"One day I will ask a sage this burning question: Is it too early in the
morning, or too late at night?" -Jarick the Jester
Sir Darreon Waynsporn sighed as he rolled out of bed. He had to serve his shift at the gates, from the first sunrise till high noon, a duty he vehemently detested. Yawning, he changed into his under-armor suit, then the light chain mail, breastplate, and greaves that made up his uniform. As he got dressed, the lady knight, what was her name (the blue one) was lugging bags and boxes up and down the stairs of the two-story barrack. Though she herself was virtually silent, the gear she bore clicked and clacked quite audibly. All Darreon could do was wonder what she was doing. No matter, he thought, all women were peculiar creatures.
Darreon finally tugged on his boots and kerthumped down the stairs. He somehow got several steps out the barrack door before he noticed it. There was a tower in the middle of the Field! Yesterday, there had been no foundation, no hole dug for the first story to be half-buried in, no piles of material covering the ground. By the Nine Hells, there had not even been talk of building a tower there! This was tom-foolery, that's what it was! No, the rational part of the knight's mind said, it was magic.
In a state of shock, Darreon approached the tower. It was magic, all right. The walls were made of adamantine, a tremendously rare metal, mostly used by the dwarves for armor. Yet somehow, someone had obtained enough adamantine to build a tower! Surely this was the work of wizards. He touched one wall, the hue of blackened steel, and wondered.
The blue knight, Lady um (what was her name?) suddenly stormed up. "Hello, Sir Waynsporn," she said politely, smiling sweetly. (She knew his name! How?) By the Gods, how could such a pretty face be one of Dallorn's fiercest knights?
"Fair morn, Lady," he replied. "What is this, this sorcery?"
"A tool to aid me in my campaign, nothing more." Darreon knew not how to respond to her murmured reply, and he was rescued then by his watch- partner, Gregore Samson. Darreon grumbled some haphazard reply, and the two left.
"Have you ever seen such sorcery?" Gregore asked him in a childish wonder as they walked towards the main gate and their guard post.
Darreon just laughed. "Have you never been to the capital, Gregore?" His friend shook his head, half embarrassed. Darreon continued merrily, "Such magic is not uncommon, especially in Phirilan. The most powerful wizards use sorcery to raise their homes from the stone in the depths of the earth. I saw them do it once." He sighed wistfully. "It was amazing." Back to business, Darreon thought with a sigh. They had made it to the guard post.
It was a simple building, constructed to be part of the sturdy walls of Castle Tarintor's perimeter. It was a stone tower, two stories tall, one room on each floor. The two knights unlocked the door and entered the dark, cramped room. They climbed up the wooden ladder, then began to manipulate the pulleys and ropes that operated the iron barred gate. This done, they went back down the ladder and forced open the twin heavy ironwood doors. Darreon and Gregore stood in comfortable spots on opposite sides of the now open gates.
Tarintor was always open during the day, so there would be a slow, unsteady hub of visitors. It was Darreon and Gregore's job to interrogate any suspicious characters. There would probably be no one meriting their attention. Knights, mounted and on foot, would have to travel constantly back and forth. Most of the non-military personnel were always peddlers and callers, bringing news to the boon dock outpost. There were always farmers, eager to swap rumors at the inn. A few cutthroats and solitary halflings would also turned up, and most of these would be turned out again just as quickly.
The suns were not quite up yet, just peaking over the mountainous horizon. Those were the mountains of the Grumdekgrim dwarves. They were the only allies Castle Tarintor had, as well as Darreon's distant relatives. His great-grandmother was a dwarf, a relationship which he pointedly ignored. His skin was no darker than the tan of a Dallornish full human, nowhere near as dark as the near-ebony flesh of his dwarven kin, and the existence of only mere stubble on his jutting chin showed just how proud Darreon was of his heritage. Dwarves were notorious for their full beards, usually able to be tucked into a man's belt by the time he reaches full maturity.
