To understand one’s nature is to first understand oneself. As of the beginning of this journal, I find myself to be, quite possibly the last of my kind. Until this moment, until I wrote these words onto this page in this very instant, I did not really grasp the magnitude of such a thing. It is overwhelming, really. I am the last of my kind.
It has been impressed upon me by my colleagues and peers to begin this journal in the hopes of understanding what it means to be the last. I expect this to be no easy question for me to come to terms with, and I am told that it may take countless journals until I reach such an understanding, but I am to try. So to do that, I am to define, by nature what I am.
Craetorian.
To me that word does not harness the awe or fear that I see in others when uttered. To me the word has no meaning other than to express the race that I have derived from. I feel no different than I think a human, a picayune, or a hym feels when hearing their race designated to them.
My heritage does not control who I am. I am my own person. Yet, to others, the word craetorian now carries such weight that to be labeled as such has marked me with a stigma that I will carry for the remainder of my days.
Romerik tells me that it is important to chronicle this journal because that, as of now, I must hide what I am to all those around me. All but my trusted circle, we the twenty-three.
Even then, my most invaluable sage and friend Romerik Rillerion cautions that twenty-two with the knowledge of my bloodline is twenty-two too many. But it is already done, and I would not see it changed. This war has taken too much from me already.
Yet, I move ahead too much. Romerik tells me to narrow my focus to one topic at a time, and it needs to start with an understanding of what it means to be craetorian.
But how does one understand such a nature? Does the color of my flesh truly dictate that I am so different inside from those around me? Do I not feel the same emotion? Do I not bleed as they?
Romerik looks no different from me, and yet through bloodline we are worlds apart. So then I ask myself, in this journal, what does it truly mean to be a craetorian?
I say it means nothing. I am alive, and I simply am. Yet for the sake of argument, and because I do not need the chattering in my ear from the bearded loon, I shall endeavor to do as he says and take this first accounting of what it means to be craetorian. So, to that end, here is an endeavor to explain the origins of the craetorian, as I know them.
It all starts with humans. My kin. I consider myself one of them, even though they do not consider me one of them. Humans, special and magical in their own way. Short lived, violent, adaptable, and fiercely intelligent. Yet, that is not what makes them more special than the other races, no. It is that the human species has its own will to survive. The body, the structure, of the human is able to co-habitate with so many races it is truly staggering. No other race in existence outside of the human can reproduce outside of its species. A picayune and a hym, impossible. The Kii’ Aur and a picayune, well the thought of it in itself is a little hard to stomach, and still impossible. But a human and a hym? Absolutely. A human and a picayune, while improbable, has happened. A human and a dragon… the stuff of legend. Living legend.
Humans’ ability to cross-reproduce was important to dragons. For dragons, the original keepers of Nature have always found us mortals interesting. They’ve never made it a secret. Well, a scant five-hundred winters ago, they set their eyes upon the hym. Nature’s other servants.
Magically attuned to nature in such a way that their bodies even adapt to their surroundings enthralled the omnipotent dragons. Yet the hym considered dragons traitors to the natural order. Why? It is hard to say.
It could have been a disagreement in how they believed the world and its inhabitants were meant to play out. It could have been because hym prefer to eat vegetation, while a dragon has no choice but to devour meat. It could have been a spiritual conflict. Religion has always been at the forefront of adversity. We kill each other over arguments about what happens when we die, and then fail to see the irony in that. Either way, the hym would not parlay with the dragons, ever. Dragons sought to change this.
Dragons have a unique ability through their attunement to magic to alter form, yet the hym have always been beyond their grasp. The ever-changing ability to adapt to nature made the hym impossible to duplicate. The dragons tried, of course. And the hym have caught them each and every time. So dragons turned to co-habitation.
They knew that Humans and hym could sire offspring, and that offspring was generally well accepted by both parties. So the dragons hoped that by cross-breeding their race into the hym, it would force the two races closer together. But the draknai, the offspring of a human and a dragon, could never mate with any race outside of a fellow draknai, or a human. Much the same as the offspring of a hym and human can only then pair with another human, hym, or the hybrid man-Hym and bear children. The half-breed cannot then attempt procreate with a picayune or dragon. It is as impossible as a hym and a picayune, but I digress.
Rather than carrying the human ability to reproduce outside the species, they are limited to the reproductive abilities of the other species. They cannot intermingle with another race outside of their progenitors. To bridge this seemingly natural gap of evolution, dragons decided the best course of action was to create a new species, one capable of the genetic diversity of humanity, but with the genes of the dragon. And so they did, using the power of the Nether Plane. They magically infused the human reproductive fluids into the egg of a dragon.
The egg was magically nurtured throughout its incubation process. I have been told that the gestation period for those created that way was lengthy, much longer than a dragon ever believed possible, but the results of that experimentation were quite unexpected, especially for a trial.
