I was only seven when I first heard rumors about hobgoblins in the nearby mountains. I had overheard my parents speaking about the possible repercussions of hobgoblins gathering en masse just outside the border of the dragonborn territory. But the rumors had been dismissed by many - only a few hobgoblins had been seen after all, and that didn't necessarily mean that a threat approached.
And yet over the years raids and attacks by hobgoblins became more and more common. More and more frequently, I heard about farmers whose storehouses were raided, and then traveling merchants who were attacked on the road. The attacks grew more and more bold, and delved deeper and deeper into the realm of the dragonborn, closer to me, to the Rathadar clan. But I knew that I would always be safe if I stayed with my family.
When I was ten, this changed. My desire to stay with my family was no longer out of a desire to keep myself safe from evil enemies, but out of a desire to protect my family. My mother and father were both strong and capable warriors - they were dragonborn, after all - but now I had a younger brother. He was strong as well, although he took three whole years to be truly deadly to the right foes. By then I had yet another thing to worry about: my little sister. I'm not sure how my parents managed to wrangle all three of us at the same time. Somehow we never burned our house down, despite the massive ignition capabilities of three bullheaded children.
At fourteen, at the peak of my adolescence, I began to dream of what it may be like to one day free my people from this irritating pest constantly oppressing our borders. After I begged my father repeatedly, he finally gave in, and I began to train with him almost every day. Although he wasn't quite as spry as in his youth, he still knew how to wield a blade. I still remember the very first time my sword made contact with his scales. I was so afraid that I had hurt him, but of course I was far from strong enough to pierce a dragonborn's hide. He knew this, and kept training me until I became adept with a longsword. I knew that I was just one step closer to becoming a hero.
It was also near this time that I first met Bahamut. Not literally, of course, but my father insisted that if I pursue a life of heroics that I should be familiar with the creator of all dragonborn. For my fifteenth birthday, the day I became a woman, he and I traveled to the far city of Mund, only a day's travel past the border of the dragonborn wilderness. I remember how in awe I was when I approached the temple of Bahamut, so white in a world of darkness. Master Quick met us so exuberantly at the gate, so confident for a creature who couldn't summon a swath of fire at a moment's notice. I laughed at him for his frailty; I could have pierced his skin with my fingernail.
My father had made me go through the ritual of worship and then presented me at the altar. He prayed to Bahamut, to grant me strength of body and of will in the years to come. He prayed that justice would follow me where I went, and that I would be given a heart to help the oppressed. I scoffed at his prayer, although I did not verbalize my skepticism. Master Quick watched us the whole time, and I had such an eerie feeling, like more than just his eyes were on me. I cared not for justice or the oppressed unless they were among my own people. What business did I have with these unbearably frail creatures? There were so many small dwarves in this town, and I was several feet taller than the strongest of them. I belonged with my people, with the Rathadar clan. Nothing could separate me from them. Especially my family.
The next morning my father and I returned to our home. When we finally arrived, my mother embraced us with uncharacteristic fervor. I could hear my younger siblings playing in another room as my mother quietly told us that she had been frantically worried about us for the last two days. It had taken eight years, but the hobgoblins had finally made an organized attack against a dragonborn village. My father and I were both in shock, and we three slept uneasy that night. It seemed that war was on the horizon.
I was plagued with dreams and fitful sleep as my unconscious mind toyed with possibilities of the future. I had dream after dream of evil creatures swarming my hometown in droves, killing everyone in sight. I woke in the middle of the night, images of terror in my mind, when suddenly I felt a strange calm over me. Memories returned of the blue and silver altar of Bahamut, where my father had prayed for me just days before. Suddenly I felt compelled to bring justice to this evil, and I decided right then and there that the next day I would leave home and join the military. I was an adult after all, and my clan needed a strong army to defend it.
My mother did not react with favor to this decision. My father was much more at peace about it, and for years I have had a feeling that my father knew all along what was going to happen, and where I was really headed. Perhaps he, too, had had a revelation in the night. He blessed my decision and gave me his very own longsword with which he had delivered many a blow to me over the past year. I took it gratefully, promising to care for it as best I could.
The day I left was truly an emotional one for me. My siblings, only five and two, could not quite understand why I was leaving, but only that it was to keep them safe. I was sure that I would never love another creature as much as I loved those two small scaly children. I embraced them like never before, and several tears were shed. I knew that seeing them again was not guaranteed. The same went for my parents, and I charged them to defend each other and my little brother and sister with everything they had within them. Then I left. Those first few steps were the hardest I have ever had to take.
