Legends of Pyrryesia

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley”. The old gentleman was depicted as he crept toward the younger man seated at the grand table, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the cack of the fireplace as it spat embers out of wood sparks. Catching him off guard, the young man, gaze now fixated on the old man rather than the bountiful well-earned feast that laid before him. He made himself confutable alongside other commoners of the west. the soldiers who fought the wars and the bandits that eagerly preyed on the weak. “They never ruled our lands” continued the old man as he inserted himself between the heroes and bounty hunters after collocating a drink for himself and the young man. Sitting down with a weighted sigh he continued “they never ruled the infinite skies above, nor our hellish seascapes and the unforgiving ocean depths, even though they are scarce.

While the old man’s gravelly voice crept gradually into the mind, leaning in to tell it quicker and clearer letting the young man in on a few words of advice; “Here and now, listen lad as I will simply say this once, since the war has recently begun between the western kingdoms and the eastern empires, the many battles rage between lands, effecting the balance on Pyrryesia, bringing forth more than just a war between man, but old mythical creatures, figures and beasts slowly rising back from the past”. pausing to take a break as the old man struggles to catch his breath back. “Now finding it difficult to survive a week on ends before kingdoms lose a battalion of soldiers or a village captured by ether man or beast”.

Taking another mouthful of ale to clear the old man’s throat, “keep a low profile, that sword of yours ready, your mind sharp, and skills sharper for you may expect to be on your guard more than ever. For there is more than just the odd thief and bounty hunter looking to make easy coin, soldiers of the east north and south trying to take claim over the mainland, for they will be the last of your fear’s young voyager. For now, we fight for our regions, plus against the immense ferociousness of the wolves that hunt us in the west, giants five stories high that bring empires to their knees, those as drawn-out as the rivers that flow through the towns of the northern kingdoms drowning the unfortunate souls that went to close to the water’s edge, in addition to dragons roaming our vast valleys from the western woodlands to the eastern dunes for in between the terrain is treacherous, and the foes are incomprehensible, those are our true threats now”. As the old man caught his breath one last time filling his lungs up with the rich air, oxygenating the blood rushing to his face ready to continue with his speech, he was put to a holt.

The young fella took a simple look over his shoulder further around the room as he noticed something about each man, the amount of terror in every single one of those eyes as they glow with the delight of warmth but the cold quiver of anxiety at the same time, while the fresh ale and the warm steamy dough stuffing their bellies to divert them from their horrid lifecycle’s. Overhearing the stories around him of the battalions of soldiers that would describe their fellow friends and loved ones dropping like flies to the new hazards that no one knew of, except for fail tails and folklore that would be told to children as bedtime stories

The young voyager could not process a single flash of his thoughts that he had just been exposed to, he never imagined how such vast predators, such towering beasts and lethal marine creatures could even be in existents of 1344, for he has just come from his first expedition, a singular survivor of the assembly that was guided to mount Argosa.

After a handful of fresh bread plus one last sip at his drink observing that the young man’s drink had not been touched, the old man preceded to ask the question “young man, whom, may you be for I have come and gone throughout this distend lands, seeing everyone that enters and leaves the taverns surfing the walls of each kingdom throughout the west, and you I have never seen once before” the attention was back towards the elderly man with what he had said struck him, as he did not know much of himself replaying faint memories of his past only to see the significant fragments, with tension, remarking on what the old man inquired about. “Well, that is a good question, I don’t remember much of my past, I’m sure my name is Tabolt or at least was, as I’m a lone survivor of my expedition to that would formally man yours truly as a newly born knight and a proposed specialist of the land”.

