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“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds." - Laurell K. Hamilton

Pain. Nothing endures like pain. It may be the only truth in the world.

Dargan Barclan awoke to pain with the rising of the sun. He bedded down to pain as the moon silently cried over his head. At 16 years old, Dargan knew nothing else. Pain was his dark escort through life.

This morning was no different. The dull red sun had barely lifted its head above Dwarf Mountain when Dargan woke to the sound of his father bursting into his room. The young man quickly threw his hands above his face; a protective action long-learned. Elgon Barclan was not in the mood for charity. He awoke to the burning desire to thrash his son and he was not to be denied. Bleary-eyed, and stinking of last night's mead, Elgon dragged Dargan off his pallet. As Dargan moved to stop his fall Elgon swooped in with a savage quickness. In all his wretched life, Elgon never moved so quick as when he sought to blunt the sharp blade of his anger on his son.

Elgon's arms moved in inelegant arcs. His rough hands slapping and pounding with no discernible pattern. Dargan rolled away from the attack and struggled to his feet while deflecting blows. The flesh around his right eye was swelling and his lower lip was cut. Not the worst he'd had. “Get on with yer' part!" Elgon screamed.

It was no more than Dargan expected. Every day brought the same. Chores and abuse. He always finished but Elgon would yell and critique regardless. Dargan was expected to manage the farm almost exclusively. Elgon was of little help anymore. He had long since determined his life's noble work was to shape his son; carving away at the young man until there was nothing left. Elgon worked as an artist brandishing his tools of anger, spite, and vengeance.

Dargan stumbled outside into the bright, full torment of another day. He shuffled towards the barn favoring his left side. He hated his father. He hated his clan. He hated his body. He hated himself. Pain and fire; that was all Dargan knew.

Somewhere beyond the hazy veil of memory, Elgon and Mirtona of the Bear clan were happy. They were bloodbound to one another and settled on a small farm just east of the clan's largest settlement, Engreman. Quickly they produced a fine, healthy son. Yet, soon despair would be their only companion.

In ancient times, the Bear clan settled on the foothills of the Greystorm Range. The massive charcoal peaks burst from the foothills nearly vertically like great jagged spearheads, soaring higher than any other terrain in the known world. It was rare when the top of the peaks could be seen, they were frequently covered in cloud and storm. When the sight was clear, vast stretches of permanent snow and icy blue glaciers could be seen embracing the peaks.

Storms came from the East to halt at the mountains and drop regular rain on the foothills. This allowed for good farming and plentiful game in the forests. However, once or twice a generation the range would live up to its name of Greystorm. The soaring peaks were so high they normally blocked any weather from the unknown West. On very rare occasions, a storm would build enough power to rise and breach the mountains from the West. These were times of great peril and destruction.

Murderous winds came ahead of the storm. They flattened or thrust away everything in their path. Then boiling black clouds would seethe over the peaks. The storm would rush down the mountain to attack right on top of the foothills and the plains. Torrential rain would follow with searing lightning strikes. Heavy flooding was the common aftermath of these storms. If it was cold enough, freezing rain or snow would blanket the entire foothills and plains in ice. All who lived near the mountains learned to fear those times when the wind began to flow eastward as a western storm would soon follow.

The lofty mountains banded the western edge of what was once known as Dremblanch, meaning, “the bitter land" in the old tongue. Countless generations of people could attest to the truthfulness of the moniker. Over the millennia, kings and empires had come and gone. It was not long that one leader could marshal the strength to consolidate all the widespread landmass under her rule. Still, seekers of power were numerous in every age. No matter what power these ambitious creatures gained, the common folk nearly always paid in strife and suffering. In recent times, traders had brought word to the Bear clan of a sorcerer that was rumored to control much of the eastern world. However, nothing was seen of such a being this far west.

Warfare did not often reach the Bear clan by the mountains. Those who sought to take the clan's land found a ferocious and unconquerable people. All adults would fight, savagely, to their life's end. Many could even transform into monstrous bears with size and speed not seen in the natural world. These clan members would roam the battle as feral bears clawing, biting, and crushing any enemy who crossed their path. Alternatively, some clan members could retain their dexterity and upright posture while a bear; wading into battle with thick armor and massive weapons. It was no small task to kill a shapeshifting member of the Bear clan.

