Origins

Winter, 1408 LE

Iksus panted from exertion. He didn’t sweat for his lineage, and the autumn bite in the air felt nothing beyond pleasant as the wind washed over his pearlescent scales. Whap. The next log split as his ax impacted the stump. Unfortunately he still needed to chop firewood for the winter. He didn’t mind too much. Working his field, chopping wood, all the labors of farm life kept him focussed, gave him purpose. Whap. Another arch of his tool completed. He did it all for Yesia and Vivia, his wife and daughter. His wife, with her vibrant, beautiful sapphire scales, was more suited for the summers in Cesel. The little village on the southwest edge of the dragonblight saw harsh winters and harsh summers alike. Whap. Only a few more pieces. Iksus of course did everything in his power to make those winter months as comfortable as he could for his family. Today the harvest was over, yet the work was not. Whap. He was afforded little love by the people of Cesel, save his few friends. Recently the hate had lowered to a simmering disdain. The people who had problems with him were too busy causinIg problems for the young mother who had recently fled Calpi to Cesel with her cursed child.

That was Cesel. A home for the outcasts. Not an escape no, but at least it was a place to survive. The humans still turned their noses up at Iksus and his family, but they didn’t refuse to buy his crops or sell him the necessities for survival. He fought for it, but he had managed to carve out a pleasant enough life for himself and those he loved, here in the isolated edge of the Dragonblight.

Whap. All done. As he completed his chopping, Iksus firmly planted his ax in the stump he used as a chopping block. Looking up he saw a small sky blue figure running from his house towards him.

“Daddy!” Vivia cried in joy, her arms up, demanding he lift her. He happily did so as she impacted him with as much force as her eight year old legs could propel her with.

“How’s my little girl?” he asked as he spun her around, “Behaving for your mother?”

Vivia nodded excitedly. “She let me help feed Tongue! It was gross. I loved it!” Iksus chuckled at the young girl's enthusiasm. Before Vivia had hatched, none of the goats he and Yesia had raised had earned names of any interest, however Vivia was in love with the creatures and decided they needed new names, more befitting of their appearance. Tongue was her favorite, having a pension for licking. “That’s wonderful darling. Perhaps next planting season you can help me with the fields.”

“Momma says that’s hard and I shouldn’t let you trick me into helping,” she said almost scolding.

“Momma is smart. It is very hard, but that is how I got so strong,” he proclaimed as he lifted her in the air, “Now let's go find momma. I bet she’s ready to feed us now that Tongue is fed.”

The young girl eagerly nodded in agreement as Iksus carried her back to the house. He would cart the chopped wood to the shed after dinner.

Iksus, still holding Vivia, entered the house to the smell of a wonderful stew. Yesia had truly made his life better. Before her, he ate stale bread and mostly burnt game he had managed to kill. He was never much of a hunter, and a worse cook. He set Vivia down at the table, and walked over to Yesia and gave her a kiss as she stirred the stew. She quietly hummed to herself as their tails intertwined, an action as intimate as a loving embrace, yet would not interrupt her cooking. “Smells amazing,” Iksus was sure to say with enthusiasm.

“Oh I know dear,” she hummed, “It’s the same recipe I cook every night.”

“You certainly have perfected it.”

“You would say that. You know you’re allowed to grumble about eating the same thing every night.”

“Why would I?” he said as he pulled three pewter bowls from the cupboard, “if the emperor were to try this, he’d only eat it till the day he died.”

Yesia smacked him with her ladle. “Don’t speak of the emperor’s death. It’s not proper.” Iksus didn’t see why she was so reverent of the emperor. He was just another human who probably looked down on dragonborn all the same. Just cause everyone liked him didn’t mean Iksus would. He bawed at her deference.

“I am going to meet Taul at the Cask tonight after I finish stocking the wood,” he changed the subject.

“Will you be out late?” Yesia asked. She liked to know where Iksus was after dark.

“Not likely. It’ll be a cold night.”

