The Death of Sturm, Oils, by Larry D. Elmore
"Touch this body and you will die," Laurana said softly.
"Your dragon will not be able to save you. This knight was
my friend and I will not let his killer defile his body."
Dragons of Winter Night, by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman
Night has fallen, you have been traveling all day when you come upon an inn set high in a Vallenwood tree. The smell of spiced potatoes and good ale waft through the air beckoning you in. You enter the warm, firelit inn and are startled to see a giant of a man behind the bar. He looks as though he has seen his fair share of battle but his friendly demeanor and thunderous laugh immediately make you feel at home. A pleasant, well-rounded barmaid comes to take your order; she has the curliest red hair that you have ever seen. "What can I get for you sir?" She asks as her smile lights up the room.
"I'll have some of those wonderful-smelling potatoes, and some ale." You reply.
She returns shortly with a heaping plate of food and a large mug of ale. As you start to eat you overhear a Bard telling a tale of war, magic, dragons and an unlikely group of heroes. "What's that tale you are telling?" you ask.
"What? Have you never heard of the Heroes of the Lance?" the bard asks incredulously.
"No." you reply, "I'm not from around these parts."
"Well then," the bard says, pleased to have a new audience "Let's start at the beginning..."
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