FSE

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The sun feels good, washing warmth through my body. The breeze blowing softly across the plains. The lowing of family and friends carried upon the wind welcomes you home. You wander lazily towards them, knowing they'll have a feast ready for you upon your return for your coming of age ceremony. Memories of song and dance, roaring fires lighting up the night, smells of roast meat and mead fill your mind from your siblings' parties, quickening your pace. The faces of your parents, smiling and laughing brings happiness to your heart, turning your quick walk into a trot. Upon the horizon, a storm seems to be brewing, dark clouds looming in the distance. You know your friends would have thought to put up canopies in case of rain, but you don't see the white points breaking the line betwen field and sky. You forgot; you're early in returning home from your journey to one of the bordering villages; it is still early. The wind picks up a bit, making you shiver a little. Your tail and ears quivering a little as you hunker into your travelling cloak. You pull the hood over your new horn nubs - the very ones you brag to your friends about; getting your's earlier than everyone else. You are glad to be close to home; your weary hooves hurt from the hard trails, yearning for the soft grasses of your homeland. You pick up an odd scent on the breaze now, like the forges in the castle, but stronger. The wind turns into a gale now, blowing depris into your eyes.

You snap to as you realize the clouds in front of you are not storm clouds. You notice the roiling mass of grey and black smoke rising from where your village is. All memories of times gone by washed away in the realization that your home is under attack. You race through the fields at a sprint, discarding your cloak. Your hide bare to the wind and sun, pristine and unmarred as the day you were born. The stark white surface the heritage of your family. You charge into the village, amidst the smoke and flames and rubble, red hatred blazing in your eyes for the ones that have attacked your peaceful home. You smash through the front door of your house just in time to see an undead creature plunge a sword into your father's heart. In your blind rage, you slam into the beast, almost separating its body from its legs. You grab your father's silver claymore from the wall, pulling it from its sheath in a single motion. You cleave the monster in two, an almost comical look in its dead eyes as its life energy drains to the floor, surprised that such a young specimen of your herd could wield the great weapon.

You go to your father's side. You hold his hand and help prop up his head. Your father tells you to take the sword, that it holds great power to repel the undead hordes. As the last spark of life fades from your father's eyes, you grip the sword, swearing that you will do whatever it takes to slaughter every single one of those unmerciless beasts. You hear a voice in your head, unfamiliar and foreign. "Young Morte, do you vow to use my power only to help others?" You drop the sword, the connection broken. You ponder for a moment about the risks. You see your father lying at your feet, and need no further motivation. You pick up the sword again, letting in the voice again, "I vow to use your power to decimate all foes that prey upon those that wish nothing but peace. I will never stop until every last one of them are but dust and memories!" The sword responds, "So be it."

You feel a warmth growing in the hilt; the blade glowing brightly in the dark and smokey room. The light emitted glowing ever brighter as you see veins of silver tracing down your arm. Your heart feals as though on fire. Your mind is filled with the vision of a glowing ethereal dragon, scales shining as though made of liquid silver. Your muscles bulge and flex, your hooves glisten and gleam in the dim light of the room, shining with the power of the Silver Dragon. You feel your entire form changing to match the vision in your head. You unleash a mighty roar that shakes the foundations of the building, your hatred announced to those for miles. You black out as the power overwealms your senses, becoming the Silver Dragon.

******

You open your eyes. The memories of your youth fading back into sleep. Your white hide now scarred from years of battle in the gladiator arenas; a viscious contest of skill, strength and sheer brutality in order to survive. You recall being sold into slavery by the necromancers that invaded your home; the power of the Silver Dragon not quite enough to overcome the onlsaught of undead and demons being transported to the surface of your world. You remember the cruelty of the necromantic mages as they tainted your soul. You feel the presence of Him, deep within you, clawing at your sanity, trying to find purchase in your mind, whispering - whispering dark things - inviting you to allow him to take control and give you power, unending. You push him down, shuddering at the memory of how he tore into your flesh, pushing his essence into your body and sealing himself inside you. The pain far from a memory as you feel the deep scars down your back stretching - new pain searing through your mind and He laughs at your struggles.

He feeds on your pain and misery, the Dark One does. An undead Black Dragon, raised by the vile necromancers to bestow its curse on you. Unknown by the mages, He sensed the Silver Dragon in you. Instead of simply feasting upon your lifeless corpse and bringing you into the ranks of the undead, he invaded your body and feasted on the power of the Silver Dragon. Only with your last efforts, coupled with the power of the Silver Dragon coursing through your veins, do you finally subdue the invading Black Dragon. As a last resort, the Black Dragon heals your wounds, preventing you from purging the evil from your body. You shudder at the memory. The only glimmer of happiness in the last 12 years being your 500th victory in the arenas, the last of which required to earn your freedom.

You shudder again. Wait, that wasn't you. You notice the entire building shaking. A rumbling and roaring building up. You peer out the window and see a space craft hurtling toward the city. You get thrown to the ground as the ship impacts, causing devastation throughout the city as it carves a trough of destruction through the street - screams of children and fathers, mothers and wives, echoing through the air. You sense evil again, awakened from slumber, coming from the direction of the demolished ship. You see a lone figure stumble out from the wreckage, met by others. As you watch them leave, you notice the evil still remains, infecting the city soldiers responding to the crash. You notice them contorting into demonic figures. You lose sight of the stranger from the ship and his companions and turn your attention to the crying and suffering around you.

You go through the town, examining the injurred and tormented as they attend to dying relatives. You waken the evil inside you, using its perverse energy help mend the wounds and broken limbs of those around you, feeling the Black Dragon within stirring and thrashing - infuriated that his power is being used to help others. He rips at your skin from the inside and you stumble in pain. You grimmace in pain, but hold steady, the pain a well-known ally and adversary. You hold fast, making sure that the worst-injured are attended to, leaving the rest to the local clerics and hospital staff. You leave in search of the strangers you saw earlier ... something about them feels familiar, pulling you towards them. The Silver Dragon speaks to you, "Beware, danger aproaches." You loose your claymore and ready for an assault.