Sixth Era. The 442nd Year.

Now that we've got the background out of the way, I think it's time I start telling you a bit more about this tale. I do hope you'll pay close attention, I wouldn't want you to fall behind.

In the earliest hours of the day, just as the Sun began to rise over the nearby tall trees that surrounded the village, a figure walked a lonely road towards it. He gradually got closer, noticing that the trees in front of him were nothing compared to those in the centre of the distant lake, for their canopies seemed to mix in between the clouds above. His figure blended easily with the shadows of the trees, his height and build unremarkable against the towering forest. For any villager he passed, he seemed entirely unsuspecting.

That was, until you saw what he was wearing. As well as what he wasn't. For starters, he donned a dark red cloak, using it not only to protect himself from the elements but also, unsettling to the townspeople he passed, concealed his face from view. Only the lower portion was visible to the eye, but even so his features were obscured from the shadows of the hood. Even more nerve-wracking to the anxious citizens, he wore no footwear. Instead, he walked completely barefoot and carried his dirty and tattered leather boots in his left hand. Understandably, he received many alarmed glances from the folk that were on their way for their early work.

As this puzzling fellow strode closer and closer to the village, he became exposed to a numerous palette of scents and fragrances. A strong whiff of burning wood and charcoal filled the air, but this didn't seem to especially bother him. Sauntering on, he became aware of the many undertones that spoke more about this town than his eyes did. There was a musty, earthy smell of damp soil and vegetation, and despite the slight stench of the fertiliser - it created a relaxing atmosphere.

There were numerous gardens that dotted around the settlement, nothing elegant but simply to provide sustenance to the simple townsfolk. No longer approaching, he now made his way through the village and stepped off the muddy dirt path, being met with the cold and rough surface of a gravel road. The acrid scent of smoke from a blacksmith's forge formed a unique metallic tang which surprisingly mixed well with the pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery.

Reaching further towards the town square, colourful banners of multiple sizes started to become more frequent , and the villagers seemed to be getting ready for some sort of celebration. The tired yawn of a cat, stretching atop some barrels, caught the attention of the red-cloaked figure. As it sprang up and made a leap to the ground, strutting in front of him, he found himself face-to-face with a friendly sight he had hoped to see. It was a tavern, by the name of the Whispering Wyrm Alehouse, with a wooden sign hanging from ropes that depicted the swirling body of a slender purple dragon surrounding an ear, into which the dragon's tongue was protruding.

This fine establishment seemed to be getting ready for whatever event the townspeople were eager for, sporting red, gold and blue banners on its exterior, all with different symbols - moons, suns, dandelions and pumpkins. As he strode closer the sounds of clinking tankards and drunken rambles intensified. The few people who stumbled out of the open door had their shadow cast all along the street from the yellow light of lanterns inside. It seemed an odd display, and his steps quickened as he approached, an eager anticipation tightening his chest.

Inside the alehouse he was met with the intrusive bitter smell of beer and an immediate cascade of drumming voices, clattering dishes and the loud almost choir-like gulping of beverages, the man made his way through a small tightly packed crowd of disorderly men, women and... A child? With their back turned to the man, he couldn't quite make them out but were certainly too young for such an environment. Looking around, almost as if he were expecting to see a familiar face to go do you see this, the man squeezed through a pair of intoxicated lumberjacks who had taken the day off and tapped the young person on their shoulder.

"Shouldn't you be out playing?" he murmured, keeping his tone light enough not to disturb the maze of indulging patrons around them.

"Eh? What's that you say?" loudly slurred the 'child', who as he turned revealed a thick red braided beard that travelled down to his waist.

The child was in fact a middle-aged plump dwarf, whose belly haphazardly rolled over his overly tight belt. He wore a green linen shirt, and whilst the back had been spotless his front was much less so. What drink and crumbs that weren't plastering his garments had instead been embedded within his fiery beard. As if it were an apron. Under the hood, the man's eyebrows shot up, his mouth slightly agape. His cheeks flushed a deep crimson, the colour creeping up his neck as he quickly averted his gaze, tugging his hood lower to conceal his face. As he was about to speak, he looked back to the dwarfs face which was made up of a round fat nose to match the figure, rosy pink cheeks as a result of the alcohol and the statement piece. His incredibly thick furrowed red eyebrows, that were so large and untamed that his eyes could barely be seen below. As all this was happening, the room had gone silent and the two could feel the eyes that were prying.

