The Dragon's Pride

Monsters. When one thinks of the word "monsters", they'd think of hulking, brutish beasts with unimaginable strength, destructive entities with magic beyond understanding, or tentacle-covered creatures with jaws longer than their entire body. To be put simply, this is true only to a certain extent, but for the most part, monsters were the average citizens of the world they inhabited.

While not quite as grotesque as their bestial counterparts, these creatures more resembled humans than anything else, though they possessed many traits relating to their species, such as ears, tails, fangs, gills and the like. This left for much uniqueness among their community,  and most of these beings got along quite nicely. Townships and kingdoms were a common sight almost anywhere one traveled, and as such, open gates were just as often. In fact, this was their normal. No one questioned why it was so, they merely decided that they were either friend or foe, and went along with their life. Discrimination was not a common practice, only for the most hateful few, of which were properly handled when their tempers exceeded what they could contain. Punishments varied from city to city, but ultimately, it would typically come down to a fine and rarely a few exchanges of blows.

When situations were escalated to the point that lives were put in danger, no mercy were to be given to the assailant. Towns would band together in unison to stop any sort of tyrant, be it a radical extremist, or a group of raiders. Luckily enough, these events were few and far inbetween, which caused villages to grow fat in their own relaxation. Of course, guards and soldiers were still properly trained for many events, but the lackthereof allowed them to happily talk and drink amongst one another.

Town guards were your average weapon-weilding citizen. They knew exactly how to use what they were carrying, and were prepared for any such occasion. But the general peace left them only ready, unable to put any of their training towards action. Most notable of all, a town known as Rickshire was considerably peaceful, and generally viewed as the idle location to settle down and create a prosperous family. It goes without saying that their guards were just as, if not, even more lazy, and typically only responded to cases such as petty theft or the occasional street-vandal. Despite this, they'd typically solve the crime in a matter of minutes, being it paying for the simple item they stole and letting the assailant go with a mere slap on the wrist, to holding the street rat in a cell for a few days until he calmed down, to which their parents would pick them up and scold them harshly.

In the citizen's eyes, life was simple and happy, what with Rickshire providing all of their base needs. Being a port city, its imports were diverse and of a cheap, yet satisfying quality, while its exports were known to be considerably rich, the town specializing in crafts such as blacksmithing, various magical artifacts, and even a few concoctions needed among adventurers and those concerned with emergency. In addition, the town itself sold all of its exports in its central market disrict, butcher stands dotted through the area, the smell of smithing and brewing all mixing to form the comfortable scent of the happy town's liveliest area. In addition, Rickshire was not without its pleasures, providing such facilities in an outskirted, rarely mentioned area that very many knew of, but chose not to discuss. Here, people of all species, gender, and orientation came and enjoyed themselves for a brief period of time, making sure to leave without looking back as their shame would forbid them.

It is on these outskirts, where the story of a young man begins.

___

Callim Gendri awoke from his small bed, sitting in an upright position as he stretched his tired, aching muscles. Exhausted from the events of the previous day, he decided leaning against the backboard of his bed for a few more minutes would not disrupt any of his plans. Moving a slender hand to the back of his head, he found himself scratching his neck, his white, soft hair bouncing with every motion he made. Lazily, his green eyes flickered open, his tongue softly clacking against the roof of his mouth as his yawn echoed throught his room. He stretched himself one last time, grinding his teeth together and flipping his blanket to the side. Telling himself he'd tidy it up later, he practically rolled out of bed, stumbling at first as his body adjusted to the new position.

Wearing nothing but a simple pair of gray briefs, his hand smacked against the top of his dresser, littered with various metallic objects, a pair of gloves, and most notably, a framed picture of his mother. He briefly glanced at it, scoffing as he shook his head and opened up the first drawer, pulling from it, a light brown tunic. Lined from the sides of its arms and a rather decorated hole where his head and neck fit quite snugly, Callim put the shirt on with relative ease, sighing with relief as he could already feel its warmth. He gazed at the picture one more time.

"Yeah... lot of good you did me..." the boy mumbled spitefully under his breath. He wasn't one for resentment, but the sheer bitterness and contempt he held toward his mother was enough to bring out some of his hatred. Her smile unnerved him. He knew she loved him with all her heart, that went without question. But the recurring thoughts, thoughts of when he was seven and the brute tried to teach him to wield a sword nearly as large as he was, thoughts of going to bed with black eyes, busted lips and fresh blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth... they were a constant reminder of how he was unintentionally abused.

Callim shook his head. It was nothing that he should pay much attention to. It toughened him up a decent bit and made him a hell of a lot more masculine, even if it hurt like hell. Besides, he acquired his sword out of the entire thing, which the boy was more than grateful for.

