Dyson Arthnor climbed into bed after a long day of fending off monsters outside the village. A hoard of slimes had ventured near the village entrance and no one was able to enter or leave. More and more monsters had been cropping up as of late after the elemental crystal had shattered. Dyson being a sword wielder, was called upon to go fend off the slimes. This wasn't a very hard task, just very tedious as there were an enormous number of them. Though Dyson prevailed, worn out and covered in slime goo, he returned to the village victorious and was given praise.

Now as he lay in bed, he thought about why he became a swordsman in the first place. He liked to adventure and was keen on helping people in need, in this case fending off some monsters. He knew that there was something different about him compared to other swordsman he had come into contact with. Most had just done it for the money and fame. He was doing it for the feeling he got helping people.

He drifted off to sleep and it wasn't long before he was in dreamland. This night his dreams were different than before. Dyson stood in a black void surrounded by nothing but blackness, yet he was able to see. He walked forward and seemed to go on endlessly. All of a sudden as he was walking he heard a voice. "The world is dying. The crystal which powers this world has shattered. You are our hope. Save the world. Go to the temple of earth, retrieve the element of earth and reunite the crystal shards to bring life back to this world."

With that the dream flashed away in an instant and Dyson woke up in a cold sweat. He had no idea what just happened, but he knew that someone was reaching out to him. He had to become the hero this world needed.

Val Kyran woke with a start. He sat up and looked around the room he'd purchased for the night, but nothing seemed out of place. It was still the dead of night, so the man turned his thoughts back to the dream that had propelled him back to wakefulness.

He'd started out in darkness, unable to see anything. That was actually a bit unusual, as regular darkness wasn't too much of a hindrance to most of his kind, particularly those who possessed shadow magic, like himself. But the dark where he found himself was completely empty. Something was calling him, urging him forward, and without even meaning to he followed the feeling. Sudden, blinding brightness hit him and Val shielded his eyes. That was where he normally would wake, but this time the dream continued.

He stood on the shore of a vast lake that stretched away before him, reaching beyond the horizon. The midmorning sun reflected off it, dazzlingly bright. The water swirled, and a vortex formed, turning into a tunnel that held a worn stone staircase leading down into the lake. He followed them, looking around at the fish and underwater plants that he could make out through the distortion of the magically formed tunnel. The stairway curved, and eventually he came to a pair of columns covered in glowing runes, set in a mostly vertical wall of rock. A veil of water poured between them, and whatever called him lay somewhere beyond it.

Val was not particularly fond of water. He hesitated before the waterfall, running a hand through his hair. But he couldn't ignore the summons. He stepped through. Around him, the world blurred, and he had the sensation of moving very fast. Then he found himself in a room whose walls were covered in more glowing runes. He could see that the bluish light they shed rippled faintly, and the light seemed to flow through the patterns. Near the far wall was a small pool of water with a pedestal rising from it, and upon the pedestal lay a small crystal. That was what Val sought, he knew at once. A fairy sat beside it, and when she saw him, she pushed off and flew to circle around him.

"You must be the hero I seek," she said, tossing white hair over a tiny shoulder. "Hurry! You need to find the shard of water, and unite it with the others, or the world we love shall surely perish. We are counting on you." A blur of images filled his mind after the fairy spoke, and he fell to his knees, overwhelmed, only to wake up in bed.

He turned the strange dream over in his head. He'd had the first part of it before, several times over the past few weeks. But the lake and the room with the pedestal were new. He wasn't sure how he felt about being a hero. That sort of thing tended to be dangerous, with a high chance of serious injury.

And yet...

The man sighed and rolled over, but sleep did not return for some time. Come morning, he packed his few belongings, and after buying breakfast and some supplies for the road he made his way out of town. It was about time to be moving on anyhow, and towards Impetia Lake was as good a direction as any. He didn't /have/ to take the quest -- he'd not promised anyone, and was free to do something else at any time. Val had a weakness for the promise of adventure, and a keen sense of curiosity, and he couldn't really let it go without at least doing a bit of digging. It was part of the reason the man lived the life of a wandering musician and jack-of-all-trades. And if nothing else, following the mandate of his dream certainly promised to be interesting. For now, he'd see where it lead him.

