To The Reader:
The inspiration for Dragon Kindred came from a long standing disappointment with stories and how they’re often portrayed. Stories that feature an objectively good protagonist or moral, an objectively bad person or entity with a forced in love plot and/or triangle that I find often brings down the story as a whole. Now of course I don’t mean all books and media follow this trend, but I’m sure you can understand and recognize my gripes and how frequently occurring these tropes, and the tropes I haven’t mention are. This is my take on an adventure story, the first of what I hope to be a long standing series, and you can rest assured there won’t be an unnecessary love triangle.
Cover and art by Fabian Rensch at www.fabianrensch.com
Editing Done by Gareth Watkins at Reedsy.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter one
Humans, Beasts and Dragons. Some may claim there’s little difference in nature between the three, with rule and order being the fine line between tranquility and peace, as opposed to mindless viciousness with a thirst for pure, unadulterated destruction. Many advocates against this cynical mentality would argue, rather counterproductively, that it be the same order and rule, with a healthy mix of morals, that leads men to hold fast to what is right in a way beasts and kindreds alike are incapable of.
These beasts or monsters written in legend are often observed to be mindless in nature and destructive by law. No sympathy lingers behind their piercing gazes, neither intelligence nor a base desire. Dragons and scaled kindreds alike are said to hold much the same virtues, but one cannot simply say they lack conviction or desire. Within them lies greed for things others may perceive to be useless. Like a newly born duckling imprinting on some large, protective-looking object, a dragon will instil value on anything that catches their eye insomuch that they will defend it until dead.
Within this land there exists such a dragon. One posing as a nuisance and a menace to those around. In the dark hours of the night, a band of men brought together by the same strong morals, rule and order sought to seek out that which caused destruction and unrest however minor it may have been. During this night, the party sent out a single reconnaissance man while the others slept and fewer kept watch in the dark, silent wood. When he returned he reported to the Knight, who had traveled far simply to see their situation out of a vague interest or motive not yet spoken to the others. The reconnaissance man spoke of how he found the Kindred’s cave and that the beast itself indeed slumbered blissfully away.
“I did as asked,” the man had said. “And I kept watch for the burnt tops of pine trees. Shortly ahead about a mile and half, we’ll find our bounty, Venneith, my Knight.”
With a nod of his helm, Venneith thanked and bade this man off to sleep, before he too slumped over and rested at the base of a tall pine with his weaponry firmly grasped in both hands.
Now, after the time the early birds began to chirp and sing their jubilant songs, yet before the time the sun rose up from beyond the horizon, the party woke and became lively once again. Leaving camp as it was, with tents and cots still erect and a fire still smoldering, they gathered around an open clearing to where Venneith gave one final briefing and a detailed plan of engagement.
With two Cataphract wheel-bound Ballistas in tow, Venneith illustrated his plan in the dirt utilizing two pinecones, two arrows and rock. Pointing, Venneith first said, “here…” as he lay the pinecones apart from one another, a small distance from the rock that was the Kindred’s nest. “We’ll position our Ballistas on either side of the cave to lie in wait for our game to rear its head. I’ll draw it out and lure away its fire. Once it has been deprived of its fire and the beast has made itself very clear, you are to let loose, pinning it down with tethered missiles or even hopefully killing it. Regardless, after the first volley both your positions will be known, which is when we move into attack.”
Venneith then lay the two arrows, both pointing to the rock in the center.
“We’ll be engaged in close combat with the beast to keep it occupied. Avoid its claws, and do mind, it is a beast with six limbs. Watch out for its step, stay clear of its tail, but most importantly be weary of its head. If we’re lucky and our losses aren’t too great, I expect our game to soon be dead not long after our engagement. Therein we’ll be victorious, hopefully with minimal casualties.” Rubbing his hands together as he stood from one knee, he looked to the party of twelve. “Any questions?”
They each took a moment to ponder, each rubbing their chins as they mulled over the knight’s plan of attack. They were simple men of the local militia that reigned in these parts. Each had a place to be, and most had a farm to keep, but they had rallied at the first sign of trouble to dispatch a dragon. To protect their land when no soldiers or infantry of the king was available was law. Perhaps these men were well trained, or perhaps they were poor with blades, but one couldn’t deny that they were well outfitted for being a band of freelancing, sword-wielding keepers of the local province.
“It’s a simple plan,” Kneath Utch commented with assurity. “Simple plans often follow through the best.” He then spoke to the men around him saying, “Less reason for failure if our party be competent enough to follow through and succeed.” The manner in which he spoke came off as demeaning to any who lacked the moral or prowess to perform, but to a group who found confidence in the knight’s presence it came off as reassuring.
“Oh yes,” Venneith muttered. “It’d be a shame to look over the dead only to find they were slain by a friendly sword.”
“With a beast as big as a dragon I’d find it hard to miss,” Kneath laughed, gaining a few chuckles from the party of twelve. “So what say you, Venneith my Knight? Shall we proceed?”