Within moments, visitors were streaming through the gates. A few knights, mounted and not, bustled importantly in and out of the gate. Most visitors were simple folk from the area, come to exchange stories at the tavern or buy supplies at the general store. Though Castle Tarintor was primarily a military establishment, it was important for the fort to serve the civilians in the area, as the structure was the only defense that the common folk had.
Darreon was falling asleep at his post. Had he been caught, it would be the punishment for dereliction of duty: digging latrines for a week. Fortunately for him, Gregore suddenly shook his shoulder, pointing at a few specks just barely in sight. A large meadow separated Tarintor from the forests, and the things were at the edge of the field. "Darreon, what is that?"
"I dunno, Gregore. Could be just about anything at this distance," he remarked casually, until he noticed that it was coming much too quickly to be humanoid. "Those dots are getting too close too fast."
Nervously, Gregore asked, "Do we shut the gate on them?"
"No," Darreon replied. "That would be a call to arms for the whole fort, and we don't know what it is yet."
For a few tense minutes, the two watchmen stood at their posts, awaiting whatever it was to come to them. Darreon realized he was beginning to sweat, and anxiously tried to peer at the things, plural, that were coming towards them. They seemed to be four legged mammals, horses, wolves, or maybe Dallornish Dragons. Regardless, they were fast on all fours, faster than humans can run.
Incredulously, Gregore whispered, "Are they traveling in formation?" Indeed they seemed to be. They were traveling in what looked like a V, with one at point and the others fanning out to the sides.
"It's wild dragons!" Darreon whispered. The blobs were finally close enough for light to flash of their scales. They were about the size of wolves, looking dangerous for all the world to see. Darreon found himself panicking. In the city, wild animals had never gotten this close. This was not good.
Hesitantly and shakily, Gregore laughed. "Wild animals don't travel in formation. They have to be trained."
As Gregore spoke, the strange group of Dallornish dragons came into sight. They were a plethora of colors. One was a blood red, another a stunning orange. Two were varying shades of yellow and green, while one, point on the formation, was pure black.
As they got within about twenty feet of the gates, the dragon at point began to slow down. It reared onto its hind legs, and something odd, undescribable, began to happen to its scales. It was like they lost their luster and changed color at the same time, achieving a most remarkable effect. As the lead dragon mutated, the others closed in a tight formation around it, matching the pace of their apparent leader.
Within moments, the lead dragon was no longer a dragon, but a half- elven girl with long black hair and stunning green eyes. "Greetings," she whispered quietly at the two stunned guardsmen. "I am Aramne. I am here to speak with Lady Sarnah."
"L-lady Sarnah?" Gregore stammered. "I will, uh, go get her." The knight ran off, literally, leaving his best friend to stand alone with a woman who could transform into a dragon.
"So, Lady Aramne," Darreon stalled, "what brings you to our humble fortress?"
The half-elven girl just smiled mysteriously. "I am to travel with Lady Sarnah."
"How lovely," he replied sarcastically. He had had enough with the lady knight already that day.
The strange woman did not seem to pick up on his humor. Without really responding at all, she simply stared blankly ahead. It was like she could not see the fortress in front of her. Too odd, Darreon thought to himself. Too odd.
After a minute or two of silence, Lady Sarnah and Gregore came running to the gate. "I will take responsibility for Lady Aramne. Let her in, please," she said calmly, if a little out of breath.
"And will you be responsible for her pets as well, Lieutenant Sarnah?" Darreon asked scathingly.
She simply nodded. "Lady Aramne, please follow me. Bring the dragons." The two women simply left, heading straight for the strange adamantine tower.
Gregore shuddered when they were gone. "That half-elf gave me the willies!"
"You're too easily shaken, my friend," Darreon replied with a laugh. Then, as several farmers passed through the gate, he added with a shake of his head, "I just hope we don't have to get scared over anything else today!"
No sooner were the words out of Darreon's mouth than he nearly choked on them. There was a slight shadow on the wall of the fortress, next to the gate. The shadows were not deep enough for someone to hide in, so Darreon had paid them no mind before. Now, a figure stood in the same shadows. Worse, neither Darreon nor Gregore had seen the being coming. He just, well, appeared.