As the egg hatched, the first of what would come to be known as the craetorian was born. For all intents and purposes, this first generation Craetorian looked human. It being only a trial, the dragons were not disappointed with this outcome. Over time, however, the dragons realized that this boy, this first born, was not human at all. They noticed telltale differences, first in his features: eyes of no natural human tone, a duskier skin hue, or more vibrant hair coloration. Later they noticed it in his inhuman strength and his natural ability to connect deeply with magic. Something no human has ever displayed without intense training. They also noticed that the boy had a very unnatural ability to relate to them. Physically, culturally, and spiritually, the boy was attuned to their highly logical way of thinking. This made him very different from the humans they studied.
Dragons were overjoyed at the success of their creation, and when the boy came of age they sent him out immediately to sire as many children as he could. There was no room for love for the boy. No room for emotion, which was largely devoid in dragons. His only goal in life was the exponential growth of his new species. He was, after all, only a trial.
Dragons continued to create more first generation Craetorians from those that would donate their precious eggs as well. Between the first boy and the volunteers there was an insurgence of a new race in the world, as Craetorians procreated like wildfire, our reproductive abilities just as capable as the humans’. It wasn’t until decades later that the dragons noticed there was a flaw in their ‘infallible’ design.
As I write this, I now see the irony in such an act as they committed. Creatures of nature, protectors and guardians of natural balance, and they performed an act that was counter to it all. They made an aberration.
Nature is balance, always. An area becomes over populated; a disease or plague will wash through and reduce the swollen numbers. A species lives longer than others do; nature imbues it with a lower birthrate. An elf and a human couple and bear the fruits of birth, that child will carry a bit of both parents in them. Appearance, temperament, emotions, even strength and character of will may be displayed. The term, like father like son, is often used to explain such characteristics.
One thing that the nature always adheres to though is balance. The boy may be mostly like his father in looks, and mannerisms, but rest-assured something, the eyes, his emotions, his level of intelligence, are determined by the mother. It may never be half and half, but the two parts always make a whole. Never more, never less.
A draknai for instance stands on two legs like a man, but bears the scales and crest of its dragon father. Those scales’ color always match the scales of the father as well. Yet, the draknai will forever be locked to the earth at his feet, for even though he is born with wings, they lack the strength or length to bear him aloft on the winds. A genetic marker carried over from father to offspring, but one that serves no function at all. It is not some cruel handicap, but a balancing of properties. It is what nature does. Its great design is to keep things in check.
That is where dragons overstepped their bounds. Where they truly became the very monstrous traitors that the hym claimed them to be. For Craetorians are not bound to the natural lock of balance. The Nether Plane, not the mundane to which our lives are lived, created them. We are violators of order. We are outsiders in our own world.
Craetorians not only possess all the properties of a human on the inside and out, but all of the properties of a dragon as well. We are two complete races in a single vessel. We lack the balanced dilution of genes that nature produces. We are the purest possible blend, unmarred by the trappings of evolution. The hym have often preached to us that within our being are two souls. One dragon, one human. They are trapped in a cage that is our flesh fighting each other for dominance. To this I cannot disagree for at times I do feel like there is something within me, a beast trying to escape. Is it the human or the dragon? I am unsure.
What’s even more incredible of our people is that, because we were artificially created through magic, nature has no say in the evolution of our species. We are not bound to any mutation based on the location of our upbringing. If we procreate with a human, our bloodline is not diluted like other species. Our genes stay superior, sovereign, and dominant. There is no washing out of what we are with anything from the other parent, with the minor exception of general appearance. We look human not reptilian like our draknai cousins. Our might, our intelligence, our endurance all caries over from the Craetorian. We are all Craetorian, each and every time. We do not blend. As long as we mate with humans or Craetorians.
Dragons thought this feat a marvel at first. The power of their creation grew continuously as the Craetorian mingled with human societies, and even the hym. But as the decades wore on dragons realized that this unnatural trait was actually a horrible oversight that they made. And that is because evolution has no control.
Humans are unique and wondrous in many ways. One is that they are incredibly short-lived compared to most other races. Because of this, they reproduce far more quickly and are naturally aggressive. They accomplish more in that limited span than any of the longer lived races. Martially, they are strong, and their skill is superior to almost every race. Moreover, their incredible desire to learn has put them at the forefront of technology. This thirst for knowledge and power has also made them superior in magical endeavors as well.
These are true boons of the human people. Now couple these traits with the durability, extended lifespan, raw strength, and pure magical power of a dragon. It is not so hard to see how dangerous a Craetorian is capable of becoming.
While humans may be many wonderful things, and I shall always call them kin, there are also some very dark things about them. Greed, tyranny, lust, and wrath are but a few. Of all races, none knows war as intimately as the human does. Conflicts arise for many reasons: religions, territory, even love.
It pains me to say that we Craetorians adopted those traits as well. If one positive thing can be said about dragons in all of this, it is that they have millennia upon millennia to learn how to not let emotions like passion drive them. Curiosity may be their greatest flaw. Anger and violence are not.
The same cannot be said for humans or for us Craetorians. We are creatures of pure emotion. And that emotion is transferred the easiest way we know how. Through violence and aggression.
