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Tales of the Dragons
9th Fanfiction


Tale the first – In which our Hero is introduced


The Dragon stirred inside its egg.

Miles down & Away from the egg, Lieutenant Gael Goldpine faced the mountain and sighed.

Climbing up the mountain with his squad and kidnapping an abandoned dragon's egg from a presumably empty lair was far from the plum assignment he'd been hoping for after his recent tour of duty & promotion.

Still, orders were orders even if they came from the army Mage assigned to this area.

He looked at his squad of 15 men, fine, good men all-

"Ready for the climb soldiers?!" he shouted.
"Sir, yes sir!" came the reply

"At ease" he laughed "Save your energies for the climb and any unpleasant surprises on the way.
Has everyone made sure their elemental abjurative protective spells from Aret [the squad mage] are working? We don't want any casualties if the damn thing has hatched and tries to belch us to death, eh?"

The men laughed, put at ease by the crackling aura of magic around them, eager at the prospect of dragon's gold (Unlikely as it was, to the point where they had been allowed partial scavenging rights as a potential perk), and the men also believed in the skill & competence of their lieutenant Gael Goldpine and the army trapster Geytor Murengis.

"Lets go get that egg!" bawled a young private (One Fithel Peanslip) as he scampered off to begin climbing up the mountainside towards the small path mapped out for them by Aret.


Inside the egg the dragon twisted around, sucking in more & more of the life providing fluids surrounding it, heat rushing through its cold blooded form as its heart beat increased & muscles began to spasm, expanding & contracting to accommodate the Dragon's evolving metabolism.


As the squad of Elves, humans & Half-elves ascended they began to slow down, the summer's heat tiring & draining.
Although they didn't feel the heat themselves due to the abjurations the air was still hot & dry, their water heated & unpleasant, not to mention the the sheer physical difficulty of climbing a mountain in full gear & armour.

Each soldier was equipped with: Chainmail ringlet armour over their whole body, a steel plate on their chest, back and fore-arms, iron lined marching boots, a full helm helmet, bronze lined round shields and a longsword.
Typical gear for a squad from their division entering a potentially high risk assignment.

"Quit that muttering and hold formation" shouted Gael (Who was equipped in lighter but more effective & high quality gear due to his origins and inheritance).
Onwards they marched, upwards towards the distant cave.


The Dragon was "conscious" now, still inside its egg. It slowly rolled around, savoring the warmth and food.
It still had many more days to go until it would grow even more before hatching and emerging into an environment far less sympathetic than its current womb like haven.


Geytor Murengis paused, holding out his arm in the sign for "Pause, potential passive danger", his palm thumb down with a horizontal wave (Fortunately this had been a signal designed for those lacking digits, as was the price of Murengis's craft).

He examined the ever so faint "wrongness" in the air and acrid smell of "something", his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.

He pulled out of his pack a complicated device resembling a barometer with too many ends.
He then pointed it at a random rock then at the patch of air.
"300 Millithaums, either someone had one heck of a weave ripping fight or there's a field or magic trap. And I ain't seeing no scorch marks or gouged out marks (From a fight)"

"Why does he always have to speak out loud to himself" muttered on of the infantrymen to his "neighbor".

Geytor either didn't hear or didn't care.
He took out a wooden box which contained a smaller heavily padded strong box, within which, wrapped in velvet lay a dozen black marbles & 2 white marbles side by side in small sockets.

He carefully extracted a single Black marble & closed the boxes.
"Get everyone back" he warned. After taking a few steps back himself, he threw the marble at the innocuous seemingly empty patch of air.

The marble sailed through the air until it passed through the "patch", whereupon 'something' swallowed it in a blur of teeth, scales, fang & jaw.

The 'thing' (A Landwyrm they would later discover) stampeded towards the squad.
However in the 2 seconds it took to cover the distance was also all the time it took its own throat acids to dissolve a crack in the marble and to jar it, triggering the spell within.

The invisible explosion ripped the beast's neck apart and sent its head flying like a
Cross-bolt towards the soldiers, knocking one man down & 3 feet back.

As for the Landwyrm's headless body, it continued moving for another few paces on sheer momentum and motor reflexes alone before collapsing.

Gael was flat on his ass, jaw gaping open.
"Remind me to recommend you for another promotion when we get back" he said.
Geytor just smiled, as he held out a hand & pulled Gael up from the ground.

They continued their hike, the soldiers marveling as one by one they popped out of sight as they passed through the invisibility field that had concealed the beast.

Finally, after 4 hours, 1 avalanche, a chimera, & 3 additional expended black pearls later (2 pears to clear a way through the avalanche and another to open a path by blasting a fallen boulder blocking their route, sending it tumbling down off the mountainside).
Finally they reached the entrance to the abandoned cave.

They re-organized into a "forward-box" formation:

Formation wrote: . [Murengis] .
. . . . . .
. [Gael] .
. .
.

They then ventured into the cave, walking slowly & cautiously relying on their eyes adapting to the dark rather than torches, noting the utter lack of smell beyond dust.

