The Story of DragonFen

These are the beginnings of the storylines of DragonFen

Many years ago, Arklon, traveller and warrior, stood with his sword drawn, starting into the enchanting eyes of a silver dragon. The sword dripped with the blood of this noble creature, his armor dented and scorched. Testament of the battle they had waged.

The dragon looked at the mighty warrior, and spoke. "And so it has come to this, young warrior. To rid the land of evil, you will kill me."

The warrior looked at the dragon, whose once brilliant scales were now dull with the blood and dirt of the fight. To the eyes, once bright with intelligence, now fading onto death. Arklon threw down his sword.

"I... didn't know. I cannot. It is not right."

The dragon laughed, a puff of smoke billowing from his mouth. "What shall we do then? Die together? How noble."

Arklon looked to the dragon. "There must be another way."

The kingdom flourished, under the reign of King DragonFen. Named for his ancestor who had made a pact with the great Silver Dragon, King Arklon ruled over the lands with a fair hand.

In this time, the kingdom was divded into three sections. The lands of DragonFen proper, along with the Town of Airgard Dragan, were ruled by the King. The Lands of the PhoenixFlame to the east we're under the protection of the mysterious Lyon PhoenixFlame. To the north and West, the tranquil lands of Arcane were guided by the wise Belrein Arcane.

Then came the darkness...

From the depths of the darkest realms came the armies, numbering three, ruled by one. One Creature. The Shadow. To the lands of Arcane, this creature sent the armies of Perilous. Creatures of demonic heritage, whose ferocity in battle made even the most stoic warrior despair. To the Lands of PhoenixFlame, The Shadow sent the Other. An unnamed Fiend, known only to the Noble Lyon.

To the Lands of DragonFen itself, the Shadow took personal control. The Shadow enfolded the lands of DragonFen, turning what was once lush into desert, turning water to steam, animal to monster. Far above, in the mountains that no man could reach, a Silver Dragon watched as the Kingdom was destroyed.

From his throne at Dragon Castle, the last Arklon watched the armies approached. His allies and friends, Arcane and PhoenixFlame, were destroyed. His Kingdom was being swallowed in the darkness. Holding the amulet of his authority, he summoned the Silver Dragon.

Together, they devised a plan to halt the Shadow. Halt, but not kill, for no power known at the time could kill what was pure shadow. Together, they set the trap, each knowing what they would be giving, and what would be lost.

When the armies of the Shadow appeared, Arklon the Last stood at the gates of the Mighty Dragon Castle. He stood defiantly and challenged the creature of Shadow to a duel. The Shadow, being vain, accepted, and so did the King of DragonFen and the Shadow fight. The Shadow laughed at this feeble mortals attempts to slay it, and became lax as the mortal's strength wained.

Feeling his strength leaving him, Arklon dropped his sword, wrapping his arms around the Shadow. "You shall be my death, but I shall be yours as well." The amulet worn by King Arklon flashed into brilliance, surrounding both man and creature. Floating above the two fighters, the amulet swirled and crackled, as the light took form of a silver dragon. The Shadow shrieked in agony as it felt itself being swallowed.

The amulet dimmed and disappeared from the place, taking the light with it. On the field of battle, only a single figure remained. Wearing the armor of the King of DragonFen, the figure stood. Then gasped.

"What have you done to me?!?" The creature, once known as the Shadow, said from within the body of Arklon. The lips moved again. "I have contained you. You are now bound within my body, but I will not share. I leave now, my sacrifice well worth it. In time, one will find a way to kill you, and I shall rest at last."

The Shadow screamed.

A wandering Jester, known as Platt by his friends, travelled by foot along a long and dusty trail. His feet hurt from the long hours of walking, and he occasionally looked back, in hopes of finding a ride. Perhaps a merchant caravan that wouldn't mind an extra passenger.

