Murklock emerged from the light, his form twisted and grotesque. His hunched body was covered in leathery black skin that seemed to devour the very light around him. His dragon-like wings twitched slightly, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls. Jagged spikes jutted from his back and limbs, each one as dark and malevolent as the creature himself. His glowing teal eyes burned with an insidious, unnatural light, and a grin stretched across his hideous face, revealing rows of sharp, uneven teeth.
"Master…" Murklock hissed, his voice dripping with venomous delight. His wings fluttered slightly as he bowed low, his eyes never leaving Silas. "What is your command?"
Silas stared at the creature with cold indifference, his eyes flickering with the same intensity as before. "Prepare. We have much to do," he said, his tone calm but edged with authority. "And the Dragon Lord of the North… I want to know more."
Murklock's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sinister excitement as he straightened.
The night inside the inn was still, with only the faint crackling of the fire in the hearth breaking the silence. Silas stood at the window for a long moment, his sharp gaze sweeping over the snow-covered streets below. His thoughts were focused, calculating, as if weighing the events of the day against the plans he had in motion. Then, his voice, cool and decisive, broke the quiet atmosphere.
"I need you to find the nearest nest of dragons," Silas ordered, his tone laced with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question. His gaze remained distant as he spoke, as though already looking beyond the task at hand.
The creature, Murklock, hovered in the shadows near the bed, its leathery wings twitching faintly as it awaited further instruction. Its glowing teal eyes flickered with malicious delight, the prospect of carrying out Silas's command seemingly giving it purpose. "Yes, sir," it rasped in its twisted voice, before its jagged form shimmered and faded from view, leaving only a faint trace of darkness where it had once stood.
Silas, now alone in the room, moved with deliberate precision. The weight of the day tugged at his body, though his mind remained sharp. He methodically removed his clothing, laying each piece aside with the same calm focus he applied to every aspect of his life. The cool air of the room pressed against his skin as he slipped beneath the covers of the bed, the soft fabric feeling like a fleeting comfort against the cold reality of his purpose.
For a brief moment, he allowed his mind to drift. The silence of the night, the crackling of the hearth—it all faded into a distant hum as his eyes closed, his body sinking into the bed. Sleep came swiftly, pulling him into its deep embrace. But it wasn't long before he heard a faint whisper—a voice cutting through the stillness like a soft breeze.
"Sir…" came the voice, distant at first, then growing clearer.
Silas's eyes fluttered open, his instincts immediately alert. Above him, fluttering just inches from the ceiling, was Murklock, its twisted form casting an eerie shadow over the room.
"I've found it," the creature hissed, its voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of its discovery.
Silas sat up slowly, the bed creaking under his movement as he fixed his cold, calculating gaze on the void creature. Murklock instinctively flitted backward, giving its master space as it delivered its report.
"North of this city, about a day's journey away," Murklock continued, its wings twitching with excitement, "there are caves nestled deep within the mountains. A number of dragons make their lair there." The creature's jagged smile widened, as though relishing the chaos that such knowledge could bring.
Silas remained silent for a moment, his mind processing the information. His expression was unreadable, but the slight narrowing of his eyes hinted at the gears turning behind them.
"Thank you," he said finally, his tone even but laced with authority. "You are dismissed."
Murklock bowed low, its hunched figure retreating back into the shadows, its form dissolving into the darkness of the room until it vanished entirely, leaving Silas alone once more.
Without hesitation, Silas rose from the bed. The firelight flickered against his bare skin as he moved with purpose, retrieving his clothing and swiftly dressing. The fabric clung to him, a familiar weight, as he strapped his sword to his side. His movements were precise, each motion practiced and deliberate. There was no room for hesitation. Not now.
Once dressed, Silas made his way to the door, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. He descended the narrow staircase of the inn, the old wood creaking underfoot. The warm glow of the hearth in the common room greeted him as he reached the bottom, but he barely gave it a glance.
The innkeeper, the same woman who had checked him in earlier, perked up as she saw him approaching. Her eyes lit up with recognition, and she hurried to speak, her voice eager as she called out, "Hey, sir, would you—"
But before she could finish her sentence, the door to the inn swung open with a soft creak, the cold night air rushing in. Silas stepped through the threshold, his cloak billowing behind him as he moved with purpose. He didn't spare her a glance, his focus solely on what lay ahead.
The door closed softly behind him, leaving the innkeeper standing there, her mouth slightly open, her words unspoken. The fire crackled quietly in the hearth behind her, but Silas was already gone, disappearing into the snowy streets of the city, his figure vanishing into the darkness.
The cold wind howled through the streets as Silas stepped out into the night, his breath forming soft clouds in the frozen air.
The cold air bit at Silas's skin as he stepped beyond the boundaries of the kingdom. The thick forest, blanketed in the dim light of dusk, whispered in the wind as he continued forward. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, noted the slight rustling in the trees behind him. He had been aware of their presence for some time now, the faint sound of footsteps echoing in the distance. Whoever they were, they lacked the subtlety of seasoned stalkers.
As he entered a small clearing surrounded by thick, towering trees, Silas stopped. His expression remained calm, though his eyes flickered with amusement. The faint crunch of leaves underfoot confirmed his suspicions. Without turning around, he spoke.
"Come out." His voice was clear, resonating with authority, as if daring them to make their move.
The response was immediate. From behind the trees, six figures emerged, their faces twisted with greed, each clutching a weapon as they eyed him like a predator sizing up its prey. One of the men, a burly figure with a jagged scar across his cheek, stepped forward. His lips curled into a smirk, revealing yellowed teeth.
"We saw that bag of gold you dropped off earlier," the scarred man said, his voice oozing with malice. "Got any more for us?"
The other bandits chuckled darkly, tightening their grip on their weapons. It was clear they expected Silas to be an easy target, someone who had simply wandered too far from the protection of the city walls. They couldn't have been more wrong.
Silas looked down at his palms, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He flexed his fingers, feeling the raw power coursing through him, untapped and waiting to be unleashed.
"I've been wanting to test out this new power for a while," Silas said, his voice low, almost to himself. His eyes gleamed with excitement. He raised his gaze, locking eyes with the scarred bandit. "You guys came at the perfect time."