Barrack scampers back to his campsite, barely aware of his wounds. Carrying his loot like a trophy, he rushes into his room and barricades the door. Setting it in front of him he looks at it, and grins.
He has a whole keg of plundered goblin ale! All to himself! Its a small goblin sized keg, but its still a whole keg!
Taking off his gear, and setting his weapons within reach, he gently gets the egg out from his pack and carefully removes the protective wrappings. Setting the egg on his bedroll nestled in the pile of its wrap, Barrack sits on the ground next to it, then looks at the keg and grins again.
A whole keg! Barrack is ecstatic. He had traded with Goblins for beer in the past but it wasn’t very common for the goblins to be willing to share more than a cup or two. He is going to be able to drink all the ale he wants, and this time those pesky goblins can’t stop him, cause they’re dead!
Planning to show off in front of his pet Pteranodon egg, he stomps over to the keg, kneels in front of it, picks it up, and poses with it on his shoulder. “You see little egg, this is how a big strong dragonborn drinks his beer!” he boasts, not knowing or caring if the egg could hear him. In his mind he just assumes it can, and if it can’t, who is going to tell him different. "Not those goblins! Hahaha!"
Lifting the keg high over his head, tilting it back and opening his mouth wide, just waiting for that foamy delicious crispness. He reaches for the spout ready to turn the knob and release the beer into his waiting mouth…
There is no spout.
Turning the keg around looking at the other side, Barrack doesn’t see one there either.
Annoyed, and imagining all the goblins he’d just killed dancing around him and laughing, he sets the keg down and thinks. He can’t go back to the goblin bar where he’d gotten the keg. Not until he’d rested and got his strength back. No, if Barrack wanted to drink his plundered beer, he’d have to figure it out another way.
He looks at the egg again, “How do your people drink their stolen beer?”
Feeling suddenly inspired he actually imagines the Pteranodon he fought on the hilltop holding the keg between its feet and jabbing it’s long beak into the top, piercing the cap easily.
Barrack grins again and grabs his javelin.
Soon the young dragonborn is dancing around the room, fighting with illusory goblins, regaling tales of valor to his egg bound friend. Laughing hard and drinking heavily, it isn’t long before his dancing gets sluggish. Slumping on the bedroll next to his egg, feeling happier than he has ever felt, Barrack falls asleep nestling the egg close to his face.
It is a bright day on the grasslands, the air fresh and cool, the sky is clear of clouds. Squinting, Barrack can make out a shadow swiftly approaching. It’s upon him just as quickly as it was the first day they met on the plains. This time, instead of attacking, the Pteranodon flies overhead just out of his reach. He watches it land and recognizes the hill. This is the place they had met, and battled before.
Feeling compelled to follow, Barrack swiftly scales the hilltop and reverently approaches the roosting reptilian. Kneeling before it, the sky swiftly darkening around them, he looks at his bloodstained claws then up at the beast.
“Forgive me… I beg you.” is all he is able to say.
His sorrow is absolute and somehow he knows the creature can feel his remorse.
Gesturing with its head down and spreading its wings as it backs up, it reveals the egg nesting beneath it. The sky goes completely black and bright greenish brown light starts to pulse from the egg swirling around and through him.
Suddenly knowing what to do, he brings forth his staff planting it in the ground in front of the egg. The swirling light begins to coalesce into the staff forming runes in draconic script. Without reading it, Barrack knows it is a telling of their story.
The misty light does not stop, but continues to etch more runes down the length of the staff. Again, without reading it Barrack knows what it is.
Comprehending the gift that this beast has given him, he looks deep into her yellow eyes and says, “My name is Barrack. I am humbled to be accepted into your clan.”
“I am called Scouts-with-keen-eye. The unhatched broodlings name is to be Echo-in-rocky-canyon. It is now your duty to perform his naming once he has hatched.”
“It is my honor.”
“Know that these gifts being given mean you are forgiven. Come, there is still more to show you.”
Locking eyes with the dragonborn, the beast spreads its wings, turns, and leaps from the cliff soaring out over the plains. Watching it go, Barrack can feel his spirit urging him to follow and not knowing what else to do, he just lets go. The feeling is something new, but it also feels like he’s always been able to do this, he just never realized it. Pushing his spirit forward he almost instantly joins with the Pteranodons.
Suddenly Barrack is aware of one thing and one thing only.
He is flying.
Sensing the world through the body of the beast, feeling the wind and watching the ground rush past faster than he can make sense of it. This was true freedom. Remembering that his new friend was flying just like this when his javelin struck it down, Barrack made a solemn vow in his heart to always protect his new clan. Even to the point of laying down his life.
Hearing this sentiment in the young barbarians' spirit, the spectral reptile calls out a loud shriek, seeming to go on forever. He begins to wonder if he is even hearing it at all when it suddenly stops.
The sky brightens with a new dawn and they land upon the cliff nest again. Barrack’s perception returns to his own senses and looking around him he sees an uncountable number of reptilian eyes. Eyes that he somehow knows look exactly like his now. The eyes of his clan.
Letting out a loud roar the entire gathering of his friends join him in a deafening cacophony. When the joyful outburst calms down, Scouts-with-keen-eye looks over Barrack carefully, admiring a new pattern in his scale coloring.
Through her eyes again, Barrack sees himself, and a large portion of his scales all over his body are now the color of their hides.
Returning to his senses he looks at his hands resting on the staff that he is holding and then he looks down at the egg.
“By the authority handed down to me by my ancestors, I, Scouts-with-keen-eye, have the honor of naming this broodling, Slays-keg-with-spear. Go, fly from the nest, be strong, and provide for your clan.”
As he awakens and slowly returns to his senses, seeing what is left of the keg spilled all over the floor, he immediately realizes he is still drunk.
In a surge of memory his dream comes hurtling back to him. He gets up quickly and looks at his hands and arms and the changes he saw in the dream are still there.
Rushing to his gear he grabs his staff and looking closely the script begins to glow and become apparent.
Excited that his dream was real, Slays-keg-with-spear begins the chants necessary to perform his first ritual.