The Reunion

Well, this old diary. Seems like a lifetime ago I was scribbling down my teenage angst and adventures in this dusty tome. Five years, that's how long it's been gathering cobwebs in the corner of my room at Cairn Fussil. Funny how time flies when you're busy fighting dragons and fending off cultists. But hey, a new chapter starts today, and what better way to mark it than by reviving this neglected friend of mine?
 
Tomorrow. That's the big day. Five years to the day after Liliana walked out that gate, her fate tethered to a deal with a conniving Fey. Five years of uncertainty, of wondering if she was okay, what Vivienne had put her through. But tomorrow, her contract ends. She's due back on the Material Plane, and we've arranged a reunion. Not at some fancy noble gathering, mind you. No, we're keeping things casual – a get-together at Feyris' bar, Erna's Wish.
 
Remember Feyris? The amnesiac fellow who landed himself in the middle of our Lorewood chaos? Well, it seems he's found his calling behind the bar. Five years have been good to him (and apparently good for business too). The location's perfect – Foregate district, far enough away from the stuffy Academy in the Truesilver District and also far from the Dumont household (I really don’t want to run into Emily by accident).
 
We've sent out invitations to the whole gang, including Robert, Dorr, even Elsa. No idea if they'll make it – haven't heard a peep back yet. But hey, even if it's just me, my sister and the De La Roosts, that's all that matters. There's so much to catch up on, so much that's happened since we last saw each other. Five years ago, I was a naive teenager with dreams bigger than my magical aptitude. Now, well, I'm still a bit naive (some things never change, I guess), but at least I've got some scars (literal and metaphorical) to show for it.
 
My magic's still a work in progress, nowhere near where it was before Seraphine. But I'm working on it, rebuilding my spellbook one painstaking inscription at a time. And hey, there's always a silver lining, right? Maybe all this craziness has made me a bit more… resourceful. The world throws curveballs, that's for sure, but sometimes, those curveballs lead you to unexpected places, introduce you to extraordinary people (and devils, and fey, let's not forget them).
 
Cairn Fussil is a good day's journey from Keralon, and by the time I reached Erna's Wish, my eyelids felt like lead weights. Feyris greeted me with a laugh and a backslapping hug , but I was too wiped to stay up and reminisce. A quick apology for the early arrival, a mumbled "see you tomorrow," and I was practically sleepwalking to my room.
 
The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the window did little to dispel the grogginess. I stretched, yawned, and stumbled out to the common room, expecting the usual pre-lunch bustle. Instead, the place was eerily quiet. No clatter of tankards, no murmur of patrons, just an unsettling stillness. A quick peek behind the bar revealed Feyris, humming cheerfully as he was preparing food.
 
When he saw me, he gestured to an overflowing platter, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Closed the bar for the day, just for our little reunion. Thought it deserved a proper celebration, wouldn't you agree?"
 
Surprise warmed my chest. Feyris always had a knack for grand gestures, but this was something else. Before I could stammer out a response, the sound of the inn door opening drew my attention.
 
Liliana. But somehow different. Her hair, once a cascading curtain of black, was now a stark white, framing eyes that shimmered like summer skies. A gasp escaped my lips. Beside her stood Alistan, his face etched with a weariness that mirrored my own.
 
They arrived early, it seemed. Liliana's gaze met mine, a mix of emotions swirling within it. A forced smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
 
"Liliana," I stammered, the apology heavy on my tongue. "I… I'm so sorry I wasn't able to…"
 
She cut me off with a gentle shake of her head. "My service is up, Luke. It’s over now. If Vivienne wants me back, she needs to negotiate."
 
Relief washed over me, mingled with a knot of unease. Her words hinted at a story left untold, a price paid for her freedom. We would have time for that later, though. For now, there was catching up to do.
 
