CHAPTER 1 -

INTRODUCING: WYRM, DEFEATER OF THIEVES

Our story begins just north of The Quantum Shadow, in the mists of the bramble forest scape of The Thorn. Located just close enough to smell the tainted earth that radiated outside of the black viscous liquid of the shadow. Many locals in the neighboring forests have begun succumbing to the madness that the darkness permeated, and actions of miscreants was on the rise. The shadow has been weaking the supports of societal standard in the area for awhile now so the land itself has been mostly impermissible by typical adventurers.

The protagonist hero sits at a table not far away from the main commotion in the pub. Eyes locked in a different direction, with no discernible reaction to any of his surroundings. Focused and ready to pounce, non-indicative of his actions. A primordial instinct of the Komodi people stemming from the hunting methodologies of their non-humanoid reptile ancestors. The Komodi, though most frequently a more secluded and tribal race compared to others of new earth, have quite a variety in the professions and origins of their people. The majority exist solely within the perimeter of their tribes' ancestral lands, but some are traders owning the distribution of difficult-to-obtain resources native to the homeland they are much more capable of navigating and are quite mobile with their travels. A few arrived to the world as Komodi through a variety of techno-magical means and find themselves as outcasts for not having been raised in the typical culture, though still inheriting the biological advantages (and constraints) of their kin. Truth be told, most folks can not discern the intention of the members of this race, which in addition to their large figure and features, makes them unapproachable.

A few ruffians sat at a table a few bodies-length away from Wyrm. Celebrating their most recent heist and distributing the spoils of their efforts, making no effort to be cheap with the ale and food.

Noticing the Komodi, one of the thugs begins to drunkenly speak aloud:

"Oi, look at the long face in the back of the bar, all keepin' to 'imself like. Ugly brute, init-he?" he said, snickering with his party.

"Not only is they ugly, can't tell which ones is friendly and which of 'em isn't. One of em', a terrorist mercenary, goes by the name of 'Wyrm'," he paused, finishing off the remainder of his mug of ale.

"Grub is more like it!" he cheered.

"Takin' out the poor tradin' folks like us, whenever we get a good job. Takin' the goods off o' our desecrated corpses, like a maggot."

Now aggravated, he continued, "Lizards ain't mercenaries, probably don't even know his own name. Just knows to rip and tear for sustenance, payin' no mind to morality of it all. I'd like to get a minute or two with the beast, show it how dumb it really is."

The thug peered around the bar again becoming aware of his surroundings. He noticed the lizard man was no longer in his line-of-sight. He looked to his companions, fear-stricken and mouths in awe, one attempted to get up and leave only to be met with a sword hurled through his back and chest, immediately dropping to the floor. The thug turned around and was met with a large, scaled snout and deep red eyes.

Wyrm smiled, showing his grisly teeth and breathing his warm-blooded air into the face of the thug.

'Heresss I am. Howsss dumb am I?'

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