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Spring, 1329
War came to Stanton in a message delivered by a breathless rider from Breakshire.
“Invasion! The Other Men have crossed the Dneiper!”
All of the townsfolk stopped what they were doing, gasped and gathered as both messenger and horse, covered in sweat galloped past.
“The Tassurians are invading! War is upon us!” The rider called as he swept by, disappearing into the hills East towards Triford.
The people of Stanton broke into general commotion, verging on the edge of terror. Women swooned, men muttered among themselves.
“War! It is upon us!”
“It’s gonna be like the Great Sweep all over again!”
The ferrier immediately ran for his tools. “Everyone must prepare to fight!” Rabia called as he started up his forge, the fire igniting in a sheet of flame.
The rope-maker chuckled to himself upon hearing the news. “This should be the start of something fun.” Glib began singing some random ditty to himself while skipping home, charms and trinkets jingling, to look for some alchemy tools.
Upon hearing the news, the Hero of Moyta had immediately dropped the carpentry work and also went home, pulling out the crate from under her bed to reveal her armor and raven's beak, all still shining from continuous polishing.
The falconer simply stopped midway through purchasing a pack, swore and spat at the news. “Those damn Other Men have finally done it.”
The apothecary shook her head and began packing her medicine crate.
Only the fletcher, the Normad, remained calm, watching the chaos grow through town without comment.
Soon enough the town deputies had appeared among the crowd, trying to rein the situation under control.
“Calm down! The Other Men will be defeated!” Edwin called.
“No need to panic! The king has the situation under control!” Bidgewell added.
“Where is our protection?” Someone called back in reply.
Heratio Wilcox, the heavyset giant of a town sheriff, heard the commotion and stormed over to the plaza platform in disgust.
“Calm down everyone!” He roared. “I am still your sheriff, and I’ll continue to protect this town!” The crowd mostly ignored him, and the size and din of the crowd gradually grew larger and larger. With the townsfolk on the edge of chaos, the sheriff finally stopped when Edwin ran over and whispered rapidly in his ear. “The people are asking for the guardian to be alerted.”
Wilcox’s eyebrows farrowed, but he finally nodded.
“Send out a messenger!” He roared to his deputies, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Alert the forester! The guardian must be informed of this threat!”
***
Logan Durham was in the field assembling a fence when the rider arrived from Stanton, frantically searching for him. From beneath the shadows of a straw hat a bearded chin lowered, revealing a sharp nose and a cheek with a small scar running across it and a pair of blazing eyes which had only fairly recently been dulled from content.
After the Stanton Incident and their subsequent wedding, Logan Durham and Sonia Potter had set up a comfortable homestead a few miles North of Stanton near the edge of the Kern River. It was in the forest, between the townsfolk and the town guardian, so that the forester could easily provide help to both. The Guardian of Stanton, had in fact helped them choose the site. Two springs and a small feeder creek provided water, with one of the springs being hot being a perk. The homestead thrived and now held two fields growing wheat and barley, a garden where Sonia grew various vegetables, a barn to store the cow, five pigs and Logan and Sonia’s three horses, a henhouse with two dozen chickens, a wood storage, springhouse, and the farmhouse. The forester had built the wattle-and-daub house himself, along with Sonia and some of his friends. It was a comfortable six-roomed house with a kitchen, a large living/dining room, bedroom and small study, as well as a small corridor leading to the hot springs bathhouse and another leading to the lavatory. Isolated as it was, deep in the Wilds, the farm was stoutly defended, the farmhouse walls one foot thick and covered by fired mud and rammed earth, with parts made of stone, as well as a shale-tiled roof. The farmhouse also boasted a small observation tower from the roof, and the entire farm was surrounded by a fence.
Logan had earned the right to this little farmstead due to the truce that he had established between the Town of Stanton and the dragon that now served as its guardian. For several years, the dragon and the townsfolk had mutually harassed each other, the dragon attacking people who approached his mountain and occasionally raiding outlying farms for cattle or sheep, while the townsfolk hired hunters an attempted to kill the dragon. Then two years ago, Logan himself had arrived at the town as a would be dragonslayer, but failed, and in doing so initiated two years of chaos that dragged in the townsfolk, the dragon, as well as the Lord of Corioli, the Knights Constantine, and even King John himself. By the end of what became known as the “Stanton Incident”- an understatement if there was any, Logan had defeated all opponents, saved the town, saved the dragon, and saved himself, and created (with some choice magics and stretching of the truth) an agreement where the Town of Stanton would defend the dragon and his territories, and in exchange the dragon would protect the town and its people from outside forces. As part of this agreement, Logan was appointed the Controller of the Northern Forests and Liaison to the Guardian of the Forest, who protected Stanton in times of danger. And it was that dragon who Logan would contact and warn of the threats facing the town entrusted to it.