The awkwardness descended then, a thick silence punctuated only by the sizzling of meat and the clinking of silverware (courtesy of a very enthusiastic Feyris, who had apparently given his waitresses the day off). I had a lot to explain, five years' worth of stories and experiences. There was also the delicate task of mentioning… well, the ex-girlfriend situation. Three of them, in five years. Not exactly my proudest moments. I opted for a vague, "Let's just say there have been some… developments…" while internally wincing at the understatement.
 
The door creaked open once more, and Dadroz slunk in, his usual stoic demeanor in place. Liliana's eyes widened in surprise.
 
"Dadroz! How have you been?"
 
He shrugged, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Odd jobs here and there. Nothing too exciting, I'm afraid."
 
Alistan raised an eyebrow. "Hopefully nothing too… shady?"
 
Dadroz chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Always by moonlight, my friend. Never any shade involved." He winked, then leaned in conspiratorially. "Speaking of which, been trying to get into the Moon Blossom Circle myself."
 
The Moonblossom Circle – a Knightly Circle with a questionable reputation. They present themselves as information brokers and mediaries, but rumors have it that many of them are spies and thieves, working at the behest of the King. A good fit for Dadroz though.
 
The reunion continued with another surprise entrance. Gael burst through the door, a wide grin splitting his face. His booming greeting echoed through the room, and his eyes landed on Liliana. Relief tinged his voice as he spoke.
 
"Liliana! It's good to see you again. Been worried sick about you, these past years."
 
A faint smile touched her lips. "There was nothing to worry about, Gael. I'm back, and that's all that matters."
 
The conversation flowed, a mix of shared stories and cautious questions about the years we'd spent apart. Just as I was about to explain my "developments" on the ex-girlfriend front, the door creaked open once more. This time, it was Hayley, stepping into the room like a whirlwind in black. No jewels adorned her simple tunic, a full embrace of her position as the resident witch to a small village up North (so small that I am not even sure it has a name).
 
She threw her arms around me in a tight hug, her voice laced with amusement. "Well, well, well, look who it is! Though I must say, brother dearest, no new conquests to introduce this time?"
 
I winced internally. "Let's just say… I'm taking a break from the whole romance thing for a while."
 
Hayley raised an eyebrow, but before she could continue the playful interrogation, Feyris emerged from the kitchen, his booming voice announcing the official start of festivities.
 
"Alright, everyone, gather around the table! Lunch is calling, and trust me, you won't want to miss this spread." He gestured to a massive pot simmering over the fire. "Open bar, folks. Consider it a welcome home gift from yours truly."
 
I grimaced internally. Alcohol, while tempting, was definitely off the menu. The memory of that near-disastrous encounter with a dragon (and the lingering fallout with Lyra) was still fresh in my mind. But to give Feyris a bit of a break, I conjured a magical servant to serve everyone their drinks.
 
Just then, the door creaked open again. This time, two men entered, their hands instinctively resting on the pommels of their swords. A moment later, Elsa swept in, a vision in a dress that shimmered with jewels and silken finery. The years had been kind to her – if anything, she was even more breathtaking than I remembered.
 
A pang of something akin to my old teenage crush flickered within me, but I quickly squashed it. She sent her guards back outside with a curt nod, then apologized for the delay. A brief hug was bestowed upon each of us, followed by a curious glance at Liliana's new white hair.
 
"My word," Elsa murmured, "quite the transformation, wouldn't you say?"
 
Conversation swirled around the table, a whirlwind of questions and gossip. Elsa, it seemed, had heard whispers about our adventures (and apparently, some not-so-flattering rumors about yours truly) at court. I skillfully steered the conversation away from that topic, offering her a drink instead.
 
Her attention then shifted to Alistan. "So, I hear you fought in the war against the Fenhunter?" she inquired, her voice laced with a hint of aristocratic curiosity.
 
"I did, a few years ago," Alistan replied, patiently explaining the details of the conflict.
 
Elsa, never one to miss a beat, then turned to Gael. "And rumors abound that you were instrumental in saving Robert's life. Is he joining us today?"
 
Gael shook his head. "Not sure, to be honest. We didn’t hear back from him."
 