Life in the military was much less glamorous than I had previously imagined. The number of fifteen-year-old dragonborn joining was drastically increasing, and suddenly I was surrounded by young adults who brazenly believed that they would singlehandedly bring an end to the menace of the hobgoblins. The Rathadar clan had many new recruits, and we all trained together for several months. Some were farmers, some were blacksmiths, and some were bakers. But there was not one of them that could rival my skill with a longsword. It became apparent early on that I had already surpassed all these runts in skill and strategy. My father had taught me well. A full year went by, and there was not a day that I did not use his training or take time to tend to his longsword. It became a symbol to me of the very reason why I was choosing to fight; it kept me grounded and focused.
By the time I was seventeen, I had gone from private to lieutenant. I had served on the front lines, leading a small group within the Rathadar clan against the hobgoblins, often working with troops from neighboring clans. The war had raged on for two years, and we had gained and lost ground many times. My name became well-known, even outside Clan Rathadar, and almost every soldier I fought with recognized me and treated me with respect. I was proud to have earned this position among my people, and I swore to lead them to victory, no matter the cost. I would liberate my people.
After a particularly daring maneuver, my captain called me in the presence of several generals, including General Rathadar. Much to my surprise, I was promoted and granted the rank of captain, now second only to the general himself. The generals of the other clans then greeted me by name and congratulated me, saying that I was the first dragonborn to reach the rank of captain so quickly in over two hundred years. I remember that my hand rested on my sword - my father's sword - throughout the entire event, and I thanked him over and over for everything he had ever done for me. Then I prayed my first prayer - that I would be able to see him again.
Two days later my prayer was answered when the battle shifted south. We had to move camp to a different location in attempts to flank the enemy, and General Rathadar informed me that we would be close to our home and that I could take one day to visit my family; I had earned great favor with him. I graciously accepted this great gift and the next day hurried to my home.
Walking through the door that day is a memory I will cherish forever. I had not seen my family in two years, and my return was unannounced. They greeted me with such joy, even my young sister who was only four, that I wept more tears that day than ever before. I stayed there until evening, telling them of all my adventures and dramatic moments. My father beamed with pride when I told him of how quickly I had ascended the ranks. I showed him his sword and how much care I had taken with it, and he told me that we would have to spar again one day when the war was over. I happily agreed, assuring him that I would be able to beat him now with no problem, and he told me that I was probably right.
Leaving that evening was difficult, but seeing my family renewed a strength and persistence that had previously begun to wane in me. I returned to camp eager to fight - and win.
The war continued for another year. During that time, I was given my very own strike team to lead into enemy territory. Those men and women became my dear friends, and I trusted them with my life, which they saved on many occasions. The respect we had for one another could not be surpassed. Each of us was willing to die for the other. Because of this, our strikes were immensely successful. We had actually managed to drive the hobgoblins out of the neighboring clan territories, splitting the army in two. A relatively small group had broken off from the main army, curving south to avoid our troops. Clan Rathadar chased them until they were almost driven away.
Three months after I turned eighteen, this horde of hobgoblins and Clan Rathadar were at a stalemate. Occasionally we would lead strikes against them, and they would do the same to us, but neither were really making any progress. Leading the entire clan's military into conflict would be daring and risky. This standoff had gone on for about two months when one of our scouts came back saying that the hobgoblins had changed tactics. Instead of sending strike teams against our camp, they had started attacking civilian villages in the nearby area. Our homes were being attacked.
This led us into more desperate territory. General Rathadar called a meeting with all the captains of the clan to discuss how to end this threat against our people. After much deliberation we decided that we would send for aid from the other clans and then together defeat this horde of hobgoblins, greatly crippling the enemy in the process. The letters were sent out the same hour, and we had only to wait two days before word reached us that we were in fact getting reinforcements - but they would take two weeks to arrive. We began to wait in frustration as more and more villages were attacked. It became difficult to pinpoint where the next target was so that we could move in and defend it. Over the next few days, their attacks grew bolder, moving from small villages or solitary farmers to larger towns. I knew that it was only a matter of time before they attacked my village.
I approached the general a full week before reinforcements were due to arrive and laid out an intricate plan for him. I argued that we need not wait for more troops; with a well-placed strike team, led by me, we could trick the hobgoblins and surprise them with an attack that would be enough to overwhelm them. The plan seemed airtight. Our two armies were evenly matched; it only required a slight tip in the balance to put us on top, and my team and I could give us that. Surprisingly, the general agreed with me. We decided that if things got too hot, we would withdraw and wait for more soldiers before attempting another attack. We simply had to stop the oppression on our people.
