Prazhnian Backstories?

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Prazhnian Backstories?

Post by Cymbaoth on Wed Jun 08, 2016 9:36 pm

Have a backstory? Go ahead and slap it here. We can all high five over how awesome having a backstory is later.

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The Tale of Johan Ragnarsson

Post by Admin on Thu Jun 09, 2016 1:01 am

I remember the first time I bloodraged.

My parents were farmers; and they had taught me to be a farmer from the day I was old enough to stand on my own two feet. Unlike them however, I wasn't a very good farmer. I was always more interested in picking fights than picking grain, you understand. It didn't take my father long to realize that my talents were wasted in the fields. Thus, from my sixth birthday onward, my father started to teach me the art of combat.

By my sixteenth birthday I had participated in more raids then any of my peers.

One day we were sailing to a coastal village that seemed ripe for the taking. It turned out to be a trap.The local Jarl had anticipated our raid, and sent troops to bolster the villages numbers. We were drawn into the center of the village, where our escape routes were then cut off. In the town square we made our stand. For three days and three nights we fought an increasingly desperate and bloody battle. By sunrise on the fifth day, our numbers had dwindled from fifty to four.

The soldiers had us cornered in an old store. We had managed to use the limited means of ingress to our advantage, picking them off one or two at a time as they tried to come through the front door. Now however they were massing for a final charge; one which we knew we could not survive. Just as we were ready to accept our glorious deaths, one of the survivors found a hidden back way out of the building. But we all knew that if one of us didn't stay behind to hold off the enemy, then we would simply be run down.

We drew straws to determine who would stay behind. I drew the short straw, and gained the honor of dying in glorious combat.

The soldiers charged but I held my ground; slashing and stabbing at any man who dared step through the door. Eventually one of them got close enough to impale me on a spear.

Time seemed to stop. The sound seemed to drain from the world until only the beating of my heart remained. And then I heard a roar, growing louder by the second until it shook the walls. My last coherent thought was to realize that the roar was my own.

When I came to my senses I was being dragged away from a pile of corpses that it was hard to tell had once been human. The person dragging me turned out to be one of my compatriots. He had decided to come back and face death with me rather than flee.

Once I was home I told this story to my father. He asked no questions. Instead he only nodded. and went up to the attic. When he came back down he was holding a large tome in his hands that he gave to me. The book chronicled my families liniage from antiquity to the present day. It was there I discovered my families draconic roots.

Eager to learn more about my Draconic blood, I set off into the world to learn all I could of dragons and their descendants.






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