While being a knight and trained from the age of five, he could only take in so much information before feeling flooded. Tabolt could feel all the heat in the room, coming from the candles, open fireplaces, the spit which was cooking the roast, and arguments between men, the thickness in his chest making it hard to breathe, an overwhelming thought that he would never endure a night alone without his fellow knights to lead and yell at him for doing the wrong thing, and short of associated squires to laugh and drink beside. With a quick snap of the tong “I need space, nice talking old man”. Leaping off the beach he had rested at leaving no marks on his food or drink, awkwardly making his way up the stairs outside of the tavern doors squeezing through pushing the horde of troops, travellers, traders, and the odd bounty Huttner. wheezing for the little air he could reach freezing him in place just long enough, to see that everything outside was clear and away from the intense stories, making Tabolt clam for the whole few seconds of harmony resting at the edge of the world along the balcony raised on the second floor, looking out into the far distant lands of Pyrryesia.

While outside in the morning sun Tabolt could feel, the warmth of the heat as it was beautiful going from the Icey morning to a bloodshot enflamed sun rising steadily beyond the horizon to replacing the brightness of moons, the sound of the birds singing in harmony as they awake from there slumber, combining with the melody singing in the background of the kingdom at which the tavern rested on the borders of the boundless walls containing each house, building, keep plus the roads contenting between. The crash of the water as it falls from top to bottom of the waterfalls makes swells of swooshes within the rocks and stones, while the smell of hot fresh juicy roast lingers past Tabolt’s nose filling up with the steamy taste of the salt and sweet crackle pork smocked over the spit combining with the instance sea salt smells rising from the water’s edge.

A hand now tightly gripped Tabolt’s shoulder, pulling him back into the thickness of the crowd, countless tones and pitches of voices flying over the unfortunate soul. One man shrieked over his spilt ale demanding a replacement, additionally, Tabolt had bummed into this man’s wife pushing her over against the lap of another gentleman. All uproar and auguring over this nineteen-year-old knight that no one heard of or seen before having no respect for the chivalry, running through the crowd of the tavern assembly such trouble to those around him, without any sign of hesitation thrown down onto the table forcing any food and drinks sideways or into Tabolt’s padded amour and though onto the flooring has he kept arms up covering the face from being kicked.

Doors swing cracking, shattering to the timber hardwood floors with the force of anger silencing the whole room stopping those terrorizing Tabolt, giving him time to get back to his feet ready to fight, while diverting their attention to the newly figured man yelling in a deep voice “I must have the largest jug of ale on hand, now” to which his demand was met. With a couple of steps polishing off the drink in only a few mouthfuls, he had taken one look into the warm thick dense air that fills the lungs of the man that had harassed Tabolt, although this mysterious man only focused his attention on the back which one man slept over all these rumbling waves of anger, sadness, and fear.

Chest rising and falling ever so calmly, with one hand on his jug of ale and the other wrapped to cover his eyes. For this occasion, it remained to be one of those tiny fellows that no one liked short and stubby, fat with a long orange bread dripping with the sweet alle as well as a ponytail, uptight wrap near to his round figure, these types of individuals continuously trying to rip people off their hard-earned money, thriving on the foolish man and lady that would fall for their spontaneous performances and terrible jesters.

While this mystery man strolled past Tabolt ignoring the fact that a boy had been crushed through the bench rather bused and cuts over his face, for he had kept his stride, everyone in the room could feel the warmth of the energy flickering of the heavy chains linked one by one holding at the end, a silver-tipped dagger that hangs and wrapped to this man’s armoured shoulder down to his forearm grip in hand, lined with three large spikes each growing from bottom to top, while the left arm looking scared, scorched and deprived of any amour, other than it being draped up in a slender smooth fabric several times around. While it looked to be as if the armament had been blasted off.

The anonymous tall study man armoured from foot to shoulder wearing half a set of polished paladin’s armour mixed with custom knights armour, cloth mask covering the mouth and nose, a dark long thick mane that slicked back over the top of his head down to his neck, highlighted with green tints along with a sold brown base eyes lighting up with furry of ultra-blue flame then lighting, as he closes the void between the back chairs that are occupied by this filth of a soul unfortunate enough to have chosen the wrong tavern at the wrong hour.

