Draugur’s Tale (Part I)
D. Paul Angel
My stepson is on a bit of a Dungeons & Dragons kick, and is wanting to take us through a Dungeon soon. I created my character as a rather capable (I hope!) dwarf fighter, whom you shall be introduced to below. This way I can create his background whilst also giving me an excuse to play with writing serialized High Fantasy; in all of its tropetastic glory. Enjoy! – DPA
Dusk was settling in on Malingskygge as Draugur Garnetwright walked through the thick walled gate. The human guards nodded grudging admiration for the solitary dwarf entering their town, what with the wild countryside being rife with bandits… and worse. Draugur nodded back before disappearing into Mailngskygge’s famously narrow streets. The building’s were all three stories or more, so darkness here had already fallen. Draugur pulled his hood over his face so that only his long, red beard yet showed.
As he walked he turned left and right, seemingly at random. He made no attempt to walk quietly, letting his iron soled boots clang across the worn cobblestones. Even so his keen ears could hear a pair of footsteps precisely following his every turn. A thin smile split his face as he turned the corner into a near-dark alley and let his steps fall silent. He hunched in slightly recessed doorway and slowly unsheathed his axe.
The expected footsteps soon turned the corner before pausing while trying to espy him. Draugur outwaited the form who soon enough rushed into the darkness to continue his pursuit. But Draugur was yet behind him, loping towards his pursuer, and quickly closing the gap without giving any indication of his presence. Close enough to strike, Draugur roared a guttaral, Dwarvish epitaph into the night. The would be assassin spun and sent a knife to where Draugur had been mere mere moments before. Before the thrown knife had even thunked into a nearby wall, Draugur had brought the axe down across the dark figures chest, crumpling it in a heap to the street.
Draugur bent over the lifeless body and pulled back its cloak to get a better look at its face. “Half-orc,” he muttered to himself, “of course.” He then put a boot on the half-orc’s head and ripped his axe out of the lifeless body, cleaning the blood off on its rough cloak. He pulled a large signet ring off its callused finger, tossing it to feel its weight as he walked back to light of the street. By the flicker of a bent street lamp he carefully studied the insignia. As he had expected, it showed a unicorn run through by a pike; the sigil of Kaltgier.
“Rather convenient,” thought Draugur, “since that’s precisely who I’ve come here to see.”
Draugur’s Tale continues in Part II!