A sudden burst of shouting from outside shattered the peaceful lull. We all exchanged glances, a sliver of unease creeping into the room. A moment later, the door slammed open with a bang, revealing one of Elsa's previously dismissed guards stumbling in, face flushed and clothes askew. Before he could stammer out an apology, a figure filled the doorway – Dorr, the gruff dwarf, pushed the guard aside with a grumbled oath.
 
"Took you long enough to let a decent bloke in!" he bellowed, his booming voice echoing in the bar. Elsa sighed and waved the bewildered guard away. Hayley launched herself at Dorr with a warm hug, shoving a tankard of ale into his hand.
 
"Dorr! Good to see you, old friend!"
 
Dorr grunted in response, downing half the ale in a single gulp. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, then turned to Liliana, a look of concern etched on his weathered face.
 
"Liliana, my dear! Heard you were back. How you been holdin' up?"
 
Liliana smiled, a touch sad. "It's a long story, Dorr. But I'm free now, that's the main thing."
 
A lively conversation erupted, fueled by ale and a shared history. Dorr and Liliana launched into a surprisingly deep discussion about the existence of earless fey, their voices growing louder and more nonsensical with each passing minute.
 
I took the opportunity to sidle up to Elsa, curiosity gnawing at me. "So, Elsa," I began, "what have you been up to all these years?"
 
She took a sip of her drink, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Finishing school, for one. It was a very strict place, and I couldn't keep in touch with anyone. But it paid off in the end." She smiled wryly. "Now, I'm a courtier for the King. Representing the common people at the court. A humble farmer can’t be expected to know how to properly petition the king, you see. So we act a bit as an in-between person."
 
The conversation flowed from there, a tapestry of shared stories and updates. Alistan revealed he was still in the same house, surrounded by his companions. Hayley, as I knew, lived in a small village up north, close to where the battle against the draconic army had taken place.
 
Alistan's brow furrowed. "The battle? Hayley, were you there?"
 
Hayley shrugged. "Mostly spent my time tending to the wounded after the dust settled. Not exactly the thick of the fight."
 
Dorr, his voice thick with ale and a touch of melancholy, interjected. "Made a good coin off that battle, I did. Plenty of kobolds to kill. Too many good people died though."
 
He slammed his tankard down on the table, the force of it making the others jump. "Draw, that's what it was! Can't be happy with a draw, can you? Victory or defeat, that's what makes sense. Least it was just one battle, and that Fenhunter himself didn't show his ugly mug."
 
A shared shudder rippled through the group. The mere mention of the dragon sent chills down my spine. The war might have ended with a stalemate, but the threat of Fenhunter loomed large, a dark cloud on the horizon.
 
A jarring clang of bells shattered the jovial atmosphere. The sound echoed through the streets, growing louder with each passing moment. We exchanged startled glances, a collective sense of unease settling in the pit of our stomachs.
 
Feyris set down his tankard with a sigh. "Sounds like trouble's brewing."
 
Curiosity burning bright, we pushed back from the table and headed outside. The once bustling street was now a scene of controlled chaos. People leaned out of windows, their faces etched with concern, pointing frantically towards the north. Armed guards, faces grim, hurried towards the Foregate district gates.
 
Gael pointed towards the horizon. A plume of dust rose in the distance, a swirling brown cloud against the clear blue sky. A feeling of dread coiled around my heart – it was getting closer, whatever it was.
 
Hayley commanded Fiachna to take to the skies. She let out a gasp as she peered through her raven familiar’s eyes. "An army," Fiachna's voice echoed, laced with urgency. "A vast army, marching towards the city. They bear the banner of the Fenhunter!"
 
We watched in stunned silence as the chaos escalated. The guards, despite their attempts to maintain order, were clearly overwhelmed. They shouted instructions at the bewildered citizens, urging them to stay calm and return home. Vague mentions of evacuation to the Highcity, a walled district within Keralon mostly reserved for nobility, were met with panicked murmurs.
 
