Detaine and the Dragon

A story I wrote almost 5 years ago for a character I played with several friends. Neither my best nor worst, but one that I can identify with now more than I'd like. 

-——--------—————

Proving

 

More than a month in the muck was finally done.  Through the tunnel and into the mountains, Detaine breathed deeply.  Finally sunlight again.  Rather…stark, though.  At this point though, she was just glad to be out of the swamp.

Within the week, the young paladin stood on a pinnacle of rock, looking out over the ogres and dragonspawn.  A flash of auburn hair would blend in enough with the dragon corpses impaled above her, so she didn’t worry about being seen.  Not that she would worry over that anyhow.  She was ready.  

Another week, and she had made it through the tunnel of dragon cultists, and was more than eager to face them all.  She watched as the black dragons soared overhead, swooping down to find meat whenever the mood suited them.  There was a pattern, she noticed.  They followed a feeding schedule, landing in a clearing ahead to eat and rest.  Perfect.

Maybe with a dragon under her belt, they’d take her seriously?  Maybe they’d see she wasn’t such a silly girl with a big knife?

But who was she really trying to prove it all to?  Her brothers?  Herself?  The latter, most likely.  

Standing behind a tree, she took a deep breath.  Maybe she was just trying to prove to herself she could do it.  Did it really matter?  No- as long as she tried.  

One of the black dragons was resting in the clearing now.  Sated and snoring.  As quietly as she could, Detaine made her way to a large boulder in the middle of the meadow.  Scrambling a bit- it’s not easy to climb in armor- especially with a six-foot broadsword on your back- she reached the flattened top of the rock.

Steeling herself, she planted her feet wide, and drew her sword, ready to face the dragon.

--

The dragon woke almost immediately.  And stood up.  

The young paladin’s courage faltered a bit, the point of her sword began to droop as she looked up.  Why had she wanted to do this?  

But before the sword reached the ground, Detaine shook herself and tightened her grip, raising it defiantly.  She –would- do this.  It was too late to back out anyhow.  It had seen her.

The dragon blinked, looking down its snout at the small armored figure on the rock.  Bare-headed, the girl’s auburn hair glowed like flame in the afternoon sun.

She wasn’t certain what to expect as the dragon watched her, sizing her up, but laughter was not on the list.  A rumbling chuckle shook the ground.  “What do you think you are?”  It sniffed lightly, a thin stream of smoke wafting from its nostrils.  “Little girl- go home, play with your dolls.  You are nothing compared to me. Not even worth the trouble of roasting.”

Anger took the place of fear as Detaine stood her ground.  “Don’t judge me, beast.  I’m no little girl.  I am a paladin, here to stop your destruction.”  Her eyes narrowed, raising the sword higher.  “You should fear me.”

The laugh resounded again.  “Fear you?  An insignificant bug?  I am beyond you, whelp.”  The creature stood tall, stretching out its neck and spreading it wings.

Balancing the sword in one hand, the girl smoothly drew a dagger from her belt and flung it at the dragon, finding a small chink in the beast’s armor.  With a roar, fire spewed across the clearing, igniting several trees.  “Why you…”  

The beast lunged at the girl, who barely moved from the reach of the snapping jaws in time, bringing her sword down on the dragon’s head.  A few scales were damaged, but nothing beyond a bruise for the beast.  

A game of cat and mouse ensued, the dragon making swipes at the girl, the paladin dodging, running, and spinning.  She’d fallen off the rock, denting much of her armor.  Between the exertion and the heat, eventually her strength began to wane.  A claw found purchase through a boot, and the tail had sent her sprawling more than once.  

All the while, the beast taunted her.  “Give up and I’ll let you run home.  Quit now, and you can leave in –mostly- one piece.  You cannot best me, little girl.”  

She pressed herself against the rock once more, trying to keep from the reach of flame.  The dragon was bleeding from many wounds- she had made several good hits.  But it just wasn’t enough.  It felt as if the only thing keeping her upright was her armor- what was left of it.  But she couldn’t give up.  She would not fail.

