glad he did not live to see this day. I am glad he did not see me fleeing from our home. That he did not have to bear the shame of my pathetic, frightened flight into the wilderness while the braver men of our blood stood fighting to stop the usurper, Thorkell.

Usurper. What a funny word. It’s the same slur he threw at me when Father made it clear he was passing the Chieftain’s Axe to me, his younger son. I begged him not to. Few who receive chieftainship in such a manner survive. I guess in that regard the southlanders are right. My brother, and for half of the other Ostmen, the Old Ways offer the only solution for such uncomfortable breaches in tradition.

Any other Northman would have rallied the other Northern Tribes to his cause. The Skanni would have been a coin toss between my brother and I, but the Norge would almost certainly support me. At least that’s what my father’s huscarls all told me. “Prepare yourself and your people for war Prince Arne. Rally the loyal spears and raise high the banner of the Northern King.”

I couldn’t bring myself to do that. How could I draw swords against my brother? And far be it from me to drag the other tribes into another blood feud… No.

I tried to tell him it would come to this. To war. My father just looked at me with those fierce, grey, piercing eyes he had. Seeing me to my innermost parts. “Wars arise from times of peace. We are not at peace. You must remind them of that, when you are chief.”

What was I supposed to say to that? I settled for something like, “I will do my best.”

My father had the view that the dragons and the skuggdraugr are of one mind, and united in purpose against not only we Northmen, but the Greater Realm as a whole. My brother rejected such ideas as propaganda sewn to progress what some in the North call the “Southern Agenda.” It’s an idea rooted in the truth of the abuse of our peoples’ strategic geographic position, but it is hyper focused on a few points of our history at the expense of the rest of it. Thus I found myself increasingly attune to my father’s wisdom while my brother sought to gather those of similar sentiment to his own perspective. “Cede the inevitable to the Drakes of the North, and expand our power and our influence to the south.”

On his deathbed my father called us both to his side. It was the last time we beheld each other as brothers. While my father’s last words were for both of us, I alone took hold of them.

He nearly rose from his bed as he exhorted us. “Reveal what has been hidden. Reclaim that which has been lost. Make strong the weak, and above all else—DEFEND THE NORTH!"

I fell to my knees and swore an oath to him there in that moment, while my brother turned his back on us and left.

So here I am—alone. Stumbling around blindly in dragon territory. Well, my territory, which is currently in a state of annexation by dragons… Ok fine, yes… It’s dragon territory. For now.

But what exactly am I doing here you wonder, other than searing my feet through the leather of my boots and breathing nauseas sulfur fumes?

I’m hunting dragon. Alone. With only the clothes on my back, a sword at my side, oh and that Chieftain’s Axe that I mentioned my father gave me… You see it turns out that these sort of relic-like symbols really possess a man to do ridiculous things. Even more ridiculous that trying to murder your brother in front of half of your family.

Whew… Give me just a moment. That reptilian stench is particularly pungent at the mouth of a it’s den like this… And this heat…

Anyway. As I was saying—when my brother learned I had escaped Laist City, he rallied every Ostmen with sympathy for his cause. He hired master trackers from the Skanni to find my trail, then marched his army comprising of half of all Ostmen Northeast through the valley to the village at Dorsi—

Haha sorry, I can’t help but smile. This part gives me goosebumps, even in this hellish cave-sauna.

When the rest of my people heard I was still in possession of the Chieftain’s Axe, and that I was preparing to make a stand in the valley of our ancient ancestors, every remaining able-bodied Ostman rallied at the Secret Keep of Angvi, and has taken up positions on the Northwest slopes of the valley. And when the Norge and Skanni chiefs heard that the Ostmen had marched in full force north, back into the Wynnedyng Valley, all the Northern tribes rallied!

Now the entire valley echoes with the clatter of marching feet, and its slopes are white again like snow, coated with the glistening body of warriors encased in shining steel armor.

Half of these men had gathered here to shed the blood of fellow kinsmen. But here in the ancestral home of our people the air is thick with memory. The ground itself stirs beneath our feet, and the stones here still whisper to us tales of the ancients. Despite the intentions we carried into this valley, The Valley has revealed something enduring, yet new to us. A common heritage, an inheritance, and a birthright outstanding to be reclaimed.

But at this moment the heat behind me is intensifying, and the ground is beginning to rumble with the tremor of four, very heavy, clawed feet. I see the ranks of Ostmen moving to merge and stand together across the center of the Valley floor. Against the threat of the dragon's reemergeance no great kin-slaying will occur... Not in this place at least. The din of battle and stench of carrion on its doorstep would be sure to bring calamity.

I am counting on the noise being enough. Blood will still be spilled this day. Dragon blood I pray.

My brother will never relent his claim against me. As I will not slay him. Nonetheless a throne and a realm are at stake. An army has been mustered and to dismiss them without the payment of plunder is the most capital crime a chief can commit...

No, I could not prevail upon my people to march upon the dragon. But I have played upon the mind of one who could.

Even a coward may try to defend himself when backed into a tight enough corner. That's why I snuck into the serpent's lair and smashed its egg.

Here we come now to the final play. Thorkell has accepted my challenge, issued to him at the behest of his mighty force.

As I've assured you I cannot slay my brother, I will fight him. I will fight him with every ounce of vigor I can muster until the dragon comes at last comes forth. To that Great Lizard every northman smells the same.

No, there were not always dragons in the valley. Today there will not be again. I only pray now that I live to see the sun set upon the fall of the Black Wyrm's dreadful reign.

Here my brother comes.