Don't stop.

A lone figure streaked across the desert. His sweat had soaked through his tunic and begun to drip onto the sand as he ran at a full sprint. Judging by the cool morning air, any bystander would be able to tell he had been running full-tilt for hours on end. However, there were no bystanders to be found in this neck of the desert. No trade routes came within miles of the area, and no sane explorer would venture into such an unremarkable expanse of desert.

Just keep running.

Though the man didn't look behind him, he knew exactly what he'd see, and it was that which drove him forward. He could hear the concussive blast strike sand he'd crossed mere seconds before, followed by the soft hiss of the raised cloud of sand raining down. He knew the dark, near-formless shadow was close on his tail, ready to take him as soon as he tired.

Keep it together.

Half an hour ago he'd realized he was lost. Since then, thoughts of giving up had mixed themselves in with his survival instincts' directives. He had no guarantee that escaping this shadow would improve his chances of survival. In fact, his defeatist thoughts said, I might actually survive giving myself up to the shadow. He'd brushed such thoughts off as best he could, and when he'd seen the overly large dune, he'd decided to use it to get some sort of bearing.

Almost there.

His labored breathing became heavier as he headed up the slope of the dune. He cast his eyes left, then right, then left again, trying to sight some familiar landmark in the dreary desert lands. With each step higher, each glance further out, he became more certain: he'd never been here before. He knew he was far from civilization, and as he crested the dune he found his last hopes shattered. He staggered forward a few last steps as he came to a stop, resigned to his fate.

Then the ground disappeared.

I'm dead. As he fell, time seemed to move slowly, giving him plenty of time to think. His body slowly turned in midair, giving him a perfect view of the clear morning sky above him. All that's left is for my soul to return to the Creator or be stolen by a witch. I don't care anymore... for now, I am free.

*whud*

The man landed upon something soft, breaking him out of his reverie a split second before momentum pulled him and whatever he'd landed upon spinning into darkness. He let out a yelp as something rounded yet sharply angled dug into him. A yelp of response came as he bounced and landed with whatever was attached to his back under him. This cycle repeated twice before they finally stopped spinning. The last thing the man felt before passing out was his face pressed against cold, smooth stone.

---

"Stand, heroes!" Confused, the man stood from his kneeling position and glanced around. Darkness stretched out in all directions, but he could easily see the small hooded figure that rose with him. "The world is in peril. We need you now more than ever! Go to the Fire Temple and retrieve the shard there." The image of the shard faded into view. "Then you must reunite it with the other shards to breathe life into the world anew. Go, for time is running short!" Everything faded away into nothingness - not even the darkness remained.

---

"You awake yet, Lemming? You've got a lot to explain."

The man woke to the harsh midday sun of the desert, blocked only partially by a hooded face whose features were cloaked by shadow. The man winced and moved to shield his eyes, only to find his arms unable to move from his sides. His legs were likewise immobilized, but he was thankfully able to turn his head away from the sun - only to find himself staring at the shadow that had been chasing him standing (if you could call it that) only feet away.

"Well? Start talking, Lemming."

Every muscle in the man's body strained to run, to crawl, to slither away, but he didn't move. Even his neck no longer turned, forcing him to stare at his pursuer... which did nothing to him. Its form continued to shift, but otherwise it seemed frozen in place. "Th-th-that thing... Wh-"

"I'll make you this deal once, Lemming. Don't ask questions until you've told me your story, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Now, ready to talk?"

A hand gently turned his head away from the shadow and back upward. Strangely, the sun appeared only as intense as a candle's flame now, though it hadn't gotten any darker. The hood still loomed over him, watching him expectantly. "Uh, well, I guess I am..."

And so he began to speak. He told of mercenary work in the mountains, guarding trade caravans. He told of a bear attack that killed nearly all his comrades. He told of being captured by witches and used as an experimental subject. He told of torture in dark caves. He told of his daring escape, emphasizing the heroic details of his brave exploits as he ran from the witches. Finally, he told of how he was hunted by the witches, and how the shadow was just one of many that had come after him since his escape.

