The Emissaries of the Fenhunter

The sun beat down mercilessly as Ragnar led us out of the tent, a growing throng of draconoids gathering around the makeshift arena that served as the battleground. Nervous anticipation crackled in the air, the weight of the challenge pressing down on us with every step.
 
A black-scaled dragonborn approached Ragnar, clapping the leader familiarly on the back. Norgar, Ragnar's son, we learned later, greeted us with a boisterous grin.
 
And then we saw him. Drann, his imposing figure dwarfing even the largest dragonborn we had seen. Twice the size of a normal fighter, his powerful muscles strained against his thick hide. Massive, leathery wings folded behind his back, completing the picture of a fearsome warrior. A toothy grin stretched across his face, devoid of any hint of warmth.
 
Ragnar's booming voice cut through the tense silence. He announced us as Drann's opponents, emphasizing the need for non-lethal combat. With a bellowing laugh, however, Drann quickly added a caveat – he wouldn't be held responsible if any of us "weaklings" died accidentally.
 
Liliana, her voice laced with defiance (thanks to Alistan's swift translation), retorted that the same went for Drann. Drann, unfazed, simply shrugged, his grin widening further.
 
The air crackled with anticipation. Ragnar's shout marked the beginning of the fight, and we charged forward, a ragtag group facing a seemingly invincible foe. My first attempt, a frost spell aimed at slowing Drann, fizzled harmlessly against his thick hide. Drann retaliated with a ferocious roar, his wings propelling him forward with surprising speed. His massive sword cut into Alistan, drawing a crimson line across his chest.
 
Gael's arrow found its mark, embedding itself in Drann's shoulder with a satisfying thunk. Alistan, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, lunged forward, his own blade finding purchase on the dragonborn's armor. But Drann's counterattack was swift and brutal. I instinctively reached out, weaving the threads of fate to deflect the attack. Alistan was spared the lethal blow, but the impact was still enough to render him unconscious. Liliana, her agility masking her small stature, darted forward, landing a flurry of strikes that left even Drann momentarily stunned. Dadroz joined the fray, his arrow implanting deep in the dragonborn's leg. Hayley cast a curse, weakening Drann's defenses. But it wasn't enough.
 
With a primal roar, Drann unleashed a fury attack, his body engulfed in flames. Fire erupted around us, singeing our clothes and scorching our skin. Even Ragnar and Norgar, caught in the periphery of the fiery blast, snarled in surprise.
 
Hayley cried out, collapsing onto the dusty ground, her form flickering in the heat. Without hesitation, Gael sprang into action, a magically-enhanced goodberry finding its way into her mouth. With a ragged gasp, her eyes fluttered back open.
 
Alistan, having also regained consciousness with a grunt, spurred Gael on. With a determined glint in his eye, Gael drew his enchanted bow, focusing all his power into a single, powerful shot. The arrow, infused with magic, struck Drann with a resounding thud, the force enough to dispel the fiery aura surrounding him.
 
Drann, his eyes wide with surprise, crumpled to the ground, finally succumbing to unconsciousness. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The seemingly invincible champion had been defeated.
 
Liliana stepped forward once the dust settled. With a flick of her wrist and a whispered prayer, she channeled divine magic, coaxing Dran back to consciousness. Her next act, however, surprised us all. She extended a hand to the defeated warrior, a smile on her face.
 
"A fierce bout," she declared, her voice clear and unwavering.
 
Dran, his eyes blinking open in confusion, stared at the hand for a moment. Then, with a grudging nod, he grasped it firmly. A flicker of respect, or perhaps grudging admiration, shone in his eyes before he lumbered away, defeated but not broken.
 
Alistan, a hint of a grin on his lips, yelled as the dragonborn stepped away. "Good fight," he declared in Draconic, his voice echoing across the now-silent camp. Dran, pausing in his stride, turned his head back.
 
"Indeed," he rumbled, his voice surprisingly deep. "Until next time. And next time, I win."
 
Ragnar approached us. His gaze swept over each of us, lingering on the burns and bruises we had sustained in the fight. "You have proven yourselves worthy," he declared, his voice heavy with grudging respect. "You will serve as emissaries for Velora Morenthene."
 
A wave of relief washed over me. We had done it. We had faced a legendary warrior and emerged victorious, or at least relatively unscathed.
 
"But," he continued, gesturing towards a large deer roasting on a spit over a crackling fire, "you look like you could use some rest. Help yourselves to food. There's plenty to go around."
 
