The Last Stand

Sai Riverwind stood silently and thoughtfully while reminiscing at the pairs of paintings hanging in the central hall, called the Blue hall because of the colors used in the fabrics, frames, and flora of this- his favorite area of the Manor. In the center of the hall stood a marble fountain statue of a Zalantar tree placed artfully in the middle. In these paintings were the elder twins of Riverwind generations past, he was Camaron the IV.

                         

For some time Caramon wanted to move the Riverwind family to Neverwinter and leave the administration of Tundertree to the Union; but there were those reclusive members who always balked at the idea, but the events of the past year has given Caramon' argument new merit and after the visit from the four Samular Heirs- Caramon was certain that this time next year he and his family would be living in Neverwinter.

“Sai Caramon!” Came an excited voice, it was Peregrine quickly making his way down the Blue hall toward the fountain where Caramon stood. What could be so important at this late hour? 

“Strange sounds from the east, its sounds like insects.” The ranger said stopping at once before the family elder, his eyes alert and focused.

“You herd this yourself?” Caramon asked.

“Yes it was sounded as if…”

His description trailed off as movement around them caught their attention. Between each pair of paintings sat stone pots that looked like women holding up their contents: medium sized trees with thick, wide blue leaves. The trees, they could see, were growing at an alarming rate.

Behind them the fountain spat and stopped while a foul reek wafted from the stagnant water, where only moments ago the water was clear, flowing, and sweet. Caramon at once produced a kerchief and raised it to his face and when he did he at once saw the terror in Peregrine’s eyes.

Without warning Peregrine sprinted the rest of the way down the hall away from Caramon in an insane dash. Caramon called out, but if he was answered it was cut off by the calamitous din of others back the way Peregrine came from.

Moments later Caramon stood in the main door way that overlooked the Manor’s meticulously groomed yards, the river, as well as Thundertree. Several men assembled next to him as he quietly surveyed the formerly quite evening before him. Some people he could see were sick and retching while others waved at the air in a vain attempt to swat away the insects that were growing thicker with each passing moment. And to his dismay the plant growth was everywhere, which only confirmed his suspicion.

“Halden, Borak, Elianna,” Caramon began. “We are under siege. Gather your resources and any able bodied axe-wielder, blacksmith, or bowman and bring them to the Manor to make a last stand.”

“From what?”

“Dragons.”