Our Hero 'Neath The Willow

Fremur's injury still bothered him from time to time. His knuckles would swell when training. And the arthritis that seemed to flare up when he dwelled to long on his younger brothers death made him feel like an old man. But he he could still grip the longsword well enough. And the girls in town certainly didn't treat him the same way they treat the elderly in the village. Maybe that should be enough to keep him from feeling such a middling hero. Most of the Lords, Ladies, and businessmen in the area had already begun calling him "Fremur our Hero" you see. He has been tasked by The Castellan of Goulrich Citadel in the slaying of a dragon. The creature has been expanding it's hunting grounds and has on occasion been sighted too close to the castle and village. This was to be expected. Galruv has been hunting these lands long before humans have been around to fear it. Every half decade or so a hero is sent to "deal with" the creature. No hero has ever come home. But it seems an earnest enough gesture to keep the creature at bay for a while. Fremur hasn't felt like a hero yet. Most days he considers himself a lamb to be sacrificed. He wondered if the dragon would see him that way....or would he hardly seem a midday snack to the behemoth.