Sigurd the Dragonslayer

The hero, or villain depending on point of view, Sigurd was a Goliath warrior who was responsible for the death of the great white wyrm, Fafnir in the late 2nd Age. Sigurd was born to a Goliath tribe elder in the Kruunu Mountain range, just north of what is now known as Siivekas Forest and Lohikaarme. Shortly after his birth, Sigurd and his tribe found themselves the unfortunate victims of Fafnir, hunting for sport in the mountains; all were slaughtered save for Sigurd and his father, the latter of which was gravely wounded. Traveling for hours without rest to save his son, Sigurd’s father found himself on the doorstep of Mythril Hall, the dwarf stronghold of the Northern Kingdoms, where he would die still holding Sigurd in his arms. Taking pity on the Goliath child, the king of Mythril Hall, Sigmund, took in the outsider and raised him as his own. Sigurd would receive his name from his adoptive father, and would be raised as royalty alongside Brynhild, Sigmund’s daughter. Bred to be a warrior, Sigurd would be trained by Sigmund’s personal guard in his early years, after which he was sent around the world to learn the ways of combat; Sigurd would even find himself training amongst other legendary warriors in Valeria. After spending more than ten years abroad, Sigurd would return to Mythril Hall. However, what he found was an unwelcome sight. Seeking the great wealth that lay within Mythril Hall, Fafnir had gathered a staunch collection of followers composed of fanatics from many races, including kobolds, goblins, humans, and even elves, among others. The dragon launched an attack on Mythril Hall mere days before Sigurd’s return, and left much devastation in his wake. Much of Mythril Hall’s army was dispatched by the dragon’s forces, and the king himself was no exception. Unfortunate enough to come face to face with Fafnir on the battlefield, King Sigmund fell to the dragon’s talons, but not before dealing a wound with his sword, which was broken in half following the attempt. Fueled by rage and a staunch desire to defend his adoptive people, Sigurd decided to put his years of training to use. Collecting his father’s mythril armor, crown, and broken sword, tainted with both the blood of both King Sigmund and Fafnir, Sigurd confronted his father’s personal blacksmith, Regin. Sigurd threatened the smith, demanding he make a new blade from the delivered materials, a blade large enough for a Goliath and strong enough to pierce a dragon’s hide without breaking. However, this act was not appreciated by anyone, especially Brynhild. The reforging of a king’s personal effects was tantamount to desecration in the eyes of the dwarven people; possessions in life should, and always were, taken to the grave. Nonetheless, Regin, reasonably ashamed, finished the blade, a great executioner’s sword that only one of titanic strength could wield. Sigurd would name the sword Gram. Sigurd’s plan to slay Fafnir was simple; offer bait so tempting, the dragon could never pass it up. Stealing away a cartload of refined mythril, Sigurd sneaked out of Mythril Hall to a nearby mountain peak, where he lit a beacon and hid within the heap of mythril. The dragon, as Sigurd predicted, arrived for the cart, which Fafnir then lifted and took away to his lair deep within the Kruunu mountains. The lair, an ancient mountain top observatory built by the dwarves of the 1st Age, was an in earnest fortress, and the base of the dragon’s forces. Fafnir would take the mythril load directly to his personal lair, where he would add it to his magnificent pile of riches, frozen under sheets of ice. However, before he froze the collection solid, Fafnir nuzzled the treasure, as it was of a rarity he encountered only on occasion and he wanted to feel the cold touch of the metal against his body. Sigurd knew that this was the moment. Combining the downward momentum of the dragon with his own strength, Sigurd thrust Gram upwards, where it pierced clear through Fafnir’s body, reaching into the dragon’s heart. Blood poured over Sigurd, drenching him from head to toe in hot draconic ichor. However, the magical properties of both the sword and the mythril surrounding Sigurd had a significant effect on this downpour. With magical energies from both Fafnir and the mythril swirling around him, draconic Maggi from the blood flowed into the Goliath’s body, changing him. Little did Sigurd know, this change would