A towering man with a shaved head looked at the two with a stern expression, but soon it changed as he gleefully yelled "Griz has been mistaken for a welp again!"

The brief silence in the room quickly became replaced with an inebriated chuckle and the people got back to the task at hand; collectively driving the demand for the barrels upon barrels of mead and ale that the local brewery could make a small fortune off of. The flame-maned dwarf grumbled something under his breath in a drunken manner before taking another large swig from his wooden mug full of some frothy liquid. Without skipping a beat, he let out a belch and seemed to forget the past moments entirely, disappearing through the legs of the stumbling hooligans.

Slightly shaking his head, as if to tell himself off, the man made his way to the wooden bar at the other end of the tavern. It wasn't anything special, being a large slab of dark oak wood with several etchings that the people who had once sat here had made. There were no stools or seats anymore though, and as a result of this the drunk townspeople had to lean against it as not to end up on the floor, even though many already had. Nailed into the side of the counter-top was a painted sign explaining it, NO STOOLS, KEEP GETTING THROWN. It said what had already been said, just with actual words. For better or for worse, this place was a cesspit.

Absentmindedly adjusting his hood, the stranger betrayed his desire to remain unnoticed. In the midst of all the chatter and commotion, the quiet footsteps of a young elvish woman snuck behind him with a whisper, "You are aware that nobody cares who you are, aren't you? The big fancy cape does you no favours."

"I used to think you were full of good advice. Now? I've learnt my lesson." uttered the man, turning to face the elf with his elbow propped up against the counter top. With a roll of his eyes, luckily hidden, he pulled the hood from over his head and left it draped over his shoulder. Despite his tone of annoyance his lips tugged at the corners —an unspoken acknowledgement that her presence stirred emotions he thought were long buried. For the first time of being in the village itself, his face could finally be seen.

He sported long chestnut-coloured hair with hints of dark red that hid his ears and the sides of his face from view, and looked to be the result of a simple lack of scissors rather than an actual choice. His natural thick eyebrows framed his eyes, which were unique in of themselves. As he tilted his head, the shadows relinquished their grasp on his eyes and revealed their cognac brown palette, a blend of dark red and honey. A fleeting moment of hesitation crossed his eyes, a subtle retreat like a deer cautiously stepping into an open glade, and in that vulnerability, the woman's gaze softened as she saw that he was who she had remembered. They were deep set, and despite being a colour of little rarity, they possessed a different beauty to the blue or green eyes that the elf had become accustomed to within her people.

"Learnt your lesson?" she scoffed, "If you're really all grown up now, you might've thought to wear some shoes, Landry." the woman countered. His name was Landry. Unlike many elves who had fair hair and light eyes, she had pitch-black hair in an elaborate, though admittedly stylish braid which she had clearly gone out of her way to perfect, possessing a blue shine in the light and dark blue eyes that had a grey hue which contrasted greatly to her pale skin. Instead of a general day-dress or gown expected of a lady in these parts, she wore straight-cut black trousers, brown boots, a long dark blue overcoat that travelled down to her knees and a dark purple cotton scarf that she would otherwise use to conceal her face when needed. She had a sly smile painted on her face, with her accounting for that fact that she could get away with a lot of things when talking to him.

"When you tell somebody to meet you someplace, they find it useful to know the name. No, instead you just mailed me a road-map with a red cross. Comical, aren't you, Maliah?"

"Don't be such a bore, Landry, have some fun. Don't you know, a cross always marks the spot?" She dramatically sighed before realising that he was getting impatient and decided to drop the playfulness. She knew it wouldn't be reciprocated. "Alright, alright. You used to be a lot more fun. It's Pollard's Grove—a bit of an old lumber town. Not exactly a tourist trap, but it's got what you need."

"Well, your idea of 'fun' hasn't changed much. You still possess that air of superiority, don't you?" Landry looked towards the bartender, and quickly raised his hand to call him over. However, his arm was quickly pulled down by the elf, who had a concerned expression, which to Landry wasn't common for her. He held his breath for a few moments, beginning to anticipate that he was here for a much more serious reason than catching up with an old friend. Without a word being said, she grabbed his hand and pulled him past the wooden bar and out of the building through a side-door.

