The Blood of Telkan

Dragons were nothing but myth and legend. Even during the golden age of the Kingdom of Dagnar when magical and mystical powers were the norm, the great winged beasts were believed to be nothing more than the results of a bard's imagination. None had ever been seen and no one even bothered with claiming to have seen one, no matter how fervently they believed their eyes. As lust for gold and power dismantled the great kingdom, however, the lone survivor of the blessed and regal House of Telkan discovered otherwise.

A mere babe when his father and the rest of the royal family were assassinated, Haradon Telkan remembered nothing of the flight from Bintariand with his uncle, Saftan. He learned later that they had barely escaped on the back of Vhegan, his father's griffin, and they'd had to smuggle Alkor, his own griffin, in the saddlebags. As rumors of discontent among some of the more powerful houses had steadily grown during the years prior, Haradon's identity as the king's bastard son had been kept secret. It was well-known that Saftan and King Pharzon were close friends and had grown up together, but the romance between Pharzon and Lyarra, Saftan's younger sister, was not.

Lyarra had always been around, as Saftan and Pharzon were as thick as thieves, but as she grew into womanhood and Pharzon into manhood, those shared experiences and childhood friendship grew into something else. The courtship had been ended quickly, though, as the bonds between House Telkan and House Lenqar were close to begin with and Pharzon's father, the King, wished to cement a better alliance among the malcontented nobles. This did nothing to actually quell the feelings between them however, and as Pharzon's betrothal was announced, Lyarra removed herself from the social life of the royal court, never to return.

Despite the death of Pharzon's father in the months after his betrothal, the new King did not nullify the pairing and combined his coronation and wedding ceremonies into a grand occasion, hoping to placate the still-grumbling nobles. The attempt was for naught, however, and not even the innate magical ability to sense and avoid danger that was tied to the Telkan bloodline could save Pharzon from the blade that opened his throat as he slept. Not even his wife was safe, as the killers took her life as well, in case she was pregnant. Their goal had been to eliminate the royal bloodline and divide the kingdom into smaller kingdoms, each to be ruled and exploited by one of the conspiring houses. Haradon's existence had been known only to Lyarra, her mother, Pharzon, and Saftan, which kept him safe from the plot, but Pharzon and Lyarra's dalliance was not as secret as they had liked to believe.

Saftan knew this and had acted as soon as whispers reached him. The House of Lenqar had a suite of rooms in the keep, as well as a large residence in the Golden District, where many of the prominent houses maintained a manor of some sort. The manor was where Lyarra had secluded herself when her pregnancy became noticeable and while the manor itself was much more fortified than it appeared, it could still be infiltrated with ease by those skilled in the criminal arts. With danger and the unknown around every corner, Saftan fled desperately to the eyrie, where the griffins were stabled.

Griffins were a rather uncommon creature and quite a status symbol for those who could catch and bond with one, or pay the steep price for one that had already been caught yet unbonded. For the royal House of Telkan, though, griffins were essentially an everyday part of life. The lifespan of a griffin could be anywhere from thirty to forty years in the wild, but if they bonded with someone, their lives were intertwined until death, one generally not lasting long without the other. Saftan knew this, thanks to Pharzon's love of the creatures, and had even ridden Vhegan with him a couple of times, but Saftan himself had never elected to try and bond with a griffin.

Before Pharzon and Lyarra's romance had blossomed, Vhegan's mate had produced a clutch of three younglings, one of which was a deep maroon color, almost resembling a Dracarian gem. This griffin was named Alkor and Pharzon had personally attended to him, claiming that he would be presented to his heir, when the time came. Saftan had told Haradon that his bond with Alkor would cement his claim to the Kingdom of Dagnar when the time came.

Saftan had stayed with Haradon in the small mountain valley for only two years before leaving him with a couple who had been loyal supporters of the House of Telkan. The husband had served as a guard for Pharzon's father, while the wife had been an archivist and scholar in the royal library. When they decided to retire before Pharzon's coronation, they had been immediately recruited by Saftan's predecessor. The pair had tried a handful of times to have children of their own, but to no avail, and had been delighted when approached.

The couple had begun teaching Haradon early, hoping to give him an edge against the cruel world and by the time he was ten, he could fend for himself relatively well. He knew how to hunt, cook, navigate by the stars, sew, read and speak not just Dagnaran common, but it's progenitor, High Elvish. He had also taught himself how to care for and raise Alkor, as neither of his 'parents' had experience with griffins. What he did not know how to do, though, was properly deal with the sudden death of his family, for Varyx and Alisa were very much that.

Early during the frost season of his tenth year, sickness took both of them while they slept, only one week apart. It was in the depths of this bitterly cold winter that Haradon learned dragons were real. The blizzard which blew down from the central Anoran peaks obscured everything within an arms length, yet Haradon could feel the massive bulk of something suddenly take up most of the two-hundred-foot in diameter clearing where his cabin was situated. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and the small warning chirps from Alkor sounded like massive bells inside of his head.