Of course, we weren't nobility. We were a ragtag bunch of adventurers, misfits, and one apprentice. As we approached the guards, their hurried pronouncements turned into a dismissive wave of the hand.
 
"Not part of any Knight Circle, are you? Then head home and stay there! We'll handle this."
 
The frustration was palpable. They were urging calm while simultaneously offering no explanation for the approaching army. But arguing with panicked guardsmen was a losing battle. Dejected, we retreated back to the inn.
 
The festive atmosphere within Erna's Wish had vanished. The fancy carriage that had been parked outside was gone, presumably whisking Elsa back to the safety of the nobility district, her guards hovering protectively. The roof of the inn, however, held a surprise.
 
Dorr and Feyris were sprawled out there, a feast laid out before them – the remnants of our interrupted lunch. Snacks and stew had been arranged into a surprisingly artistic picnic, their faces devoid of worry (or perhaps blissfully ignorant, courtesy of the ale).
 
"Ah, there you lot are!" boomed Feyris, a tankard raised in greeting. "Care to join us? Plenty of food left, and the view from up here ain't bad!"
 
With a sigh, we clambered up onto the roof. We settled down around the makeshift picnic, casting wary glances towards the approaching army. They had stopped their advance, just out of sight, a vast encampment slowly taking shape on the fields beyond the city walls.
 
Alistan's voice broke the silence. "How did they manage to get so close without alerting the scouts?"
 
Gael shook his head. "More likely we just weren't informed. Not the first time that the higher-ups are keeping their cards close to their chest."
 
A heavy silence descended upon us then. The future stretched before us, shrouded in uncertainty. All we could do was wait, and hope that whatever plan the city had in store, it would be enough. The once-joyful reunion was overshadowed by the approaching threat. This wasn't how I'd planned on spending my day with old friends. But then again, when did anything ever go according to plan in my life?
 
The weight of the impending siege lingered even as we descended from the rooftop. The final bits and pieces of the meal sat untouched on the table in the common room, a testament to the collective unease. Hours bled into each other, filled with nervous chatter, punctuated by the occasional clink of tankards and the comforting crackle of the fire.
 
The topic eventually turned morbid, a dark humor creeping into our conversation. We began recounting the most bizarre battles we'd faced over the years. Alistan regaled us with the tale of a monstrous tree that had captured a dark fey, named Khrys, whom he ended up befriending (the fey, not the tree).
 
A sudden rapping on the door shattered the gallows humor. Feyris grumbled and lumbered towards the door, intent on shooing away any unwelcome patrons. However, upon flinging the door open, he found nothing but empty air. A confused frown marred his face.
 
Just as he was about to close the door, a faint sound from the kitchen caught Alistan's ear.
 
"Did anyone hear that?" he asked, his voice hushed.
 
We all exchanged a glance. With a silent nod, Alistan cautiously edged his way towards the kitchen, the rest of us trailing close behind. The scene that greeted us was unexpected.
 
Standing amidst the clutter of pots and pans was Vern Skald, the Herald of the Hedgeknights, one of the Outer Circles. Recognition dawned on his face as he spotted us.
 
"Well, well," he boomed, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Look who it is! Alistan, Hayley, Dadroz – fancy meeting you lot here."
 
Alistan recovered first, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. "Vern! What are you doing here?"
 
Vern chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Came here for a reason, that's for sure. And it involves you three."
 
He gestured to the table, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Catching up with old friends, are we?"
 
Alistan stepped forward, curiosity piqued. "Vern, what's going on?"
 
Vern's face turned serious. "Let's just say it's not exactly leisure that brought me here. I have a… pledge for you three. An urgent one."
 
I recalled the concept of the pledges – special quests that served as a gateway to joining a Knight Circle. Alistan, ever quick to grasp the situation, put two and two together.
 
"This has something to do with the army outside, doesn't it?"
 
