"Ah!" Elagon yelled his head springing up from his pillow like a catapult. "Alas it was all a dream, but a strange one no less. I'm no fighter, the closet thing to a weapon I have is a walking stick. And those green things, they are the ugliest things I've ever seen. Quite an imagination I have." Elagon was a tall man in his twenties. He had black hair that almost reached to his shoulders. Elagon was a peaceful man whose biggest adventure was getting drunk at an inn. He was thin and quick- witted. He lived in a peaceful village by the name of Yalen. Yalen was a beautiful place with its rolling, grassy hills, and all of its fertile farms. Yalen wasn't a military village only having a small police force consisting of about twenty officers that carried around clubs (although some carried around an occasional dagger.) It was governed by a mayor and the only true conflicts the town had were something having to do with the inn in town. The only reason the town of Yalen was known to people was because of its inn, the Weary Feet Inn. Many travelers came to Yalen just to stay at the town's inn. Elagon pondered about his dream the whole time while making his bed. Then he went downstairs to have breakfast. Elagon lived in what you might call a "one and a half" story house. The upstairs was only five steps higher than the downstairs. It was small just four rooms and had ivy growing up the sides of the house. Elagon loved plants and had a huge garden with a myriad of flowers surrounding it. His kitchen was clean and organized and had a small wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. There were a plethora of wine racks on the ceiling of the kitchen filled with an assortment of wines. He got a knife and cut a piece of bread that his neighbor Mistress Welmal (his neighbor) baked yesterday. He buttered it and when outside to pump some water into his glass pitcher. It was a beautiful sunny, spring day. The birds were chirping serenely in the trees. After eating a small breakfast Elagon decided to go to the inn to get a drink and socialize a bit. He threw on a tunic and a cloak, got his walking stick and went out the door.
"Good day Mistress Welmal!" Elagon called out to his neighbor who was sweeping the porch. Mistress Welmal was a nice but cross old lady with curly gray hair. She was wearing a white dress and a bonnet.
"Hello Elagon Thanbrew," she called back, "how's the bread?"
"The best in the world," Elagon said sweetly, "I better get going now. Good bye."
"Bye now," she said. Elagon started towards the inn, his walking stick clanking against the ground noisily.
"I swear I saw it. It was about six feet tall and green skinned. It had huge pointy fangs," Bulloroy said in a whisper.
"Oh Bulloroy I think you've had enough drinks. You probably just thought you saw it," Elagon laughed.
"No, I really saw it, I'm not kidding," he groaned. Elagon was sitting at a table at the Weary Feet Inn with his friends, Farmer Crow and Bullory Badgebottle. It was about noon and they were having lunch at the inn and then they were going to the center of town to check out the markets. The innkeeper a fat, jolly man with short brown hair came with their dishes.
"One dish of pork extra salty, one garden salad, and one pork no salt. Oh and yes three flagons of mead," the innkeeper recited.
"Thank you, Bartan," Elagon said graciously. The three dug into there meals ravenously.
"Pure steel sword perfectly balanced. Made by the elves them selves," a merchant yelled. These words caught Elagon's attention. He looked up and to his amazement he saw the same sword that he held up in his dream.
"I've got to have it," Elagon exclaimed.