The forester put down his tools and removed his hat, brushing the sweat from his dark black hair as he frowned at the rapidly approaching cloud of dust. It had been quite some time since something was big enough that his network of contacts was unable to solve beforehand. That was never good news.
The rider was hurriedly conversing with his wife, the new Town Elder, standing at the front door. Sonia was shaking her head.
“What is it, my dear?” The Forester called to her as he approached. The rider stared for a few seconds at the hunter, and then rode off without another word. Sonia took on the rider’s message.
“You need to call up your dragon friend.” She replied, grabbing his cloak and awlpike from their places next to the door. “War has come to Auxia.”
***
For the first time in several months Logan donned his cloak, grabbed his awlpike, and took his horse into the North. His wife packed him a lunch and bade him to not do anything stupid. He took the Old North Road across the Rapidan, found the well-worn path gradually fading back into nature. Trying to remember the route, it took Logan two days of hiking through the forest and climbing up the flank of Mount Rubinox to find his way to the cave hidden in the lee of an outcropping.
He stepped into the mouth of the familiar dank and cool opening, feeling the cave draft flow past him. Placing cupping his mouth with his hands, the forester called out: “Meratezatgh? We need to talk!”
In response, a slow shuffling noise echoed in the darkness.
Logan had not seen his friend in a few months and he was again unused to the sight, staring in awe as a scaly serrated snout appeared out of the darkness, followed by its piercing eyes and massive twin sets of horns. As the serpent emerged fully into the light, the hunter could remember how large the creature was, fifteen feet high to the shoulder and forty-five feet from neck to tail. The dragon’s powerful jaws were drenched in blood, its sharp teeth glistening despite the liberal new paint job.
“Mera?”
Mera was busy lunching on the remains of a deer it gripped in its forepaws which drenched the dragon’s forearms scarlet. “Ah. Long time no see Logan. Nice to know you’re still alive” The wyrm replied, politely wiping his mouth clean of the mess before grinning at the Forester.
Then the dragon messed it up again by absently taking another bite of his meal.
“Yah. Well what about you?” Logan replied. “Heard about the last bandit raid from the Normad. Good to see you’re still in one piece as well.”
Mera shrugged as he continued munching on the bloody remains in his paws. “Eh. I guess.”
“You’ve done well as Stanton’s guardian.” Logan continued. “Town hasn’t been hit by anything bad in a long time. Keeping in shape.”
“What else would I do? Better than putting my head under an ax. Rather wield it than take it.”
The Forester chuckled aloud at the creature sitting before him, and walked over to pat his companion on the shoulder. “You haven’t changed old friend.” The hunter then stopped, noticing that he now only reached the dragon’s elbow. “You are bigger however.”
“I guess. So, what brings you back to my door?”
“It’s finally happened. The Tassurians have started their invasion of Auxia. The townsfolk are worried; people are saying that the Kingdom is too weak to defend itself and that the Other Men would soon attack the town. They need reassurance that you would honor your commitment and protect Stanton from harm.”
“Three years after the fall of the Northern City States and that’s what you came up here for? You humans are too excitable.” The dragon absently waved a paw. “I’ve defended the town several times already in the past few years and I will continue to do so. Besides, it’s some three hundred miles between the Dnieper and here. I wouldn’t worry.”
Logan suddenly felt like he had gone on a fool’s errand. “Yah. I guess you’re right.”
He placed his awlpike to one side and sat down besides the reptile, patting his friend on the flank. “The townsfolk are just very worried about this whole thing, and to tell you the truth, so am I. We knew it was coming, that it would be big, but yah, Auxia’s big and however incompetent we are the Kingdom is large and the army is huge. It’ll be fine.” The dragon didn’t reply, but casually ripped off a piece of venison, and after searing it with a short breath of fire, handed it to the hunter, who received the piece.
“Maybe I just needed an excuse to come up here again.” Logan took a bite of his meat.
“Well it has been a while hasn’t it?” The dragon replied.
“So how are things going.?”
“Same old, same old…you humans are too close, need a girl, need more gold…”
M.I.A. - Boyz
Awesome free gift from
TheDinosaurMann!
War came to Stanton in a message delivered by a breathless rider from Breakshire.
