Preview: The Dragonkeeper (A D&D Inspired Tale by the Ant)
The
half-elf scanned the bar as he entered. The few who noticed him enter simply
glanced in the direction of the travel-worn bard before returning to their
stench-filled drinks or gory stories. Mark didn’t mind. He was used to such a
petty welcome. It was what followed all entertainers. It was a small comfort to
know that people at least appreciated them when they played.
Mark moved towards the bartender. “A
couple of hours of entertainment for a bed and a warm meal,” he offered. He
gave the bartender a steady gaze, and the man faltered under it.
“My deepest apologies, but we already
offered the night to another of your kind,” the bartender apologized.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. Who? This is my town! “To whom?” he wondered calmly.
“A girl with hair of fire,” the
bartender replied. “Ash Pennyson. She stepped out for a moment, but she will be
returning any moment.”
As if on cue, the bar’s doors opened,
and Mark turned to see a short and thin girl cloaked all in gray. Red hair
spilled out of her hood, and she kept her head down, hiding her face from the
crowds. She looked up and glanced at Mark. Her blue eyes penetrated him, and
dared him to fight her. Mark ignored her silent taunt and turned back to the
bartender. “Surely there’s something you can do,” he begged. “There isn’t
another inn for miles.”
The bartender shrugged. “Once she’s
done, we can discuss work. She still has an hour to play, however.”
Mark sighed and turned again. The girl
walked up to a small round table in the corner, measured it up, and climbed
onto it. Standing tall and defiantly, she threw back her cloak and hood. She
had a childish face filled with freckles, but the determination set in her gaze
lit up the room. She pulled a flute from the satchel that hung across from her
shoulder, and began to play a quiet, mournful tune. The crowd silenced, and
listened in awe. Even Mark couldn’t help but admire the rawness of the emotions
displayed within the music.
He silently listened to the music,
getting lost within the silent lyrics of the song. He knew this one, actually;
his mentor had written it. It was a melody of loss and sorrow. Mark recalled
the lyrics as the girl played.
The one of lightning then came,
And with a flash of smoke stole
Everything away, and the flame
Reduced it all down to coal.
The dragon forever was sealed
Away, doomed to be locked forever,
Yet tales will always proclaim,
What heroes might one day discover.
The dragon will return, and finish
his mission,
A land to burn, a world to consume
As the one who promised to seal the
darkness,
Instead-
The
girl abruptly stopped. She dropped her flute and stumbled backwards, her
already-pale face going even paler. Mark frowned and glanced around, drawing
his dagger. He knew a Detect Magic spell when he saw it, and he could tell
she’d found something amiss.
Thankfully, due to his perceptive
nature, he barely managed to avoid the ice spike that had aimed for his head.
He threw his dagger in the direction of the spellcaster, buying him enough time
to draw his short sword. He murmured a spell and the blade began glowing with a
pale pink light. He turned and was thrown backwards as a cold wind shoved him.
The attacker was a mage, that much was
obvious. He had a white robe, white hair, and long white beard, which all said
and done partially blinded Mark. He held a rod in his hand, which was a light
gray. “Mark Borne, petty thief!” he declared. “Give us back the ring!”
“Nice try,” Mark mumbled. He lunged
with his blade but his hand froze in midair as the man muttered a spell.
Movement caught Mark’s eye, and he watched the boomerang fly by his face and
hit the mage. The spell broke, and Mark thrust his sword through the old man,
who fell unconscious, though physically unharmed. Then he turned to see who his
savior was.
She nodded towards the building’s
exit, though paused and waited for Mark to react. He looked around. One man ran
out of the building, no doubt to find guards. Most of the others reached for
their weapons while eyeing Mark carefully. His welcome, however petty, had been
worn out.
So he ran away with the girl of fire.
Comments
Post a Comment