As the forest cleared, he came upon a graveyard. The stones of the dead spread across the land, a silent memorial of a time long past. Platt entered the graveyard quietly, his fingers touching the granite pillars as he passed. His eyes scanned the cemetary, taking in the scenery, even as his mind made up fantastic stories about the lives of those who lay there.

Platt's eyes brightened as they beheld a stone bench. Someplace to sit and rest his feet.

Platt moved to the stone bench, sitting and closing his eyes in relaxation. Time passed as the jester sat there, reveling in the peacefullness. Peacefullness and... sadness.

Platt's eyes opened. Of course, most that die are sad to leave, and that is to be expected in a graveyard, but this sadness was something more. Something left undone, something wrong that needed righting. Platt stretched, sitting up. In front of him, a gravestone, black as night, stood higher than the rest. Platt looked at it, scratching his head. He glanced down, seeing for the first time what looked like an opening in the stone. Reaching into the recess, his hands touched upon wood.

The wooden object moved easily with Platt's coaxing, revealing itself to be a chest. Thinking it thieves loot, Platt opened the locked chest easily. But fpeering inside, the fool was disappointed. The chest contained naught by old clothes, musty and moth eating. However, digging further into the chest, Platt made a great discovery. It was a medallion, silver and engraved with a dragon circling a sapphire.

Thinking himself rich, Platt took the medallion and placed it around his neck.

********************************

A man of myth and legend; flesh and blood; sat upon his throne on the highest level of what was simply known as the Granite Tower, his eyes closed in deep meditation. All was as it had been for fifteen years. Since he had last ventured from the tower, and into the lands outside. Yet now, from the depths below, the jingle of bells and squeaky babble of a visitor snapped the man from his rest.

His green eyes were alert and annoyed that someone would come to disturb his self-induced isolation and banishment. The sword that hung upon the throne behind him pulsed with an emerald light. The man stood, brushing the dust of years off him, before raising the hood of his cloak to cover his face in shadows.
,br> from the stairway came... a jester. Brightly colored, though this clothing looked more ragged than ever, he panted at the top of the stairs. A multi-colored bear rode upon his shoulder, seeming to hang on of it's own volition. The jester, looking around, spied the man.

A stream of incomprehensible babble escaped the lips of the jester. The man sighed. "Your appearance here annoys me Platt. I whave warned you repeatedly that you cannot barge in." Silently, the man cursed himself. Wards and traps covered the entire tower, making it nigh impenetrable. Yet this one person... always this one person. "What will make you go away?"

The jester babbled more, his hands moving as if to punctuate the useless destruction of words.

The man sighed. "I refuse. It is no longer my business. Let the Fireblade and the High Ones deal with it. You are dismissed. Leave before you anger me."

The Jester wailed horrifically, causing the man to cover his ears. "DESIST DAMN YOU!" He turned, throwing a dagger toward the jesters head. The jester, still wailing, rocked forward, narrolwy avoiding a killing blow from the blade. The man reached for his sword, then stopped; his eyes widened as he turned back to the jester. "You..." His eyes took in a medallion upon the chest of Platt. He sighed. "I have no choice. Let us go." Picking up his sword, the Lord of the Granite Tower left in the company of Platt, heading to the Lands of Shadow."

The Land was free. The creature known as ShadowDark, destroyer of Kingdoms, had been banished from the lands once known as DragonFen. Creatures of all types came together at the place that was once the Dragon Castle to celebrate. Throughout the ruins of the Town of Airgard, Tournaments were held, stories and songs were told, food and drink were passed around. The jester ran amock, entertaining people in one location, being chased or bodily removed from others.

The sun dipped low in the horizon, disappearing beyond the mountatins. The leaders of surrounding villages, now free, came together to discuss the future. Among them were the Queen of a small Kingdom known as StoneHaven and her entourage. Also among them, the elves for Rimeldamar, led by the Legendary Phoenix Guard. All that was missing was a true leader, one to take the reins of Monarchy and lead the newly reformed Kingdom of DragonFen into the future. Strangely, the jester had disappeared.

