I walk around the festival. I know the chances of me finding
another monk is small. The square is filled with people drinking and playing
games. I constantly worry that someone will notice my scales or teeth or eyes
and make a scene. I haven’t been in a crowd this large in a long time. Not
since my masters first took me to the port city to buy supplies. I was wearing
a cloak then too. I wasn’t as nervous; I had my fellow monks with me. Now, I
wonder if there is even one within a hundred miles. I’m not getting anywhere
out here in the daylight. I’ll have better luck at night, when I can talk and
not worry about being seen. I’ll head
back to the Rust Dragon and meditate till then. As I walk go to exist the
square, a Halfling riding a raccoon skips past me. I guess I wont be the only
strange creature here.
Within minutes I’m back in the inn. The lobby has a lively
atmosphere. In the corner is a rather old looking elf. His energy is much
calmer than the buzzing of the festival. Past the bar and into my room; I close
the door and begin to meditate. I must reside myself to the truth: I may be the
last monk I see.
The sound of the festival stirs me. Night has fallen. It’s
only a matter of time until the ceremony starts. I should head to the square.
The lobby is now empty save the bartender and the old elf. The elf is quite a
bit more intoxicated now. His eyes are half open as he rests his head against
the damp wooden table. My presence seems to stir him. Observing the darkness
that has fallen outside, the elf jump up to his feet and makes for the door.
Five steps in and he still hasn’t found his footing. Arriving at the door at
the same time, I ask him if he is heading to the center. He answers yes and I
suggest we walk together. I worry he wont make it on his own.
Blah blah blah… this elfs got a long life story. As we trot
down the city street the elf, Puff, harps on about his son and their date to
meet tonight. Most of it is family talk, things I can’t understand. In the
middle of this speech he mentions his son is a dark elf. I’ve never seen a dark
elf.
The square is much more filled than this afternoon. People
point up to the sky with anticipation. Looking over the crowd is a large stone
church. The empty bell tower will be a good vantage to watch the festival. I
suggest it to the elf. He agrees and suggests we “toke the herbs”. I wonder
what he means by “herb” and “toke”.
I like these “herbs”. He tells me he has studied the “Way of
the Weed” for many centuries now. I inquire who his masters were and he replies
“Mary Jane”. I tell him I must meet this Master Mary. He answers, “You already
have”. It is a strange philosophy.
The crowd grows restless. The ceremony is set to begin any
minute. Quite suddenly, what little light there was is gone. I ask the elf,
with his better vision, if he can see. Perplexed, he admits he is blind as
well. Shrieks come from bellow and the sound of falling bodies. Feeling for the
ledge, I ready myself to jump into the square. If something is afoot I don’t
with to be trapped in a tower watching. Puff yells for me to wait. I hear him
stubbles in the dark. I think he attempted a spell but am not sure. No matter,
the sky quickly sparks into sunlight. The ceremony has begun. The blinding
white turns to red within seconds. Peasants and merchants alike fall at the
swords of goblins and skeletons. Blood fills the streets. They are everywhere.
I look over the edge. The fall would be damaging and put me right in the middle
of a fight. I turn to Puff and without words we sprint down the staircase.
In front of the church, the battle wages. From the top of
the stairs, Puff yells into the center of the square. There I see a black elf
crossing swords against two goblins. I jump into the battle and throw my fists
towards a sword-wielding skeleton. I must still be feeling the effects of the
“herbs” and I miss both my throws. It’s been a long time since I’ve really
trained. Perhaps I’m rusty. I look back to see my old elf friend mutter to
himself. A wave of magic pulses out of him until, before my eyes he explodes
into a giant stag!
From there the battle seemed to happen in fast motions, as
if time was being pulled by magic or laziness. In a blur, I cast gust of wind.
Goblins and skeletons are blown backwards. I attempt to rally the survivors to
the church. In the chaos, I shoot a line of fire right past Puff and into a
charging goblin. I quickly realize my mistake, I have given my nature away. I
then jump down and kick the burnt goblin through the burning bush and into the
skeleton behind him killing both. Puff joins his heavily wounded black elf son,
shattering a skeleton warrior. Seeing the son struggle, I run over to help. In
a slow-motions super emotional moment, I pick up the black elf and place him on
his father-elk’s back so he may get him to safety. I can see the enemy army
start to retreat. Guards have arrived from the west. The battle has turned in
our favor. Just as this happens the field go black again. My dagger out and
alert, I await the coming attack. It never comes.
Within seconds the field is bright again. This time the
blinding white turns not to red but to brown. The dirt of the square is no
longer covered with bodies. They have vanished. I look across and see a group
of guards along with a heavily armored human and the Halfling from earlier. All
but one guard goes after the retreating forces. The surviving crowd erupts in
applause. I try to pull my hood back over my head but it is burn beyond repair.
I look to the crowd and to my surprise their cheers do not turn to horror. The
single guard left in the square quiets the crowd. He introduces him self as the
sheriff. He addresses us as a group and asks for all of the “fighters” to meet
him at his office tomorrow morning. His brief speech done, the crowd converges
on us. Praises are thrown at us; the owner of the Rusty Dragon even offers us
free board.
This acclaim is a sensation I have never felt. The warmth of
the crowd is invigorating but I must not get wrapped up in it. The public eye
is no place for a dragonborn. I need to be on my way.
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