The fires burned madly, shooting hot embers skyward as the timbers of the buildings crackled and snapped under the consuming flames. A few citizens had ventured out into the streets, and the reeve was organizing a water brigade, but it was clear. The town's inn would be nothing but cinders by mid-day, and the tailor shop adjacent to it was quickly collapsing in on itself from the feeding flames.
Silhouetted by the inferno
behind him, Endymion sat forlornly on a stump in the middle of the road, alone.
His clothing was burned to rags and his face was caked with soot and blood. His
eyes, though, were watery and clear as two blue orbs in a blackened face. They
were glowering, with pain, grief, and rage.
The reeve approached Endymion,
who despite his fearsome appearance, had been the awkward late teenager of last
night drinking ale in the tavern, making little headway with the local folk, and
being a source of genial amusement with his wild elven companion Milo. Much had
changed. Endymion and Milo had spoken to the Reeve about the reports of
Songsteel's troops in the area, confirmed by the Reeve, and Endymion likewise
brought word of the Duke's concern – thus their presence to investigate the
claims. That morning they were going to set out into the surrounding woods and
try and flush out some of these men, possibly with the help of a fellow female
adventurer who possessed a fine horse and seemed a skilled rider. They had
bedded at the Inn for the night, only to be awoken in the morning by
screams.
The reeve, a man in his
forty's, broke the half-elf's reverie. “The town thanks you, Endymion. Were
those … was … “ The man stumbles over his words.
“Yes.” Endymion replied
hollowly. “Those were dragons. Three of them, red wyrmlings.”
“Then dragons are real.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to your
companions?”
Endymion blinked his eyes, and
slowly looked up at the older man.
“I lost them.”
He gestured with his hand down
the road. “It was a difficult battle. The lady Eolia fought bravely, but she was
surrounded by all three and taken down almost instantly. I healed her time and
time again, until all my elven magic was spent, and the three dragons remained.
My elven companion Milo was chased through the tailor shop by one of the
dragons, and even I on my dragonhawk couldn't deter its course. The dragonhawk
fought bravely, but what could it do against three dragons after Eolia fell for
the last time? My mount … died. And then Milo, soon after was struck
unconscious.”
“It wasn't until then that by
some miracle, my wolf finished off two of the dragons. During most of the battle
I had stayed hidden, commanding my beasts to fight while I healed those in
reach. But even staying out of the center of the fray, I was badly burned by
their dragonfire.”
“Out of healing magics, I
roused the lady Eolia one last time and she successfully ran for her horse and
fled down the road. I was on my way to do the same for my friend Milo, when the
last dragon caught my scent and I was forced to keep my distance, hoping he
would ignore Milo and fly to some other part of the town. But no, he grabbed
Milo's unconscious body and flew off with him in his claws. He flew west.”
Endymion pointed with a
soot-stained hand.
“And now I am alone.”
The reeve considered this, for
a moment.
“You are alive, Endymion. And
the town thanks you for driving off the dragons. We are sorry for your
loss.”
“I must think.” Replied
Endymion, and waves the reeve to leave him be.
“As you wish.”
After a time, Endymion rose
from where he'd been sitting, and slipped into an alley between buildings. Under
his breath he mumbled, “I never thought I'd be doing this...” and he pulls out a
ring he'd carefully concealed. Etched on its surface, was a supine wolf
surrounded by embroidered markings. He twisted the head of the ring and muttered
a few elven syllables. There was a rush of magic, and an elven man stepped
through a feywild portal. He was dressed as a soldier, with an immaculate tabard
of brown and green. His face was weathered with age, and battle-hardened with
time. He quickly peered about taking stock of his surroundings, before narrowing
and focusing on Endymion.
He bows slightly in Endymion's
direction. “Your summons, young lord Endymion?”
Endymion looks half-surprised
that it worked. “I see my mother's words were true.”
The warrior nods, “I am Arbos,
one of Countess Darya Marae's attendants, and she has assigned me to serve you
in times of utmost peril.”
Endymion nods. “There is much
I have to tell you ...”
