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Draken's Wrath: The Burning of Tara
I look down from a distant hill, past the trees and roads spanning kilometers of the Tazuan continent to where an atrocity was occurring. I say vengeance is being wrought. Flying metal ships powered by magic are raining fire and arcane magic down upon the imperial capital: Tara. The armies of my nation under my command, ensuring the entire city is burning to the ground. Standing here on my perch, I can practically hear the slaughter in the streets. I smell the blood being spilled, the scent of flesh being ripped apart by magic. I see the rivers of blood and gore.
I have flown to this place where my own spelljammer waits to fly me away from Tara, victorious after my execution of the imperial family and every noble that dared to remain within their court. There was no mercy; every man and woman within that palace was meeting their fate at my hands, and those of my most trusted warriors. My blade is still stained with their blood as magic courses through my being.
My grip on my blade’s hilt tightens, rage flowing through me. However, this anger wasn’t directed at the Taradellian Empire or any of its inhabitants. I’m angry at myself for my carelessness. My mistake led to this point, where even now I know that the world will see this moment as an atrocity. My people, however, shall see this as a moment of vengeance. The bloody swath that I have cut through the Taradell Empire, leaving no city or town spared as I led the armies of Dracksikar to this moment. Taradell had been crumbling for years now, and had continued to lash out at my people. I, with the support of the other Elders, complacently allowed the Taradellian empire to sink their teeth into the Salac Clan, the Draconians, Kutishians, Visperi and our nation of Dracksikar.
Taradell wasn’t prepared for us when we revealed the spelljammers: flying vessels powered by magic. I, along with several arcane scholars of Sallacuse, created the spelljammer helms that were powered instead by a spellcaster’s magic and the helm itself, rather than psionic energy as the Illithids use in their original design. Covered in metal armor, the ships were practically unstoppable by any Taradellian artillery, catching them off-guard and unable to mobilize a response. Thus, it was with ease that the clans of Dracksikar, under my leadership, tore through the body of the Taradell Empire.
It had taken us far too long to finally do something about the horrible, Gods-forsaken Taradell Empire however.
The Elders of Dracksikar had failed their people. I had failed my people. Taradell had been doing nothing but thrashing and hacking at us in their deranged, bigoted rage. Yet, in some deluded, foolish attempts at keeping peace, I and others had ignored the pleas of our other Elders and of many of those affected. Thus, we allowed the worst to happen: I was complacent, and allowed Taradell to get away with attack after attack. Repeated and relentless acts of Terror rained upon us until finally, they slipped through our defenses.
An entire town. Eighty thousand people. The deaths of thousands. It fell squarely on my fellow Elders and myself. We foolishly didn’t believe Taradell would dare attack us after being so brutally defeated in the First Imperial war three-hundred years ago. We seem to have forgotten that the leaders of the Taradellian Empire easily forget and have much shorter lifespans. The Emperor of Taradell was desperate, and willing to do anything to save his crumbling Empire. An empire crumbling from slave revolts and civil war. Typical human greed tearing themselves apart. We miscalculated how reckless, in his desperation, the emperor would be. We paid the price for it.
I remember hearing word of the attack, not believing it at first, and quickly leading a counterattack. But it was too late. The town had already been ransacked. How the Taradell Empire got there so suddenly, without any knowledge of this attack, I do not yet know. I have my suspicions, but they have yet to be confirmed. I arrived with my most elite warriors and mages to witness a massacre. The great temple to Bahamut within Daru, desecrated: the collapsed marble arches and gore-spattered floors were covered in the black powder of taradellian firearms; the platinum-plated statue of our great god, destroyed. The clerics and priests of every one of our gods nailed to trees outside the temples. Innocents lay dead. Children were mangled, beaten, those with wings had them torn off and left to lay in the streets, torn away from their mothers. Brave warriors, fighting to defend their home, were left gutted in the city center where they had their last stand to defend the Kutishian refugees, former Taradellian slaves, seeking shelter. The horror of those streets still haunt me. In my moment of horror, of weeping, I felt a new fury rise within me. An eruption of anger, hatred, and guilt all mixed into one. It was at that moment that I promised that I would make Taradell suffer for what they have done. The Elders and I could have prevented this but we didn’t. Routing the invaders was just the beginning.
It’s odd to think about how it happened only 3 months ago. It feels like it has been years, and I know it shall be longer still. The emperor’s death doesn’t mean the war is over; we must conquer the continent entirely and enforce order, lest another empire suddenly scramble up from the ashes. We will put kings and dukes and counts of the native ruling class into power and help rebuild, lest we trade one enemy for another. It will be long and brutal. The only satisfaction I have is that I burned the Imperial city to the ground. Vengeance has been served, so the people of Tara are of no matter now. Once I am done here, I will leave them to tear each other apart.