With that, he left us to our own devices. The fire crackled, casting an inviting warmth.
 
Norgar, Ragnar's son, joined us as we collapsed onto the dusty ground, our bodies protesting the recent exertion. He was a younger dragonborn, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of curiosity and bravado. He explained that this was his first campaign, his initial foray into the world of war.
 
Conversation flowed easily, facilitated by Alistan's fluency in Draconic. Norgar expressed his curiosity about human cities – their abundant use of wood and their position above the ground - a stark contrast to the underground dwellings that he was used to.
 
Alistan, his voice tinged with a touch of sadness, inquired about the previous conflict between Keralon and the dragonborn, the one led by Fenhunter. Norgar, however, was too young at the time, a mere hatchling by his own admission. The question, however, sparked his own curiosity. He asked Alistan if he had participated in that conflict, a query met with a somber nod from the human warrior.
 
Norgar's demeanor darkened for a moment. He eyed Alistan with a newfound intensity. "Did you… kill many of mine?"
 
Alistan, his voice devoid of emotion, simply nodded. Gael interjected. "War has its consequences," he stated bluntly.
 
Norgar pondered this for a moment, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "I suppose," he mumbled. "My… adoptive father, he killed many humans too."
 
He glanced at us, his brow furrowed in what seemed like genuine curiosity. "You don't look that old," he remarked. "How old are you anyway?"
 
Alistan, with a faint smile, confirmed that we were indeed just a few years older than Norgar himself.
 
As if on cue, a cloaked figure, a draconic cleric by the looks of it, approached Norgar. With a mumbled incantation and a gentle touch, the cleric healed the burns Norgar had sustained during Drann's fiery outburst.
 
The interaction raised several questions. Norgar's black scales, a stark contrast to the green hue of most of the other dragonborn, were a curiosity. And then there was the matter of his adoption – a detail that hinted at a more complex story lurking beneath the surface.
 
As we ate our fill, the weight of the day's events settled upon us. We had won the duel, but the situation remained fraught with tension. Norgar's curiosity, his glimpse of humanity beyond the battlefield, offered a sliver of hope for a peaceful resolution. But the scars of war ran deep, and the path to peace, if there was one, was likely to be long and arduous.
 
As we contemplated our next steps, a plan began to take shape. Hayley pulled out parchment and quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. With a few deft strokes, she penned a message to the Hedgeknights, the elite guard responsible for the city gates. Explaining the arrival of the dragonborn army, our victory in the trial, and our subsequent assignment as emissaries, she requested a peaceful re-entry through the main gate.
 
Fiachna, her loyal raven familiar, materialized beside her. The letter secured to his leg, he took flight, a dark speck disappearing into the twilight sky. Now, a waiting game commenced.
 
To ease the tension, Alistan and Liliana, with a mischievous glint in their eyes, retrieved their violins. Alistan's bow danced across the strings, a melody filled with a melancholic longing for home. Liliana's counterpoint, bright and playful, wove a tapestry of sound that resonated across the camp.
 
The music seemed to have a strange effect. Dragonborn warriors set aside their weapons, drawn towards the unfamiliar sounds. One by one, they joined in, some with crude drums and others with clashing cymbals. The once-tense atmosphere gave way to a strange cacophony, an unlikely meeting of musical traditions.
 
Liliana, her laughter echoing amidst the cacophony, threw her hands up in mock surrender. "By the stars," she declared, "we're starting a band!"
 
Hayley, however, found the noise overwhelming. She sought refuge in a quiet corner of the camp, her eyes scanning the crowd in search of familiar faces. Three years had passed, but perhaps…
 
After two hours of fruitless searching, a flicker of recognition sent a jolt through her. Three kobolds, huddled together, their faces etched with worry, approached her. She remembered them – they had been among those that she had helped after the battle.
 
The reunion, however, was tinged with a sense of unease. The once-optimistic kobolds now carried a burden of worry. They spoke of a tense atmosphere back home, a dark secret lurking beneath the surface. Hesitantly, they revealed that kobold eggs were disappearing from their nests, stolen by an unseen entity that seemed to bypass even the most vigilant guards. Even one of Velora Morenthene's own eggs, supposedly well-protected, had vanished.
 
This news, coupled with their arrival at the city gates, painted a disturbing picture. Their fear, it seemed, wasn't solely directed at Keralon, but at something far more sinister. Their hope, they confessed, was to enlist the help of Keralon's mages – perhaps someone with the ability to track the creature or use magic to communicate with the gods could intervene.
 
