MQ: Arms of Gold

[Call me J]

If it were snowing, Jame would have hit the ground much more softly. As it was, he hit it hard. He wasn’t sure how he had been spit out into Salvar, and when he’d first fallen to the ground, he had no idea where he was. Still, the temperature would have been inimitable anywhere else in Althanas. The half dragon would have shuddered, but fortunately, the enhancements he had received less than half an hour ago in Aglarlin were helping him against the cold as well. He looked up to the sky to check the time. It was nearing nightfall. In spite of the Aglarlin magic, he shivered.

There was absolutely nothing around him. There was just a cold expanse of deserted areas. A few trees, but the leaves had fallen off of them a long time ago. The sun in the sky hovered above, brightly but unhelpfully. This was one of the wastelands in Salvar where a person could easily never be found. Still, Jame was not afraid. “I’ve got to help Raiaera!” he resolved. “I was there, fighting through it all, and then this.” He looked around. If he wanted to help Raiaera, he would first need to find some place warm. Off in the distance, he could see a black dot. He preened forwards and began running towards it, the enhanced muscles in his legs sending him across the ground faster than he ever could imagine. Even with the cold wind chaffing at his face, he kept running until the small black dot turned into a convoy of traders. There were five wagons in all, and each one of them but the first seemed to be relatively well guarded. Under normal circumstances, Jame might have hesitated, but it was cold and he wanted to get back to Raiaera.

The driver of the first cart was a dwarf, a relatively old and wizened creature who seemed just as uncomfortable in the cold as Jame did. The half dragon, running off a combination of magical enhancements and adrenaline looked at the dwarf. “Let me in the caravan…” he offered.

The dwarf chucked. “Lad… this aint a charity mission ‘ere. Yer village destroyed, don’ wanna hear ‘bout it. Been happenin’ a lot lately.”

Jame scowled. He didn’t want any charity, he just wanted to save Raiaera from Xem’zund. With his frustration mounting, he debated jumping onto the wagon and pulling the arrogant dwarf off his seat. There would be resistance from the other wagons, but Jame didn’t care. If he could fight through the undead of Raiaera, he doubted he’d have a problem with a simple convoy.

However, a young boy popped his head out of the trailer, intervening, though it was not clear yet on whose behalf. “Oh but Blackstock, you must not be rude to a guest,” he began. He extended out a hand. “My name is Djakara Fraye, and please, come aboard.”

Jame didn’t like this, the boy was too well spoken to be anyone but the person in charge, and far too young to deserve an important charge. Still, he decided to reason with the kid, if for no other reason, than he didn’t have many other options at the moment. “I need to get to Raiaera,” he said. “Can I come in and warm up for a bit?”

The boy, Djakara seemed to bend over backwards for him. “Of course, of course,” the boy said. He pushed on the dwarf’s shoulder to get him to scoot over so that Jame would have an easier step up. “And I didn’t catch your name…”

“Jame… Jame Whitizard,” the half dragon offered. He looked at the boy carefully, just to make sure that there were no tell tale signs that he was dealing with a patriarch minion. Finding none, he entered the wagon.

Djakara smiled. “Good to meet you,” he said, as the caravan continued on its way.