The old shaman prodded at the coals of the campfire, the younglings of the tribe gathering close to hear the story of their people. The old medicine man began his oft repeated tale…
“We the People of the White Wyrm have lived in the Galena Mountains for many generations. We have had a complicated relationship with white dragons throughout our history. They are both a threat and servant to our god Heimdall who is also known as Helm in other parts of the Realms.
There are several of the creatures that dwell in the Galenas, but none more powerful or ancient than Nymiir. It was over a century ago that Loddfafnir and his Reaver companions had slain the great wyrm in her lair, but not before she had taken human form and seduced the legendary barbarian who sired her many offspring.
The Reavers were nearly destroyed by the wyrm Nymiir but managed to slay her and her many offspring… save one.
The lone surviving child who had the blood of the wyrm and the blood of the hero found her way to our village and was taken in and accepted as one of our own. In time she grew, married, and had children of her own who, in turn, grew and had children of their own. This is how the blood of Loddfafnir and Nymiir came to run in the veins of the People.
Every several generations a child is born who is strong in the blood and is born with white skin and hair and can call upon its draconic heritage to breath frost and armor itself with the scales of its lineage. Such a child is always sent forth to guard Reaver Hall and the infernal gates to other worlds that lie within ensuring that its horrors do not curse the lands in the name of The Vigilant One.
That is where Ullethane the White now dwells, standing vigilant against the evil that dwells withing those dark halls so the People may live in peace.”
* * *
The People had left young Ullethane with Dragomir, the current Gate Warden tasked with guarding Reaver Hall.
Dragomir was beginning to show his age despite his draconic heritage and his many years spent in isolation hadn’t done much to prepare him for raising and training a boy of only ten winters. He exhaled a burst of frost from his nostrils in resigned frustration and motioned for the boy to follow. There was much for the boy to learn if he was to be the next Gate Warden. He would need to know how to fight the many denizens that dwelt within Reaver Hall, how to speak their languages, how to track, how to skulk, and how to wield both sword and spell.
In addition to these
tasks Dragomir had to keep the boy alive long enough for him to learn the
responsibilities that would be entrusted to him when Dragomir was gone. There
was much work to be done.
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