Chapter 23: The Night of the Blood Moon

Staring into the glimmer moss blaze, the wood elf began recounting the sad events with a hollow voice, the psychic wounds still fresh.

“It was the night of the Blood Moon. Svarturdrake–the Dark One, the Black Dragon fell upon us.”

The Dark One! thought Chastity.

At the mention of this name, a tremor of fear ran through Charlie. Yr noticed.

“I do not fear to speak that name, halfling, for it is now forever worn as a curse upon my lips. What more can the fiend do to me? What more can be taken? And so I shall speak, and spit, the accursed name of Svarturdrake.”

Yr Örsmíð continued his tale.

“Many moons have passed since that night. I have stopped counting. After the seal was broken, after the Dark One escaped his prison, in arrogance we believed we were safe. And so we were for years–concealed in our ancestral home, shielded by the great Evervale. But the Black Dragon found us out, and with fire and brimstone pouring from his maw he incinerated this place–wood and rope, elder and youth alike. Millenia of our history and memories erased in but a few hours.”

Chastity twisted her hands in her lap, vicariously sensing the trauma of that awful night.

“His attack came without warning, savage and unrelenting. Our archers tried to take a stand, and some of our arrows landed true, but we were no match for the dragon’s power. I watched everyone I know perish in those flames while I alone escaped, left as an impotent guardian over the bodies of my brethren until I too become as they are.”

Charlie wiped tears from his eyes. He could just imagine Goldenberry falling under such a fiery onslaught, though he dared not dwell on the idea.

Anger welled up within Chastity. Righteous indignation at the evil that was wrought upon the wood elves.

“But… why!? Why did this dragon attack you?” she cried.

“The Dark One hates elves–all elves, for we were among the first of the Great Divine’s handiwork, caretakers of the garden-forests at the dawn of the First Age. We drank the nectar of the first fruits, and thus the seed of life abides within us. Apart from the elves, only Celestials and Infernals see days without end. The Dark One’s fearsome strength is matched only by his jealousy and spite.”

Chastity mulled all of this over. It was a lot to process, but she was finally gaining some clarity (along with many more questions). And she had no words to console such a grievous tragedy.

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“I… I am so sorry for your loss, Yr. For everything. I didn’t know–about the Dark One, or anything else really. What happened here is terrible.”

The elf looked at her cautiously.

“How can a sworn member of the Holy Order be ignorant of the Dark One? Did you deceive me when you claimed to be a Paladin?” he asked, his tone pointed.

Okay… how much do I risk saying?

“I am a Paladin! The truth is…” Chastity started, “the truth is… I did not choose to become a Paladin, but it was chosen for me. Charlie here mentioned that I come from a far away land. That’s true. But just how far away is complicated…”

Chastity held up her Holy Symbol of Krøsning for the elf to see.

“I am a Realmwalker.”

“Ah! Though… how can that be? The Prophecy of the Three Paladins…” Yr murmured, distracted for a moment from his pain.

“I was brought here from… my Realm, I guess. By accident. And I’ve been trying to get back home. We found this Paladin Codex,” Chastity explained, conjuring the weighty tome from her inventory.

Charlie gasped as the book materialized from thin air–he hadn’t seen that trick before.

“I didn’t know Paladins could do that!” the halfling sputtered.

Chastity flipped open the codex. The vivid illustrations and strange runic writing seemed almost alive in the flickering light.

“I was hoping to find information that would show me how to return to where I belong. My world. But this book is written in the Old Tongue, which I was told only the elves could translate.”

Yr reached a hand toward the book then stopped himself. He retreated into thought, his lips moving silently as if engaged in some internal debate. At long last he replied, tossing the last handful of glimmer moss into the stone circle.

“I am sorry you traveled all this way,” Yr began, rising to his feet. “We do speak the Old Tongue, as we were the first to speak it, but it is not true that only elves can. There are scholars of your own kind in the north that can translate for you. I suggest you seek them out. My part in this conflict is over. My fight is over, and my reward is defeat. You have had your meal. I will speak to the forest as promised. Now leave me here to die.”

“But why!?” Chastity retorted, standing up. “Why just lay down and die? As long as there is breath in your lungs, there is still hope! You still have something to contribute to this world, despite all the pain and suffering that has been visited upon you!”

Yr had already turned and was walking away. Chastity followed. Soon they were in the center of the burnt village, standing before the rows of bundles lying in repose.

“Why stay here among the dead? Come back to Goldenberry with us! Nobody–elf or otherwise–is meant to be alone. Come with us!” she urged.

Yr arched a thin eyebrow.

“Live among halflings? I think not,” he muttered, walking between the rows and gently brushing bits of snow off the shrouds. “I must stay here and keep vigil over the bodies of my kin, long though they have fallen. Elven flesh does not quickly decay, yet it is our custom to send our dead across the Great Sea to the land of rest prepared for us. These cannot begin the journey over the waters until the proper rites are performed by one so suited. Alas, all who could carry out such rites lay among the fallen. Thus, I must remain until either such an elf arrives to perform the ritual, or until I join my brethren in death. Although, I am not confident when another elf may come upon us. No doubt the Black Dragon has continued his vengeful warpath. Either way, I cannot leave.”