In Dungeons with Dragons | Prologue: Aerys

A Bastard’s Honor

The brawl at the tavern had been nasty. Aerys’ scales had protected him from the brunt of the attack, but the softer flesh underneath felt bruised and tender. He looked around the poorly built fire at his new “friends”, if that was what they were—happy in the fact they had escaped to this thicket of dense woodland outside of Fallcrest and were just far enough off the eastern trade road to avoid capture but not so deep in the wood as to entice any of the denizens residing in its heavier undergrowth—and thought back on the night’s earlier events.

The Lucky Gnome Taphouse had seemed the perfect place for a mead to drown his sorrows after a particularly degrading day of latrine work for one of the local Fallcrest Guard constables. Aerys would have liked to have paid a visit to the nicer Blue Moon Alehouse for one of the halfling Kemara Brownbottle’s handcrafted brews, but four months into his exile, he had only a small purse’s worth of coins left from those his father had given him the night he fled.

This night’s patrons were just as coarse as usual. Porters and laborers from the Lower Quays were in abundance, and, as it was still early in the night, the currently sober barflies and other rabble were content to leave the Dragonborn in the corner to his tankard and let Kelson, the human tending bar, pull draughts of cheap ale.

Though no dragonborn or eladrin are permanent residents in Fallcrest, travelers of all races pass through on occasion. And of those few dragonborn that stopped off in Fallcrest, Aerys did well to avoid them, lest they recognize him. As for this night in The Lucky Gnome, no other dragonborn were in attendance. And the fact that Aerys stood several inches taller than the other customers, weighed in at some 100 pounds more, was covered in natural armor, and had breath that could…well, his distant ancestors were dragons…would continue to deter even the nastiest of drunks for a while. However, strong drink, bad temper, and distrust of that which is different rarely mixed well, and all three were in abundance at The Lucky Gnome.

The weak fire snapped as sap in one of the greener bits of kindling ignited. Aerys himself snapped from his reverie long enough to focus on the dim faces and flame-reflecting eyes of those that shared the fire, all lost in thought, and, like him, lost in this large land, each in their own way. Staring deeper into the fire’s base, watching sparks dance on ember dance floors, Aerys looked deeper into himself, deeper into his past.

Only four months earlier, Aerys was a captain in the dragonborn army, the eldest son of Rhogar Mavakian IV, High King of the Dragonborn Kingdom of Arkhosia.

Four months and still no word from his father. Had he really gone from a captain in the army, then revealed himself as the bastard prince, to this?

Indeed, Aerys would have been in line for the throne, but for one reason, he was a bastard child. He was raised in secret and later brought into the king’s service in a frivolous attempt by the king to get to know his son. Granted, he didn’t start as captain; he had had to work his way through the ranks, starting as a ward learning his letters. Little did the king know that he would be putting his son’s life and his kingdom in mortal peril.

The eladrin woman, Illyria, who shared this fire, and who had sought the empathy of a fellow outsider and had sat with him in his little corner of the tavern, had said there was no Dragonborn Kingdom, that the dragonborn were a race of wandering mercenaries and soldiers; a smattering of rootless clans, yes, but a kingdom, no. She had conceded that long ago, their empire had contended for worldwide dominion, but only a fraction of these honorable warriors remained. Aerys chalked her ramblings up to too much drink and too little travel. Though he would later blame the ale for his sharing such a personal recount of his history to a stranger; in truth, it was simply a kind ear and the company of one who understands loneliness in a crowd. Furthermore, he appreciated the welcome escape from his own internal debates with his demons.

For months now, he had woken with his own blood on his sharp teeth, having chewed through the inside of his cheek. He wanted Thava’s blood. At times, he could have easily traded his Honor for it. And, for a dragonborn, “Honor” was the closest word there was for “soul”.

Aerys stood at the front of the battle line watching the ranks of the opposing army. Their foe, the Dracobus Clan, should have surrendered. They were greatly outnumbered, but such was the battle lust of the dragonborn race. They never surrendered until thoroughly beaten. What a tragedy, he thought.

