Bran Bale: Gideon's Trumpet

[Bran Bale]

Bran Bale: Gideon’s Trumpet


1

Late one day, Bran was meditating as part of his training to become a Lizard Shaman. Sitting in a grove of sycamore trees just outside the Temple of Gorellik, the errant Gnoll God, he was trying to concentrate on the latest test that his mentor, Rezzik, had given him. Bran was sitting cross-legged in his loin cloth and tunic, both his hands joined together in front of him with his index fingers raised, and the small, mysterious leather bag held in between. Bran was actually being held up by two of his ancestral spirits, and it took great magical concentration to focus and give strength to those spirits to keep him hovering three feet in the air. Rezzik, the old, shambling shaman, was standing nearby, watching Bran’s progress.
“Concentrate, Bran . . . feel the power of your ancessstorsss flow through you. Let your own magical power give them ssstrength. Concentrate . . . !”
Into the grove of sycamores came Shamgar, the Gnoll Priest who ran the Temple of Gorellik. The hyena man was wearing his white priest’s robe, and some creature was following timidly behind him. “Rezzik! Bran! Where you at?” he said. Bran’s yellow eyes popped open at the interruption. The two spirits hissed and turned completely corporeal, and Bran was dumped roughly to the ground.
“Ack!”, cried Rezzik, watching Bran’s painful landing. “Ah well . . . Over here, Shamgar!” the old lizardman yelled, waving him over.
Shamgar walked over to where Bran and Rezzik were standing. Bran stood up and dusted himself off, checking his tail for any bruises.
“So Bran, you train hard, hum? Hum. Shamgar bring someone meet you.”
“Sssomeone to meet me? Who wantsss to come and sssee *me*?”
Behind Shamgar, the creature peeked around the hyena-man’s broad shoulder. It was the furry, feline-like face of a Kobold. The kobold looked fearfully at Bran with one eye, shielding itself behind Shamgar.
“Go on, Moxah.”, prodded Shamgar.
The young kobold looked up at Shamgar for a second, and then stepped out from behind him. The kobold’s face had high pointy ears, with brown fur and whiskers sticking out the sides. His teeth were sharp fangs that stuck out over his lower lip. His face looked haggard and fearful. He was wearing a torn, beige cloak that had a few blood stains on it. Moxah gathered his courage and begin to speak in a squeaky, high-pitched voice.
“Lord Bran, I have come to ask of you a favor.”
Bran was a bit surprised at that. “Me? Why are you asssking me?”
“Perhaps I should tell you my story, Lord Bran. My name is Moxah, and I live in the village of Lokame far to the west. We kobolds have been living there peacefully in the deep forest beneath Mount Abma. One day, we heard a terrible screeching coming from the north, and when we looked up in the sky, we saw a huge, blue dragon flying towards us. It was an Ice Dragon, and it attacked our village, blowing its cold breath, knocking down our houses and killing our warriors. It took some of us in its jaws and flew them up to Abma. We never saw them again. The dragon would then return every week, for weeks, and snatch up more of us in his claws to fly us up to Abma. I’m sure he has been feasting on us. Abma used to be merely barren rock, but now it has become frozen over, and the dragon lives in a cave at the top. We’ve been able to hide out in the forest and we can mostly avoid him, but we live in constant fear and danger. Since most of our warriors have died, we need to find someone to help us destroy the dragon. I was given the task by our village elders to find warriors who could come and rid us of this menace. I traveled a far distance to fulfill this mission, but I could find noone who was willing to help, no matter how much of our village’s gold I offered. Then I finally came here to RhyDin City. There were many great warriors here, but noone was willing to help a kobold. I was either mocked, or sometimes they ran me off. I can find noone to help us save our village. Then I was told about you, Lord Bran. People in the city speak of the lizard warrior who has appeared from the distant swamps. I heard of your success in the dueling competitions they have here in this city. I thought that maybe you would understand, and you could help us. I humbly ask, Lord Bran, that you help to save our village from this threat.” Moxar closes his yellow eyes and bows humbly.

Continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Bran felt sorry for the furry creature, but he was overwhelmed by the request. How could he fight against a dragon? And cold wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience for a lizardman used to the warm, muggy conditions of the swamps. Bran looked at Rezzik for a moment, but Rezzik merely shrugged.
“You need to decide for yourssself on thisss one”, he said.
Bran knew that Moxar was going to have great difficulty finding anyone to help him at all, but he didn’t see what he could do at the time. Bran’s magical skill was increasing, but he was still a novice shaman, and fighting with his spear was not his strong suit. Bran was about to apologize to Moxar and say there was nothing he could do, when one of the spirits that Bran had been invoking stepped forward and materialized into the shape it had borne while it had been alive. It was the image of a tall, wiry lizard warrior who was wearing two belts across his chest that was filled with throwing knives. This spirit was named Sarek, and he was Bran’s great-great-great-great-uncle, and had once led the Balosk tribe that Bran was a part of.
“Bran . . . “, he said, “you need to accept thisss missssion.”
Even Rezzik was surprised at that. Moxar looked fearfully at the spirit that had stepped forward, and hid behind Shamgar again.
“But Sssarek, how am I going to accomplish thisss? An ice dragon?”
“You need to tessst yourssself and your abilitiesss. You don’t need to learn any more tricksss. If you are going to be the leader of your tribe, and a shaman warrior, then you need to accept thisss challenge. Have faith in your abilitiesss, and have faith in your ancessstorsss. We will not let you down, and you will not let usss down.”
Bran was quiet for a moment. He had felt that he had hit a wall in his training. He wanted to accomplish more with his magic, but he wasn’t sure how. Apparently, this was how. He turned to Moxar, who was curiously looking around Shamgar’s shoulder, seeing how the lizardmen were conversing normally with the spirit and not running in terror like he would have.
“I will offer what help I can”, he said simply.

Continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Moxar looked shocked at first, and then joy began to appear on his face.
“Lord Bran! This is indeed great news!”
“I will be coming asss well, of courssse”, said Rezzik.
“Let’s go now!” cried Moxar. “I’m not the only one our village sent out. Maybe they’ve found more warriors to help us.”
Bran felt like he was in a daze as Rezzik, Shamgar, and Moxar walked back to the Temple of Gorellik. Sarek merely smirked and disappeared.

2

Plans were made for the trek to the deep forests of the west. Shamgar made sure to give Bran and Rezzik plenty of animal hides to wrap themselves in if they were going to deal with cold conditions. During his training, Bran had begun to learn a magic discipline known as Nexus. Nexus was a form of telekinesis that allows a shaman to contol his own body temperature. Normally this is used in cases were a shaman is facing extreme conditions of hot or cold. This comes in handy for lizard shamans in dealing with freezing conditions. Bran was still learning this discipline, but he hoped that what little he had learned would come in handy. X
Bran, Rezzik, and Moxar set off through the forest, riding on the horses that Bran bought from a local merchant. They all dressed in black cloaks to conceal themselves from the curious. It took them a little over a day’s worth of travel to make it to the dense forest in the West. Fortunately for them, the journey was uneventful. Around midmorning on the second day, they made it to the displaced kobold village. In a particularly thick area of oaks and brush, there was a crowded patch of thornbushes. Moxar showed the way through the sharp thorns, and the three entered a collection of huts made out of sticks, moss, and sometimes mud. The village was strangely quiet. “Where is everyone?” cried Moxar, feeling scared. He ran through the ramshackle village looking for any signs of life. Near the center of the village where a small stream ran through a springhouse, a kobold warrior peeked from around the springhouse holding a spear.
“Moxar? Is that you?”
“Mettax! Thank goodness you’re alive! Where is everyone?”
“The ice dragon found us! We tried to fight it off, but it grabbed several of us and flew off! It got Queen Mofide!”
Moxar looked behind Mettax to where several of the village hut had been knocked down, and patches of thick ice could be seen here and there.
“Queen Mofide! This is terrible!”
“Who is that behind you, Moxar?” bellowed Mettax, who raised his spear defensively.
“It’s alright! They’re with us! I brought them to help us fight the dragon!”
Bran and Rezzik approached the two and lowered the hoods of the cloaks.
“Lizardmen!” Mettax gaped. “What the . . .”
“They are mighty shamans, Mettax!”
“Well, we need all the help we can get. The king and our remaining people have fled deeper into the forest, to the Cave of Flying Water. I stayed behind to see if there were any stragglers. I haven’t seen anyone else in a long time.”
“Perhaps we should go to the Cave of Flying Water and see the King. Then we can figure out what our plan should be.”
“Alright. Let’s go.”

Continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Mettax led the other three up the stream into an almost impenetrable wall of thornbushes. They actually had to walk into the stream, going one by one, leading their horses behind them. Soon they left the stream and came to a thin row of mountains in the forest. They followed the ridge line to a river flowing out of the mountains. By following an upwards track into the rocks, they found a river flowing out of the mountains, creating a waterfall. The four walked up the track and behind the waterfall, where there was a cave in the face of the rock. Two kobold warriors were hiding several yards back in the cave, guarding the entrance. They allowed the four through, and they went deeper into the cave. It was silent in the cave, other than the dripping of water from the stalactites. Soon the cave opened up into a chamber that seemed vast. Torches had been lit and placed in the front of the chamber. The chamber seemed vast as its boundaries could not be seen in the darkness. There were several kobold families huddled together under the torches, and stacks of supplies were piled around. At the far end of the assembly was a kobold that was larger than the others, sitting on a wooden chair, while several kobold warriors stood guard around him. He had grayish-brown hair, and was wearing a golden necklace with a large sapphire. There was a bandaged cut on his head. Mettax approached and dropped to one knee, putting his right fist over his heart. X
“Hail, King Marrash!”
“Mettax, it is good to see you alive. What news do you have for me?”
“King Marrash, I was able to find noone left alive in the village. I did find Moxar though, who returned from his journey with help.”
“Moxar! Thank goodness! Moxar, step forward!”
Moxar stepped forward and performed a similar salute as Mettax did. “King Marrash, I have returned. These two lizardmen shaman are here to help us defeat the dragon.”
Marrash looked past the two kobolds at Bran and Rezzik. “Thank you for coming. So, you both are shaman? Skilled in magic, I’d suppose?”
Rezzik poked Bran in the back with his shaman’s staff, and Bran took a few steps forward. “Um . . . . Yesss, your majesssty. I am Bran Bale, ssson of the chief of the Balosssk tribe of lizardfolk. I am a shaman in training, and thisss isss my mentor, Rezzik, our tribe’sss shaman.”
“We are glad to have you. Unfortunately, noone else returned from their mission, so you are all we have.”

Continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Bran gulped.
Marrash continued. “I have also lost most of my warriors to this dragon. I barely have enough to guard this cave from threats other than that dragon. It seems that we must resign ourselves to defeat. We will have to accept our fate and make the best of it here in this cave. We may still be able to send out parties to find food. I must look to the survival of my remaining people.”
Bran lowered his head and thought for a moment. There was no way that he and Rezzik could take on a dragon alone. Even with Rezzik’s magical strength, he was still of advanced age, and climbing to the top of the frozen Mount Abma might take too much out of him. Also, he was still a novice, and did not have the skill to take on a dragon alone. Bran got an idea, however.
“King Marrash, I have an idea. There isss a place known asss Twilight Isle, where we compete in the Duel of Magic. On thisss Isle are four towersss that corressspond to the four elementsss of the world, Earth, Air, Water . . . and Fire. Being the massster of one of thessse towersss givesss that perssson absssolute control over that element. If I can challenge for the Tower of Fire and win, it would give me enough ssstrength to defeat that dragon. I fear that alone, me and Rezzik would not ssstand a very good chance againssst a dragon. If I can gain thisss power over Fire, I think we could win.”
“Lord Bran, if you are willing to try, I and my people would be most appreciative. Do what you must. We will hold out in this cave as long as we can.”
“Good luck, Bran” said Moxar.
“We appreciate your efforts!” said Mettax.
Bran bowed formally to the King, nodded to Moxar and Mettax, and departed the chamber. Once they were out of range, Rezzik spoke.
“I can transssport usss back to RhyDin City. Once I’ve ssseen a location, then I know where to teleport usss. Once back, it isss up to you to challenge and gain the Tower of Fire.”
“I underssstand, Rezzik.”
Rezzik lifted his shaman’s staff, and began to whirl it in a counterclockwise circle. A misty blue circle formed, and Bran and Rezzik stepped in, reappearing near the Temple of Gorellik, just outside RhyDin City. They walked back to the Temple and entered to begin preparations.