--

Breathing hard, the girl narrowed her eyes.  “I will do this.”  The words came out in a low hiss.  “No matter what, I will do this.”

What was it the dwarven girl had told her about the dragons?  “Ye be havin’ a wee advantage, lass.  Nae as much as I, but bein a might smaller do help- ye can get undeh the beastie simpler, see?  Dey do look nigh unpokable, but undehneath, they’s big softies.  Still no easy, but a wee more likely.”

Under… easy enough- Detaine feels like she’s about ready to fall over anyhow.

Still rumbling, the dragon paces heavily over the rock, glaring down at her.  “You think you’re a paladin, girl?  You ought to be on your knees praying something protects you!”

A paladin… she is… well, was trained as one, at least.  Detaine bit her lip.  How long has it been since she really called to the Light? How long since she began believing more in the strength of her arm and skill with the blade, than in that which gave her strength?

Trying to keep from shaking, Detaine lowered herself to her knees, broadsword held before her in clasped hands.  For the first time in…she didn’t know how long, she did pray.

The dragon howled with laughter, descending on the girl- and bounced off.  

Blinking, Detaine looked up to see the dragon shaking its great head in dismay.  The world looked shimmery- as if in the desert heat.  What could…?  After all this time, she was protected still.

Now even more furious, the dragon lunged at the paladin, scraping its claws against the protective shield. Hope was rekindled in the girl’s heart, and she gripped the sword with determination.  

After a moment, the shield died away.  Claws found purchase on her armor, peeling it away, and leaving great gashes behind on her leg, arm, and side.  

Struggling, but persistent, she clawed her way to her knees and swung the broadsword over her head with a shriek.

It worked.  

The blade sliced neatly through the beast’s belly, causing it to roar in agony as it toppled over, dousing Detaine in its vital fluids.  She pulled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on her sword.  Wearily, she dodged the dragon’s limbs as they ceased to move, and climbed back onto the rock.

“I did it.”  She breathed, and smiled slightly.  “In the Light, I did it.”

Then all went black.

 

Detaine blinked as she awoke.  The sky was red.  For a minute, she laid there, trying to decide if it was her eyesight going, or if she were somewhere other than where she was last.  Finally, she realized it was only the colors of evening spreading across the horizon.    

Where was she, anyhow?  She could feel her armor falling apart as she moved, and pain shooting through every limb.  Steam rose nearby.  Right.  The dragon- its corpse still putting off heat in the cooling air.

Carefully, the paladin sat up and looked herself over.  Most of her armor was now useless.  With some difficulty, she managed to pull off the bent and sundered metal, and lay it aside.  It wouldn’t even do for scraps now, so may as well leave it for someone else.  

Detaine was glad she’d worn the heavier leather underneath, but even that was well-shredded.  Decent, at least, though not much protection.  It would have to do for now.

She reached for her sword, pulling it close.  A torn scrap of cloth was enough to wipe it down somewhat, but it would need sharpening.  With a grunt, she planted the point in the ground and tried to stand.  Wincing, she found her right arm wasn’t working quite right, and dropped down to her knees again.

For several minutes, Detaine sat, head down, hands in her lap.  If only she’d worked more on healing.  Too late now.  She’d have to work on that later.

Breathing hard through her nose, she stood, pulling the sword from the ground and swinging it behind her back with her left.  After three tries, she sighed as it snapped into place.  Biting her lip, she scrambled back down the rock, tripping and landing hard on the ground.  How had she gotten back up there in the first place?  

Chewing her lip, she got back to her feet.  A discarded spear lay nearby.  It was far larger than her, and adorned with singed feathers.  After staring at it a few minutes, Detaine reached down and picked it up.  It was surprisingly light, and would make a good walking stick.  Or defense, if need be.

One last look at the dragon, a long sigh, then she started off again.

 

Detaine had not gone far before pulling herself up short.  “Wait a minute… how can I prove this?”  She turned and hobbled back to the dragon’s corpse, chewing her lip in thought.  “Only one way, I suppose.”

