The following is a written translation of a modern oral history from the Elven colony Hameau d’Ailéver.
The farmers awoke on a chilly spring morning to find a few of their cattle had disappeared. A runaway every now and then was normal, but three gone by sunrise was odd. A party gathered to search for the missing animals, but by evening it proved a failed effort. They all went to bed hoping to find the runaways in the field the next morning, but were not so lucky. A couple horses had fled sometime in the night, it seemed. Another day of checking the surrounding woods and plains came and went with no trace of the animals. That night, one of the farmers stood watch to herd any deserters back to where they belonged. He, too, was nowhere to be found in the morning.
Yezekael, the mayor of the town, looked to the nearby mountains. Ages ago, a dragon had once dwelled there. Perhaps, he thought, it had grown hungry after so many years of rest. Come dusk, he and a band of his strongest men waited with their weapons drawn to take down whatever beast had been stealing his people’s livestock.
Deep into the night, the men began to wonder whether or not to abandon their mission, for nothing tried to escape or infiltrate. Then, the moon high in the sky went dark, blotted out by a dark mass. Its form grew larger and larger, wings flapping as it aimed for the farm. Yezekael grinned with grim determination; he had been right.
Archers readied their bows with notched arrows. Warriors gripped tight to their blades. Yezekael, an elf of gifted blood, prepared a snaring spell. The dragon drew near, and a hum vibrated through the air. Smaller winged creatures appeared, their silhouettes racing toward the farm as well. The dragon hummed again, and the barn doors opened. Cows, sheep, and horses strutted out, oblivious of the doom to which they appeared to be called.
Yezekael unleashed his men, then. Arrows flew toward the dragon and his minions, but only sunk into the flesh of the latter. One of the wyverns crashed to the dirt from its wounds, and the warriors descended upon it. The dragon lowered and swooped in a rush of wind, picking up a cow with each of its feet. The remaining wyverns did the same. His spell ready, Yezekael whipped his ghost-like lasso at the invaders. It took hold of a wyvern’s claw, and he ripped it from the sky. The sheep in its clutches wailed as it died upon impact, but better to serve its people than be a meal for winged worms, Yezekael thought.
The demons fled back toward the mountain with their stolen food. The men roared in victory over the two slain wyverns. But Yezekael, while proud of their accomplishments, did not celebrate. He ordered his men to deliver the beasts to the town butcher, and to say that the meat would be free to every family whosoever wished to feast.
When the following morning came, Yezekael made his way toward Oakwing, the nearest major settlement to his home. The trek took all morning, but by noon he passed through the tall gates of the city surrounded by a wall of stone. Inside, he navigated the streets until he came upon the Sheriff’s Tower, a mighty beacon of justice and order that gazed out upon its bustling citizens.
A small man sitting behind a desk greeted Yezekael once inside. The man’s head was bald on top, and his nose came to a long point at the end. His similarly pointed ears and pale complexion reminded Yezekael of an elf-kin brood, but its name was lost to him. Bright eyes shined behind spectacles, surrounded by wrinkles that somehow did not yet quell the aura of youthful optimism in him. Yezekael introduced himself in the Common tongue and told the attendant his story. The small man wrote something on a scrap of paper in an illegible scrawl, handed it to the elf, and told him to see Captain Hunt on the fourth floor.
Obeying the directions, Yezekael climbed the winding stairs up and up and up. He passed a floor for Oakwing guards, the Paladin Ward, and then finally landed on the fourth floor. Going through the door marked Captain’s Office, he found a quiet square room. The two walls on either side of him were lined with empty wooden chairs, their seats sporting cushions. Ahead of him sat a young woman with long brown hair and a fair complexion, and beyond her along the wall was a plain wooden door. As he closed the door behind him, she looked up from the roll of parchment in which she wrote. She welcomed him to the Captain’s Office and asked for his name and ticket. Yezekael gave them, handing over the scrap the man downstairs had given him. She looked it over for a moment, scribbling something down on a separate piece of paper. Several names were underlined and scratched out there as she added him to the list. Just as soon as he had sat down, the woman called to him, letting him know that Captain Hunt was ready to see him.
Yezekael entered the room and found the redheaded Captain Hunt sitting behind a desk of his own. Stacks of papers piled up on the desk in a neat and orderly organization. The man, dressed in his gilded steel armor sans helmet, looked at a piece of paper sitting between the two short towers and stamped the bottom of it, moving it the stack on his right. He looked up at Yezekael, a hard and stern look on his face as he bade the elf to speak. The latter repeated his plea, telling the man of the dragon and stolen livestock. Though he claimed he could spare no guards, Captain Hunt took Yezekael’s ticket, slammed a new stamp on it, and told the elf to head to the Paladin Ward for assistance. With a word of thanks, Yezekael left for the third floor.
A simple room awaited him. A table separated a pair of wooden chairs from another in the middle of the room. A door led to somewhere unknown on the wall that faced him. Yezekael stood alone in this room and wondered if he was in the right place. The first door had been labeled the Paladin Ward, but there seemed to be no paladins around. He called out, but no one came. He waited a moment longer before trying again, yet still received no response. He considered returning to Captain Hunt to tell him of the empty Paladin Ward, but instead listened to the guidance of his forefathers and chose patience. Just as soon as he sat in one of the wooden chairs, the door behind him opened.
