Silver Melancholy

## Prologue - Ultimate Edition

Trighafen was bustling with peaceful life. Located on the banks of the Dragonmere, the fishermen's settlement kept away from conflicts and any melee between the larger cities, not bothering anyone or supporting any side, valuing the neutrality they stubbornly clung to. Tranquillity was perfect for them.

One evening, however, this tranquillity was disturbed. The unexpected arrival of a mounted cavalry party took the locals by surprise, and the aged mayor came out to meet the party. His reaction was quite surprising when he realised that the procession was led, or so he assumed, by Rakshasa.

- Welcome to our humble abode! - he said in a light, tired voice. - My name is Alexander, I am the mayor of the village and I would like to know what brings strangers to the doorstep of this peaceful village?

- I have received information that there is a certain dragonborn hiding in your settlement. Silver-black scales, a heavily scarred body and wearing the robes of a monk. I want to take him to my country.

Alexander grabbed his chin gently and began to murmur something under his breath. The Rakshasa dismounted from his mount and it was only at close range that the reeve could see that the newcomer was wearing a tunic. He could also hear the clanking of metal, so he assumed that a chainmail made of mithril was present underneath it. The rest of the commoners had managed to get out in front of their own houses and watch the whole scene. The only ones who did not mark their presence were the sought-after dragonborn and someone else.

- Yes. We have the aforementioned dragonborn, but I cannot hand him over to you until I know the exact purpose of your arrival. Because you might as well be a bunch of hired thugs who have come to take someone's life, and I very much do not want the order in the village under my authority to be disturbed. You can understand for yourselves.

Rakshasa smiled gently. He needed to approach diplomatically, and he knew that honesty was sometimes the best means in conversation.

- My name is Yarhan, I have come from the far north and I present a state from there, the Ashen March. I have proof.

Here the Rakshasa extended his hand. On one of his fingers was visible a signet ring made of silver, with the symbol of a star on fire engraved on it. Alexander looked at the ring. It did not appear to be a forgery, which strongly puzzled the village chief. Rakshase were known for their manipulation of politics and their love of all sorts of trinkets.

He looked at Yarhan once more and only noticed the red colour of the irises in his eyes and the ashen colour of his fur. His gaze was stern but it also radiated concern and worry. His image was not improved by the presence of a small bag of tricks or a belt with throwing knives clipped to it.

- I would still ask you to reveal the purpose of your visit.

- As I said, Alexander. I have come for a certain dragonborn to bring him home. If you can call it that.

The alderman was silent for a while. But after a moment he let the air out of his lungs and with a gesture of his hand asked to follow him. Yarhan followed the old man without much hesitation.

They found themselves in front of a certain house, at which scaffolding was currently being put in place. The old house was in need of major renovation.

- I hope the sight of the renovated building does not offend you. But we can rarely afford this kind of expense.

- I was already used to the sight of renovations and construction.

A look of curiosity was painted on Alexander's face, but he said nothing. Both the man and the rakshasa looked at each other, trying to guess who should enter first. The mayor again showed with a hand gesture that the representative of the Ashen March could enter first. Once inside, he noticed the beautifully decorated house. Many flowers made their presence felt, the olive-coloured walls with visible ornaments in the form of dark boards.

- The person you are looking for has a room upstairs. You just have to go up the stairs and into the left-hand corridor, the penultimate door on the right.

Alexander sat down after these words with a heavy sigh. Old age was taking its toll on him and he was no longer as fit as he had been in his youth. Yarhan only smiled seeing the old man.

- Can you tell me, mayor, how this dragonfly got here?

- It's a strange story and it took place two years ago.... - he leaned back comfortably and began to spin the tale.

The alderman spent the rest of the evening sitting at the wooden oval table and reading through one of the books from his own collection. It was mercilessly cold, the lantern-keeper lazily lighting the torches standing inside the village. He was dressed in a thick fur coat and waterproof boots. The moon was shining brightly and snow was falling thickly from the sky. Everything seemed to be in order, or at least Alexander thought so, until a very bright light flashed in the centre of the village, blinding the torchbearer as well as arousing the curiosity of those who were still awake.

"*What the..*." - he thought, putting the book down. He got up from his seat and walked savagely to the window. The light had weakened considerably and there were two figures where it had occurred. One mage with canaries accompanying him and an unconscious draconian with his robes torn. A group of night-marks began to leave their homes, alarmed by the strange phenomenon. Alexander joined them a long moment later.

The mage looked around the village curiously, but quickly focused on the village chief. He ignored the unconscious dracon on the ground and with a pleasant voice began a conversation.

- I assume that you are in charge of this village?

- Of course, I may know what brings you and ... - Alexander looked behind him, at another stranger arriving. - A friend, I assume.

- You could say that. My friend needs shelter, and the village was the closest.

- Shelter from what, if I may know? - he glanced around questioningly.

- Let's consider that the dracon has some scuffles related to his past.

- Is he a criminal?

- No, it's more of a family matter. But maybe he'll admit it himself when he wakes up.

- Family disputes do not interest me by nature... but for the sake of the village, I need to know what's at stake.

- I won't conceal the possible arrival of an angry deity.

Alexander froze.

The wizard quickly reassured him.

- My friend no longer "smells" of the divine essence, so it will be much more difficult to track him down, but in case he does, I will tell you that if a Rakshasa ever comes to the village, you can rather trust him.

- Rakshasa? They are demons, after all.

- True, this one is specific though. You will understand quite simply when you meet him one day.