Vern nodded grimly. "Indeed. We need to know what they're up to. Their plans, their intentions. Most importantly, how they managed to sneak up on the city. If they have hostile intentions, we need their battle plans, and we need them now."
 
A tense silence followed his explanation. This wasn't an official city mission; it was a rogue operation sanctioned by the Knights. Leaving the city, let alone re-entering, would be a major challenge.
 
Hayley's brow furrowed. "Do you still have that messaging spell, Luke?" she asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
 
I shook my head, the weight of my lost power settling heavily in my stomach. Seraphine taking my magic felt like a lifetime ago, yet the consequences were all too real.
 
The conversation shifted to escape routes. Dadroz began listing a litany of secret passages and hidden tunnels, his voice filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
 
"There's a ferry in Fishtown," he said, a gleam in his eye. "Runs across to Dogville. Probably closed by now, but I can almost guarantee a few gold coins would loosen the ferrymaster's tongue."
 
Another option emerged – rumors of hidden tunnels in the Huntington graveyard. A long shot, perhaps, but it could potentially lead them right to the heart of the enemy camp.
 
Gael and I interjected here and put our foot down that we weren't going to let our friends shoulder this burden alone. Luckily they readily accepted our help.
 
With renewed purpose, we set about preparing for our departure. Alistan, Dadroz, and Gael headed for the Northwall gate, intending to retrieve their equipment. Unfortunately, the news that greeted them was grim – the gate was closed, a security measure due to the approaching army.
 
Undeterred, we decided to head straight for Fishtown, the ferry our only hope of escape. The streets were a chaotic mess, teeming with panicked citizens. News of the army had spread like wildfire, and fear hung heavy in the air.
 
Conversations were filled with worries about the inner gates closing, leaving the outer rings, including Fishtown, vulnerable to attack. People knew they were often the first sacrifice in such situations, left to fend for themselves as the city battened down the hatches.
 
Hayley tried to calm the throngs. She assured them that the Hedgeknights were working tirelessly to ensure their safety. Her words, while sincere, had a limited effect. It was Liliana and Alistan, their familiar faces and reputations, that finally started to quell the rising panic. People began to disperse, heading home with a sliver of hope clinging to them.
 
Reaching the ferry landing, we found our escape route in question. The building sat locked and guarded by city watchmen, their faces grim under their helmets. Dadroz decided to take a more… clandestine approach. He sidled towards the door, his nimble fingers working on the lock. Just as the guards rounded a corner, on their usual patrol, Dadroz managed to fling the door open with a click, barely a second before they appeared.
 
He emerged triumphant, a glint in his eye and a keyring dangling from his fingers. One of the keys might hold the ticket to our freedom – access to the repair building and a chance to commandeer a boat. Unfortunately, driving a boat was a skill none of us possessed.
 
Noxis' Tap, a smoky, old tavern notorious for its questionable clientele, became our next destination. It was a long shot, but we hoped to find the ferrymen – the ones who could navigate us across the water. The bar was mostly deserted, the air thick with stale beer and pipe smoke. Three hulking bugbears sat nursing their drinks, their hairy backs turned to us.
 
Noxis, a tiefling with a grumpy expression, barked a greeting at us. "Closed! Come back tomorrow!"
 
Dadroz, undeterred, sidled closer to the barkeep. He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper, and exchanged a few cryptic words with Noxis. A glint of understanding passed between them, followed by a sly smile from the tiefling. Coin changed hands, a silent conversation conducted in gestures and whispers.
 
Noxis' gruff explanation shattered any hope of a simple solution. The guards, it seemed, had taken it upon themselves to lock down the entire ferry fleet. The owners, understandably wary of being caught in a siege, had taken the last ferry across the river and weren't about to risk returning. We were trapped, at least as far as a legitimate ferry crossing was concerned.
 
A glimmer of hope flickered in the form of one of the bugbears at the bar. Tevon, a hulking creature with a surprisingly gentle voice, admitted to having some boating experience. A silver piece per head was his price, and he was willing to take us across the river – provided we could get him a boat.
 
