Deep in a mountain cave came flickering lights of a fire. Numerous fetishes and idols hung around the mouth, almost as if to provide a warning to what was within. The bleached bones of those who didn't head the warnings littered the open cavern, arranged to provide as much fear as possible. Deeper within, deeper in the shadows stood a thin man who appeared to be in his late twenties dancing around a fire, dropping random substances, changing the fire diffrent colors, from red to green, blue to purple, and every color in between.<br/><br/>"Oh spirits of the flame, light my path." A drop of powder and the fire turned to a reddish brown. "Spirits of the earth, grant me the strength to walk that path." A drop of liquid, and the fire turned green. "Spirits of the wind, speed my travels." A breath of air turns the fire deep blue. "Spirits of the water, sweep my foes from the path." The figure leaned down, taking a deep breath in the fire. the flames swirled around him, entering his body as he inhaled. "Thank you oh great spirits, you assistance is necessary for the path ahead." Grabbing his staff and axe, the figure left the cave.<br/><br/>Narrowing his eyes to the sunlight, he took scale of the landscape. He had lived in that cave for years now, peacefully, until the summons. The Dragoons had called all the hybrid species to their valley, and you didn't ignore the Dragoons. Shaking his head clear of the locks of long, brown hair, Franklin started to move. He gathered up the idols around the cave's mouth, no since angering the spirits he served. Gathering the wind around his feet, he began his long journey to the Dragoon's valley, the wind around his feat taking some of the pressure off his body.<br/><br/>He heard villagers coming his way. More fools attempting to slaughter the "beast" that haunted their town no doubt. They would find him gone, no tracks to follow, the spirits would assure to that. Nature had a way of protecting it's own, and Franklin was far more in tune with it than these simple mortals. 200 years he had trained to communicate with nature, to use it to protect his kind. "Spirits, let this trip not be a mistake. I pray for your guidance in this matter." As the last of his shamanistic tribe, Franklin was obligated to go to the valley.