“Many wonder her origin, her heritage, and her status, but none even learn her name, let alone her face. But folks, she is indeed here tonight!” he waves his hand off stage and a girl comes out, filthy and horrified. Her hands were bound with simple rope, and yet she fought with her bindings. “Where is your dragon, girl?” the preacher questions, and the girl replies with ignorance. She didnt know where the dragon was, and how would she? She’s not the girl with the dragon they speak of, she’s just a poor excuse of the adventurer.
She looked to the crowd, begging for assistance, yet none of these men aided. Fools. This is why the twentieth century is much better. While wars broke, wars existed from the dawn of time. Not only that, but humans started helping their own.
The shing of a sword being drawn rang throughout the tavern, silencing the girl’s pleas and the cheers of the men. Only the wind from the snowstorm pounding on the tavern could be heard, then footsteps. Next? The sound of the ropes being cut from around the girl’s wrists and the sound of the preacher hitting the floor with a thud, choking on his own blood… then silence. (edited)
