Paxiros Flametongue - Descendant of a Legend (DND)

[The following is something I don't usually do. 1. I almost never write in first person, and 2. I almost never write in the fantasy/D&D setting. What you are about to read is the backstory/diary writings of an upcoming D&D character I've been making for a campaign that my friend ArcherA10 is running, and who also came up with some of my character's family's lore. Anyways, enjoy!]

Like most Dragonborn, I don’t usually write. We don’t concern ourselves with parchment and ink, and thus we do not document every little thing like the Humans do, well, not as much as them, at least. Since my father, Tohazar, is both a historian and a warrior, he studies the tactics of different commanders throughout our own history and the history of our enemies, both former and current.

But I digress. Long ago, my race, the Dragonborn, was nothing more than broken up factions of different ancestries. Much like the ancient Humans who once made tribes according to their skin color, we grouped up according to the color of our scales. Though we were much more violent than our ancient Human counterparts, and we usually warred with each other over petty squabbles. Though one Dragonborn had a vision for us all, and that vision reshaped our history forever. We know not of this Dragonborn’s true name. Nine Hells, we barely have enough evidence of his existence. But three things were always certain to us: that he was red-scaled like myself and my family, that he united our race under the flag of Bahamut, and that he was known… as the Flametongue!

Yes, I am indeed a descendant of the legendary Flametongue, the Dragonborn that united our clans under one land, one that we called the Empire of Draconia. This Empire was powerful, and it was also feared. My family ruled this Empire for centuries, and we almost damn-near conquered all of Calendra, but a war with the Humans put a stop to that. We didn’t lose the war, of course, though neither did the Humans. At first, we thought we would trounce them into dust, but they fought back with ferocious tenacity and unbreakable bravado. Through warfare, we admired our newfound enemies, finding them quite the worthy adversary! One day, both sides called for a truce, and then discussed an alliance. We soon realized that with our brawn and their tactical prowess, we would be an unstoppable force, though this alliance came with a price. The Flametongues agreed to dissolve the Empire of Draconia, and instead became part of the Kingdom of Calendra, and thus served (and continue to serve) as the backbone of this new nation’s military. We Dragonborn were not saddened by the fall of our once great Empire; however, we were very proud to be fighting alongside such a commendable foe. As such, my family that once ruled as emperors now leads the Calendran Military. My mother, Onorae, has been their General for as long as I have lived, and is training me to one day become her successor, as her father had done, and her father’s father, and her grandfather’s mother, and so on.

About eleven years ago, I remember the first day my mother took me out in the sparring field when I was 10 years old. There were about a dozen wooden mannequins, some of which I can’t believe they’re still standing today. She first gave me a standard Calendran shortsword, and then ordered me around like the typical General she still is.

“See that mannequin right there, Paxiros? I want you to hit it as hard as you can! Give it all you’ve got!” she commanded, but with an encouraging tune.

“Ok, here I go…” I said, with as much confidence as there are Elves left on Calendra (spoiler alert, there are very few, but that’s a story for another day).

I swear by Bahamut that I hit that damned thing as hard as I possibly could. But much to my dismay, the sword barely entered into it, maybe about a quarter inch or so. I was ashamed.

“Hahahaha! You have a lot to learn, Pax! Now watch your mother in action, maybe you’ll learn a thing or two!” she said, before tightly holding the grip of her longsword while it rested in its scabbard.

She lunged towards the mannequin next to the one I hit, unsheathing her longsword faster than I could blink! It split in half at the waist, with a cut so perfect that the two ends were completely flat. I saw the fire of her golden eyes light brighter than I ever witnessed when she did so, and at the time, it scared me a little. But as she trained me throughout the years, and as I gained strength, so too did the bond we shared.

My father and I are close as well. He too was skilled in swordplay, though an injury he suffered during a skirmish forced him to retire his military career. My mother would never let him live down that incident; always telling him that he was a wimp, jokingly of course. But ever since his fighting days concluded, he started documenting our family’s history, and has asked me to do the same on the days I’m not training with my mother. With her training my physical strength, and my father training my mental strength, the both of them raised quite the son. I’m honored to have parents like them, and they are proud to have a son like me.

Hmph, apparently I’ve written to the point where the Sun has been down for a few hours, and the Moon is quite bright outside tonight. And I have almost completely run out of ink. Just my damn luck. Perhaps I will continue to write later tomorrow, unless my mother has more training in store for me.