be both his boon and his curse. After emerging from the dragon’s chamber, Sigurd was assaulted by the acolytes of Fafnir, who were infuriated by the death of their master at the Goliath’s hands. Sigurd carved a path of blood and steel with Gram, emerging from the fortress lair as the sole survivor. Sigurd himself, however, was totally unharmed, possessing no wounds from his encounters. His task now complete, Sigurd navigated home to Mythril Hall. Sadly, Sigurd was not welcomed with open arms when he entered the city. Upon recounting his tale to both his sister, Brynhild, and the noble families, Sigurd was looked upon with respect, but also insurmountable disdain, especially by his sister; Sigurd’s deed of taking King Sigmund’s valuables and defacing them to make a weapon had not been forgotten. Regin himself had committed suicide, filled 2ith shqme for destroying the king's possessions. Sentenced to house arrest so that his fate could be better determined, Sigurd confined himself to his chambers and fell asleep. As Sigurd lay unconscious, however, a spiteful Brynhild crept into Sigurd’s room, and used her father’s mythril dagger, one of the few items that Sigurd did not take, and plunged it through Sigurd’s chest. Sigurd, shocked, pained, and dying, threw himself out of his bed and ran; he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was not welcome in Mythril Hall any longer, even by his own adoptive sister. He left Gram behind, finding neither time nor reason to bring it with him. By all rights, it belonged to Sigmund and deserved to rest with him. Sigurd had the misfortune of the mythril blade being used against him. In the dragon’s chamber, Sigurd’s body had been fused with the magical essences of both dragon and mythril, giving him the strength of the former and the resilience of the other. His flesh had become impenetrable by mortal means, save for mythril, one of the sources of Sigurd’s power. Brynhild’s choice to use her father’s mythril dagger was, indeed, the only means of wounding Sigurd; it was by pure happenstance that she chose to use the weapon. Following his mortal wound, Sigurd could think of nowhere to go. He was no longer welcome in his home, and the dwarves would find him if he managed to flee to Valeria. Thus, Sigurd chose the mountaintop fortress of Fafnir, the one place isolated enough for him to escape the rage of what were once his people. Trudging through frigid cold for hours, Sigurd was upon death’s door when he finally reached the gates of the fortress. His life fading quickly, Sigurd made his way to Fafnir’s chamber, where he laid against the corpse of the dragon. Thinking of the shame he had brought upon himself and saddened by the betrayal by his sister, Sigurd’s life finally expired. However, the nature of the magic within the dragonslayer prevented his body from dying. While Fafnir’s form degraded to bone, Sigurd’s remained intact, the only dead thing in his form being his soul, which had long moved on. Sigurd is well remembered in the dwarven community as a prominent figure, but not in a positive light. He was a traitor to tradition, a pariah of the people; he is considered the epitome of betrayal, and why nearly all dwarves are hesitant to accept other races as full-fledged members of their community. Nonetheless, Sigurd is a respected name in deeds, as only an extreme few have ever been capable of slaying a dragon, much less alone. Whispers of Sigurd are few and far between outside of the dwarven community, and he is considered no more than a myth to other races. In recent history, he is almost completely written out, only existing in older storybooks and campfire tales. Many dwarves who live now are not entirely convinced of his existence, themselves; they believe he is a cautionary legend about what happens when an outsider is allowed to join the community. Nonetheless, Sigurd is very real. While his body lies far from civilization, Sigurd’s sword, Gram, still lies within Mythril Hall, given back to the grave of King Sigmund. Sheathed upon the lid of the king’s sarcophagus, Gram lies untouched, centuries of ignorance present in the dust that has settled upon its surface. It is the one tangible reminder of Sigurd’s existence, and even then many do not recognize the blade; only the oldest historians remember its power and significance. Both the man and the sword, however, remain. They are simply waiting to be discovered again.