The stout ten year old hefted the spear that Varyx had schooled him on and Haradon kept the point towards the center of the clearing, arms coiled and ready to thrust, while he crept into the makeshift stable where Alkor stayed. A deep rumbling interrupted his racing thoughts and then a voice, matching in it's depth, intruded into his mind. "You will die soon, human, if you do not heed my advice." It wasn't so much the words, as it was the voice which seemed to reverberate through his very soul.

It would have made many men twice or even thrice his age cower in fear, but Haradon had been raised on the heroic deeds of his regal ancestors and he stood his ground, instinctively thrusting the spear through the doorway of the stable and into the frozen air beyond. In return, a sharp blast of musty, frigid air shot into the stable and covered almost every surface in frost. Alkor chirped again, this time much louder and almost an angry screech. The griffin could also feel that danger was near and something far beyond their comprehension was out there.

The voice rumbled through Haradon's mind once more, "That spear would never be able to pierce my scales, foolish child. I am Kellorax the Ancient, and I recognize you, Blood of Telkan. Your line still has a part to play in this world, and it shall not yet be extinguished. Come and gaze upon what a legend truly looks like." Haradon slowly made his way out of the stable, feeling a significant decrease in the blizzard conditions. His view of the entire valley was blocked by the enormity of what he could only assume was 'Kellorax the Ancient'.

Icy blue scales and pure white spines covered the body of this creature that could only be a dragon from the old tales. It's grey eyes seemed to bore holes into Haradon's soul and it lowered it's head so that it was mere feet from the boy. "Gather your spear and provisions then saddle your griffin. I will provide enough shelter so it may carry you somewhere safer. This valley will be choked and smothered in snow before the morrow. You must return closer to civilization, where storms such as this do not reach. The Blood of Telkan will protect you from most things in this world, but the wrath of the Anoran Mountains is not one of them."

Haradon stood rooted to the spot for several more seconds before being nudged by Alkor. Haradon quickly gathered some basic supplies and shoved them into a rough deerskin pack that he had made. He added a few more items, like stone arrowheads, candles, and various tools into Alkor's saddlebags then climbed up into the saddle himself. Haradon was still reeling and attempting to process the fact that not only were dragons real, but one was saving his life. Kellorax launched their bulk effortlessly into the air and Haradon saw how truly enormous the dragon was. One talon was easily as long as Alkor, from beak to the tip of his tail, which was a full fifteen feet.

True to it's word, Kellorax's size was enough to block the blizzard from blowing Alkor out of the sky, and after some convincing from Haradon, the deep maroon and black griffin launched itself into the air, keeping well below the dragon. Kellorax spoke again into Haradon's mind while they flew, "I knew your ancestor, Telkan. In our years, I was quite young, but in your human understanding of time, I was very old, even then. I have seen the rise of Dagnar and the Elven cities to the South. I saw the first ships land on this island and then the cloud and fog descend all around it. The rest of my kind have either died or attempted to find out what's beyond the fog, only to never return again. The fog, however, is not your destiny, Telkan, nor is it the destiny of those who follow you. A great evil will rise upon this isle and it is your descendant who must prevent this. You must ensure the Blood of Telkan survives, young one."

Haradon listened in awe and couldn't help but stare upwards for what seemed like an age. "Follow me," the voice was in his head once again. They had been flying in a Northwestern direction and Kellorax began to bank down and towards the North, before settling along the shore of a glacial lake. Across the lake, Haradon could see a rather short, rounded tower with no windows, yet the style seemed to be familiar. "I believe that is a crypt for your blood. I have seen your ancestors take their deceased into that tower for centuries. It should be safe enough for you. I do not sense any living humans there now and this area is abundant in wildlife and resources. I will leave you with one parting gift, Telkan. One last boon to ensure your survival, then I bid you farewell."

The enormous four-legged dragon reached one claw to their chest and pried off one ice-blue scale. It was easily as tall as Haradon, yet weighed only half as much. Where the scale had been, it appeared the slightly moist flesh shimmered for half of a second before another scale magically slid down and into place, covering the vulnerability. Without so much as a word to explain what properties the scale might have or how it would help ensure Haradon's survival, Kellorax the Ancient took flight once more, disappearing into the East, where the mountains were deepest and only trolls could survive.

Haradon stood there for what ended up being almost two hours, trying to reconcile the events of the past day with everything he had learned growing up. In short, dragons were real and his bloodline was significantly more important than he had ever realized. No pressure for a ten year old bastard who would be hunted to the ends of the world if anyone found out who he truly was, and even that was assuming he would survive the wilderness at all. With a deep breath, Haradon picked up the massive scale and led Alkor around the lake, determined to get the first order of winter survival out of the way; shelter.