The Devil in the Dragon

Long ago, consumed within a somber existence rules a tyrannous king over the kingdom of Baulder's Gate. Upheld by the sanctity of Pelor, the king of Baulder's Gate, Reynold Palestorm kept watch over his people with an iron fist that only most could describe to be complete and utter madness. The protection of his people was veiled by mere wrath and benightedness, for that Palestorm believed that he was the word and judgement of God. Destruction laced the commonwealth with the corpses and bisected heads of the "Heretics", who merely wanted nothing more than to guide their own path. If it was not the way of Peylor then damn be those who oppose, for their fates were already be sealed in the afterlife. Knights of Baulder coated the cobblestone, know as the eyes of Palestorm. Striking absolute fear into the masses, armored in lust and greed they work for blood money which are painted across their plates.
Many a moon pass and word breaks through the walls of Baulder. A Baulder scout, Desmond Blackwell discovered an encampment of fiends...of monsters plaguing the land. Or so would Desmond have the king believe after storming the gate and disclosing to his majesty that a sickness is near and it must be eradicated for it defies that of Peylor. Reynold in awe grants credit to his scout and informs his legion of the whereabouts of the camp after assigning them the duty of total destruction. He confides into the troops that not a single entity be spared, these demons must be atoned. Gathered and armed the knights eagerly trek and nothing but footprints amidst a dismal sunset follow behind them.

Night doth fall, and far from walls of persecution lie a glowing encampment of Dragonborn outside of Skull Gorge. A thriving colonization of various breeds. Beats and vibrancy emit from foundation. As notes of serenity display among the stars the Dragonborn become festive, embracing the spirit of the fire. Captured by the music little did they know, that night everything would change. The footsteps draw closer and closer, shrouded by the commotion as the knight's task are near-at-hand. Their hands cupping the hilts, shields braced, hidden within the shadows, biding their time to strike. Soon the fire expired, and the jubilant essence did lift. Through slumberous snuffles the knights closed in and one by one painted the ground with the blood of the innocent. Alarms did raise, destruction ensued as Death's bells did toll. Through the mounting corpses and the fiery glow curled a young green Dragonborn cradled in his dying mother's arms to not be seen. As the knights patrolled to clarify their mission was complete, one such observant soldier uncovered the youngling. Brute force overtook the child as he fought with sheer willpower, but unfortunately his attempt was futile and now was subject to captivity at the hands of these maniacal beasts.