As Hayley listened to their tale, a new layer of complexity was added to the situation. The dragonborn army, Velora's sudden peace offering, the theft of the eggs – it all seemed to point towards a larger plot, a threat that transcended the simple issue of war.
 
Night had fallen, a blanket of stars glittering in the clear sky. Norgar, his earlier bravado softened by the music, revealed more about what had transpired. He explained how the army had arrived so swiftly – Velora, it seemed, had opened a magical gate, allowing them to travel a vast distance in a short time. He reiterated their purpose – a mission of great importance, he called it, though the details were shrouded in secrecy.
 
Fiachna returned soon thereafter, a message clutched in his beak. The Hedgeknights, the guardians of Keralon, had responded. We were to head to the gate in the Foregate district, where they would facilitate our entry as part of the official delegation from the Fenhunter army.
 
With renewed purpose, we packed our supplies. Hayley, her face etched with concern, shared the disturbing news gleaned from the kobolds with me. She vowed to help them, even if Keralon remained unmoved. I, in turn, expressed my resolute support, a divination wizard's abilities potentially proving invaluable in such an investigation.
 
As we set off towards Keralon, a flicker of movement in the sky caught Dadroz's eye. Three shadows, initially mistaken for birds, grew larger with alarming speed. Dissent dawned on his face as he got a better look at one of the creatures – a winged beast with blue scales, far too large to be classified as a simple avian predator.
 
Panic gnawed at us as the creatures doubled back towards us. Two skeletal dragons, their bony frames a grotesque mockery of life, swooped down. The third, a magnificent yet terrifying creature with sleek blue scales, a strange hybrid between reptile and dragon, dove even lower, its target – Gael.
 
Instinct took over. A fiery bolt from my fingertips launched towards one of the smaller dragons, but it was still too far for accuracy. The larger creature, with a deafening screech, landed a brutal attack on Gael, its razor-sharp claws raking down his side, drawing a spray of red.
 
Norgar reacted swiftly. His sword flashed, coated in a deadly green flame courtesy of his acidic spit. Dadroz, in a desperate attempt at stealth, dove into a nearby bush, his first arrow aimed at one of the skeletal dragons, unfortunately missing his mark.
 
The battle raged. The skeletal dragons, their attacks resembling the stings of giant insects, focused their assault on Norgar. But Gael, undeterred, summoned the power of nature, vines erupting from the ground, ensnaring the creatures in their grasp. Although as he attempted to retreat, the larger dragon snapped at him with ferocious speed.
 
Seeing Gael in imminent danger, I reached out with my magic, manipulating the threads of fate. The dragon's attack found its mark, but not with the severity it once possessed. The power of fate, diverted for a moment, flowed towards Liliana, granting her a surge of fortune.
 
Alistan struck swiftly, his blade finding its mark, putting one of the skeletal dragons to rest. He wasted no time, his next movement a blur of practiced grace as he dispatched the other one.
 
Liliana, her own blade ablaze with divine and fey power, capitalized on the opening. Aided by my luck, she struck the large dragon in a vulnerable spot, its ear-splitting scream filling the air. Overwhelmed by the combined attacks, the magnificent creature had no choice but to take the assaults as it kept screeching and scratching.
 
Dadroz and Gael, their faces grim but relieved, continued to pepper the demon dragon with arrows. Hayley's barbs, directed at the beast, did little to faze it. But Alistan, with a well-timed shield maneuver, shoved the dragon to the ground, creating an opening that Liliana seized upon with deadly efficiency. Her blade, imbued with divine and otherworldly power, plunged deep into the creature's heart, silencing it once and for all.
 
Gael knelt beside the fallen skeletal dragons. He picked up one of the smaller creatures, its bony form light and brittle in his hand. A grim determination hardened his features. "We need to understand what this is," he muttered, tucking the skeletal dragon into his pack for further investigation.
 
The larger creature, however, held our attention for a longer period. A closer look revealed a horrifying truth. It wasn't just bone and sinew; there were intricate clockwork mechanisms woven into its very being. And there, amidst the gears and springs, were unmistakable draconic elements – scales, claws, even a single, skeletal wing. A chilling realization dawned upon us. These weren't simply monstrous creatures; they were abominations, stitched together from the parts of stolen dragon children. Someone with a twisted mind and a dark purpose had created these chimeras, and the connection to the missing eggs was undeniable.
 