But how to do it?  Poking around the area unearthed the remains and last possessions of several who had come up against the beast before.  The girl felt sorry for them.  Most had likely come as she had- trying to prove their strength- and failed.  She knew it was only by the grace of the light she still lived.

 

The random stuff folks carried in their packs amazed her, but then again, not everything in her own bags would have made sense to anyone else.

 

A few things looked useful at least.  Using the spear and her feet, she dragged and pulled some things into a pile- closer to the cooling head.

  

A huge axe- probably having belonged to a draenei or an orc- but the handle was broken off- much closer to Detaine’s size.  She knew that hacking one-handed at the dragon’s neck would take a while- and all the longer with her broadsword.  And axe should do the trick.

 

Rope. Several lengths of it- tied together it would be several yards.  And… a sail… At least that’s what it seemed to be.  One pack unfolded and unfolded until it was a large piece of cloth- rough, yet sturdy.  Perfect.

 

It took several tries, and more than an hour, but finally the young paladin had managed to sever the dragon’s head and maneuver it onto the sail.  Another hour found the head wrapped and tied to a length of rope.

 

Auburn hair hung dark against the girl’s face and neck as she sat to catch her breath.  She knew she couldn’t pause long.  The strength granted by the Light was fading with the sunset, and she needed to be far from here before even considering rest.  The pain in her right arm had been excruciating, but now it was numb- her fingers felt cold.  

 

All the more reason to move on.

 

Carefully she secured it around her waist and took a deep breath.  The spear was even more useful now, helping her pull both her tired legs, and her trophy along.  It would take hours to reach safety at this pace- but she would do it- and it would be worth it.

 

She hoped.

 

Remembering healing

 

Dragging the dragon’s head was slow going.  Even had Detaine not been injured, it would have taken extra time to transport it by foot.  At least she had the length of spear she’d picked up to help drag each step forward.  She had to keep moving lest she fall over.

 

Sheer will and determination kept the young paladin going now.  She would make it to the Cenarion outpost- eventually.  And there she could beg for healing.

 

Healing… stubbornness and pride had kept her from learning much before.  She had believed she would win, or she would fail- and had not thought much of failing.  But now she’s looked into the jaws of certain death.. now it is time.  How many times before had someone else had to save her with their skill- she had even helped with her own determined, yet untutored attempts at healing.

As she trudged along, she remembered.

 

Naol had been impatient to begin his training as a healer.  All knew that eventually he would be trained in combat, but his true passion was in healing.  His brothers and sister gave him so many opportunities to practice.  Especially ‘Taine.  Alain could bully his way through most anything, and seldom came away from a confrontation with more than a bruise.  (Even a confrontation with a tree.)  Ardan was nimble.  He had a talent for evading anything that may touch him.  He tripped once in a while, but generally tumbled out of it easily with only minor scrapes.  

Detaine, though… she ran into things head first, not thinking of danger or consequences.  Scraped knees, black eyes, twisted ankles, and even broken arms.  Naol would look up from his books to find his sister standing in the doorway, one auburn braid undone, face caked with mud, and blood running down her arm.

“What was it this time?”  A small voice answered, “a tree.”  “Of course,” he muttered, looking at the leaves and twigs stuck to her dress- not to mention the mashed apple under the heel of her boot. Naol knelt beside the girl, brushing aside the dirt to inspect her wounds.  Her right arm was covered in scratches, as well as her left leg.  Sighing, the brother shook his head.  “Aw, Tiny, why do you do this?  I should tell Da..”

The girl’s head snapped up, fire churning in her green eyes.  She practically snarled.  “Don’t call me Tiny!”  Naol winced, laying a healing hand on her shoulder, and keeping it there despite her attempts to shrug him off.  “Sorry, ‘Taine.  I know you’re a strong girl, but sometimes you need to be careful.”  Huffing, she pulled on her hair, violently pulling apart the braid and re-plaiting it.  “Whatever.  I can take it.”

