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The Fall of Wiglaf Lumensniftypins# The Fall of Wiglaf Lumens
*One should not seek adventure when misfortune is at the door. — Sannis Proverb*
Dragon hunting is not an endeavor for those in polite society, but Wiglaf Lumens never adhered to the rules.
Born to a wealthy family of Mum Nis who made their fortune exporting ignium, from a young age Wiglaf grew tired of the dinners and galas and the empty conversations of the elite that were the hallmark of such events.
“Someday you will be the man of this house,” his father told him, often. “You’ll come to understand the importance of these conversations, how they help our family keep our station.”
But Wiglaf wanted none of it. His mother, Estrid, would be forced to take him by the ear to the palace entryways, warning him to mind himself inside, or else. But as soon as she was preoccupied in conversation, Wiglaf would slip out into the night.
Outside, in the crisp air drenched in sea salt, Wiglaf felt free; he cast aside his formal clothes and transformed. There, he was unencumbered from haughty society and able to use his imagination, adventuring to far off places where he would engage in sword fights, search for treasure and, best of all, battle dragons.
Inevitably, Estrid would notice that Wiglaf had once again snuck out the back door, right under her nose. She’d excuse herself from a conversation about shipping tariffs or piracy through the Tides of Tears—particularly near the port city of Schlel—to go look for her son.
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When Wiglaf was 14, he and his family were among the gentry gathered at the mayor’s residence in celebration of the Feast of Tas Tis. On that moonlit night the boy soon escaped the festivities, stealing outside to climb the gnarled trees that dotted the mayor’s lawn. Hoisting himself up a branch and sitting in the nook of a great oak, Wiglaf began daydreaming of dragon-hunting adventures in the countryside; he was soon swept up in an adventure of his own making.
He imagined himself journeying deep inside the desert plains of the Order, decked out in the finest studded armor, a falchion at his side, searching for a beast that had taken up roost in the hallowed Divine Den. The dragon had prevented many pilgrims from completing their journey to the crypt to honor their ancestors. Wiglaf knew that he alone could destroy the creature.
During the ride, Wiglaf felt the sand striking his face, his mouth went dry from the heat. “That’s odd,” he thought, puzzled at being puzzled within his own dream, “I’ve never felt this hot in Mum Nis before.” But he was too enraptured in the fantasy to give it a second thought; the real world and the Feast of Tas Tis faded from his mind like the desert sun bleaching out the finest of hues from cloth.
His body perched in the tree, Wiglaf rode on in his mind, nothing but dunes in sight. He was completely lost, unsure if he was even on the right path. The sand became denser, stinging him on his face as if he’d fallen into a patch of nettle; the sun shone hotter, like a focused ray of light burning the center of his chest. But Wiglaf refused to give up, he charged on towards the crypt—even as his steed floundered, its knees buckling.
“Very well, I shall go on foot the rest of the way,” the confident boy thought.
As he trudged through the dunes, an immense sandstorm swirled in front of him. The cerulean sky was scrubbed out. The small amount of light that found a path through the granules cast an eerie, earthy hue that was foreign to the boy so used to the deep blue waters and skies of his port city.
Then, the chaotic sand somehow became more ordered; it stopped swirling and started to stick together in the sky. Wiglaf could make out the formation of claws and a tail, then wings and a snout. “So, this is the beast that has plagued the crypt,” he realized, with some fair amount of trepidation.
The boy felt an intense pain on his chest and a shudder of fear as he looked down to find that he was once again a weaponless boy in party clothes instead of armor. Wiglaf was paralyzed with fear, unable to make his feet move to run away. With a menacing grin, the dragon approached him and, instead of breathing fire, shot a focused blast of sand at his heart that caused Wiglaf to scream in agony and black out.
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When the boy came to, he found that he was no longer comfortably sitting in the tree’s nook but splayed out below on the ground. Every fiber of his body ached, his face smarting with stings. There was nothing imaginary about the blood running down his cheek—somehow, the battle he’d waged in his mind... Around Wiglaf’s neck was a pendant he’d never seen that burned hot on his torso, but froze his hands with an intense cold that stopped his muscles from grasping it.
Utterly disoriented, the boy tried standing but stumbled, unable to catch his balance. As he fell back down he saw her, his mother Estrid dead on the ground, holding a blade of Ignium and bleeding from her chest. Next to her was a dark mage, face down with blood on his back. The wand that the mage had used to enchant Wiglaf and deal the mortal blow to Estrid lay next to the evil sorcerer.
Overcome with grief, Wiglaf clutched his mother, tears streaming from his face. The pendant burned with gloom, biting away all the joy that he had ever felt, as his mother took her final breath.
Young Wiglaf Lumens, the would-be dragon slayer of Enlightenment, was lost in the void of darkness. He grabbed the ghostly wand and ran.
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# Featured Lootverse Items
Genesis Adventurer #447: Wiglaf Lumens an Adventurer of Enlightenment.
Realms (for Adventurers) #7330: Sannis of the Order of Power. Mum Nis is a port city of this realm, Tas Tis is a region denoted on the map that the festival was named after and ignium is an export of this realm.
Realms (for Adventurers) #26: lel Kúbklor of the Order of Power. Schlel is a port city of this realm and featured in the story of Hrothfeond Evermorn.
Crypts and Caverns # 3174: Divine Den of Enlightenment. This is the crypt that the dragon is guarding.