The Fables of the Firstborn

Incomplete records of some of the dragons of our world can be found in the scroll "Dragons of Algoron" in the History section of the Library.

The Fable of the Green Hatchling

A fable of the time of the firstborn, as told by the Steel Dragon, Immersa to Lady Datai d'Aggravaine.

First come the main character. A young drake, a Green as it were. Yet in those days, the Firstborn had not yet been divided, and were all of one mind. These were the times of glory, when the Firstborn ruled the world, and the age of softlings had only just begun. Great flights of colorful and shiny firstborn filled the skies of our world.

This tale is of the hatchling's first adventure from her parents lair. It was a cold day, the winter had only just begun to wane, though there was still much ice and snow to be found. As the Lorekeeper well knows, the powers of the elements could no more stop a Steel than one could try to halt the rain. However for a mere Green, it is a far more pressing situation.

The hatchling was on her first hunt, and determined to impress her parents. Though, at this stage in her growth, she was was little more than the size of a dog. Determined, she went out and found a large herd of fine looking deer. The hatchling looked and looked, and finally found the prize she wanted. A massive buck, with a full fourteen points on his head.

Such a prize is universal across time and races firstborn, elder and young. One could only imagine the joy of her parents should she bring home the buck. Still, to bring home the prize, one must first earn it.

The hatchling, untrained in how to hunt, and still lacking the use of her wings, decided the simple approach. To charge straight into the herd and pounce on the buck. Unfortunately for the hatchling, pretending to be mighty does not make it so. She charged the herd, and much to her surprise, they scattered, not leaving her the easy meal she was expecting. All that was left of her prize were hoofprints leading away from her stomach.

She went to the nearest stream, eager to at least get a drink of water to ease the ache of her belly. Unfortunately, fate was against the unprepared hatchling. The ice was thin, but still more than the hatchling could manage.

The hatchling lay down, tired from the long trip from her lair. Hungry, thirsty, cold and alone, she figured this would be the end of her short life. Not long after, she heard a faint shuffling noise in the brush near the water. She lifted her head, and found the most unlikely of sights.

It was the stag. The great one with fourteen points on his head. The stag used his horns to break a hole in the ice, the widened it with a few beats of his hooves.

Perhaps the creature had not noticed her. Then again, perhaps it was a more noble beast than she, and was offering aid to a young, defenseless hatchling. Once the buck had drunk his fill, he wandered off, leaving the hole in the ice for the thirsty hatchling.

The hatchling got her fill of water, which at least eased the ache of her stomach. She would return to her parent's lair, and live and learn to hunt again.

Immersa says 'What does the Lorekeeper feel the lesson of that story was?'

You say (to Immersa) 'Sometimes strength is not where we expect to find it, I reckon.'

The Story of the Soothsayer

A fable as told by Immersa the Steel to Lorekeeper Datai d'Aggravaine. Immersa could find no records which this tale is based upon, and therefore it is treated as a story, instead of history.

This story takes place long ago, when the softlings had only just been created, and the Firstborn still ruled the lands. The Elders of each Wing often hunted together in those days. This story begins on one such day.

The Elders found a village with a sizable herd of cattle near the outskirts. A nice fitting meal for such powerful Firstborn. The softlings in those days still had proper respect for the Firstborn and knew better than to try to stop the coming meal. That is.. all but one of the softlings.

A single softling came forward. He was not a warrior. He was not even very brave, yet still he stood before the Elders. The softling pleaded with the Elders to spare the livelihood of his village, and to leave them in peace. The Elders thought little of his words, and decided to simply make the softling an appetizer for the main course. Yet as they leaned down to begin the first part of the meal, the softling did something quite unexpected.

The softling began to sing. He sang a beautiful song. He sang of a mighty city, with towers that reached above the clouds, vast fields filled with cattle, and treasuries packed to the brim with glittering jewels and coins. The song amazed the Elders, who had never heard a softling sing as well as this. When the softling finished his song, he promised the Elders that he would build such a city in their honor, if they would but spare his village.

Though the Elders did not believe the softling, they decided to spare the village for the time being, as they were curious to see what he would do. It took many years, but the softling was true to his word, and the city was indeed built. The Elders were immensely pleased with this, and did something never done before or since. They allowed this softling to be present in their council meetings.

The years passed, and more Firstborn flocked to the city. The living was easy, with endless cattle to feast upon, and softlings to tend to their every need. The softling continued to attend the council meetings, and soon was given a title. They called him the Soothsayer, due to the words of wisdom he constantly provided to the Elders.

More years passed, and the city prospered beyond anything seen in these days. Still.. such riches can bring only one thing to the hearts and minds of softlings.

Greed.

One day, the Firstborn spotted a massive army of softlings approaching on the horizon. The council convened to decide which portion of their own army would go to deal with this nuissance. It would only take the breath of a few Firstborn to lay waste to the feeble softlings. Yet on this day, the Soothsayer sang a different tune to the council.

The Soothsayer sang of despair. He sang of the hopelessness of facing such a mighty hoard of softlings. The Elders had spent too long listening and trusting the words of this softling. As they heard is song, they found their once mighty hearts filled with terror.

When the softling army arrived, they found the Firstborn defenders in chaos. By the end of the day, the city was stained with blood. Blood of the Firstborn. The Soothsayer himself fashioned a crown, and declared himself King of all the lands the Firstborn had once ruled over.

So it was that a single softling nearly eradicated the Firstborn with simple words.