Now standing against the brick wall of the alehouse, with a few rays of sunshine that pierced the thick tree canopy above them, Landry rubbed his eyes and groaned, "I was looking forward to that drink. There's a long stretch of road between here and the last inn I saw." Letting out a tired sigh herself, Maliah held her hands facing each-other parallel to her stomach. As she did so, thin strings of white light projected from her fingertips and connected to the threads produced from the other hand, joining in the middle.

Luckily for them both, the white light produced was hidden behind several thick tree trunks that ran alongside the Whispering Wyrm, and so they drew no unwanted attention. Quietly chanting words of a language unknown to Landry, she began to intertwine the threads in a particular way until only a silver cup full of bubbling mead was left, held in place by the threads like a puppeteer would to their puppets.

With a surprised smile, Landry grasped the cup and pulled it from the threads with a quiet snap. He lifted it to his lips, eager to take his first sip, but stopped abruptly and made eye-contact with her from over the silver brim, "This isn't going to stop my heart or something is it?" He asked, with a sense of caution which boiled down to the fact it had been so long in the past that he had last seen her, she had randomly sent him a piece of parchment with directions and, most importantly, she had dragged him to a place nobody could see them to provide him with a drink he could have easily received inside. Yet, he had come anyways.

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With an insulted scoff, she exclaimed, "Do you really think I would poison you? After all the effort in getting you here, with a simple drop I could have hired someone to slip in elsewhere?" With a thrust of her arms into the air, and quickly slamming them back down into her sides with balled fists, she took a breath to calm herself down.

After a soft chuckle, he took the sip. Much to his relief, it didn't contain any poison and his heart continued to beat inside his chest. The mead itself wasn't like any other he had drank before, which isn't to say it was tremendously delicious, but just having a different flavour with strange hints of raspberries, mint and a slight note of pumpkin. It wasn't terrible, but it certainly wasn't amazing.

Once the mead had been drained and he was satisfied, Landry indiscreetly wiped his mouth with the cuff of his light-blue tunic and finally questioned, "Why am I here? Could you not have given me anything to go off of before I left." Why had he come? He hadn't seen the girl for so many years and in fact she was no more a girl than he was a boy. They had grown since then, and now they were a woman and a man. He had acknowledged that deep down he had wanted to see her, even if it was in spite of some sort of risk that he tried to make up as to convince himself otherwise.

With a bite of her lip and once more, very out of character to Landry, she looked around as if someone was eavesdropping. Maliah had never been the nervous type to him, quite the opposite in fact. They had met several years ago in the subterranean slum system that Landry had been calling home. She had always contrasted against the meek and negative inhabitants, with a spring in her step and a spark in her voice. To see her now, unsure of herself and resembling a lost child was a stark difference to the girl who had once stood up to the ravenous crown-wardens that preyed on the vulnerable poor, igniting a sense of unease that he hadn't felt outside of his own dreams.

"It's -" she paused. Fear?

Beginning to catch himself looking around for whatever beast or monster his imagination could connect to her fear, he took a deep breath, "It's all right, Mal... It's just us here." Clasping her hands and interlocking her fingers, she gazed back up to look at Landry. She had a certain look in her eyes; it wasn't one of romance, of lust, of trust or even one of friendship. She simply felt comfortable with him, it was a look of familiarity. Something she knew.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, eyes darting around as if the very trees could listen. "It's about him. He wants to see you." As quickly as the look she had given came, it was gone again. To Landry, there was only one him. One man who needed no name, who left such a mark that couldn't be erased on his life, and in his mind he spoke it.

Varick Morrow.

Almost immediately, a wave of betrayal washed over him, tightening his chest. His brows knit together as memories of the past collided with the present, jaw clenching against the flood of emotions. Was this all it was? A summoning? Had he really journeyed all this way to be misled? He was silent, and looked away from her eyes, up into the branches of the towering trees.

Several moments passing, Maliah began to get noticeably more nervous. She rubbed her neck, and a small droplet of glistening sweat trickled down the back of it. "I knew you wouldn't meet me if you knew what it was about," she quickly widened her eyes and blurted out, "you don't! It's not what you think, Landry."