It hadn’t surprised Detaine to find that her middle brother, Naol, was one of the most well-respected field medics in the order before retiring to take over the family orchard.  By now, he was likely tending his own children’s scrapes…

--

And Aeryck.  Aeryck was so much like Naol, it was so natural to look up to him just like her brothers.  He even taught her with a bit more patience.  And she did try it.

 

They had been travelling for a week.  Helping out where they could, the girl hanging on the few words the more experienced paladin said.  She knew she’d never be able to carry herself with the nobility Aeryck did, or have the same unbroken patience.

 

Even when she’d jumped into a battle when he’d ask her to wait, even when she came back bruised and bloodied from what had begun as a simple task, he never raised his voice at his protégé.  There was no doubt of his strength, but the blacksmith’s hand could be gentle too.  

 

He wielded his sword in one hand- one he made himself that seemed an extension of his arm.  But in the other was healing.   Both skillful and effective, without hardly a breath in between.  Detaine, however, kept both hands firmly on the hilt of her broadsword.  He had made that one too, after all.

 

“Skill in healing is just as important as skill with the blade,” he told her while taking care of a slice on her leg.  “If you can heal yourself, you can fight longer- protect your allies- and yourself.”

 

Detaine had listened… a little.

 

She had used some of what Aeryck had taught her.  Especially with… them.  That couple she couldn’t forget no matter how she tried.  Not nearly so easily dismissed as they had done to her.  

 

“Dance with me, Etta,” he would ask, and she would grin eagerly.  And dance they did, back to back on the field of battle, spinning, ducking, moving together to conquer their foes.  She could feel him at her side, behind her.  Detaine could feel when her friend was hurting- when he started to lose his energy.  And at that time she would pause and reach out to heal him.  The warrior was grateful, but chided her often for leaving herself vulnerable to help him.

 

But she would not have done it any other way.  For the first time, someone had seen her as a fighter- a strong and intelligent woman, and not a short little farm girl.  It thrilled her to be with this strange man, to fight beside him, and she began to wonder if there was more there than mere friendship.  It was something she’d never experienced, and would gladly have taken the blows in order to keep him safe.

 

And at the same time, there was the priestess.  A young and timid girl whose past had almost as many questions.  She looked up to Detaine.  It made her feel so much taller just to walk beside the dark-haired girl, putting herself between the priestess and danger.  And when danger did present itself, Detaine knew that she would be well-protected by the huddled figure in the shadows.  She began to think of the girl as a younger sister- someone to protect and guide.  Her warrior friend agreed.

 

The two went together well.  It had not surprised Detaine overmuch when she found they had become a couple.  Likely married soon after.  For all the paladin had thought she was appreciated and admired the way she was, he still went for the shy, ladylike priestess, and she in turn doted on the warrior’s strength.  They had no more need or use for Detaine, and soon she no longer heard from them.

 

Detaine wrinkled her nose.  She had no need or use for anyone who couldn’t respect or appreciate her.  She did just fine on her own.  The back of her hand wiped away a stray tear.

Darn those campfires and their smoke.

 

Pride

 

“Would they be proud?”  It echoes in Detaine’s mind over and over as she nears the Cenarion outpost.   Not the druids themselves, most likely.  Most would balk at the fact she killed the beast, some may even weep over the grizzly carcass that she dragged behind her.  

 

But that mattered little.  They would know she had done it.  And hopefully at least let her heal before barring her from the camp.  Sure, she loved and respected the trees, but she felt rather out of place there.  Eyes following the blade at her back led to hateful stares and fearful shudders.  She had told one, “At least it’s not an axe…”  She hoped to dispel the anxiety, but instead, the druid shrieked, dropped into feline form and sprinted away.

 

Truthfully, she had wielded an axe before- even helping to fell trees.  It wasn’t something that she enjoyed doing, but she knew the necessity of it.  Sometimes a diseased tree had to be removed for the good of the orchard.  A choking vine needed to be killed in order for the trees to grow stronger.  The evils of the world needed to be removed to give the good room to thrive.  And force, not peaceful negotiation, worked most often.