As the great war between the Tiefling Empire of Bael Turath and the Dragonborn Kingdom of Arkhosia entered its second century, tiefling tactics continued to scour the depths of immorality and soullessness. With their demons, they had begun to enslave the more remote dragonborn city-states along the Arkhosian border. Now, as it was, Aerys found himself at the cusp of battle against his kinsman, possessed by devil spawn. But, they would defeat the Dracobus Clan and return those they could to the folds of the Dragonborn Kingdom.

Aerys looked to his father, Rhogar, and imagined the subterfuge it took to allow him to travel so far to watch his son in battle. Rhogar Mavakian IV, like Aerys, had spent his formative years as an honorable warrior in the dragonborn army, and as High King, Rhogar would preserve his kingdom by every honorable means at his disposal. He would not fall prey to the demonic depths of their enemies. He would reunite the dragonborn and form a kingdom. However, even Rhogar had not always been a king… In a slightly less honorable moment, some 25 years earlier, after winning a combat tournament, Rhogar had celebrated with a local barmaid and they had created Aerys, his bastard son. Rhogar couldn’t bring himself to dispose of this evidence to his infidelity, so instead he took Aerys into his keeping and eventually took him as his ward so he could keep an eye on him. As Rhogar’s rise to power began, so did Aerys’s training with his axe. As he came of age, he was transferred to the army where he was today, waiting for his moment to impress his father.

All of this was a secret known by no one other than Rhogar and Aerys, and it needed to stay that way or the tenuous bonds keeping their kingdom united could fail. It had taken 10 years so far, but Rhogar’s kingdom continued to gain ground. Thus far, they had only reclaimed land lost in the earlier battles of the war, but Rhogar had even begun to reestablish forts on land last in the early years of the war, when his father and grandfather were king. But now, Rhogar watched as his son captained his forces, fatherly pride in his eyes, and shame that it must be kept a secret in his heart.

“Captain!” A frantic scout shouted as he ran down the front line. “They are preparing to char…” At that moment the scout was cut off as a long winded horn sounded from across the battlefield. The battle had begun.

Aerys felt his blood begin to rise as he saw the other army begin their charge. “GET READY!” he roared to the army. Every warrior in their army knew his roar well, and they snapped to attention. This was his first campaign as the newly appointed Captain and he was ready to prove himself.

He turned briefly to his honor guard behind him, and with a wicked grin said, “Try to keep up”, and then without warning he charged. His army surged into motion to keep up, but he was already five steps ahead of them.

One.

Aerys didn’t understand it, but there was a storm inside of him that set him apart from his comrades. In secret his father had counseled him to never unleash it lest it reveal his lineage. It took ten heartbeats to build inside of him.

Two.

Even among the dragonborn Aerys was an elite physical specimen, towering over others. That, combined with several years of stringent training with his battleaxe had turned him into a deadly warrior. No one could stand toe-to-toe with him. There were several grizzled lieutenants that probably deserved the promotion to captain before him, but his prowess in battle had elevated him first.

Three.

He was gaining momentum now, ten steps ahead of his army, thirty feet and closing from the charging foe. He felt the thunder building and he roared. His roar cracked like a whip, and he saw several warriors in front of him falter before they continued their advance.

Four.

With but ten feet left, he jumped. He cleared the first row of dragonborn before slamming into the ground, throwing up chips of rock.

Five.

He was in the middle of eight attackers, and this is where he thrived. Without hesitation he swept his battleaxe in a circle. Five of the eight attackers crumbled, their heads rolling to the ground, the solid red and black eyes of their possession going dim.

Six.

The rest of the army crashed in around him, distracting any attacker at his back. He advanced. These dragonborn were not his target.

Seven.

Ten yards away, he spotted him. The self proclaimed Duke Dracobus, a large dragonborn in gold scale armor, fighting with a huge war hammer with five guards in white armor covering his back. Aerys blocked a wild sword thrust from a soldier and took his arm off at the shoulder in the next stroke. He charged the guards in white.

Eight.

He wasn’t sure where the arrow came from, but it took him in the soft spot behind his knee as he engaged the first guard.

Nine.

Although painful, he knew it wasn’t lethal other than the distraction it caused him. He dispatched the first guard and fell to one knee all in one motion. He looked up just in time to see the other four guards in motion, their swords descending upon him from four different angles.

