Prologue

His footsteps hit the dirt letting out no sound at all. His gauntlets shined in the light of a new day. His blue cape close to him as there was little wind. His hair was not slicked back, but instead pulled back into a group and tied in a string. His goatee now a small beard for he had not trimmed it in a while. His wakizashi strapped on his back, his kukri swaying at his side and his shurikens changeling like broken chimes in their pouch. The chill outside would be unbearable to any common pheasant, but for this man it was a mere annoyance in his way to an eternity of loyalty from friends and foes alike. It would be a day that Molotov Balendroe` would be place in the great records with similar people who completed ungodly feats. It would be the day that Molotov Balendroe` would never forget, nor would the bards they would sing songs for him praising his name:

Molotov Balendroe` hero of strength Molotov Balendroe` warrior of mind Molotov Balendroe` slayer of the half-dragon Inflareus.

Chapter 1

Molotov sat on a small stone atop the hill he had just climbed. The grass below his feet was lush as though many tiny fairies had blessed it with their beauty. He reached for a bag from his pack that was sitting next to him. He examined the small leather bag for a second then shrugged his shoulders.
"Can never get tired of Arles noodles, best thing in the realm." Molotov thought to himself.
He then poured the small pouch into the already boiling pot of water he had made on the fire. As he watched them sink to the bottom of the pot he began to think to himself about what would happen if he were successful in slaying the half-dragon.
"When people would walk by there jaws would drop in amazement by what I had done. Children will ask me for a story of a daring sword fight or perilous situations and I will gladly agree. Young men would ask me for fighting tips I would offer my assistance for a price. What's even better is I would be engulfed with affection from the hearts of young women then maybe I could settle down and make a family.Yeah Right, but most of all I would be able to get free food for the rest of my life from the Hungry Orc Tavern in Arles. I would sit in my usual spot in front of the chef Ragier. I would order my favorite dish Noodles with chicken and onions and a side of the taverns special Goblin Sauce. When it would be served I would smell the delicious entrée it would smell so great burning in my nose, BURNING WHAT!!!"
Molotov opened his eyes to see a cloud of smoke.
"Curses, I burned the noodles again," Molotov screamed out loud knowing no one could here him.
He jumped backwards and put his hands out one in front of the other and shouted.
"Kila-man-dra-do"
A blue mist started emitting from his hands. It engulfed the smoke causing it to disappear. The area around the fire had a bit of frost begin to layer on it. He looked into the now cool pot.
"Only a few were burnt, it is still edible." Molotov proclaimed examining the contents left in the pot. "Now for some sort of onion"
Molotov quickly scanned his surroundings and to his amazement there was a small patch of wild onions across from him. He walked over and grabbed six of the freshest ones.
"Now for some chicken." He thought to himself, he looked up into the sky and smiled there was a large goose flying. "Hmm, now how to get it?"
Molotov thought to himself suddenly he came up with an idea. He reached into his pouch for a shuriken; he placed the shuriken in his gauntlet and pulled the spring back. He raised his head up to the sky diagonally a small shaft with an outward arch on it acted as a simple scope. He got the bird into his sights. He then steadied his hand and shot the star. It went whizzing out far and missed the goose unluckily.
"Ohh, I hope that doesn't hit anyone important!" Molotov said out loud.
He grabbed another shuriken and brought it up placed it into the gauntlet he then slid it in and locked it in place. He raised his arm in hesitation looked for his target aimed, then closed his eyes and shot.
"Please hit c'mon, please," Molotov begged.
To his surprise when he opened his eyes the bird was only about twenty yards away. Molotov jumped over the fire easily and ran down to get the bird. Molotov grabbed it by its feet and held it upside down.
"The shuriken hit the right wing, it must have died on impact." He explained to himself. Molotov pulled out the shuriken and wiped it in the grass below, he then placed it back into the pouch. Molotov returned to the cooking area.
"Yes, dinner time now." Molotov thought happily.
He grabbed his backpack and looked for the rest of his cooking utensils. He found his frying pan, a spoon and a small wooden plate. He used the spoon to remove the noodles from the pot and put them into the pan. He dumped the pots left over water near the onion patch. Next, he took out his kukri and sliced the onions into thick slices and placed them into the pan next to the noodles. He put the remainder of the onions into his backpack for later use.
"Now how to skin this goose?" Molotov wondered.
Finally, after little thought he found a small stump and rolled it closer to his fire. He wiped his kukri off, and sheathed it. He grabbed towards his back and pulled out his Wakizashi. He then laid the goose across the flat of the stump and struck downward chopping its head off. Next, he quickly plucked the feathers from the goose and skinned the bit that would not come of with the tip of his wakizashi blade. He then chopped the feet off and made an insertion in the chest and removed the bones from the goose's breast. He then sliced the breast meat into long chunks of meat. He threw them into the pan. After that he grabbed the pile of excess bones and dug a small hole to put them in, then covered it back up so a wild animal could find it later. He grabbed the spoon and placed the pan on the fire. He began stirring the concoction with the spoon after a while and placed the pan on the fire. He began stirring the concoction with the spoon after awhile the meat was brown, the onions were dark and the noodles looked plump and delicious.
"Oops, almost forgot the secret sauce." Molotov exclaimed reaching into his pack and pulling out his bottle labeled "GOBLIN SAUCE".
He poured a small layer of the tan sauce onto the meal, as the pan hissed when the sauce hit the bottom. The sauce began boiling the aroma hit Molotov's nose.
"It smells done, I can't wait to try it" Molotov said with his mouth watering with every word. He brought the pan up and turned it sideways the meal poured out onto the wooden plate. He grabbed his spoon and chowed down on the meal and the plate was empty in no time at all. He dropped his plate and spoon next to the pot and pan.
"Oh, now it's time for dishes." Molotov said in vein realizing that it would take him the rest of the day to get the burnt noodles out of the pot.

After about three hours of washing and scrubbing all of the dirty utensils they shined like a new set of mithral full plate armor. After the dishes were clean he put them back in his backpack. Molotov noticed his tent and bedroll laying at the bottom of his pack upon seeing this he realized he'd did not have a place to rest and that the sun was beginning to set in the peaks to the west. Molotov picked up his belongings and kicked dirt on the fire to extinguish it. He threw his pack over his shoulders and ran down the path. It did not take very far for Molotov to find two long trees that provided protection in case of rain. Molotov took little time setting up his tent and placing his bedroll on the tent floor. "Man I am bogged!" Molotov moaned while taking all of his armor and clothing off keeping only his pants on. He pulled the rope out of his hair letting it fall over his face; he pulled it out and put it behind his ears so it would not bother him. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Molotov could hear the raindrops began hitting the ground softly and it quickly went into the heavy down pour. Molotov listened to it hit the ground with a loud slushy beat. The beat was loud and repetitive almost as if several people were stepping into the ground at once. Molotov opened his eyes and listened for anything suspicious, he could hear mumbled grumbles in the air. Molotov identified them as orcs. The half-elf sat up and carefully stepped out of the tent his feet hit the ground. Molotov got behind a tree near his tent and could make out dark orcish figures. Molotov bent over to listen to the orcs; he could make out their slurred speech. "Wosz, you go see what in house right there." What seemed to be the biggest of the figures ordered. Molotov brought his fists up prepared to put up a fight against his new challenger.