Chapter 2: The Adventure Begins

A farm outside Havensreach Village, Fairglade

In our world, there are few beings of greater strength, intellect, or magical aptitude than dragons. But contrary to popular myth, dragons are not a monolith. I have met and spoken with three dragons myself in my travels, and each was as different from the others as one man is from another, if not more so. One was a monster that enjoyed causing pain and suffering wherever he went, little more than a beast of fire and death. Another looked at humanity the same way you might look at chickens and cows, and even considered himself something of a chef. The third was as old as the stones themselves and the wisest being I have ever been blessed to speak with. For all their great power, dragons are like any of the many races of Lore: individuals, each with their own skills, beliefs, and codes of conduct. Dragons as a whole are only considered monstrous by so many because even one rotten dragon is enough to destroy the lives of hundreds, and it is hard to see the good in a species when all you care about has been consumed by the fires of one of their number.

Wow, Jonathan thought, setting the book down for a moment. She really met real dragons. REAL DRAGONS. Even after the third time reading that particular passage, he could hardly believe it. In the days since he first opened the Book of Lore, Jonathan read it every night, starting over from the beginning each time he reached the end. Sometimes he read alone, but usually Selena was right there with him. They had discovered that the book was a combination of journal and guidebook, chronicling the hero's adventures and offering her insights on the various things she encountered on her travels, with sketches of surprising skill alongside the adventurer's cramped script. The book was still half-blank, the author's job left unfinished, but even so it was crammed full of information, the sketches and writing depicting wonders he could hardly imagine. Wonders like beings of pure elemental energy, with bodies of crackling flame and living lightning. Wonders like legendary weapons of unspeakable power. And of course, wonders like dragons.

Jonathan and Selena had grown up hearing stories of dragons. Many nights their dad had kept them up (claiming he wished to lull them to sleep) with stories of the rebellion against the evil Slugwrath and the heroics of Sir Alden Alteon and his dragon. The tyrant king had ruled the land with an iron fist, his soldiers enforcing his cruel edicts with brutal efficiency, their loyalty secured by Slugwrath's seemingly endless coffers and the power to do as they saw fit to all those beneath them. All lived in fear of the dark king's wrath, cowering before him and all his servants.

Then came Sir Alden Alteon. More than just a knight, he was a DragonLord. A true hero of legend. A champion of good. Riding into battle on the back of his mighty dragon, he led the people of the land in revolt against the cruel tyrant. Answering the call, Jonathan's dad left the family farm, took up the sword, and joined them. They all fought bravely, but it was Alteon's leadership and the might of his draconic companion that secured their victory, forcing Slugwrath from his throne and freeing the land from his evil. Alteon's dragon sadly fell in the conflict, sacrificing itself to destroy the dark forces the tyrant called to aid him near the end. With the war over, the people all cried for their hero to take the throne, and so began the rule of the good King Alteon the Balanced.

Jonathan had always loved those stories. But now he had something more than just stories. He had the personal journal of a real-life adventurer, a hero like the king had been, like others who had joined in the rebellion. Someone who had spoken with dragons face-to-face. And as he read and re-read the tales of the adventurer's exploits, as he stared at the drawings of magical creatures, strange plants, and foreign landscapes, his hands would start to shake; that same something that he had felt when he first saw the adventurer and the book growing within him. As it grew, he started to realize what it was. It was a pull, a yearning to experience the things he read about in the book, to see the wild and wonderful world the adventurer described, full of joy and danger and excitement and all manner of things he had never seen before, things he could hardly imagine! It almost felt as if something out there, calling to him.

All his life, he had been more or less content with his place on the farm. The work was hard, but it was good work, and at night he got to read books from his mother's small collection and tinker in his workshop. He loved the tales of adventure and magic, but he had always thought of them in the past tense, stories of a bygone era. But now, knowing that all this was out there right now, his heart burned to see it for himself. And then there were the words of the last written page:

I'm worried. Undead attacks have grown more frequent along the edges of the Doomwood, and they are pushing further out of the cursed forest than I've ever seen before. The elementals in the foothills are becoming more and more restless, and I get news of wild dragon sightings almost weekly, when once almost a full year could go by without a single sighting. There are even rumors that Akriloth himself has been seen once more. Something is coming, something bad, and I don't know if there are enough adventurers around these days to stop it. Maybe Alteon's knights will be enough to turn the tide when it comes, but with little to test their steel against beyond the occasional bandit crew for years now, I doubt they are up to the task. I just hope the other adventurers and I are.

Stuff was happening, out there in the world beyond their little farm. Things were getting more dangerous. And this adventurer, this hero, who had not shown even the slightest trace of fear when being chased by a pack of dark specters, was worried. I don't know if there are enough adventurers, she wrote. Jonathan's thoughts turned to the sword hanging over the fireplace. His dad had answered the call, all those years ago. He hadn't hesitated to fight for what was right. Didn't Jonathan have a responsibility to do the same?

