Zissaren's page

Some years ago a small village of lizard men far to the south of Kaledun was host to a Copper dragon by the name of Gaulauntyr.
He had made a wager with a neighbour of his as to who could infiltrate a small population and establish themselves as its God as rapidly as possible.
Gaulauntyr had a simple plan; he appeared as a paragon of a lizardman, scales a deep copper flecked with green, fangs and claws perfect and gleaming. No lizardman had ever seen one such as him and when he told them that he was a god come among them some of the more easily converted bowed to him on the spot.
With a wave of his hand a vast feast appeared before the gathered villagers, a table groaning with more fine food and drink than a single person could eat in a year. Still some were suspicious of the so called god, but food was food and people ate and drank happily. Shortly after the feast had begun people noticed that the table did not seem to be emptying, however much anyone took there always seemed to be more.
Finally even the sceptics accepted that this must be a god come among them and Gaulauntyr was given the best home in the village in which to stay for as long as he saw fit. The most attractive unattached females in the village were sent to him and a huge statue was carved and placed in the centre of the village.
A few days passed and Gaulauntyr decided he had deceived these people for long enough. He gathered the whole village in front of the newly erected statue and told them that it was time for him to move on and spread his words to the rest of the world.
A flash of golden light and he was gone, leaving behind only a clutch of fertilised eggs.
It was one of these eggs that hatched Zisarenn. He was trained with all the others his age, taught how to hunt for food and protect the village. Until the age of 18 he appeared to be the same as any other lizardman albeit a little larger and stronger than the average.
At 18 each member of the village was taken high up onto a nearby mountain and given a potion to allow them to have a vision and decide their title for their adult life. Zisarenn drank the draught and drifted into a dark seemingly dreamless unconsciousness. When he awoke he found that the rocky landscape around the spot on which he sat had been covered in burns and scars, as if something had sprayed the area with fire or powerful acid. Scared and weak he stumbled to a nearby pool to drink and refresh himself. He bent down to drink and fell back in shock, the reflection in the water was not his own. He looked again and confirmed what his eyes had first seen. He was no longer a lizardman. His scales had turned a deep copper colour and large coppery horns swept back from his eye ridges. His already powerful build seemed to have been wrapped in another layer of muscle and the scales that covered it had thickened and changed to the same hue as those on his face.
After drinking Zisarenn sat and thought about what this transformation could mean. After some time he concluded that he must not be destined to go back to his village and set of unsteadily in the other direction. He eventually reached a road and sat down to wait for a passing caravan on which to hitch a lift. A few hours passed and eventually a caravan appeared on the road. As it drew near Zisarenn saw that there was a long line of people trailing behind the slow moving vehicle and heard an odd rhythmic metallic clanking.
The caravan came to a halt 50 feet from where Zisarenn sat and one of the men shouted something Zisarenn didn’t understand back down the line. He stood and stretched before walking slowly toward the cart that made up the head of the long line. The man who sat atop it smiled at him and waved as if inviting him right up next to him. Zisarenn opened his mouth to explain that he would very much like to travel with the group where ever they were going, but at that moment the man shouted and three other men burst out of the back of the cart, throwing a large net covered in hooks over Zisarenn. One of the men yanked on a rope and net pulled tight, tangling Zisarenn and dropping him to the floor. A roiling torrent of panic and terror flooded through Zisarenn’s mind as the net tightened and his limbs were cinched tight against his body. The three slavers advanced on the prostrate Halfdragon, each drawing a heavy wooden cudgel from their belt. The last thing Zisarenn saw before unconsciousness took him was the grinning face of the Slaver’s leader as he stared down from his perch up on the cart.
So began Zisarenn’s tenure as a slave. He and the other new merchandise were forced to trudge mile after mile in heavy chains and whipped or beaten savagely whenever their pace slackened. Eventually after a week of walking they arrived at reasonably sized town far to the south of Zisarenn’s village. The caravan had arrived just in time for the weekly slave market and in short order Zisarenn was up on the small stage used to showcase each slave as they were sold. His obvious strength, armoured skin and outlandish appearance drew many bids and he was eventually sold for an extreme amount of gold to a grossly obese man named Sebastian Dryden.