“Invasion! The Other Men have crossed the Dneiper!”
All of the townsfolk stopped what they were doing, gasped and gathered as both messenger and horse, covered in sweat galloped past.
“The Tassurians are invading! War is upon us!” The rider called as he swept by, disappearing into the hills East towards Triford.
The people of Stanton broke into general commotion, verging on the edge of terror. Women swooned, men muttered among themselves.
“War! It is upon us!”
“It’s gonna be like the Great Sweep all over again!”
The ferrier immediately ran for his tools. “Everyone must prepare to fight!” Rabia called as he started up his forge, the fire igniting in a sheet of flame.
The rope-maker chuckled to himself upon hearing the news. “This should be the start of something fun.” Glib began singing some random ditty to himself while skipping home, charms and trinkets jingling, to look for some alchemy tools.
Upon hearing the news, the Hero of Moyta had immediately dropped the carpentry work and also went home, pulling out the crate from under her bed to reveal her armor and raven's beak, all still shining from continuous polishing.
The falconer simply stopped midway through purchasing a pack, swore and spat at the news. “Those damn Other Men have finally done it.”
The apothecary shook her head and began packing her medicine crate.
Only the fletcher, the Normad, remained calm, watching the chaos grow through town without comment.
Soon enough the town deputies had appeared among the crowd, trying to rein the situation under control.
“Calm down! The Other Men will be defeated!” Edwin called.
“No need to panic! The king has the situation under control!” Bidgewell added.
“Where is our protection?” Someone called back in reply.
Heratio Wilcox, the heavyset giant of a town sheriff, heard the commotion and stormed over to the plaza platform in disgust.
“Calm down everyone!” He roared. “I am still your sheriff, and I’ll continue to protect this town!” The crowd mostly ignored him, and the size and din of the crowd gradually grew larger and larger. With the townsfolk on the edge of chaos, the sheriff finally stopped when Edwin ran over and whispered rapidly in his ear. “The people are asking for the guardian to be alerted.”
Wilcox’s eyebrows farrowed, but he finally nodded.
“Send out a messenger!” He roared to his deputies, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Alert the forester! The guardian must be informed of this threat!”
***
Logan Durham was in the field assembling a fence when the rider arrived from Stanton, frantically searching for him. From beneath the shadows of a straw hat a bearded chin lowered, revealing a sharp nose and a cheek with a small scar running across it and a pair of blazing eyes which had only fairly recently been dulled from content.
After the Stanton Incident and their subsequent wedding, Logan Durham and Sonia Potter had set up a comfortable homestead a few miles North of Stanton near the edge of the Kern River. It was in the forest, between the townsfolk and the town guardian, so that the forester could easily provide help to both. The Guardian of Stanton, had in fact helped them choose the site. Two springs and a small feeder creek provided water, with one of the springs being hot being a perk. The homestead thrived and now held two fields growing wheat and barley, a garden where Sonia grew various vegetables, a barn to store the cow, five pigs and Logan and Sonia’s three horses, a henhouse with two dozen chickens, a wood storage, springhouse, and the farmhouse. The forester had built the wattle-and-daub house himself, along with Sonia and some of his friends. It was a comfortable six-roomed house with a kitchen, a large living/dining room, bedroom and small study, as well as a small corridor leading to the hot springs bathhouse and another leading to the lavatory. Isolated as it was, deep in the Wilds, the farm was stoutly defended, the farmhouse walls one foot thick and covered by fired mud and rammed earth, with parts made of stone, as well as a shale-tiled roof. The farmhouse also boasted a small observation tower from the roof, and the entire farm was surrounded by a fence.
Logan had earned the right to this little farmstead due to the truce that he had established between the Town of Stanton and the dragon that now served as its guardian. For several years, the dragon and the townsfolk had mutually harassed each other, the dragon attacking people who approached his mountain and occasionally raiding outlying farms for cattle or sheep, while the townsfolk hired hunters an attempted to kill the dragon. Then two years ago, Logan himself had arrived at the town as a would be dragonslayer, but failed, and in doing so initiated two years of chaos that dragged in the townsfolk, the dragon, as well as the Lord of Corioli, the Knights Constantine, and even King John himself. By the end of what became known as the “Stanton Incident”- an understatement if there was any, Logan had defeated all opponents, saved the town, saved the dragon, and saved himself, and created (with some choice magics and stretching of the truth) an agreement where the Town of Stanton would defend the dragon and his territories, and in exchange the dragon would protect the town and its people from outside forces. As part of this agreement, Logan was appointed the Controller of the Northern Forests and Liaison to the Guardian of the Forest, who protected Stanton in times of danger. And it was that dragon who Logan would contact and warn of the threats facing the town entrusted to it.
