As 1st Lieutenant in the King’s Dragoons, Vokul Korshim was widely accepted as a great and honorable fighter. This could be attributed to his Brass ancestry as a Dragonborn, as well as being a soldier since the age of 8. Because of this, combat has shaped him into the six foot tall 285 pound fighter that he is today. His fellow Dragonborn have followed him into battle countless times and he has always emerged victorious. This made Vokul think that he could not be bested in combat, which turned out to be a fatal mistake for him and his soldiers.
A simple mission is always a great thing isn’t it? That’s what Vokul thought when they were sent to destroy a bandit camp that had been raiding the town of Mirilav. These bandits had been reported to have been raiding the town week after week, but never taking anything. “Interesting,” Vokul thought, “usually these bandits would take anything that isn’t nailed down. No matter. My Dragoons and I will bring them to justice, whether it be in shackles or by the edge of a sword.”
Once he arrived at Mirilav with the rest of the Dragoons, Vokul had sent some troops to scout the surrounding area while he spoke to the Mayor. The Mayor was in shock as was the rest of the town, why hadn’t these bandits taken anything? The bandits would burst in the town, with mysterious black robed figures behind them. These figures had no other features other than a red circle on their back, with a line drawn down the middle. They would order the bandits to grab the townspeople, and would examine them almost as if they were looking for someone. “I have no idea what language they spoke but,” said the Mayor as he was interrupted by one of Vokul’s soldiers bursting through the door to the Mayors room. “They have captured most of our forces Vokul!” the Dragonborn said, while clutching his side, which was devoid of scales. “What happened to you? Why are you clutching your side?” Vokul asked. Before the soldier could answer, he was engulfed in a bright flash of red and fell to the ground, but as a human. Standing behind him were the robed men, one of them holding an orb that had sucked the draconic essence out of the Dragonborn soldier. Angered, Vokul charged forth, hacked the figure in two, and proceeded to slaughter the remaining enemies. One of the bandits sneaked behind him however, and drove a poisoned dagger into his side. Vokul began to stagger, and then fell, unconscious.
* * *
Vokul awoke in a forest glade, naked, bleeding and feeling terrible. Struggling, he tried to remember what had happened. The details were slow to come back, and to his horror, he did not remember much more than scattered imagery of an orb, a flash of red light, his friend falling before him, blood, anger, and then, pain.
After heading East for several slow and painful hours, by his reckoning, Vokul came upon a village. Laughing at his nakedness, the layabouts looked on as a kindly old woman brought him a pair of trousers to put on. She then led him back to her humble, thatch-roofed cottage, where she inquired as to what had troubled him such that he came here in this manner. He explained as best he could, but he just could not remember anything. As he rambled on, the old woman puttered about the kitchen, boiling water on the pot-bellied stove, adding a variety of herbs and spices to make a tea. With a fancy flourish, she laid a cup and saucer before him and said, “Drink up dear. Here, let me take a look at that wound… It looks like you’ve seen the sharp end of a sword a lot, some sort of fighter are ye?” Puttering around again, she assembled something in a bowl that smelled horrible. Vokul hoped he wouldn’t have to eat it. “Here dear, let me put this poultice on your wound, it will help to draw out the poisons and rot that are in there. As she applied the foul mixture to his wound, she said kindly, “There’s a cot in the back for ye to rest upon. Take a nap to let this medicine work its magic. I’ll be back shortly.” Then she picked up a basket and went out the front door.
Vokul stood up, and immediately regretted it. His head was swimming and his side was hurting. He tottered on wobbly legs into the back room and just about fell into the cot. Within moments, he was sound asleep.
* * *
Vokul dreamed. Of meadows and sunrise, of maidens and kisses. Then a giant figure in black robes, a red circle for a face, smashed his dreams to smithereens. It conjured an orb into its hands that seemed to be sucking the whole universe into endless darkness. Red flashes of lightning pierced the darkness. The sky turned blood red and poured into the orb. Then he started falling, and falling, and falling…
With a start, he awoke to the old woman’s touch. “Ah, the great beast awakes,” she smiled. “You had me worried there for a few days, but you took the gruel well enough, even though you would not rouse.” “A few days? How long have I been asleep?”
“Nigh on a 10-day, I should think,” she replied. “I found you some clothes, some armor and a sword while you slept. I think they’ll more-or-less fit ya. Ye bein’ a large fellow an all. I imagine you’ll be wantin’ those before you leave.”
For some reason, Vokul found himself dressing, suiting up, and strapping on the sword belt; then sitting in the old woman’s kitchen and eating a feast fit for a king, thanking the old woman then departing toward the west, hoping to find out who and what he was and what had happened to him. After a few days journey, he came upon the town of Greenest, where he took a room at the Inn on the Green.
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