I will never make the mistake of complacency again. In my arrogance and pride, I failed my people. The burning of Tara is my message to them and the entire world. My people have cried out for vengeance. The survivors of the Empire will see us as monsters even more than they had prior. I don’t care. My people don’t care, they want Taradell and it’s inhabitants to feel a taste of the suffering they had caused through more than a century of slavery, mistreatment, and conflict.
The Kutishian’s pain of being forced from their homeland still lies within the minds of many of Dracksikar’s residents, especially those of clan Salac, where many Kutishian’s fled to. Even centuries later the Kutishians remember their bondage under the cruel and brutal reign of Taradell. Made to serve the rulers and suffer alongside the rest of the common folk of that empire. Forced to give their bodies to tyrants. Forced to forgo their native culture and take on that of Taradells own. They remember fleeing their persecution, crossing an ocean to Dracksikar. Having to leave their homes for a new one on a different continent. It was a failure of Dracksikar to allow such suffering for as long as it did. Even with all the work I have done on the underground railroad, freeing so many slaves and smuggling aid to those trapped within the empire. I realize now, it wasn’t enough. I could have... should have... done more.
No longer will any threat to Dracksikar - let alone the Salac Clan - be tolerated. The message has been burned into the very earth, big enough to be seen from the moon. Word of this assault will spread from city to city. Celebrations and feasts throughout the clans of Dracksikar to celebrate this victory. I will ensure every noble learns of this battle. If you dare even so much as threaten the people of Dracksikar, you shall suffer the same fate as Tara. Soon, the barren wasteland that is the only remnant of Tara shall be my first, and final warning.
This is a lovely painting done by
peyzazhik of Draken (I did the writing that has been added on) watching as the Imperial Captital of Tara is burned down by his forces. Those flying ships are Spelljammers, in this case, basically Ironclad ships that are powered by magic. Yes Spelljammers can fly in space. These one's cannot quite yet because they are the first generation. Soon enough there might be an image with Draken flying through Space. This story wouldn't be as good as it is without the great help of my snake friend Chris, who didn't want me to link him at all. He was practically my editor and greatly helped me refine my rough draft into the piece of work you can see right now. And of course, I had other friends who greatly helped me with my writing process as well.
Go check out peyzazhik for more artwork like this! He has a whole ych series of images like this, all of them great to be put as a desktop background like this one will be!
Oh, and fun addition, this is the opening scene of a DnD campaign I shall be running with friends.
I have flown to this place where my own spelljammer waits to fly me away from Tara, victorious after my execution of the imperial family and every noble that dared to remain within their court. There was no mercy; every man and woman within that palace was meeting their fate at my hands, and those of my most trusted warriors. My blade is still stained with their blood as magic courses through my being.
My grip on my blade’s hilt tightens, rage flowing through me. However, this anger wasn’t directed at the Taradellian Empire or any of its inhabitants. I’m angry at myself for my carelessness. My mistake led to this point, where even now I know that the world will see this moment as an atrocity. My people, however, shall see this as a moment of vengeance. The bloody swath that I have cut through the Taradell Empire, leaving no city or town spared as I led the armies of Dracksikar to this moment. Taradell had been crumbling for years now, and had continued to lash out at my people. I, with the support of the other Elders, complacently allowed the Taradellian empire to sink their teeth into the Salac Clan, the Draconians, Kutishians, Visperi and our nation of Dracksikar.
Taradell wasn’t prepared for us when we revealed the spelljammers: flying vessels powered by magic. I, along with several arcane scholars of Sallacuse, created the spelljammer helms that were powered instead by a spellcaster’s magic and the helm itself, rather than psionic energy as the Illithids use in their original design. Covered in metal armor, the ships were practically unstoppable by any Taradellian artillery, catching them off-guard and unable to mobilize a response. Thus, it was with ease that the clans of Dracksikar, under my leadership, tore through the body of the Taradell Empire.
It had taken us far too long to finally do something about the horrible, Gods-forsaken Taradell Empire however.
The Elders of Dracksikar had failed their people. I had failed my people. Taradell had been doing nothing but thrashing and hacking at us in their deranged, bigoted rage. Yet, in some deluded, foolish attempts at keeping peace, I and others had ignored the pleas of our other Elders and of many of those affected. Thus, we allowed the worst to happen: I was complacent, and allowed Taradell to get away with attack after attack. Repeated and relentless acts of Terror rained upon us until finally, they slipped through our defenses.
An entire town. Eighty thousand people. The deaths of thousands. It fell squarely on my fellow Elders and myself. We foolishly didn’t believe Taradell would dare attack us after being so brutally defeated in the First Imperial war three-hundred years ago. We seem to have forgotten that the leaders of the Taradellian Empire easily forget and have much shorter lifespans. The Emperor of Taradell was desperate, and willing to do anything to save his crumbling Empire. An empire crumbling from slave revolts and civil war. Typical human greed tearing themselves apart. We miscalculated how reckless, in his desperation, the emperor would be. We paid the price for it.