The implications were horrifying. The battle we had just fought wasn't an isolated incident; it was a chilling glimpse into a much larger, and far more sinister, plot. Dadroz, his voice laced with a newfound urgency, spoke up. "I saw them approach from the west," he declared, his gaze scanning the horizon. His words hung heavy in the air, adding another layer of worry to our already burdened hearts.
 
With a heavy sigh, we shouldered our packs and continued towards Keralon. The image of the monstrous creations, a grotesque testament to a depraved mind, lingered in our minds.
 
As we approached the city gates, a sense of hope battled with the unease that gnawed at us. The sight of numerous guards, some of them the elite Knights of Keralon, instilled a flicker of reassurance. But even their imposing presence couldn't completely dispel the dread gripping our hearts.
 
The gates creaked open even before we reached them, a testament to the message carried by Fiachna. A knight, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, strode forward. His gaze swept across our group, finally settling on Hayley. "Are you the group that sent the raven?" he inquired, his voice stern yet professional.
 
Hayley, ever the diplomat, stepped forward. "Yes, sir," she confirmed, her posture exuding confidence. "This is Norgar," she continued, gesturing towards the dragonborn, "son of Ragnar Ergoll, general of the dragonborn army. He carries a message for the king."
 
The knight's brow furrowed slightly, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Follow me," he directed, leading us towards a bustling thoroughfare. "You'll be escorted to Palace Hill. Horses have been prepared to speed your journey."
 
A wry smile spread across Norgar's face. "Never ridden a horse before," he admitted sheepishly. Alistan chuckled. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll make sure you stay on." With that, Norgar clambered onto the horse's back, Alistan swiftly climbing on behind him.
 
The clatter of hooves against cobblestone faded as we entered the bustling heart of Keralon. The city, a testament to human ingenuity, sprawled before us – towering structures of carved stone, bustling markets teeming with life, and the imposing silhouette of the Royal Palace perched upon Palace Hill. Yet, amidst the city's grandeur, a seed of unease sprouted within me.
 
We arrived at the barracks, our designated destination. Anticipation crackled in the air as we dismounted, expecting to be greeted by a delegation or at least some official acknowledgement of our arrival. But to our surprise, the place seemed deserted. An unsettling silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant murmur of the city below.
 
Approaching a lone guard, we explained our purpose. Hayley, spoke clearly and concisely. "We are emissaries from the dragonborn army," she declared, gesturing towards Norgar. "He carries a message for the king."
 
The guard, a young man with a wary expression, blinked at us in confusion. "Emissaries?" he echoed, his voice devoid of recognition. "Message for the king?" A furrow deepened between his brows.
 
A cold knot of dread tightened in my stomach. This wasn't the reception we had anticipated. The guard, however, seemed more bewildered than hostile. He beckoned us inside, his voice hesitant. "Come in," he muttered, leading us into a sparsely furnished dining hall.
 
"There's some bread and beer behind the bar, if you'd like," he offered, his gaze flitting nervously between us. He gestured towards a wooden counter in the corner, where a few loaves of bread and a half-empty keg sat forlornly.
 
Through the windows, a breathtaking vista of the Royal Palace stretched out before us. Its spires gleamed in the afternoon sun, an alluring yet intimidating symbol of power.
 
Liliana turned to Norgar. "What do you think of Keralon?" she inquired. A hint of fascination colored her voice.
 
Norgar, his brow furrowed in thought, pondered for a moment. "Strange," he finally rumbled, his voice surprisingly low for someone his size. "Everything is built above ground. We… the kobolds prefer to dwell below. Stone, always stone. No wood." He paused, then added, "We use magic, too. To shape the trees, grow walls, strong walls. It's a gift from Velora, our… our ancestor, you could say. She has a connection to nature."
 
Time crawled by, each minute stretching into an eternity. Forty-five minutes passed, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic clinking of pewter mugs against the wooden table. Then, a sudden noise shattered the oppressive quiet – a door slamming shut with a resounding bang from somewhere deeper within the barracks.
 
It was the first sign of activity we had encountered since our arrival. Alistan rose to his feet. "I'll investigate," he declared with a determined nod.
 
He reached the indicated door and rapped his knuckles against the solid oak. Silence. He called out, but his voice echoed back unanswered. A hint of unease flickered in his eyes. With a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob.
 