 

A dragon had to be slain in order for the trees to grow, for creatures to live.  Death is part of life, but the innocents need not be harmed when the evil can be quelled.  If it needed to be her axe- her sword- so be it.

 

Aeryck likely understood this.  It wasn’t that the blacksmith wanted to fight- he just did.  He knew it needed to be done, though he’d far rather ply his hammer on the anvil than his sword on a dragon.  Would he be proud of her?  Likely not.  Feats and accomplishments didn’t really impress him.  He would likely just nod and tell her he’s proud of her no matter what- pat her on the head like any good big brother, and try to teach her something..

 

Her other brothers?  Would they be proud?   

 

Diedrich, he would be.  He’d laugh, pat her on the back, then launch into a story of how he brought one down even larger- with one hand tied behind his back and a blindfold, most likely. With a wink he’d tell Detaine that hers was a good start, then challenge her to another duel.  He did it to test her- to teach her, but it still made her uncomfortable- no matter how much Frelle said she’d fix him if the girl missed.  

 

Aelain?  Maybe.  Though likely it would be on the order of being able to say, “Even my little sister- the runt of the family- has taken down a full-grown dragon.”  It would add to the glory of the family, and the bolstering of his own reputation.  He’d want the head for his own wall.

 

Naol?  No.  He would tell her over and over how foolish she was to risk such a thing, how she needed far more training- especially in healing- before even considering taking on a dragon.  Even then she should not go alone.  And perhaps now she’d learned something and would come back to the orchard where she belonged.

 

Fat chance.

 

Both would call her reckless.  Even go as far as to liken her to Ardan.  Both of then considered his actions on the field heroic, but rash.  Naol ranted often how foolhardy their youngest brother had been- admonishing ‘Taine toward wisdom.  The healer whished he’d been closer, been able to shield his brother, but he ran out of reach.  Aelain regarded Ardan as a hero, but whished he’d been closer as well- to protect him and bring him back.  In secret though, Aelain regarded the act as a cry for glory and attention beyond his brothers, and prayed their sister would not try anything equally as bold.

 

Ardan.  The thought made her pause.  Would he be proud?  As she continued walking, she focused on the torchlights in the distance.  Yes, he probably would.  Scold her jokingly for being as rash as himself, but say he was glad she survived.   Probably say he’d go with her next time.

 

Next time.   She wished he could.  For years she’s half-felt him watching over her shoulder, thinking at any minute he would appear beside her.  She felt eyes now, but they were not the watchful eyes of her brother.  Unseen he had been, and unseen now forever.  Maybe if she’d been able to go with him, she could have helped… But he’d likely been as bold as always- invincible at least in his own mind.  Not so different from her at all.

 

The young paladin choked back a sob.  Fatigue, pain, and regret all fought to overtake her.  As she passed into the circle of light emanating from the druid camp, she whispered, “be proud of me, brother,” and fainted.

 

 

 

She woke to the brightness of the noonday sun coming through a high window.  Blinking, she looked around cautiously.  She was definitely in Evergrove- vines hung from the elven walls even on the inside.  A small building, but curtains hung around the bed where the paladin lay.  Moving slightly, she was glad for the extra privacy.  The remains of her armor and clothes had been pulled off while she slept.  She now wore a light white robe.

On the other side of the curtain- perhaps even at the door, voices were raised.  

 

“Blackscale?!  Blackscale?  Are you sure?”  “We found the headless corpse, and remains of several of our own who had gone after the beast.” 

 “And this little slip?  She couldn’t have been alone?”  “Looks like it.” 

 “Impossible.  More likely she was squire to the knight who did the deed- hid until the fight was done and brought the head.”  “And her injuries?”  “Most likely from tripping in the dark along the way.  She obviously wasn’t skilled enough to heal herself.”

 

Detaine closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying not to scream, but the action brought a convulsion of pain from her right arm. She could barely move her fingers without it hurting.  The arm was wrapped tightly, as well as other injuries in places she didn’t know she’d been hurt.  But then again, she’d been lashed all over- it was hard to tell what the real injuries were covered in mud and such. She tried to hold it back, but a squeal of pain did escape her lips.