Adrian Nemocan, the last of his tribe and youngest of those gathered, stood. He walked to the great doors of Dragon Hall, his eyes lost in a fog. He did not realize why he was doing this, but knew it must be done. "My Lords and Ladies," he said, throwing open the doors of the Great Hall. "I present to you the KING OF DRAGONFEN!"

A man walked through the hallway, covered in a cloak of the blackest shadows. He made no notice of those around him, and he kept his hood over his face. To the front of the hall he walked, Adrian two steps behind. The guards did not stop him; perhaps they had been enchanted, or perhaps the knew the rightness of what was to take place.

The man stood before the throne and bowed his head, before removing his hood. Dark hair cascaded down his back, and a circlet of silver adorned his head. He turned, showing his face for the first time.

His face, young in appearance, was covered by half with a mask of black leather. His eyes, piercing, angry, spoke of centuries.

Looking around, his eyes fell upon a familiar face. He spoke, his voice like the shadows themselves. Soft, yet covering a danger that few wished to face. "Ahksana, who am I?"

The Great Hall was silent. Ahksana stared, white faced and open jawed. Finally, she swallowed. "You are Skargon Arcane. The King of DragonFen."

Those in Dragon Hall acknowledged this statement. Some dropped to one knee, some bowed, others curtsied. Only the one named Fireblade remained unmoved, though a smile played upon his lips. The one named Arcane nodded, seating himself.

Adrian Nemocan looked to the crowd. "All Hail the King!" The Hall exploded in cheering.

Alone in his thoughts, Arcane glowered. "Damn you Platt... And Damn me too."

It has been a successful year. The Castle had been rebuilt, as had the town that lay in its shadow. All around, the people of DragonFen readied themselves for a celebration; for it had been one year since the Kingdom had been freed. The day had been filled with Tournaments and merry making. That night, a feast in honor of His Majesty, Skargon Arcane.

Friends had been invited from all over the lands. The Phoenix Guard and Elves of Rimeldamar, the Kingdom of StoneHaven, and those that called themselves the Shadowhawks. All had come, except the elves, as Aicanaro and the Phoenix Guard could not be found. The Queen of Stonehaven brought her entourage with her once more, and all were invited through the barrier that kept the Shadow from the lands.

The Kingdom of DragonFen celebrated long into the night, giving promises of alliances, hold friendly contests, and feasting together. Titles were given, and honors received.

********************************

Arcane sat in his study. His sword sat across his legs, blade bared, the pommel pulsing emerald light with the heartbeat of the King. The hour was late, but Arcane was awake, alert, his body tuned to all around him. A sound like a gong came to his ears. Then another.

Twelve gongs sounded the passing of another day, and the beginning of a new. On the sound of the twelfth gong, the emerald pommel flashed into brilliance, filling the room with an emerald light. Arcane, his eyes closed, grimaced. Sweat beaded down his face as he tightened the grip upon his weapon.

There was an explosion in the study.

Guards rushed in to the room, followed quickly by the Chancellor of DragonFen, Ryvkah Ebonflight Stardusk. They stopped as they found their king on the ground, spasming uncontrollably. The Chancelor knelt at the Kings side, cradling his head.

Arcane opened his eyes, squinting up at the winged Chancellor. "The bastard used an innocent," he said softly, before falling into unconsciousness.

The Chancellor stood. "Get him to his bed. Summon more guards." She smiled. "And call the knights. Hell is coming to dinner."

The guards stood there. "What?"

The Chancellor Ryvkah picked up the blade of Arcane and sheathed it, noting the dull emerald pommel. "ShadowDark has returned."

Arcane walked up to Dragon Castle. He had been gone many months; indeed, it seemed like years since he had left for War. Three companions had gone with him. None returned. Two, having fulfilled their summons, had left to parts unknown; always ready in case they were needed once more.