The door creaked open, revealing a dark interior. Alistan stepped inside, his silhouette disappearing into the gloom. We waited, our breaths held in anticipation. Then, a flash of movement from within, a glint of cold steel. A gasp, choked and sudden, pierced the silence.
 
Alistan stumbled back, a hand clutching his side, blood staining his tunic dark red. He collapsed backwards, his face contorted in pain. A group of figures, clad in the familiar armor of the Keralon guard, materialized in the doorway. But one detail shattered the illusion of security – a crimson sash, worn diagonally across their chests, contrasting starkly with the gold of their official garb.
 
A wave of terror washed over us as the crimson-sashed figures, their faces contorted in a murderous rage, burst into the dining area. Their blades, glinting with a cold metallic glint, slashed towards Alistan, who still clutched his bleeding side. He stumbled back, overwhelmed by the sudden aggression.
 
One of the figures, presumably the leader, surged forward, his hands glowing with an unnatural light. A spectral weapon, a shimmering blade of pure energy, materialized in the air, aimed squarely at Norgar. Before it could connect, Dadroz, with a cry of defiance, lunged forward, his rapier a blur in the dim light. He sank the blade deep into the chest of one of the attackers, a gasp escaping the cultist's lips as he crumpled to the floor.
 
But the assault continued. Another cultist’s blade found its mark, plunging deep into Alistan’s chest. He cried out in pain, collapsing onto the dusty floor, seemingly lifeless. Despair threatened to engulf me, but a surge of determination flared within Liliana. With a desperate prayer and a burst of radiant energy, she reached out to Alistan, the power of her magic pulling him back from the brink.
 
I reacted instinctively, a bolt of fire erupting from my fingertips. It struck a cultist squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling with a scream. Alistan, miraculously revived, roared in defiance. He surged forward, his rage a palpable entity as he disappeared into the darkness of the room from which the attackers had emerged.
 
The remaining cultists, momentarily stunned by this turn of events, shifted their focus. One lunged at Liliana, his weapon aimed with deadly intent, but a surge of my bestowed luck intervened. The blade skittered harmlessly past her cheek, embedding itself in the wooden wall behind.
 
Suddenly, the sound of shouts and clanging metal reached our ears. The real guards of Keralon, alerted by the commotion, were arriving. Confusion reigned for a moment, weapons drawn on both sides. The leader of the renegade guards shouted an order to kill us to the new arrivals. His eyes burning with malevolent energy, then raised his hands. Dark energy crackled around him, a malevolent spell on the verge of unleashing.
 
But Alistan, emerging from the shadows like a vengeful spirit, lunged. With a well-timed dodge, he avoided the brunt of the spell, the energy dissipating harmlessly into the air. Hayley, her voice sharp with anger, unleashed a curse upon both cultists and guards alike, her magic weaving a web of misfortune upon them.
 
Gael recognized an opportunity. A charm spell flowed from his fingertips, washing over one of the arriving guards. His face softened, confusion replaced by a flicker of understanding. For a moment, at least, one of them was on our side.
 
The battle raged. Empowered by my luck, Dadroz moved with deadly precision, another renegade falling victim to his rapier. Dadroz and Norgar took then cover behind the bar, using it as meager protection. Liliana, her blade wreathed in green flame, danced a deadly ballet, each strike finding its mark. I channeled the power of the weave, stealing life force from a cultist, weakening him in the process.
 
The charmed guard turned to his comrades, his voice raised in confusion. "Hold!" he yelled. "These are the emissaries! Stand down!"
 
The guards didn’t listen and one of them, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and rage, lunged at Dadroz, a spear aimed at the rogue's chest. Dadroz, with a snarl, parried the blow, his rapier flashing in a riposte that sent the attacker reeling.
 
Another guard, his intentions unclear, lunged at me, his spear aimed true. I twisted at the last moment, the blade whistling past my ear. Heart pounding, I bolted towards the opposite side of the room, desperate to put some distance between myself and the chaos.
 
The cultist leader, his eyes burning with hatred, attempted to unleash another dark spell. But before he could complete the incantation, I reached out, the last vestiges of my magic gathering around me. With a final, desperate tug, I manipulated the threads of fate, causing the spell to fizzle harmlessly.
 
In the same breath, I channeled the remaining luck I had gathered throughout the day towards Liliana. She seized the opportunity, her blade striking with deadly precision. One of the crimson-sashed guards crumpled to the floor, his eyes wide with disbelief.
 