The next day, the plan was set in motion. I took my team southwest, working around the hobgoblin camp, while the main army moved directly west. Eventually I came to recognize the terrain and realized that we were only a mile or two away from my home. Quickly I said a prayer for my family as we journeyed on. Eventually we were in position, and waited until the appropriate time to begin our attack. I spent this time with my team, building them up and letting them know how much I believed in them, that together we could defeat any foe, and that I thought of each and every one of them as my brothers and sisters. Deep in my soul, an odd fear gripped me that I could not explain. I only felt as if something bad were going to happen. I did not believe that I was going to make it out alive. Only moments before we began the attack, I looked across these strong men and women, scales glinting in the sun as they rustled about, clinking in their armor, and I knew that even if I fell, they would be able to go on without me and be great heroes themselves. They truly were the best Clan Rathadar had to offer.
Our plan, once executed, seemed to go on very smoothly at first. We flanked the enemy camp right after the general's soldiers attacked. For several hours, all I knew was the sound of war. Our troops advanced, slowly, gaining ground as I had expected. But then something went wrong. Even today, the sounds of that day still plague me. The hobgoblins were much smarter and more organized than we expected. They had actually been preparing for just this sort of stunt. After we had gained confidence in our attack, the enemy began striking back harder than ever. Slowly, we began to lose ground. One of my soldiers went down, and I cried out for her, striking out in anger and killing the beast that had dared take down one of my own. But then another staggered to the ground, and then another. Suddenly in the midst of battle I felt my heart being chipped away as I desperately watched my comrades lose their lives. My sword was imbued with a fury I had never known, and I attacked harder and stronger than ever before. Flames leapt from my mouth at every opportunity, and soon the entire field was on fire. There were only two of us left... and then I was alone.
I looked around me, surrounded by the filth of the deepest pit of Hell. I hated them and everything they stood for. As I stood, the lone survivor of my team, surrounded by flame of my own creation, I vowed to destroy every last one of them. I fought for another hour, growing more exhausted with every swing. The heat from the fire had me worn beyond what I thought was possible, but I would never stop fighting. Creature after creature dropped dead around me. Soon hundreds of hobgoblins had fallen to my fury and hatred. But all energy had left me. I could no longer fight back fast enough, defend myself fast enough. I began to feel the attacks piercing my skin, and then something heavy hit my head, cracking one of my scales. I fell to the ground in pain, pain of soul and pain of body, surrounded by the din of war and flame. From far away I could hear screams and calls to retreat. Then I was swallowed by darkness.
Hours, maybe days later, I woke. The call to consciousness was not desired and was quickly scorned. I opened my eyes as the sun shone bitterly on them, causing me to blink and squint. The first thing I saw was the horrid burnt face of one of the vermin in front of me. Suddenly I remembered all. Pain seared my heart, and I stood weakly. Wounds covered my body and I winced in pain. Looking around, I saw hordes of dead hobgoblins, but strewn throughout were the bright gleaming bodies of my kinsmen. I fell to the ground and wept bitterly. I wished that my life would end.
In time, I was able to find some medicinal herbs and wrap the worst of my wounds. I did not know why. Perhaps if I had just left them open I could have succumbed to an infection of some sort. But I stood and walked. Aimlessly, at first, but then I remembered where I was. My home lay only a few miles to the east. I faced the sun, bright in my eyes, and began to walk.
For a little over an hour I managed to put one foot in front of the other, thinking only of the chance to see my family again. The faces of my comrades plagued me ceaselessly. I thought back to only a couple days before to when I had convinced the general to attack without reinforcements. I was the one who came up with the plan. I was the one who convinced him that it was a good idea. I was the one who led our army to its death. I had killed my friends. The guilt sat on my heart like a boulder. It was all I could do to fight back the tears that threatened to soak the ground beneath me. Perhaps my family would understand. Perhaps Bahamut could forgive such a fatal error. Or perhaps they would have no choice but to enact justice on me in his name.
As I approached the town, I looked up, and horror gripped my heart. Smoke rose in the distance. My hometown lay in ashes. Suddenly the pain in my body was pushed aside as I sprinted toward the town. I struggled to hope that my family had made it out alive. Reaching the edge of town, I saw many slain hobgoblins and even more dragonborn in the streets. The vermin must have ran off to attack our villages as soon as they had defeated our army. I gritted my teeth and continued on, making straight for my house. Maybe they had made it out alive.