A large clunk from the bag of crowns hit the tabletop, shaking the man to his core to a sudden waking back to the land of the living, for now, that would be. The small fat man looked up at the other as he gazed into the soul of this nameless man, looking for any form of life for he knew of his fate standing above him, a bounty hunter sent to take care of business, from deep inside of the man’s throat a slow heavy rich tone rumbled from beneath the mask, “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold”.

Without a single thought of what had been said, the little dwarf scampered to his feet trying to outrun his destiny, nothing that he did or prayed for would alternate the magnitude of what was about to become of this man, by one swift unbelievably fast flick of the heavy chains, they had gripped tightly at the base of his feet, sweeping the dwarfs ends from underneath his frame, unbalancing him into a rapid descent towards the ground, for it took only an instant for this man to be sagging from the hands of the bounty hunter, only to leave the dwarf calling out for mercy.

Laughing with amusement at how easy this was to catch this orange bearded man as everyone watched in horror while his fist rose compressed fast prepared to send this man to the following kingdom nevertheless one courageous warrior prepared his blade and shield looking down the eyes of a demon, with one rapid dash coving the lengthy distance from the rear tables to the front by the door. Wrapping his ruff hand around the warrior’s slender throat disarming him within seconds of contact, continuing to break every bone in the poor man’s body, falling with a loud thump as the sprite draws from the body leaving behind the cold figure that hits the flooring.

The dwarf still latched to the chain as it cracked making a thunderous strike pulling the lump of meat rapidly towards its doom, a clasp around the ponytail that hangs from the man’s swollen skull, a single strike of thunder and lightning realizing a light blue translucent werewolf-like Spector around the armoured man, making the strike to the upper body with such force dismembering the two from each other with only the head of the hunted swinging back and forth in the hands of the bounty hunter.

One and all under the pitched ceiling, hanging with candles grouped poorly lighting spaces of the tavern, as each other glanced, some steering, while others ready for the door, all in shock at what the people had witnessed, in disbelief of enchanted abilities combine with the magic of mythic creatures, as it had not been seen in several sentries however recent times depict the rise of magic including the rare dragon’s that fly overhead.

As Tabolt had risen to his feet managing to collect himself, dusting off the debris of wood and food, all attention was drawn outside of the tavern people looked through the tinted glass panels to see what the fuss was, besides one, the selfish drunken man that sits at the corner of the tavern waiting for more ale to be brought to him, as he cuts through each jug having minimal effects. As the people within the tavern scurry outside, the sun is set high in the sky warming the summer’s day and ringing echoes from the high stone bell tower warning those in proximity. Numerous knights of the kingdom rushed forth to their positions along the castle walls, in fount of the gates as they drop the bars and forth barracks them. Drawing each bow back ready for command, shields up covering each other like a barrier, swords spears and axes in hand prepared for something over the land to rise.

Countless men amongst themselves were all either scared, excited, both feared and others fearless to what was to come, there were those making entertainment of this trying to guess, placing bets to what the bell was rung for. Little did they know that none of them was to survive the devastating attack before them.

Unprepared for what was to come of this kingdom that lined the northern cliffs within the western borders, over the horizon passing over the valleys, vegetation and vast woodlands, a multiscale lizard crossed insights of everyone stunning the common folk and giving light to the fighters. From its thick hardened skin impenetrable by the traditional blade and large spread-out wings followed by its long-spiked tail. Flying fast and high it becomes increasingly clear the details that depict it to be a dragon, headed right for the kingdom in search of someone to be precise, the one who drew the sword.

“Fire at will” cries the commander to the multitude of archers unleashing projectiles stealing the firedrake’s attention aimed at those who attack with all their might, breathing heavily in prepared to give a free rein of fire upon the walls of archers heavily protected by those carrying the tall shield wall. Within ready positions, the wall of man was innumerable and robust. Red-hot roaring flames settled amongst wooden-built shields with mettle reinforcements, putting both the defences and bowmen to ash leaving nothing behind other than the molten iron and scorched stone. People watched from inside as so many ran for their houses, although there were those daring enough to see from the outdoors.