He nodded. “Am I amongst men or children?”
With a grin Kneath answered, “Men.”
“Then we are ready.”
And so they marched, not in some well organised, loud formation, but as a stealthy, light-footed amorphous of a group that slipped through brush and stirred the forest very little in the late evening. Three men pulled each Cataphract Ballista while the rest each carried a single bolt for the constructs. The Ballista was a siege engine akin to a crossbow, albeit much larger with the distinct purpose of engaging lightly armored buildings, other siege engines, warships and monsters. Often they were employed to reinforce Carthol’s navy, mounting them atop ships to lay siege to others in fierce water-bound battles.
The bolts of the largest Ballistas could be found to be as large as a man, with the prod requiring aid from a compound crank and pulley simply to draw back the missle. However, here they were much more infantry-friendly, being much lighter, moderately smaller and easily transportable. Still requiring aid from a compound crank and pulley, they were still effective against large ground units, and even aerial units if one could be so lucky as to take aim and actually strike his target.
Soon, though, they’d be used to ground a dragon. as Venneith led them through the darkness of the night, with the faint rays of the dawning sun to aid in seeing their path. The foliage wasn’t quite as kind as it often hindered the Ballistas’ progression, but it was scarce enough that t
hey could often pull around bushes, boulders and trees.
However, when it became too much, Venneith would come and aid them using fire to swiftly incinerate the obstacle. This fire, and his ability to wield it between his fingers, was a form of magic noted by many to be the product of the gods of Euth. Not many men and women could call upon the Euth gods, let alone wield their respective elements. Often you’d need to be gifted from birth, inheriting it from another, but within the land of Carthol there were a few ways of obtaining it if one lacked the conviction or desire to appeal to the gods themselves.
For fire, it involves the killing of a dragon, or other fire-breathing beast as one could imagine. After it is slain, the node within the neck would be cut loose, revealing a fleshy, stone-like, red colored core. This is salvaged, and consumed by he or she who seeks the fire, whereupon it is absorbed into their essence in its purest, unhindered form.
To draw on its power would be to call upon the god Deuth of Euth, representative of anger and hatred for fire was as furious as the hatred of man and beast, and as such required the fury necessary to fuel its ravenous destruction. It was often used with ill intent and wielded by tyrants of war, but for some its power could be controlled with ease and calmness of mind, calling only upon anger as a memory or familiar feeling to act in any situation.
Venneith was one such man. As a knight, one could imagine he came from a family of great wealth and power, and that would be true if to say the very least. From birth, Venneith inherited the ability to call upon Deuth of Euth, but as a young boy who found his kindred to be prideful and boasting of their riches and fortunes, he found that such a mentality wasn’t healthy for the simple soul of man.
He found it was poisonous. So, when he was appointed Knight by the King of Carthol, he vowed to wholly and honestly keep to the code of chivalry. A code so easily waved aside and overlooked by knights alike who only sought to obtain and boast of their power, terrorising those less fortunate at the wayside of bridges and roads where no others would witness their evil deeds.
Where most knights were looked upon as knights of the rich, Venneith was a true night of the people and citizens of Carthol. During the his knighting by the very King of Carthol himself, he pledged to be ‘a knight of the people.’
And so he marched amongst them, fought alongside them, and guided them as he does now on the way to slay the dragon.
The reconnaissance man began insisting that they were now nearing their mark. As the rising sun illuminated the landscape, the men lessened their pace, taking each step with careful consideration so that no twig snapped or branch rustled in their stride. The Ballistas were lifted onto the backs of four men each and were carefully moved as the party slowly split into five around the cave that was said to face west.
To the south lay three men, armored and ready to jump the dragon. To the southwest lay the first Ballista crew of three, with their bolts ready and Siege engine properly deployed. To the west was Venneith himself, who stood alone below the pines so burned by the dragon for ease when taking flight from the cave. To the northwest was the second Ballista crew, who lay in wait just as the first did, and to the north was the final group of three set to jump the dragon once it became tethered and pinned like those from the south.
The men had to hold their breath because, true to Venneith’s word, the ground furthest from the cave was littered with the carcasses of deer, bovines and beast. Most were burnt to a crisp by the dragon which mitigated the smell of decay, but for the men that stood near, the stench was that of severely overcooked, yet rotten meat.
Patiently they waited. The cave seemed shallow as its opening dipped down into the earth where no doubt the dragon had made its nest. Beyond that nest was the mound it’d be pushed against once the battle took place. All Venneith needed to do was provoke the beast, and that was an art in itself.
With one deep breath Venneith rose from his knee, push back the fear, cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted one word. “Yewl!”
The men froze in fright in that instance. It seemed the forest as a whole ceased its song as it collectively witnessed the one knight that dared to call a dragon…a bastard.
“Yewl, I say!” Venneith shouted again. “Again I say Yewl! Yewl!”
