Jorgenfist sits in a bowl of land high in the mountains, it’s back to a ravine falling away to the river below. Giants patrol the land and dragons the sky. There are two now, the one from the raid on Sandpoint and another, larger. They are mates, or blood, or just accustomed to one another as they call the same cave home. No tales I know of mark dragons in such a manner, but the singer and the gnome remain silent on this, so maybe it is not so strange.
We soon see that the keep will be taken only grudgingly as nothing passes in or out of it’s walls. The gates remain closed and none approach it.
So we decide to divide the dragons and avenge the dead of Sandpoint. The smaller will fall beneath our steel and spells and then we will flee into the darkness. The elf places spells of traveling on us and when we are sure that the smaller dragon is in the cave alone we strike.
The raid does not go as expected as there are many illusions in place that we did not notice. I charged and fell into a pit where the dragon waited for us. As I gained my feet the dragon opened it’s mouth and let forth an inferno. My rage was hotter. I stood in the wash of the flames and felt nothing. I laughed and charged and beat the lizard into blood and scale and bone. It’s fire died long before my own.
The thing casting illusions was left, but the larger dragon was returning so we fled victorious. We might have done more, but it was a first step.
Death was fed and I live for the morrow.