To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

3

Many hundreds of years ago . . .

The Balosk swamps at one time had been the darkest, muggiest section of the vast Southern Swamps. Gorgons, Wyverns, and Swamp Hydras made their home in this forbidding area, and few lizardfolk dared to venture in, and almost none came out. For this reason, they were called the Black Swamps, and were avoided by all. At this time, a rebel band of lizardmen was hiding out there, led by a charismatic leader known as Sarek Bale. Sarek was once a commander in the Gassak tribe’s army, and a dispute arose that caused him to flee, taking most of his loyal soldiers with him. After searching for another tribe to take them in, and being repeatedly rejected for fear of repercussions from the Gassaks, they finally were left with no alternative but the Black Swamps. They carved out a place for themselves in the harsh, dangerous land. Sarek’s band may have been able to escape attention and live peacefully there, but something happened to alert the Gassaks to their presence: The Fortress of Stone. In the swamps, where there is only wood and water, there is a premium on stone because of its rarity, and its defensive capabilities. Only the most powerful and wealthiest of tribes can afford to build anything out of stone, usually preferring wood or grass. One day a Gassak scout was passing by the Black Swamps when he saw a barely perceptible trail leading into its depths. The Black Swamps were so dense and impassable it amazed the scout that someone had built any kind of road leading in, and the scout gathered his courage and steered his basilisk mount down what would come to be known as “The Lonely Road”. Following this track several miles into the Black Swamps, the scout saw an amazing sight. The track led out to a clearing in the watery forest, where towering upwards was a large fortress made of stone. The fortress was surrounded by a thick stone wall, and curious glyphs had been written on the rocks to ward off powerful monsters. The battlements were manned by lizard warriors, and lights could be seen in the windows, signifying that some large tribe was living here. The scout continued to gape at the structure, hiding himself behind some trees at the edge of the clearing, when he saw the banners hanging from the walls that signified who it was who dwelt there. The banner was forest green, with a blue claw mark in the middle. On either side of the claw mark, were knives, one pointing up, and another down. It was the banner of Sarek Bale. The rebellious traitor had been found.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

