“Another night will not be necessary,” Grayson replied apologetically. “Your service has been most welcome, but--”

“We need another night,” Trea interrupted. The innkeeper looked back and forth between the two, the heavy glare between the pair not going unnoticed. A tense tone brewed, but Trea continued to work on the thread of a bow. “One more night. Before the sun rises, we’ll be--”

“The night before, did you not say the same thing?” Grayson shook his head, his volume overtaking his politeness. “And the day before as well! Trea, this excursion has been long enough!”

“That boy is still out there because of us,” Trea argued. Over her glasses did her amber eyes peer back at Grayson, unphased by his greater physique and loudness. “Because of you, Grayson. You promised him he could join us if he could pay the fee.”

“That was nary a week ago that such was said!”

“Are promises not promises after a week?” Trea scoffed, her head drawn back coyly. “Then we should drop this matter at once, and reconsider our engagement.”

“Goddess Embolden Me, I Plea,” Grayson groaned to himself. “A remark made to a villager boy is not the same as a proposal… and you know this.”

“Do I know this? Month after month, I have seen that marriage pushed back--”

“Err, about payment~” the innkeeper chuckled awkwardly back into the conversation, but Trea and Grayson were at a standoff.

There was a long pause, and then a calculated answer. “One last night,” Grayson settled, his answer spoken to Trea but a palm’s amount of coin slid to the innkeeper. “One. Goddess knows we have only the funds for that and no more.” He finally turned back to the innkeeper, apologizing with his expression. “Thank you.”

The sun was slipping away across a rolling horizon of hills and distant mountains. Soon, the sky would bleed orange and reel in the moon for yet another peaceful night over Mattervon Village. It would be the sixth night that the Tides of Blakewood would be resting there, a fact that had the guildmasters Grayson and Trea bickering throughout that time. Obsessed with numbers and timeliness, Grayson only sought to resupply and then be back on the road to the capital, but a mishap on a trade route had a shopkeeper delay their travels -- just long enough for Grayson to have met Daemon. It was because of him and that promise that Trea wouldn’t let the guild leave Mattervon, not until Daemon had a fair chance to prove himself.

Tests such as these, spontaneous and whimsical, was in the very nature of the guild. The Tides of Blakewood had been formed under similar circumstances, when Grayson Blakewood took to adventuring formally alongside his childhood friend, Trea Fletcher. It was supposed to be just the couple, two veteran adventurers working in tandem, but the years had found them a fair-sized family of unique recruits. Today, the guild was a multi-faceted organization, and after a lively expedition did Grayson now ferry a team back to the nation’s capital to converge with the others.

Grayson was the leader of the Tides, but he adamantly shared that role with his fiance. Trea could always take command, but her leadership was passive and more calculated, whereas Grayson worked best in the gritty short-term with a hard, no-jokes style. One look into his dark eyes could that be sensed; he was experienced and callous, famously reliable for a reason. His pitch hair was thick and slightly unruly, a polished beard tightly wound into a short braid. It was rare to see him without his armor, even at the tavern, but it was just as rare to find Trea wearing her own. As a talented archer, she preferred lighter leathers and tunics to the chainmail Grayson donned. Her orange hair used to be even shorter, but it was styled now to curl just above her shoulders, a subtle indication of how she managed matters from a distance, both on the battlefield and in the guild hall.

“He just wants to be an adventurer, Gray,” Trea sighed, taking the man’s fists into her hand from across their table. “He’s a village boy. He’s never seen the world. He wants to help people. Doesn’t that remind you of--”

“Me?” Grayson accused her, then laughed. When he stopped, he laughed again, “I have a bloodline of heroes behind me. My father and my father’s father taught me survival and strength. That Daemon jester has energy and nothing else -- I tried telling the lad as much, but, he took it as a compliment it seems!”

“He took it as a challenge,” Trea said. “It was you that said he need only bring the entry fee for the guild. He wants to join that passionately!”

“The passion to be burned alive by the dragon,” Grayson snickered grimly. He began gathering his items and documents off the tavern table, now that the dining hall was beginning to populate with patrons. “From who did he get that story from again? A dragon’s horde, a few hours march of here? That was hilarious.”

“Aye, I told him that one!” a brutish voice replied, tripping into the talks. A chair was quickly claimed from between the two guild masters, the space swallowed up by a sizeable person. A woman, buff and top-heavy, now occupied the table, bringing with her a serving plate of thinly sliced ham. She ate her meal three pieces at a time, making a battle out of her food. “I figured you’d like that one, boss! Should keep him off yer back for awhile!”

Grayson laughed and proudly pat Thrakk on her broad shoulders. She was an impressive recruit for the Tides of Blakewood, a barbarian that traveled from an exotic land, and still did she look the part. The intense forces of nature in such parts had molded Thrakk into a hardened barbarian, adapted for almost any type of battle no matter how grueling the atmosphere. As such, her body was a canvas of such history; woven across her musculature was a story of scars and tattoos, together telling great tales that she wanted to tell. Her usual uniform made a show of her skin, allowing her arms to boast their strength, while her legs were entirely exposed except for the satchels strapped around one thigh. Taller than even Grayson, Thrakk was a worthy contender for being the toughest of the Tides, wielding an oversized hammer that was dragged even into the tavern at that moment.