I remember hearing word of the attack, not believing it at first, and quickly leading a counterattack. But it was too late. The town had already been ransacked. How the Taradell Empire got there so suddenly, without any knowledge of this attack, I do not yet know. I have my suspicions, but they have yet to be confirmed. I arrived with my most elite warriors and mages to witness a massacre. The great temple to Bahamut within Daru, desecrated: the collapsed marble arches and gore-spattered floors were covered in the black powder of taradellian firearms; the platinum-plated statue of our great god, destroyed. The clerics and priests of every one of our gods nailed to trees outside the temples. Innocents lay dead. Children were mangled, beaten, those with wings had them torn off and left to lay in the streets, torn away from their mothers. Brave warriors, fighting to defend their home, were left gutted in the city center where they had their last stand to defend the Kutishian refugees, former Taradellian slaves, seeking shelter. The horror of those streets still haunt me. In my moment of horror, of weeping, I felt a new fury rise within me. An eruption of anger, hatred, and guilt all mixed into one. It was at that moment that I promised that I would make Taradell suffer for what they have done. The Elders and I could have prevented this but we didn’t. Routing the invaders was just the beginning.
It’s odd to think about how it happened only 3 months ago. It feels like it has been years, and I know it shall be longer still. The emperor’s death doesn’t mean the war is over; we must conquer the continent entirely and enforce order, lest another empire suddenly scramble up from the ashes. We will put kings and dukes and counts of the native ruling class into power and help rebuild, lest we trade one enemy for another. It will be long and brutal. The only satisfaction I have is that I burned the Imperial city to the ground. Vengeance has been served, so the people of Tara are of no matter now. Once I am done here, I will leave them to tear each other apart.
I will never make the mistake of complacency again. In my arrogance and pride, I failed my people. The burning of Tara is my message to them and the entire world. My people have cried out for vengeance. The survivors of the Empire will see us as monsters even more than they had prior. I don’t care. My people don’t care, they want Taradell and it’s inhabitants to feel a taste of the suffering they had caused through more than a century of slavery, mistreatment, and conflict.
The Kutishian’s pain of being forced from their homeland still lies within the minds of many of Dracksikar’s residents, especially those of clan Salac, where many Kutishian’s fled to. Even centuries later the Kutishians remember their bondage under the cruel and brutal reign of Taradell. Made to serve the rulers and suffer alongside the rest of the common folk of that empire. Forced to give their bodies to tyrants. Forced to forgo their native culture and take on that of Taradells own. They remember fleeing their persecution, crossing an ocean to Dracksikar. Having to leave their homes for a new one on a different continent. It was a failure of Dracksikar to allow such suffering for as long as it did. Even with all the work I have done on the underground railroad, freeing so many slaves and smuggling aid to those trapped within the empire. I realize now, it wasn’t enough. I could have... should have... done more.
No longer will any threat to Dracksikar - let alone the Salac Clan - be tolerated. The message has been burned into the very earth, big enough to be seen from the moon. Word of this assault will spread from city to city. Celebrations and feasts throughout the clans of Dracksikar to celebrate this victory. I will ensure every noble learns of this battle. If you dare even so much as threaten the people of Dracksikar, you shall suffer the same fate as Tara. Soon, the barren wasteland that is the only remnant of Tara shall be my first, and final warning.
-Draken Sjacharytiss, Elder of the Salac-Sjacharytiss family and Salac Clan.This is a lovely painting done by
peyzazhik of Draken (I did the writing that has been added on) watching as the Imperial Captital of Tara is burned down by his forces. Those flying ships are Spelljammers, in this case, basically Ironclad ships that are powered by magic. Yes Spelljammers can fly in space. These one's cannot quite yet because they are the first generation. Soon enough there might be an image with Draken flying through Space. This story wouldn't be as good as it is without the great help of my snake friend Chris, who didn't want me to link him at all. He was practically my editor and greatly helped me refine my rough draft into the piece of work you can see right now. And of course, I had other friends who greatly helped me with my writing process as well.Go check out
peyzazhik for more artwork like this! He has a whole ych series of images like this, all of them great to be put as a desktop background like this one will be!Oh, and fun addition, this is the opening scene of a DnD campaign I shall be running with friends.
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peyzazhik is the artist
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Category All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1280 x 566px
File Size 75.3 kB
It is something I have thought about doing. I do like these little short writes as well to add onto the images I get. It's always about sitting down and plotting out a good story. I usually run DnD games in this world, since I have built it up from several DnD games I have run over a few years.
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