 

The voices outside stopped.  “She’s awake…”  Soft footfalls were heard, and the curtain parted.  A young draenei woman smiled softly as she looked down on the girl.  “Ah, our dragonslayer has woken.  How do you feel, little one?” 

 

The girl tried to make light of how hard it was to move, attempting to sit up, but the healer gently eased her back down.  “Just rest.  Seems that you should deserve some.”  Detaine smirked.  “Aw, I’m fine.”  Laughing, the draenei shook her head.  “Not quite yet, you aren’t.  But worry not- you’ll be back to swinging that massive blade of yours before long.” She nodded to the corner of the room where the broadsword was propped up.  It was still filthy.

 

“It… it needs to be cleaned…” the paladin bit her lip.  “It does, but not until after it has been … examined.”

 

“Examined?!”  Detaine’s eyes went wide, trying once again to sit up, pulling herself up with her right arm, then collapsing back onto the bed, whimpering.  The healer sighed and nodded, helping the girl again.  “I’m going to have to tie you down, am I not?” She chuckled.  “Yes- they want to be certain what it killed last.  Whether or not it was indeed Blackscale.”

 

Closing her eyes, she grumbled.  “Of course.  I heard. Should have known no one would believe me.”

The other woman patted her hand.  “Don’t worry.  I do.”

--

Anyone who truly dances with the blade will tell you a sword has a soul.  For one who lives by the sword, it is an extension of their own arm.  That’s why most name their blades- something that has a soul needs a name to be identified with.  

 

Detaine hadn’t named this one yet.  She’d had it for a couple years, but never truly settled on a name.  As they took it from the room, she felt like they were taking part of her away, and she didn’t even know its name.  And wasn’t sure if she’d see it again.  How does someone ‘examine’ a sword?

 

Just outside the camp, the shaman cleared a space on the ground around the sword.  Everything created has a soul- a memory.  The metal was once rock, it lived and flowed beneath the ground once.  He knew this, and called to the stone, laying his hands on the bare earth beside the blade.

 

A crowd had gathered along the hill to watch, as the sword’s memory became visible.  An image of the forge floated above it, flames flickering on the metal.  The hammer wielded by the auburn-haired blacksmith carried showers of sparks, and impressions of heat and pain, only to be soothed by the blessed water of a moonwell.

 

The sword remembered being given to the girl.  It felt… disappointed.  How would one so small wield it properly- bring it honor?  She had hugged the blacksmith, then scampered off, eager to prove herself.  The blade was surprised- impressed even- at the way she danced with it- hewing down rows of scourge.  This one was truly the swordswoman it was made for.  They would go far.

 

And they had gone far- travelled far and wide- new quests, new foes.  Honor did not come, but still it knew this girl was no ordinary swordswoman.  Reckless and eager to prove herself, but always pulling through.  The dragonling that would perch on its pommel was an annoyance, but on her back, it was proud.

 

The dragon- the big one.  Why did she try that?  It was beyond her, but her blade wouldn’t falter.  The watchers saw the fight in the images the shaman brought forth.  Some winced and walked away, others commentated on the girl’s form- or lack thereof- though some few watched to the bitter end.  She survived- thanks to The Light- somehow.  The sword didn’t understand.  Her arms had become weaker, the swings slower, less controlled, but still the dragon fell.  They had done it.

 

And now they were separated, and it worried.  Had it all been for naught?

 

The vision faded as the shaman sat back and closed his eyes.  “It is proven.  However unlikely it seems, the girl is a swordswoman of uncommon skill and tenacity.  And this blade, in her hand, did indeed slay Blackscale.”

 

Detaine opened her eyes again, hearing movement.  Her sword was propped beside the cot- polished and sharpened.  A tauren stood in the doorway, smiling slightly.  “The sword is undoubtedly yours, dragonslayer,”  he rumbled.  “It carries memory and soul that will protect you even beyond the sharpness of the blade.”  Bowing his head, he turned and left.

 

The paladin turned to look at the steel beside her.  “Caraid- my friend.”