Angels weep where dragons slumber - @fearsgod
It was another quiet day in the countryside. The village of Honeywood was full of children's laughter, happy smiles and the smell of baked goods. Snowdown was here, and the mood was festive for all the residents.
In the tavern of the village, a dragonblooded man prepared drinks, his tail following swaying him as he chatted with the familiar patrons. His horns were the color of amber and gold, like stone that builds into an edge. He stood tall, at six feet and five, with a build that spoke of training and combat, rather than a chef.
The assumption wouldn't be false either. The countryside was safe because of him after all. Monsters and vile creatures walked the night in recent years, urban legends becoming more and more common and more and more real. That said, few monsters can match the ferocity of the king of beasts, a dragon.
Well, Ferenir was only a human with the blood of one, but it was good enough for the troubles of the place.
As he came out of the kitchen with a large plate of food, talking with his mother, the owner, about an order getting mixed up, the door opened and a woman walked in. A woman he had not seen before, and considering Honeywood was rather small, it only meant she came from afar.
To his experience, no one came here unless it was for trouble or trade, and she did not look like a merchant. The tall man gave the plate to his mother, who went off, and instead leaned on the counter with a smile.
"Good morning, Miss. How can I serve you?"