What is she saying? He thought to himself. After the previous revelation, his heart-rate had seemingly slowed and the background simply began to fade away. That was, until, a melodic trill echoed throughout the tranquil canopy above. It was a vibrant burst of sound that cut through the stillness of his distracted state. It was quick and sharp, almost reminiscent of the rapid tapping of a tiny drum. Then again. And again. With each call, a sense of urgency was carried, a lively punctuation against the otherwise tranquil forest. But, what had made the sound?

He looked back down to her, but she seemed as if she hadn't heard it. In fact, her lips were still moving as if she were saying something important, but Landry heard no noise. Suddenly, a burst of vibrant blue and yellow plumage drew his attention away from her again and above. It soared through branches with such articulate movement, it was as if the trees moved around it themselves. The rapid, darting flying resembled a small avian acrobat that sliced through the air with every dip and turn. On certain occasions, the feathers caught the sunlight in such a way that they glistened like a fleeting gem. After a few moments, the bird stopped in the air with its beak facing Landry. It felt his gaze, and was looking back at him just as he was looking at it. It was a kingfisher. There must be a river, or a stream around. He thought to himself, but his attention was quickly stolen once again.

"Are you even listening to me?"

Shadows collected under his eyes as his face tilted down to face her, he felt a sickening void within his stomach - as if with just the mention of that name, she had stolen his last meal. Inhaling through his nose he focussed on his breathing and tried to will it to a slower pace. No luck. As his mouth opened to speak, she didn't give him the chance to respond, "This isn't like before, otherwise I wouldn't have even returned a letter myself. Varick's got something else, which to you might be a relief of sorts and-" She began to stumble over her words.

Landry's expression softened as he saw Maliah's nervous glances. It was clear she was just as unsettled by this meeting as he was. The anxiety at the mention of the man who they had both been fostered by so many years ago, and so against his better judgement he let himself hear her out, "Calm down, and get your wits about, Mal. Slow down, and tell me it again from the top." With a nod from Maliah, Landry set the cup down, watching it vanish into dust. He sighed, feeling more frustrated by the situation than satisfied. What a waste.

With a wipe of her forehead, Maliah began to explain once more. "He wouldn't stop talking about you... He even had time to apologise to me. You left years ago, and for whatever reason I think he's turned a corner-"

Shaking his head, Landry spoke up, "I know I left, but you know just as well as I this is how he is. It's just some other plot so he can finally make his fortune, don't you remember how he always used to tell it? Get us out of the gutter, he said."

"You left when we were kids, Landry. You didn't stick around to find out, and no it wasn't glamorous but we got out from underground... We were set up in Elduira for a while. Things were good, but he never got over you leaving."

Landry struggled to find the right words. His mouth felt dry. "I had to leave, Mal. You know that. I couldn't just turn a blind eye, not after he told us the truth about the business. It was bad business. You never did mind that, though. Some things don't change."

She narrowed her eyes, and gave him a slight push, "Would you stop it with your morality?! Things aren't black and white like you'd prefer, I know that. Varick's done, though. Like I said." Her voice dripped with annoyance, each syllable spoken like a drop of boiling water. "The wardens finally got to him, even after he was out and thriving. He's lined up for the gallows, but he wants to see you before the date."

With that news, all previous feelings of betrayal and distrust were cast aside as Landry's eyebrows rose like theatre curtains. His mind was blank. Pulling at his stained blue collar as if it were he with the noose around his neck, his own emotions seemed to betray him once more, after he had ignored them for so long. Why should I care? He knew the risks. He didn't care then; why should I now? If only such things were so simple, yet feelings always act as a catalyst that set the dominoes falling.

"Then why did you ask me to come here? We're on the wrong side of the Twin Continents." He uttered, pressing his index finger and thumb between his eyes, unsure of what to do. Or rather, what he could do. Why on Aurum had Mal brought him to the very Western edge of Cleonth, on the edge of the West Continent, so far from Elduira's capital?

"Well, I can't exactly get all that close to Renna without alerting the wardens, you see." Once more, her mischievous demeanour returned as a snake-like smirk curled on her lips. At sight of Landry's concerned expression, she shook her head as if to deny his wrong assumptions, "I'm finished with that life too. The Elduirian government is very convincing once they set ablaze your home, y'know."

