"Drums beating, swords on shields, these are often the signals for war. But sometimes, the signal is one felt, not heard."

'Dragons?!' Duvan slams his tankard down. 'Ye've gone insane, ye 'ave. Dragons don exist, Farrat. They be STORIES, hand'd down ta scare the wee lil' ones. Are ye a wee lil' one, Farrat?!'

'Nay, Duvan! Aye, me own ears heard the flappin' o' their wings and screechin' o' their cries!' Farrat spits out to his brother, his own tankard sloshing and threatening to spill across the scarred table.

Duvan snorts and harrumphs loudly. 'Pah, Farrat. Ye've been bewitch'd, ye have! Dragons. Pah! Nary a dragon has been seen 'cept in stories and myths of all-seeing Gorin an' his children.'

'Wi' teeth the, the, the SIZE o' me raiding sword, I bet ye! Tails long, an', an' scaled! T'aint no dream Duvan!' Farrat's face becomes more flushed as he continues to speak. The two argue for hours, drink flowing between them like a river, voices gaining in intensity and volume. A different voice, quiet and old, speaks from the corner of the longhall, 'So ye think ye know dragons, do ye?'

Though quiet, the two brothers heard its murmur as if it were next to them. The two turn their heads to the corner of the hall, red cheeked from ale and the heat between them. An old man wearing a long, hooded cloak sits in the back corner, rough hewn walking staff in his hands. The two brothers stare at the old man with open mouths, not realizing there was another here with them.

The old man adjusts himself, fingers drumming on his staff. A smile can be seen from under his hood as he coughs. 'Dragons, me dear boys, are terrifyin' creatures, that they are.' He walks over to the cheery fire and crouches in front of it. The two men watch as he shifts the ashes and the logs, then adds two more to stoke it to greater life. The flames greedily lick at their prey, charring the sides and throwing their embers into the chimney. The two men watch the embers as they twirl and dance, like sprites happy in life. They twirl and the two brothers squint at them. An image could almost be seen, deep in the flames.

'Tis said that a single dragon was the bane of longboats in the sea. E'en those massive sea serpents themselves, so fearless n' hungry, knew better than to surface while one was prowlin' the sky. For as large as they were, dragons twere larger, with teeth longer than yer arms, eyes nearly as keen as Baelir, n' wi' strength to rival the giants of Shaana. Aye, even Gorin himself avoided fighting them if unneeded. They had become so power'd, however, that he n' his siblings Sivi n' Kori locked the wretch'd creatures within the ice at the edge o' the world.' The embers sped up, twirling more rapidly and happily. With a wave of the old man's hand, they scattered and reformed, continuing their chaotic waltz.

'Ev'n now they say ye can hear the cries from on high, deep within the mountain passes. They prowl n' wait, impatient n' angry. For Garäll will be their release, to again hunt the lands with their scaly, evil kin.'

The two brothers listen as the old man finishes his tale, uttering not a peep. Duvan, being the older of the two, clears his throat and laughs with a fake bravado. 'Ye've been drinkin' too much o' that mead, old man! Tha's quite a tale indeed!'

Farrat looks toward his brother, white faced and uneasy, before draining his tankard in a single pull. With a gasp, he sets it down on the stained and scarred table.

From outside, the sound of thunder is felt more than heard, deep and vibrant. It resounds through the stones of the longhall and through their bones. They jump up from their seats, tottering slightly. This did not sound like their kin's war gear for it was too deep, too loud. During the call, another sound could be heard, far and away to the north of their hall and beyond the mountain passes near the tallest peak.  A screeching, like that of a blade on a sheet of metal.

Farrat turns to his brother with horror in his face. 'Duvan! I told ye! I TOLD ye!'

The two turn to the old man who stands. He raises his face to the two brothers, a terrible smile carved into it. His stark, fiery blue eyes glittering madly amidst olive skin, anticipation shining deep within.

'Me boys,' he speaks. 'Our time has come. To arms, for our battle has begun.'