Leaving his room and heading into his narrow hallway, he passed by a mirror hanging from the wall. Taking notice of his rather messy demeanor, Callim decided it'd be best to freshen up before anything else. Gunning for the bathroom just ahead, he turned into it, seeing the much larger mirror and sighing in relief. He didn't like to think of himself as some narcissistic brat, but something about looking at his reflection, whether messy or clean, was always a refreshing sight. Grabbing a comb made from Dragon Bone, he styled his messy hair, grunting at the various permanent cowlicks across his hair. It grew that way as a result of his training, having barely given a rest, let alone a shower during all of it, and thus, leaving his hair permanently messy. Shrugging off the thought, he let out another yawn, opening up his chamber pot and quickly relieving himself of his bladder. Closing it and heading back out of his bathroom, he turned down the short hallway, walking into his tiny kitchen.

Magic had all sorts of useful properties, one of which being the genius of locking a freezing spell inside of a closed container, allowing the storage of foods that would otherwise spoil without it. He laughed to himself, not even sure where to begin on how magic operated, but still appreciative of it nonetheless. Opening the container he purchased nearly four years ago, when the craze for the object had reached its peak, he selected a bottled glass of milk, bought by one of the handy merchants who sold just about the freshest bottles in the country. Callim smirked to himself.

It helped she had breasts nearly the size of his head. His thoughts dragged to what it'd be like between them, a lecherous smile curling at his lip.

The sudden shock of cold hitting his skin awakened him from his lusty day-dreaming. He yelped and promptly slammed the door shut, gritting his teeth to prevent them from chattering and nearly dropping his glass in the process. Wincing, he placed the glass down on a small table and tenderly rubbed the cold-riddled spot on his flesh. Cold was a disgusting concept to Callim. A force of nature that opposes heat in all of its warmth and glory, replacing it with agonizing needles that prick its afflicted areas and kills them with inconsiderate slowness. Whatever God had decided that was a good idea, he opposed them without question.

But, it was one of Callim's only biases. The fact that Dragon blood ran through his veins was merely an innate quality to his disdain for ice. His tail lashed with a quick stroke, tapping against a chair and making him grunt. He almost hated being called a Dragon. Not because of the stereotype that Dragons were prideful, arrogant, and disgustingly narcissistic, but because they were also strong and incredibly intimidating. Callim's small stature, nearly five feet and four inches, and his rather thin frame made him seem like a cat moreso than a Dragon. The tiny, black nubs growing on the top of his head, as opposed to what should be horns at his age, didn't assist his bitterness.

Once again, Callim's head shook. Thoughts like these always seemed to flow in his head when he was freshly woken. It wasn't that he wasn't a great morning person or that he just plain hated himself; he knew that he was off in the growth department from the very beginning, thanks to his constant reminders of his mother's disappointment. Popping off the bottle to the glass, he leaned his head back and drank a fair portion of the bottle in one sitting. Letting out a cold sigh as he set the bottle down, he wiped his mouth lazily, not bothering to grab a napkin from the holster a mere two feet away from where he set his bottle down.

Callim enjoyed thinking himself different from other Dragons. While most were brutish and no-nonsense, Callim thought himself sensitive and curious. Questions were possibly one of his favorite past times. If he were bored, he'd ask those around him almost any question that popped into his head. Of course, it had lead to many qualms as well, if not, outright arguments. However, it mostly led to conversations that allowed Callim to learn more about those around him, and his experience led him to be able to pick out the more truthful ones, as opposed to those who'd blatently lie.

Cracking his knuckles, the boy opened the container to his food storage and practically threw the bottle of milk back inside, kicking the door shut and wincing at the sensation, mumbling a few curses as he gripped the cold-riddled area. Once comfortable setting his foot back down on the ground, he took gentle steps, making sure walking wouldn't be too much trouble. Callim began walking back to his room, mumbling over how he should clean the various spaces of his tiny household. His room and part of his kitchen were filthy, and the entrance was cluttered with bits of leaves and dirt from his boots. He figured he'd probably have to go to the central business area to purchase a new wash cloth too... his old one was ragged and smelled atrocious.

Sitting back on his bed, Callim's foot opened up the bottom-most drawer with practiced expertise. Leaning over and picking out a pair of pants, his fingers pinched the sides as he stood up and slipped them on quite easily, feeling them hug his thighs and ankles quite nicely, but leaving his clawed feet exposed. Pulling the fabric back and revealing part of his leg, the boy reached over, opening a drawer just below the top-most and selecting a pair of woven fabrics for his feet he bought not a week before. Placing them where they belonged, he sighed with relief, finding comfort in their warmth. The stress on his feet had been alleviated ever since he purchased them.

Opening the top drawer again, Callim selected a dark-brown vest, a noticable v-neck stitched in so that his shoulders were accented quite nicely. Slipping it on, he grabbed his belt off of the top of his dresser and and wrapped it around his waist. Lifting up one foot, he turned to look for his boots, located right next to the side of his bed. Stepping one foot in, then the other, he leaned down and made sure both were snuggly fit and tightened them even then. Last, but most certainly not least, Callim walked around to the edge of his bed, grabbing his sword and its sheathe, placing them in a notch on his belt. He smiled to himself as he looked down at the beauty at his side. Taking a quick step, the familiar clanking caused his grin to widen. It was the sound that made him get out of bed every morning.

Manuevering through his cluttered room and down the hallway, then past his cramped kitchen