And that is the story of the Soothsayer.

The Story of Brin and Phintomini

Princess Caecius Mamoritai of Althainia found this scroll in an old library that had crumbled and fell. She then delivered it to me to add here. - Lorekeeper Datai d'Aggravaine

I remember when I first saw her; she was hiding behind my hoard of treasure.

She was a filthy little girl covered in dirt and grim. And I could tell she

was alone in this world. At first, I was alarmed, a elf in my lair? How

did this little girl sneak in undetected? It did not take long for me to

realize how harmless she was at the time, little did I know how much harm

one such as her would inflict upon me later in life, though completely

unintentional. Eventually, I coxed her from her hiding place with offers of

food and before long she was calling me Phinny and was stating that she was

my baby dragon. She even went as far as to make a costume out of my fallen

scales and crawling about upon all fours spitting her own acid.

She taught me something I had never been curious of before, she showed me

what it meant to love. I was baffled by this strange emotion and it was

because of her that I decided to study it. I wanted to try and understand

why all of the races of Algoron were so governed by it. It was then she

gave me my full name ... Phintomini, The Bardic Dragon of Love... For some

reason I am compelled to keep it.

She grew before my eyes, alas; years are but minutes when your birth

predates the ancestors of your friends. She grew into a beautiful woman,

still refusing to believe that she was not a dragon. She was so spirited

and so wonderful. And then he came. He was a dashing young elf, his name

eludes me, but I am certain she would remember it to this day if she were

here.

We were out hunting together win the Great Forest beyond Arkane when we

happened upon this young bard. He was out exploring the world. I should

have been alarmed because her behavior changed right then. She would leave

the lair on her own again and again, each time for longer periods of time.

Each time she returned I could smell his scent upon her. Then one day, she

did not come back, She left a note stating she was going to marry him; she

was in love. She swore that her first love would always be her bardic

dragon, but he was going to be her husband. I was confused by my own sense

of loss and sadness. It was then I truly poured my heart into the full

study of this strange emotion called love.

Then one day, years later, as I returned to my Lair I smelled his scent not

hers, just his. I tore into the lair prepared to confront him. I was going

to demand he tell me where she was, but I was not expecting what I found.

There he lay at the stream, his eyes were swollen and pouring with those

curious things called tears. I was immediately alarmed. He saw me, but did

not seem to fear me. Something frightened him more, something worse than an

irate dragon.

She had been taken, the elves, shunned by their forest, now known as the

dark elves, had stole her away in the night and demanded a price that he

could not pay for her return. They demanded that he betray his people for

her release. He could not, nor would do this. So he came to me for help.

The bard climbed upon my back and we flew to that dark city, deep with in

the cover of the darkness I inserted him into the city. I then hid with in

the forest until I had counted to one thousand.

It was said that he found her bound and violated in a cold room. He lost

his mind right then, he cut her binds and carried her out into the

courtyard, yelling curses and as the tears stained his face he was shouting

angry words to all whom could hear him. Even I could hear them in the

forest. I rose swiftly, hoping against all hope to recover both of them.

As I cleared the wall I saw a nightmarish scene. Thousands of dark elves

flooded the courtyard; the young bard was keeping them at bay with nothing

more than pure anger and his wooden staff.

I charged into their midst, clearing a wide gap with my streams of acid.

I was finally able to make a gap wide enough for him to place her limp,

unconscious body upon my back. He was about to mount when suddenly, he

stopped, I could see hurt and anger fill his eyes and as he turned behind

him stood a lone archer. From the young bards back I saw a single black

arrow sticking out. He staggered forward swinging his staff wildly but his

body ceased to cooperate. His last words urged me to get her to safety.

I wanted to avenge him, right then and there, but he was right, she had to

be brought to safety. I took to the air and flew for the wall, I looked

back only to see the archer once more notching an arrow. Frantically I flew

higher and faster and then I felt it. The pain shot through my left wing as

the arrow pierced it. I tried to keep flying but the wing would not

cooperate. I began to fall. The arrow had been tipped with poison, my

whole body began to lock up, I could not move even to roll over. I could

not right myself. She hit the ground before I did ...... And I landed upon

her.

When I awoke, I was in a Sylvan Village. They had nursed me back to health;

never did they mention her to me. I did not need to be told, I had failed

her. Not only had I failed her, I had put the final blow upon her death.

It hurt so much more than my lame wing or any other pain I had ever felt in

my life. That is when I decided to sleep to perhaps never to wake again.

The strangest thing happened while I slept.... I had dreams, never had I

dreamt before, at least not that I can remember. But there she was, cloaked

within my scales, lifting my ears to peer inside, playing jump the tail.

And when I awoke so very recently.... I understood.... I understood what

it was I had been seeking.

Love. With it, no one ever dies, they live on and it gives us, the children

of the gods, hope. She made me wake and made me accept what I could not

control or change. And with this I found peace. And that is her tale. And

mine.

The Goose Knight, A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, is how these tales begin,

When Gareth Keep was young, shiny, and new,

The backwater town of Althainia was too.

There was a young Knight, bumbling, and free of sin,

Sir Brethil to give the fellow a name.

A willing warrior of the Sacred Shield,

But not the best to take the field.

Kind, and helpful, not likely to win fame.

Still, he patrolled Althainia like a hawk,

A Shield Knight willing to aid and protect.

One quiet day, pleasant as one could expect,

He strolled the park to hear a horrible squawk!