The greatest threat to the Bear clan has always been the wolves. The shapeshifting Wolf clan has the only warriors able to the equal the strength and ferocity of the bears. The two clans tend to be natural enemies wherever they come into contact. In long ago times the wolves moved west and began to encroach on the foothills. The Bear clan responded quickly and brutally. Since those early days, the two clans have engaged in a never-ending war. The conflict ebbs and flows in intensity over time. Some generations only find small skirmishes or infrequent scout sightings of the other clan. Other generations labor through continuous, open battle. For the bear clan, the threat of the wolves is always looming.

Through it all, the Bear clan remained. It was said in old tales that beyond the Greystorm mountains lay an endless sea with no other land in sight. The bear clan do not know the truth of such claims. They are not adventurers and dreamers. The clan are a stalwart people who settled in their homes for the long term. Occasionally, adventurers or other wayfarers from the east pass through the clan's territory seeking to find a path through the mountains. These interlopers are treated to a meal and a dire warning. No adventurer that left heading westward has ever been seen again in the clan's territory. There is no known pass that cuts through the mountains without breaching the impassable peaks.

Longtime warfare with the wolves has left the Bear clan with dwindling numbers and strength. Each successive generation the clan produces less members who can take the form of a bear. Even though there has been no open battle with the wolves for more than a century, the Bear clan has been unable to recover its former numbers and strength.

This recent history made the pairing of Elgon and Mirtona an unexpected one. At the time, the clan was steadfastly trying to maintain the strongest bloodlines. Clan elders encouraged those on the path of the bear to pair with one another to produce more children who could also make the change. Elgon was unable to take a bear's form and join the ranks of the clan's mightiest warriors. After failing his test before the council, he learned to trade and farm. Mirtona however, was a shapeshifter.

Mirtona's bear form was small, at only 6 ½ feet. She had long, pitch black fur all over her body with claws that were abnormally long and razor sharp. Mirtona lacked the overwhelming strength of some of the other clan members but she was lean and fast. She also had incredible endurance; almost like a wolf rather than a bear. She could chase prey or enemy for days. Mirtona made a fast and deadly warrior.

Mirtona first noticed a handsome, unassuming young man at a clan bloodbinding ceremony. She found Elgon later that night by the bonfire and asked him to dance. In the days that followed she pursued him with fervor and love soon blossomed. Elgon was equally enamored with the beautiful shapeshifter. There were some clan members that grumbled because Mirtona was not pairing with another shapeshifter but it was not the clan's way to force their will on any members. It was not long before the couple sought the village elders to request a bloodbinding ceremony.

The Bear clan's bloodbinding ceremony has been passed down through generations beyond memory. When a couple seeks to pair they go before the elders and request a performance of the ceremony. The elders question the couple about their love and their commitment. The elders generally approve but have been known to reject a request if one party is not able or willing to give their full consent. For approved couples, a meeting of the clan members is called for the next full moon.

As night falls on the chosen date a great feast is presented to all who have attended. The binding pair are seated in a massive log with two deep seats painstakingly carved in it. They sit near the bonfire and other clan members approach to offer congratulations and advice. Some clan members also offer gifts for the new couple.

When the feast is over the pair hold hands across a carved shelf between their seats. The elders bind their hands together with a thick strap of leather and place a bowl on the shelf. The pair each receive a cut on the forearm of their bound hand. The blood from their cuts runs into the bowl, mingling. The pair must stay bound in this way until daybreak. Throughout the night they are fed wasp weed to keep their blood from clotting.

As the night wears on both participants will usually lapse into fevered dreams from the loss of blood. At times, a couple will experience the same dream. When this happens, the pair strives to work through the dreamscape together. The bloodbinding ceremony offers a new couple the chance to forge a bond through shared endurance and intimacy. Completing the ceremony is a seen as a good omen from the gods. When daybreak arrives, the newly bloodbound pair receives medical aid, food, and water for their recovery. Then they begin their lives together.