Dryden owned a local fighting arena, and it was into the foul smelling basement of this building that Zisarenn was dragged and thrown into a putrid cell hardly big enough for him to stand or lie down. He was treated like an animal, never spoken to directly and given instructions with the help of a metal barbed scourge. He was forced into the arena again and again to fight barehanded against armed and well armoured opponents. Dryden, who acted as the announcer and commentator of the fights, portrayed the Halfdragon as a vicious unintelligent monster, a beast to be tamed by the brave challengers.
For his part Zisarenn was being slowly driven mad by his captivity and the daily torture of walking out into an arena where he was pelted with rubbish and jeered at while a man savagely beat him into unconsciousness. As the weeks turned into months he became more animalistic, silently pacing his cell when not fighting and a roaring frenzy of claws and fangs in the arena. It grew increasingly difficult for his opponents to best him, each defeat adding to his mad rage and teaching him a new way to attack the next combatant.
Some time in the sixth month it finally happened, Zisarenn smashed aside the flail of his latest antagonist and the man stumbled backward, briefly lowering his guard. In the blink of an eye Zisarenn was slamming into the man’s chest, knocking him to the ground and landing astride him, fanged mouth at his neck. Before any of the men with whips could move in, a jet of bright arterial blood arced into the afternoon air and with a triumphant hiss Zisarenn spat a large portion of the man’s throat straight at Dryden where he sat high above the suddenly blood soaked arena. The crowd quieted into shocked silence and Dryden appeared to be visibly shaken by what had just happened. He called for the armoured men who now surrounded Zisarenn to restrain him and they moved in, raising the vicious barbed whips that Zisarenn had come to hate. With the salty taste of the his opponent’s blood still on his tongue Zisarenn felt momentarily invincible and seeing the wicked metal blades of the whips glinting in the sun seemed to redouble his rage. He bent quickly, grasping the handle of the heavy flail he had knocked from the grasp of man who now lay dead at his feet. He swung it upward as he rose to his feet and the heavy chain connected with the face of the man who stood in front of him, crushing his helmet and the bones below it with a wet splintering crunch. The man fell away just the first of the whips made its burning mark on Zisarenn’s shoulder and back. He grimaced in agony and swung to face the pain, teeth bared and a deep sibilant hiss rolling from the back of his throat. He swung the flail again as more burning blows landed on his head and torso. Another man dropped to the ground screaming as his arm was pulverised by the deadly scything arc of heavy chain and Zisarenn found a savage joy in exacting revenge on those who had tortured him for so long. His rage and joy in combat seemed to coalesce into a glowing ball of roiling energy in his chest as he repeatedly swung the heavy flail at his whip wielding tormentors. Each blow he delivered or received made that ball of energy grow until it felt as if he was full of burning light. By this point his hide was torn and bleeding from the touch of the whips, but three of the men were lying on the arena sand either dead or severely injured.
Another vicious blow and one more man fell, crying out as his ribs shattered. The energy filling Zisarenn burst from his skin, a rippling wall of warmth that enveloped him and the men around him. One of the few men remaining took another swing at his back and as the whip connected he screamed in agony and dropped it. Horrific bubbling burns had appeared all over his arm, rapidly eating their way through and destroying muscle and bone. The sight of their associate’s flesh melting away was enough for the remaining two men and they turned and ran for the arena exit. Some feral instinct deep in Zisarenn’s mind made him open his jaws wide at the retreating backs of the two men and out poured a jet of coruscating dark fluid. It hit the exposed backs of the men and they both fell screaming to the floor as the terrible acid dissolved away flesh and bone.