Then at last: "By the Gods…" Whispered one of the men, awe on his face.

In front of them was a massive egg the size of a farmer's hut. The egg was almost translucent; the dark stain of what was doubtless the beast inside just barely visible.

Even more impressive was the veritable sea of gold & treasures in which the egg lay:
Thousands of coins stacked into rows, rubies arranged by the number of edges, diamonds placed into intricate crystalline formations, artwork arranged by size & style, silks of all colours & patterns (Arranged by pattern), rows of weapons ranging from Adamantium battleaxes, unpractical lead daggers (covered in runes of poison), mithril armour, Weapons of pure glass of obsidian of diamond or even pure light, and what appeared to be a massive stack of criss-crossed Adamantium shields lying in an even pile.

At a salvage fee of 2% for the infantry (as a whole) the privates knew their retirement nest egg had turned from a boiled egg into a 3 course feast.
Geytor Murengis with his 2.5% fee (For himself alone) basked in the thought that he would now be able to retire to live with his wife & his new born son, who would never know starvation, cold or a blade slicing his fingers off.

Gael Goldpine was simply drooling at the thought of his assured promotion (As well as the wealth promised by a 5% officer's rate).
He all but laughed at how his superiors had been so sure that the lair had been emptied after seeing that nothing had come in or out for years, either by the leaving dragon or whatever had killed the dragon.

He (As well as all others present) ignored the small voice of suspicion within, that pointed out that no Dragon would leave its horde behind. That anything potent & cunning enough to kill a grown dragon (No matter its breed) would try to track down the lair. That an egg and horde left behind untouched was far too great a coincidence.

Enough "Shiny!" would drown the minds of "lesser" creatures, unused as they were to gold and ornaments (Unlike the prudent & inured Draconic race).


So it was that none, not even the sharp eyed & keen nosed Geytor noted the pile of Adamantium shields shifting slightly in place.

However, They did notice when the Dragon suddenly appeared (the shields attached to its underside).


My apologies for the (only 600 words long) second "portion", but this is too good a cliffhanger to not portion up (Until I finish typing the next portion up).

"Hello meat" Said the drake, licking its chops.

"Try not to soil yourselves excessively; I wouldn't want my child to suffer any indigestion when he comes out.
I only want 2 of you anyway, so save yourselves the unnecessary bother of fighting, getting slaughtered and causing unneeded deaths and stains on my cave's floor".

During this one sided parley Geytor Murengis had finally managed to stop shaking in helpless terror and was slowly drawing the small wooded box from his heavily padded side pocket.

The Dragon continued "I'll give you a few minutes to confer, but if you decide to be annoying feel free to, I'll risk the indigestion of metallic excrement".

Geytor listened with half a mind, as his other right side half concentrated on fiddling with a clasp, then a lock then a smaller box.
He extracted 4 of the black marbles & closed the boxes.

Gael hand signaled to his men: 'we aren't offering anyone up as dinner to that monster, but we can't fight that beast, I'll need a free space to summon in the squad mage for an evac', now Murengis will…Murengis?'

Murengis threw the marbles, straight at the shadowed Dragon.

The three opaque black balls sailed through the air, arcing towards the dragon.

All eyes snapped to the tiny orbs as they fell in their parabolic arc towards the drake – Before colliding with an invisible wall, exploding soundlessly & invisibly in midair.

The invisible blast threw the soldiers back like chaff in a thresher, shook the cave and resulted in a wave of rubble & dust to erupt from the caves entrance.

It also caused a massive stalactite to fall from the cave's "ceiling" above the egg (Which had remained immobile despite its proximity to the shockwave).

The young private Fithel Peanslip ran to push the massive egg aside before colliding with another invisible wall of force, this one surrounding the egg, knocking him out cold.
(The falling stalactite also shattered into tiny shards against the hemispherical energy field).

The Dragon who had not been incommoded in the least by the blast "smiled".
"A Very admirable effort, I'll definitely not eat him (For trying to save my egg) as for the rest of you please finish your deliberations & my thanks for cleaning my cave, I'm sure the dusty environs might have been unhealthy for a wyrmling" and it settled back into a bed of platinum coins.

Gael crawled up, his head "ringing" –
"Got any more bright ideas Murengis?" He muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

The latter replied back in sign language "Yes. I'm using the white ordnance, get everyone braced & get ready to summon Aret once the wave clears".

As Gael started a charade of drawing straws with his men (For "Who will be eaten first!") excluding only the hapless, unconscious Fithel (Towards whom the other men directed murderous glances).

Again Murengis surreptitiously opened the marble's box, but this time not only did he take out All 6 of the remaining black pearls, but he also extracted the twin white pearly white marbles.
He arranged them in his hands for optimum co-ordination.

He tried to calm his pounding heart wiping the sweat off his brow. Geytor Murengis thought of his 8 month old son bouncing on his knee.

Then he threw all of the marbles, one after the other (With the whites leading.

The Dragon didn't even bother to react, no doubt confident in the ability of its wall of force to resist any amount explosive force.