Sir Brethil rushed to the pond to see,

A battered white goose tugged between,

Two trespassing goblins quite mean.

He yelled and brandished sword to look mighty!

Goblins dropped the prize and true to form, ran,

Leaving Sir Knight in the dust, goose at his feet,

Mostly dead, she honked her sad defeat.

Gently, he gathered the bird with compassion,

Returned to the Keep, and to the High Clerist,

"How thoughtful, Brother, goose with our bread!"

"Oh, dear no, Sir." Sir Brethil stammered and said.

"Please, in Siccara's name, heal her," was his request.

The High Clerist rolled his eyes and hands he laid,

A prayer to Siccara reverently said,

And the lovely white goose no longer bled.

"Kind Brother," sighed the Clerist, "let us hope for eggs laid."

Every day the Knights hoped and checked in on,

Sir Brethil and his inseparable white goose.

Yet no eggs were laid to honor the truce,

But on Sir Brethil she certainly did fawn!

She followed him everywhere he would go,

To prayer, to practice, even patrol!

Over every field, street and knoll.

At tournament days she was quite the show,

Honking excitedly for her Knight at the rail.

All the Knights liked this mascot pet,

Except for one who sneezed and eyes were wet.

The Colonel of the Crown expected eggs without fail,

"Those feathers make me sneeze and wheeze."

"Get that bird out of here or onto my plate!"

Such was inevitable, the goose's fate,

Sir Brethil rode out to the pond, the goose he would leave,

Yet as he tried and tried to shoo,

A horrible roar echoed from the south wood,

Overhead a shadow crossed over where he stood,

A young red dragon looking for Knight stew!

Sir Brethil prayed and valiantly weapon drew,

But in his head knew his goose was cooked.

The little white goose saw how things looked,

Honked, and ducked between her Knight's legs and grew!

- Lorekeeper Datai d'Aggravaine

The Dragon and the Rose

The Dragon and the Rose:

The Story of Illustin the Traitor Red and the Lah'ter Name

,

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``--------..._``--.__

Written by Naemor Lah'ter

Scribed by Artor Talgale

Introduction

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This story has a great importance to me, as it tells the tale of my ancestors.

I have written another story at length, and the two may be seen as a partial

history, tho' this, the second work, is the latter of the two.

I would like such a story to be true as it is a good and noble tale. However, as

a Historian, my training is better than most in fine art of cynicism and even I

must admit I have only the words of my father to verify the validity.

In the very least, this tale is a myth, or legend perhaps. Who can say?

The truth, dear reader, is not as important - it is merely a tale, enjoy it as

such.

Naemor Lah'ter

Knight of the Shield

Poet of the Romantics

Historian of the Lost

I

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"He does not care, Hogwart. Bring Him the profit." The deep voice reverberated

within the stone "prison." It was not a prison however, merely a cave, but it was

a jail enough for the half-ogre who found himself unlucky enough to inhabit it.

Hogwart stood tall, as was common for his people. His forehead and teeth, however,

had just enough taint of ogre-blood to ostracize him from the humans whom he hated.

A lifetime of discrimination tends to do that.

"B-but Master! I humbly inform you again that the shipment was attacked! Those

brigands of the forest again are at fault!" Hogwart stammered, his voice hurried

and rushed. Tho' mildly intelligent, Hogwart was by no means a genius, but what

he lacked in genius, he masked with cleverness, "All we were able to defend from

those - brigands - were two slave-carts and the carriage." The half-ogre motioned

towards the two slave carts in the corner of the lair. The wood and steel cages

were badly burned, but still intact and the carriage, perhaps one of the minor

nobility by its less-than-perfect attempt at opulence, appeared intact.

"Very well. Take the gold there and summon with you a band to defeat these

brigands. The brigands displease Him. If any more shipments are lost He shall be

angered further." A huge clawed hand reached out of the shadows of the cave,

where the light of the lava on the other end of the cavern failed to reach, and

pushed a pile of gold towards Hogwart.

The half-ogre's eyes seemed to glow in the light of the luminescent lava. The

sight of a pile of gold that was perhaps more three months of his usual pay. He

had served the great Red for the past five years as a middleman and merchant,

and had made a fair living for himself, but this... this was unexpected. His

plans had gone perfectly.

"Yes, Master! It shall be done! At once and with most excellence, Master! We

know just where they hide! All of them!" Hogwart hurriedly collected as much of

the gold as he could into the various pockets of his robes. Coins poured from

coin-swollen clothes as he hurried out of the cave, leaving a trail of coins

that reflected the molten earth around him. As he hurried up the sloping passage

to the surface of the mountain he could hear the slow grating sound of the

boulder being pushed back into place, covering the entrance to the Great Red's

Lair.

II

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Thistletwip awoke slowly. He slowly rose to his knees. His was head still

pounding within his ears from the beating that had left him bruised. A small hand

reached up quietly towards his topknot, feeling the bump on his skull. There was

no blood at least, and he appeared in good health otherwise, only a small bruise

on his back where the first club hit him. With a slight depressed sigh, the kender

looked around his newfound home. He had been in the cage on the back of the cart

for some time, since the slaver, Hogwart, captured him. At least they fed him, he

was glad for that, even if it wasn't very good food.

Thistletwip sat quietly in a steel cage, a thick padlock on the gate. The cage to

the left of him was empty and shattered spots of dried blood coating the iron bars

in the soft red glow. The goblin Ngilimin, who also had been captured, had

befriended the kender, appeared to have met his demise.