Trea, however, was not nearly as entertained. “You very well may have sent someone to die, Thrakk!” she scolded. Thrakk winced, for even a mighty warrior like her was impaled by Trea’s parental tone. “A dragon would devour Daemon whole!”

Thrakk shrugged, “It’s a dangerous business. He’d have to learn that one way or another.” She smirked, downing another handful of meat. “He probably got mugged while on the road, so you don’t have to worry about a dragon eatin’ him! Bahaha!”

“Thrakk could very well be correct,” Grayson said. He looked to her, still arranging his inventory, “Go and fetch Ljós. Inform her that we leave tomorrow before dawn.” Thrakk nodded and was off on that mission, bringing with her the plate and its dwindling amount of ham. Grayson stood from his seat and lifted up his sheathed blade, binding it to his side, but he felt Trea’s gaze drill his chest. He sighed, “If the boy returns, so be it; my word will be kept, if he pays his dues. Alas, since no such dragon nor dragon horde exists…”

“You surprised me more than once, Gray,” Trea rambled, shuffling her own scrolls together. “People can do amazing things when you least expect it.”

Through the open tavern doors, an announcement was boldly made: “I demand a horn of wine be given to every patron here -- courtesy of the North Mountain Dragon!” All eyes turned to the entrance where a celebrity stood, a sack of treasure hoisted in one hand. From the bag, a small but precious gem was revealed, drawing the marvel of the crowd. Around his neck was a necklace embedded with a round ruby, and atop his head was a tilted tiara too small for him. It was Daemon at the door, never having appeared more confident in front of his fellow villagers.

Daemon lavishly marched down the middle of the tavern, his displayed wealth earning cheers and calls from those he passed. The servers were hastily distributing drinks as per Daemon’s purchase, but he stopped one so that he could take the horn right from her hand. Before she could comment, an emerald replaced the wine she had been holding, an extraordinary tip that Daemon cherished being able to dole. His swagger had him sweep right past the maiden and continue to his destination, the table the guild masters were seated at.

Disregarding the equipment left on the table, Daemon lifted and then dropped the sack of treasure for Trea and Grayson to witness. The lip of the bag fell to one side, unveiling a collection of gold and gems that sparkled as bewildered eyes glazed over it all. Hovering above it was the smuggest smile, deserving the attention of the guild masters.

“In regards to guild fees…” Daemon chuckled. He toyed with the treasure, circling a finger through the loot and forcing a coin to roll across the table. Happening upon Grayson’s direction, it was him that grabbed it, taking it close to his narrowed eyes in deep observation. Daemon glanced to Trea, just to ensure she was as spectacled as Grayson.

“This is… This…” Grayson struggled to respond, still at odds with the lingering doubt that this was legitimate. He glanced at Daemon, disapproving of his arrogance, but definitely assured by it. The coins were real, the trinkets were true, but he still couldn’t believe it. “Where? Daemon, where did you…?”

Daemon shrugged, “Where did I claim I was off to? The mountains to the north? To the wide split? To the rumored dragon’s den?” He reserved his laughter, but was not shy of how gleeful this made him. “Rumors no longer, I’ve dared to confirm! You see it before you now, just a grasp of the bounty to be found deep into the earth!”

“Incredible…” Trea whispered, sweeping some of the coins in her direction. “Y-You did this alone?”

“Entirely! I only regret not bringing a bigger sack,” Daemon bragged. A giggle leaked from his lips, “Perhaps it would have been wise of the Tides of Blakewood to respect my intuition and have rallied with me! Remind me to share some generosity with that boulder-shaped fellow, she did tell me first of the--”

“You said the rumors were true?!” Suddenly, Grayson had spoken up like a dog’s bark. He slammed on the table with both gauntlets, “True or not?!”

“T-True!” Daemon replied, a cold sweat suddenly dotting his brow. He kept his hands raised and open, “I took this treasure from no where else, stolen o-only from the dragon and her den! I-I promise,” he swallowed, “I-I would never rob someone--”

“Her?!” Grayson spat, his worry manifesting in a shiver of boiled blood. Daemon’s throat tightened completely. “So there was a dragon! A real dragon! You witnessed the dragon, and you claimed this as your trophy?”

“Y-Yes! She was bested!”

“Killed?”

“... The treasure is here, th-thus evidence of her defeat--”

“You killed it-- her, did you? Breathing ceased and heartbeat no more?”

“Well… Killed, no,” Daemon nodded, “err… She was outsmarted. Indeed! Using only my wits was I able to--”

“Oh, Goddess,” Trea bemoaned, dropping her bow onto the table in frustration. “Ohh, Daemon…”

“Damn it all, Daemon!” Grayson growled. He wished to yell, but not in front of the tavern goers, not when they were so excited and lively. “You…! Have you any clue what you’ve done?!”