Is she stalling? He thought. It wasn't exactly like her to blabber on, but it seemed to him she'd changed a lot in the seven years a part.

With a wave of his hand for clarification, "Why Pollard's Grove, Mal? I don't understand."

"All that reading you did when we were younger, and you've never hard of this town or Lake Laga?" She retorted, an air of surprise rushing through her and a sense of relief that she could now regain some sort of control in the conversation. "Varick had contacts with the Twin Trade Company for years, you know that. Those trees in the lake forest, they excrete sap of a supernatural nature. No one knows why." Taking a breath, she took out a folded sheet of caramel-coloured paper and thrusted it into Landry's hands for him to see. Upon opening the aged parchment, he recognised what book it was from immediately.

"This is from a children's story book, Mal. Don't tell me you've finally given into his insane theories, and that you think some ancient warrior really slew a dragon, and its corpse is at the centre of the lake." He almost felt like laughing, but he knew he'd only receive another push - or something more severe. Remembering how Varick used to read them tales such as this when they were young almost made him feel nostalgic, and he let Mal continue.

"It's his dying wish to see it uncovered, or at least tested for an ounce of truth. He was always obsessed with dragons, convinced they had been hiding in plain sight rather than truly abandoning this world. I know how you feel about the man, but won't you at least humour him, or me?"

With another glance upwards, he took a few moments to decide his next steps. What does he really want at the centre of that lake? Regardless, he knew there was something he couldn't do. Let Maliah deal with this ordeal alone. "How do you suggest we even reach that forest? Swim?"

"Don't you listen? The only transport that goes in and out is the Twin Trade Company ferries, and Varick's got himself quite a few contacts. We've got to meet one of them, get some places aboard so we can reach the place." She chuckled, "Have you even learnt how to swim yet? I suppose not." Taking hold of his hand, the elf pulled Landry out from the back of the Wyrm, dragging him into the centre of what looked to be the main road through the village.

With a groan, he was about to complain until he saw a glimpse of the lake water itself through a clearing in the trees - to him, he could have mistaken it for an ocean. Except it had no waves, just the towering forest that grew far in the centre. He saw now that some of the tree canopies didn't just mix in with the clouds, but many disappeared above them. The Wyrmwood. They called it that, because apparently the few people that were able to get a bird's eye view of the range claimed it formed the shape of a dragon, but most still use the name for the ancient story.

"Isn't it pretty?" inquired Mal, gazing at the sight herself. He looked down back to her, only able to see the back of her hair. How long did that braid take? Shaking his head, he focussed on the task at hand. "You can barely see them from here, but look use this." Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, she pulled a spyglass from her sleeve and offered it to him to take. Taking it, pulling it and placing the eyepiece just in front of his right eye, Landry took a look through. There are waves. Big ones, too. They had been too far away for him to properly notice, but the lake itself truly could pass for the ocean, albeit for its lack of the seaside smell.

"Here, let me." She whispered, gently pushing the end of the spyglass with the tip of her finger. After a few moments, he could see what she was referring to. The ferries. They were painted blue so you could barely see them, but there were at least a hundred of them out, going to and from the Wyrmwood. Each one only had a handful of men, but stacked on the back of them were hundreds, if not a thousand, of barrels. "It's that sap." She explained, "You've heard of it haven't you? It's highly combustible, a great fuel and an even better ingredient in weapons. Sells for quite a few glints."

"And you can get us on one of those boats?"

"Ferries." She corrected, "I'll get it sorted. I just need to find the contact, apparently he's quite the reader, maybe you'd get along."

"Apparently..?" She doesn't know him, perfect. Things aren't going to be as streamlined as I'd hoped.

With a smile, she patted him on the shoulder and turned on her heel. "Let's go find him, boy. If you hear anybody with the family name of Ossilian, that's our man. He can get us on a ferry called the Sea Lugger." She turned around once more, pointing at Landry, "On second thought, this will be faster if you take the area by the water, and I take the village square. Meet you at the docks in an hour." Before he could contest, she'd walked quickly past him and he knew he wouldn't be able to change her mind. Facing the water, he walked down the sloped path towards it, listening as the gushing whirl of the water got louder and louder.