However what the white pearl released was no explosion of kinetic energy, heat, negative energy, acid, electricity, sound waves or any conventional energy.

What it did do however was disrupt the structure of the Weave (of magic), the very foundation of magic, producing the magical equivalent of a whirlpool – A vortex killing all ongoing effects and sucking away new ones.

The Force wall "vanished" from existence, the difference noticeable only due to the fact that the second white orb continued unhindered to hit the dragon on the snout, killing any possible defensive magic's that might have been in place on the beast.

Then all the black pearls collided with the Dragon, an astonished expression still on its "face".

The explosion blasted the horde outwards in a shockwave, propelled by the Force from the blast.
The priceless treasures becoming high speed projectiles, battering the unfortunate soldiers despite the distance in a painful & priceless hail that hit like sling shots.

But inside the circle of the horde blasted clear by the blast the Dragon lay as if it had been in a waterfall of sparkling mana rather than a Baatorian explosion & bombardment of treasure & flung weapons.

This time it spoke to the stunned Soldiers in a different tone than before:
"I see that it's useless to give food a chance to save itself any unnecessary damage.
After all, you certainly don't allow a Cow or sheep parlay before utilizing it, and the intellectual difference between Me and the likes of you is more than thrice that.

And now, it's Supper Time!"
---------------------

. Don't worry, I'm not done yet (And yes, I was aiming for "Little shop of horrors" vibes with the last sentence ).

Can someone please comment?
Perhaps on the depiction of the Force Dragon or my doubtless horrible depiction of a squad (a resident military buff told me that a lieutenant would be fine for commanding a squad when I double-checked it with him) or other points

The dragon let loose a deceptively small "Puff" at the men (Their elemental defences still intact).

The dragon's breath went through their defenses as if they didn't exist, bypassing them entirely. It blasted them back, warping their armour and leaving on the parts of their bodies affected a hideous network of burst blood vessels, disrupted skin and organ deep bruising.

A gesture of the Dragon's claws & Geytor Murengis found himself yanked by invisible hands into its massive "hand".

"It will take me months to re-organize & catalog my horde's contents by age, colour, style, size, shape, angle, density, taste, value & alphabetical order again" Said the Dragon in a peeved tone.
"Ill to try to calm myself down by snacking on you, irritating little thief"

Geytor had a fraction of a second to begin a scream and to think of his wife & child
Before the Dragon's teeth ripped him into tiny shreds, his death mercifully quick.

The remaining soldiers had been rallied by 2d Lieutenant Gael and were attempting a "Strategic retreat" cum escape.
The Dragon spat out Murengis's pack onto the Cave's floor (Where it exploded leaving a green scorch mark) then made an additional gesture with its claw.

The next thing the soldiers knew they were blasted backwards by what felt like a ram charging into their midriff, the force of it sending them flying backwards to the cliff edge outside the cave.

The Cliff edge was unstable, already cracking under the stress of an (invisible) multi tin Dragon taking off it every few weeks on average for centuries, and this weight was not supported by racially specific binding & strengthening spells nor was it on it for a split second.

The net result was that the very tip of the precipice crumbled, sending the soldiers along with Gael Goldpine tumbling, cursing & screaming down the mountain.

The scene was almost comical for an outside viewer, but for the participants it was a nightmarish whirlwind of skin ripping, flesh tearing, bones cracking, necks snapping & heads cracking.

The Dragon listened to the chaos and sighed.
"What an unfortunate even pitiful waste, they could have saved themselves by simply being reasonable and volunteering for practice or sending up convicts or some such.
I see that giving small-folk the right to palaver and choose truly does do them more harm than "good". I'll have to remember that in future, soft minded fool that I am".

Then the Dragon lifted its mighty wing which it had not moved through this episode of chaos to reveal what had been kept underneath the wing, hidden & protected, revealing:
"Mummy, can I come out now?"
A baby dragon.

The gargantuan She-Wyrm licked the small specks of dust off of her spawn's head & tiny stubby wings, then nudged him forward with Her snout.
"Its been a long day for you my little one, its time for you to sleep in your little egg-nest.
I'll teach you how to strip the possessions off of a humanoid some other day I'm afraid".

The tiny dragon waddled out from his mother then piped out
"But Mummy, there's a smally by my egg!"

She sighed "Oh yes, the well meaning dolt of an elf. Well, we can't hardly eat him, noblesse oblige & so on.
Still we can have a go at practicing valuables stripping without melting the body, even if it is a bit advanced for you my sweet.
We'll let him run off afterwards; the story of being spared due to trying to save a Dragon's egg is excellent Public relations for sabotaging other wretched egg hunters"

Again he piped up "All that for saving my old egg?"

She smiled at him indulgently "Well he didn't know that, did he?" The small Dragon's mouth opened in an O of understanding.

She continued "At least this happened after you hatched early all those weeks ago"
"Like a Cork!"
She nuzzled the impudent youngster "That’s right, like a cork popping out you came out of your egg a whole 5 weeks early, still I suppose that should be expected considering who your Great-grandfather was.
Now stop trying to distract me and let's get to work, and remember, no nibbling!"

