[color=9e0b0f][h3][u]Alastair Kenelm – Sintra[/u][/h3][/color]
A warm glow radiated from the lantern that was perched upon the large oak desk, giving the small room a comfortable feeling. The window shutters were left open too, allowing in a little starlight and a pleasant cool breeze. Alastair stood for a moment and peered over the edge of the windowsill to see the small gathering in the town’s centre. Some may have complained it was too late for singing, but Alastair found the gentle tune pleasant. Lowering himself back onto the rickety chair, he turned his attention back to the parchment laid ahead. He had paid an extortionate price for a map of the local area, but he needed one for his scrying. [i]“There has to be something here.”[/i] he sighed as he rubbed the palm of his hand against his tired eyes. Eight days he had been in Sintra and yet he saw no signs of Conn or anything else that suggested that a dark force was at play – but then why was he brought here? The only mild lead he had was the arrival of an inquisitor who, in his garments, stood out like a saw thumb. He was easy enough to watch as he was staying in the same inn only a few doors down, but it seemed like [i]‘Omero’[/i] was simply vacationing in the small town (or otherwise avoiding his duties). 

Alastair shook his head to clear away his trail of thought and again turned his focus back to the map. Grabbing a needle from his bag, Alastair proceeded to prick his finger and let a few drops of blood fall on the map while whispering a simple chant “Ostendite mihi quid videritis, Indica mihi ubi erit”. The drops quickly began to resonate and starting running off to a single location, off to the most southern point of the map, indicating to him that the destination was out of the maps boundaries. Frustrated his thumped his fast down hard on the table and resisted the urge to roar out profanities. But then, something happened which had never happened before: the blood started moving again. It began moving north with an eastern curve and it seemed to not know where it wanted to go. He stood up from the chair and leant over the table, watching the blood as closely as he could. It seemed to move in fairly circular motions, and slowly but surely seemed to be winding its way through the hills towards Sintra. “What on Earth?” he muttered. Then, just as the blood reached Sintra it boiled and spluttered, and suddenly the air outside was filled with screams and a sound he had never heard before – a dragons roar. 

Shooting up towards the window he managed to see the first wave of the dragon’s fire, sweeping down over a selection of houses and engulfing them in blindingly bright flames. Between the flames and the dark of night it was hard to actually see the beast, and Alastair’s pulse was pounding like a drum as he tried to figure out where it was. He thought of using his Raven’s Eye, but instead opted to doing what everyone else seemed to doing and simply ran. He did not waste time running through the inn, and instead dropped himself out of the window onto the cobblestone road below. He felt a sharp pain in his ankle as legs took his weight, but after a few steps could tell that he hadn’t injured himself. 

Rather than run out of the town, he opted to follow a crowd into the nearby castle where, like cattle, they were herded into a dark room and left throughout the night. It was one of the worst days of his life, not because he was scared but because he felt useless. Those were the worst days for him, the days when he wasn’t enough, the days where he would fail to protect others. The smell of urine and faeces became more potent as the hours went on, and the floor became a grotesque pool of filth. He worried that those with injuries or burns would get infected, and he wished that he could offer his healing. He couldn’t though. If he did he would be either beaten to death there and then in the cramped dark room, or hanged when the chaos was over. No doubt given the circumstances a heretic and ‘witch’ like himself could easily be blamed for the attack.

[hr]

The next day when the doors creaked open and the crowd was released back into the ruins, many began to sob uncontrollably at the state of their homes and the charred remains of their friends and family. As Alastair left the doors he felt himself blinded by the light and was forced to use his hand to cover his eyes. Therefore the first thing he noticed was that the smell outside was even worse than the smell inside. A sickly mix of ash and burning flesh filled his nose and he felt his stomach twist in response. When his eyes finally adjusted he looked back into the hall and could see that there were many who were not coming out, be because they were scared or because they had passed away in the night. “Be at peace” he said softly, causing a couple of nearby men to nod gently in agreement. 

“Your Count begs your attention, for the sake of Portugal. Be you young or old, male or female, the Count, with the authority of the papacy and Lisbon behind him, urge that you meet in the palace courtyard for the opportunity of a lifetime and a chance to travel around the world. All who decide to undergo the task are promised a handsome reward, should you be chosen to do so!” called out a nearby crier. Alastair winced at the lack of compassion and empathy that the ‘count’ and his messenger showed. These people had just lost everything, and now he was gathering them up for what Alastair assumed was a hunt. 

[hr]

Alastair was not a citizen of Sintra, nor even of Portugual, but like everyone else he had slowly marched his way towards the centre and heard what the town’s leaders had to say. He was dumbfounded by their awful attempt to deny that a dragon had attacked, but he understood that they probably had little choice. After all, something like that would obviously cause a lot of panic (not that there wasn’t already a lot of that). What the town’s people believed did not matter to him though, all he was focussed on was the dragon. Such a threat needed to be dealt with, and he doubted there would be many people around experienced with the occult or monsters. Moreover, he knew that a dragon could be of some use to practitioners of the dark arts. He knew that some claimed that they could bind mythical beasts like dragons, or use its body parts for incredibly powerful spells or potions. He knew himself a sacrificial ritual that, if performed on something as powerful as a dragon, would no doubt give him incredibly powers. And if he knew this, then so would Conn. 

By the end of that day he found himself aboard the [i]‘Burned Bitch’[/i], with a crew that he wasn’t sure of. The captain, a certain ‘Dread Captain Scar’, was supposedly a monster hunter according to the rumours that had already begin swirling around. If nothing else, the captain seemed competent enough at giving speeches. Alastair also noticed that the inquisitor had also joined the crew, although Alastair couldn’t see him being a problem; he hadn’t noticed him before after all. Other than that there were a few tough looking guys, some not so tough looking guys, and even some women and children. Many of the men seemed to be ogling the young ladies, but Alastair was not one of them. He could not help but think of his daughter Cass when he looked at them, and actually felt somewhat protective towards them. After all, Cass would be in her early-mid-twenties herself by now.