Whoever he was, he was humanoid, average height but thin as a wraith. A black full-length hooded cloak covered his entire body, and no features could be seen. He carried no gear, wore no pouches or haversack. The only thing he carried was a long, thin stick that came out of what was probably his mouth, flaming at the tip. Some type of cigarette, Darreon realized immediately. Perhaps wizardweed, that stuff that the arcane spellcasters used.
The mysterious man was fast approaching, his long black velvet robes about to brush the dirt at the entrance, when Darreon noticed something. The shadows that had been against the fortress wall only a moment before were gone! They had migrated, following the black-robed man. One piece of the shadow, seemingly perched atop his shoulder, appeared to be darker than the rest. How could that be?
The figure in black seemed to be ignoring the two guardsmen as he walked by. For some reason, Darreon was hesitant to approach him. The man had an aura about him; he reeked of power. Grasping desperately for his courage, he casually stepped in front of the strange figure. "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to Castle Tarintor?"
"What business is it of yours?" a voice whispered from the depths of the midnight black hood. The tone was a hissing, false attempt at pleasantry.
"I, I am the guard on duty. You will answer to m-me. What weapons do you carry?"
The shadowed face, hidden by a cowl, seemed to somehow be laughing. With no warning, a flash of silver darted across his vision. The bastard had pulled a dagger on him! "I am carrying one dagger," the voice whispered sardonically, still dripping with false innocence. "Surely there is no problem."
Gregore rushed up to save his friend, but the blue git got there first. "Gentlemen, this is Taudoc Malgrim." At her words, both guards gasped audibly. THE Taudoc Malgrim? The dark wizard? "I will take him into my care as well, he will not trouble you further." In a rush, she escorted the strange man to the adamantine tower.
Darreon dully stepped back into the shade of the guard building. As he tiredly took each step, he grumbled to himself, "The next wacko comes in here, and I retire!"
Sir Darreon Waynsporn sighed as he rolled out of bed. He had to serve his shift at the gates, from the first sunrise till high noon, a duty he vehemently detested. Yawning, he changed into his under-armor suit, then the light chain mail, breastplate, and greaves that made up his uniform. As he got dressed, the lady knight, what was her name (the blue one) was lugging bags and boxes up and down the stairs of the two-story barrack. Though she herself was virtually silent, the gear she bore clicked and clacked quite audibly. All Darreon could do was wonder what she was doing. No matter, he thought, all women were peculiar creatures.
Darreon finally tugged on his boots and kerthumped down the stairs. He somehow got several steps out the barrack door before he noticed it. There was a tower in the middle of the Field! Yesterday, there had been no foundation, no hole dug for the first story to be half-buried in, no piles of material covering the ground. By the Nine Hells, there had not even been talk of building a tower there! This was tom-foolery, that's what it was! No, the rational part of the knight's mind said, it was magic.
In a state of shock, Darreon approached the tower. It was magic, all right. The walls were made of adamantine, a tremendously rare metal, mostly used by the dwarves for armor. Yet somehow, someone had obtained enough adamantine to build a tower! Surely this was the work of wizards. He touched one wall, the hue of blackened steel, and wondered.
The blue knight, Lady um (what was her name?) suddenly stormed up. "Hello, Sir Waynsporn," she said politely, smiling sweetly. (She knew his name! How?) By the Gods, how could such a pretty face be one of Dallorn's fiercest knights?
"Fair morn, Lady," he replied. "What is this, this sorcery?"
"A tool to aid me in my campaign, nothing more." Darreon knew not how to respond to her murmured reply, and he was rescued then by his watch- partner, Gregore Samson. Darreon grumbled some haphazard reply, and the two left.
"Have you ever seen such sorcery?" Gregore asked him in a childish wonder as they walked towards the main gate and their guard post.