When I arrived, I was surprised to find it still standing. However, outside I saw eight dead hobgoblins surrounding one dead dragonborn: my father. I cried out and ran to him, turning him over so that I could see his face. His eyes were closed. No breath escaped his lips. I tried to fight back against a flow of tears as I gripped the hilt of my sword - his sword. Looking at the house, I saw that the door was broken down, and I rushed inside. There, on the floor, were five bodies. Two hobgoblins, one adult dragonborn, and two children. I fell to my knees. I could not believe it. I fell forward on all fours, barely able to keep myself from falling on the ground. My body began to tremble, and the dam holding back my emotions broke. Tears fell, soaking the floor beneath me. I roared between sobs, unable to contain my anguish. Breathing became labored, and soon I was coughing in an attempt to clear my lungs. After an hour, the tears finally subsided.
I sat on the floor, numb to all emotion. I stared at the bodies surrounding me, unfeeling. Emotionless, I stood. Stepping over the hobgoblins, I went into the other rooms and ripped the sheets from the beds. I took the lifeless forms of the people I had loved so dearly and fought for so intently and wrapped them in sheets, carrying them outside behind the house. I laid them carefully down, then found a shovel. I began to dig, my mind blank, thinking of nothing but the physical labor. Memories came in flashes, but I buried them as quickly as they emerged. After four deep holes had been dug, I carefully placed the bodies inside and covered them with earth.
As the sun descended toward the horizon, I sat and looked out at the surrounding lands. Past the border of the town, the land was lush with vegetation, untouched, and peaceful. Nearing the horizon, the sun turned the sky the color of blood. I watched the sunset in complete and utter despair, having no desire or plans to see the light of the next morning. I was convinced that my life had ended. I stood and walked toward the sunset, into the grass of the plain. Stumbling forward, I had no goal in mind except to move. Not paying attention to my footing, I tripped and fell face down on the ground, but I did not rise. I lay there, unmoving, hoping and praying death would find me. I slipped into a dream.
I stood in a room made of white stone. An immense light emanated from somewhere I could not see. I walked forward cautiously and found an altar - the altar of Bahamut. Confusion filled my mind as I reached out to touch the symbol of the Platinum Dragon. But just before I did, I heard a voice behind me. I spun around, surprised to see Master Quick standing before me with a kind smile on his face.
"You still have purpose, Surina," he said. "Do not give up now."
I woke with a start. Quickly I stood up and looked around. Darkness surrounded me, and the moon and stars were bright overhead. I looked to the east, past the smoldering town into the reaches where I knew the rest of the dragonborn were still fighting, still trying to win this war. I walked toward the village and gathered some food and other traveling gear and set out in the direction of the other camps. I did not realize at the time, but all my wounds had been healed.
For two days I traveled northeast, until finally I found the main camp where all the generals gathered to deliberate. Several flags waved high above the camp, bearing the symbols of the clans. Upon seeing the flag of Clan Rathadar, I stopped in my tracks, staring at it. Suddenly I remembered that I was the reason our attack had so disastrously failed. Memories came back in droves, of my friends dying, of my family dead, all because of me. I knew that the hobgoblins would never have been brave enough to directly attack a village unless they had destroyed the army defending it. If I had not convinced our clan's general to attack, my family would still have been alive. Remembering this, my breathing became labored. How could I dare to come back here after disgracing the dragonborn race so profoundly? I began to turn away when I remembered my dream from the night before. What purpose could I have if not here with my people?
I continued into the camp, fear and guilt riding on my heart the whole way. With dread I entered the tent of generals. They were surprised to see me; they had sent reinforcements to my camp several days ago. With a heavy heart and gritted teeth, I relayed the news of what had happened. I told them of my plan and how it had backfired so drastically and how I alone had survived. I had expected the generals to reprimand me, strip me of my rank, and expel me from the military, but instead they treated me like a hero. Somehow they thought my story told only of my bravery and fearlessness, not my foolishness. They offered to make me a general over clan Rathadar. I explained that there was no clan Rathadar. The hobgoblins had murdered every last one of my kinsmen. I was alone.
The generals were very sympathetic, although they could not fathom what I was feeling. Although their offer still stood, I could not bring myself to accept. I had taken the lives of an entire clan, my family and friends included, because of fear and pride. I informed the generals that I would not return to the fight. I could not. Although I tried to hand in my captain's insignia, they refused to take it from me. So instead I put it in my pack, far from anyone's sight. They asked me where I would go and I told them that I would go to Mund.