Seeing an opening, I unleashed a final firebolt. It streaked across the room, finding its mark in the chest of the remaining renegade. He let out a choked scream before collapsing to the floor, his eyes vacant.
 
Alistan, a whirlwind of fury, slammed into the supposed leader of the renegade guards. Their bodies collided with a bone-jarring thud, sending both crashing to the ground. Alistan, fueled by adrenaline and righteous anger, rained down blows until the cultist leader lay unconscious, his face a bloody mess.
 
The remaining two guards, their initial confusion morphing into panic, turned and fled. But their escape was short-lived. Gael loosed an arrow that found its mark, the blunt projectile hitting him squarily in the head. The guard stumbled, his cry of pain echoing through the room. Moments later, the second guard fell victim to another of Gael's well-placed arrows, both men lying incapacitated on the floor.
 
With the battle over, a heavy silence descended upon the room. Exhaustion settled upon us, a wave of relief battling with the lingering shock of the brutal encounter. We tended to our wounds, the gashes on Alistan and Dadroz thankfully superficial. Liliana, her magic pulsing with a soft inner light, stabilized Alistan's condition, ensuring his recovery wouldn't be unduly impeded.
 
As we caught our breath, our gaze fell upon the fallen renegades. A closer look revealed a chilling detail – each man bore a hidden tattoo, a stylized image of a dragon etched on a hidden part of their body. The discovery sent a shiver down my spine. These weren't just rogue guards; they were members of a clandestine organization, one with a clear connection to dragons.
 
We turned towards the charmed guard, the only one who remained conscious. His face, still etched with confusion, mirrored our own. "Why?" Gael asked, his voice hoarse. "Why did you attack us?"
 
The guard blinked, his gaze darting between us and the fallen figures. "Our sergeant… he said," he stammered, pointing towards the renegade leader, his voice barely a whisper, "... you were a threat." He shook his head, his brow furrowed. "But… he never explained why."
 
His words hung heavy in the air, painting a disturbing picture. There was a faction within Keralon, a faction with power and influence, who seemed determined to derail the peace talks. And their motives, shrouded in secrecy, made them all the more dangerous.
 
Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, the heavy silence punctuated only by the ragged gasps of those recovering from the fight. Then, a distant sound echoed through the barracks – the unmistakable clanging of heavy boots on stone. We exchanged wary glances, a knot of tension tightening in our stomachs.
 
This time, the door creaked open to reveal a different kind of visitor. Six figures stood before us, clad in gleaming plate armor, each adorned with a flowing cloak emblazoned with the sigils of Keralon. Their leader, a knight with a stern yet noble expression, stepped forward. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the scene of carnage.
 
"What in the blazes happened here?" he boomed, his voice tinged with authority.
 
Gael stepped forward. "Greetings, sirs," he began, his voice steady despite the recent events. "We are the delegation from the Fenhunter army, escorting Norgar,, who bears a message for the king." He gestured towards Norgar, who stood tall and resolute despite the shock etched on his face.
 
"Fenhunter delegation?" the knight echoed, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Strange. We received word you were waiting at the gates, not… here." His gaze flickered towards the fallen figures, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. "These guards with the red sashes," he muttered, his voice low. "Unorthodox.” He then looked at the renegade leader, “And the sergeant shouldn't have been here."
 
A glimmer of hope sparked within me. This knight, at least, seemed receptive. He wasn't part of the conspiracy. "They attacked us, unprovoked," we added, "We were forced to defend ourselves."
 
The knight – Donovan, as he had introduced himself – pondered for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "This is a serious breach of protocol," he declared, his voice firm. "I will investigate this matter further. Rest assured, those responsible will be held accountable."
 
A flicker of relief washed over me. Justice, it seemed, would be served. Donovan then proceeded to inform us of the next step. "You mentioned a message for the king," he said, his gaze settling on Norgar. "Then the council awaits. Let us escort you to the Silver Palace."
 
With a gesture, he ushered us towards the exit. Outside, a carriage waited, drawn by two sleek, silver-coated horses. Donovan, with a pointed glance towards the charmed guard who still trailed behind us, sent him back to his post. Gael, sensing the unspoken request, released the guard from his enchantment.
 
Under heavy escort, we began our ascent of Palace Hill, the imposing keep looming before us, its silhouette etched against the darkening sky.
 