And Chancellor Ryvkah... Ryvkah remained behind. A monument of stone, a memory, and a tear were all that showed she had ever been.

Arcane sighed as remembered her memorial, that which only himself and the jester had attended. Upon the statue created by him and Platt, a simple but heartfelt memorial had been engraved.

Ryvkah Stardusk Ebonflight

On wings of Song she flew, her thoughts turned to the task in front of her. With magic in one hand and a sword in the other, she dove into the darkness, ever knowing what lay ahead. Though the battle was long, she never lost hope, and her voice cut through the ranks with every note. As she gave her life to DragonFen, DragonFen will honor her name throughout all time

Arcane's heart was heavy with the memories of loss. From Aicanaro and the Phoenix Guard, to the people who had willingly volunteered under the banner, Arcane felt their deaths, saw their faces, every time he closed his eyes. It would pass, he knew, but for now he let their memories sweep over him. In his own way, the King of DragonFen mourned.

As he walked up to the gates of Dragon Castle, the guards snapped to attention. It was hard to miss the glowing pommel of the King's sword, lighting the way on the moonless night.

The gates were thrown wide, and a call of the returning King echoed throughout the castle. The Chamberlain joined him shortly, puffing as if out of breath. "Your Majesty," he gasped, coming to a halt and offering a bow. "Welcome back. We had feared the worse. But when our scyers had announced the darkness defeated, we rejoiced in knowing that you and the Chancellor had been victorious." He looked around. "Does the Chancellor not accompany you?"

Arcane shook his head. "Ryvkah will never again grace these halls, Chamberlain, as her life was given in the defense of DragonFen."

The Chamberlain nodded sadly. "I...understand Sire. Her name shall be remembered forever as a hero."

Arcane nodded. "Good. Now leave me. I wish to be alone."

The Chamberlain, sensing the King's mood, bowed again. "As you wish Sire. I shall speak with you on the morrow." He departed quickly, leaving Arcane in peace.

Arcane moved through the halls of the Castle, noticing the emptiness that surrounded it. He stopped one of the guards. "Where is everyone? I thought I left Ahksana in charge. I very much doubt it is late enough that she has taken to bed already."

The guard's face twitched. "The... lady Ahksana has not been seen in some time Sire. I know not her whereabouts."

"Adrian? My Knights?"

Sire, Master Nemocan left a short while after you departed. The knights have slowly gone back to their home towns.

"What of the others?

"They are not in the Castle, Your Majesty. They left during the confusion with the Shadow."

Arcane sighed. "I see. Thank you. Continue your duties."

Arcane continued his walk, his mind churning. Why had they all left? There had to be a good reason. Perhaps they had gathered together to help fight the war, and had just not arrived in time. Or perhaps they were gathering an army, thinking that it would be necessary if Arcane had failed.

Not paying attention to where he was going, Arcane entered the throne room. He looked to the ground, noting the dust of months. No one had entered this hall since he had left. A piece of discarded cloth lay on the floor, probably from a servant who had been cleaning.

His eyes took in the banners hanging from the rafters. Banners from years ago, painstakingly recreated in memorial. New banners, those who had joined the Kingdom. His mind jolted. There was one missing. Where was the one that was a familiar to him as his sword? Where was the Banner of the Lands of Arcane, that Ahksana had been the Matriarch of?

His gaze went back to the ground, to the discarded cloth. Slowly, he reached down to pick it up, revealing the heraldry of the Lands of Arcane.

Chuckling sadly, Arcaned walked to his throne and sat, staring at the banner in his hand.

He knew now that they were gone. Perhaps she had taken the rest with her. Crumpling the banner in his fist, he looked toward the ceiling, his face one of sorrow and determination.

"Never again," he said softly. "Never again."

It was a time of Masquerade. Adrian had returned, bringing an army with him. Others had returned when they had heard of the victory over ShadowDark. They celebrated now, allied, friends, and strangers to this land come for a taste of freedom.

