Father

---

The door slammed open and a massive voice called out, "Where is he!? Where is that little bastard!" A large green dragonborn, wearing the uniform of a gate guard of the City of No Names, entered through the door, his eyes blazing with anger as he searched.

"Now, Gell, take it easy on him. He is young, barely more then a hatchling." Dyllia, Gell's wife, attempted to calm him as he tore through the house. "He doesn't know any better, Gell. Gell!" He brushes aside the soft yellow scaled woman as he catches sight of the object of his ire. A growl escapes his throat and he approaches the small figure standing in the backdoor. The reflected light off of the silver tipped, black scales glares into his eyes and his irritation mounts.

"Yes, father?" The small dragonborn child asks, voice full of fear.

"Where were you today, Craed?" The question was not asked softly.

"I... I was here, father. I played in the backyard." Craed avoided his fathers eyes.

"LIAR! You were with that goblin again, weren't you!"

"No, father! I swear!" Tears rimmed the small eyes and poured down black scaled cheeks.

"Yemoe saw you exit the gate to the foreign quarter! What did I tell you about them? What did I say about those that aren't dragonborn?" Gell slowly removed the large studded belt at his waist.

"No, father. He is my friend! He's not like what you say! Torrak's different!" The child pleaded, knowing what was to come. He cried fearfully.

"They're all alike! You can't trust any of them! And if you associate with them, then you're no better. No son of mine will be seen with a goblin. It's time you learned that." He stepped forward but turned at the touch of Dyllia.

"No, Gell. He will learn! Don't be so hard-"

Her words were cut off as the large green shoved her back, brutally. He then turned on his son and lifted the belt in his hand.

---

Craed lie on the floor of his room, crying. He hurt so badly. His father must hate him to inflict such pain. Why must he hate any creature that isn't a dragonborn? Why couldn't Craed play with Torrak? The goblin boy was kind, even sharing his food with him on the days his father was upset and decided he wasn't allowed to eat. The young boy lifted his head off the floor. With eyes red from tears he saw the only book allowed in his fathers house. It was the scripture of Belradontius. Craed had read the book many times, and not once could he find evidence that he should hate non-dragonborn. He had made the mistake of mentioning this to his father once. The black eye he had recieved made sure he would never say so again. He slowly reached out and opened the book and started to read. Taking as much comfort as he could from the words of his peoples god. He didn't understand why his father did this to him. He didn't understand why Gell feared what was different. When you're only three years old, these things are hard to see.

An Old Friend

---

Two figures stood above the grave. Rain poured upon the casket as it was lowered. Rain fell on the two mourners. Water dripped down their faces. Water, but not tears.

Craed put his arm about his mothers shoulders. She looked over at him and gave him a wan smile. She was making the effort but he could tell that her emotions were as confused as his. Their society gave them the impression that they should be sad at Gell's death, but Craed knew that he felt only relief. He figured that Dyllia felt the same way. Gell was not a soft man. He was strict, cruel, and often times took pleasure in his families pain. The world could only be better at his passing.

There was one matter that irked at Craed's conscience however. And that washow Gell had died. More importantly,who had killed him. His fist clenched as he thought of the one who was being hunted for his father's murder. He slipped his arm off his mother's shoulders and walked away from the funeral. "Where are you going?" Dyllia asked him.

"To see an old friend, mother."

---

Torrak had been hiding in the foreign quarter for days. He had survived by eating trash and finding the worst holes to crawl into at night. The guards were still combing the quarter looking for him. He had nowhere left to run and knew that it was only a matter of time until he was found. Eventually he came to a place he knew well. It was old alley that he used to play in as a child. The goblin wandered into the dead end, reminiscing. Tears came to his eyes as he recalled those days spent with his friend. He turned to leave when a shadow fell over him. A dragonborn stood at the alley's mouth and blocked his only exit. Torrak knew he was caught, he couldn't possibly fight even one dragonborn warrior.

"Hello, Torrak." The voice sent chills down the goblins spine. Of all the people to find him, why Craed!?

"Craed, my friend. I'm so sorry! I didn't know it was him at first!" The dragonborn walked slowly into the alley and the goblin backed into the dead end. "He was attacking my mother! He was beating her mercilessly! I had to stop him, he was killing her!" Torrak finally reached the wall and, broken, he fell to his knee's and sobbed. "If anyone is going to kill me, I'm glad it will be you, old friend. I hope my death brings you peace." Craed stopped just before the crying goblin and silently picked him up. Expecting his frame to be crushed, the goblin cringed as the arms wrapped around him. But the gentleness of the embrace made him stop crying. Cread was hugging him, calming him.

"No, Torrak. I'm not here to kill you. You have been nothing but kind to me. I owe you my life a thousand times over. I have come to get you out of the city." Exalted, the goblin cried with joy and wrapped his skinny arms around his friends neck. Craed lowered him back to the ground. He looked behind him, towards the alley's entrance and beckoned Torrak to follow him. "Let's go! Quickly!"

---

Smuggling Torrak out of the city was surprisingly easy. The guards paid Craed no attention, those that did knew Gell and gave him silent nods of support as they passed. When he had reached a point far enough from the walls, Craed unslung the pack on his back and let out the goblin. Torrak stood up and brushed himself off as Craed made sure there was food and water in the sack. "Thank you, Craed. I would have been executed for sure back there."

"You don't deserve it, Torrak. My father was a hateful, spiteful old lizard and I can think of no more fitting end for him then someone defending their family." He handed the sack over and gave the goblin one last appraising look. "You'll be okay on your own?"

"Yes. I believe so. My family came from a tribe in the mountains. My father was the old cheiftain's second son. I should be safe with them."

"Will they recognize you? I thought you were born in the city?"