The scout hurried back to the massive Gassak complex in the central swamps where he relayed what he had seen in the Black Swamps. The tribal leader of the Gassak was horrified to think that Sarek could built himself a fortress of stone, and he called for his general for an immediate attack to eliminate the threat. The general of the tribe was Galgash, a massive purple-scaled lizardman that wielded an enormous, poison-tipped trident. Galgash had a helmet made out of the skull of a wyvern, and various necklaces made out of the bones and teeth of his victims in battle. Galgash was behind the plot against Sarek which branded him a rebel and a traitor in the first place. He had been jealous of Sarek’s skill, and was tired of being seen as second place in the army of the Gassaks. Every battle that he initiated with Sarek seemed to end in a tie, and frustrated, he had decided to treacherously lie to the tribe’s leader about him. When the Gassak tribe battled an invasion of Gnolls in the northern sector of the swamp, Galgash neglected to pass on a command for Sarek’s right wing of the army to advance into battle. While Sarek held his army in check, unaware of the current battle, Galgash’s army in the center, and the left wing, advanced, and took heavy losses, eventually losing the battle. Galgash reported back to the tribal leader that Sarek was lax and had betrayed their army. The tribal leader was enraged at the loss and wanted Sarek to step down. Sarek refused, and most of his loyal soldiers joined him in protest. Sarek was then branded a traitor and accused of enciting rebellion. That was how Sarek and his men came to be homeless and on the run. Galgash was immediately promoted to general of the entire Gassak army. Galgash was happy that he was finally acknowledged as the best warrior in the tribe. His pride and arrogance continued to gnaw at his mind, however, and Galgash still hungered for Sarek’s death. When he heard the report that Sarek was found and alive, he gleefully volunteered to lead the expedition to stamp out this traitor. Now that Galgash had the advantage on Sarek, he knew he could kill him and then there would be no question that he was the better warrior. Preparations were made, and Galgash marched out of the Gassak complex at the head of several hundred lizard warriors mounted on basilisks. They rode purposefully to the Black Swamps and down the “Lonely Road”.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

By the time the Gassak army had emerged in front of the Fortress, Sarek’s band had already been alerted, and was manning the parapets. Galgash sat atop his massive basilisk steed and surveyed his enemy’s fortifications. He noticed the glyphs on the walls and laughed in contempt.

“Gassssaksss usssse might to drive back the enemy, not fancy magiksss.”

Galgash ordered his army to begin unloading the siege equipment. Ladders, siege towers, and rams made from wood were brought up to the front, as the Gassaks made ready to assault the castle.

“We will attack now, I am eager to be done with this wretch”, said Galgash.

The army obeyed, and forming an attack line four warriors deep, they began to move forward. Galgash hoped that the speed of their attack would throw the defenders off, and through sheer numbers they would overpower them. Lurching ahead, their pace quicken, as they advanced across the grassy clearing towards the glyph-incribed walls of the Fortress of Stone. Galgash could detect no movement from the defenders and was about to wonder aloud whether they were planning to fight back or not, when suddenly several explosions of fire shot out from the parapets at the advancing army. Some of the Gassak warriors were consumed before they could even cry out, and many more were knocked from their mounts. What Galgash had forgotten was that during the expulsion of Sarek from the Gassak tribe, the tribal leader had kicked out most of the tribe’s shamans as well. He had listened to Galgash, who had said the Gassak had no need of magic, and that it was a sign of weakness to be using magic anyway. For years shamanism had been in decline in the Gassak tribe, and the tribal leader saw their support of Sarek as an easy excuse to dispose of them. Now their reckless behavior had come back to haunt them, as fire erupted everywhere through the ranks of the Gassak army. Many of the warriors panicked and began to flee back down the “Lonely Road”. Galgash sat up on his mount, continuing to drive forward, and raised his voice.

“RALLY TO ME, GASSSSAKSSS! HAVE NO FEAR OF THISSS SHAMAN TRICKERY! RALLY TO GALGASH AND WE WILL SSSTRIKE DOWN THISSS TRAITOR!”

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Galgash’s standard bearer waved his purple flag with the yellow claw mark as Galgash called to his men. About a hundred of Galgash’s veteran warriors, battle-hardened after following him through years of war, began to close in around the standard and continue the charge. The assaulting army had closed half the distance to the wall then from where they originally started. Their basilisk mounts were now running at full speed and the remaining cluster of warriors were headed right for the gate, a battering ram in tow. As they closed in on the wall, waves of ghostly warriors began to stream over the parapet and smother the advancing troops. Galgash saw one of his warriors knocked to the ground, shrieking in terror with his back arched, while three ghosts assaulted his mind. The fireballs continued to rain down on them until Galgash had noone left around him but his standard bearer. When the standard bearer’s basilisk was hit and flung the lizard warrior forward, Galgash stopped his mount and rushed towards it, trying to raise it again to keep his troops moving forward, but at that moment he saw they were either all dead or fleeing back in terror. Another fireball landed next to him, blowing him backwards and engulfing the standard in flames. Galgash bellowed in anger and painfully raised his massive bulk off of the ground. He saw his warriors in defeat and retreating, then whirls towards the glyph inscribed wall in anger. The field had gone suddenly quiet at that point; no fireballs or ghosts surrounded him, only a smoky mist and the groans of the injured. Through the haze he saw the drawbridge to the fortress lower, and a wiry figure step forward. The lizardman that appeared was a tall, green-scaled lizard warrior who was wearing two weapon belts, one wrapped around each shoulder and crossing in front of his chest, filled with sharp knives. He had his arms crossed and glared at Galgash from his place at the end of the drawbridge.

