The day was hot. Lina squinted past her red hair as the hot wind blew it across her face. Her father's crops may not survive this draught. The young girl of fifteen walked back into her family's home and continued her cleaning. She was a rather clumsy girl, so much so that her parents looked down on her for it. She never seemed to be able to do much of anything right the first time. She and her younger brother lived in a small village outside of the newly reformed city of Ilirea, with their parents, living off of their father's small plot of land and their one cow and five hens and mule.
"Child, what are you doing?" Lina's mother appeared in the doorway, a bowl of water in her hands.
"Cleaning?" Lina asked, unsure of her mother's meaning.
"The house is clean enough child, wash up and change your dress this instant!" and she bustled by Lina.
Of course, how could she forget? Today was a big day for their tiny family. Lina's mother, Sadie, had been to a street-side "seer" who told her that her most worthy child would be chosen for something life-altering. Lina's family, who worshipped their son Damon, believed that what the seer was referring to was one of the upcoming dragon eggs choosing him as a Rider. Damon, who was only eleven, reveled in his parents' attention, and believed full-heartedly the "prophecy" revealed to his mother.
In no time at all, the family was washed up and dressed in their nicest clothes. They piled into their father's wagon, pulled by their old mule Bailey, and slowly headed towards the slowly filling city of Iliria….
Krog walked through the village of his people in the early morning light. He breathed in deeply, absorbing the smell of the morning, and preparing himself for the hunt he was about to embark upon. This was no ordinary hunt, Krog had been on many hunts before, since he could walk he'd been stalking the forest with a bow and arrows. No, this was the hunt for all young hunters, he and his fellow young-bloods were to venture out alone, and kill the largest beast they could find…with no weapons.
He met with the three other young-bloods at the edge of the village, along with the tribe's elders, and their chief. The other young-bloods looked at him and scoffed. Krog was large, larger than most other beings in Alegaesia, but in his clan he was sneered at and picked on for being a runt. And the strange thing was, Krog had no desire to prove himself as the toughest or strongest, but asked questions, and sought knowledge. For this, also, he was picked on and bullied. The group elders prayed to their gods for the young-bloods' first hunt, and the chief bade them farewell as the group sprinted out into the forest.
The young Kull sprinted out into the thick forest, surprisingly quiet for their immense size. The largest of them, Grung naturally took the lead, the rest falling behind, Krog in the back. They spotted a large bear and her cubs, Grung immediately thundered forwards, and began provoking the bear, to make the fight more interesting. After a not-so-eventful fight, Grung and the other young-bloods had the bear and her cubs dead at his feet. As they travelled back through the forest with their kill, they all smelled something. Humans and elves and horses. Grung ordered them all to hide in the brush alongside the trail. As the caravan of six horses rode by, completely unaware of what was stalking them, Krog noticed something. He noticed the way that the humans and elves were dressed, as well as the parcel one of the elves was carrying on his lap. Before Grung could utter the command to attack, Krog signaled him to stop, and left the brushes, cautiously addressing the riders that he was a friend.
Orin was not at all excited about this whole "dragon" ordeal.
"Dwarves are meant to stay underground. Where everything is solid and stable." He said as his mother preened over him. Orin was only fifteen, still very much a child by dwarf reckoning, but it was decreed that all children from ages eight to fifteen must attend the "hatching ceremony", even though very little hatching had actually occurred in the last twenty years. Orin was simply glad that this was the last of those blasted ceremonies that he'd have to attend. He sighed loudly as his mother looked him over once more to see if he was worthy of a dragon. She had put small braids in his short beard, and had combed his coarse brown hair over and over to ensure that it would stay untangled and looking neat. Orin's mother had gone to great lengths to ensure he looked his best, buying a finely made deep green tunic, and fine leather belt. She'd had some trouble though, Orin was tall for a dwarf, and even at only fifteen, surpassed the height of many dwarf men. However, when men and elves came to visit them in the vast city of Tronjheim, he was still small by their standards.
"There," his mother smiled as she straightened out his tunic, "fit to be a Rider. Your father would have been so proud." Her wrinkled eyes began to water as she looked at her only son. Her only son felt like a small child's doll. The two left their small home built into the inside wall of the mountain. Orin, as strong and brave a lad as ever there was, became suddenly nervous. He looked six feet in front of him at the unguarded edge of the walkway that ran along the side of the mountain. Below them was about a hundred foot drop to the floor below. His mother eased him along as his petrifying fear of heights threatened to render him immovable. It would be a long while before they could finally get to the ground level of the city where the ceremony would be held.