The hooded figure listened intently to the story, not speaking once. Water was provided wordlessly as the man's mouth grew dry from the arid desert air. As the story progressed, the sun dipped further and further behind the hooded figure, falling halfway to the horizon by the end of the man's story.

Silence settled over the desert. Seconds ticked away excruciatingly slowly for the man as he stared up at the hooded figure, waiting for something, anything, to tell him that he'd done as desired, to tell him to ask his questions. Such a response never came.

"...And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'? That's my story!"

"But how does it end?"

"It's still being written as we speak! Jeez, what do you want from me?"

"You're the writer of your own story, Lemming. Just because it's still being written doesn't mean you don't have a plan for what's to come. So? How do you want it to end? Do you live on the run for the rest of your life? Settle down in secrecy? Storm the witches' coven for revenge? Or maybe you fall into the sands of the desert only to fade away, leaving this world pathetically?"

"I don't know, okay? I've been trying to get a witch hunting party going, but I can't stay in one place long enough to gather interest. If only I could wipe all witches out of this world, my life would be so much better..."

"Even the one who saved your life?"

Shocked, the man sat bolt upright. This only served to shock him further, as he'd gotten used to being unable to move. He scrambled around, checking himself over with his hands in an attempt to find any signs of experimentation. Finding none, he calmed himself - he still couldn't move his legs, so he wasn't out of the frying pan yet.

The hooded figure behind him sighed. "I guess you pass. Ask your questions, Lemming."

The man was almost unintelligible due to how quickly the words flowed out of him. "What is that thing? Why hasn't it killed me? Why haven't you killed me? Why were you in my dream?"

"Ah, the hard questions, huh?" The man could almost feel the sarcasm in the hooded figure's tone. "That 'thing' there is a spectre. Witches like to make them into familiars because they're low upkeep and easy to control, but they're also dumb as bricks. It hasn't killed you because I'm blocking its senses. It can't tell what's around it, so it just sits down like a hooded falcon. I haven't killed you because I have some use for you, and because I was about to ask you that last question myself."

"Can I trust you?"

"That's a question you'll have to answer yourself, Lemming, though if you'd look to the spectre for a moment you might be swayed in your decision." The man obediently turned to look. "Book of Binding, Chapter Eight: Constriction." As the man watched, the formless figure of the spectre seemed to slowly crush in on itself. When it reached about half its original size, a burst of dark smoke billowed from it, leaving nothing in its place. "And there you have it. Any other questions before we head off?"

"Er, 'head off'? Where are we going?"

The hooded figure scoffed. "You asked about it yourself, didn't you? That vision - or dream, as you called it - called us to the Fire Temple. I get the feeling we'll get more answers there than here. Don't you agree?"

"...I guess so. Hmm... If we're going to be traveling together, I should at least know your name. Mine is-"

"Hold it. I don't want your name, nor should you give it to me. To me, you're Lemming, and to you, I'm Zero. Now stand up. We've got a lot of ground to cover, Lemming."

Though Zero's name literally had no value, Lemming felt the name he'd gotten was worth less.

A frigid blast of cold air blew through loose robes and beat against rigid scales, leaving the young draconian man shivering in the icy crags that surrounded the mountains in the north. Iorkax glared at the peaks of the mountains and huffed quietly to himself as he gripped a long wooden staff with a dark sapphire crystal embedded in the head of the staff. His blue and white robes pressed to his body, which was thin for a dragonborn but still more sturdy than most men. Steely grey eyes became cloudy as tears formed from the wind rushing against his face.

“It’s up there, I can feel it’s call… I can feel the voice of the shard calling for me… Like a faint whisper in my head telling me to get it. But I can feel it’s ferocity, the rage that it contains and the power it controls. Like a stormcloud beckoning forth a mighty bolt and a thunderous roar… I can feel it, I am getting close.”

