Young Writers Society

“I heard that a few strangers were looking for you, Sinestra,” Christine mewed. “Two Elves and  Reedstrom.”

They pair sat on the wooden front porch of a lovely home in the midst of a willow orchard. It was nearly noon, and the birds were still singing in the air-- a woodpecker tapped out the melody of springtime as a lark and its friends chirped the tune. The WereCat was small and lithe, well-groomed fur shining in the sun's rays. Her bright eyes were smiling up at Sinestra as she read her book.

“Very funny, Christine,” the witch replied. “Reedstrom of Laenalaen? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The WereCat rolled her eyes. “Anyways,” Christine continued, “the Guild Masters said you lived over here. I’d be careful-- old Wrenwater and Salazar would love to see you disappear.”

It was Sinestra's turn to roll her eyes. It was true that she was the best Healer and smithy to be found in the North-- even among the Elves and Dwarves, her skill was unequaled-- but the Guild Masters would not dare move against her.

Sinestra returned to reading her leather-bound book-- an old diary that had belonged to a friend, Cassandra. the Healer recited from it's pages:

“When leaves fell during winter’s eve,

Daethdr fought the dragon old.

He slew it with his sword Eleve,

Inside the forge of gold."

Sinestra knew that there was more to the story-- much more. She knew Daethdr personally, though it had been many seasons since she had last seen the Elf. Before she could think on it anymore, a voice said, “Excuse me? Are you Healer Jones?”

Sinestra looked up to see a Light Elf with alabaster skin and chocalate-like hair. The Elf had hazel eyes and soft lips, and she wore an emerald green traveling cloak.

“Who’s asking?” Sinestra answered as she closed the diary.

"I have been sent here by the Lord Reedstrom of Laenalaen--" the Elf began.

"No, thank you!" Sinestra said hotly, standing up. "I don't want anything to do with that-- that-- old nag!"

"--and the Lord Dragonheart."

Sinestra's anger left her immediately. "Dragonheart?"

The Elf nodded. "They request your presence at the Flying Pig Inn."

A smile spread across Sinestra's face. Daethdr was here?! It was the best news she'd had in almost a decade, maybe longer, given how extensive and timeless her travels were. "Give me five minutes to change."

The tall woman turned and went inside, pulling the gray ribbon out of her dark brown hair, letting it drop past her chest. Her blue-gray eyes shined as she grabbed her satchel and scooped up money from a hidden compartment into it. She snapped her fingers, and her simple dress changed into worn traveling cloths. Before stepping back outside, she summoned her walking stick and dark blue cloak and hood.

"I'm ready for an adventure!" Sinestra said excitedly.

"You haven't the faintest idea what they wan with you!" Christine protested.

"Do you want to meet Daethdr?"

"...yes."

"Then stop mewling and come on!"

Not waiting for the poor Elf, Sinestra started to dash down the road like a carefree schoolgirl. She raced past the willow reeds of the river and over the old stone bridge the Dwarves had built some years ago. It took some time for Christine and the Elf to catch up.

Half an hour later, they were in the main street, not a block from the inn. Sinestra sighted Old Smokey, a WereCat, who ran the Green Dragon tavern, and Haven, his son, there with him as they passed. On another street, they saw the Dwarf Goatleaf, and two of his fellow miners; they waved first, calling, “Savire!” a name Sinestra had earned during the War. Soon enough, they came to the market square, where they saw Swelsh the Minotaur, Dreggin and his wife Melinda, both of whom were humans. Goatleaf appeared again with his family of seven and some friends, still crying “Savire!” The fauns Drew and Wren, with the Satyr Pipson, waved as they passed, hooves kicking up some dirt as they tramped by.

The trio at last came to the Flying Pig Inn. It wasn't really an inn-- rather, it was a nickname for one of the old towers in Owl Tree. It stood as tall as three giants, it's black stone visible for miles. The gates of its outer wall opened with a creak as two Dwarves welcomed them, again repeating "Savire."

Alexia led Sinestra and Christine inside, passing statues of war heroes and famous rulers from abroad. "I thought I told them to take that down," Sinestra whispered to Christine as they saw one of the sorceress.

"You know Reedstrom wouldn't do anything for you," the WereCat murmured back. "You still hate each other."

"He nearly destroyed--"

“Enter, for the Lords await you,” Alexia interrupted. They had come to a dark wooden door. Sinestra pushed it open and a small, stout Dwarf appeared.

“Are you Savire?" he asked. "Are you the Savior?”

"Back away, Grimrr," a voice said. It was deep and smooth, though Sinestra rolled her eyes at the sound of it.

Grimrr backed away, bowing as he moved for the three to enter. Tapestries of fine silk hung upon the walls, and the beams holding the ceiling were broad and richly carved-- obviously, they were of Dark Elven design. The archways above the windows were broad, and furniture was loosely organized in the main room. Off to the left, Sinestra saw that a table was crowded already with at least a dozen people. To her right... Sinestra saw a large, black-coated Centaur.

I hope I'm here to kill you, she thought.

I'd like to see you try, he seemed to reply.