“SSSAREK!”
“You’d better leave now while you’ve got the chance, Galgash. You’ve got about two sssecondsss before I ssstart filling your worthless hide with knivesss.”
Galgash lifted his trident. “I’ll leave when I kill you. I am the bessst warrior in the Gasssak tribe, I alwaysss have been, and I will prove it.”
“What the . . . you won, Galgash. I left the Gasssaksss. Why would you track me down and attack me like thisss? You’re insssane.”
“SHUT UP! I will never been ssseen asss the bessst until you’re DEAD!”

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Galgash stormed forward, ignoring his injuries, and sprinted towards Sarek, leveling his trident at his enemy. He had twenty yards to close. As he lumbered forward, Sarek sprang into action, his scaly claws taking the knives from his belts and firing them at Galgash. After the first few yards, Galgash began to be struck repeatedly by the thrown weapons. Galgash screamed in anger and tried to push forward, but his legs were starting to take too much damage from the knives burying themselves into them. He tried to knock them away from them as best as he could by swinging his trident, but he couldn’t get all of them. Sarek was moving with lightning speed, filling the air between them with knife after knife. Galgash was powerful and strong, and drug himself ahead as best as he could, but over a dozen knives were sticking out of him, and the pain and damage was too great, and Sarek’s accuracy was getting deadly as the distance shrank. Three yards from Sarek, Galgash fell too one knee, groaning and growling in frustration. His wounds had caught up to him, and with half a dozen knives sticking out of his chest, he fell forward onto the ground. With the last of his strength he tried to crawl forward to get at Sarek, but he could only manage to lift his massive head to glare at his enemy. Sarek was still standing in the same place he was before Galgash had charged him. His belts were empty, and he held his last knife in his hand. Galgash growled defiantly, and Sarek fired his last knife into the eye of the beast, piercing his brain. Galgash’s head hit the ground, and he was dead.
The Fortress of Stone was saved. The Gassaks that retreated from the battle reported back to their leader what had happened. Sarek had allowed the few remaining of Galgash’s warriors to take the body back with them. The chief of the Gassaks was horrified at the death of Galgash, and openly gaped at the body of his greatest warrior, pierced with so many knives. From then on, no Gassak dared ventured into the Black Swamps for fear of the now legendary warrior, who became known as Sarek of the Hundred Knives.

To be continued in Part 4 . . .

[Bran Bale]

4

Finally Bran had won the key. After three grueling challenges with Etherean Esperwind, he was able to defeat the prestigious mage and take the Tower of Fire. Soon the Key was delivered to him at the Temple of Gorellik, and Bran and his mentor Rezzik said goodbye to their friend Shamgar, the gnoll priest. That morning the two lizardmen could be seen teleporting onto the Isle and running across the Island towards the Tower of Fire. They were cackling with glee and dragging their possessions behind them, heading for the prize that Bran had won.

“Way to go, my boy! I can’t wait to sssee what magical sssecretsss we can uncover! Think of all the potionsss I can create!” Rezzik said.

The two lizardmen went scampering up the causeway surrounded by lava, hopping from one platform to the next until they stood at the massive brass doors to the Tower. Bran gazed in awe at the flaming walls and the huge size of the construction.

