The Fletcher Family Estates

Gran claps her hands together.

"Dragon stew? Sounds lovely!"

With a snap of her fingers, she summons several harried-looking servants.

"Haul this to the kitchens. Tell the cook to prepare some dragon stew."

With a nod, the servants begin dragging the dragon to the kitchens. Their progress is very slow. Gran turns back to Ralf.

"I do hope you'll stay for dinner. There's no way we could ever eat all that dragon by ourselves."

"If it is all the same to you, I think I should be going," Rodrik said apologetically. "Sorry, but as I am a wanted man, I must go." Rodrik hugged Granny Fletcher, then shook hands with Ralf an Ricktor before ruffling Riven's head. "I'll come back one day, I promise."

Rodrik sighed and turned to leave, heading for Atlanticus.

<Exit to Southern Farmlands>

Travinth, soaring high above the clouds, comes upon a sprawling expanse of field and settled land. A small city, or exceptionally well funded village. A fitting place to rest, perhaps.

Travinth says to himself, and the birds that scream in terror of his coming, "I must find somewhere soon, lest I be forced to steal sheep, and sleep in a ditch."

He lands a distance away, so as to not be seen as a dragon. Shifting to human form, he hikes to what he thinks is a village.

"There damn well better be a tavern, for all the trouble I go through."

He comes upon the main area, unsure where to proceed.

Tavrinth looks down at the boy kindly, with a slight smile, his purple eyes surveying him closely.

"Quite forward you are, young sir. Courtesy dictates you would first tell me your name, but I can forgive this as you are but a child."

Tavrinth sweeps his coat behind him, and bows slightly, keeping his guileful eyes upon the boy.
"I am Tavrinth. Where I come from is of no importance to you. Where I am going is all that matters. That is what we must all focus on. The path we take into the future."

Tavrinth bows deeper, ducking his head briefly before returning to his perfectly upright position, with poise and dignity.

With a kind smile, he speaks in a deep, controlled voice,

"Perhaps you can help me, Lady Fletcher. I am a traveler long gone, and unaware of the state of this land. I have chanced upon this place weary, and in need of hospitality. I can pay any cost you desire."

Tavrinth frowns slightly, "I am not accustomed to eating something not prepared fresh, but I am at your mercy. I will have anything you would give me."

He follows Rowena into the manor, allowing his eyes to gaze upon the wonders held there-in. He sees the sword, and takes it as a poor omen.

As precaution, Tavrinth silently moves his hand over his side, causing a long one handed sword to appear on his hip, the hilt fully encased in semi-translucent obsidian, seeming to hold within a continuous flow of molten rock. The scabbard is made of fine, rough blackened hide, and clasped in platinum.

Tavrinth takes his seat across Rowena, and pulls the plate closer to him, with a wry smile.

"It would seem, Lady Rowena...I may call you Rowena, yes? It would seem that you are very keen, yet do not know as much as you would like to believe."

He takes a knife and fork, and begins to cut the wyvern into smaller pieces.

"You see, there was a time very long ago, of great peril, that men were starving. For the sake of ill-begotten honor, the great men still held banquets. Yet there were no livestock, for plague took them. Everyone was starving, but the great lords would not forsake their greatness, and admit defeat. Often, these lords would take smallfolk. Thieves, beggars, the unwanted. They would slaughter them, and butcher them to look of steaks, and feed them to their honored guests. Poor hospitality, but the sense of smell of men is not so great. And hunger makes all things taste well."

Tavrinth continues, diligently, to cut the tough meat.

"Then, men, oh so very brave, left to cross the great sea, in hopes of saving all of men. They came upon the Black Wood. After they assaulted us, tried to murder us, we welcomed them. We fed them as kings. We then sent them with their ships full of meat. Also, we sent them with thrice as many of ships made from our own wood, full of meat, and our kind to guide them safely home."

Tavrinth, finished with his cutting, looks up at Rowena, with a great smile.

"The thing is, as impressive as you are, you must know that, though a dragon's brethren, wyverns are the weaker, unfit example of a dragon. Our children call them prey."

Tavrinth breathes lightly, purple fire coming from his mouth in controlled wisps, charring the wyvern.

"The only real disrespect, despite what you intended, is that this is horridly undercooked..."

Tavrinth sighs, and leans back in his chair, locking eyes with Rowena.

"Are you always so coy, or could we be as equals and speak cordially, with full truth? I have not eaten in quite some time, and I would like to eat this wyvern. If that is unacceptable, I will leave. However, first I will know why you hate dragons."

He rubs his brow in frustration. "I do hope you realize I could have burned this entire place, with your body becoming ashes before you felt the fire. Yet I prefer to come here, ask, nay beg, to be apart of your table. And why? Ask yourself that while you wield a broken bottle like a savage."

Tavrinth shakes his head, "I must apologize. I am on edge due to recent events, which is quite a long story, and I see the worst in people. I took it as intended slight that you served me this, so I told you a troubling story in reciprocation. I am normally must more composed, so I beg your forgiveness."

He takes a bite of the wyvern, and smiles a clever half smile, "But it was horribly cooked. I am a dragon, I burn things to a crisp before I eat them."

Tavrinth chuckles, hoping Rowena sees the irony of what he said.

"I come from a land far from here. It is called the blackened wood. Home of dragons, among other things. Though I couldn't say the state of it now..."

Tavrinth looks into the distance, as if lost into another world. His eyes glaze over, and the purple dulls as a flickering flame lessens until it dies.