So mother & child began their playful "Work" practicing the looting of a hostile invader without even harming it (Or the haul).

Meanwhile:

At the bottom of the mountain a man looked at the small ring that had encased him in a field of magic "armour".
Then he looked at the mountainside around him, covered with the dead bodies of his men.
Gael Goldpine screamed.

End Tale the first 1


I must apologize for the fact that this update is only about 430 words long, but it is the end of this "tale". (though part 2 is in progress)

Very Enjoyable.

I like the personality the dragons have developing, and i hopw that there are more dragons to come.

Tale 2 – Fairies & woods

18 months later.

"Hello" said the air.

Gael Goldpine, bedraggled, stained and delirious stared at the originating patch of air suspiciously.
He'd already wasted a few hours talking to what had turned out to be a tree, and had lost his virginity to a female centaur after eating the wrong type of spotted mushroom.

"Hellooo, anybody in there?" said the air again before tapping him on the nose.
This caused It to materialize in front of the disheveled figure of Gael:
A fairy Dragon.

It circled around him examining the unkempt, chaotic looking figure that was Gael after over a year wandering the woods in a haze, its small wings flapping furiously to keep it aloft.

"Do you need any help? I saw you wandering here a year and a half ago and you don't look like you've found your way anywhere since".

Gael simply stared at it, his blond bearded jaw slack, fingers convulsing and eye twitching furiously.
He'd wandered in a haze for a year and a half without knowing who he was or what had happened to him (In equal part due to his physical and psychological trauma) and this strange lizard like, tailed flying… thing seemed familiar somehow, horribly so.

"Who, what are you"? he croaked.

The Fairy dragon circled him again and spoke
"I am a Dragon, a fairy dragon to be exact, Exonditel to be polite, and to be curious are you from the army camp up North?

Exonditel turned to indicate the direction of North without noticing how Gael began to shake, tormented by memories of another dragon, immensely larger & less vibrant compared to this one, of a friend swallowed & entrusted subordinates tumbling in a nightmarish whirl.

"Thank you very much, Ser Drake" Gael slowly said, hands inching downwards towards his blade.
Exonditel began to circle around to face him "Why think nothing of I-" His words were cut off by the sword now impaled in his throat, He tried to defend himself but his weak blow merely scratched Gael's bloodstained armour as a final blow hacked the Dragon's head "cleanly" off of his neck.

Gael looked down at the (now mutilated) corpse and kicked it again.
His face would have been judged handsome once before the innumerable small scars etched upon it and the savage bloodlust evident in the "smile" twisting his face.

2d Lieutenant Gael Goldpine began to walk in the direction of the military camp, wiping some of the Blood off from his blade on to a few of the fresher scratches & cuts on his own flesh.

He paused once on the way after hearing the weak cries that were coming from nearby, from a boulder that the deceased Exondrite had protected with his life.
He heard the cries of approaching wolves & his face twisted again into a vicious caricature of a smile and he continued without looking back as the cries of the abandoned Dragon hatchlings drew the hungry wolves to their nest.


11 months later

The Egg wobbled.

Inside the hollowed shell the wyrmling Force dragon Korilandatrix stirred from his week long sleep.

He stretched out from wingtip to tail tip instinctively. Unfortunately he had grown much after his recent growth spurt (Due to being born a premature "Runt") & despite its enlarged, shaped cavity his old egg could no longer contain him.

It shattered into pieces under the pressure, leaving him on top of a pile of fragments.

Koril looked sadly at the remains of his nest-egg.
"My poor Egg, I suppose that its time to start gathering components for a nest & basic horde of my own like Mum's been telling me to" mused the Wyrmling wearily, droopy lidded eyes downcast.

"I told you to start working on your "nest" last year did I not?" said a vie behind and above Koril's head.

He started; he hated it when she sneaked up on him.
"I, er, found some rocks and tower shields" he said innocently.

His mother laughed hard enough to shake a tower of coins apart:
"Remember your teachings, I told you that you have to gather all your components outside the cave with the absolute minimum of assistance, how else are you to forge your own horde & legacy someday?
You certainly won't be getting your claws on mine anytime this millennium or he next, and gold grows underground, not by itself"

"But I don't want to start searching outside he said in a petulant tone, shifting so as to hide his face from her piercing sight.

"Are you still Scared because of that flea bitten banditry you wandered into?" she said with a touch of ire in her (Now no longer jovial) features.

"Yes" he said in a small shamed voice as he remembered that day.

He had been practicing hunting alone in the woods, and had heard voices. Curious he had slowly flown closer to eavesdrop.

"Aye my faithful men, what a rich haul from those preening fools" said a gruff, deep voice.
"Yes, yes so much treasure, enough for all to share, Yes?" Said a second voice weaker and submissive.

Young and Naïve (Even more than he was now) he had managed to conclude that he had found a group of beings; other dragons perhaps, based on how strong the voices were compared to the small-folk called Elves.
Surely such wealthy beings would help him with a contribution towards the future horde off which he so often dreamed & daydreamed?

