Shadowspell: Chronicles Of Ondel

Chapter One: War and Dragons

     "Citizens of Frostfire Village, I bring urgent news!"

A man climbs atop a merchant's vegetable cart as one would a soapbox, alerting everyone by waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs. He dons clothes of crimson and gold, the official colors of the Pureblooded Army—this man is a royal messenger, no doubt. "This is a public service announcement, on behalf of the Commander! Come forth, everybody! You cannot afford to miss this!"

     At the mention of the Commander, a crowd quickly gathers, enlarging with every second passed. "What's the news?" the people blather to one another. "Has the war ended? Did we win?"

Somewhere in the middle of the massive crowd, I'm jumping, standing on my tip-toes, stretching my neck, attempting whatever I can in order to see the courier, if not for just a second before my gaze is blocked by someone else's head.

     "Everyone, quiet! Quiet, please!" the courier announces, drowning out the commotion buzzing amongst the crowd. "I haven't much time to spare, and it's important that I hurry through this as quickly as I can, for I must deliver this news to more towns, after yours."

     Gradually, the discordance of voices cease.

"The Commander has confided with me of an urgent matter, that he asked I share with you. Something problematic interferes with the war, and some changes need to be made." He falls silent momentarily, eyeing the crowd, as if to note our reactions.

     Few hold their breaths in anticipation, silent, frozen. Most act with ferocity, impatient, throwing their fists to the sky and demanding that the messenger spits out whatever he means to say.

"Settle down," the courier demands. His voice is steady and frigid, but his eyes hint at fear, for he knows well that an entire crowd of townspeople can easily take down one man, if they ever choose to do so. "The Commander informed me that...there's a dragon amongst us—"

The town's alchemist—a brooding, elderly man with scars raking left and right across his dark face—interrupts the messenger with his derisive laugh. "A dragon?" he echoes. "You're meaning to tell me that we're putting the entire war on hiatus because of a damn dragon?" Those favoring his statement riot, causing an uproar to ripple throughout the crowd.

"Dragons are not easily defeated!" argues someone.

"That may be true, but not once have we had to pause an entire war because of 'em!"

"Quiet!" demands the courier, silencing the crowd with a firm stomp! to the surface of the wooden vegetable cart, which creaks in protest underneath the weight of his foot. Frightened expressions adorn the faces of mostly everyone in the crowd, taken aback by his sudden aggressiveness. As for me—I'm amazed by the strength of the cart, questioning how it possibly managed to stay in one piece.

"One, I never mentioned anything about putting the war on hiatus," the messenger says. "And two, you didn't allow me to continue. There's a dragon..." His face contorts with worry, as if he cannot believe the words he's about to say next. "An immortal dragon..."

This time, no riots break out, no cacophonous uproars. Only silence. His words resembling fire, the terrified quietness lingers in the air like heavy smoke, an aftermath of the flame. Even I stop musing over the state of the vegetable cart to allow this bit of information to process in my mind. An immortal dragon? Even as mortal creatures, dragons are incredibly powerful and difficult to slay, but nonetheless, with the strength of several warriors, they can be defeated.