The forester put down his tools and removed his hat, brushing the sweat from his dark black hair as he frowned at the rapidly approaching cloud of dust. It had been quite some time since something was big enough that his network of contacts was unable to solve beforehand. That was never good news.
The rider was hurriedly conversing with his wife, the new Town Elder, standing at the front door. Sonia was shaking her head.
“What is it, my dear?” The Forester called to her as he approached. The rider stared for a few seconds at the hunter, and then rode off without another word. Sonia took on the rider’s message.
“You need to call up your dragon friend.” She replied, grabbing his cloak and awlpike from their places next to the door. “War has come to Auxia.”
***
For the first time in several months Logan donned his cloak, grabbed his awlpike, and took his horse into the North. His wife packed him a lunch and bade him to not do anything stupid. He took the Old North Road across the Rapidan, found the well-worn path gradually fading back into nature. Trying to remember the route, it took Logan two days of hiking through the forest and climbing up the flank of Mount Rubinox to find his way to the cave hidden in the lee of an outcropping.
He stepped into the mouth of the familiar dank and cool opening, feeling the cave draft flow past him. Placing cupping his mouth with his hands, the forester called out: “Meratezatgh? We need to talk!”
In response, a slow shuffling noise echoed in the darkness.
Logan had not seen his friend in a few months and he was again unused to the sight, staring in awe as a scaly serrated snout appeared out of the darkness, followed by its piercing eyes and massive twin sets of horns. As the serpent emerged fully into the light, the hunter could remember how large the creature was, fifteen feet high to the shoulder and forty-five feet from neck to tail. The dragon’s powerful jaws were drenched in blood, its sharp teeth glistening despite the liberal new paint job.
“Mera?”
Mera was busy lunching on the remains of a deer it gripped in its forepaws which drenched the dragon’s forearms scarlet. “Ah. Long time no see Logan. Nice to know you’re still alive” The wyrm replied, politely wiping his mouth clean of the mess before grinning at the Forester.
Then the dragon messed it up again by absently taking another bite of his meal.
“Yah. Well what about you?” Logan replied. “Heard about the last bandit raid from the Normad. Good to see you’re still in one piece as well.”
Mera shrugged as he continued munching on the bloody remains in his paws. “Eh. I guess.”
“You’ve done well as Stanton’s guardian.” Logan continued. “Town hasn’t been hit by anything bad in a long time. Keeping in shape.”
“What else would I do? Better than putting my head under an ax. Rather wield it than take it.”
The Forester chuckled aloud at the creature sitting before him, and walked over to pat his companion on the shoulder. “You haven’t changed old friend.” The hunter then stopped, noticing that he now only reached the dragon’s elbow. “You are bigger however.”
“I guess. So, what brings you back to my door?”
“It’s finally happened. The Tassurians have started their invasion of Auxia. The townsfolk are worried; people are saying that the Kingdom is too weak to defend itself and that the Other Men would soon attack the town. They need reassurance that you would honor your commitment and protect Stanton from harm.”
“Three years after the fall of the Northern City States and that’s what you came up here for? You humans are too excitable.” The dragon absently waved a paw. “I’ve defended the town several times already in the past few years and I will continue to do so. Besides, it’s some three hundred miles between the Dnieper and here. I wouldn’t worry.”
Logan suddenly felt like he had gone on a fool’s errand. “Yah. I guess you’re right.”
He placed his awlpike to one side and sat down besides the reptile, patting his friend on the flank. “The townsfolk are just very worried about this whole thing, and to tell you the truth, so am I. We knew it was coming, that it would be big, but yah, Auxia’s big and however incompetent we are the Kingdom is large and the army is huge. It’ll be fine.” The dragon didn’t reply, but casually ripped off a piece of venison, and after searing it with a short breath of fire, handed it to the hunter, who received the piece.
“Maybe I just needed an excuse to come up here again.” Logan took a bite of his meat.
“Well it has been a while hasn’t it?” The dragon replied.
“So how are things going.?”
“Same old, same old…you humans are too close, need a girl, need more gold…”
M.I.A. - Boyz
Awesome free gift from
TheDinosaurMann!
Category Artwork (Digital) / Portraits
Species Western Dragon
Size 1280 x 1087px
File Size 237.2 kB
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