Jespora

I have few memories of life before the humans. I know I had a mother that loved me. I know I had clan mates who helped care for me and the other children. I remember bringing my mother a pretty clear pink stone I had found and was so sure it was valuable treasure and ever so special. My mother put the stone atop a ledge so all the clan could admire it.

I remember the cries and roars, the smell of smoke, the sight of my people being slaughtered, one by one. I remember hiding under that ledge, clutching my precious pink stone, praying to Bahamut that this be a terrible dream.

The hand around my ankle, pulling me from my safe space. Crude laughing, prodding with the sharp claws that the humans called “swords,” the distaste for me obvious... those things I remember, too.

The rough hands snatched my stone from me. The humans were suddenly excited. An equally rough voice demanded to know where this had come from. I told them they were plentiful if you only knew where to look. I knew where to look. I was so proud of that capability. I had not earned the nickname “Stoneseeker” by simply existing, after all.

A length of rope became an impromptu ornament around my neck. It became replaced with a leather band that held a heavy loop with a chain for my captors to ensure I was never lost to them while I searched for more of those pink stones.

I found blues, greens, and reds. Blazing orange, deep purples, even stones that held fires inside.

I never found another pink stone.

The years went by in a repetitive fashion. Me finding stones, and receiving my allotment of food for the day. Me not finding stones, and receiving beatings. Those days came more often than not.

I learned early that if I tried to run, it did not matter how far. I was always found and retribution was terrible. I stopped trying to run, and the humans grew lax, letting me forage without supervision.

One morning, searching a new place, not expecting to find anything of importance, I found a snug little dwelling, and inside was another Dragonborn. Finally! Someone like me!

She knew little of what happened to my clan. Stories and rumors spread far and wide, but it all conflicted. I told her what I remembered, but it was the most truth of the matter she had ever heard. Sadly, the name of my clan had been forgotten, so I was left still nameless beyond my given name.

Upon hearing how I escaped she studied me pensively. After a while, we shared a meal, and she began to tell me more of Bahamut, and His works. I came to believe that I had a purpose for being spared, and that I could use that life to serve He who had saved me. The hermit told me to come back and she would teach me what she could about being a cleric in Bahamut’s service.

Despite knowing that coming back to the humans empty handed meant punishment and lack of food, I had the comfort of a meal with my new friend Lilorish. The beatings were easier to take on a full stomach. Knowing I was strengthening both my body and mind helped as well.
I discovered with a little practice that I could produce sparks from my throat, and with more practice, I could direct them a few feet in front of me.

On one trip to the human town, I discovered that those stones were indeed valuable. Very valuable.

Bahamut came to me in a dream. It would be sacrilegious to record his words, but his intent was clear: I had to get away. It did not matter how, but I had to get away. When Lilorish heard of this sending, she agreed. She had taught me all she could, and it was time for me to go forth on my own. Her embrace of farewell, that touch of kindness, stays with me to this day.

The trip to Hardholme was my plan. The humans could not follow. All I had to do was find a way to pay for passage and ensure I won the lottery.

The last day before the trip, Bahamut guided me to three flawless trapped fire stones. I carefully wedged one behind each of my head spines. They dug into my skin, but no matter. The humans never checked me over; they were certain I was sufficiently broken, I was certain I would not be discovered. They were wrong. I was not.

That night, I prayed again for guidance, courage, direction, and intervention. Bahamut provided: the lock that held my chained collar to the wall had not been clasped properly and came open with a simple tug. I carefully looped the chain around my neck to prevent the rattling giving me away.

Perhaps I was too bold, but while I was rifling through my keeper’s belongings, looking for stones or the pieces of metal the humans received in return for my discoveries, he woke.

He grabbed my top horn and yanked me backwards and around. The studded and spiked strap, that instrument of punishment, was predictably raised high to strike. Instead of cowering and hiding my face, I leaped at him, knocking him prone, with my entire weight atop him and my tail wrapped around his wrist to prevent him using it. His curses and epithets rang out, but it was one in particular that enraged me beyond belief:

“Shoulda killed you with the rest of your vile demon kin. You oughtta thank me for taking your hide in, you worthless piece of shit.” He spit in my face.

I spit in his. It was an electrifying event.

I do not regret my actions.

That morning, I took what valuables I could find and headed to the city. I used the keys to unlock the collar. I removed the chain, but left the leather in hopes that the humans would not look closely and find something amiss and raise the alarm.

The final thing I found, tucked away deep in the corner of a drawer, was the pink stone. This was the last piece of my clan, and I would not lose it again.

There was still time before the transport left, but the humans in charge were there. I located the human in charge of the lottery, and offered him one of my hidden stones with the suggestion that I knew where to find more, and would happily share that information, and look! Should I get a place on the transport, I would be leaving behind the only person who knew of where they were to be found.

Greed is a motivator for humans. I watched him pull one name from the packet of yet to be announced chosen, scribble my name on another slip, tuck it in the middle of the stack, and he sealed it. He pushed a matching ticket across the counter to me. Moments later, another human came and took the packet away for announcement. As promised, I gave him the stone and directions.

He would not find any stones in the middle of the bog. I do not regret this action either.

I used my last few minutes to trade another of my hidden stones for metal pieces, and I traded those for a change of clothes that fit and were finer than anything else I could remember owning. It was my cloak I was most pleased with — soft and full, with a large hood and little pockets inside. More money was spent on other things such as a bedroll, paper, and writing implements shaped for my hand. I could read some, but had never learned to write. Now was as good a time as any to learn.

I passed an artisan weaving fibers together, and was transfixed. I had no time now to learn, but I would while traveling. On a whim, I bought fibers and needles to teach myself how to create such things.

I was the last person in line to board, and I hesitated to walk up the ramp. The humans encouraged me to hurry up, they had a strict schedule to follow. I heard a shout from behind, and when I turned, I saw one of the humans that had initially gone with me on my searches. He knew something was wrong. He had seen me. I froze in fear and stared at him as he approached, seeing my chance slipping through my grasp.

One of the humans on the ramp yanked my cloak from behind and pushed me through the door. I stood there as it was closing and watched in satisfaction as it lifted too high for anyone else to board. I smiled at that human and gave him a final gesture I had learned from the humans as the door slammed shut.
I do not think you would call it a wave. Perhaps a salute? I had seen humans use their hands to gesture with their fingers in respect for the leaders of their military, but this was no such thing.

I went to the designated room to strap myself into the last available seat. I was sandwiched in between a Tiefling and a Gnome. The Tiefling looks excited and was chattering away happily to the person to her left. The Gnome was hunched over, eyes closed and muttering to himself. The others talked amongst themselves, exchanging names and pleasantries. The feeling in the air was one of excitement, but for me, it was hope.