Rafire, commander of a little army he may be, but the beastkin were known to be a romantic, idealistic people, perhaps it was from this way of life, this culture that Rafire's greed from power sought to consume him.
The town though it had less than five thousand dwellers, had hundreds of writers, poets, storytellers, people who loved to entertain and fill the common folk with dreams.
It was these people that gave Rafire his names, names known only by a few. The spearing light, Radiant Raptor, the wings of Bealair, the wall of the Ansi forest, Beseiger, and the Yellow lance. Names that they believed best described him.
Mark could almost swear that all he saw was a lance from the heavens that came at him, as Rafire dove down at a speed that Mark's eyes couldn't follow.
A sharp heavy blow struck his chest, and he fell, hitting the wet ground strongly. Mark opened his eyes to see a yellow beastkin of feathers and wings towering over him.