It was warm in here, wherever here was, at least and his slight attire did not

seem to bother him. He shook his head again, rubbing the sleep and pain from his

eyes. He nearly went into shock and his heart nearly exploded as he glanced to the

glitter around him.

"I must be in Heaven!" The kender stood up quickly in his cage as he pushed himself

against the steel bars. Beyond the cage seemed what was like a sea of glitter. Gold

and silver coins covered the stone ground, littered along with half-opened chests

and various arcane artifacts. The kender frowned sadly as he tried to push on the

bars, but the steel held fast against his desperate attempts to free himself and

explore.

"Drats." The kender let out a sad sigh as he slumped back down against the chairs,

resting his saddened visage within his palms. Small tears welled in the kender's

eyes as he realized he was trapped within the cage, and one look to his left, he

realized what sort of odd fate awaited for him. He kicked the steel bar with a

sniffle, causing the lock to jingle slightly. A sharp pain rose into his foot as

the cobbling nail almost pierced the flesh of his heel

"The Shoe!" The kender's eyes lit up as he hurried to remove his shoe, the

cobbling nail had been bothering him for a few days, and it was perhaps just what

he needed to pick the lock. After a few minutes of prying the nail came free easily.

He quickly stood, easily reaching the lock through the bars. Silly Brigands, he

thought, leaving a kender alone with a lock! Ha! They'll see why that's not smart!

The lock came free easily, and with a gentle push the Kender was free. With a

giggle the kender took off into the gold, sliding headfirst among the pile of coins

as he tossed it into the air as if he was bathing. His heart raced furiously as he

almost was paralyzed, he didn't know what to play with first, and there were so many

choices!

It was then that he noticed the dragon.

With a grin that only a kender can create, he went around quickly, gathering for

himself various crowns and scepters and other badges of royalty, quickly gathering

them about his person until he looked more like an emperor than a kender. He had to

constantly stifle his giggles as he crept up quietly with jeweled scepter in hand

towards the slumbering red dragon.

"Greetings!" The kender let out a large shout as he slammed his golden scepter onto

the stone floor, dislodging an emerald and sending it skittering across the stone

floor. The dragon's breathing halted abruptly as its massive eyes opened focusing

swiftly upon the kender.

"You awaken Him?" The dragon spoke slowly, still groggy from its sleep. The heat

from the dragon's breath almost caused the kender to look away, but it soon faded.

"I, Emperor Thistletwip!" The kender stood proudly with his filched royal crown

upon his head. The Dragon slowly raised its massive head, turning it slightly,

lizard like to regard the Kender. With a slow languid motion its neck slowly

turned, giving the wyrm a view of the picked lock and the now-empty cage.

"You seek to steal from Him, softling?" The Dragon let out a low growl as its

claws gripped into the stone of the floor, the razor nails cutting into the solid

stone. "He does not tolerate thieves, and He is hungry again." The kender had

little time to see it coming; it was only a blur of motion behind him. The tail of

the Dragon sent the light kender hurtling against the cavern wall, adjacent to the

cage. The Kender, blessed with agility that even a cat would be envious of,

managed to twist his body yet still was not able to soften the impact upon the

cavern wall. A wet thump accompanied the fall of the Kender as his golden crown

and scepter landed with a rattle somewhere within the various piles of gold.

"Wait...." The kender cried softly as small sobs began to fill its throat a he

held out a small hand futily, "I...can..help." The dragon's hoarse chuckle filled

the room.

"The slaver... Hogwart.." The kender sniffled between his breaths as his breathing

was shallow.

"Yes? What of him?" The dragon's eyes lit up in curiosity, as his anger diverted

instead to curiosity

"He...steals...from...you." The kender coughed loudly as he struggled to regain

his footing.

"WHAT!?" The dragon's roar shook the very mountain, almost sending Thistletwip off

his feet. Dust fell from the ceiling all around and for a moment it appeared as if

the cave was to collapse. The Dragon reached out with a claw and plucked the kender

up, placing him before the wyrm.

"What do you mean, steal!" The dragon glared at the kender.

"The...items..you...give...for..him..to..sell...he...keeps..and....blames...brigands

...there...are..no...brigands!" The kender looked up to the dragon pleadingly, tears

welling in his eyes. "I.. saw him!" Thistletwip, aware of the dragon's interest

became more confident, "He and his fellows burnt the carts, and laughed, saying that

they would fool you again! He lies to you!"

The dragon growled lowly as it clenched the stone ground again, breaking off chunks

of stone with ease in its anger. Its entire body seemed to be taut with anger and

rage as it contemplated the scheming of the half-ogre.

"Go back to your cage. He shall summon Hogwart, if what you say is true..." The

dragon motioned to the kender, who speedily hurried back to his cage, closing the

gate just enough to give the illusion of security.

III

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"Yes Master?" Hogwart looked around curiously as he stepped through the entrance

of the lair. This summoning was unexpected, but of course not out of the ordinary.

The Wyrm often changed his mind upon what he wanted sold, or for how much. "I am

at your service Master."

"He has considered these brigands..." The dragon spoke softly, continuing its

guise of complacency. "He thinks it best that He deal with them. He shall act."

The half-ogre's eyes opened widely for a moment at this odd statement. The dragon

never left his lair, at least for as long as anyone could remember. For him to

leave over this, seemed odd.

