Chapter 1: Syrian’s tale

Laughs and cheers filled the tavern as the jolly townsfolk drank to the celebration of the young elf's birthday. Sure, most of the people there were only there for the free drinks and food provided by their host but there were some earnest people who wished Syrian a happy birthday. These people were of course the ones he cared for like his foster parents and the old priest from the church of the rising moon, The priest was a fanatic for sure but Syrian loved him all the same.

But Syrian wasn't focused on the morals of those attending the event or the crazy priest. No, he was focused on a dark figure smoking in the corner of the establishment. Syrian was no fool and he could see the figure was armed under the cloak that was pinned to his tunic with a very large golden broach. Surprisingly, to the elf's dismay, the man turned to face him. Scars adorned the man's shadowed face and he looked as if he hadn't shaved in a long time. The man grunted in response to Syrian's gaze as the Elf flinched out of fear.

'This man was no one to trifle with' thought Syrian as he attempted to switch his gaze however an unforeseen force compelled him to watch the man. The urge felt like it was a malevolent command and he had no right to resist it. Syrian's mind was filled with a struggle for what to do before it gave out and he turned to face the cloaked man.

The sight that met his eyes was one that brought him terror and fear, The man's face seemed to be replaced with that of the barons cruel, mad features something that Syrian could never erase from his mind. Some patrons noticed Syrian's expressions become fearful and some began to rise out of their chairs to check on him. This was to no avail as Syrian turned and burst out the back door into the pitch-black night. He kept running and running, Hoping that he could escape the torment that his mind brought into focus. His senses told him that he had to keep running or he would die to something that he would never want to lay eyes on. Syrian looked around and he could hear the sounds of beasts and men. He tripped many times but his mad sprint seemed to have no end until he stopped in a concealed hole within a hollowed-out tree, either out of exhaustion or willpower he could not tell, But one thing that was clear in Syrian's mind:

'He was being hunted, And whatever was hunting him wanted him dead.'