Ten!

The storm came bursting out, and for the third time since the army’s charge he ROARED and this time he unleashed that storm. Rippling bolts of blue-white lighting emitted from his open mouth and instantly disintegrated the guards, the Duke, and every soldier within ten yards.

Both armies froze as he regained his feet, the ashes of the fallen drifting down from the sky as he turned a slow circle. Knowing what that lightning represented, his army suddenly knelt in front of him. Rhogar had been the first lighting-born in 300 years, and now there was Aerys. There was no hiding now, but luckily his display of power had quelled the enemy and they had won. Many of the Dracobus Clan began to lay down arms, and Aerys’ soldiers bound them to await the dragonborn wizards and shamans that would depossess them. Aerys dispatched two small units to track down the dozen or so Dracobus soldiers who had fled, among them, an older Dragonborn wearing the same slave mark of Bael Turath that all of the Dracobus Clan sported. The mark was an isignia on their armor, easily removed. The matching brand, burned into the scales over their heart, could not be removed and would serve as reminders to the horrors of their past when the demons had been forcibly stripped from their bodies.

As the ashes of his incinerated foes settled, Aerys looked over the battlefield and saw his father’s entourage approaching from the staging area. This should be interesting, Aerys thought.

“Well done, my son”, Rhogar said loudly as he entered the ashen circle. This drew a sudden gasp from the army at the revelation.

“I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of hiding,” Aerys said.

“And you don’t need to anymore. This calls for a celebration!” Rhogar roared to the army. As one, the warriors cheered. While drowned out by the army, Rhogar got closer. As he did his face changed to a look of anguish. “I fear you have unleashed the rage of something far greater than any army. The Queen will not stand for this and there is no place among the dragonborn where you can escape her wrath.” Aerys glanced over his father’s shoulder back towards the pavilion set at the staging area. Even from several hundred yards away, through the ruckus of a celebrating army, he could see the blazing eyes of Thava Mavakian boaring through him. Now she knows.

It is well known that Rhogar’s first victory was not on the battlefield, it was his courtship of Thava Nishanth. In truth, it had been more of a business deal than a courtship of love. The Nishanth clan was proud and wealthy, but more importantly their army rivaled the Mavakians’ in size and strength. Rhogar needed her family’s army, and Thava wanted to be queen. This alliance would begin his true rise to power. And Rhogar did want power. He needed it. The Tiefling Empire had too strong a foothold in dragonborn land. They encroached further daily. He would unite the dragonborn clans and form a kingdom to rival the Tiefling Empire.

Their son would also be heir to the throne. This small detail is what now put Aerys’s life in jeopardy. Thava was immune to the law, and she would stop at nothing to make sure her infant son’s place as heir was secure.

Aerys awoke with a start, back in his room in Shadesmar, his father’s capital. “Who’s there?”, he demanded as he picked up his axe leaning against his headboard. He thought he had heard his door close, but maybe he was getting a little jumpy. There had been 3 assassination attempts since their return from battle a month ago. Aerys had survived them with only a few scraps and bruises, but they were beginning to take their toll on his psyche. He had found himself becoming overly paranoid, seeing shadows of killers in every corner. This had to stop.

He eased out of bed several hours later as the sun began to rise, and began his morning stretching ritual. This done, he donned his armor and meandered across the courtyard to get some breakfast before he had to report to morning training. With the Dragonborn Army winning battles every week, new recruits were showing up daily pledging their service to Rhogar and requesting to enlist in his army.

“You look like hell,” Viseryn, his friend since childhood, said from the table as he entered the mess hall.

“Didn’t sleep much,” he said.

“Ahh, more killers in the shadows? You know your father posted guards outside your door, right? Oh how I loved being posted there the other night. I’d rather let ugly ol’ Surina scrub my scales than have to do that again,” Viseryn cringed at the thought and then shot him a toothy grin.

“I didn’t ask for the guards. I can take care of myself.”

“You’re about to fall asleep standing up. You know what Thava is doing, Aerys. Those first assassins were just amateur decoys. She’s trying to wear you down to where you can’t defend yourself when she sends in the professionals.”