His mistake was made evident to him when he flew and landed in the camp and saw the half dozen half Orc bandits together with their Ogre captain standing out in front of the tents.

He stared at them. They gaped at him. They screamed. He roared. The Ogre rallied them and they charged at him, weapons raised.

He tried to turn around and fly away but the distance was too small and trees to thick.
He tried to exude the potent sorcerous "aura" known as The Dragon-fear, but his own panic weakened it almost beyond effect.
He felt the powerful "Thud" of the Ogre's spiked great club smashing into his neck.

Now he felt anger, how dare this "speck" harm him? It, With its minute size, (Though he conveniently ignored the relative lack of a height difference) pitiful intellect and lack of natural blessings, unlike Himself.

He drew anew his breathe and expelled it, feeling not mere air but the sorcerous essence that was his lifeblood spew forth, the raw pure energy that was mana & lifeblood to him & all of his kind.

The Blast of energy that emerged from his mouth hit the Ogre at near point blank range and continued all but unhindered to kill a half-orc carrying the atomized head & torso of the Ogre with it.

Korilandatrix blinked, looking at the bloody corpse spurting its strange coloured blood at him, distracted by his first kill in combat and rage until he felt the barbs of the remaining bandits assailing him on all sides.
Their crude lades couldn't cut through his scales, but they hit him in the gaps between his small scales and the force of their blows stung him and pained him through sheer quantity.

He curled into himself as all the bandits in the camp came to avenge their leaders death, emboldened by the "False, coward dragon who ain't even moving!".

He felt his body's extremities begin to deaden from the blows as slowly golden haze began to settle over his vision.
He felt as If everything was somehow slowing down, shrinking and going very far away.

Korilandatrix the Force Dragon was suddenly very, very aware of his razor sharp claws, his long fangs, powerful smashing tail, barbed wing tips and immense strength.
Everything seemed somehow simpler, as if hi intellect were regressing and instinct surging.

The bandits backed away as the Dragon Roared, The Dragon Fear blossoming and reducing them to pitiful cowards as the seeds of terror were planted and fertilized in the space of a heartbeat.

The Dragon lashed out, claws ripping through heavy leather & chain mail armour as if it were mere skin, and through the underlying skin as if it were naught but frictionless air.

Eventually the infant wyrmling came out of his frenzy and looked around himself in disbelief at the carnage he had wrought, and the few eviscerated shreds of his attackers that had not been devoured or reduced to eviscerated shredded remains.

He didn't touch their loot and felt guilty about it when retelling the tale to his mother later in the day.


"Stop ruminating" snapped his mother (Back in the present day and age) "Go forth and find yourself some basic nest building materials, and something that could be called a horde, either that or go find a cave to make your own lair in, nevermind nest".
Her features softened slightly then took on an imperious expression "Remember who and what you are Young Dragon".

Harsh words indeed from a mother, but she was too canny by far to allow her offspring to sink into ennui & procrastination, despite him being but a babe. And this time she would keep a closer scrying eye on him, even with that miserable Red in the area).

Her words took their intended effect, fanning the spark of pride in young Korilandatrix's breast.

The dragon Korilandatrix galloped towards the cave's entrance, out through it the cliff edge then off it. His huge form plummeted downwards, his wings held tightly to his sides to reduce wind drag or friction.

He examined the objects on the approaching ground, the preserved & re-arranged skeletons of dead soldiers, all of whom bore "Keep out or be not spared" signs held in the space between their ribs, spine and lower back.
When the bleached bones were a mere 18 meters distant from Koril's snout he unfurled his wings to their maximum length so that he swept over the skeletons and ground with mere inches to spare.

He held his wings straight as he glided over the ground for as long as he could before flapping them, causing him to rise higher & higher until he all but touched the very clouds.
He reveled in the joy & speed of flight, going in circles, performing loop de loops, performing spins and maneuvers as he savored the height, the wind on his sleek body, the air pure & clean, free from all else (Including grisly ground bound ruminations).

Eventually he spun around one last time through a flock of migrating birds ("Sparrows" he noted idly as they scattered in his wake) and began to fly towards the green sea that was the forest.

He flew over treetops, eyes searching for dead trees, quarries, abandoned housing, signs of former settlement (Such as camps), Indeed anything that could serve as a ready source of raw material for his nest or provide a potential source of barter or Treasure.

There! Smoke from a campfire, faint but real. He flew towards it whilst activating a gift from his progenitor: An invisibility ring mounted on his tail.

So invisible to visual or olfactory detection he flew closer, making sure not to land due to the noise & vibrations a beast of his size would make (In the chance that the fire had not been abandoned).

Fizil Browhorn kicked the Broken wagon's axle.
"I don't think that will help anymore than it did last time dear" said his Wife Gelda Browhorn from where she sat by the cooking fire loading a crossbow.

The middle aged Gnome sighed and laid down his hook-hammer.
"Are the children asleep?"

"All of them except for Tassil, and he's keeping a sharp eye out from the wagon's observation post" replied Gelda.