When they had first settled in Cesel, they were not treated warmly, much like the young mother who had just moved to town. Iksus would go to the only local inn, the Cherry Cask, and attempt to befriend the locals. Unfortunately it was several years before he made even a single friend. He was more often mocked out of the bar at the end of the night. Yesia hated that he went almost every night, but she saw how he longed for friendship. They both feared that the children of those who had lead the charge of looking down on the pair of dragonborn would eventually grow to be as cruel to Vivia as their parents had been to Iksus and Yesia Eventually he had met Taul. Taul was a grendel who also got the short end of the social stick. The two had bonded and had stuck with one another through thick and thin. Now, over ten years later, they still met regularly at the Cherry Cask.

The dinner was excellent as usual. After finishing, Iksus finished loading the chopped wood into his cart and hauled it to the house's shed. The sun had set, plunging the temperature. Iksus of course didn’t mind. He had never had an issue with the cold and was extremely comfortable. He only wished his wife was as resilient to the cold as he was, so that he could walk in the winter evenings as they had when living further south. Creak. Thunk.

“Vivia is in bed,” Yesia said, not looking away from her dishes as Iksus entered the house, “she wants you to tell her a story before you leave.”

“Why am I not surprised?” He smirked as he climbed the meager stairs to the small loft above the sitting room.

“You do tell excellent stories,” Yesia called up the stairs softly.

Iksus grabbed the small stool resting near the top of the stairs and pulled it up next to Vivia’s cot. Her head was bundled under the covers as if hiding from a monster.

“I hear you want a story?” He asked as he peaked under the covers, revealing a phony act of cowardice accompanied by a poorly hidden smile. Vivian slowly peeked up and nodded.

“Okay then, let's see. How about the tale of the hero who saved the world with sweet bread?”

“What? That's silly Daddy.”

“It's a true story!” He exclaimed. She furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. “Okay. I hope you sleep tight,” he surrendered as he stood to move the stool back to it's place, only to be interrupted by her little arms around his own. She pulled him back down, “no no tell the story. I want to know how he did it!”

“Okay okay here we go. Once there was a great baker by the name of Olivus. Olivus was known across the land for the sweetest sweet rolls in the whole world. People traveled for miles and miles to eat his sweet rolls,” he began, waving his hands for emphasis, “One day, the emperor was having a huge feast, and asked Olivus to bake for the feast! Of course he accepted, and brought all of his baking things to the palace right away. You see, Olivus didn't just bake the sweet rolls normally,” Iksus paused for dramatic effect, causing Vivia to lean forward in anticipation. “ He used magic!” Vivia gasped.

“He tossed all the ingredients together, magical flour, arcane cinnamon, eggs of prophecy, milk of blessings, all mixed together and baked with a magical fire,” he described,Vivia remaining rapt.

“As he finished the sweet rolls, a dark shadow covered the windows. Then suddenly, ‘crash!’”

Vivia jumped as Iksus leaned forward for emphasis.

“A giant fire breathing monster broke through the window! It started breathing fire all over the food, burning everything for the feast. Someone had to stop it, and Olivus knew he could save the feast. He jumped on the table and called to the monster, ‘wait! Stop burning everything!’ and the monster stopped for a moment. ‘Why should I?’ the monster asked. Olivus cleverly held up a sweet roll. ‘I will make you as many sweet rolls as you want if you leave.’ The monster laughed and snatched the roll out of Olivus’s hand, popping it in his mouth. ‘I’ll burn everything and take your sweet rolls anyways!’ the monster shouted. It started breathing fire again, when all of a sudden, it fell over dead! Turns out it was allergic to arcane cinnamon. Olivus really knows his stuff huh?”

“That's a weird ending.”

“Yeah it is, isn't it. Now you gotta go to sleep okay?” He asked as he tucked her in. She nodded, and yawned. He blew out her candle and stood.

Just as Iksus had put the stool back in its place, her voice crept from the dimness of the loft, “Daddy?”

“Yes Vivian?”

“Was the monster a dragon?” Iksus froze at the top of the stairs. His heart was beating harder than he felt it should have been.

“It might have been. The legends don't say.”

“Are dragons bad?” she asked, almost with shame in her little voice. Iksus knew he would have to have a conversation like this at some point.

“Some are. Some are good too.”

“Are we bad?”

“No. We aren't. Some very mean people may say you are, but that is not true,” he said, coming back and kneeling by her cot, “A long time ago, some bad dragons forced a lot of good dragonborns like us to do bad things, and a lot of people take a long time to forget. We remind them of the bad stuff from back then.”

