After they split up, Percival found himself missing his family, and hoping that someday, he would see his sister, Orónëminya again. They had been riding for nearly four hours, and Faramaureä had finally stopped crying. As they rode south-east, and Orónëminya went south-west, Faramaureä asked Percival, "Where are we going?"

"While on a journey south once with father, we passed a village known as Drakoria. The village is small enough that it will take Gygax awhile to look there, but big enough that no one should question two extra faces." Percival responded, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any sign of the King's Men.

"Percival, how are we going to afford this? How much gold did they put in the bags?"

"I honestly don't know, Faramaureä. I was told no more than you." Letting go of the reins with one hand, Percival reached back and held her hand to comfort her, before continuing. "I hope Orónëminya and Metimafoa will be alright. I already miss them in truth."

Faramaureä forced a smile for her brother, but he saw through it immediately. He smiled in return, and took in their surroundings. They were in a large forest, so dense that the light barely peeked through the tops of the trees, illuminating some of the leaves in a golden trim, while birds created a beautiful melody that was both heartwarming, and relaxing.

Faramaureä closed her eyes, and began to meditate, before letting out her own soaring vocalization, that when she finished, all the woods were silent. As the birds began to sing again, a Bluejay, it's blue plume of feathers in striking contrast with the green and brown of the dimly lit forest, flew up, and landed on her outstretched finger. "Utuvienyes lírinya, wilinmellon. Will you sing it with me?"

Percival smiled, seeing that his sister still found beauty in the world. "You found your song? Your song has always been with you, orónëtyë. I am glad it has not been broken, by your recent past."

Faramaureä winced at what he said but calmly responded, as the Bluejay flew away, now singing a song very similar to hers. "I would prefer to forget all that happened if you do not mind."

Percival lowered his head, disliking her desire to abandon knowledge. "Oh, it is no problem at all," he exclaimed, covering up his true thoughts, for the sake of his sister.

He whipped the reins, and prodded the horse with his feet, spurring the horse forward, as they continued to the village of Drakoria.

. . .

The village of Drakoria was a small farming village of around 100 dragonborns, set in a small fertile pocket of land. It sat in the bottom of a vale, at the base of an inactive volcano. At the top of the volcano, it had cooled enough so that a solid sheet of stone and obsidian, was now laying across the top in a flat surface. On top of this, was the abandoned mayor's house, which was made entirely of the volcanic rock, and had been both built, and abandoned, in the year 1038, of the years before the Council.

It was in this building that Percival set up camp. The building was uncomfortably hot, dimly lit, and was said to be dangerous, due to its location. The interior seemed to absorb all light, and by Percival's orders, they were not to use any artificial light sources during the evening.

However, that is not to say that, for a time, they were not at peace. Percival took the job as a blacksmith, and a miner, while Faramaureä became a teacher and farmer. Neither of them used their abilities openly, but Percival used his fire control to keep his forge, and smelter hot, while Faramaureä used her Druid nature abilities, to cause her crops to grow extremely strong, and healthy. They also used pseudonyms, while there, that they were taught by the Dragonborn mayor, Charirflathesek, who was called Volcano Watch, in the common tongue. The day they arrived, and revealed themselves to him, he turned to Percival, and said: "You shall take the name Ixennuade, which in the common tongue means Fire Ward." Then he turned to Faramaurea, and informed her that, "You will be called Achuakskjall, which is draconic for Green Tree." He looked them both over, and concluded: "Hide your names, and you will increase your safety ten-fold."

Charirflathesek was the only one in the village who knew their true identities and powers, and it was at his request, that they took the pseudonyms, for their safety. "Do not tell anyone your true names, because although my people are good people, their tongues are looser than their coin pouches." He granted them the Obsidian Hall or the Vilzriquathtorixen Hall, for as long as they needed it, and called them dragon friend.

One evening, Percival had a dream. He was back in Meneltarma, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows of children's playroom, as the Royal Family watched the four heirs play a role-playing game, in which Percival and Orónëminya were knights under their queen, Faramaureä. Percival looked around at his family, noting that his parents, and grandparents were there, with his mother holding a bundle, that he assumed could only be Metimafoa as a newborn. Percival smiled, and his mother turned her bright green eyes towards him. "Are you happy, Percival, my love?"