Iorkax Thunderscale spoke to himself as he shielded his face from ice whipping through the crags, as if it were a giant frozen windtunnel. He marched through the storm before him for some time before reaching a point of exit to clamor up onto a footing enough that he could set up camp to rest without the winds beating off the walls and off of him. Finally, a shelter for him to recover from his long journey. Having left his home weeks ago after being sent out to hone his magic and to learn from the wizards in Dragonspire, a great university of magic and home for the greatest Dragonborn wizards ever to grace the land. Iorkax wanted to be there, he longed for the teachings, but a dream took him off of his intended path and onto a much greater destiny.

---

”Iorkax, you must hear me! Hear us! Please!”

A voice, faint in nature, whispered in his ear as he slept one night many weeks ago before he set out on his journey to the North East. He did not recognize the voice and only rolled in his sleep, swatting at his ear to try and flick away whatever bug or whatever it was bothering his sleep.

Only this voice was not outside of himself, but rather in his dreams, the voice of a thousand pixies and other fae creatures called to him, now shouting at him.

“IORKAX! YOU MUST LISTEN TO US!”

“Garruf! Who are you to disturb a mighty dragonborn and wake him from his slumber!”

When he sat up, it appeared as though Iorkax’s spirit was disconnected from his body, clearly the work of powerful magic… was it? Or was a it a dream? Nevertheless, he quickly rose and took in a great breath, his chest filling up with not only air, but intense magical energy. Within a moment he let out a deafening roar and expelled the breath and a crackling cone of lightning from his mouth, trying to scare whatever was trying to wrest him from his slumber, but nothing was there, and the ground around his feet faded into darkness. A massive gust of wind and a cacophonous boom of thunder rang out as bolts of lightning shot out from a tiny structure at the peak of the Erlgonian mountain range, the peak of The Maw of Thunder. This was the tallest mountain of the massive range and was known by the dragonborn as the origin of the bluescale dragons, the Thunder Dragons, who were mighty ancestors of the Bluescale Dragonborn.

Iorkax watched as the lightning pealed out of the clouds around the top of the mountain and a mighty gust of wind carried him into the air and zoomed him towards the mountain. This was when the dream called to him, whispered that he must find the Shard of Wind, a piece of the crystal that once kept the magic of the world in balance and once meant great peace amongst the nations of Peliron, but now the crystal only served to tell a story of anger and greed. The Tale of the monster Dark Bring and the legendary Hero, Altir, a story well known by any dragonborn scholar, a story that was more of a fairytale now more than anything. Nonetheless, this ancient shard called for Iorkax of all of the men and women of the world, to a young Dragonborn Wizard who was still learning his place and gaining more power.

---

The world was falling apart ,yes, but Iorkax did not care much for that. He craved the knowledge in the world around him, to learn of the mysteries and great ancient relics that lay buried for centuries in earth and for decades in tomes and stories in great libraries, songs and ballads sung by bards and tall tales told of heroes told to children by their mothers before bed. Iorkax was a collector of these things and a man who craved the knowledge locked away in these mystical relics of time passed.

Night came soon after he had set his camp and lit a fire, his stomach growling in hunger and his fingers still cold from his trek through the crags. Brilliant blue scales with streaks of white glistened in the firelight as he bit into a dried piece of meat and some bread that he had obtained before leaving the last small town at the entrance to the crags, also known as The Goliaths Roar. Not many creatures lived in these parts. Small rabbits and rats scurried about and the braying of mountain goats could be heard in the distance. The mountains were far too perilous for most creatures, and food was rare, outside of a few berry bushes and other flora that dotted the base of the mountains.

As the darkness took it’s hold and the fire slowly died out, Iorkax drifted back to sleep, dreaming the same dream, only this time, he was closer to the temple and the shard, closer now than any living soul had been in a long time.

Dyson awoke to sunlight streaming on his face. He was perplexed and confused as he rose from the bed, but he felt something from the previous nights dream. There was no doubt in his mind that he was to be a hero and he felt so strongly about it. He dressed and grabbed all his belongings, which wasn't very much, as he had very little. Strapping his sword at his side, he walked the short distance to the Village Elder's house. Dyson needed to tell the village elder he was leaving, after all the village elder was like a father to him and brought him up mas his own when he had no where to go and wandered into the village.

