A Dragonborn Ranger, Member of the Brotherhood
Background: Geography – Mountains
Growing up, your father used the mountains to teach you about tactics. Firing from one peak to another taught you to measure for distance. You learned the importance of having the high ground. Not only that, living in the mountains has enhanced your ability to climb and move with strength from one area to the next. The mountains have shaped you in a way that training alone never could.
Prestige Class: Honorable Blade
A few dragonborn clans are not true clans. Unbound by family ties, these individual warriors join together around a common ideal. These are warrior societies that celebrate the dragonborn ideals of honorable combat and glorious victory, while celebrating what makes them dragonborn – the dragon within that empowers their dragon breath. Each of these warrior clans has a patron dragon type, and the members of those societies typically emulate their patron dragons in a variety of ways, from alignment and behavior to the damage type of their dragon breath.
As an honorable blade, you have reached the pinnacle of such a warrior clan. You have begun to master its most exotic fighting techniques, starting with the ability to sheathe your weapon in the same draconic energy that powers your racial breath power. Your techniques are purely martial, but they embody the physical qualities of dragonkind, just as you strive to embody their behavioral qualities in your own deeds.
Mount: Rhinoceros (Junior)
Gerond is a land on the brink of destruction. One of easternmost kingdoms and one of the gate nations to the M’Ran Wastes, it felt like a land where hope goes to die. Where Riva is a gate nation but a land of prosperity, Gerond is a land of pain. The kingdom is torn by two factions competing for power. The humans, led by King Alcyr, hold the main power in the territory; the Warscale clan occupies Totem Peak, actively defying the so-called “puppet kingdom” from their citadel in the mountains. Your clan lived among the mountains in Gerond, the more militant descending in bands to destroy and pillage any nearby human settlements. From the high ground, defense was simple, so the Warscale clan suffered little in their home. On the ground, however, Alcyr’s army outnumbered the clan – thus a stalemate sits in the lands of Gerond.
Your father, Balasar I, hated the way of life. He hated the way the clan threw concepts like honor and pride out the window. You remember how he would put you to sleep, telling the stories of the great kingdom of Arkhosia, the fabled home of the dragonborn. You would fall asleep, visions of a floating empire full of regality and wonder before your eyes. But in the day, your father would all but spit in the direction of the clan. He spoke of pride in the blood of dragonborn being lost, how the clan had dissolved into nothing more than a gang of fat, lazy, pompous tyrants who sought war to stroke their own egos. In his eyes, they had been corrupted like the humans they fought.
He said to you once, “Son, they sit on their places of honor and tell us to scrounge like thieves on the humans below. They say our proud bloodline must not be stopped by the threat of humans and we must strike at them where they live. But what they do is not worthy of praise. They do not have our bloodline in their interests. Why do they strike at the town and take more gold than food? They do nothing to bring honor to our name. Do what they cannot. Bring pride to the Warscale clan.”
Your father taught you the art of blade and bow. You learned to hunt the game that lived on the mountain and in the wilderness at the mountain’s base. You learned how to protect yourself against an attacker and how to make sure that foe never threatens you again. For years, you trained harder than you saw some of the military training, but it seemed like your father’s dream. You could have cared less, until you saw her. She was a human girl, taken captive from one of the raids, no more than twelve years old. Members of the raiders publicly beat her in the streets. She was a non-combatant, an innocent – and they abused her. This was truly a corrupted land. When you told your father you would bear the Warscale name, he gave you the gifts he had been waiting to give you: your katars, your bow, some supplies, and a way out.
You climbed down the north end of Totem Peak with your father and Duhaan, an older dragonborn who owned a small ship. It was easier to sail from Totem Peak to Sanaa, the capital of Kalei, than it would have been to try and pass through the human territories in Gerond. With a final goodbye, Duhaan sailed you away from your homeland and your father with dreams of glory echoing in your mind. You didn’t stay long in Sanaa, moving through Kalei into Shara. It was there that your journey began…oddly enough, in a battle with a human…