The Weirdest Church Ever
Terran was hopelessly lost. Not physically – he knew precisely where he was. His sense of direction was one skill that had not yet failed him in his long journey out of fire and death in the attack on the Draakki dens. Terran was lost in spirit. His people were dead or scattered, and his Kayda was nowhere to be found. She likely blamed him for his wretched human kin attacking that fateful night, though the thought of selling out his tribe turned his stomach. He had done no wrong, but the pain and guilt still twisted like a knife in his gut. Hopeless and friendless, he wandered through the empty streets of Kyne looking for a light in the darkness.
Turning one corner, then the next, Terran tried to lose himself in the hustle and bustle, but with the sun setting, most people were making their way home to a nice warm bed. But Terran, the outcast, had no home. No bed, no family. Nothing but whatever stable he managed to sneak into, hayloft or sheep-pen. Something pulled at him from the corner of his vision. There, down that narrow alley he saw two robed figures warmly greeting and welcoming people to a seat around a small fire between the walls. He shivered from the cold, shrugged, and headed toward it as well.
The fire was definitely warm, radiating an unnaturally intense heat for a flame hardly the size of a small shrubbery. It warmed his body, and eased his restless spirit for just a moment. The robed man turned down his hood, revealing an ornately crafted helm, open-faced but with a bronze figure of a dragon’s maw jutting out from the forehead. He began slowing chanting in a low, wordless murmur. As his incomprehensible jibberish rose slowly in intensity, so did the flames of the fire, climbing five, now eight, now twelve feet straight up in the air, warming Terran’s face like to a sunburn. He nearly turned away from the heat, but something in the priest’s voice kept his attention, though he knew not what. At the height of the chant, the second robed man suddenly threw off his garments and leapt into the flames – and was swallowed in a brilliant flash of green flame. The shockwave of the blaze stunned onlookers briefly, and in that moment a face of pure molten fire arose from the flames and merged with the nearby wall to form an identical image of the priest’s ornate helm. But this dragon did not sit idly by as a decoration – no, it hissed and loosed a cloud of purple mist over the group.
And suddenly, Terran found it to be a very excellent idea indeed to do whatever the man in the dragon hat told him to do.