From the distant sides of the wall, their Tabolt stood in shock after only hiring tails earlier that day, blindly standing there people rushed past yelling out to any fighters with a sword to come forth, being forced into a pace he found himself running towards this large fire breathing lizard, looking around trying to find the man in half paladins and the other of custom knights armour, nowhere to be seen, turning his back to go against the tide of people, in hopes the wolf characteristic man would help stand ground for his kingdom.

Arriving at the doors of the tavern, noticing the place was a ghost town with only a handful of people within the tavern. The bartender, a small band of females with the odd young person, and the man that could help defeat this new flying beast, Tabolt rushed over to this man, in fear he would just kill him for asking, but kept telling himself that there are lives at stake. “excuse me sir, sorry to bother you, but do you hear the bells ringing” as Tabolt lays a drink on the table “here on the house” the man looks at him stars right into his soul “yes”, with a deep heavy voice as the man rested forth into his newly buried ale, with confusing Tabolt utters “then why are you not helping those who need it, you have the power to. Snapping back at him “I do not care, and I do not wish to get involved unless there is payment” the young man thought to himself for a minute and finally came to a solution, “what if I paid you, and I got others to bring forth a small amount each to help pay for your services”, it was another hand full of drinks that finally swayed the man’s willingness to match this creature.

With relief that this man was now at least on his way to help, Tabolt felt a lot more confident and safer now knowing that they had more than the average blade to take out the dragon, stepping up the pace to finally arrive at the battlefield to only witness the last of the swordsman swallowed up or flatten with the beats tail, in frustration that Tablot was too late to save those that stood fighting but at the same time relieved that he had gone back for the bounty hunter, with no doubt or fear the hunter charged head first without thinking about a plan, “what about a plan of an attack”, as he had tried to confront the hunter, with a swift but fain calling back “the plan is to attack” and Tabolt realised how much of an idiot this man was, surprised to know he was still alive.

With a speedy swift swing resembling a wolf-like Spector figure, the heavy chains wrapped tightly around the dragon’s neck in hopes of restraining it pulling at it with the force of a wolf, sliding along his side under the belly of the beast that now was thrown to the ground giving the hunter a chance to get close within the weak spots of the thick skin. Tabolt viewing an act of both braveness and ludicrous, while the hunter was finally swept from his feet and thrown away from the dragon, landing staring back up at Tabolt’s face to see him laughing. Frustrated and shocked “get out of my way and let me do my job”, willingly he moves aside and lets the business taken care of, yet again he failed over and over landing on his back, face first, and sometimes with style, nevertheless finding himself getting angrier and angrier. Finally, the dragon ended making haste towards the two, they equipped themself, as one drew their blade and the other primed his stance pulling the last card to play. With a raging roar, the hunter unleashed a powerful bright blue strike of lighting towards the dragon, a continuing flow of energy passing from one to the other, leaving him drained and the dragon knocked to the side for a moment.

If there were to be any last hopes, Tabolt would have to take things on from here and this is what he did. One-foot infant of the other, with great pace towards the dragon as it did the same, held up in front of him his sword ready to peace the beast’s skin right to the heart, a blast of flames engulfing the surroundings of Tabolt he witnessed nothing but a miracle after the flames settled realising that he wasn’t turned to ash, amazed to what his new sword could overcome, with a swift movement dashing to the side he managed to cut through the skin of the dragon unleashing a cry as it attempted to fly off into the distance before the bounty hunter using his Primary weapon gripping holt of the mythical beast as the crowd from within the walls watched it fall from the sky as its wings where clipped, plummeting to its demise Tabolt readied his blade, prepared to slay the dragon, and it was over before they knew it, the dragon was laying cold and hard as a rock. Everyone cheered “you saved us, you are our heroes, we shall be within your debt” and from that day on, this bounty hunter would be known as the Wolf of The West although no one knew the identity of this man nor of his birth name. While Tabolt would gain the name Draco, the Dragon Slayer.