Cushions and chairs were set in a half circle round the big fireplace, fresh logs placed on the fire, damped down with snow soaked herbs to give a sweet aroma to the air. Children and some adults took a seat. An elderly man was installed in a carved highback chair. The audience settled down, watching the man eagerly.
“Today as I walked in this beautiful castle, I saw a tapestry,” The elder began. “I immediately recognized the man pictured there, Daeron Stongbow. As I understand it he is the guiding spirit of this place as well as one of its founders. Do you know much about him?”
The scribe sighed, shaking his head slow. “Daeron has always been here to guide us in times of trouble. We know too little of our Elven warrior. I dearly wish we knew more.”
A faint smile hovered about the face of the elder. He leaned forward and looked at the audience sitting in the flickering firelight.
“Then you shall, for I have a long and great tale to relate to you…”
After nearly a day’s climb Daeron reached a terrace in the face of the mountain where an old castle stood, carved into the stone itself. He often came to this place for weeks at a time to relax away from his social duties and hunt game, maybe read some of the ancient texts. It will be good to relax for a time, He thought to himself, after all, the realm is at peace, I might even go an- At that moment he noticed a man- no, a soldier peering into the windows of the keep. He wore black garments with silver and red armor and a black beret rested cockeyed upon his head. He carried a tall axe in one hand and a sword across his back. Daeron stepped boldly forward saying,"Prithee, what business have ye in these parts stranger?"
The soldier spun on his heels, obviously surprised at his discovery. “None oof yer concern, stranger. But noow tat ye'v seen meh, I can't very well let ya’ leave." He leveled his axe and charged. Daeron drew his sword and caught it intentionally in the soldier's axe, discarding the weapon as if it were simply a toy. The soldier was quick to draw his own sword and flung himself once more at his new enemy. He thrust his sword upward aiming for Daeron's exposed chest. They parried for a moment before Daeron feinted and slashed the soldier's shoulder. The soldier screamed in pain and anger. He advanced faster and more vigorously. The two blades clashed, the sound resounding in the mountain wind. They parried once more and the soldier offered an empty fade, gashing through Daeron's left leg. Falling in pain he was left at the mercy of the soldier who lifted his sword and thrust down with all his strength, but Daeron rolled over. Reaching his bow he bought himself some time by landing an arrow deep into the soldier's arm. He got up with some difficulty and ran back, propelling himself from a nearby rock. Then thrusting his sword forward and down. A moment later he lay upon his dead opponent, half his sword buried in the soldier’s torso. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched the sword from the wound, a spurt of blood following the cold steel. He used the soldier’s garments to wipe his blade clean and in doing so, took note of the symbol which made up his chest plate. It was a black and red dragon, the symbol of Rainos. “What’s a Rainosian soldier doing in Nerogue?”He said half to himself. It was getting to be evening now and he decided that after a long day such as this, he’d put any investigations off until tomorrow. He’d rest in the castle, tend to his own wounds, and set out in the morning.