Dren Frostreaver - Origins

"Dren... or is it 'Captain Frostreaver', now?"

Dren sipped his mug of ale, savoring the flavor. It wasn't often he had the chance to drink, and when he did, he preferred to savor it.

The tavern was quiet, far more than it should have been this late in the day. Not a soul dared step into such a place today, for the whole nation was mourning. The Queen of Tasca, beloved by all, had died in the night, and today was her funeral.

Still, Dren found some sort of relief. Today was his day off, and it was unlikely he would let much of anything spoil it. He tried to make small talk with the bar-keep, but he would have none of it. Pitiful, Dren thought to himself. Why were they mourning? Monarchs rise and fall, such is life. Dren preferred to focus on the here and now; especially as that meant he could leave the past behind. But the past, it seemed, wasn't done with him.

"Dren," a familiar voice called. "Or is it 'Captain Frostreaver', now?"

Dren placed his mug on the bar and stroked his beard. He knew that voice well, as they had fought together many times over. "Douglas. First Lieutenant now, right? I'm surprised you aren't at the funeral."

The clean-shaven man stood at the doorway, wearing the royal red and white colors of the Tascan crown. His brown hair was short, but showed hints of gray. Dren never knew Douglas to be a great leader, but he was a damned good soldier. Seeing him wearing such formal colors felt wrong, somehow. "I would be," Douglas responded, "but my duties called me elsewhere."

"Well, if you're off duty, come have a drink." Dren seemed uninterested in seeing his old comrade. They hadn't spoken since the day Dren left the military behind. He was offered an officer's post, with a salary that many would kill for; but he turned it all down. For some reason, Dren insisted on living a simple life in the city.

Douglas, he knew, was here to find out why.

"We need you, Dren. These days, we need all the bodies we can get." Douglas looked serious. "Monster sightings are on the rise, and we're losing a village every month. The King will not stand for it."

Tasca was the last bastion for humanity. It was surrounded by a dense forest, filled with all sorts of monsters and other wicked beings. Whole platoons of men were sent into the woods, to see what remained of the outside world, but they would never return. No-one really knew what happened to make the world this way, but one thing was for certain: beyond that forest was a complete wasteland, where no-one, not even the most prepared, could survive.

"So why do you need me? Surely there are hundreds of other capable souls." Dren took another slight sip from his mug, finishing it off. The barkeep went to refill the glass, but Dren declined it.

Douglas sat at the bar next to him. He began to ramble. Dren hated rambling. He spoke of "honor", "courage", and "duty to one's king". He had heard this speech a hundred times. Hell, he had even delivered it once or twice before. It wasn't long before Dren had enough.

Dren drew a small dagger and slammed it into the bar. He stood and looked Douglas square in the face. "Alright," he said, "so here's the deal. I've heard the rumors. I know we're in trouble. You talk about 'honor', and 'loyalty'... bullshit. When I joined the army, I did so for 'honor'. What did that give me? Nothing."

Douglas looked tense, maybe a little fearful. "Now," Dren continued, "I have so much more. I make a difference here, Douglas. I'm bigger, badder, and have a sharper stick than ever before. So tell me, how can joining you give me a sharper stick?"

Douglas didn't even blink. "You'd be promoted to Second Lieutenant. You would be directly under me, serving the mage-division. We would be on the front lines, Dren. There is much glory in that."

Dren shook his head. "Keep your glory."

Douglas just sighed. "If power is what you want, power is what you will get. All we care about is your skill with a blade and your spell-arm."

Douglas stood, grabbed his cloak, and made for the door. "If you change your mind, find me in the barracks. You have two days." He turned from Dren and marched towards the door. Dren looked at his empty mug, and took a deep breath.

"Douglas."

The First Lieutenant turned around.

Dren stood, and sheathed his dagger. "I'm in."