The village chief nodded slightly embarrassed. The mere presence of the mage had already made him slightly apprehensive, but now the fear intensified when he learned that some Rakshasa were involved in the whole situation. He decided that in his old age the world was about to play a trick on him. He sighed and lit his pipe at a leisurely pace to relax.

- And what is the name of the dragon I am to take over? - He asked, letting the smoke out of his lungs.

- Vekhor. He is a rather close friend of my friend.

- Am I to understand, then, that this is some sort of repayment of a debt?

- No. We simply have a "common" interest if I may call it that. - said the mage, smiling.

Alexander let out another puff of smoke from his lungs and sank into silence. The sound of the clock filled the room, occasionally interrupted by the slurping noise of the wind.

- Well. I'll find him something to do and maybe try to find out more from him myself.

- I am delighted with your decision. I hope to reward you one day.

The mayor here waved his hand.

- I am not interested in the prize. I simply prefer to know where I stand on the ground by accepting it into the settlement.

- A sensible approach. Rarely does anyone approach life this way. - Here the mage began to get up lazily from his chair.

- Are you leaving already? - he asked surprised. - I can offer you accommodation.

- I will thank you, but time is pressing me. I want to inform my friend about the Vekhor situation and see what happens next. - replied the mage. He tapped his wooden staff against the ground, then disappeared before the village chief's eyes.

- Old age was supposed to be peaceful, but in the meantime I get involved in some intrigues. I am too old for such games. - he said to himself, in a wry tone.

Yarhan listened attentively, but the story itself was unlikely to elicit more than a slight smile.

"*Bahamut intervening on a former champion? Who would have thought the platinum dragon had plans for him.*" - he thought.

- So that's the situation. You would have to talk to Vekhor personally. Something has been bothering him a lot lately, but he didn't want to say what.

- I'll do my best. In the meantime, I'll leave you alone if you don't mind.

- Do what you have to do. - The mayor waved his hand.

Yarhan bowed and then with a brisk step headed for the aforementioned room. As he walked, he noticed a certain mirror, which he was already about to ignore, but stopped in front of it. He stretched out his right hand, or rather something to resemble it, in front of him. The nerve-linked metal prosthesis looked normal enough, but there were times when the artificial limb failed. He could tell by the difficulty in squeezing his hand into a fist. He also did not fail to look at his face.

The mostly grey fur, with some light blue patterns, matched the dark hood placed over his head and the sea-coloured eyes. It was the furthest thing from the look he had inherited from his father, after all, the only thing he possessed from him were blue patterns and a penchant for smoking. He gently parried a laugh and moved on towards the room.

The room that Vekhor occupied was simple and furnished with the most basic things. A bed, a bookcase, a shelf with a flower in a pot and a table for eating, and the whole thing was completed with light paint on the walls. The dragonborn was dressed in his common clothes, with his old monk's robes lying in disarray on a chair. Ripped and stained.

He, on the other hand, stood with his hand leaning against the glass. He did not react when the door of his room opened all the way. He merely stared at the deserted square.

- You are from Malafar, aren't you? You came to finish what he didn't do.

- No. Fortunately for you, rather, I am not from your brother.

Vekhor raised his gaze, looking into the glass at his interlocutor. Yarhan noticed this and removed his hood from his head, revealing his appearance. Drakon smiled slightly guessing from whom the rakshasa stranger might be coming.

- You resemble Ralakosh.

- Not as strongly as my other brother. I followed my mother's appearance more, not counting those blue patterns.

Vekhor took his hand off the glass and turned. Yarhan was struck by the visible scars on Vekhor's body. He felt looser and exposed the prosthetic of his entire arm. This sight surprised the dracon.

- Your hand...

- I was born without it. All because of Tharizdun.

- I don't know who you're talking about...

Yarhan scratched himself gently nervously. It had slipped his mind.

- I had forgotten that the memories of the mad deity's victims are badly distorted. When we reach the Ashen March I will give you what Ralakosh left to me, my brothers and you, Vekhor.

- What could my son leave to a victim of fate like me?

Yarhan sighed, then approached his kinsman.

- My father left the city behind. He died in pride and in despair. He wished very much to live to see the completion of the Ashen March, but that duty fell to us, his sons.

Vekhor lowered his gaze.

- And what do you expect from me? Because I don't think I'm going to take over the city of Ralakosha.

- Well, that's what we've been looking for you to do for the last two years all over Faerun.

- I am... I was just a monk. I'm not fit to be a leader.

- You were also a hero of Myrdoria, a deity and a champion of Bahamut. Do none of the statuses achieved mean anything to you anymore?

- They are just empty titles. Yes, I was a Platinum Dragon Champion, however, I have not been one for a long time.

- Do you miss it?

- The only thing I miss is the woman of my life. After my fall, I am no longer drawn to power and saving the world.

- Ralakosh had similar feelings, but compared to you, he did not have such a strong will. During the war with Tharizdun, he gave up and simply dragged himself to the end of the conflict. After that, he holed up within the walls of his city, which he never left again until his death. I was present at his last breaths.

Vekhor clenched a trembling hand, trying to stop himself from letting out tears. Yarhan stared at his grandfather.

- I am sorry.

- For what?

- I see that the wound on your heart has not yet healed.

- It does not matter. As for your request, I will think about it.

Yarhan breathed a sigh of relief. He had come a long way and would have been very inconsolable if he had refused. However, Vekhor's answer gave him a glimmer of hope in the future fate of the Ashen March. What both of them did not know, however, was that a certain woman, the owner of this house, was eavesdropping on them behind the door frame. She joined her hands together and pressed them together at the level of her heart. She seemed to be comforted.