The Rising Dark: Chapter One; Puff

I woke up elated to be seeing my old brother Azarain for the first time in many a year.  I had my doubts that I'd ever see the kid again, but he'd written me just a month ago agreeing to meet at the Festival of Lights in Sandtown.  In happier times, I would bring little Azarain to the Festival every summer, and we'd marvel at the dazzling light shows in the sky.  But that was years ago, and much has changed in the world, not to mention in our family.  Still, something inside me still thinks we can turn back the clock, and return things to how they once were…

My effervescent optimism faded as the hours passed and I grew deeper in my cups.  I'd drunken myself into a dark daze when a most unusual-looking cloaked visitor clambered through the inn bar. His heavy stomping jolted me back to my senses.  By the look of the light coming through the windows, I saw dusk was upon us, and decided it'd be as good a time as any to head to the town square and catch the night festivities leading up to the lights.  Besides, this visitor piqued my drunken interests, and I hadn't had an interesting conversation all day.  That's the thing about these inns in the free cities; nothing but merchants and they're endless squawking on their latest trades.

I got the door for my friend and walked over to the square with him.  The Festival of Lights has always been a popular event, and this year was no different.  Man, was that square was packed.  They call 'em the free cities, but there sure isn't much free space.  My companion had the brilliant idea of watching the festival play out from a rooftop on the square, so we headed up to church's belltower to look down on the crowd and its ruckus.

Laslo, as I came to learn his name was, didn't warm up to me quick, but before too long I had him talking.  I can be quite friendly when I'm drinking.  Anyways, I spilled enough of my troubles onto him, he was probably sick of my stories, poor guy.  And boy, did I get some stories out of him.  He didn't come right out and tell me anything, mind you, but I've been around these lands long and far enough to garner a bit more from a common tale than your average listener.  At least I like to think so, that is.  Because as crazy as it sounds, I'm fairly certain this hooded traveler told me he was from the isle of the monks, in so many words.  Didn't hurt that I'd been showing him the ways of the weedpipe, not sure the fellow had even smoked the green before.  Anyways, the time really flew by and we had a really swell time shooting the shark, swell enough to make me forget entirely about old Azarain blowing me off.  Of course, the swell times weren't the only thing helping me forget.

We were laughing at a poor chap trying to start a sing-along when an official-looking gentlemen quieted the crowd and announced that the lights would be set off in ten minutes.  I was glad to have someone to watch the lights with.  Laslo's excitement, having never seen the festival before, brought me back to the first time I brought Azarain, and the way he'd been giddy all day, and squealed in excitement at the first light.  I began to imagine how Laslo might react, when I sensed him tense up beside me.  I'd been pretty deep into my daydreams, or night-dreams as they were, and hadn't even noticed the darkness.

I looked out, but nothing came back.  In all my years, I've never experienced darkness quite like this. The sounds of screams rose to us, and when the night was turned to day, a scrum of goblins and demonic shells of men was revealed to us, attacking the festival crowd below.  We sprinted down the stairs of the belltower to fight off the rush of goblins.  As I took elk-form I saw him, sword slashing clean through the neck of a goblin.  Azarain turned to strike another, as Laslo and I fended off another pair.

A sound drowned out the screams, the sound of wind.  I hooved a goblin into the dirt as a strong gust emanated out of Loslo's outstretched hands.  In a blood-filled, fiery blur,  we fended off the pack until the darkness returned.  As the echo of a long-forgotten tongue clambered through my head, my eyes fell upon the only thing visible, a pious-looking man surrounded in a warm glow of light.  I was hypnotized by his aura, floating alone in a sea of nothingness, and seconds turned to days.  When the darkness lifted, the goblins and carcasses were gone. Laslo had placed a weakened Azarain upon my elk-back, and I shake him off as I return to my form.

We wandered over to the glowing man, where a few heros had fought off another gaggle of goblins.  The mystery of it all weighed heavily on my mind as we returned to the Rusty Dragon with the Head of the Guards.