Dadroz negotiated a midnight rendezvous. We would secure the boat, and Tevon, our unlikely savior, would ferry us across the water. But a new wrinkle emerged – the ferry would not wait around for our return. Re-entering the city, once we had the information we needed, was going to be another challenge entirely.
 
Thinking fast, Hayley hatched a plan. Fiachna could send a message to the bugbear, letting him know when it was time to pick us up.
 
The next few hours were a blur of failed attempts and near misses. Dadroz's attempts to "borrow" a fisherman's boat ended in frustration, twice, his nimble fingers failing to bypass the watchful eyes of the patrolling guards. Finally, with desperation gnawing at our resolve, we returned to the docks, setting our sights on the larger ferry boats in dry dock.
 
Hayley and I knew we needed a distraction. A quick glance confirmed a patrol of three guards was making its rounds. With a shared nod, we sprang into action. Hayley cast a subtle spell of suggestion on one guard, sending him on his way with a fabricated errand that took him far from the docks. I focused my magic on the remaining two, weaving a charm that manipulated fate to ensure my success.
 
One guard reacted poorly, his hand instinctively reaching for an arrow. But just as the fletching grazed Hayley's arm, the full force of my charm took hold. Apologies tumbled from their lips, their previous stern expressions replaced by a look of bewildered friendliness. Suddenly, we had two new "best friends," eager to assist us in any way they could. A stolen ferry boat seemed a small price to pay for their newfound loyalty.
 
With a newfound understanding of the docks' machinery thanks to a quick bit of tinkering on my part, we lowered a sturdy ferry boat into the water. Tevon, our gruff but reliable boatman, took the helm, and with a wave goodbye to our charmed guards, we set sail into the night.
 
The journey was swift, the cool night air whipping through our hair. Tevon dropped us off a safe distance downstream, promising to return once he received the signal from Fiachna. As we huddled together on the riverbank, the weight of the mission settled upon us.
 
Tomorrow, we would approach the enemy camp, a ragtag group venturing into the heart of danger. But tonight, under the cloak of darkness, we would allow ourselves a moment of respite, a chance to formulate a plan and steel our nerves for what lay ahead.
 
A sliver of sunlight pierced the darkness, rousing us from our slumber. Gael made the rounds, offering his trusty magically-enhanced goodberries. Alistan, a nostalgic smile gracing his lips, mumbled something about missing those during his travels.
 
Hayley summoned Fiachna, her raven companion, sending him on a reconnaissance mission. His report upon return was both unsettling and intriguing. The approaching army was entirely draconic in composition, a vast collection of kobolds and dragonborn. Most surprisingly, they didn't seem to be preparing for battle; there was an air of… organization around their camp.
 
Driven by a mix of apprehension and curiosity, we decided to approach them directly. A simple walk-up, a greeting, and a hope for open communication. The plan, while audacious, seemed our best option.
 
A group of dragonborn and kobolds materialized on the horizon, their approach a mixture of caution and curiosity. Gael, ever the diplomat, boomed a greeting in their direction. One dragonborn, distinguished by thick golden armor and a deep green hue, stepped forward. He surveyed us with a critical eye, his posture radiating a sense of authority.
 
"Who are you?" his voice rumbled, a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.
 
Gael, unfazed, introduced us one by one, explaining our origins and purpose. The dragonborn, however, seemed unimpressed. He muttered something under his breath, a dismissal more than anything, and began to walk away.
 
Undeterred, we followed, attempting to engage him in conversation. Gael argued that perhaps we had some value to offer, something they might find useful. The dragonborn, however, remained confused by our very presence. The concept of strangers approaching an army, seemingly unafraid, was apparently a novel one to him.
 
Hayley, sensing our struggle, chimed in. She explained the lack of a rigid hierarchy in Keralon, a stark difference from the seemingly structured military force before us. She then pointed to Alistan, mentioning his noble lineage.
 