Arriving at the elder's house found him mulling over some books and Dyson sat down beside him. The elder looked at Dyson and spoke. " I know why you are hear my son. You had a dream last night. I felt it as well. So I knew you'd come to say goodbye. You must go. Be a hero, my son."

Dyson was shocked at how understanding the elder was. "I know, I feel this is something I was destined to do. I have to be a hero for this world. I'll come back a hero, you'll see."

They talked a bit more and Dyson asked some questions about the element of earth and the temple. He got a bunch of answers, some didn't make sense to him. When they finished talking, Dyson made his way towards the village gate, looking back on his home, a bit sad to be leaving, but all the more excited to be the hero that the world needed.

As cold winds whipped through the canyon at the base of the mountains, Iorkax came to wakefulness, inner eyelids blinking horizontally, as his scaly ones snapped closed vertically. He huffed quietly as he rolled up his bedroll and recounted the days he had been on his journey. Noting the moments where he had done battle with beasts of the wild and moments that he had made friends with those of taverns in few of the towns he had stopped in, Iorkax smiled gently, knowing that his journey was nearly over. He was but a few days climb from the shard of the crystal that housed the power of wind. “Harrumpf! This is silly… climbing this blasted mountain to obtain a crystal, risking my own life for this. But my fate in this matter is not my own, guided by greater powers… the will of the gods! They’re pushing me towards my goal in this matter, and perhaps this endeavour may grant me more power than I could imagine.” Iorkax huffed to himself as he set out on the treacherous climb up the face of the mountain, scaly, clawed hands gripping into the rock and digging in as he began his trek to the peak.

He knew that his journey was much more difficult than he had anticipated, he knew there were hostile creatures that dwelled in the mountains. Trolls, ogres and other foul creatures. Roving bands of tengu in the lower foothills and other avian creatures occupy the skies of the mountain range. Iorkax read of harpies in the higher peaks and read of other foul abominations that took to the skies. Most of all, he knew of his distant cousins, the chromatic dragons, that called this place home, occupying large areas of the mountain ranges and posing as a great threat to much of the surrounding inhabitants. Indeed this would prove to be a difficult trek, and prove to make him more hardy and stoic than he had been previously.

As Iorkax made his way through the rocky and steep portion of his climb, he soon came upon a large expanse of rock and hills that made up the next portion of his journey, knowing for sure that he would not make it through this part of the climb without seeing some combat. Cresting over the ridge of the initial cliff, he felt what must have been a rather rugged, but soft grass, growing from the rock. It was pleasing to know that not all life on the mountain was governed by the cold and harsh winds. As a few moments of his walking passed, a loud squawking was heard to his left, and the sound of a spear cutting through the air.

*THUD* *Clatterclatter*

The spear hit the stone then bounced off the rock, to the ground, the wooden shaft rolling to a stop at Iorkax’s foot as he turned to be greeted by a steel xyphos coming down towards his arm. He barely had time to register what was happening before a band of ravenous, bipedal, bird-like creatures descended upon him. They wore patchwork leather armor and all looks to have the head of eagles and long, feathered arms with what looked like almost human hands. Tengu. Another squawk as Iorkax moved out of the way of the descending blade and felt a second one slice through the sleeve of his robe.

In a quick bit of hurried decision making, Iorkax muttered an incantation under his breath and thrust his hands forward, releasing a blast of arcane energy in the form of a lightning bolt from his hands. It pierced through the first creature he saw, leaving the others to look at the charred remains of their brother. The resulting screech was deafening as the Tengu descended upon him in a flurry of sword attacks, each met with a blast of lightning from Iorkax. The scuffle lasted almost an hour before the final Tengu drew it’s final breath and lay motionless on the ground, broken and shattered as Iorkax huffed out a plume of smoke from his nose. He dropped his hands to his sides and limped to a rocky cave to get some rest from the event, looking at his hands as he wondered what sort of telekinetic powers he had unleashed on the last of his foes, wondering why he had this power to crush his foes. He sat and rested for a few moments, wondering how much more blood he’d need to shed to obtain this shard.