Fizil turned around to spy his first born son manning the wagon's heavily fortified observatory deck, complete with his own custom built smokepowder cannon (His best work as a former priest-inventor of Gond).
Tassil spotted him through the viewing slits and waved. Fizil forced a smile to his face and waved back before turning back to his wife, his expression grim.

"We're going to have to make a choice, either we spend the day here and carve out a new Axle, or"

"Take the one from the cargo cart" finished his wife, "You know we can hardly afford to write the camp off as a customer or this entire trip as a loss".

He smashed his fists together "I know that dammit, but there's bandits, wolves & worse in these infernal woods an I canna' risk endangering you and the children".
He came close and hugged her fiercely.

She reprociated the act, and embraced him, accidentally loosing a bolt from her crossbow as she did so.

The Bolt shot up, the startled eyes of the Gnomes following its path as it flew over the campfire. Then their eyes widened in terror as they saw It.

The Black smoke from their campfire did not go straight up (For there was no wind) but instead wreathed a huge form directly above the campfire: A shape in the form of a Dragon!

Korilandatrix was listening to the plight of the small folk family and had been feeling a fair degree of sympathy for the unfortunate Gnomes.

The Crossbow bolt smashing into his underside (And smashing into splinters) was a "bolt out of the blue", he was even more surprised when the pair of Gnomes actually seemed to see him despite his invisibility and being in the air. Above the campfire. In the Smoke.

'I'm an idiot' he groaned then began to flap his wings, circling around with the intent of returning later to see if he could recover the soon to be abandoned supply wagon, only to find himself face to face with the young Ta Korilandatrix Tassil Browhorn and his smoke-powder powered rock blaster.

Koril then found himself Head to skull with a boulder fired from near point-blank range straight at his head.

Fizil gaped as he saw the boulder shatter against the Strange looking Dragon's skull, then the beast slowly crash into the ground, extinguishing the campfire under its immense bulk.

Gelda turned to face Fizil, stark terror plastered over her face.

"What… What do we do now? K-k-k-kill it?"

Fizil marshaled himself and thought hard and long (While trying to keep from shaking in terror).

"No. It didn't try to harm us when it could, and it certainly isn't a foul Chromatic Wyrm, in fact I've never heard of a beastie like this, it could be an Albino Silver for all we know under all that soot.
Help me tie it down with the heavy chains, I have a plan to save us, the cargo and the family business"

Gelda began the work, trying to calm down and distance the terror of what else might be drawn to her family from her thoughts.

Looks neat so far! I think that you could probably use a bit of grammatical review, still, but you've definitely improved.

Try to keep your dialouge fresh and 'human', don't leave it for exposition only.

Great, wish I'd read it before, however, I do have two critiques.

DEATH wrote:Inside the egg the dragon twisted around, sucking in more & more of the life providing fluids surrounding it, heat rushing through its [cold blooded form as its heart beat increased & muscles began to spasm, expanding & contracting to accommodate the Dragon's evolving metabolism.

Dragons are endothermic, and Red's have anything BUT cold blood. (Draconomicon Page 9-10) Also, their draconis fundamentum, the thing which supplies the breath weapon, helps to break down matter in the stomach with muscles and the elemental force that is in them, meaning a Reds is a constant furnace capable of incinerating and melting anything the dragon eats (Dragons can take sustanence from non-organic matter), unless it's magical.

You probably don't have the Draconomicon, but I just thought I'd let you know.

Pick wrote:Looks neat so far!

Thank you very Much . Expect more updates later this week or next week (I have 4.25 more pages written that need to be copied to the computer).

I think that you could probably use a bit of grammatical review, still, but you've definitely improved.

Thank you very much, though for a grammatical review I need proof readers, (I don't know many people interested in reading fantasy fanfiction and who read English at a sufficient level to correct my Grammar here in the Desert ).

Try to keep your dialouge fresh and 'human', don't leave it for exposition only.

Hmm, I'll try to keep an eye on that, I suppose that I'm subconsciously imitating Tokien's style in ROTK rather than the conscious influences of the Malaz books and The Hobbit.

General Schatten wrote: Great, wish I'd read it before, however, I do have two critiques.

Yay, a critical reviewer with more knowledge than me about Dragons, Thank you very much for providing Critique .

General Schatten wrote:Red's have anything BUT cold blood.

This isn't a Red, but a Force Dragon (From the Epic level handbook).
Do all Dragons have mammalian style "Hot Blood" or only those with the fire subtype? What about Whites for example?

Also, their draconis fundamentum, the thing which supplies the breath weapon, helps to break down matter in the stomach with muscles and the elemental force that is in them, meaning a Reds is a constant furnace capable of incinerating and melting anything the dragon eats (Dragons can take sustanence from non-organic matter), unless it's magical.

Forgive my ignorance, but how would this contradict a non hatched Force Dragon eating the liquids inside its egg? (the Dragon is still in the equilevent of a Foetal stage, not the equilevent of a nearly hatched developed drake)
(Also Force Dragons can also eat just about anything, including arguably raw magic due to the tiny amount [relatively] of sustenance they need for their size)

Love it! Keep writing this!

