Let all know the story of the White Ravens, who faced the first full grown dragon in Osterra. Certainly, the Guild of the Black Sky had caught a young dragon unawares and slain it, but what honor is there in killing a yearling? Perhaps, more honor than in dying to a great dragon...
Jarl Umarth, his armsman Duncan, Remy the swift, and Kestrel the champion had been eating field rations for weeks. Their companions, Alassana the wisewoman and Kal the ranger had signed on for adventure and a share of the take, but Alassana had turned her ankle in a fall and Kal was ready to find a tavern with ale. An unlikely outcome in the deserts of the southwestern shores.
Duncan stopped and held his hand over his eyes, peering our across the sandy scrubland. "Where in the underhells have you hauled us, Umarth? Everything here is sand, rocks, and more sand. Not even a decent sea breeze this far from shore. Not sure why we left our island. Nothing to drink either..." Duncan's grumblings trailed as he watched Remy, off in the distance, throwing rocks into a cave.
Umarth creased his brow, his eyes closed, and inhaled deeply. "The storms are weak in these lands, but I feel drawn here. Each casting of the runes says we'll have to go further to find a way home."
"Well, I for one take great pleasure in getting back onto the mainland," chirped Kestrel, somehow managing to brightly skip in his armor. "It's not good for the spirit to be so serious and locked up all the time. The gods created this bountiful creation for us to explore..."
"You're not paying me nearly enough to include a sermon in this little outing of yours," the cloaked ranger interrupted Kestrel. "In fact, you're not paying me at all, and if there's not SOMETHING worth my time out here..." Kal's gaze followed Duncan's into the distance, "No, wait, that'll do it." Kal unslung his shield from his shoulder and drew his blade.
"You know, stormreader, if you actually looked at the world more often and spent less time sniffing cloud farts or whatever, you'd be caught up. Shields up, White Ravens. Remy has found something," Duncan grumbled, drawing his blade.
Umarth reached out, speaking words of electricity and cold air, and drew lightly on Kestrel's armor in a blue light that faded to black sigils. Alassana raised a blue gem and passed it in front of Duncan, murmuring words that went straight to the earth, the stones lifting slightly, and Duncan's eyes briefly glowed blue.
Remy was bounding back toward the group, waving her arms, when the beast finally fully emerged from its cave, and launched into the sky. A dragon, and no small, wingless beast this. From tail to tip more than the Jarl's longhouse, and as it spread its crimson wings the shadow it cast blotted out the sky.
On that day, the White Ravens were thankful for the way death doesn't hold in Osterra. Duncan's enormous swings hacked scales from the beast, while the Kal and Kestrel stood back to back, shield and spear to pierce its side, blood spilling. Remy lept nimbly beneath its swipes, striking and darting away before it could retaliate. Umarth's shouts echoed with the storm, "Stand fast, Ravens! We shall have this day and..." the rest of the Jarl's speech cut short as the dragon's maw opened and unholy fire spilled out, no time for Umarth to scream as he burned to ashes. Duncan was next, the berserker rage overtaking him as he lept onto the dragon, hacking, and the beast's jaws ript him apart. One by one the Ravens fell, weapons slick from the dragon's blood, ears ringing from its howls of pain.
No doubt the beast is near death, lurking in some cave and licking at its wounds. But the White Ravens found themselves the worse. And the oaths of the White Ravens echoed, "Take not that which you cannot hold." They had failed that day, and would remember.