Zisarenn stood stunned for a second at what he had just done before he saw the open doorway beyond the twin puddles that just seconds before had been full grown men. With a cry of triumph he sprinted for the exit. Seeing the ‘monster’ was free the spectators who crowded the arena seats began screaming and charging wildly for the exits that lined the outside of the arena. In the rush many of the older or more infirm were pummelled and crashed under foot by the panicked mob.
Zisarenn meanwhile had managed to reach the top of the stairwell and in his attempts to find an exit he had reached Dryden’s office. He burst into the room and seeing no obvious exit spun to leave again when a glazed window caught his attention. He dropped the heavy flail he still carried and with a surge of strength lifted Dryden’s desk above his head and with a bestial grunt hurled it through the glass. Scooping up the flail he leapt through the gaping hole left by the window and dropped the two stories to the cobbled road below. His fall was broken by the remains of the desk and he rolled to his feet flail at the ready to defend himself. Luckily the window had looked onto a deserted narrow road running parallel to the deep, slow moving river that ran through the town. Seeing no would be assailants Zisarenn was poised to leap into the inviting water when he spotted a warm glow in the remains of the desk. He bent and lifted a small pouch which turned out to be full of gold coins. His draconic mouth split into a grin, the first it had seen since the day months ago when he had set out for his vision quest. Finally he was free, and he was suddenly in possession of more gold than he could have earned in a decade of work in his village.
As he dived into the dark soothing water of the river he thought that life might finally be looking up.
He swam upriver for nearly an hour before he surfaced and found himself in the deep woodland that covered the land to the north of the town. He clambered from the river and determined never to be anyone’s captive ever again he disappeared into the trees.
Over the following weeks he moved northward slowly, surviving off the land and keeping away from towns and villages. Eventually he arrived back in his home valley just scant miles from his village. At about the same time a certain copper dragon was flying homeward after pulling what he thought must be his most audacious prank to date. Gaulauntyr was lazily gliding along on the myriad thermals above the valley when he spotted a flash of copper scales far below him. His curiosity peaked he circled back to the spot and saw a strange looking creature sat next to a river, apparently enjoying the afternoon sun. He glided silently lower and lower until his huge shadow fell across the figure below. Zisarenn jerked awake as the heat of the sun abruptly left him and cried out in surprise at the huge dragon floating down toward him. He leapt to his feet and pulled out his flail to defend himself from the terrifying apparition.
Seeing the creature’s obvious fear Gaulauntyr landed well away from him on the other side of the river and called out across the water. He said that he meant Zisarenn no harm and was merely curious as to what or who he was. Zisarenn kept his weapon ready but told the dragon his name and that he was not sure what he was, that he had until recently been a lizardman but something had happened and he no longer was. Now that Gaulauntyr could see Zisarenn more clearly he realised that he and the erstwhile lizardman bore a striking resemblance. A memory clicked into place and he burst into roaring laughter, great tears rolling down his face as he shook with laughter. Finally the laughter subsided and he explained the source of his amusement.
Zisarenn was stunned. His father was a dragon, a creature revered by lizardmen as their legendary ancient hugely more powerful cousins. He dropped the flail and dived into the river to join Gaulauntyr on the other bank. The dragon settled himself down and began asking question after question. Zisarenn told him about his childhood and training to become part of the village, he told him about his vision quest and the transformation that had overtaken him during it. He then told Gaulauntyr of his time as a slave and the dragon rumbled indignantly. Slavery in all its forms was abhorrent to him but to have his own flesh and blood to be enslaved was intolerable. He demanded to know the location of the arena where Zisarenn had been held captive and swore he would make up for the fact that he had not stopped such a terrible fate befalling his son.
He said that he had a friend who lived in a great city to the north. The city was the kind of place where a Halfdragon with his blood could make a name for himself and that if Zisarenn was willing he could talk to his friend and gets him working for her in some way or another, just as a way to find his feet. Zisarenn, who had had no real plan except stay alive and free until this point agreed that this sounded like a good idea. Less than a week later he was in Kaledun, some kind of job lined up and his life looking up considerably.