DEATH wrote:This isn't a Red, but a Force Dragon (From the Epic level handbook).
Do all Dragons have mammalian style "Hot Blood" or only those with the fire subtype? What about Whites for example?

I'm sorry, in the first couple one it sounded like you were talking about a Red to me. By hot blooded I assume you mean endothermic, yes, but the term warm blooded can bethrown onto true dragons all that easily, some lesser dragons may be cold blooded. Yes, they produce their own body heat, with fire dragons having a very hot body temperature that gets hotter with age; cold dragons, like their name suggests, are suprisingly cold, but they don't need to sun themselves; and the other dragons are somewhere in the middle.

Forgive my ignorance, but how would this contradict a non hatched Force Dragon eating the liquids inside its egg? (the Dragon is still in the equilevent of a Foetal stage, not the equilevent of a nearly hatched developed drake)
(Also Force Dragons can also eat just about anything, including arguably raw magic due to the tiny amount [relatively] of sustenance they need for their size)

Forgive me, but I spoke of the instance where the Wyrm stated she had problems with digesting and excreting metals, dragons break down everything using what they can and storing the extra in the Draconus Fundamentum, this would suggest that essentially there is no waste, and any extra is burnt up to fuel the thing that gives them a breath weapon.

Also, I was going to omit this, but for future reference non-epic Female Dragons have reached the end of their reproductive years at 801-1000 years of age and epics at 1600-2000, or ancient age. Males lose it at somewhere in the Wyrm stage. Finally, I'd suggest not giving the Wyrms age, unless you have a Cha score in mind, dragons live to be 1,200+ (Cha Score x 50 (Chromatic/Evil)/100 (Metallic/Good) and whilst it's not actually laid out, a good idea for epics would be 2,400+ (ChaX150). Of course there exist three ways for them to live longer, becoming an Ascendant (Essentially you become a minor godling on the same scale as the Valkyries) living forever until slain, or for your more fiendish dragons there's Dracolichdom or Vampirism, however for these two, you aren't really living, are you?

That's all for now, you can thank your malevolent Dragon General, Kothardarastrix, son and heir of Garyx the World Cleanser!

General Schatten wrote:

DEATH wrote:This isn't a Red, but a Force Dragon (From the Epic level handbook).
Do all Dragons have mammalian style "Hot Blood" or only those with the fire subtype? What about Whites for example?

I'm sorry, in the first couple one it sounded like you were talking about a Red to me. By hot blooded I assume you mean endothermic, yes, but the term warm blooded can bethrown onto true dragons all that easily, some lesser dragons may be cold blooded.

Which? Do you mean the weaker species of the True Dragons (Whites) or the Draconic sub-species (Such as Fairy-dragons)?

Yes, they produce their own body heat, with fire dragons having a very hot body temperature that gets hotter with age; cold dragons, like their name suggests, are suprisingly cold, but they don't need to sun themselves; and the other dragons are somewhere in the middle.

Interesting, I'd presume thata Force dragon would exist a room temperature. Exactly room temperature .

Forgive my ignorance, but how would this contradict a non hatched Force Dragon eating the liquids inside its egg? (the Dragon is still in the equilevent of a Foetal stage, not the equilevent of a nearly hatched developed drake)
(Also Force Dragons can also eat just about anything, including arguably raw magic due to the tiny amount [relatively] of sustenance they need for their size)

Forgive me, but I spoke of the instance where the Wyrm stated she had problems with digesting and excreting metals,

I wouldn't want my child to suffer any indigestion when he comes out.

She mainly referred to the child/Wyrmling, what good mother wouldn't worry about her kid having teething issues on metal .

dragons break down everything using what they can and storing the extra in the Draconus Fundamentum, this would suggest that essentially there is no waste, and any extra is burnt up to fuel the thing that gives them a breath weapon.

True, but this is a baby, and babies do vomit and have digestion issues (The Wyrmling is less than half a year old at this point).

Finally, I'd suggest not giving the Wyrms age, unless you have a Cha score in mind, dragons live to be 1,200+ (Cha Score x 50 (Chromatic/Evil)/100 (Metallic/Good) and whilst it's not actually laid out, a good idea for epics would be 2,400+ (ChaX150).

Epic Dragon Age Categories
1Wyrmling
0–10 years

2
Very young
11–30

5
Young adult
101–200

6
Adult
201–400

7
Mature adult
401–800

Old
801–1,200

Very old
1,201–1,600

Ancient
1,601–2,000

Wyrm
2,001–2,400

12
Great wyrm
2,401+

Great Wyrm Force dragons Cha score:62
62*150=9,300.
I won't have the protagonist or the Draconic characters die of old age.
And the Age of the mother (Who's either a Young adult or Adult, I haven't decided yet) isn't stated out yet.

Of course there exist three ways for them to live longer, becoming an Ascendant (Essentially you become a minor godling on the same scale as the Valkyries) living forever until slain, or for your more fiendish dragons there's Dracolichdom or Vampirism, however for these two, you aren't really living, are you?

