Drake was lost. The day was waning and dusk was setting in. He slumped down in frustration and wondered why he had ever agreed to kill the Hound of Sylvanna in the first place. The only reason he'd even considered the mission was because of how broke he was. The Drakken Council hadn't been very clear on where to find the werewolf, either.
"We believe the beast to make it's lair somewhere within the borders of the Sylvanna highlands." Councilman Krilik had said. Drake shouted "And you expect me to break the ceasefire and wander aimlessly in enemy held territory with just some vague directions and a 'Good luck, young Dragoon!'!" It wasn't the first time he'd butted heads with the Councilman. Drake didn't get along with his father. "No, Drake. We expect you to fulfill your mission and report to us within one week." Krilik De'Ark replied calmly. At this, Drake had stormed out of the Council chambers and headed for the barracks to get ready for the trip ahead.
Drake De'Ark was what you would call an average Hume. Average height, average build, average looks...The one discerning feature about him was his eyes. They were not...normal. If you looked closely, his eyes were a startling emerald green, with slits instead of round pupils. Anyone who asked how they got that way usually got a nasty glare at the least. At most he'd toss them thru the nearest window. Unless you were an attractive woman. Then he'd smile and tell you how beautiful you were, how lovely your own eyes were or how much he'd enjoy a romp in the sack with you. So, after people in the villages surrounding Drakkengard Keep got to know Drake, most of them left the subject of his eyes alone.
Drake was, in fact the illegitimate son of a woman who had bedded with a Dragon. He kept this fact to himself, a fact which would, if learned by the Council, land him in one of they're research labs buried deep beneath the Keep. Having witnessed first hand the lengths the Council was undertaking to learn the secrets of the Ancients, Drake decided it would be best that they not know of his lineage. Drake was the adopted son of Councilman Krilik De'Ark. Drakes mother had been Kriliks niece. To avoid a scandal about his niece's birth to a son out of wedlock, he took Drake as his own son. Krilik knew nothing of Drakes background. He felt it best not to pry, especially knowing how prone to rage Drake was. He saw Drake as a weapon, to be unleashed on the enemies of the Council and the country. Krilik felt it was in everyone's best interests to keep Drake as far away from civilized people as possible. But Drake also had a knack for getting the job done, no matter what.
Drake's mother, Irina De'Ark, lived in one of the farming villages on the Drakken frontier. It was frequently the target of bandits and orc raiding parties, but she lived there in relative peace. Drake visited whenever he got time away from his duties as a Dragon Knight in the service of the Drakken Council. Eveytime Drake visited; she dreaded that this would be the day he asked about his father. But every time he visited, the subject never came up. Drake always wondered, but he thought it would hurt his mother too much to ask. So, Drake continued to work for the Drakken Council. He cleaned up they're messes and killed they're enemies. He never once thought about the power growing in his body. He never wondered why he could communicate so easily with his Wyvern, Raiden. He assumed all Dragoons could talk to they're Wyverns with such ease. He didn't know what waited for him in the distant future, in the lands of his father.
Back in the Sylvanna Forest, Drake called out. "Raiden! Get back here! It's time to camp for the night!" His little Wyvern came crashing thru the trees with a small squirrel clamped in his jaws. Raiden landed next to Drake and began to eat messily. Drake winced at the gruesome display and began to wonder about his own meal. "Did you see anything larger out there, old friend?" Drake asked Raiden. "Not a whole lot moving in the Forest right now, Master" said Raiden. "I had to go into the higher branches just to find him." Raiden gestured to the now headless squirrel body. "It's almost as if everything is scared to move." Drake said, "That would be the werewolves presence in the forest. Can't you feel it? I know you can smell it. The fear is so tangible you can taste it." Raiden sniffed the air and gagged. "BLEGH! That's a werewolf scent, all right. But it smells even worse then the one we ran into in the Tamous Hills, if that's possible. There's a hint of...death. What do you think that means, master?" Drake replied, "I haven't the foggiest. We'll have to find the bastard first. But we won't find it today. Get some rest. We start with the dawn." "Again!" whined Raiden. "Fine...but you have to carry the pack this time!" "Alright alright, sheesh. Now go to sleep." Drake stayed on watch as Raiden dreamt of small, furry things to chase and eat. He was just dozing off when the sound of breathing and shuffling feet brought him to his senses. Drake nudged Raiden. "Psst. Wake up. Something's in out there." But Raiden only shifted his wings and mumbled something about how crunchy rabbits are. "Ass..." muttered Drake. When he looked for the source of the noises, he found nothing but some strange tracks and a puddle of liquid. "Drool, no doubt. But werewolves are usually silent. And if it knew we were here, it should have attacked. This is getting strange..."