The carriage creaked to a halt before the imposing Silver Palace. A retinue of guards, their polished armor glinting in the waning light, stood watch. Under Donovan's watchful gaze, we disembarked, the weight of scrutiny heavy in the air.
 
We were ushered through a series of corridors, each adorned with opulent tapestries and gleaming suits of armor. The sheer grandeur of the palace whispered of power and wealth, a stark contrast to the simple life we had known. Finally, we arrived at a grand chamber, its walls lined with tapestries depicting epic battles and forgotten heroes. A massive, half-moon shaped table stood at the center, flanked by imposing figures – knights clad in gleaming armor and nobles adorned in rich fabrics.
 
Norgar stepped forward, his voice echoing in the vast hall. He introduced himself and the delegation, emphasizing their role as an honor guard – a way of showing Keralon respect by sending their strongest warriors. The air crackled with tension as he proposed a peace treaty. His words were measured, his tone firm. He proposed a division of the land between Keralon and the Draconic home, a line drawn upon a map he unfurled upon the table.
 
He hinted at further requests, leaving the specific details for later discussions. With a flourish, he concluded, "Everything is open for negotiation. I have the authority to secure a lasting peace between our two nations."
 
Murmurs rippled through the room. Several nobles rose in rapid succession, launching into passionate speeches about the importance of peace and collaboration. It was a display, undeniably, but it also held a glimmer of genuine hope.
 
The council finally reached a decision. Norgar, they declared, would be granted residence within the keep for the duration of the negotiations. A tense silence followed, then all eyes turned towards us.
 
Donovan stepped forward, his voice a steady baritone. "These are Keralon citizens," he explained, gesturing towards us. "Loyal defenders of the realm. They were tasked by the Fenhunter army with ensuring Norgar's safety on his journey here."
 
Relief washed over me. We weren't considered threats, at least not for now. A curt nod from the head of the council was our dismissal. With a final bow, we turned and exited the grand chamber, the heavy oak doors closing with a resounding thud behind us.
 
As we emerged from the palace, the setting sun cast long shadows across the city. A sense of calm had descended upon Keralon, a stark contrast to the frantic energy that had gripped the city upon our arrival. Word of the ongoing negotiations had spread like wildfire, and the tense anticipation of an imminent invasion had morphed into a cautious optimism. People bustled about their lives, but a flicker of hope shone in their eyes.
 
Our destination for the evening was an inn aptly named "The Dull Blade," a notorious hangout for Keralon's Hedgeknights – an independent order known for their dedication to the city's safety. Alistan, informed us that the place was likely overflowing with activity tonight, given the day's dramatic events.
 
Indeed, as we pushed open the creaky oak doors, a wave of noise assaulted us. The common room was a cacophony of conversation, laughter, and the rhythmic clinking of tankards. Easily two hundred patrons filled the space, their boisterous energy a stark contrast to the tense silence that had gripped us all day.
 
Alistan's keen eyes spotted Vern, the Herald of the Hedgeknights, tucked away in a corner booth. A weary smile played on Vern's lips as we approached, his gaze conveying a silent acknowledgement of our success. A quick exchange confirmed what we already suspected – the Hedgeknights had received word of our arrival and the initiation of peace talks.
 
But Vern's next words threw us for a loop. Apparently, he was already privy to most of the details, including the events that transpired within the confines of the Fenhunter camp – at least, the details that transpired outside of tents and buildings. His network of informants, it seemed, was far more extensive than we had anticipated.
 
Hayley wasted no time in relaying her findings about the mysterious portal used by the dragonborn army, along with the unsettling truth behind their true motives – the retrieval of stolen eggs and children. She further posited a compelling theory, suggesting a connection between the missing children, the monstrous draconic creations we encountered, and the recent attacks by the so-called dragon cult.
 
Vern's gruff demeanor softened slightly as he listened to Hayley's deductions. There was a newfound respect in his gaze as he acknowledged the depth of our discoveries. For our efforts, Alistan, Dadroz, and Hayley were each presented with an oversized coin, a symbol of their "mettle" – their courage and resourcefulness in the face of adversity. Vern explained that these coins could be used to formally apply for membership within the ranks of the Hedgeknights.
 
He then revealed another surprise. The basement of the very inn we stood in housed the headquarters of the enigmatic "Long Table". If Alistan and Hayley were interested, they could begin their trials for membership immediately. Dadroz, however, was directed to a different location – the mausoleum. His trials, it seemed, would be of a different nature.