Percival went to respond, but he was so happy, that all he could do was nod.

"Good." The words came from his mother, but it was not her voice that said it. The voice belonged to Gary Gygax.

The once brightly lit playroom began to spin, and although Percival had not seen it, the sun outside of the window had faded to the black skies of the years of the famine. Through the now open windows, tendrils of darkness swirled in, but it seemed that only he could see them, as they began to coalesce into a humanoid form. As the image cleared, Percival saw Gygax standing in front of them, his arms outstretched to his sides and above his head, dressed in a black rainment.

Gygax smiled darkly, and from his form, eleven tentacles shot out, and pierced the throats of all but him and his siblings, killing his parents, and Metimafoa in the process. He kicked Orónëminya in the gut as she charged him, and picked Percival up by the throat, throwing his across the room, his wooden practice sword clattering to the ground near him.

Gygax walked over to Faramaureä, as Percival stood up, all three of the siblings now adults. The King grabbed Faramaureä by the throat and kissed her. "A queen befitting the king." Percival picked up his sword, which had now turned into his father's cobalt sword, and charged Gygax, thrusting towards his abdomen.

However, just as the blade touched Gygax's cloak, he was no longer there, and Percival, unable to stop, drove his sword through his sister's heart.

As he pulled out the sword in horror, Faramaureä began to collapse, but he caught her before she could hit the ground. Staring at the wound in horror, he went to apologize, but a glance at her face stopped him. With her last breath, she looked him in the eyes, fear and disappointment evident in her expression, and condemned him. "Traitor..." She whispered, as the light left her eyes, and her head lulled back limply.

Gently lowering her corpse, and setting it on the ground, Percival stood, his mind in a state of shock, which rendered him temporarily silent.  He slowly turned around, only to see Gygax holding a dagger to Orónëminya's throat. His rage snapped him out of his horror, and he took a step toward Gygax. "You...You did this!" Percival shrieked at Gygax, taking another step toward him. "I will kill you for this."

Gygax whispered in Orónëminya's ear but kept his eyes on Percival. Orónëminya's voice cried out, "Please, Percival, he'll kill me, if you come any closer!"

Percival continued forward. "He will not kill you, Orónënya. He would be lacking a human shield if he did."

Gary Gygax tensed up and affirmed her statement. "Her corpse will work well as a shield, and you're killing her!" A bit of blood began to trickle down her neck as the dagger pierced her skin.

Seeing this, Percival knew he could not get any closer, and he knew that Gygax had won. "You can not kill me, Boy. I will cut you down in the end!"

Gygax slit her throat, as he threw a dagger at Percival, and it flew towards him, aiming itself right between his eyes...

Percival sat up quickly, or rather went to, as Faramaureä was holding him in her lap. He glanced up at her, panting hard, and covered in sweat, but her eyes met with his and held his stare.

Percival untangled himself from her arms, and nodded toward her, as he brought his breathing under control. "My apologies, Orónënya. Did I wake you up?"

Faramaureä nodded, but her eyes held only concern, as they remained locked on his, staring on in silence. Finally, after a minute, she carefully arose, and then sat down in a nearby chair, gesturing to another one right next to it. "What did you dream, Percival?" she asked as Percival sat down, her voice casual, and nonchalant, but her eyes betrayed her concerns.

In Elvish Culture, dreams were considered a form of divination, gifted directly to the sentient being of the World, by the Gods themselves. They, therefore, believed that all dreams had meaning, and often discussed them amongst each other to determine their meaning.

But all Percival could see, as he matched her stare, was the look in her eyes, when she called him a traitor, and the guilt that it caused him to feel. Percival rose up out of his chair, and meandered over to his bed, yawning. "I would like to sleep on it, Faramaureä, if you don't mind. We can meditate on it together in the morning." She nodded, her face expressing no change of emotion, as Percival crawled under his thin covers, and tried to sleep.