"I was, but I have my father's ring. He gave it to me before he died." He touched an earring in his right ear. "They were a peaceful enough people from what he told us. I should be fine." He looked at the dragonborn for a moment. "Why don't you come with me, Craed?"

The black scaled dragonborn considered this for a moment and finally shook his head. "I would, if my father was still alive. But things should get better for me now. I have my mother to care for and the library won't read itself. I wish you luck, old friend."

Torrak held out one tiny hand and Craed gently grasped it. "Goodbye, Craed. Call on me if you're ever in the mountains. I promise my tribe won't eat you."

Craed laughed and watched his friend walk away. Torrak was a fighter, trained by his father who was once his tribe's champion. But still, he couldn't help but worry for the goblin. He turned and headed back for the city, hoping that things truly would be better from now on.

The Offer

---

"Are you Creed? Gell's son?" The voice was harsh and deep. Craed looked up into the eyes of a large vermilion scaled paladin. He sighed and closed the book he had been reading. He had hoped to be undisturbed in the library but apparently he was mistaken.

"My name is Craed. With an a. What do you want with me?" He sat back in the large chair.

The paladin narrowed his golden eyes. "You would be wise to address me with respect, hatchling. Especially considering the offer I have for you." He looked down at the scroll in his hand and then slid his eyes back over the younger dragonborn. "That is, if the rumors are true."

"Rumors?" He paused just long enough to annoy. "Sir?"

"We have heard reports that your breath has manifested? Is it true that you wield the breath of Jeyld?"

Craed sighed again, inwardly this time. He was caught. "Yes. It is true." He grinned and allowed lightning to dance across his teeth.

The paladin nodded. "Congratulations, son. You have been invited into the order. We expect you at the barracks tomorrow morning." He handed Craed the scroll but when he failed to grasp it he placed it on the table in front of him. "You will be trained in the arts by the finest dragonborn paladins. They'll take care of that attitude problem, though I'm sure we've seen worse. You will also receive a weekly allowance of ten gold, starting tomorrow." He held out a fine scaled hand. "Glad to have you aboard, Creed."

Craed stared at the proffered hand. It was a good minute before he spoke. "First of all, sir." He made no effort to disguise the sarcasm. "My name is Craed. Second, why do you assume I will accept your offer?"

The red lowered his hand and narrowed his eyes once more. "You are going to refuse that which any dragonborn would eagerly die for!? You intend to deny this opportunity to serve the mighty Belradontius? YOU WILL TURN DOWN THE ORDER!?" The paladin slammed his fist into the table as he yelled. The librarians looked over but knew better then to interfere with Order business.

Craed stared up into those piercing gold eyes. "Yes."

Through sparking teeth the older dragonborn growled. "You have made a mistake this day, Craed."

"At least you finally got my name right." As the paladin turned and started to walk away, Craed added, "I have no use for your creed."

Alone

---

It had been four years since the offer from the Order. Craed found a job in the library, cataloging old dragonborn histories. The job fascinated him and allowed him a great amount of time with the books he loved. It was also the only thing keeping him going, despite the meager pay. Dyllia had died last year and due to his ostracism from any Order services, he was unable to attend his own mother's funeral. That week had been hard on him. Though she had died of natural causes, Craed blamed himself for her death. His meager pay was unable to feed them both adequately and Dyllia's failing health had finally given out. Now he was alone.

He threw himself into his work. He read every book that crossed his work station and devoured it ravenously. The history of his people was fascinating. Tales of warriors and paladins fighting against demons and devils. The rise of the orc people was briefly mentioned, including a war that had happened just after Jeylds disappearance. But the most amazing story of all, was of the first dragonborn, the Arkhosia. Created in the image of Belradontius, they had far more draconic tendencies then the present day dragonborn. They had a tendency to covet jewels and treasure, so many of their artifacts are beautiful and magical works of art. They had a tribal society based around a patriarch and a shaman, who kept them tied to the earth and it's primal ways. But what made Craed's eyes widen was that the first of his people could fly. Belradontius had given them wings. Craed flew through the pages, reading about the different tribes and the significance of scale coloring in their society. But as he read, he noticed something quite peculiar. There was a chapter missing in the history. It was an abrupt transition from the Arkhosia to the wingless dragonborn. Enraged by this lack of information, he threw the book across the room. He scanned the shelves for other histories and found them all lacking. Infuriated by his curiosity, Craed screamed in frustration, but quickly fell to his knees weeping.

His mothers death and being unable to attend her funeral, the loss of his best friend, the constant beatings from his father. Everything hit him at once. He wept and cried until his tears dried up and he was reduced to shaking on the floor. Throughout all of his life there was one fact pounded into him. You are dragonborn, and dragonborn must act better then you do. You do not belong.

Slowly he got to his feet. Not even bothering to clean up his workstation he left the library. In a depressed daze he let his feet carry him wherever they will. They lead him to the foreign quarter. To the place where he and Torrak used to play. Past the spot where the goblin had killed Gell. And to the only place he had ever felt at home. The myriads of races intermingled with one another, helping one another, laughing and joking together. Craed watched them, and he realized why he did not belong. These were his people. These people that knew that to work together and not look down upon each other was the way to go through life. He breathed deep the air, full of the scents of food and spices from lands far and wide. He suddenly wished he was not a dragonborn. To no longer have scales. To have smooth skin and soft hair. He sighed and, resigned, turned back for his home. That was when he caught the rumor. Two women were talking about a stranger visiting the city, she was a shifter and beautiful one at that. While this alone was not gossip worthy, the fact that she could apparently change into animals certainly was! He questioned the women and they told him that she was probably in the market area and he left at once. If he could not be a different person, maybe he could learn to become a different animal entirely.