“Ok Daddy,” she said, yawning again. By the time she had finished, she was practically asleep. He kissed her forehead and returned downstairs.

Iksus found Yesia reading by the fire in the sitting room. He began putting on his boots.

“I shouldn't be out too late. Taul probably has a catch or two to help us get through winter and he'll want to help bring them out, and get back before the snow gets too deep.”

“Sounds good. Give him all my thanks and make sure he's invited to dinner tomorrow,” Yesia said glancing up just long enough to give him a kiss before he walked out the door.

“Of course. I love you.” “I love you too.

Creak. Thunk.

It was freezing out and Iksus felt wonderful. He strolled without a coat of any kind down the steps of his modest porch, across his property to the end of the road that led into Cesel proper, and began his trek. Snap. Only a few steps in and he froze. The moon was covered in clouds, leaving the surrounding underbrush and trees shrouded in shadow, silhouettes accented by the dusting of snow that had begun to fall. His gaze moved slowly across the sparse woods. He was just on edge. No sign of anything. He held his breath for a beat longer, then continued his journey. He really needed to invest in a lantern in the near future.

Just over ten minutes later, the warm light of the Cask told Iksus he had arrived. The door didn’t creak when he opened it, but the floorboards did as he entered. A few of the patrons turned to look at him, although only a few of the town even frequented the Cherry Cask. Iksus and Taul were two. Taul had not arrived yet, but the burly grendel was not known for his punctuality. Neither was Iksus, always getting caught up in his work, but Taul was especially bad.

After nearly half an hour, Iksus spotted a familiar figure squeezing through the low doorframe, his wide, fur-covered shoulders brushing either side. Taul’s grendel bulk made the room feel smaller, but his grin could warm even the frostiest night.

“’Bout time you got here,” Iksus called, raising a hand in greeting.

Taul snorted, his tusks gleaming in the firelight. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He ambled over to the corner table where Iksus sat and dropped a bundle onto the table with a heavy thud. The burlap sack spilled open, revealing thick, shaggy feathers streaked with blood.

“You brought down an owlbear?” Iksus’s brows shot up in surprise.

“Spotted it near the ridge this morning,” Taul said, puffing out his chest. “Figured you could use some good meat to stock up for winter. Thought your little one might like the feathers too.”

Iksus smiled, genuinely touched. “Vivia’ll love them. She’s been asking for something to decorate her cot with. But how’d you take down an owlbear on your own?”

Taul shrugged, his grin widening. “The same way I always do—sharp spear, steady aim, and a whole lot of yelling to scare it silly. Reckon it’s been causing trouble for some of the nearby farms, so I did ‘em a favor.”

“And you didn’t think to bring me along?” Iksus teased, shaking his head.

“Next time,” Taul promised, waving a hand. “But if you’re quick, you can get a roast started tonight. Give your wife a break from her stew, eh?”

The two settled into their usual rhythm, talking about the latest happenings in Cesel.

Taul shared rumors of strange lights seen near the forest edge, but neither gave much credence to the old wives’ tales that often floated around town. They spoke of the young mother with the cursed child, both agreeing that she had a rougher road ahead than most but deserved a chance to carve out her own life in peace.

“Folk around here are stubborn,” Taul said, leaning back in his chair. “But they’ll come around eventually. They did with us, didn’t they?”

“Maybe.” Iksus’s tone was more reserved. “Takes a long time to heal old wounds.

Longer still when people keep picking at the scars.”

They drank in companionable silence for a while after that, letting the fire’s crackle fill the space. Finally, Taul stretched and stood, gesturing toward the door. “We better get that owlbear back to your place before it freezes solid. Can’t be doing your missus a favor if she’s got to hack through ice to get to the meat.”

Iksus nodded, rising to his feet. “You’re right. Let’s get moving.”

The walk back was quiet save for the crunch of snow beneath their feet and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Taul carried the owlbear with the help of Iksus, its limp form tied to a pole and very nearly dragged on the ground despite the pair’s above average hights.

As they neared the edge of Iksus’s property, the faint glow of firelight came into view. At first, he thought it might be the warmth of his home’s hearth spilling through the windows, but the glow was too bright, too erratic.

Thunk.

