"Those Are Fool's Words!"--Josh

Panting, sweating, the man sprints deeper into the endless green forest. Only glimmers of the
harsh morning sunlight pierces through the breaks in the foliage. The curly haired, bearded man continues
to sprint with a look of unconceivable dread, with his tattered peasant robes flapping through the air.
Suddenly, flames pierce through the opening in the trees behind him and a bonechilling
roar fills up the
air.
Turning around slightly to witness his almost apparent doom, he trips over a stone that pokes
from the forest floor. Agony and pain ensued as the man holds his ankle, now dripping with blood on the
ground. The blurry visage of the enormous black figure comes towards him. The crippled man rolls over
into the surrounding brush, and silences himself, except for his short, uneven breaths. He sits behind a
large tree trunk with surrounding bushes, tears rolling down, shaking in fear, holding his ankle to stop the
bleeding and placing his hand over his mouth to prevent himself from making a sound.
Coming closer, another guttural screech breaks through the surrounding silence. Tales of old,
beasts only spoken of in legend, it approaches with obsidian scales and large ebony wings, the firebringer,
a dragon. The beast shakes the earth around him and it marches forward, only stopping next to the tree
that the man resided behind, scanning the surrounding forest, with engulfing flames in its eyes. After what
seemed like an eternity, the dragon let out yet another roar, while leaping into the air, and flying far off
into the distance. The man sat there, recollecting his thoughts and trying to digest the series of events that
just occurred.
He stands up and looks across the thick forest, noticing a faint light in a distance. Limping for a
few minutes towards the glimmer, he realizes it is coming from a hollowed tree. The tree was much larger
than its neighboring timber, and it contained an opening about half the height of him with a small wooden
door that was open. He peered into the opening, seeing the inside of the tree. It looked much like a home,
but for someone only half the size of the man. Small wooden chairs surrounded a table with empty mugs
tipped over on top and a small, unmade bed resided in the corner. A lamp lay on top of a bookshelf,
illuminating the room. The man takes a step into the room, while crouching to fit into the doorway.
“Oi, what goes there?” a raspy voice utters from behind. The smell of alcohol permeates the air.
The man turns around to see a stout fellow, with a rough brown beard and axe in hand. “Excuse me sir. I
did not mean to intrude. I only experienced some unfortunate mishaps, I’m afraid.” the man says. “Aye, I
hear ya. I cun see you had aruffer’ night than I!” peering at the man’s bloody ankle. “Well, nev’r someone
to dive inta anotha man’s business, might as well intraduce ma’self. I’m Thalasan. I’ma dwarf around the
parts, I do sum’ merchant business over in the human capital of Worthshire.”
“Nice to meet you, Thalasan.” the man says, now stepping into the house with the dwarf. “My
name is Hector. I’m a trader from the neighboring kingdom of Neggleton, visiting the kingdom of
Kalecdor to trade my potatoes when I was attacked by a menacing black dragon. My stallion has fallen as
well as my supply. But did you happen to say Worthshire? That is the capital city around these parts, is it
not? That’s exactly where I was headed.”
Thalasan, now sitting down, after chugging another beer, places his axe down in awe and looking
up at Hector. “Black dragon ya say?!” “O’ this cannot be a gud thang ma’ frien. Ya need to go t’
Worthshire? I have a loada lumber to ship, come alon’, ya need to tell King Nethelon!”
After quite a bit of bantering and healing of Hector’s wound, the dwarf and human ride on horses
carrying a cart to the capital city of Worthshire to bring a load of lumber and meet with the king of
Kalecdor. Now they arrive at the city.
The glimmer of the large, elegant city towers over them as they ride. “Ah, Worthshire, ain’t she a
beaut’?” Thalasan says. “Right now it’s tha celebration of Autumn, and tha city is fill’d wit people!” The
city streets are bustling with commotion. Elves, humans, and dwarves are littered through the streets,
laughing, drinking, trading, shopping at the bazaar, riding their horses. It was a time of great happiness.
The eloquent city stretched as far as the eye could see, split into many districts and sections.
After a while of riding, they approach the royal palace. Elegant staircases wrap around a rushing
fountain containing the statue of the King, into a large cathedrallike
palace with stainedwhite
brick. “I
believe this i’ where we depart, lad.” Thalasan utters, “I got me sum’ lumber to sell! Tell the king
immediat’ly. No lollygaggin’!” “Thank you so much Thalasan. May we meet again another day.” Hector
says as he sprints up the staircase and up to the large doors.
The two elvish royal guards stand on each side of the door and as Hector approaches, they cross
their halberds to block the door. “State your business here, peasant!” the heavily armored guard says.
“Greetings! My name is Hector, and there is grave danger approaching! I must speak to the king
immediately!” The guards let out an overdrawn laugh, “Those are fool’s words! This is no time for
rambling prophets!”
At that moment, the earth rumbled. The shadow loomed overhead, and their vision was clear,
their imminent death was approaching. The baneful dragon screeches and the sheer force of its wings
breaks the surrounding structures. It lands upon the palace, crushing it completely and engulfing it with
flames. The beast shoots out flames across the city, annihilating all of the cityfolk.
So much for medieval stories, man.