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Seventeen years spent in training, from the time he was a boy. Four years in faithful service to his Order. Countless hours of lessons in piety, in just thought and righteous action, in finding evil and cutting it down where it grows foulest and darkest. Three years questing, searching for his personal path to glory. Finally his chance had come—to free a kingdom held captive by terror under the claws of a scaled monstrosity.
"PUT! ME! DOOOOWWWWWWNN!"
—there was this.
Elias sighed. He had always been taught that Pelor rewarded those who followed the paths he gave them, but as he had his party ran through the city streets, the scaled girl kicking and screaming under his arm, he doubted for the first time—if not His wisdom, then at least His methods.
"I think we lost them, for now," said Randolf, slowing down as they reached a small square at the end of the alleyway, which was devoid of life at this time of night.
"We did," answered Alaric, the wizard's raven familiar settling back onto his shoulder. "But they are still looking for us. We must keep moving."
"Agreed," said Elias.
"I have legs, you know. I can walk by myself." Salagail, Elder Green Wyrm, the Scourge of the West, glared at Elias from where she was being held over his shoulder.
"Suit yourself." Elias set her down as gently as he could. After dusting herself off, she stood before him, glaring at his face—not an easy feat, seeing as her forehead barely reached the level of his chin. So she settled with kicking him in the shin.