“What would you have me do? Attack her? I’m a bastard, Viseryn… If I moved against her I might as well just tighten the noose around my neck. I’d be doing her job for her.”

Viseryn grumbled something about letting ol’ Surina tighten the noose as Aerys walked into the kitchen to get his morning rations.

Aerys returned a few minutes later to find an empty mess hall except for two armored dragonborn facing down Viseryn who was weaponless and had backed into a corner.

“High-Low!” Aerys shouted as he charged the assassins. Years spent fighting side by side had turn Viseryn and Aerys into extensions of each other on the battlefield. Viseryn dropped into a crouch and swept his leg in a knee high kick and felt a bone breaking crunch as his kick dropped the assassin on the right. At the same time Aerys blocked an attack from the other assassin using his food tray as an improvised shield and put all his weight behind his swing as he backhanded the dragonborn across the face. They made quick work of the assailants after that and stood breathless staring at each other. “What the hell was that?” Aerys demanded.

“They were trying to capture me!” Viseryn declared.

“Dammit, did they say anything else? Thava must be going after my friends now.”

“No, they didn’t say anything else, at least not that I noticed when they tried to slip that bag over my head.” He pointed at a discarded burlap sack on the floor. “Luckily I gave that pipsqueak a good elbow to the stomach and was able to slip away. But then they just drew their daggers and tried to attack me! I don’t think they knew you were in here though.”

Aerys paced the floor back and forth as Viseryn slumped into the corner, visibly shaken. I have to fight this, Aerys thought, but how?

Later that night, Aerys retired to his room early with a nice bottle of fired bourbon to mull over his options. Several hours, and several glasses of bourbon later, his reverie was broken by a knock at the door. Fearing treachery, he got a firm grasp on his axe. “Enter”, he ordered.

Three dragonborn in hooded cloaks entered his room. He took a defensive stance. Why did the guards let them in? He thought. After the door closed, the leader revealed himself.

“Peace, son” Rhogar said, “We are here to help. Put away your weapon.”

Aerys knelt immediately, “Father” he slurred, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I have come in secret. We need to discuss what has been happening since you revealed yourself. I warned you that there was no place among us where you would be safe.”

“Surely there is something we can do.”

“There is, although I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.” One of Rhogar’s companions offered Aerys a glass of wine as he settled into a chair by the hearth. “Have you ever heard of The Dragon’s Eye?” Rhogar asked.

Aerys took a drink, Mmmm, this is a good vintage, he thought. “I have heard only rumors, it’s said to contain some old-world magic and be hidden in a cave somewhere in the hinterlands to the north. Some say it’s a portal to a distant land. But I think it’s just some fairy tale that the elves made up. What of it?”

“I fear I have already revealed too much. Suffice to say that the rumors are true, but the location is wrong. It is in a cave not far from here…”, Rhogar paused, “How’s the wine?” He glanced back at one of his companions. “You said it would only take a few seconds”. His companion nodded in Aerys direction.

Aerys noticed he was suddenly getting very sleepy. Rhogar eyed him, “I’m sorry to do this son, but sending you away may be the only way I can save your life. We may never see each other again, but know that I love you and I will never forget you. Goodbye”

Everything went black…

Aerys remembered little of his exodus owning to the copious amounts of fired bourbon he had consumed when two of his father’s closest advisors burst in the room and hurriedly marched/dragged him along a hidden mountain passageway to a secret and seemingly sacred cavern bejeweled with cave pearls, a place a lowly Captain was forbidden to enter, and shoved him through, what they called, The Dragon’s Eye.

He awoke, head swimming, at the base of the Septarch’s Tower in Fallcrest, having absolutely no idea how he had gotten there, happy in the fact he was alive, furious in the realization Thava had won.

Once Aerys had surfaced in Fallcrest, his life and his mind were full of confusion. He knows that he should live his life with honor, but he is stricken with the gnawing desire for revenge. He is searching for something, anything, in which to dedicate his life or else he feels he will succumb to his dark thoughts. He hires out for whatever work he can find, but he knows he is destined for something greater. He dreams of the day he can raise his sword again for the greater good. But something must happen soon, or he is doomed to his dark desires.

[Written by Casey Puckitt. Edited by Will Lightfoot]