“Yowww! I’m getting sssinged! Hurry up and open the door!” cried Rezzik, who did not possess the capabilites to protect himself from fire like Bran now had.

Bran quickly opened the door and walked into the entryway, where he saw the obsidian statues that Esperwind had created in tribute to the former Keepers of the tower. Bran read each inscription before he moved on into the depths of the Tower.

“Thisss place isss huge! It’sss going to take time to figure out where everything isss. Then we can really begin sssome training” said Rezzik.

After finding a room to serve as his bedroom, Bran explored the tower for a while, before finding his way to the top platform that looked out over the lavaflow that surrounded the Tower. He peeked over the battlements and watched the river of magma flowing past. Then he spied a large rock on the platform that looked as though it was used as some sort of table. Primordial instincts kicked in as Bran walked over to it and laid flat on his belly on top, with his arms and legs hanging limply on either side. The warmth of the rock crept up into his body and warmed his cold blood, and with his forked tongue lolling out of his snout, he took a long nap.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

It had been several weeks since Bran had first entered the Tower of Fire, and he had been learning many new things. Rezzik was there to instruct him and help him find new, challenging ways to manipulate the fire that he was now a master of. One of the tricks he had learned was what Bran called the “Blue Onion”, where Bran could encase himself in fire without being burned. Just like the flame on a candle, it tended to be onion-shaped, and it was blue because of its intensity. Bran trained throughout the weeks in order to gain more understanding of fire, but he noticed that the fire was almost helping him, leaping forward as if eager to serve him. It made his studies easier. Bran slept fitfully most of the time, though. He knew he had a promise to keep, and that it would be incredibly difficult to say the least. How could a lizardman, regardless of what power he had gained, ever hope to fight a dragon? It was an impossible task. It had been over a year since he had come to RhyDin City. The “Test of Strength” he had been given weighed heavily on his mind as well. He wanted to complete his Test and go home. He was lonely and homesick. It had been rare that he had seen any of his folk in the City, and he missed his friends, and especially Maye. He even missed Rock. He wondered how the war was going with the Gassak and Norak tribes. It could even have been over by now.
Bran was lying in his bed in one of the many bedrooms in the Tower thinking these things, looking out at the moonlit night outside the window, when he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

It was Rezzik. The old lizard shaman ambled into the room. “Great newsss, Bran! I jussst invented a potion that will give a lizardman a beard! Think of it!”

“What’sss the point in *that*?” asked Bran, confused.

“Well, it’sss . . . I don’t know really, but I’m sssure I’ll find sssome ussse for a beard! Anyway, I’m turning in for the night. Tomorrow isss a big day, we’re going back to sssee King Marrash.”

Bran was silent for a moment. “Rezzik? Do you think I should do thisss? I mean, I barely even know thessse koboldsss. Why should I risssk my life for them? I want to help them, but . . . “

“Right there, Bran, you sssaid it. You want to help them. The problem with people thessse daysss isss that they don’t do what they know in their heartsss isss the right thing to do. You know what the right thing to do isss. Now let’sss do it.”

Bran nodded, that made sense. “Right. Sssee you in the morning.”

Rezzik gave Bran a nod and a chuckle, and then ambled off to find his own bedroom.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

The journey took more than a day as Bran and Rezzik made their way back to the Cave of Flying Water deep in the heart of the expansive western forests. It had been several months, and King Marrash looked haggard and worn. His tribe had lost several warriors to the rampaging dragon, but he had managed to keep most of them alive by hiding in the cave. Food was scarce though, and Marrash was unsure of how much longer they could hold out. He called a council of his best warriors, and Bran was thankful to see his friends Moxar and Mettax were there and still alive.

“We need to strike now while we have the chance. Lord Bran has mastered the use of Fire and we can eliminate this threat right now”, said Marrash.

“Well, I wouldn’t sssay I’ve *massstered* it . . . “ Bran said, trying to interject.

King Marrash thundered on. “This menace has inflicted enough damage on my people. It’s time for VENGEANCE!”

