Short Story: Dakren's Visit

Today I felt like writing about my D&D character from DM Quest, Dakren of Swanbow. He's the character I've played the most throughout my time as a player in D&D, and the character who's gone through the most character development. It's been interesting to see him come to life as a character and to go in directions I didn't expect. The following is a short story that takes place around Episode 100 or so, and it's taken from the point of view of Dakren's mother.

Dakren's Visit

Otilia woke up with a start. She looked around the hovel with curiosity. The sun shining through the linen curtains in the window still seemed as bright as noonday. Her afternoon nap was usually what the gnome folk would call “like clockwork,” lasting until the sun had dipped behind the forests outside Swanbow. And yet she suddenly felt wide awake.

Otilia took the faded book from her lap and placing it on the stool beside her, then tied up her long, gray hair and stood up from her cushioned chair. She couldn’t help but smile as she noticed yet again the lack of creak in her back in doing so. She looked over on the windowsill above the wash basin, where a single ornate empty glass decanter reflected the light of the sun shining in. Out here in the backwater of the kingdom of Hardale, one would consider expertly-blown glass like this specimen a notable luxury, even if the glass wasn’t decorated with handsome curved patterns or gilded with gold filigree. Even the hourglass-shaped cork, which lay next to it on the windowsill, had a bit of gold dust inside it, which sparkled. Such a bottle would fetch at least seventy or eighty silver coins from any passing merchant, but to Otilia, it would always be priceless.

Otilia was snapped out of her admiration for the decanter as she heard a click behind her. The front door opened, and a dark figure stepped into the dimness of the hovel. A flash of red eyes glinted in the gloom on a bearded face.

Otilia frowned. “Dakren?”

“Hello, Mye.”

Otilia looked around, her hands on her hips. “So I haven’t woken from my nap yet.”

“Oh no, Mye, I’m here for real this time.” As Dakren stepped into the light away from the front doorway, a smile spread across his face.

Otilia gave her nose a pinch just for good measure, making Dakren laugh. And suddenly her son was there, lifting her in a tight embrace before she could even outstretch her arms.

“I must have woken you, Mye. I’m sorry,” said Dakren in her ear.

“Dawn, son, you didn’t sail your ship to my doorstep, did you?” said Otilia. “You still smell of the sea!” She pulled away from him slightly and put her hand on his cheek. “And what on earth have you painted on your eyes?”

Dakren laughed again and shrugged. “It’s the fashion of sailors. And I realized that the darkness of the ink takes the glare off the sun, even away from the sea.”

Otilia looked him over. Compared with the fishermen and miners of Swanbow, Dakren looked like a noble in his polished breastplate, with a blooming orchid pinned on his shoulder just below the pin of his green cape. “And you’ve still got your lucky hat, I see, but your hair is in a tail? Is that sailor fashion as well?”

Dakren set her down. “Actually, it’s apparently the fashion of Hardale’s nobility,” he said, running his hand along the familiar wall of the hovel. “Picked it up when I landed in port. What do you think?”

Otilia smiled. “I think it’s a wonderful look for you, son. You look much more like a gentleman sailor than a pirate that way.” She gave him another squeeze and walked to the larder. “Pfeh. I’ve got nothing for you to eat. Why didn’t you warn me you were coming today?”

“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, I’ve got us covered.” Otilia looked back as Dakren pulled out an embroidered bag and began to unload it onto the table. It was clearly a magical bag, because when he was done, an entire spread of food that couldn’t possibly have fit in it lay on the table.

Dakren grinned broadly and pulled out a carving knife. “Could you just hand me a couple of plates, Mye?”

Otilia’s lip quivered as she looked over the table.

Dakren stopped carving slices from a loaf of bread. “Mye?”

Otilia pulled up her apron and wiped her eyes.

Dakren stood up from his chair. “I’m sorry, Mye, I can get the plates if you need me to—”

“It’s not the plates, you silly ass, sit down,” Otilia chuckled through her tears. “It’s you. It’s all of this,” she said, gesturing to the table. Then she pointed at the glass decanter on the sill. “It’s that.”

Dakren smiled, then returned to slicing the bread.

“What did I do to deserve such a son?” Otilia took two clay plates from the cupboard and brought them to the table.

“Mye—”

“No, I’m serious, Dakren,” said Otilia. She placed her hand on Dakren’s hand. He stopped slicing. “I wasn’t prepared at all to bring you into Amara in the first place. I was stupid enough to let the Elf make that decision for me.” She reached up to touch Dakren’s slightly pointed ear and then froze. “Is that a…”

Dakren followed her gaze and reached up to touch the metal earring. “Sailor fashion,” they said at the same time. Then they both laughed.

“Son, all your life you’ve had to take care of me, and you did it far longer than any of your friends did. They all had families to take care of them, but after my parents died, it was just… me. How are you not bitter about all this? Your entire childhood passed by, your sweetheart lost during the war, Stefana…” No one but Otilia would have noticed, but an ever-so-slight hesitation in Dakren as he assembled a plate of food made her cut the sentence short.

Dakren finished filling the plate in silence, then placed it in front of her. She looked down at the cold smoked meat, Cloudcaster cheese, pickles, and white bread. The type of meal someone of high station far away from Swanbow would eat.

