<a class="link link--external" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/72/e1/5f/72e15ff1de9149f9f22832c4b7561382.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Voran of the Saragos Tribe</a>stifled yet another yawn with his fist before his mouth as he trod through the hollowed grounds of the festivity. These things started too early in the morning and yet lasted well into the night, the mirth and feasting leaving one little time for rest or slumber, especially with the coupling and mingling of sexes that generally followed. Voran was no stranger to the proclivities of such a ceremony, though such merriment seemed to deeply belie the reason why any of them were there. Indeed, it was the reason he was there, and the sole issue why he wasn’t fully partaking in the so-called<i>cultural exchanges</i>like he usually did. They were there to kill a dragon.<br/><br/>In all his travels he had fought and slain many beasts and creatures, now one of his sole motivators in life to find a challenging query that he had not yet faced. What more than a dragon? The pelt of the mountain lion that had been his greatest kill thus far was wrapped about his waist, a stark color of orange with stripes of black and brown across its flanks, in deeper contrast to the usual hues of green vegetation, the brown earth and mud, the grey metals and sharp edges.<i>He had to be selected on that chosen band of slayers.</i>This was what he felt his whole life was leading up to. Even without the lack of any present danger at moment, his grip was knuckle white on his spear shaft, using it as a walking stick at present, already swept up with determination and focus. Would it be enough?<br/><br/>He passed between the circles of tribesmen and guests of many races aimlessly. The circles of those cooking and singing were pleasant and the circles of those drinking and laughing were inviting, but he never stayed overlong at any. He simply could not with the thudding excitement and trepidation. But when a loud, booming voice called his name, he seemed to snap from this dreamy reprieve as if he had just walked into a tree.<br/><br/>“It is you.” He commented with a chuckle when the owner of the voice introduced themselves. Tur’nook, a presence he had not seen or heard since the splintering of his old tribal confederation. A man who taught him much. He tried not to think of Tur’nook’s leg though.<i>The fate of every warrior. If one didn’t die in battle, they fell to such attrition of limb and body instead.</i>He shrugged to the comment of having grown. “In body perhaps, not so much in mind.” He joked at his own expense, clapping the warrior on his shoulder even as the same was done to him. “And which old man of the woods is that? There are so many these days. They even call me that in some parts. I might even referred to you as that occasionally in my mind.” Voran grinned. “Up indeed, though unfortunately not high enough to meet the dragon in the air. If only we could make it fair for the poor beast.” He laughed nervously.<br/><br/>“And you? Will you be joining up as well? A man with your wisdom and experience would be worth ten spears on a field of battle, against any foe.” Voran inquired back of the man. Not everyone needed to fight. That was the problem with some chiefs. They tried to make warriors out of everyone. Sometimes a tribe needed a healer, or a scout, or a loremaster, to truly rise up the ranks in the wild world.<br/><br/>Standing aside to Tur’nook, Voran took a sweeping glance around the forested grounds. “In any case, what do you reckon of all this? Elves, dwarves, orks, men, some others I’ve never seen or heard about. The dragon must be a formidable foe indeed to bring so many under one leafy ceiling.” Voran said more seriously, as clearly this wasn’t just a single tribe’s problem, but seemingly all peoples were gathered here. Deep down, for all his bravado, he knew this dragon was a serious and dangerous threat, one that could lay waste to entire nations if the fearmongers were to be believed.<br/><br/>“I’ve not seen many others that I’ve known in my youth, however.” He sighed with a tinge of nostalgia. No, the tribal warriors of his age and generation were either dead in the ground, or staying far away because of their blood feuds.