Drakar Thundervoice staggered through The Red Riot’s doors. His usual confident stride was gone, replaced by a noticeable limp. Blood oozed from a gash on his thigh. His arm hung limp at his side. This was a stark contrast to the mighty bard most people knew. Shadows enveloped the tavern, casting a faint glow on tables and patrons. Voices murmured and mugs clinked, filling the space. But, as he entered, a hush fell over the crowd.
“Drakar!” a familiar voice called out. With her fiery red hair tied back, Elara stood behind the bar, concern etched on her face. She rushed over to him, her hands glowing as she muttered an incantation to ease his pain. “What happened to you?”
“It’s another day in the life of a barbarian bard,” Drakar grunted, forcing a smile. “You should see the other guy.”
Elara chuckled, a sound that never failed to lift Drakar’s spirits. “Sit down before you fall,” she said, guiding him to a table near the fireplace. She placed a mug of ale before him and returned to the bar, but not before giving him a playful wink.
Drakar took a deep drink, letting the warmth of the ale soothe him. His thoughts wandered to the countless adventures he had been on, each more dangerous than the last. But despite the thrill, a part of him always longed for something more profound.
The tavern door slammed open, interrupting his thoughts. A bloodied messenger stumbled in, eyes wild with panic. He made a beeline for Drakar, thrusting a tattered bag into his hands.
“The end… is near,” the messenger gasped, collapsing to the floor in a heap. Drakar seized him, but the messenger’s life had already slipped away. The tavern erupted into chaos, patrons shouting and scrambling away from the scene. Drakar’s heart pounded as he read the scribbled letter contained within;
Drakar,
The end is near.
A great evil is preparing to enter this world, and you are one of the few who can stop it.
Find the four Relics of Light, scattered across the land;
The Crystal of Whispers, hidden in the heart of the Forest of Whispers.
The Sun Disk, buried within the Temple of the Sun in the Scorched Sands.
The Shard of Ice, protected by the Crystal Caverns in the Frozen Peaks.
The Sword of Light, locked away in the Forgotten Citadel.
Only by uniting these relics can you hope to stop the Dark One from awakening.
Go with haste; there is little time.
— A Friend
Elara appeared at his side, her eyes scanning the letter. “What does this mean?” She spoke in a soft, hushed tone.
“I don’t know,” Drakar replied, a sense of dread creeping over him. “But I intend to find out.”
Drakar examined the other items. The small key was old, its metal tarnished with age, suggesting it unlocked something ancient and important. The parchment with runes was indecipherable, but it pulsed with faint magical energy. The map displayed crude landmarks familiar to Drakar from past adventures.
The patrons of The Red Riot resumed their conversations. Worry and speculation laced them.
Drakar and Elara exchanged a look that said a lot. Whatever this new threat was, they would need to face it head-on.
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