Chapter 8: The Sleeping Dragon Inn
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After days of travel, Darian, Elara, and Arandor finally arrived at the first stop on their route to the Kingdom of Marelen: the small yet bustling village of Piedravieja. Known among travelers and merchants for its peculiar inn, The Sleeping Dragon, this place was as famous for its dragon tales as it was for its hearty food and ale.
As they approached the dark wooden building with bright, welcoming windows, Elara frowned. "It doesn't look very… grand, considering the name."
Darian raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. "If this inn has even half the stories they say it does, we might just meet a real dragon."
"I just hope it's not the kind that eats its guests," murmured Arandor, checking his sword as they entered.
Inside, the air was filled with laughter, conversation, and the delicious scent of roasting meat. The walls were adorned with illustrations of dragons of all colors and sizes: green, golden, scarlet. A massive tapestry of a sleeping dragon covered one wall, its enormous tail curling down to the floor, adding an exotic touch to the place.
A robust, energetic woman approached them with a smile. "Welcome to The Sleeping Dragon! Name's Gerda, and don't worry, the only scary things here are the stories, not the dragons."
Elara relaxed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Got anything strong? The journey's been long."
Gerda laughed, giving her a hearty slap on the back that nearly made her stumble. "Of course, dear! We've got the best mead in the whole region!"
Darian and Arandor ordered the same, and soon the three settled at a table near a roaring fireplace. As they drank, the conversations around them began to catch their interest. At the next table, a group of villagers spoke in hushed tones about mysterious disappearances in the nearby forest.
"They call it the Mist of Forgetting," one of them whispered, fear glinting in his eyes. "It appears at nightfall, and anyone who enters… never returns."
Elara leaned in, intrigued. "What do you know about this mist?"
The men exchanged nervous glances before an old man with a gray beard replied. "Some say it's the work of witches. Others claim it's the curse of an ancient warrior who once guarded the forest and now seeks vengeance against any who dare to set foot on his land."
Darian and Arandor shared a significant look. If the Kingdom of Marelen was under the influence of such dark forces, convincing them to join the Alliance of Light might be more challenging than they'd thought.
Their conversation was interrupted when a young man, clearly drunk, stumbled to the center of the inn, climbing onto a table. "I'll tell you something, folks! The Mist of Forgetting isn't real!" he shouted, nearly spilling his mug. "Just superstitions from frightened villagers!"
Some patrons began to murmur, but the young man scoffed. "I'll go myself tonight and show you there's nothing to fear!" With a defiant laugh, he finished his drink in one gulp and staggered toward the door.
"That man's insane," Elara whispered, watching him with concern. "We should try to stop him."
"I'd call it bravery," Arandor remarked, amused, taking another sip of his mead. "Though that's probably going to get him killed."
The evening wore on, and eventually, the group decided to rest in their rooms. Still, none of them could shake off the tale of the mysterious mist and the disappearances.
At dawn, when they came down to the main hall of the inn, they found the villagers gathered anxiously near the door. Darian frowned and approached them.
"What's going on?" he asked.
The old man from the previous night looked up, his face pale. "It's the young man from last night. He went to the forest… and hasn't returned."
A tense silence fell over everyone. Elara glanced at Darian and Arandor, knowing they couldn't just ignore this. Although their primary mission was to reach the Kingdom of Marelen and form an alliance, they felt a responsibility toward these people.
Darian nodded, his expression serious. "I think we have our next stop in the forest."
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With the decision made, the group prepared to venture into the forest and confront the Mist of Forgetting.