Elgon and Mirtona's peace was torn asunder on a crisp fall morning, just two winters after their pairing. Elgon was splitting wood near the tree line. Mirtona and Dargan were inside the home staying warm by the fire. A dreadful screech filled the air dashing Elgon's absentminded musing. Elgon dropped his ax and ran towards the source of the sound.

From the house, he could hear Mirtona wailing. All Elgon could think of was a deer he had shot that past spring. The wounded beast had called out with an urgency and in a timbre that Elgon had never heard. It pierced his heart. He had to cut the beast's throat as soon as he reached it to terminate the terrible sound. Now his beautiful wife was crying in the same desperate manner. Mirtona's shrieks brought his heart and mind to desperate attention. He looked toward the house, saw smoke trailing from the window and intensified his effort to reach his family.

Elgon arrived at his home and burst through the front door. Inside he saw the hearth wall was ablaze and was horrified to find Mirtona and Dargan engulfed in flame. He grabbed a wool blanket from a nearby chair and collapsed on his family. He heard no cries from either.

“Please," he cried. “Please, let them be alright!"

The heat seemed to dissipate under Elgon. He knelt up and threw the blanket back. The wool cover had seared with Dargan And Mirtona's skin. As Elgon pulled the blanket dead, charred flesh peeled from the bodies. Mirtona's back and arms were the most exposed. She had cradled Dargan in her arms, turning away from the fire. The skin on her back and arms sloughed off in large chunks. Elgon was assaulted by the nauseating smell of burnt human flesh. He stared in shock at the terrible horror before him. Suddenly, he knelt to the side and violently wretched on the floor.

There was no way to comprehend what had happened. From the first scream until Elgon had reached the home had only been a few moments. He had been no more than 200 feet from the home. Yet, his wife and son had died. Elgon stared blankly around the house. In abstract, his mind took notice that the fire on the hearth wall seemed to be dying and he could feel the cold fall morning air breaching the small living room.

A small choking gasp brought Elgon back to the horrid present. He unwillingly turned toward the bodies. Dargan moved slightly, as if trying to breathe. Elgon moved toward him but hesitated; revolted at the idea of moving Mirtona's arms which were still wrapped trying to protect her son. Elgon braced himself and lifted his wife's arm. The skin slid sickeningly in his hand and Elgon found the smell of burnt flesh anew. His stomach churned and he began to cry as he slowly moved Dargan out of the second arm. Dargan shrieked in pain and fell lifeless.

Villagers had come running at the sight of smoke from Elgon and Mirtona's home. When they arrived, they found the fire extinguished. Elgon was outside sitting on the ground in the brisk cold staring vacantly into the tree line. Some villagers noticed that he was holding a small burnt article. They assumed it was a family keepsake he had tried to save. Villagers went inside to find out what happened to mother and son. One of the elders came out of the house when they could not find Dargan. He tried to question Elgon several times what had happened to his boy. The man was unresponsive. The elder was about to leave until he heard a short, anguished cry come from the bundle in Elgon's arms. He carefully took the child from Elgon and looked at the lump of burnt flesh. Perhaps, all was not lost.

The child should have died. He was so young. So terribly injured. Yet, Dargan persisted. He spent two months in the care of the medicine woman. He was subjected to the terrible process of debridement over a significant amount of his body. The boy was too young for any strong sedatives or herbs that could numb his pain. During his first days of treatment he would wake only to scream in pain. When the agony got too much he would pass out. Yet, he survived. As the days went by the child would cry less and less. Eventually, Dargan would not utter any sound at all. He did not try to speak or cry out. The medicine woman and her apprentice could only tell if he was in pain when he would stare resolutely upward at the roof while tears coursed from his eyes and down the sides of his face.

Elgon had not been to see his son since the fire. Villagers believed this was Elgon's way of mourning for his wife and that he would soon return as a father. However, when Dargan returned home Elgon struggled to care for the boy. For many months, the child was unable to doing anything for himself. The terrible injuries were responsible for this helplessness and for Dargan's slowness to develop physically and vocally. To Elgon, Dargan was a daily reminder that Mirtona was dead. The physical scars his boy carried made it hard for Elgon to forget the horrid sight he had witnessed. Resentment and mead soon became easy friends.