Two figures clad in steel similar to Captain Hunt’s entered. The first was a tall woman with streaks of gray in her red hair. She laughed at something the man who accompanied her likely said before they arrived. He had onyx hair atop his head and across his face. He closed the door and greeted Yezekael. The man and woman introduced themselves as Rokkoh and Miea, respectively, the former being a new recruit to Oakwing’s Order of Paladins. He took the seat on the other side of the table as Yezekael began his plea for the third time. Miea, kneeling next to her colleague, produced a sheet of paper, a quill, and an inkwell. She wrote down everything the elf said, and when he was done, she added something else. She explained to both Yezekael and Rokkoh that services in the art of monster hunting had a flat starting rate of fifty gold, and the quantity or lethality of said monster would then add to the final total. An endeavor to slay a dragon would add a steep price of 150 gold, and its wyvern cousins would be fifty each. However, due to the dangerous nature of the job, only a down payment would be required. Yezekael agreed to pay half the total, setting a hefty coin purse upon the tabletop. He signed the paper, as did Rokkoh, and Miea materialized a second copy of the contract. One was given to Yezekael, and the other she kept.
Rokkoh and Yezekael set out from Oakwing, heading back north toward Hameau d’Ailéver. During the long walk, Yezekael learned that although Rokkoh had not been part of the Order for long, he had plenty of experience with his sword. He had received training at the Tower of Lost Children in Sylzaria. He had served under Everglow’s banner during their conflict with Elkenrast. He had slain vampires, cultists, and all manners of bestial fiends. While he had yet to face any breed of drake, Yezekael was nothing but confident in his hired protector.
The afternoon fell into early evening by the time they returned to the elf’s home. Citizens gathered to greet the paladin and offer their gratitude for returning with their leader. Yezekael and his people guided Rokkoh on a tour of the town, from the quiet homes to the small marketplace and eventually to the farmlands where the dragon had struck. They decided to reconvene there after dinner and prepare for their upcoming battle. (Or, as a couple of the elven soldiers darkly thought, they wanted one last meal before passing into the eternal paradise of Locort Ziotum.) Yezekael invited Rokkoh to his home to eat with his family, to which the man gladly accepted.
Soon, the blanket of night crept upon the town. With the moon rising through the black, Rokkoh, Yezekael, and his men congregated back at the farmlands. The soldiers resumed their positions from the night before, everyone’s eyes fixed upon the horizon. As if on cue, the massive shape of the dragon drew its silhouette against the light of the moon. Archers readied their bows and arrows, swordsmen readied their blades, and Yezekael and Rokkoh rushed to the barn doors. The paladin stepped inside, finding all the livestock resting. His hands outstretched to them, he said a prayer in his holy tongue over the animals. Yezekael kept silent so as not to disrupt the spell. When he was done, Rokkoh told Yezekael to lock the doors before heading toward the ladder leading to the mezzanine. The elf did as he was told, sliding the bolt into place once he was outside once more.
The dragon began its hum again, and Yezekael braced himself against the barn door to help keep it shut. However, he heard no stirring within. Part of him wanted to peek inside, but he stayed his hand. If keeping the door locked meant their peace would last longer, he did not wish to risk it. Instead, he prepared a stronger snaring spell than before on his lips as the dragon and its wyverns approached. The huge beast let out an angry roar when it saw that its call did not lure any prey, so its sights then went to those who kept it from its meal.
The drake’s underlings rushed forth and swooped feet-first to take hold of whomever they could catch. Arrows rained down upon the beasts, more precise than they had been the night before. Two fell then, and the other two fled. The great dragon, however, refused to bow. With a roar that rivaled the might of Nampurm the Novhina of Storms, it spewed from its razor-filled maw a thick tendril of flame. It scorched across the earth, lighting up the farmland with its vicious orange. It circled around and rose in the air before advancing toward its tiny foes. It prepared a new stream from its throat as Yezekael released his spell. The lasso stretched far but still found the long scaled neck of the beast. His hands gripped tight on the invisible rope, and every muscle tightened as he pulled against it. His strength, however, was unmatched compared to that of the dragon. With a twist of its neck, the dragon flung Yezekael into the air. Higher and higher he soared from the pull. His magical lasso dissipated and left his hands empty. Though he had sometimes wondered what it would be like to fly, Yezekael never considered this to be how he would learn.
Something from the roof of the barn caught his eye. A golden glow, bright and shimmering, sped toward the edge. It stretched out to a point on top, and after a blink Yezekael could see what it was. A holy aura surrounded Rokkoh as he leapt from the barn roof with his sword held high with both hands. The glow disappeared behind the beast as it passed, but a flash of the gold shone like a star for all but a fraction of a second. Rokkoh landed on the dragon’s back, riding it as it plummeted to the ground. Yezekael saw then his own fast descent and spoke a spell of cushioning. He crashed, yet was grateful that the fall brought him only a rough soreness instead of broken bones.
Aside from the lapping of the flames and the occasional groan of a soldier, a quiet settled through the farmland. Survivors of the battle gathered around the largest of the three masses. Hushed wonder came from their lips, and Yezekael understood why: Rokkoh sat upon the dragon’s head several yards away from the rest of its body. A tired but victorious look painted the man’s face as he cleaned the dragon’s blood from his long steel blade. Yezekael ordered his mean to fetch water pails to put out the fires that spread across the farmland and to notify the butcher of their latest great meat harvest. He thanked the paladin from Oakwing and invited him back to his home to rest.
The following day was met with celebration and disbursement of the delicacy of dragon meat. Even Rokkoh packed some away to take home with him. There was much drinking, much music, much laughter. The joy in Hameau d’Ailéver stretched on through the afternoon and into the following evening. Rokkoh insisted on staying an extra night to make sure the dragon did not have its own friends waiting for it in the mountains. Darkness fell and they all waited at the farmlands once more, but nothing came for them or their livestock. The town went to sleep that night in peace. The paladin departed the following morning, and dragons never terrorized the Elven colony ever again.
Tyler Gohde 