Daemon’s fingers fiddled with each other. “I-I brought the treasure,” he replied meekly. “W-Was there more, or…?”

“What does one imagine a dragon to do when her treasure is taken from her?” Grayson asked, leaning deep over the table and its riches so that he could speak right into Daemon’s face. “The dragon goes looking for it! The dragon takes it back! She gets revenge, Daemon!”

“You’ve doomed this village,” Trea said, her tone sharp and sincere. “If that dragon gets to here, what is a village like this to do?”

Daemon was silent, but his smile hadn’t slipped away yet, frozen in place. “Ahh, haha… Well, about that… This dragon, she is…” He choked, wondering just how to describe what he had seen. It wasn’t at all like the dragons were described, and he still had doubts that what he witnessed was a true dragon. “I-It will be fine, I’m sure. This dragon, you see, r-really wasn’t a threat. She poses no danger to Mattervon Village.”

A coin then escaped from the bag, rolling across the table and right off the ledge. Daemon had watched it travel, moved by seemingly nothing; he and Grayson thought so at first, until they noticed the rest of the treasure shiver. Another coin threatened to cascade down the slope, another little quake rippling the tavern floor. Daemon, Grayson, and Trea exchanged solemn looks, while the public around them noisily claimed their free drinks.

The mood was too merry for the tavern to notice that Mattervon Village was riled into a commotion, too distant on its hilltop in the corner of town. The afternoon had been fading into the evening hours, and only a few folks had business left on the streets. They were the first to see the shadow of something approaching, a silhouette that hovered over the fields and the trees. It was something of impeccable size, growing larger as it neared closer to the village’s edge. Its approach was slow, but by the time any folks had begun to alert others, the creature was moments from being upon them.

Two reptilian feet made landfall just outside Mattervon’s border. Some onlookers raced to their homes, some others were too paralyzed to move. None dared to raise a weapon against the giantess that had arrived, fearing the power hiding in her claws and her tail. These features added with her size struck the word into the hearts of her audience; a dragon, flown in from the northern mountains.

While an uproar was brewing among the people, Yvedawn herself had no introduction. She had landed only after an exhaustive effort, leaving her panting for air. Her wings, short as they were, fell to her sides in a limp display, barely a twitch of life. “I’m… hah… here…” she breathed, both hands held to her throbbing lungs. “This… must be… that village… It’s so much… farther away… than I remembered…”

Yvedawn stepped forward with lazy footfalls, only making it up to one barn before tuckering out again. The flight had fatigued her greater than expected, and she would have to fly back as well. Before hunting for Daemon, she first needed a moment to recuperate, and so she leaned her upper-half onto the barn’s roof. She surveyed the village for the slim chance of catching her target out and about, but her focus instead went directly to the nearby water silo for the farm she was standing in.

“Perfect!” Yvedawn sighed in relief, but a farmer fetching water from the silo felt differently. His bucket overflowed with water as he gawked at the dragon, too astonished to even shut off the pipe. His problems escalated when Yvedawn marched over the barn and grasped the barrel-shaped tank at the top of the silo. Only then did the farmer flee, hearing the havoc of metal and wood snapping as the dragon claimed the water for herself. An intense thirst called for an appropriate drink, and Yvedawn chugged the water into her mouth messily, all while onlookers gasped and awed at the destruction.

After a long drink to refresh herself, Yvedawn satisfyingly took her lips off the rim and just dropped the whole basin afterwards. The wooden structure shattered on the ground and a flood of water that was still contained released into the road. Farming equipment and crops washed away, but Yvedawn thought only of how quenched her thirst was, smiling brightly while swiping clean her lips.

“That is much better!” Yvedawn celebrated, standing more confident than before. Several strides were made into the town, narrowly avoiding some villagers who only then began to run from the monster. She had little concern for their safety, ignoring their distress while she looked for just one specific person. “Daemon Oversed~! Please reveal yourself to me!” Her announcement echoed through town while every step rattled the simple buildings. “I will not be leaving this village until I have you in my claws, Daemon. I do not take kindly to my possessions escaping me~ If my rage is allowed to fester, then this location may become nothing more than a plain of ashes…!”

The crowds beneath Yvedawn responded poorly to this promise of destruction. More of a panic began as Yvedawn’s invasion brought her to the heart of Mattervon, putting her at the center of attention. All eyes were on the dragon and every commotion was about her presence. The once subsided fears of a monster attack that had dwindled into myth had been resurrected, and all the fretting and worrying was music to Yvedawn’s ears. It was exciting to have spurred such chaos with only her presence, but she couldn’t let her ego get the best of her; Daemon wasn’t to be found among these scurrying people.

“I see that Daemon is choosing cowardice,” Yvedawn mumbled to herself. “He certainly did not drag his feet when it came to fleeing my cave.” She smirked, deciding that a demonstration of power was necessary. Deep to her core, she felt the making of something mighty, as though the restlessness of the villagers were awakening a visceral instinct. If perhaps her voice wasn’t reaching Daemon and wherever he hid, then a draconic roar was in order.

...