And I left that very day. I made the five-day journey to Mund, to the temple of Bahamut. I reached the town just as the sun was setting, and I walked through the muddy streets as short little dwarves muttered and eyed me the whole way. As I moved through the main square, merchants were packing up their belongings and preparing to move their merchandise for the night. One particular dwarf, however, was trying to make the most of the last daylight hours and stood in front of his stand, calling out to passersby in hopes they might buy something. I eyed him as I approached, and when he saw me, instead of muttering furiously to those around him, he ran straight up to me and stood directly in my path.
Irritation at this interruption grew inside me, and when he began to ramble about the amazing benefits this magical trinket could grant me, I glared at him and bared my teeth, growling deep in my throat. Suddenly the dwarf realized that he was talking to a strong dragonborn that stood almost three feet taller than he, and his face paled with fear. He quickly ran over to his stand and joined the other merchants in clearing out.
I trudged on until the white temple came into sight. As I approached the large wooden doors, I came to a stop. Thoughts flitted through my mind at an unprecedented pace. What if Bahamut had scorned me? What if Master Quick had hoped to never see me again? What if my coming here was uncalled for and they turned me away immediately? All my horrid memories of that fateful day came crashing back into my mind, and I knew without a doubt that I was wholly unworthy to set foot in the temple. How could I have imagined that I could come here? I looked down in shame and turned away. I had not gotten three steps, however, when I heard a kind voice behind me.
Upon turning, I saw Master Quick, beckoning to me in the open doorway. His face, as I remembered it, was frail but kind. Once again I realized how easily I could end such a frail being's life. I could not fathom how such fleshy creatures survived in the wildernesses of Jebrigar with no scales, claws, or fire. I walked up to the door and walked inside the temple, cautiously. Worry for my life began to creep in. Perhaps Master Quick had welcomed me so graciously only so that I may become a sacrifice on the altar?
He asked me why I had come, and unable to tear my eyes away from the beautiful altar before me, I explained my need for justice and redemption. He seemed very understanding and remarkably did not try to force me to relive the past several days. I never expressed to him how grateful I had been for that. He told me I could stay there and learn of the ways of Bahamut with the other acolytes, and I graciously accepted. I was given my own room to seek solitude in whenever I needed, and it was here that I carefully removed my father's longsword and kept it hidden from prying eyes. It was several weeks before I was willing to take it up again.
I stayed at the temple for over a year, learning of the ways of justice, compassion, and honor. After a time, I began to pray daily to Bahamut, praying for strength to carry out his will and for justice for my people. Every morning, I was renewed with a sense of purpose for my broken life. The door to my room became worn, with many scratches from my claws piercing the wood. I trained with the priests, who taught me how to attune myself to the wishes of the great Platinum Dragon and channel his power into my sword. Day after day I spent in the training yard, unleashing a divine smite against enemies made of straw and hay. More than once fires had to be put out because of accidents caused by my frustrations.
Through my studies, I learned of the charges set to us by Bahamut: to uphold the highest ideals of justice and honor, to be constantly vigilant against evil and oppose it on all fronts, and to protect the weak, liberate the oppressed, and defend just order. As the year passed, I grew stronger in every way. Soon my whole being longed to go out into the world and root out injustice.
One day Master Quick called me to a ceremony in the main hall. When I arrived, he and all the other acolytes were gathered, waiting for me. Master Quick presented me with blue and silver armor and a shield bearing the emblem of Bahamut. I knelt before the altar and swore fealty to the great dragon and swore to bring justice to the people of Jebrigar. That was the day that I truly became a paladin.
That night, as I ruminated over the day's events in my room, I knelt again by my window. For the first time, I confessed my sins out loud. I prayed to Bahamut, telling him of everything that I had done and failed to do so long ago. I wept for the first time in over a year as I recalled my fallen comrades and the lifeless bodies of my family. And there I made my true oath to Bahamut - an oath of vengeance. I swore that I would stop at nothing to get revenge for my people and my family when I finally found the wretched beings who slaughtered them all. I swore that one day, I would return to my people having vanquished the fiends who had taken so much from me. I stood in the moonlight falling through the window and felt that I was now a different person. I felt a great power within me, power that would help me track down and slay my enemies.
Two weeks later, I stood on the steps of the temple, the holy symbol of Bahamut dangling from my neck and shining on my shield. My father's longsword hung from my belt. A new chapter of my life had begun. As the sun shone on me, I remembered that day when the sun shone on my family's graves. I would never forget that day, but cling to it in the hopes that I would never forget my purpose in life. I wrapped my claws around the holy symbol, renewed by its power. Then I set out, an arrow in the bow of Bahamut, flying across the land.