He dropped the owlbear carcass to the snowy ground.

“No,” Iksus whispered, his heart sinking into his stomach.

He broke into a run, his feet pounding against the frozen ground as the icy air stung his lungs. Taul called after him, but Iksus didn’t slow. The flickering flames ahead grew larger, the acrid smell of smoke assaulting his senses as he approached the house. The entire structure was engulfed, fire dancing across the roof as black smoke billowed into the night sky. Iksus barely paused as he reached the front porch. The heat was searing, forcing him to shield his face with an arm, but he surged forward. The door was gone, consumed by the flames, leaving an open, fiery void.

“Yesia! Vivia!” he bellowed, his voice cracking. Without hesitation, he leapt through the doorway, his scales blistering from the heat. The burning air was a sharp contrast to the comfortable snow outside.

Inside, chaos reigned. The fire roared, devouring everything in its path. The beams above groaned ominously, threatening collapse. Iksus’s eyes darted wildly, searching through the haze.

“Yesia!” he called again, coughing as the smoke clawed at his throat. He stumbled forward, kicking aside a burning chair. Near the center of the room, he spotted a figure sprawled on the floor. It was a limp figure with sapphire scales, glistening in the fire in a way that would be beautiful, were it not for the circumstance.

“Iksus,” she rasped, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames. “Vivia… they took her…”

“Who? Who took her?” he demanded, but Yesia’s eyes fluttered closed. Her body went still, her last breath escaping in a faint sigh.

“No! Yesia, stay with me!” Iksus cried, shaking her gently, but it was too late. Grief threatened to consume him, but a groan from the far corner of the room caught his attention.

He turned, his eyes following a branching burn that led from Yesia’s body to the nearby wall. He spotted a man slumped against the wall. The stranger’s green robes were charred, and his chest bore the jagged scars of electrical burns—evidence of Yesia’s final act. A breath of lightning ending the intruder’s life. Iksus rose, fury igniting in his veins, and stormed toward the dying man.

“Where is my daughter?” he growled, grabbing the man by his scorched robes and hauling him upright. Cold frosty fog poured from his own mouth as his anger rose to match that of the inferno.

The cultist coughed weakly, blood staining his lips. “Your child… will be made superior,” he rasped, a twisted smile on his face, “She is Rogiq’s now.”

“What did you do?” Iksus roared, shaking him violently.

The man laughed, a hollow, gurgling sound. “You’ll see…everyone will see… soon enough,” he wheezed, before his body went limp in Iksus’s grasp.

The fire roared louder, the beams above splintering as the ceiling threatened to collapse. Clutching Yesia’s lifeless body, Iksus stumbled back through the inferno. The flames bit at his back as he climbed through the shattered window, collapsing into the snow outside.

Taul was there, his face grim as he took in the sight of Iksus and the lifeless form he carried. “Iksus…” he began, but no words could suffice.

Iksus placed Yesia’s body gently in the snow, his shoulders heaving with sobs. Somewhere, Vivia was out there, taken by those who had destroyed his family. His grief turned to resolve as he raised his tear-streaked face to the burning wreckage of his home.

“I will find her,” he swore, his voice low and firm. “And I will make them pay.”

His gaze shifted to the stump where his axe remained embedded, a reminder of earlier, simpler tasks. The memory of chopping wood, of preparing for the coming winter with his family, struck a deep chord. A slow, frigid anger began to overtake his grief. This was not the time to mourn—this was the time to act. Iksus rose, his movements sharp and deliberate. He stormed toward the stump, yanking the axe free with a fierce motion. The weight of the tool in his hands steadied him, its familiar heft now a symbol of the fight to come. He turned to Taul, his eyes filled with a chilling fury.

“Are you with me?” Iksus asked, his voice a low growl.

Taul’s gaze hardened, and he hefted his spear. “Always. What about Yesia?”

“No time. We shall return when Vivia is safe,” Iksus said, turning towards a set of footprints in the snow. “I’m sorry my love.”

The two set off into the night, following the faint trail of footprints leading away from the wreckage. The snow glowed faintly under the moonlight, the only illumination as they tracked the cultists into the badlands of the Dragonblight. Iksus’s grip on the axe tightened with every step, his mind filled with thoughts of vengeance, and of Vivia.