The dwarf looked around at his once proud mining hamlet, gazing over the thatch huts and the stone roads that he once called home. Burned, with bodies in the street and a deep ashen smell in the air. Even the mighty tower that his ancestors had built from the mountain had disappeared, it's proud ramparts and parapets gone from the skyline as if they had never even existed. He sighed and looked back, the militia spread out looking for any sign of life amongst the wreckage. As they worked their way up, towards the tower, their hopes dwindled as all they found was more lifeless corpses and blood-spattered doors and cobblestones. Some houses had hastily formed barricades at the door, but whatever had attacked didn't seem to have any trouble smashing through them. Finally, the only spot left to search was the tower. Many of the militia were simple farming people and didn't have to stomach to handle such a display of violence and had opted to wait with the main force down in the town square. But the dwarf knew that someone had to have survived. Only as they found the gates of the tower shattered into splinters, and the tower crumbled into a pile of rocks did they realize how hopeless finding any survivors would be. But one body stood out, a simple steel chest plate and a sword and shield by his side, let out a low groan as his hand twitched. "Got a survivor here! Bring the apothecary at once!" the dwarf shouted as he rushed to the body.

Visions flashed before Thomas's eyes, a large beard and a gruff voice, followed by a soft face with pointy ears. Shouting, the sound of armored feet clattering against the cobblestone roads. When he finally awoke fully, Thomas felt as if he had spent a night at the local tavern and had too much of the Goliath Ale. His head throbbed, and his vision felt...incomplete. But as the nurse turned around, the pain faded ever so gently, as she was the most beautiful thing Thomas had ever seen. Her soft elven features were evidence enough, but her long pointed ears clearly labeled her as a High Elf, normally only seen in the largest districts of major cities, or high in their beautifully crafted cities. She gasped when she turned around, clearly surprised to see Thomas awake. "Oh, my gods, you're alive!" She said in shock, as a man in white robes rushed in, giving the same look of shock as the nurse. "Where," Thomas began to ask, coughing as he felt his dry throat try to speak, "Where am I ma'am?" "You're in the Apothecarium, in Aylsbury, getting treatment for your extensive wounds." Thomas was confused, the last thing he remembered was standing before the dragon and watching Beverm die. But that couldn't be true. Beverm was everything the Order Montague was, stoic and unmoving as the mountain. The look on the apothecaries' faces was enough evidence though. Everything Thomas thought he remembered was true. His hamlet, his home, his mother, all lost. "You've been the only survivor we've found so far, but teams are still looking. It's a miracle you're still alive young one." The man in robes said as he began mixing together some different powers and elixirs. Thomas had never even seen an apothecary before, unless you counted the crazy medicine man who lived high in the peaks above his hamlet. "You've been out for almost 4 days. We were worried you wouldn't wake up." The nurse said, wearing the same look his mother had before he left that day. Worried, but trying to hide it behind a smile. "The good news is, other than some scrapes and a nasty black eye, everything seems to be fine. Although," the doctor paused, "Your mana is abnormally out of alignment. In all my years serving as a healthcare and magical professional, I have never seen anything like this." Thomas glanced at his hands as best as he could with one eye swollen, trying to understand what the apothecary had been saying. Mana? He had only known a few people able to use magic, and it took a great deal of skill to master one's mana. Thomas was not one of these people. "But, sir, I have never been able to tap into my mana. How could I have been able to-"

Thomas was cut off as two large, scaled dragonborn in black armor entered the room, each holding a massive halberd in one clawed hand. Behind them entered another person, a much slighter elven being, but with jet black skin. "Thank you for your service, sir, but we will be taking him from your care." The elf said, her voice sounding soft, but Thomas could almost sense a malicious energy behind it. "What is the meaning of this?" The apothecary sputtered "He has barely been awake for but a moment and you people just whisk in and tell me you're taking him? This hero has severe injuries and must take time to rest!" The elf snapped her fingers, and both dragonborn snapped their halberds into a ready position, one taking a stance towards the apothecary and the other towards the nurse. "The Guild has questions, and as you should know, my good man of medicine, is that we do not like to wait on answers." The doctor paused, trying to think of a response but before he could Thomas began laughing, quietly at first, but then louder as he looked the drow in her blood red eyes. "I have nothing," he spat "My mother lies crushed underneath my childhood home. My people lie burned, crushed and worse. My mentor gave his life to defend our town, for naught more than my life to show for it. If you have questions, ask them here. If you wish to take me, I will fight." The drow looked stunned at first, but then laughed herself. "In your condition? You wish to fight us, platinum level adventurers who have slain more abominations than you have ever even READ about young one?" The two dragonborn joined in her laughter, a deep sound that only served to remind Thomas of his true enemy. That cursed dragon, which had taken so much from him in only a day. Thomas began to stand, feeling his aching body scream in pain. The dragonborn and drow had stopped laughing, stunned that he could even manage to move. But move he did. Thomas stood, not nearly as tall as the warriors in black clad armor, but still an impressive sight. The two dragonborn wasted no time pointing their halberds at Thomas, for despite his state they were taking no chances. "Do you even know what Imyt has done to you boy?" The drow asked, readying two long, curved daggers and crouching down, ready to strike. "I don't know, nor care. I know only that it is my duty to protect those who cannot be protect themselves, even if it costs my life." Thomas clenched his fists and glared between the two warriors standing in front of him. The drow laughed again, wiping a tear before saying "Oh child, you have no life to give. Imyt has cursed you to undeath and your soul is no longer with your body." Thomas recoiled at this, the words hitting him harder than a mountain giant. It felt like his gut had dropped lower than the Underdark, and his head spun. Thomas stumbled back, recoiling at this horrid news. Looking between the apothecary and the drow, Thomas uttered "No, no that can't be," before collapsing and once more the blackness enveloped his vision as he passed out again.

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When Thomas awoke again, he was chained to a chair, sitting at a table in a dark room. He recognized the two large armor-clad dragonborn standing by the only door, eerily silent and menacing as the ocean. He took in his surroundings, noticing that his vision had returned. He opted to stay quiet, not knowing if the two figures by the door would even respond to him. He had no way of knowing how many days had passed since he had blacked out. His head throbbed, reminding him of the nurse and apothecary who had cared for him. The door opened, revealing a small, hunched figure in a dark robe decorated with ornate golden symbols along the edges. The figure nodded to the draconian guards, and they stepped outside, closing the door behind the man. Thomas looked at the person in front of him, unable to make anything out underneath the hood, the blackness swallowing any features that Thomas would've normally been able to make out. The figure's head tilted, almost like a dog's head at a sound it does not recognize. Thomas felt uneasy, the silence thick enough to cut with a blade. Finally, the figure spoke. "So, you are the young warrior cursed by the undying dragon. Huh. I expected Beverm to have selected a better protege." Thomas was snapped back to the present at the mention of Beverm's name. "How do you know of Beverm?" Thomas asked, uncertain of the man's intentions with him. The figure chuckled before responding, "Beverm was a dear friend of mine. I am very sorry for your loss, but there are more pressing matters, and Beverm would not want us to stall." Thomas felt a wave of emotions crash over him. How did this strange mage know Beverm? Was that dragon truly immune to death? How was Thomas supposed to just move his grief aside when everything kept playing back in his mind? Where even was he?