Groaning, as he lowers himself gently into the bed, Vogir recounts the last battle in his head.
He had been so overconfident as he blundered into the clearing behind the thorny barrier.
The other’s had behaved as he imagined they would…
Orestes and Ghanash charged headlong into the killing zone. And Dokas, the new Tiefling Paladin had done exactly the same…
That sounds so wrong to Vogir’s ears.
Paladins used to stand for something once.
The once free city of Febril used to be a beacon of hope, but now it’s run by bureaucrats, completely under Thereanthor’s scaly claw.
Vogir fades from consciousness, but his dreams are full of monstrous interlopers.
Tieflings, Eladrin and Dragonborns.
Even in his sleep though, he accepts that the Dragonborns were, at least once, natives of Fissa.
He absently wonders where they disappeared to and why they returned…