The Curse of DragonShrine
Pulling your overcoat tight around you neck gives you little comfort in the unforgiving weather. In these parts the weather can take a turn for the worse in an instant, and has done so on this very night. The horses try to keep a steady pace in the face of the howling wind, while you tuck your face low to lessen the sting of the bladed rain that pelts your rigid face. It's a long ride back home, and you realize you should have cut your trip to the lake short hours ago.
The lake was beautiful, as usual. Often times you pick a nicely shaded area under a tree near the shore to clear your mind. Writing comes natural, but every so often the words seem to be less fluent than usual. Going to the lake helps to clear your mind. It's always been your dream to get published, and you think you just might have something to shoot for this time.
Lifting your eyes to the road ahead you can barely make out the silhouettes of two men, who are nearly impossible to see through the dense rain. You’re not certain, but it looks like one has a pitchfork and they seem distraught. Thinking they might be in need of help, you quickly pull the reins, ringing your team to a full stop.
"Aye, what’s your trouble?" You ask, pulling your coat tight around the nape to keep the pelting rain from soaking you to the core.
"We’re looking for my daughter. She went off to the lake earlier and the storm came in and she hasn’t made it back. Her name is Jenny O'Brian, ‘ave you seen her?" The shorter of the two men asks with streams of icy rain melting down his aged and wrinkled skin, while tightly gripping a torch that is barely keeping it's flame in the damp weather.
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