The Isle
Grey water pushes eagerly at the sides of the skiff as you row it close to the high black rocks of Chancellor's Isle. The setting sun has painted the sky with the colors of fire, and the air is still and cold with approaching autumn. Before you, about every twenty yards, a tall rusted black iron pole juts up from the rock like a broken tooth, dangling a chain which high tide has rusted almost as solid as its post.
The sand gives gently beneath your boots, and with the soles worn out from travel, each tiny rock seems as discernable as the smooth wood of the boat under your guiding hand. Almost the moment your feet touch the ground of the isle, you hear a hissing caw, and turning quickly, your body alert to danger in this ill-famed place, you hear the wind move under the flapping of great wings before the guardian comes into view.
She is not large for a dragon, a juvenile black, who lands insouciantly before you and cocks her head (roughly the size of a wine barrel). Yawning, she displays teeth the size of daggers, white and well-kept. Turning a firey black eye on you with the cool wariness of a wild horse, she speaks. Her tongue is forced to some acrobatics to manage the tongue of men, her jaw being shaped as it is, yet she manages well, with a mild accent and a voice as steely as a drawn blade.
"Hail, traveler. I am Beorntharn the Black, Watcher of Chancellor's Isle. The Keep may be found perhaps two miles west, and it is the only center of civilization on this island. That Keep is ruled by Chancellor the Red, the Freer and King of Dragons. Go that way only if you intend no evil to him- for those who bring evil to that place often find more then they bargained for." Her eyes glint red as she tilts her head to the other side, consideringly. "Then again," she murmurs unpleasantly, "I haven't eaten a prisoner in ages."
Certain that you will wish to be at the castle before true night deepens, having heard tales of the beings that roam free upon this isle, beings dangerous to travelers, you hoist your pack and hurry along, trusting Beorntharn to watch your boat, as is her duty.
The night is very cold this early autumn, and the warm thickness of your cloak is welcome. The salt of the Sea of Maiden's Tears blows coldly through the deep brush toward the forest you now move to, toward the dark plateau where Chancellor's Keep overlooks the island with cool dominance. A wind is beginning, now...