“He calls the dragon a yewl,” the men murmured amongst themselves as Venneith pressisted.
“Your Mother Was A Yewl! Your Father Was A Yewl! Yewl, Yewl, Yewl!”
From within the cave a noise began to stir, shaking the men to the core as a screech erupted from the ground. Venneith’s taunting never ceased, even after the head of the curiously mad dragon poked itself up to gaze at its contender.
“Yewl!” Venneith’s taunting persisted, even as the dragon gazed boldly at him. “What Have You Say For Yourself, Yewl? You Were Born A Yewling Drake, You Yewl!”
Now, where the dragon should have been fierce, as the men expected, it instead tilted its head in curiosity at how bold and unfrightened this smaller, armored creature was. Oftentimes, when a dragon reared its head these types, these…fleshy things ran for the constructs that were oh so easily set alight, leaving the bounty of their cattle unguarded and free for the taking. Why now did one call out to challenge her, especially while she rested? But more importantly, how dare it come so close to her treasure?
The dragon rose up to face this inferior being, calling back with an open maw to contend with the vermin.
One mighty roar erupted as the claws of the beast scraped the stone mound, pulling itself up. She boasted of her size, splaying its wings to induce fear among the inferior that stood before her. Her scales were darker than night, her eyes glowing with a yellow hue that honed in on the smaller kin who stood mightily before her with one arm stretched forward, with an open palm, while the other rested against its chest.
The dragon held no fear for she was larger insomuch that no beast could contend with her size. Her roar was great and mighty insomuch that any being would fear her, but the fire…her burning fire. Where she thought she was unmatched by many, especially these kin, she knew above all else her fire would win any battle. With one mighty breath she arched forward, breathing a fury of flames before her, enveloping everything in its path in a fiery, fierce blaze.
However, as she breathed her mighty fire, Venneith knew himself to be adequate enough to pull away the flames. He arched the wrath of this beast over his head, directing the flames into the forest, leaving him unscathed.
Only after her wrath relented did the dragon stare in confusion at the smaller kin and wonder why he remained unburnt. However, just before she breathed again the knight roared out with one final command, “Let Loose!”
As commanded, both teams that operated the Ballistas pulled back, their sights already set, and fired.
The dragon suddenly found herself struck in the shoulder, beneath her wing and in the abdomen below her arm. With a cry of pain she roared, frantically looking in all directions only to see the smaller kin rush her from all sides. Six strong charged; three from the north, three from the south and one dark-armored, fire-bending kin from the west.
It was the one from the west she feared the most. A being that couldn’t be burned…such a thing was unfathomable to the dragon. So she turned her attention to the north whipping her tail to the south as she did so. In the beginning one soul was struck and sent flying by her tail, and in the north she swatted away at the small vermin only for them to scamper just out of reach. She breathed fire once more. However, it only fell upon a single soul while the rest abandoned him to go unscorched.
However, when she glanced to the west again she found the armored kin to be approaching. Trying to evade this beast, she attempted to take flight, jumping back in retreat only to find herself grasped by the bolts that stuck in her flesh. They were tethered to a tree by cords of rope. She bit at one, severing it in half before she was struck again from the southwest, replacing the cord she had just severed.
In panic she let loose with a clawed hand, turning in a
n instant to catch those who pegged at her heels. With one thrust she slammed the vermin against the mountain before throwing him off and whipping her tail once more only to miss above the heads of those she targeted.
Another bolt struck her, this time from the northwest. They hurt unlike any other feeling before. The way they stuck in her hide and tugged at her skin each time she attempted to pull away. It was unbearable, so with a new wrath she breathed again, throwing her head from northwest to southwest, burning both cords while also catching every operator of the constructs in her fiery blaze.
Then, upon the nape of her neck, she was struck with a mighty blow. When she tossed her arm she pushed back the armored kin that still challenged her. He was thrown away but still retained great balance as he continued to stand on two legs. She scampered away, catching a single being in her stride, accidentally crushing him to death before rearing up for another attack.
She came down on the armored kin with both clawed hands. It rolled out of the way, striking her elbow immediately afterwards. It caused great pain, so much so that her arm collapsed and when she fell, the bolts buried in her side were driven inward by the ground, puncturing all manner of organs. She lay stiff and motionless, making no sound but feeling every bit of pain
Most assumed beasts felt no pain, had no emotion and lacked any empathy, yet as the dragon slowly succumbed to the abyssal void, her last act of life was to hum her melody. All that could be heard was a low growl, a deep rumbling. As the final notes subsided, her final gaze was cast to the entrance of her den, where the shiny objects and bits of metal lay, but she cared not for this.
She sang only for her treasure.
Dark.
There was only darkness for the poor creature. It felt the small space it was in but wondered where the warmth went, and the vibrations of its caretaker, as the many days and nights it would hum its soothing melody. Where had it gone? Why had it left and what were those distant noises, those flashes of light that pierced the veil of his small world only to once again succumb to the darkness?
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