Roland

The majority of plague dragon hatchlings are pushed out of the nest to brave the wasteland for the first few weeks of life. If they came back safely, they were given a name and welcomed into the clan. So, what happens if one hatchling returns to his clan and finds nothing but a field of corpses?

The hatchling would never know what happened to his clan, whether it be disease, marauders, or something else. All he knew was he was utterly alone in a world that wished to kill him. Without even a name, he set forth into the Scarred Wasteland in search of some kind of home.

Plague dragons aren't necessarily a friendly bunch, a fact the hatchling learned the hard way. Clan after clan, wanderer after wanderer, they all turned him away. They thought him too sickly, too weak thanks to his frail looking wings. They also didn’t want another useless mouth to feed and teach. The hatchling couldn't even speak, what use could he be?

He taught himself how to hunt, how to forage, when to hide, and when to run. It was hard going, but he was a survivor, he'd prove that to the clans in the wasteland and then maybe someone would take him in. It never happened. He didn't know if his appearance turned people off or if he was simply unlucky, but every clan he tried to join turned him away.

Eventually, he stopped trying. If no one wanted him, he would make his own way in the world. For the longest time he didn't leave the wastelands, he didn't even know it was an option. The glistening and healthy trees of the Starwood Strand mesmerized him and to be honest, frightened him a little. This was a whole new world, one with untold dangers and obstacles. It took him days before he ventured out of the Wandering Contagion and into the woods.

The life there amazed him, how abundant it was, how not everything wanted to kill him. The clans in the Strand were friendly, but he didn't trust them. He was skittish around them, but several dragons took the time to calm him down and help him learn how to talk better than grunts and simple words. The nameless dragon bounced from one clan to the next, learning how to talk, learning about the world, and how to survive surrounded by civilized dragons.

Even when he learned how to talk, he didn't say much. Actions always spoke louder than words and he didn't like when people tried to trick him with fancy phrasings. He also didn't emote as much as other dragons since he never had to in the wastelands. Altogether it made him rather blunt, but to the dragons of the strand, that was a breath of fresh air.

No matter how welcoming the Strand was, he never settled down anywhere. He was too used to wandering, constantly moving to survive. Standing still felt wrong. He made his way out of the strand and into the world beyond, ready to see and learn everything he could.

While traveling, a friendly band of mercenaries taught him how to wield a sword. It was through meeting them that the nameless dragon realized he could become a mercenary himself. When he started offering his services to people, he quickly found that he wasn't willing to do everything that dragons asked of him. Revenge killing, killing innocents, stealing from innocent people, and anything like that he couldn't bring himself to do. Everything else was fair game.

He took on several jobs over the years. Some hard, some easy, but most involving his sword. A small nomad clan traveling the Shattered Plains hired him to track down a monster. They claimed that while it may take the shape of a dragon, it wasn't anything of the sort. It terrorized them constantly and they wanted it dead along with proof of the deed. The nameless dragon agreed and set out for the hunt.

The creature wasn't hard to track down, it was as if it wasn't trying to hide. Unable to strike it from behind due to his sense of honor, the nameless dragon challenged the beast to a fair fight. When it spoke, he started questioning the validity of the clan's claims, but the beast accepted his fight and attacked before he could think too hard on it.

The battle was hard won, the nameless dragon finally severing the beast's head from its shoulders with a strong swipe of his sword. To his amazement, the beast's body slowly melted away, leaving nothing but a few bones and hard plates. His sword had changed as well, turning a deep blood red that he could not wash off. He gathered what he could of the bones and returned to the clan that had hired him.

They were furious. They wanted the beast's body, not its bones. In their anger, they revealed that they were no clan of nomads, they were part of a bigger clan that sought to steal arcane secrets. Someone had created that beast, and the clan wanted to know how it worked so they could use it for their own purposes. They surrounded the nameless dragon, aiming to kill him in their anger.

As soon as he drew his sword, they attacked, screaming something about how the magic had seeped into the sword. The nameless dragon found his weapon keener than before, easier to handle as if it had lost several pounds. He sliced through his attackers easily, but more still came.

Blood flew and seemed to pool under the pile of bones he had brought back. All movement stopped as everyone watched the blood form into the shape of a dragon, the bones swirling within until they found their place. The pureblood construct looked around the battlefield and all was still for a moment. An excited shout broke the silence and battle began anew.

The clan focused their efforts on subduing the construct, but the nameless dragon jumped in as well to protect her. It was his fault she was in such a situation, and his honor wouldn't let him leave her to her fate. Together, they proved to be too much and the clan fled before they all perished.

Expecting some sort of revenge, the nameless dragon faced the construct, ready for another attack. To his surprise, she smiled at him and invited him to join her on her way to her birth clan. Without thinking, he accepted the offer.

He had never anticipated returning to the wastelands, but in some strange way he knew he would one day. The construct brought him to her clan who welcomed him with open arms. Upon learning of his prowess and how he had defeated one of their own, they gave him a rank and favor among their warriors. The few that objected to his placement were easily swayed by witnessing his skills.

The clan's magicians studied his sword and eventually explained what had happened. Apparently, his sword had been enchanted the whole time with a low level absorption spell, and once that enchantment met the one binding the construct's body together, they fused. The construct and the sword were both given the name Durendal.

Like always when he met a new clan, he kept to himself, knowing he would eventually leave. This time was different though, this time they didn't mind his standoffish demeaner. In fact, he fit right in with the rest of the clan. Two of them, Susan and the Clockmaker, even gave him a name. Roland.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a home, a place he could stay and return to. Roland would defend that home with everything he had, even if that meant defending it from those within should their madness spread too far.
- Written by Hearthdragons