"Master, I assure you, it is almost done, the brigands are almost defeated." The

half-ogre smiled softly as he looked to the dragon, a smug smirk on his face.

"He wishes to kill the brigands and retrieve His gold. The Softling knows where

they are, yes?"

"Uh... Well...no. We haven't yet -" The sentence of the half-ogre was cut off by

the furious roar of the dragon as he reached out with a claw, clenching the

half-ogre in his iron grip, the edges of his claws digging into the sides of the

traitor.

"You lie to Him!" The dragon growled as he clenched. The half-ogre tried to

scream but he could not fill his lungs with air as the iron grip of the dragon

closed. The sound of the ribs and spine of the half-ogre snapping was audible

throughout the lair, the echo's pervading the ears of the kender. With a grunt

the dragon threw the half-ogre into the pit of lava across the room.

It was not long until the half-ogre Hogwart was no more.

The sated gaze of the giant wyrm turned to the Kender, considering the small

creature quietly. "He grants you one item from His horde. He decides to spare

you." The dragon let out a low growl, still angry at the now deceased Hogwart.

"Thanks!" Thistletwip bounded out of the cage running over the various piles of

golden coins looking for a possible trophy to return home to tell his great

adventure to his friends! He had been kidnapped, and almost eaten by a dragon!

What a great tale this would make! He'd be famous!

"I want this!" The kender reached down into the gold, plucking out his desired

trophy.

"Bring it to Him. He wishes to inspect the softlings choice." The dragon turned

its head over towards the kender who quickly approached, holding aloft for the

dragon to see a small crystal rose. The rose was carved delicately from some

unknown crystal. A soft glow came from the crystal, and the dragon let out a

soft chuckle.

"The Rose of Taliena. He thinks its fitting." The dragon nodded quietly as he

motioned with a claw to the entrance of the lair. Thistletwip, who would forever

onward be immortalized as "The Great Finder" by his fellows in Balifore, did not

linger any longer for an opportunity to leave. With his new rose in hand, the

kender never looked back as he ran to freedom.

IV

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"I'll do it." The young knight spoke up quietly as he glanced to his elders. The

three assembled Knights, dressed all in once-polished armor stared at the younger

member for a moment in disbelief.

"You wish to lead the frontal assault?" The eldest spoke, looking with surprised

and apprehension to his fellow. "Are you ready for such battle?"

"Yes, M'lord." The younger knight stated confidently, taking upon a stern visage

as he clenched the lance at his side while steadying the reigns of his charger.

"It is easy to lead a straight charge, sirs. I have the least experience, allow

me to do it. Your wisdom is needed on the more important areas."

"You realize the risk, Young Ranilian?" The eldest again spoke looking at the

newly knighted youth with a discerning eye.

"Yes, M'lord. There shall be casualties, but there shall be casualties anywhere

we battle." The younger man spoke, hiding his slight hurt at the various

questioning of his abilities. The three knights nodded in unison and another

spoke up.

"No one doubts your abilities, Gregory. I am sure you shall do fine." He smiled

softly as he looked to Gregory. The young knight merely nodded to the others and

turned his charger around, trotting back towards the front lines.

"Nacarmos!" The young knight called out as he rode his steed along the lines of

tents that made up the encampment. The head of a well-dressed man turned from his

duties to look to Gregory.

"Yes M'lord?" The page replied, while saluting his officer.

"Prepare my armor and lance, and yours as well. We shall be leading a unit

tomorrow." The knight smiled slightly at his own words, only now understanding

the honor and responsibility of them.

"Really, Milord? You are to lead?" The page's eyes were surprised a bit and a

look of obvious question was on his face. "The Militia? Reserves?"

Gregory merely shook his head with a disdainful smirk as his own page doubted him

as well.

"We..." The knight motioned to Nacarmos and then to his lance. The page, quick to

oblige, gathered up the weapon and offered it to the knight, who took it gently,

"... are to be the point of the attack. The front line. We... shall lead the

attack."

Nacarmos went silent for a moment as he considered the deadly mission as he

quickly tried to hide his own fear and worry.

".... Congratulations... sir..." Nacarmos's stunned voice trailed off as Gregory

kicked his mount into motion again, wishing to return to his tent to rest and

pray for the following day.

There would be a battle soon, and he would lead it.

V

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The entire camp spread before him. He could see easily the large mess-tent in the

southwest corner of the field, as well as the larger tents of the Generals and

the Lord Knights. How stupid these Knights of Serpantol were. He had passed by

half a dozen sleeping "guards" on his way through the outer-picket lines.

Pathetic. It would be an easy battle.

And he would make it even easier.

With a small smirk, the man crept down the tall hill that guarded the west side

of the encampment, his eyes locked for a moment upon the green and white tent

that told of the tent of the General of the Crown. All that stood between him and

his target where four guardsmen. Two of them patrolled the area around the tent

and two more guarded the entrance. The rest of the camp was safe asleep, assured

that the outer guards would defend them well. That was there folly.

He had prepared enough for six guards, but four only made it easier as he reached

to the hidden sheath on his forearm for the first of the poisoned shurikens. He

had specially prepared the poison from a recipe learned from Dragoth himself.

He crept quickly into the camp, his legs moving swiftly and silently as he

approached the tent from the rear. The first of the patrolling guards came into

view and was met swiftly with a toss of the shuriken that swam true through the

air, digging its six-starred blade into the neck of the guard.

"Assa..." The guards voice trailed off as his eyes locked for one last moment

upon the crouched form of the dark-robed assassin before falling over to the

dirt as the poison kicked in.