This piqued the dragonborn's interest, but only succeeded in confusing him further. Our explanation of noble houses and their intricacies seemed to go over his head. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer bewilderment, he conceded that we might represent some semblance of a city delegation. With a grudging nod, he gestured for a group of kobolds to escort us towards his camp.
 
The bustling activity within the camp was a sight to behold. Dragonborn warriors milled about, attending to various tasks. Some warriors glanced our way, a flicker of curiosity in their eyes, but most seemed unfazed by our arrival as if they had been expecting us. We were led toward a large, round tent, its fabric adorned with intricate patterns, nestled against the makeshift wall surrounding the camp.
 
Inside, the green dragonborn, now identified as Ragnar Ergoll, the leader of the army, gestured towards a plush camp chair. He settled in, his gaze fixed on us. He explained, rather bluntly, that he had come to establish a closer bond with Keralon, acting on the orders of his "mistress," Velora Morenthene, whom we call the Fenhunter. Velora, it seemed, wished to avoid future conflict. Sending her strongest warriors, apparently, was a gesture of goodwill.
 
Ragnar's next request caught us by surprise. He desired an immediate audience with the King. We explained, with some trepidation, that such a speedy meeting might be difficult to arrange. Instead, we offered to deliver a message, a formal letter explaining the situation and requesting an audience at a later date.
 
Ragnar scowled. This human complexity, this fondness for paperwork, seemed to baffle him. Hayley, with a wry smile, confirmed his suspicions – humans, she admitted, loved making things more complicated than they needed to be.
 
A quarter of an hour later, Ragnar emerged from his tent, a frustrated look etched on his face. "This whole situation," he declared, "is far too convoluted." He had a new proposal – he proposed appointing us as emissaries, representatives of their army, to speak to the King on their behalf.
 
But before we would even be considered worthy of representing the Fenhunter, there was one more hurdle to overcome, Ragnar said – a challenge of combat against a renowned dragonborn champion.
 
Alistan was the first to speak. "I'll do it," he declared, a glint of determination in his eyes.
 
Ragnar let out something that could only be vaguely described as a laugh. "One against one? Hardly fair, wouldn't you say?" He swept his gaze over all of us, a mischievous glint in his reptilian eyes. "This will be a group challenge. All of you, against my champion, Dran."
 
A wave of unease washed over me. A group fight? Against a single opponent, no matter how skilled, could be chaotic at best. Alistan, however, seemed intrigued.
 
"Dran, you say?" he muttered, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead. "I've heard whispers about him. A formidable fighter, wields a massive greatsword."
 
Ragnar nodded. "Indeed. But fear not, humans. This is not a fight to the death. Simply knock him unconscious, and the challenge is yours."
 
My heart hammered in my chest. Fighting hand-to-hand wasn't my forte. But then, neither was diplomacy, apparently. I voiced my remaining concern.
 
"Magic," I asked cautiously. "Can we use magic in the fight?"
 
Ragnar shrugged. "Dran won't hold back. Expect him to utilize his magic as well."
 
We exchanged nervous glances. Alistan and Liliana were seasoned warriors, confident in their physical prowess. Hayley, with her arsenal of witchcraft and curses, appeared ready for the challenge. Gael was likely already formulating a plan in his head. Even Dadroz, with his nimble fingers and bag of tricks, could prove invaluable.
 
As a group, we were a formidable force. But against a renowned dragonborn champion, with magic thrown into the mix, the odds seemed far from even. Taking a deep breath, I steeled my nerves. This wasn't the time for doubt. We had a mission, and this challenge was the first hurdle.
 
With a collective nod, we accepted Ragnar's terms. The fate of Keralon, it seemed, rested on our ability to outwit and overpower a dragonborn champion. The details of the fight, the location, the rules – all remained unclear. But one thing was certain – we would face Dran, and the outcome would determine our next step. The weight of responsibility settled heavily upon us, a flicker of determination ignited within our hearts. We were in this together, and we wouldn't back down.