Farvus the Dragynslayer
Farvus adjusted his gauntlet as the boulder he was leaning against slowly melted. The Dragynfire curled around the edges, sucking all his oxygen away. The heat was a tremendous wall of boiling air, melting everything in its path.
Oh, why did I have to become a Dragynslayer? he thought, biting his lower lip. Oh yes, because father wanted me to. No, he forced me to be one. I’m only seventeen summers old!
The fire stopped for a minute while the Dragyn lumbered around the rock, joints creaking while it searched for its prey. “The hunter has become the hunted,” it rasped gleefully.
Farvus mustered up all his courage and leaped out from the boulder, barely missing the gout of flame directed at him. He shouldered his crossbow and let loose the arrow, a sturdy chunk of wood thick enough to pierce even an IronDragyn’s hide. Unfortunately, this was a SteelDragyn, built by the alchemysts of the northern reaches.
The arrow simply bounced off.
Farvus cursed.