"so, this is it then, my son." Heavy words came out in a whispering silence. The words came from a dark shape sitting on the other side of a fire, in a smoke filled hazy hut. No light slipped in from outside, it was night beyond the torn leather of their private hut. The crackling of the fire was the only sound that interfered with their solitude. "Yes, father. This is necessary, I need to go, I need to explore and leave these lands."<br/><br/>Sitting with the hazy tent, Rakesh'ra and Rakesh'tro, a father and son as clear as any relationship. Atop of rocks that they had picked up, and with smoke burning their eyes, it would seem as if their mission in life was to purposely cause themselves discomfort. The heat was squeltering, and their breaths came out hot adding even more to the inferno. Rakesh'ra, the son, the youngest, the champion of the tribe, the most feared of drakekin spoke up again. "We have discussed this before, father. You were not against it before. Will you attempt to halt me now?" No anger entered his voice, his father was the only being who had no fear from the Dragonborn.<br/><br/>Rakesh'tro shook his head, "No son, I cannot attempt to stop you. As you know, I wandered a little before I returned here to form the Blazewind. I know this is important, we would not be who we are without you, and you deserve the right to see if you want to venture the world." Rakesh'ra nodded and bowed a little to his father, an act none other have ever seen. Fealty did not come easy, or at all, to the Drakekin people. The flames reflected off the red armor that covered the Drakekin's body. He stood up to his full height, and looked to his father. "I have told the brothers. I will make sure it is known, and that they understand." Emotions of sadness, and parting were not easy for him. He bowed again, and reached to grab his helmet. Turning he stepped outside of the hut, "Goodbye father, take care. I will return. Bye."<br/><br/>Rakesh'Ra stepped through the hut out to a field bathed in blood and shadowed in night. Behind of him, a ragged leather tent was perched atop of a small hill amongst a flat field. Hundreds of dead covered the ground, their blood and gore soaking ground that was doomed to never give birth to a single plant. some of the bodies, wore red face paint, and a fire upon a tabard, the others wore silver and emblems of wings. The silverwing had attempted to ambush them, it did not go as planned. His massive hand reached over, and clasped the shaft of a great club leaning on the tent.<br/><br/>Clasping it to his back, he started to walk out over the field of the dead. Atop of the small hill, there were no dead bodies, it was nearly the only clear spot. Most of the silver coated bodies around the hill also happened to have their skulls, and torso's completely caved in. A lightly armored Drakekin in his Dragon State came up to Rakesh'ra, the soldier had to look slightly upwards at Rakesh. "I am, leaving now.. gather the men. I have words for them." Rakesh'ra begun to stomp across the field, his booted steps heavy and crushing.<br/><br/><br/>The next few weeks were a new experience for him. He was alone, for the first time. He had always had his father, then his brothers of the blade. It was not difficult, nor was it dangerous, it was just odd. He had to hunt, his own creatures, and roast them himself, which he was used to. The real problem arrived at night, the quiet campfires, the only noise a crackling fire. His only companion the night. It was not his favorite method of travel. It went this way until he had reached the borders of the Drakekin lands. Eventually, he happened upon another.<br/><br/>Another drakekin, a female from a rookery, a warrior. What really mattered was that he had a companion. Someone to share tales of glory, someone with whom to compare victories.  A quiet camp was unnatural. In the quiet, the spirits of weakness and fear could creep in. One needed to guard his heart. The best defense was a tale, and a song. They met right out of the territories and started venturing out together.<br/><br/>The sun set and rises many times, as the two ventured. A day of hiking, stopping for hunting, fighting off hungry beasts. At night, one of the two would light a fire, and then tales of prowess. The sun was still in the sky, high and burning. The wastes were laid out on one side of the camp, they had camped out right near the border. The twisting horrified sound of creaking metal and piercing shrieks would occasionally come from the wastes like a black wind. Not a ounce of color amongst the sea of grey and brown.<br/><br/>Rakesh'ra sat at the camp, he still wore his armour, his club sat next to him, leaning on the fallen log he made his chair. A great beast lay dead front and center. Some mutation of a stag that had a little too much access to powercores. The Drake form helmet was laying at his feet. His companion had wandered off on some task, all the man could do was wait. He scratched his shaven and kicked at the beast, the quiet made him uneasy. His foot would always tap, his fingers would drum.