Darreon just laughed. "Have you never been to the capital, Gregore?" His friend shook his head, half embarrassed. Darreon continued merrily, "Such magic is not uncommon, especially in Phirilan. The most powerful wizards use sorcery to raise their homes from the stone in the depths of the earth. I saw them do it once." He sighed wistfully. "It was amazing." Back to business, Darreon thought with a sigh. They had made it to the guard post.
It was a simple building, constructed to be part of the sturdy walls of Castle Tarintor's perimeter. It was a stone tower, two stories tall, one room on each floor. The two knights unlocked the door and entered the dark, cramped room. They climbed up the wooden ladder, then began to manipulate the pulleys and ropes that operated the iron barred gate. This done, they went back down the ladder and forced open the twin heavy ironwood doors. Darreon and Gregore stood in comfortable spots on opposite sides of the now open gates.
Tarintor was always open during the day, so there would be a slow, unsteady hub of visitors. It was Darreon and Gregore's job to interrogate any suspicious characters. There would probably be no one meriting their attention. Knights, mounted and on foot, would have to travel constantly back and forth. Most of the non-military personnel were always peddlers and callers, bringing news to the boon dock outpost. There were always farmers, eager to swap rumors at the inn. A few cutthroats and solitary halflings would also turned up, and most of these would be turned out again just as quickly.
The suns were not quite up yet, just peaking over the mountainous horizon. Those were the mountains of the Grumdekgrim dwarves. They were the only allies Castle Tarintor had, as well as Darreon's distant relatives. His great-grandmother was a dwarf, a relationship which he pointedly ignored. His skin was no darker than the tan of a Dallornish full human, nowhere near as dark as the near-ebony flesh of his dwarven kin, and the existence of only mere stubble on his jutting chin showed just how proud Darreon was of his heritage. Dwarves were notorious for their full beards, usually able to be tucked into a man's belt by the time he reaches full maturity.
Within moments, visitors were streaming through the gates. A few knights, mounted and not, bustled importantly in and out of the gate. Most visitors were simple folk from the area, come to exchange stories at the tavern or buy supplies at the general store. Though Castle Tarintor was primarily a military establishment, it was important for the fort to serve the civilians in the area, as the structure was the only defense that the common folk had.
Darreon was falling asleep at his post. Had he been caught, it would be the punishment for dereliction of duty: digging latrines for a week. Fortunately for him, Gregore suddenly shook his shoulder, pointing at a few specks just barely in sight. A large meadow separated Tarintor from the forests, and the things were at the edge of the field. "Darreon, what is that?"
"I dunno, Gregore. Could be just about anything at this distance," he remarked casually, until he noticed that it was coming much too quickly to be humanoid. "Those dots are getting too close too fast."
Nervously, Gregore asked, "Do we shut the gate on them?"
"No," Darreon replied. "That would be a call to arms for the whole fort, and we don't know what it is yet."
For a few tense minutes, the two watchmen stood at their posts, awaiting whatever it was to come to them. Darreon realized he was beginning to sweat, and anxiously tried to peer at the things, plural, that were coming towards them. They seemed to be four legged mammals, horses, wolves, or maybe Dallornish Dragons. Regardless, they were fast on all fours, faster than humans can run.
Incredulously, Gregore whispered, "Are they traveling in formation?" Indeed they seemed to be. They were traveling in what looked like a V, with one at point and the others fanning out to the sides.
"It's wild dragons!" Darreon whispered. The blobs were finally close enough for light to flash of their scales. They were about the size of wolves, looking dangerous for all the world to see. Darreon found himself panicking. In the city, wild animals had never gotten this close. This was not good.
Hesitantly and shakily, Gregore laughed. "Wild animals don't travel in formation. They have to be trained."
As Gregore spoke, the strange group of Dallornish dragons came into sight. They were a plethora of colors. One was a blood red, another a stunning orange. Two were varying shades of yellow and green, while one, point on the formation, was pure black.