"Damn!" The assassin muttered under his breath, as he heard the call of the

other patrol guard. Abandoning his first plan, the assassin moved instead to the

next, withdrawing from his sheath his razor-sharp short-sword, cursing that he

would have to use a more risky method.

Lining quietly up against the fabric of the tent he waited until the second

patrol guard rounded the corner to answer the half-cry of his fallen comrade.

This time, he made no mistake. In one swift motion the slick blade of the

gladius severed the throat and larynx of the hapless Knight. In a moment the

Knight was dead...soundlessly.

That left the two Guards at the entrance.

He was out of time and options however. Dawn had come, and he could hear the

rousing of the men. He could not risk confrontation with the two guardsmen,

should others aid him and he fail in his task. He would have to sacrifice

himself, not that he minded. Dragoth would reward him for his service.

Still it bothered him. He preferred perfection and this certainly was far from

it. With a single swift slice he cut through the tent where he approximated

the bedchamber of the Lord Knight to be. The slice made an audible ripping

sound, which would surely awaken any who slept inside so he moved quickly,

sword drawn, looking for the for of the Lord.

It did not take long to find him, yet he was already awaken, the white-bearded

paladin staring at the clothed assassin with a calm look, almost as if he was

not afraid.

"Guards!" The man let out a shout as he turned to his armor-stand beside his

cot where his sword rested. It would not save him, not now. The assassin was

too quick. Too perfect.

A shuriken founds its way to the naked back of the Lord Knight, sending him

to the same fate as the guard outside.

With a malicious smirk the assassin dropped his short sword, turning to see

the approach of the two guardsmen, and bothering not to move out of the way of

their halberds as they dug into his flesh. His mission was completed.

Trenith the Half-Elven had his revenge.

VI

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He was awoken by the sounds of men outside his tent. It was night still, and

Gregory slowly got to his feet. He let out a slight curse as he stood from his

cot, luckily the air was still warm as fall had not yet come, but why his men

were awake at such an odd hour when they were to fight the next day petered him.

They should be sleeping, and gaining strength.

With a grunt he stepped outside, enjoying the sensation of the soft grass upon

his bare feet. He noticed a man that he knew ahead of him walking towards what

seemed to be a congregation.

"Layithix!" The young knight growled, perhaps a bit too angrily than he would

have liked, but he was still half-asleep he reasoned.

"Y-Yes M'lord?" The squire stopped in his tracks and saluted the knight.

"What is the meaning of this?" He waved a hand towards the group of men gathered

around a still glowing bon-fire.

"They pray M'lord." The squire stated rather matter-of-factly, as if it was

obvious.

"So they do. But why at such an hour? Did we not have mass at noon?" The knight

grumbled again as he looked for an explanation.

"M'lord..." The squire started, his face showing a bit of surprise at the

knight's ignorance, "...have you seen the moons?"

"No.. I..." Gregory frowned for a moment as he looked to the section of the sky

where the White Moon of Kantilles should be. He stood, horror struck for a

moment as he saw the eclipse. A small ring of white and red just hinting at the

two moons shadowed by the Black Moon of Drakkara.

An Eclipse....

VII

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There were excuses. The General was assassinated, they were out numbered. They

held the high ground.

These did not satisfy Gregory Ranilian. They were losing the battle badly, doubly

so his contingent. His Knights had charged valiantly, but the resistance was too

much. A front line of Ogres was merely too much to try to smash through, much

less hold at bay whilst the others attempted to flank.

His lance had cut down many an evil Knight this day; he had even landed a killing

blow upon Ysiril, the famed Druid of Drakkara. He would surely be awarded a medal

for such an accolade kill, tho' it mattered not to Gregory.

What mattered was that they were losing.

"Sir!" The shrill voice called out behind him as Gregory turned for a moment

from the battle to see the messenger with the coat of arms of the General of the

Lance.

"What is it, page?" The knight looked back to the battle quickly assuring himself

that the line would hold - for now.

"Orders from General Erlistam. Order your men to retreat and return to protect

the keep and receive healing! You are to join the General on the flank for more

instruction!" The messenger spit out his words swiftly, wishing to be away from

the dangerous position of being the front line of the army.

"Noted, page! Tell the General I do so at once!" The knight grumbled inwardly at

his failed attempt, but satisfied himself that there was little he, or anyone

could have done against such odds.

"Nacarmos!" The knight called to his bardic page. "Sound the Song of Retreat!"

The bard merely nodded somberly, as he too, saw the desperation of the battle,

swiftly bringing to his pipes to his mouth, playing the tune that no soldier

wishes to hear. At once the men disengaged from their battles, turning and

kicking their horses into a gallop while a few of the brave men continued to

battle four ogres at a time, to cover their retreat.

They would fall, but Gregory would personally see to their posthumous decoration

for Valor.

With a sigh he turned his horse and raced down the line to the flank. The battle

wound its way like a serpent over the plain, adjacent to which rested the high

ground and the mountains. It was to the mountains' edge where the General sought

to flank.

He did not see it come, but perhaps that aided him.

He only felt the heavy pound of a log smash against his forehead and himself

falling off his horse, landing in the muddy ground below. His helmet was knocked

from his head as he slipped into unconsciousness; he only saw the two giant legs

of the minotaur standing over him.

"Wake up Lesser!" The minotaur growled as he lifted the unconscious knight to

his feet. The bull-faced warrior growled as he looked to the unconscious man.