The other kobold warriors shout and pound the table in agreement.

At this time Bran spoke up, more out of a deep-seeded instinct for self preservation.

“Marrash, I have no doubt that you and your warriorsss are brave and up to the tasssk. But we are facing an Ice Dragon, one of the mossst dangerousss creaturesss in the world. I think we should come up with a ssstrategy for victory ssso that you do not sssee any more losss of life.”

“Perhapsss you are right, Lord Bran. I will leave the matter to you.”

“ME? Well, I . . . “

The kobold warriors all shouted their agreement and left the table in a rush, leaving Bran sitting alone and slack-jawed.

This is going to be more difficult than I imagined, Bran thought.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

There was a den at the utmost top of Mount Abma where the Ice Dragon slept. The cave itself was not very big in terms of what a normal dragon cave would be, but it sufficed for the Ice Dragon. Curled up with his tail under his maw, his head was fairly close to the opening of his den. The Ice Dragon’s name was Kaurm, but he had not heard that name in centuries. For months he had ravaged the surrounding forest, eating every creature that came within his sight, and carrying off a few prisoners just for his own amusement. He ate them too, after a time. His cave did contain some treasure, even though there was not much to be found in the sparsely inhabitated region. He mostly preferred silver, and most of the silver items he had made up his bed, while the gold was stacked on the sides. Various bones littered the entrance of the cave. Kaurm didn’t like bones in his den and so threw them out when he was finished gnawing the meat off. This would normally give the effect of the scary boneyard in front of the dragon’s cave, but no creature came to the summit of Mount Abma. This wasn’t just because of Kaurm’s lair; it was also because of the near arctic conditions that existed there. Kaurm had pretty much had free reign throughout the countryside for nearly a year, and at this point the region had been nearly depopulated. Anything remotely resembling a village had been destroyed by him. Kaurm was bored and hungry. He would have to find another place to live soon, although he didn’t want to leave Mount Abma, since it was so comfortable. Half-sleeping in his den, he was thinking about making another run near the river, where he thought he saw some centaurs a few days ago, when he heard a peculiar sound.

To be continued . . .

[Bran Bale]

Bran stood outside the cave entrance. He could see the indistinct head of the great white dragon. Bran and a select number of Kobold warriors had made the treacherous climb to the summit of Mount Abma. Luckily for them, Kaurm had become arrogant and complacent, and was too busy sleeping to notice the small party make their way up the mountain. Bran braved the freezing conditions by surrounding himself with fire using the “Blue Onion” technique. Bran’s plan had been a pretty straightforward one, since he didn’t know what techniques could be used to defeat a dragon anyway. When it came right down to it, all he could think of was to just go for it, as suicidal as that sounded. The blue fire surrounded him as he stood there, causing the snow and ice around him to melt and trickle into puddles. He fingered his cloverleaf spear as he gazed into the mouth of the cave at the massive head of Kaurm, waiting to give the word for the attack to commence.

“Sssteady, Bran, your ancessstorsss and I are with you, asss alwaysss.” The voice of Sarek said.

Bran took a couple of deep breaths, and then raised his spear over his head with both hands.

Kaurm heard the sound of many battle horns sound off, so loud that they caused the icicles that hung from the roof of the cave to jiggle, and some to break and fall. Kaurm opened one red eye and stared out the cave entrance. There was a sight that filled him with more astonishment than anger. Kaurm had never seen a lizardman, since being an Ice Dragon meant he stayed around cold climates, and had never been to the swamps before. Kaurm interpreted the blue scaled reptilian as some kind of dragonet looking to infringe on his territory. The horns sounding must be his army of some kind. Kaurm was enraged at this intrusion, and if the reptilian wanted a fight, he would get one. Since Bran did not seem like a threat, Kaurm came barreling out of the cave straight towards Bran, fangs bared, and an icy blast of breath ready to freeze this arrogant reptilian at a moments notice. He would show this little upstart what happened when you messed with powers that were beyond you.

To be continued . . .