As they got within about twenty feet of the gates, the dragon at point began to slow down. It reared onto its hind legs, and something odd, undescribable, began to happen to its scales. It was like they lost their luster and changed color at the same time, achieving a most remarkable effect. As the lead dragon mutated, the others closed in a tight formation around it, matching the pace of their apparent leader.
Within moments, the lead dragon was no longer a dragon, but a half- elven girl with long black hair and stunning green eyes. "Greetings," she whispered quietly at the two stunned guardsmen. "I am Aramne. I am here to speak with Lady Sarnah."
"L-lady Sarnah?" Gregore stammered. "I will, uh, go get her." The knight ran off, literally, leaving his best friend to stand alone with a woman who could transform into a dragon.
"So, Lady Aramne," Darreon stalled, "what brings you to our humble fortress?"
The half-elven girl just smiled mysteriously. "I am to travel with Lady Sarnah."
"How lovely," he replied sarcastically. He had had enough with the lady knight already that day.
The strange woman did not seem to pick up on his humor. Without really responding at all, she simply stared blankly ahead. It was like she could not see the fortress in front of her. Too odd, Darreon thought to himself. Too odd.
After a minute or two of silence, Lady Sarnah and Gregore came running to the gate. "I will take responsibility for Lady Aramne. Let her in, please," she said calmly, if a little out of breath.
"And will you be responsible for her pets as well, Lieutenant Sarnah?" Darreon asked scathingly.
She simply nodded. "Lady Aramne, please follow me. Bring the dragons." The two women simply left, heading straight for the strange adamantine tower.
Gregore shuddered when they were gone. "That half-elf gave me the willies!"
"You're too easily shaken, my friend," Darreon replied with a laugh. Then, as several farmers passed through the gate, he added with a shake of his head, "I just hope we don't have to get scared over anything else today!"
No sooner were the words out of Darreon's mouth than he nearly choked on them. There was a slight shadow on the wall of the fortress, next to the gate. The shadows were not deep enough for someone to hide in, so Darreon had paid them no mind before. Now, a figure stood in the same shadows. Worse, neither Darreon nor Gregore had seen the being coming. He just, well, appeared.
Whoever he was, he was humanoid, average height but thin as a wraith. A black full-length hooded cloak covered his entire body, and no features could be seen. He carried no gear, wore no pouches or haversack. The only thing he carried was a long, thin stick that came out of what was probably his mouth, flaming at the tip. Some type of cigarette, Darreon realized immediately. Perhaps wizardweed, that stuff that the arcane spellcasters used.
The mysterious man was fast approaching, his long black velvet robes about to brush the dirt at the entrance, when Darreon noticed something. The shadows that had been against the fortress wall only a moment before were gone! They had migrated, following the black-robed man. One piece of the shadow, seemingly perched atop his shoulder, appeared to be darker than the rest. How could that be?
The figure in black seemed to be ignoring the two guardsmen as he walked by. For some reason, Darreon was hesitant to approach him. The man had an aura about him; he reeked of power. Grasping desperately for his courage, he casually stepped in front of the strange figure. "Greetings, stranger. What brings you to Castle Tarintor?"
"What business is it of yours?" a voice whispered from the depths of the midnight black hood. The tone was a hissing, false attempt at pleasantry.
"I, I am the guard on duty. You will answer to m-me. What weapons do you carry?"
The shadowed face, hidden by a cowl, seemed to somehow be laughing. With no warning, a flash of silver darted across his vision. The bastard had pulled a dagger on him! "I am carrying one dagger," the voice whispered sardonically, still dripping with false innocence. "Surely there is no problem."
Gregore rushed up to save his friend, but the blue git got there first. "Gentlemen, this is Taudoc Malgrim." At her words, both guards gasped audibly. THE Taudoc Malgrim? The dark wizard? "I will take him into my care as well, he will not trouble you further." In a rush, she escorted the strange man to the adamantine tower.
Darreon dully stepped back into the shade of the guard building. As he tiredly took each step, he grumbled to himself, "The next wacko comes in here, and I retire!"