The Fickle Winds of Magic

"The Gargoyle's dead!"

As the people of Ginark gathered around the lifeless corpse of the gargoyle, a single figure made his way through the crowd. A muscular arm warded away the more stubborn people, a stern gaze caused them to back away. Of course any sane person would. Dressed in leather with steel armour over his shoulders and right arm. The steel was trimmed with gold, a design identical to the helmet that covered his head.

The helmet that was adorned with strange horns curving backwards covered his eyes, hiding a unique and inhuman colour of violet. Violet eyes that had had seen years of war, years of violence, years of death and despair. He made his way past another man dressed in a black tunic. A mage of some sort.

He knelt down on one knee and grabbed the creature's limp head. He inspected it for a few moments, trying to figure out how it had died. No arrowheads or needles either. That means it died without the use of weapons.

"That blade on the left side of his waist."

"The horn that holds his arrows."

"And that bow, truly elvish of design."

"It must be Desmond Violet, the half-elf from Ulthuan!"

Desmond rose at the sound of his name and the chorus of gasps that accompanied it. He turned to the mage who had said his name. "I see my reputation proceeds me." He stared back and forth at the villagers before biting his lip. "The creature died due to the winds of magic. A mage from here or beyond has killed this creature!"

The End

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