Faramaureä arose from her seat, and walked over to her bed, but not before stating. "You can trust me, Toronnya. I will speak to you in the morning." She crawled into bed, her eyes closed, and her breaths becoming shallow as she quickly drifted off to sleep.

Percival was not so blessed in the field of emotional control and his dream weighed so heavily on his mind, that he did not sleep, for the rest of the night.

. . .

When Faramaureä awakened, she saw that not only had Percival left for work, but that he had made her tea, and left her a note. The note read:
Dear Faramaureä,
The mayor wishes to speak with us, later this evening. He claims that it is urgent. Enjoy your tea, and have a great day.
Love,
Percival.

At the bottom of the page it read:

Post Script: I am sorry I chose not to discuss my dream last night. Once we sort out the issue with Lord Charirflathesek, I will tell you all that I can remember if it.

Faramaureä smiled and took a sip of tea... now frigid, even in the hot atmosphere of the house, and immediately spit it out, because tea should never be consumed cold.

Dumping it into the chamberpot, she emptied the chamberpot out the window, before washing up, and heading to the fields. Ordinarily, she would have been teaching but it was Saturday and there was no school on Saturday in Drakoria, so she had no lessons to teach.

When she arrived, the people were weeding, which she hated because weeds were part of nature, but she did it anyway because she and her brother needed money to survive.

Percival was busy at the Smithing Forge, his hammer swinging down on the red-hot metal and anvil. His arms were not very strong at this point, as he had the appearance of a sixteen-year-old, is only 2,356. To counter this, he secretly kept the forge magically hot, superheating the metal to make it more easily malleable. He swung the hammer for around seven hours per day before he went to work as a miner, for eight more hours. The mines of Drakoria were excavated for the resources of obsidian, diamonds, iron, and cobalt, all of which were in abundance directly underneath the volcano. The mines were surprising well lit by lava flows that cascaded down, like the Falls of Antimar, to the far north of the Land of Quendië ar Aponar.

At the end of the day, Percival would bring his mined resources to the manager, who would pay wages according to the individual values of the mined resources. After working eight hours, Percival usually earned 10-12 gold pieces, although one day he broke into a diamond mine, and earned twenty.

When Percival returned home, Faramaureä was already cleaned from her day off farming. She wore a white cotton dress, and green flats, along with a golden locket, which her mother had given her years ago. "I drew your bath for you, but it may have cooled some in the last ten minutes." She told him. "Please hurry, Percival, we have less than an hour before our meeting with the mayor."

"Ixennuade," Percival corrected. "Thank you, Achuakskjall, I will be ready momentarily." He walked towards where he assumed the bathtub was, in the Gallery, but Faramaureä stopped him.

"It is in the dungeons, Toronnya. To the left."

Percival nodded and walked off, heading into the dungeon bathroom. He stripped out of his clothing and put it into the nearby bucket, before climbing into the tub with a hiss as the hot water caused his pained, tired muscles to tense up, and then relax.

. . .

A little more than twenty minutes later, Percival stood before his dresser, wrapped in a blue robe, looking at the outfit that Faramaureä had laid out for him. "Orónënya?" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the black stone walls of the house.

Faramaureä's voice could be heard coming down the hallway. "Yes, Toronnya?"

"These are not my clothes!"

"I am aware, Ixennuade! The mayor had them sent up, from his personal tailor! He wants us to wear them tonight!" she explained, her voice barely reaching his ears.

A white undershirt and a dark grey over-shirt lay inside of a brown leather jacket, that was inscribed with designs of Dragonfire, hot-pressed into the leather itself. There was a pair of black leather pants, inscribed with the same design, but it was outlined with a silver metal. It came with a black belt, and a light brown scabbard, with a steel-bladed, gold-handled rapier, inside of it. A pair of black soft leather boots came with it, and a silver chain was to be worn around his neck.

He sighed dejectedly, preferring to have been dressed in his evocation robes, and dressed. When he had finished, he drew the rapier, and felt its weight in his hand, observing its balance. He did a few practice swings, before sheathing it again and exiting the dungeon.

Faramaureä was waiting for him and gave him a quick once over. "You look nice," she teased, noticing how uncomfortable he looked. "I suppose you will wear that all the time now?" She smiled at him and held out her hand for him to take.