It was because of this and the overwhelming numbers that we created with no limited life span, that Dragon kind decided to end its project. They decided, through much deliberation, that the flaws of humanity out-weighed that of the ability that they sought. And so it was decided, rather dispassionately I am told, that the remnants of the project needed to be collected and culled.
It was the first purging of the Craetorian people. Dragons hunted down and exterminated all men, women, and children. We were only entering into our third generation, we hardly had a chance to blossom into our own identity and we were marked to die.
I don’t know whether I should be, but I am proud to say that my ancestors retaliated against their hunters and oppressors on an unprecedented scale. Victims of their own creation, Dragons were not prepared to meet a combatant equally as powerful as they in every way.
Dragons never considered themselves the most powerful race to navigate the world, but I would say if they had any emotion they displayed at all, it would be pride. They are a confident race, and that confidence was shaken.
Soon the Craetorians, being the passionate creatures we are, we went from retaliation to revenge. Craetorians hunted dragons. In fact, my kind was so successful at it, that in the end, it was the dragons who disappeared into solitude.
Driven by anger and power, that is when the people of the project declared their sovereignty. They named themselves Craetorian, which roughly translates into Exiles, and with no equal to stand in their way, they marched across the continent to rule all of its inhabitants, unabated for centuries.
That is where I come from. The legacy put to parchment as my peers feel I need to do. I do not know if I will ever show this journal to anyone, but I must confess that in writing it, it does help bring to focus the true gravitas of the nature of my being.
I am a Craetorian.
I am the magelord amongst wizards.
I am.
~ ~ ~
Xexial put the journal down, and leaned his head back against the hard marble toes of Rheynnaus Craëgolshien. This was his journal. A journal that was thousands upon thousands of winters old. It was a relic of the Fifth Era, perhaps the only one in existence, aside from the gauntlet on his hand, that wasn’t a piece of art. It survived, trapped in a hidden cubby by a statue’s feet.
His eyes fell to the dragonbone door and the relief of the naked man emerging from the shell of an egg. It made much more sense to him now. The door, its purpose, why it read magic.
He now knew the story the fresco on the ceiling told him. It wasn’t lost to guess or speculations any longer. He knew facts from the mouth of one who had known such.
He looked down at the little tome between his fingers. Though he wanted to read every page, though he wanted to absorb it like a sponge, he withheld. His focus was on Ashyn, not on Rheynnaus, and to that end he only re-read the first section of the journal. It was clearly the most important for him. He read it again and again until he committed it to memory.
Craetorian.
Reading those few words it seemed impossible and yet possible all at once. Craetorians? A mythical, magical race of, what? Super-people? Xexial shook his head, not super. Just, advanced. Altered. It explained so much, and yet seemed so, fanciful. Like it was only a matter of convenience.
And yet, as he thought to the boy’s eyes in times of anger, the emotional responses, the bursts of magic, his attunement to fire. Xexial had met half-elves in his time, and never in his life had he seen such a raw connection to the weaves of magic as Ashyn displayed. He tried to tell himself that Ashyn was special, that he displayed more elven traits than human, but now, with the small book in hand, Xexial felt as if he was just trying to convince himself the boy was part-hym.
“Maker help me,” he whispered suddenly as he thought back to that day by the brook, when the small platinum haired Exemplar had called Ashyn the Nuchada. Xexial had translated it as Spirit Eyes
Xexial assumed that she was just enthralled with meeting a little boy with curious grey eyes. Then later, he figured it was because of Ashyn’s unique ability to call on magic that she sensed.
He knew their language well. He knew that in it the word “dui” meant the word in conjunction was something that was plural. But now he realized that the word Nuchada in itself meant two words in Trade Tongue. That meant that both words were plural, Spirits Eyes. It didn’t seem right. It came to him: spirits within eyes.
The Ferhym knew! The Ferhym knew what Ashyn was all along! Of course they knew. They were ancient! A Craetorian was just the type of person that the Ferhym would hunt. The ultimate skewer. That is why they would track a little boy relentlessly through the woods. Why they would give him no quarter. He was the ultimate sin, made by their greatest adversary, dragons.
Even the Jasian Enclave would view them as monsters. Hence the Craetorian Purges. It all made sense now. Every single bit of it.
Xexial let his own knowledge cloud his judgment over the tribal and feral elves. He ignored the very words handed to him when Ashyn had been but a small boy. He discounted the Exemplar for the musings of a little girl. She knew more than even he did about Ashyn. He was a fool.
Khyriaxx stated that a red dragon pursued Ashyn. Watched by a dragon. Ashyn was a siphoner, and that unique ability was well-documented about dragons. They could take and hold magic within themselves, storing it like a living container. This way they always had a surplus before feedback would set in. It was what made their bones so valuable at their death. They could take, hold, and disperse magic.
His mental connection may be severed to magic because of his injury, but his body physically adapted to magic like a sponge in water. It just took it in, just like a dragon’s.
Xexial’s gut wrenched as he looked from the tome to the wall knowing his apprentice was out there, in those woods, with the enemy.
Ashyn was not a Nuchada. He was the dui Nuchada. The Ferhym’s mortal adversary. Ashyn Rune was a Craetorian. And he was all alone.