There was no honor in defeating an already near-dead knight! Raije would not be

pleased with such cowardice!

"Ughh..." The knight's head rose quietly as he looked up to see the rage-filled

eyes of the minotaur before him. In one hand he held the massive war-hammer that

had knocked him from his horse.

"Bah! You are still half-asleep!" The minotaur growled and with a grunt hurled

the semi-unconscious knight across the battle-field where he again impacted the

ground. The minotaur hefted his war-hammer with a grunt and hurried off to find

another more fitting subject to face in combat.

The knight slowly got to his feet as the minotaur left. Ahead of him he could

see the advancing throng of ogres and goblins and dark knights. He saw nothing

around him save dead bodies. Either his fellows had been killed or they had

retreated. Gregory was alone. With a sigh he closed his eyes, uttering a spell

that he had learned some time ago, but never had used. It was a dangerous spell

to use, doubly so one in his condition.

And then one moment he was in the center of the battlefield, in the next he had

teleported.

VIII

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When he opened his eyes he found himself high above the plain where he had been

before. Below him, as if chess pieces rested the whole battlefield! He could see

the entire formation of the Eclipse and their allies, as well as the units of

Knights who were now in retreat to Gareth.

It was certainly due to the Rose.

The Knight let out a small sigh as he reached into his chest-plate, drawing out

the small crystal rose that his Grandfather, Fflam had given him. It was most

magnificent, and was said to bring with it the luck of a Kender. There was no

doubt in his mind now that the rumor was true.

His brief reverie was interrupted for a moment by the grunts of goblins further

down the slope. The Knight murmured quietly as he saw the forms of four bald

goblins climbing up the ground towards him. It did not appear that they had yet

seen him, but apparently the Eclipsians, too had realized what a strategic

advantage could be gained from this height.

The Knight clutched the crystal with a prayer as his eyes looked over the

mountain for somewhere to hide.

There!

The knight almost let out a laugh as he kissed the rose. Just behind where he

stood the Knight saw the entrance to a small cave. Various boulders crowded its

entrance, but it was an ideal hiding place, the goblins would never see him in

there.

IX

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The path into the mountain was long and steep and sweat began to dampen the

knight. His curiosity had gotten the best of him as he traveled down what seemed

to be a well-carved tunnel. Ahead of him the air grew warm, heated probably by

some geothermal force. He glanced back quickly to the small cropping of rocks,

he could hear the rough sounds of the goblin-tongue and he resigned to continue

down the passage.

"By Nadrik ...." The knight's hands trembled as he placed his mailed hands upon

the crumbled pieces of what was once a mighty boulder. Ahead of the small section

of the rubble, which seemed to mark the end of the tunnel, was the unmistakable

shine of treasure. His footsteps quickened as he hurried to push aside the last

of the rubble until he was able to enter the cavern.

The cavern was immense; most castles, save the great Keep of Serpantol could fit

inside the mammoth structure. Lava Pools swirled chaotically in some corners,

reminding the Knight that danger still lurked. These were enough, however, to

illuminate most of the cavern, and as far as the eye could see were there gems,

mystic artifacts and other items of lore.

"This would buy the whole of the Empire.." The confused knight knelt quietly to

the ground beneath him, digging up a handful of the coins and watching as they

flowed from his grasp, as if they were liquid, settling back into the pile below.

The coins seem to coat the entire cavern, as if it were a sea of monies. It was

if he were in a dream.

His brief reverie was interrupted quickly as the coins below him began to shake

and churn; if the coins were a sea than it looked as if a tempest had stirred

the silver waters. Gregory was tossed to his feet as the coins beneath and before

him were raised. And then he saw it...

A Dragon.

Its form rose quickly from the quagmire of treasure, the coins that had buried

its giant red scales falling off to the ground below. It was huge, larger than

any dragon he had ever seen. The Knights of Serpantol had fought many dragons,

as Eclipse was often to have the chromatics accompany them. But never.. had he

seen one like this.

Long red horns ran from atop the ridge of its brow, forming a sort of headpiece

that was both beautiful as well as functional. Its narrow jaws ended with vicious

fangs each, easily the size of a scimitar and just as wickedly curved. Some coins

were even molten, having been smelted by the immense heat of the beast, indeed,

liquid gold ran from his jaws as if it were saliva.

It inclined its head slowly towards the Knight, who stood paralyzed with fear,

his limbs unable to move and his mind unable to comprehend the sight before him.

"You dare interrupt His sleep, softling? The Great Sleep of Illustinalinanul dra

Draminslicaoe?" The great wyrm shifted its massive bulk as it turned its gaze upon

the immobile form of Gregory Ranilian. The knight attempted to speak but words

would not form from his lips, and even if they had, it would have been babble.

"A knight!" The beast growled lowly as it noticed the insignia upon the breast of

Gregory's armor as its eyes slitted in reptilian vengeance. With one swipe of its

razor claws he sent the already wounded knight skidding across the pile of gold

coins until an unlucky chest halted his travel. His armor was little protection

against the razor claws of the wyrm, as the armor was rended with a screeching

sound, but it prevented an instantaneous death.

"The softling lives?" If a dragon is able to frown, the wyrm certainly did. He

doubted his own senses for a moment (just, a moment), as he heard the shallow

breathing of the knight. The Dragon thought for a moment that perhaps the armor

the knight was wearing was magic, yet, he sensed no aura. Perhaps it was he then?

