The Last of The Dragoons

There weren't always dragons in the valley. At least that's what father said. It was a time before my time began. I've always known them. Though, that doesn't do much to still the fear that creeps in when I hear them from beyond the great wall.

Their very existence occupies each waking moment at the back of our minds. When they land it can be felt for miles, a deep thud that sounds more like controlled falling when these mountainous beasts return from the skies. At dusk you can see searing lights, filling the darkness like distant lightening, and the sickening hiss of incinerated earth carried on the wind. Some of the older men in the village falter in these moments, their eyes darting to a time before the wall.

Few are left who helped build it, fewer still are the order of dragoons, whom gave their lives to see it done. Large Ballistas rest atop, many in disrepair. They've not seen much use in over a decade. The dragons have learned to keep outside striking distance.

The wall itself isn't much to look at. Its true strength lies in the the wards placed on it by the High Clerics and Palidans of the Church. They extend much higher than the wall, higher than any dragon has ever dared to fly. And here we are tucked away between our wall and a near vertical rock face reaching beyond comprehension in our little corner of the valley.

Hard to imagine that the only thing that stands in the way of our immediate destruction is some stone and magic drawings.

As I make my way through the markets I can hear the the town gathering.

There have been whisperings lately, trouble among the adults. Something seems to be bothering them. The dragoons are recruiting for the first time in 12 years and there's a sense of urgency about it. Commander Gerard is to make a speech.

I creep through the market stalls and find my path. Gerard is at the stand in full military dress. His tone as he addresses his audience is more serious than usual. Maybe there is something to the whispers after all.

No sooner than I reach the edges of the crowd, I hear my name called from the podium.... My curiosity has become a nuisance more often than not these days.

"And we have Micah present today. Your father would be proud to see you continuing his legacy, son.

"My father was a drunk and a liar" I blurted out almost reflexively before I could catch my thoughts. I could hear the astonished whispers and a multitude of eyes that burned on me like dragon's breath.

It's true, I'm still angry at him for leaving the way he did. The first dragoon to defeat a basilisk, the great serpent slayer, felled by a drunkard's sickness. It's absurd. My father drowned himself in ale, and left me alone in this world to suffer his 'legacy.'

"Yes son, it's true your father succumbed to the drink, and rather unfortunate. I know he passed when you were still young, but I knew him well. He was great man. Astounding with a polearm, and a fierce will in battle matched only by the dragons themselves. He brought us decades of peace; Peace that you still enjoy. Surely that counts for something, does it not?"

I struggled for an answer.

"Try not to be so hard on your father's memory son. He endured horrors that no man should have to face. I should like to speak with you in private if you're willing. Come to the barrack's this evening.