The Legend of Domard

In an ancient Kingdom, in the days when dragons roamed free, the great king Domard the Accursed ruled with his three sons; Miro, Mila, and Miljan. He sat atop his throne enjoying the spoils of his serfs when two sons returned after months of new conquests, heads heavy and bad tidings in their hands. They brought the blackened armor of the eldest, Miro, and his charred bones bound in burlap. The sons told their father of a great beast that descended from the clouds, spitting hellfire that turned the nearby countryside to char. Good Domard laid his eldest to rest and rallied his folk. The brave men of his kingdom were swift to follow behind the death of Domard’s kin and marched with him upon the mountainous north. Domard, clad in the charred plate of his eldest, marched into the many dragons’ haunts and barrows, slaughtering them where they slept. The greatest dragon of them all Bryndrisded the Swift, heard tell of the vengeful king and his conquest. Powerful Bryndrisded sat alone in his barrow, waiting to meet the king in honorable combat. Years he waited, while Domard purged his lands of dragons until quiet Bryndrisded who once was applauded by his brothers for the speed of his wings sat alone in a country ruled by angry men. Finally, after years of slaughter, the King and his men found the barrow of Bryndrisded. Alone, Domard ventured, ordering his men and his two sons to linger while Domard dealt this final blow in Miro’s name. But Mila, hungry for bloody honor, charged into a blast of flame directed at his father. Domard, through tearful eyes, plunged his blade deep into the heart of the beast that had slain his second son. Bryndrisded, mortally wounded, called out to the man who had dealt his final blow, and cursed Domard to become the ravenous beast he believed dragons to be with his final breath. Domard, still furious, cut off the dragon’s head. Domard returned home now with one son, the head of a great beast, and the bones of his poor Mila. At home, he mounted the skull of the creature that killed his second son and laid his boy to rest.

As night fell, Domard could not sleep, stricken so with grief as he was. As morning came, he could not eat, the sight of his dead son still fresh in his mind. As night came again, he cut his lip on the tip of his own tooth; he did not remember his canines to be so sharp. Morning, again. He grew hungry but could not eat. As night came again, he walked upon his grounds. Domard approached a poor man on the street, the only man outside at this hour, and descended upon him. The good king Domard feasted on his flesh, ravenously so. The flesh of one man was not enough, and for the entire night, Domard remained in the town behind his walls, feasting. Home he returned, covered in blood, and rested for three days. In that time, Domard’s only remaining son, Miljan, was informed of the corpses discovered outside of the keep and the sorry state of his father who had returned in the early hours of the morning. Domard awoke on this day, now content, with no memory of the violent night. He entered his feasting hall, calling a celebration in honor of his second son’s sacrifice. There, Miljan confronted Domard, accusing him of the massacre of his own kingdom’s peoples. Miljan claimed his father was little more than a beast, no better than those they had spent previous years purging the land of, a monster in the eyes of Gods and men. Miljan took his father’s crown and expelled Domard from the kingdom, sparing his life out of a refusal to commit patricide. In the outskirts of the kingdom, Domard roamed, until his last days. He feasted on weary travelers, lone merchants, and children who strayed from their mothers. Those he did not kill shared his curse.

Credits to nut#0482/Madcapped for the Legend of Domard