Dakren reached for a bottle of Appleshire brandy, then realized they had no mugs and stood up to get some from the cupboard. “It’s been a long ten years away from home,” he said. “A lot of time to make mistakes and learn from them and think about the past and the future.” He sat again and filled a mug for his mother.

“I’ll admit, I am bitter about some things in my life,” said Dakren, and Otilia thought she saw another red gleam reflect across his eyes. “But the principles of Tonna have taught me to flow around problems or dash them apart, not to be dammed up by them. And I have so much to be grateful for as well. If it weren’t for my father—I mean, the Elf—my childhood would have been over so much more quickly. I’m in the middle of my fifth decade, Mye. All those ‘friends’ I grew up with are well past their prime, with only a few decades left to live. But I get to enjoy an elvish youthfulness they’d all envy.”

“Speaking of youthfulness,” said Otilia, glancing at the decanter again and gesturing theatrically to her face. “Does it show?”

Dakren looked her in the eyes. “It didn’t get rid of all of your charming wrinkles or gray hairs, Mye, but you have a sprightly air about you that you didn’t have even before I left.”

“It was as if ten or fifteen years just melted away from my back and joints the moment I drank it,” Otilia sighed, recalling the fond memory. “Now, you promised two or three dream-visits ago you’d tell me where you ever found it. Where did you come across such an elixir?”

“It was quite the adventure,” said Dakren thickly, his mouth full of bread and meat. “Do you know what a marid is? …Actually, no. I think I’ll tell you tomorrow when I’m less weary from travel.”

“Will you at least tell me how much gold it cost you?”

“Dawn, this is good,” said Dakren absentmindedly. “I bought this bread just outside of Hardale at the start of the week, but my bag of holding seems to keep it as fresh as if it were baked today. A magical bonus I hadn’t realized before.”

Otilia glared at Dakren. He stared back for a few moments until at last he rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to tell you! Besides, Mye, I’m glad you feel younger, but I didn’t just give that to you as a gift. I have selfish reasons as well. You say how much you needed me as I grew up, but I need you more.”

“What nonsense, boy! You’re the one supporting me even as you galivant across Amara saving lives. And you have the Firebrands, not to mention your own keep.”

“There’s more to life than friends, or money,” said Dakren, thoughtfully rolling a pickled carrot around his fingers. “I just… don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone. I wanted you to have a few more years of life. You’re the only blood I have. Or will ever have.”

They both continued to eat and drink in silence. A breeze rippled the curtains in the windowsill, and Otilia could hear a dog barking down the street.

“You may not be able to bear descendants of your own blood, Dakren,” said Otilia after a few minutes, “but your legacy will never be forgotten. You fought in the Third Hobgoblin war. You were there to stop the Armada of the Black Flag. You piloted one of the five treants of fivent… fif nut pum—”

“Fifentpummel,” Dakren smiled, leaning against his hand on the table.

“Whatever the gnomes call it. …The gnomes! You played a big part in bringing their entire culture back to the Twain Kingdoms. You’ve adventured alongside Hargus of Hargus himself. You’re the bearer of the White Sword of Argee—”

“Argonath!” said Dakren. His eyes flashed red once again, and a spiral of smoke whipped around his hand and blew away, revealing a gleaming white sword with a red jewel in its hilt. Otilia smiled at the look on Dakren’s face. It was the same look she had seen on his childhood face so many years ago, playing with wooden swords and shields with his friends.

“I said it to your friends when you were trapped in the Gem Forest, Dakren,” said Otilia. “You’re a damn good warrior. Our family doesn’t need a bloodline to be remembered when a statue of Dakren of Swanbow will be in every memorial garden in the Twain Kingdoms!”

Dakren set the sword against the wall, where it reflected a beam of sunlight coming through the window. “I’m glad I make you proud, Mye,” he said. “And I don’t know what new threat to Amara the Firebrands and I will encounter next, but my hope is that I fall in battle before you pass away. I don’t think I could stand to lose another person I love.”

“Whatever it is, that threat will have to take a hell of a beating before it can make my son fall in battle.” Otilia patted Dakren’s hand and squeezed it. “And when the end comes for both of us, we’ll both be together again in the Sunny Fields. Or the Green Seas of Glory. Both sound like lovely afterlives to me, as long as you’re there.”

Suddenly, Otilia jumped as the White Sword of Argonath vanished in another cloud of smoke. She was surprised to see a shadow pass over Dakren’s face, and for a single moment his eyes were like glowing embers, and he had a look of misery she had never seen in her life.

Otilia blinked, and Dakren’s eyes were gray again. He smiled, though there seemed to be no mirth in it. “I, um…” He cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll go get my horse settled in, and then I’ll go chop some firewood for you. The pile’s looking pretty sparse.”

“You don’t have to do that now,” said Otilia, gathering the plates and mugs. “Sit and rest a bit at least. Or we could go on a walk through the town. I’d love for everyone to see that Hardale and sailor fashion you’ve got on display.”

Dakren hesitated as he looked into his mother’s eyes, then he smiled. “I’d like that.”

They stepped outside, looking at the golden aspen leaves in contrast against the evergreens of the forest. Otilia didn’t know how many more of these visits she would have with her son, but something told her this one would be the most important one they would ever have.