Even in adolescence, the ravages of the fire were evident on Dargan. Some of his visible injuries had softened as he aged but his body was a dreadful canvas of pain. Much of the left side of his body and his back had been severely burned. His face was heavily scarred and he only had tufts of hair on the right side of his head. His left eye was partially covered with scar tissue, hampering his eyesight. Dargan had only flat holes where his left ear and lips should have been. The young man had finally begun to grow taller in the last few years but the thick scarring on his back caused his upper body to hunch forward. Dargan often found it hard to breath and he walked with a shuffling gait, favoring his left leg. Life had not been kind to Dargan Barclan.

When Dargan finished his chores early he liked to wander. The young man would go anywhere but where his father was. Sometimes, he would head for the trees. He could usually find a place in the woods to walk or sit. Normally venturing away from the direction of the village to avoid running into other clan members. The solitude of the woods was a respite from the relentless pain of Dargan's life. It was often the only peace he could find. He was free from his father. Free from the pity and disgust of the villagers. Free from the antagonism that his appearance and quiet nature always attracted.

Even though he hated and feared being around the people of his clan, Dargan would sometimes make his way to the village. He would wander the outskirts observing clan members as they went about the business of their lives. Dargan was fascinated by the ease and the joy with which the villagers lived. He dreamed desperately that he could someday have the same; a place where he could feel at home. However, time and again Dargan would learn that his life would never change. Bitterness was a constant companion.

The adult clan members would look at Dargan with unease but they otherwise did not molest him. The children and adolescents, however, would often torment him. He was frequently on the receiving end of thrown stones. The younger children would take advantage of his slow gait, chasing and striking him with sticks. Dargan lived in constant anxiety, fearing the next attack, especially when he made his way to the village.

Until recently, Dargan had enjoyed coming to the bloodbinding ceremonies. The dark provided him some measure of protection from gawkers. His father was normally drunk extra early so Dargan had the night to himself. He ate at the feast and watched the pair be bound and cut. However, what caught his attention most was the bonfire.

Dargan was petrified by fire. He had no clear memories of the day his mother died but everything was fire and pain. Since that day, his life had been defined by the terrible power of fire. His body, his pain all came from fire. When he was feeling particularly vindictive, Elgon would pin his son in front of the fire in the hearth and tell the terrified boy that he was going finish what had been started all those years ago. When he was trapped near flame Dargan would begin to shake as terror rolled upon him. He lost his mind to the fear, unable to do anything but cry.

The bonfire was different. Dargan would stay back far enough that he felt safe but could still feel the intense heat radiating from the conflagration. He would watch the fire for hours. Even as he feared the inferno he felt intrigued watching the flames dance. Dargan knew its power but he could not deny its beauty. He found the bonfire mesmerizing.

That was until several moons ago. The crowd around the bonfire and the bloodbinding couple had dissipated. As Dargan sat watching the fire two beings leapt from the darkness behind him. Each attacker grabbed under one of Dargan's arms, lifting him up and compelling him toward the fire. The two assailants were Radagon and Helican. Both were boys several years younger than Dargan. Although younger, they had each passed their tests before the council. Both stood almost a head taller than Dargan and were considerably stronger. For many years the two had taken a disliking to the young, fire-branded man finding many opportunities to antagonize and harm.

Before Dargan had much time to process what was going on he was thrust right up to the bonfire. The intense heat washed over him. His old scars begin to scream in proximity to the close flame. Dargan tried to cry out but his breath would not come. He began to shake, struggling to pull air into his lungs. The only sound he made was a pathetic moan as he began to cry. Dargan knew the boys were talking to him, about him. He could not make out their words. There was only the naked fear that was consuming him; consuming him like the fire. This must be his death.

Suddenly, Dargan fell to the ground. He instinctively rolled away from the fire. As he sobbed, a kind hand fell on his shoulder. “Dargan, it's over. Are you alright?" Dargan turned toward the voice and saw Felicar, one of the elders, smiling at him. “Why don't you head home, Dargan. It's all over." Dargan looked around, his attackers were both gone. The boy rose painfully to his feet. He nodded at the old clan member and started to trudge homeward. His tears spilled over his cheeks until well after he was home and long into the night.

