Except, the man never made it to Copperlin.
Halfway there, when the sun was setting over the horizon, cloaking the sea in sillhouette, a small shape left a distant ship. Flying up, over the air, it approached the cart on which the man had booked passage.
Perhaps they are birds, thought the man. But then it grew too large to be a bird. And, he realised, it was the shape of a man, except for two grand feathered wings. Other than this, the man had difficulty identifying the shape, for the figure had coasted on its wings, circling around and approaching behind them from the west, and so its body was nothing but a shadow against the setting sun.
The man began to tremble. He’d heard stories of great wyverns roaming the skies to hunt. Of greater dragons that kidnap maidens and eat their flesh. Yet, the man did not feel any kind of fear, more he was intimidated by a kind of presence. The figure, as it approached, seemed to emanate radiance like the man had never seen nor felt before.
It grew larger still, until it was close enough to hear the flapping of its great wings. It slowed and descended as it came close to the cart. The other riders drew weapons, stood to action, but the man waved them down, for he had heard stories, older than those of dragons. Stories of divine servants entering the realms of men.
The angel touched lightly upon the earth, its great wings folding behind it. Still silhouetted, it walked several strides towards the cart. It stopped just on the cusp of when its features could be made out. Behind it, the sun shone brilliantly.
The cart had stopped now. Silence had fallen over its occupants.
The angel spoke.
“Which of you is called Lloyd?”
The man was taken aback at first by the rasping of the angels voice. It did not sound like the angelic singing described in the stories. It took him a moment to respond.
“M- me. Your grace.”
The figures head turned slowly towards him. It spoke a word.
“Come.”
Now the man began to know fear, for the prospect of exiting the cart and approaching the figure seemed impossible. Still, slowly and with pounding heart and trembling legs, the man rose to his feet. Clumsily he climbed down the step-ladder on the side of the cart and walked toward the angel. Each step seemed to take an eternity.
“Stop.”
The man halted, and fell to his knees in prostration. Forehead pressed against the ground, he muttered to himself.
“Oh great one, oh divine servant of the mother of the earth, oh dispenser of justice, savior, and ender of the wicked.”
“You have with you a book.” said the angel. The man’s head shot up, craning to look into the figures face, but was blinded with light. Still he stared into that black shadow of a face.
“H- how…? Yes, your grace. I do, you grace.”
The angel extended a hand, reaching down toward the man.
“Give it to me.”
The man gazed at the angel in terror and wonder. But his resolve returned.
“I cannot, you grace. It is my holy task. The mother of the earth shall reward you greatly. You are rewarded now. For I and my companions will see to it that the book is returned, and you may return home.”
The man quivered. “So it is true you are servants of the gods!?” he cried
The figure turned its face and looked forth, so that the man could see the shape of the angels head against the backdrop of the setting sun. It was long and protruded, more like a crocodiles than mans.
“It is true, I serve higher powers. Rest assured your faith has been rewarded, as it always will be rewarded.”
Now tears came to the mans eyes. And he reached into his pack and retrieved the small ruined book. He held it with two hands and reached out with two trembling arms.
“H- he is buried in my family’s farm, 40 miles north of Saltmarsh.”
The angel regarded him for a moment. Then it spoke a final time.
“You have done well, Lloyd. The mother of the earth shall reward you.”
Then the angel spread its wings, and ascended to the sky, heading up and over across the ocean waves.
The man composed himself and returned to the cart. He sat in solemn silence the rest of the way to Copperlin, for the road was treacherous and he did not want to return to Saltmarsh alone.
On the night before their arrival, the man was up at night, watching the stars, looking out for any danger. Hearing a rustling in the bushes, he stood up with a start, drawing his knife from his belt. Slowly, he crept towards the source of the noise.
There, sitting in the bushes, was a small satchel. The man thought perhaps another traveler had dropped it, until he saw the sigil of the mother of the earth embroidered on the front. The man picked up the satchel. It was full of platinum coins.
Bassdon the brass dragon-man, blessed by his dragon god with platinum feathered wings, landed on the deck of the ship his companions were staying on, clutching the book in hand.
Waiting on the top deck was Turis, a blue dragon-man with white hair, servant of the true lord of Avernus, and Saveen the Red who’s scales glistened like ruby, a red dragon-man dressed in heavy armor.
“Did you get it?” Saveen asked, his voice rasping in the manner of all dragon-men.
“Of course.” replied Bassdon. “It was trivial, though I had to play on his superstitions. He was rewarded, however.”
Turis, leaning against the main sail, leaned forward. “I still don’t know why this book is so important.”
Bassdon glanced at her. “The visions bestowed upon us are not to be questioned. Besides, I think you’ll find it’s more useful than it appears.”
Bassdon opened the book and began reading. Contained in the book was the names and activities of the crew which had attempted to kill them, who they in turn had killed several of.
After he had finished, he looked up at his companions.
“The man believes we’re going to deliver the book to it’s owners companions. I don’t think it would be right if we abuse his faith and fail to uphold his mission.”
“We’re going to pay them a visit alright.” Turis smirked. “But book delivery is not what I had in mind.”