He was in the city. His city. Everywhere he looked, there were tiny black dragons dancing and laughing at him. Their faces had been replaced by twisted renditions of his family and former crew. Their taunting voices grew to a discorded crescendo until Jespir was sure his sensitive ears would bleed. They nipped and bit and clawed at his skin and clothing. The horde of tiny dragons crawled into Jespir, pulling him down to his knees. Dragon after dragon piled onto him until darkness filled his sight.

Then Jespir woke.

The elf's eyes snapped open. Fear lingered in his chest, but it slowly ebbed away as Jespir took in his surroundings. They were unfamiliar, that much he knew. Where was he? He propped himself up on his elbows, the fear replaced by confusion, then amusement. Ah, right. The whole deal he made regarding the Spine and the dragon and a whole slew of companions. He chuckled softly to himself and slipped out of bed.

He had slept in his clothing that night, save for his armor and coat, so it took little time for him to prepare and bound down the stairs. Jespir waved as he caught sight of some people already up. "G'morning," he greeted. The smell of food drifted over, lighting up the elf's face. "Mind if I helped cook? I haven't burned down a kitchen for five months now, so I'd like to regard myself as a good chef."