Dargan had not returned to a bonfire since. The experience haunted him; causing him to shiver whenever the disturbing memory stole upon him. He avoided Helican and Radagon and he stayed away from the village entirely. Each day Dargan did his chores and fled to the woods. He would return after dark knowing Elgon would be in a drunken slumber. Such was his life.

On a warm summer afternoon Dargan walked away from his home. Elgon had been particularly vicious that day. Dargan felt the large swell above his right eye. The cut was mostly done bleeding, more of an ooze now. His head still rang from the boxing he received on his ears. Elgon was sure that his son was neglecting his duties. That he was disobeying his father. No protest by Dargan could convince his father or stem the assault. The boy took the punishment and ran to his chores as soon as he could escape.

Dargan shuffled forward, cursing his father and cursing his life. As Dargan reached the tree line he looked up to see two young men waiting for him. Radagon and Helican. Dargan immediately turned around and begin to hurry back the way he came. After only a few steps he was caught and bodily turned around.

“What's the hurry, you little troll?" growled Helican. The boys began to force Dargan into the woods. “Yeah," laughed Radagon, “We haven't had a chance to talk since the bonfire."

Dargan began to thrash and wrench with all his might. His attempts at gaining his freedom were futile. He yelled out in fear. Helican dropped Dargan's arm and smashed his broad fist into Dargan's head. “Shut your mouth!"

Dargan collapsed to the ground his head spinning. The boys grabbed Dargan's arms again hoisting him upright. As they took a step forward Dargan heaved and then retched all over the front of his clothes. “You are disgusting," sneered Radagon, “what a waste of life." They continued deeper into the forest.

The boys dragged Dargan some 200 paces into the woods. They reached a small clearing stopping at a lone oak tree. Radagon released Dargan and Helican pushed him up next to the tree. Dargan could not maintain his balance and Helican grabbed him, holding him in an upright position. He snarled, “Stop acting like a nursing cub! This will go quicker if you take it like a man."

Radagon produced several thick ropes from his knapsack. He began to lash Dargan to the tree. Dargan offered no resistance, he could hardly form his thoughts properly. Radagon finished his ligature and cinched the knots tight. Dargan could feel the rope digging into his skin. He found it hard to breath with the intense pressure across his chest.

Radagon then produced two branches, straight and roughly the length of an arm. Each branch had a thick wrapping of canvas on the end. He laid the branches on the ground and pulled out some flint.

Dargan's head seemed to clear much of the haze he had been experiencing. “No! No! No…" he moaned, “please, no."

Radagon struck the flint several times until one torch was lit. He held it aloft and Helican brought the other torch into contact. Quickly, both torches were enflamed. The young men turned towards Dargan.

“Oh, you don't like fire?" mocked Radagon.

“It's time for your punishment," said Helican. “No elders to save you now."

The burly adolescents approached Dargan slowly waving the torches. Dargan tried to move in his bonds but found himself held fast. As the assailants got within arm's length Dargan turned his head and began to shake. The boys reached their captive and each brandished their torch within a few inches of Dargan's face. The heat fell upon his face and he began to whimper. His bladder failed him and a dark stain grew on his pants.

“My gods, you are a filthy creature!" said Helican taking a step back.

“Have you no honor?" asked Radagon. “You should leave, quit shaming the clan!"

As Radagon said this he waved his torch once more by Dargan's face. The captive boy's face burst into flame. Dargan gave an anguished cry. Both captors stumbled backward, falling. Before either boy could regain their feet, the fire rushed down Dargan's body engulfing him in flame. As the other boys hastened to their feet the fire quickly spread up the oak tree and down to the grass of the clearing.

The boys looked on in terror, unable to stop the fire and unable to understand its severe increase. Not in their lives had Radagon and Helican seen a fire of such speed and power. They turned wide-eyed and fled.

Behind the running boys, Dargan shrieked with a pain and terror. Never had he felt such exquisite agony. Mad with pain, his only thought was death. Dargan was overwhelmed and lost consciousness. His dreadful cries choked off.

Dargan and the forest burned.