Had he slept too long? Of course not. Sleep was what made dragons strong, and by

now he was surely one of the strongest. Curiosity mixed with bitterness filled

the dragon's breast as he sought an explanation for the still breathing knight.

A single talon extended, the dragon nudged the knight. And there, tucked inside

his armguard, rested the answer.

"The Rose!" The dragon growled in ecstasy! He had lost it for so many years lost

to that... Kender! And now it was returned to him by this.. this... Knight! The

dragon clutched the rose delicately between two talons as his eyes were absorbed

into the crystalline pattern. It was a gift of the goddess Taliena, and perhaps

it was she who changed the Dragon's heart, for when he looked upon the wounded

and dying Knight he felt pity. Perhaps it was the first pity he had ever felt.

"Arise, knight." The dragon spoke the words softly, as if he were afraid of them,

afraid that he was weak in saving the knight from death. He did not know why he

did what he did, only that he knew for some reason he must.

Gregory Ranilian, lost from this world twice in as many hours, slowly stirred to

vigor once again. The wounds that had covered his abdomen were healed by the

mighty magics of the great wyrm.

"I..." The knight tried to stand, a hand clutching towards his sword-hilt, but

his legs, weak from the blood loss, failed him and he tumbled into the pile of

coins with a clamor.

"Rest knight. Safety has this Rose bought you. For He who once owned it, now

does so again. The wounds of the Knight has He healed, and shall He now grant

you one favor. You return the Rose to Him. And shall he now pay his debt." The

dragon spoke softly, a certain kindness in his voice, a kindness that confused

the knight, yet he was still in a daze. The odd logic, in his state, did not seem

odd. It was one of those times when even the absurd makes sense.

"The... Battle." The knight's chest heaved as the life that once flowed within it

slowly returned, "We... lose the battle... the favor I ask of you...." Gregory

doubled over, his cough wet with blood as the dragon stood raptured, his head

inclined towards the recovering knight.

"Win the Battle, Wyrm..."

X

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"There he is! Dranim, look!" The dirty youth grabbed the other by the scruff of

his woolen tabard, half-dragging his companion to the balcony. The two youths,

clamored to the top of the stone balcony that over-looked the parade below. Both

were dressed alike, dirty woolen peasant clothes covered by a set of miniature

capes, fashioned with poor embroidery to be replicas of those of the Knighthood.

At the side of each rested a wooden sword, an instrument that routinely spelled

death for any number of imaginary dragons or brigands.

"He's smaller than I thought!" The red haired youth looked to his companion, as

if a bit disappointed.

"Yeah, uncle said he was a giant!" The elder of the brothers shrugged as he

looked down to the knight who passed beneath them. The tales of Knight Gregory

Ranilian's exploits were the stuff of legend. He had led the combined armies of

Serpantol to a victory over the Eclipsians at the northern frontier, as well as

squelching an inner-rebellion by Eclipsian sympathizers.

"Father said he fought with him once, before he retired." The younger spoke

quietly, as if in reverence, or as if one were talking of a saint or martyr.

"He did?" The elder scratched his head as he turned to look at his brother

quizzically.

"Yeah. Remember? He beat the Bad Dragon and rode him against the Bad Knights!"

The younger looked to his brother with annoyance. Hadn't he listened to all the

bedtime tales too?

"Oh yeah.. I forgot. He didn't really do that... did he?" The elder snorted a

bit, displaying the common cynicism of prepubescent youth.

"Father says he saw it."

"Yeah. I guess so."

XI

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"Approach his Highness, Knight Gregory of Ranilian." The magistrate motioned

with a silver-capped cane, towards the throne before taking a single step back.

The accompanying rapping of the cane echoed throughout the royal chambers.

"I have heard much of your exploits young knight." The Emperor nodded quietly to

the magistrate and turned to look to the mailed knight before him. "My old ears

still do not believe the reports that I have received. They say you came riding

a red dragon." A coarse chuckle escaped the wizened face of the Emperor. He

looked rather stately on his throne, tho' one could tell that age had caught up

to him. He looked thin and pale, more like a withered farmer than a once-proud

Emperor.

"I can say I can scarcely imagine such a sight. However, my men inform me that

it is true. You not only saved a battle, knight, but through means which I do

not think anyone shall ever know, you saved an empire." The ancient Emperor

nodded to he magistrate and motioned with a hand to his servants. One of them

produced a small box, raising it carefully before the Emperor.

"Your family has long has a tradition of dedicated service to the offices of the

crown, and those who wear it. Your grandfather served me well in my youth. And

you, young Ranilian, serve me well in my twilight. Thus, do I grant you and your

family this boon."

"Kneel Sir Ranilian." The Emperor rose slowly from the throne, his muscles

quivering with the effort as he descended the steps, one hand holding the

polished rosewood box, the other steadying himself against the armrest. The

young knight did as commanded, the ringing of his mail filling the quiet stone

hall as he bent himself in respect.

"Ranilian is a honorable name, but a common one. Thus, now, shall I dub you,

and your descendants forever the 'Lah'ter.' In the tongue of the ancients it

means simply 'First Guard.'" The quivering hands of the old man reached into

the box, drawing out a small pendant, draping the gold crest about the neck of

the kneeling knight.

The gold crest, was a simple, yet elegant affair. A simple plain field in the

center of which, rested a lance crossed by a sword, and to each side of this,

a red dragon.

The heraldry of the Lah'ter.