Among these were a new faces. Mitharandur of the High Ones; one of the mysterious wizards of old, had ventured to Dragon Castle at the request of King Arcane. Also in attendance, Aaron Shadowhawk; clan brother to the King. A wandering bard, Aernn, had accompanied Arcane on his return from the Granite Tower, and now mingled with peasants and nobles alike. And from the deep seas, a grizzled man of unknown origin, who had ported at the docks, flying the banner of a Silver Dragon.

Arcane welcomed them all, new and old alike. To the old, he bestowed titles and awards. To Adrian Nemocan and a mysterious man known only as KotLD, he bestowed Knighthood. To Aernn, he returned a Title of Nobility that had been in their family for generations before the Shadow.

It was then that Aaron Shadowhawk attacked. Drawing LightBlade, he sprang toward the King, his eyes full of fury. He was stopped by the Dragon Captain and quickly disarmed.

"Its a strange Kingdom you run here, Arcane," the Dragon Captain said, as the guards dragged Shadowhawk away in chains. "I think I might like it."

Arcane nodded. "Then good Captain, I welcome you to DragonFen. May you be among friends and allies."

The night was frigid. The cold icy stars gazed upon a world asleep. But one was having a restless night. He tossed about and turned over and over until finally, glistening with sweat brought on by fear, he screamed and jerked upright.

Shaking, Adrian Nemocan put his head in his hands and let out a soft sob. The nightmares had returned and now they were more real than ever. He was afraid now, more so than ever before. Glancing above his mantle, he caught sight of it. The blade he had brought back with him from the ruins of his home. At the pommel, a grimacing skull; in the unnatural reflection of the star light, it seemed to glower at him.

A frightful laugh split the darkness. Adrian sprang for the dagger beneath his pillow. Drawing it, he cast his eyes around the room for the intruder.

The laugh sounded again. "You cannot see me," growled the interloper in a voice seeming to stretch from the primal past.

"Show yourself coward!" Adrian cried, continuing to scour the darkened corners of his room. "Come out and fight me like a man!"

"But I am not a man," crooned the voice. "I am something you cannot fight. And you know where I am." Adrian felt his pulse racing, felt a fear he had not known for many years. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping into his eyes and obscuring his vision. Flashes of a man with a horned helm clouded his mind. That same laugh as the man that had slain his parents, his village, his life before. Now his eyes were filling with more than sweat. The salt tears stung his cheeks as he fought for control of his emotions. "You are the one that..." he choked for a moment before regaining the ability to speak. "Are you the one that killed my parents?"

"That's it," spoke the voice, as if leading a child through a difficult quesiton. "You are just about there."

"You killed them all," sobbed Adrian, now completely losing control. "WHY?!" he raged, "WHY!? What did they ever do to you?"

"It's not what they did to me Gawin." Adrian gasped with surprise as the newcomer spoke his birth name. "It's what YOU did to HIM."

"Who? I never did anything! I was only a child! We were not part of whatever it was you were fighting!" The fear inside him was coming to a head. The guilt of surviving, the child-like fear that everything was his fault. All the wounds from a past he had almost forgotten burst open at once.

"WHO ARE YOU?!?!" He screamed.

The voice laughed. "I will show you. Come toward the looking glase. Gaze inside and know me."

Frightened, but still cautious, he crept across the room. Past the hearth and the sword, toward the looking glass upon the wall. Once this piece would have been discounted without hestitation. I already know I look as though I've fallen from an ugly tree, he once joked, why should I put it on display?

Having finally reached the mirror, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. After what felt like an eternity, he opened them and stared into the mirror.

"Now you know me," whispered the voice.

Adrian gazed at the piercing emerald eyes in the mirror, and sank to his knees sobbing gently.

"But.... but MY eyes are blue," he whispered, letting the rushing darkness consume him.

The Story Continues.....