So why did the idea of leaving make him feel so guilty?

Probably because you'd be leaving your family behind. Dad would have to work the farm by himself or hire a kid from the village to help out. Could we even afford that? And Selena… She was almost as enraptured by the book as he was. He obviously couldn't take her with him, she was just a little kid after all, but if he left without her, she would be heartbroken. You can't just leave them. But he was quickly beginning to realize that he couldn't stay either. Not with the book's words always echoing through his mind, pulling him forward.

. . . . .

The ruins of Pyrewyld Village, Oaklore Forest

Stuffing the last of the provisions in his pack, Damien looked around his childhood home for the last time, his emotions a confusing jumble twisting around in his stomach. He had few happy memories of the place, but it was also the only home he had known. It was small, only a couple bedrooms, the central living space, and a small but well-cared-for kitchen. He had so many emotions wrapped up in this place, but they seemed so insignificant now. Without his parents, the place was empty of all that had given it meaning. The dread of his father no longer loomed over the living room. The comforting smells of his mother's herbal remedies no longer filled the kitchen. The place was dead, just like them.

Damien tied his new blade to his pack along with the potions he had gathered from his mother's cabinet, securing it tightly and slinging it across his back before stepping out the door for the last time. He could feel the beat of its power against his back, a wild thing, barely contained. He wondered for a moment why the bandits would leave such an obviously powerful object behind, but the thought slid away as he saw once more what remained of the rest of the village. His family's house was the only building still standing, all the others only piles of charred brick and ash. There was a part of him, a small one, but still a part, that was glad that they were gone.

After all they put us through for so long, they deserve to suffer a little.

But guilt immediately surged within him, and he pushed the thought away. They had been terrible to him and his parents, sure, but they still didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.

No one except the ones who did this. They deserve all this and more.

That thought he didn't push away, letting it sit in his stomach like a burning coal. He pictured the bandits who took his mother from him burning, screaming like the people of his village had, and felt not even an ounce of guilt. His village had been full of people who feared what they didn't understand and picked on him because of it. His father had been out of control, flying into furies at the slightest provocation, beating both Damien and his mother. But they hadn't been monsters. They had just been crap people living in a crap town. But these bandits? They were monsters. And they deserved to die. For his village, for his father, but most importantly, for his mother. For the only person who had ever really cared about him.

Damien pulled the half-melted buckle out of the pocket of the traveling robes he had taken from his parents' chest, examining it. A wolf's head, cast in black iron. It had to be an insignia of some sort. Something identifying the bandit. Had it been a personal item, something identifying that particular bandit, or was it something they all had? Some sort of sign of membership?

Whatever the case, I won't find the answers here. Tucking the buckle back in his pocket, Damien grabbed his father's old walking staff from its place leaning against the side of the house and began walking, heading towards the nearest village, a good day's walk away. Someone has to know what this buckle stands for. Then I'll know where to go to get my vengeance.

. . . . .

A farm outside Havensreach Village, Fairglade

It was deep into the night when Jonathan made the decision. He could feel a new chill in the air coming in through his bedroom window, and he guessed that winter was likely just around the corner, coming a bit early this year. He would need to pack some winter gear for his journey. And that was when he realized he had already made the decision. He had thought the decision would be something big, the conclusion to a long internal wrestling match. But there had never really been a decision to make. His fate was sealed the moment he opened that book.

Jonathan quickly went to work, moving as quietly as he could as he gathered all the supplies he would need for the trip. After a few minutes of packing, he stood in front of the fireplace, looking up at where his father's sword hung. The blade hadn't seen action in nearly two decades. All of Jonathan's life the blade sat in that same spot, a constant reminder that the stories their father told weren't just stories. All the kids learned at a very young age not to touch the sword. That it was something to never be used again. "I keep this here to remind myself, and all of you, of how things used to be, and what I had to do to help make them better" he would tell them. "And of what no one will ever have to do again."

"But it is happening again," Jonathan whispered at the blade. "And someone needs to be willing to do something to make things better again." Nodding to himself once, Jonathan reached up and grasped the sword's handle and pulled it free from its stand.

Finally, Jonathan piled everything into his pack, strapped the sword to his waist, and headed out to the barn. Up in the attic he pulled out something he and Selena had discovered a few years back: a box containing their dad's old armor. Pulling the whole thing down to the ground level, he started to try to put it on before realizing that he couldn't do so with his pack still on his back. Divesting himself of both pack and blade, he began to put the armor on piece by piece, struggling with a few portions as Sally stared at him in sleepy confusion. He was the right height for the armor, but even with the mass gained from years of working on the farm, his father's armor was still loose on him.