He took it, and replied, "Yes, this outfit is terribly comfortable. How is yours?"

She shrugged and answered, "I will never for the life of me understand corsets. Oh well, I suppose we should go meet up with the mayor then. Onwards, my friend, to the Hall of Skindurmark."

. . .

When they arrived, the guards said nothing about Percival's new sword, having already been told of their imminent arrival, when he entered the premises to talk to the mayor. Charirflathesek was seated at a banquet table, his black scales reflecting the torchlight, making them golden in appearance. With him at the table sat two guards of Meneltarma, and a man clothed in a purple cloak, with a steel rapier at his hip, and a captain's badge on his chest.

Percival's hand strayed to his new sword, but Faramaureä shook her head before he could draw it. "My Lord, would you do us the service of introducing your aquaintences?"

"Of course, Lady Achuakskjall. These fine gentlemen are Quordo, Burston, and Captain Gwathnaseh, of the Meneltarma Guard." The mayor faced the guards, and continued. "These two are Lord Ixennuade, and Lady Achuakskjall, of the Obsidian Hall. They watch over it for me, and I allow them to live there."

Quordo and Burston both raised their hands in salute, but Captain Gwathnasehí was not so naive. "Milord, and Milady if you do not find it obtrusive, would you do me the service of telling me how long you have been staying here in Drakoria?"

Faramaureä smiled. "Please Sir Gwathnasehí, call me Achuakskjall, and my husband Ixennuade. We have been here going on two centuries now. Why do you ask?"

Charirflathesek nodded. "Lady Achuakskjall, that is why I summoned the two of you. You see, these gentlemen are on a journey, to find the Heirs of Meneltarma, Percival, Orónëminya, Faramaureä, and Metimafoa, to return them to their home. Have you seen any sign of them?"

Percival went to respond, but the Captain held up his hand. "I have a question first, if I may. What purpose do two young elves, that happen to closely match the description of the elves we are looking for, have in a Dragonborn Village?"

Percival laughed convincingly, and answered, "A just question, Sir. We are the lone survivors of a dragon attack, on a village to the South of here. That is how we became Lord and Lady by land right. However, we did not have the resources to rebuild, so we began a journey North, to go to Meneltarma, and ask for aid. On the way, we encountered this village, and decided to remain."

The captain stood up and slowly said, "I am going to ask you a question, and on the count of three, I want both of you to simultaneously answer it. What was the name of your village?"

Percival and Faramaureä looked at each other as the Captain began to count.

"One," he counted, while Percival and Faramaurea glanced at each other in concern.

"Two," he continued, drawing his sword in suspicion

"Three!" he concluded, as the siblings answered simultaneously.

"Sanstonmire," Percival said, at the same moment that Faramaureä answered... differently.

"Nandoria," Faramaureä answered, and as soon as they had both answered, they drew their weapons: Percival, his rapier, and Faramaureä, her dagger.

The captain assumed a duelling position, but Charirflathesek stepped in between them, and exclaimed, "That is enough! I will not have my guests killing each other! I will not stand for it!"

Captain Gwathnasehí relaxed his pose a little and nodded, "Fine, but we will be back with a warrant and more forces." The mayor turned to Percival and Faramaurea and gestured for them to lower their weapons.

The two siblings lowered their weapons slowly, then watched Charirflathesek tense up, and grab at his chest in pain and shock. As he fell forward, dead, the siblings watched as Captain Gwathnasehí pulled his sword out of the mayor's heart. He wiped the sword off nonchalantly and explained "Our orders were to bring you back, no matter the cost. I obviously couldn't take the risk of you fleeing, now could I?" he smiled maliciously. "Come, children, you have a meeting with the King."

Dear Readers,
I apologise that this chapter is a day late, and take full responsibility for it. I procrastinated and delayed until it was too late for me to complete it on time. I apologise and will have the next chapter out, in four days. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy, and will continue on this journey with me.
Sincerely,
Isaiah Joel Oakley Le Istya.

Post Script: School starts for me, on August 28th, so once it has started, my posting schedule may change. Keep an eye out for that, and I apologise for that ahead of time.