It'll have to do, he thought to himself, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He bent down to pick the sword off the ground and practically jumped out of his boots as he looked up to see Selena standing in front of him, shivering in the cold. "Selena? I, what?"

"You were just going to leave without me?" Selena asked, her voice small. "You weren't going to even say goodbye?"

Jonathan's stomach quickly tied itself into a very complex and uncomfortable sequence of knots. "I, um" Jonathan took a breath to steady himself, his hand going to the cube in his pocket only to remember that armor now covered that pocket. "I didn't want to make this any harder than it needed to be."

"You can't go without me!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot. "I helped you get the book! And I can help! I want to be an adventurer too!"

"You can't come with me," Jonathan argued, recovering from the initial shock. "You're a little kid. It isn't safe."

"You're a kid too!"

"I'm twice your age," Jonathan countered. He sighed and kneeled down to stand at eye level with her. "Selena, you are awesome. You are smart and clever. But you are also a little kid. When you are old enough, I promise to come back and take you with me, if you still want it. But I can't take you with me now."

Tears had begun to stream down Selena's face, her lip quivering. "I'll tell Mom and Dad. I'll wake them up and they will keep you from leaving."

That one surprised him and hurt him a little. Selena, telling on him to their parents? "You can't do that."

"Why not!?" she cried, loud enough that Jonathan worried that alone might be enough to wake their parents.

"Because I need to do this, okay?" He took ahold of Selena's shoulders, keeping her eyes locked on his own. "I need to do this. I don't know why, but I can feel it. Something is pulling me out there, and I need to follow it. And I'm sorry, but I can't take you with me."

She broke down into sobs then, twisting up and tearing into his heart. He pulled her close, holding her tight as she cried into his chest. "It'll be alright," he told her. "I'll be back. But I need to go now." He pulled away, looking her in the eyes once more. "Don't tell Mom and Dad that I've gone until morning. Please."

She sniffed, taking a bit before she could speak through the hiccupping sobs. "Okay. Just promise you'll come back and take me with you, okay?"

"I promise." Jonathan gave her one last hug before picking up his pack and his father's sword. He took one last look back at his little sister standing out in the cold, the knots in both his heart and his stomach now thoroughly tangled up in one another, and turned to head out into the world. As he walked, he opened the book to the last entry, where the adventurer's final words were written.

I've been getting a lot of reports from the Maguswood of late. People attacked while on the road, sightings of new types of monsters. When I'm finished with the current threat in Braughlmurk, I will need to make my way east to Falconreach. It's a small town, but it is perfectly situated at a crossroads by the sea, making it the ideal home base for dealing with threats in the region. That is where I must go.

"Falconreach," Jonathan whispered to himself, flipping the pages to the beginning, where the adventurer had drawn a detailed map of the continent, a dot labeled "Falconreach" sitting at the border of the Maguswood and Oaklore Forest. Jonathan noted the road, tucked the book back into his pack, and turned east.

. . . . .

The road to Oaklore Keep, Oaklore Forest

Damien crested the hill, the keep finally coming into sight. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before: an immense oak, stretching over a mile into the sky. A gargantuan reminder of nature's power, into and around which had been built Oaklore Keep, the bastion for the king's knights in this region of the kingdom, so far away from the capital of Swordhaven. After two days of walking without any sign of civilization in sight, he was finally here.

When he first set off for Ravensburg, the village closest to his own, he worried he would arrive only to find it destroyed as well. The bandits hadn't shown his village mercy, why would they show it to anyone else? But when he arrived, he found the village untouched, with no sign that it had ever been threatened. He found himself having to push down a spike of anger at these villagers, simply for not being killed like everyone he knew had been. Like his mother had been.

It's not their fault, he reminded himself. Focus your anger where it belongs.

In Ravensburg, he talked to several people, showing them the half-melted insignia he took from the bandit's ashes. He discovered that the bandits that attacked his village had been from a large group that had been causing problems throughout Oaklore and even further, a group calling themselves the Darkwolf Bandits. The only ones that did anything to try to stop them were a couple adventurers and the Knights of the Pactagonal Table, sent by the king and based in Oaklore Keep, another two days' walk from Ravensburg. The villagers told him that if he wanted to know more about these bandits, the Knights of the Pactagonal Table were the ones to see.

Now, as he stood staring at the keep, a wild swirl of emotions churned within him. Here he finally had the chance to strike back against the monsters that took his life from him. But if these knights were supposed to deal with the bandits, why hadn't they already? Why were the bandits still running free and burning villages to the ground? Were they even trying? Or were they just inept? Would he find justice here, or just a dead end? He was angry and hopeful and resentful and curious and confused, and he found himself having to take some calming breaths.

"This will work," he told himself. "I will get justice. For mom." And tightening the straps of his pack, he marched towards the towering silhouette of Oaklore Keep.