Stop foreshadowing one of the antagonists

That's all for now, you can thank your malevolent Dragon General, Kothardarastrix, son and heir of Garyx the World Cleanser!

Eh, Bahamut would eat the runt .
And again thank you very much for the comments, critique and information

Einhander wrote:Love it! Keep writing this!

Thank you very much .

DEATH wrote: Which? Do you mean the weaker species of the True Dragons (Whites) or the Draconic sub-species (Such as Fairy-dragons)?

I meant the subspecies, Turtle Dragons may be ectothermic.

Interesting, I'd presume thata Force dragon would exist a room temperature. Exactly room temperature .

Fine by me.

I wouldn't want my child to suffer any indigestion when he comes out.

She mainly referred to the child/Wyrmling, what good mother wouldn't worry about her kid having teething issues on metal .

I meant:

The Dragon continued "I'll give you a few minutes to confer, but if you decide to be annoying feel free to, I'll risk the indigestion of metallic excrement".

General Schatten wrote:

DEATH wrote:
I meant:

The Dragon continued "I'll give you a few minutes to confer, but if you decide to be annoying feel free to, I'll risk the indigestion of metallic excrement".

Yup, she was talking about the kid (I apologize for the unclear language)

Koril slowly came to, His vision a discoloured blur.

Instinctively, He tried to rise off the ground and stretch his wings but he found himself unable to move even his tail.
He tried to whip his long neck around to see what was holding him but he found himself unable to move even that nor capable of opening his mouth.

His eyes darted from side to side; fury & fear intermingled within his diamond like pupils.

"Greetings, oh most honoured & magnificent Wyrm" said a voice from near his head.

The miserable old gnome had come up and was standing in front of his nose!

He growled slightly but the chains binding him held him tight.

The gnome had backed away a pace before recomposing himself (deliberately ignoring the drops of sweat that trickled down his face as he did so, as Koril smelt each and every drop).

"Awesome and noble Dragon, I apologize from the depths of my soul for your iniquitous treatment, but I feared your awesome and righteous wrath.
I beg your forgiveness for my family's earlier panic driven acts, but how could we witness a terrifying grand Lord of creation such as yourself without succumbing to panic at your fearsome aura and presence.
I had to do something to prevent your initial righteous wrath from blasting me away like a twig in a firestorm, for how else could I hope to survive in your grand presence oh most beautiful of dragons?"

Koril was indeed a Dragon, and like all dragons & gods (Especially young and foolhardy drakes) Flattery, praise and worship were an intoxicating brew of meat and nectar to him.

Fizil carefully noted the preening in the Dragon's face, and then swallowed nervously choking down the bile in his mouth before continuing his carefully pre-planned speech:

"I shall of course remove your bindings, but first I have an extremely profitable long term business proposal for you.
First things first, I'm sure that a calculating genius such as yourself can restrain his wrath while I remove the enchanted bindings restraining your noble snout and graceful neck, and again I but beg that you withhold your awesome and righteous wrath oh might Wyrm".

Koril listened and was intrigued by the Gnomes talk and flattered that the "smally" understood his position relative to him on the grand scheme of things (Such as the food chain) despite the humiliating fluke of a chance that had placed the dragon lower than a mere gnome.

He also noted that the strange exploding Rock-blaster was still aimed at his head, so lulling the gnomes guard would serve a double purpose.

So the Dragon Korilandatrix did not bite the gnome in half or reduce him to a fine mist of blood after the triple bound chains had been removed from his head & neck.

Fizil on the other hand concentrated on praying to Gond, Bahamut, Tiamat, Garl Glitter gold and every other deity he could think of as he undid the chains.

Korilandatrix stretched his head from side to side before raising his neck so as to observe the Gnome from on high feeling a grudging respect for the gnome who had followed the letter of his words and not unchained the rest of the dragon's form.

"Elucidate your offer, Gnome"

Fizil stared into the hypnotic diamond orbs of the dragon before shaking his head to break contact and merely staring at the Dragons teeth as they swayed above him; he wiped his sweat drenched brow with a silk kerchief (though he ignored his damp shirt & leggings) then replied:

"My name O great & honourable Dragon is Fizil Browhorn, a humble traveling merchant.
My cargo wagon that you can see here is loaded with goods of value though only to a local army camp.
However the second wagon used to transport my family and I has unfortunately suffered a break down in its primary locomotive axle.

My proposed deal is not something as mundane as your assistance in escaping this bandit infested forest, but is a long term strategic business arrangement & partnership.

With your mastery of the skies, strength, speed, wisdom and magic allied to my own experience and business savy not to mention customer base we could corner the trading markets for this entire region of Cormyr in a mere decade or two, a span that's less than an eye blink to an immortal Dragon such as yourself."

Korilandatrix thought the idea over while the gnome gave the basics of what he [Koril] could provide as part of the partnership.

Being a glorified Pegasus was more than slightly demeaning (He supposed), but a commercial Empire? Owning a sizable portion of A business monopoly established throught the land?
Not even his great mother had that (As far as he at knew least), also who knew how far he could push this trading commerce with the experience and base to be gleamed from this Fizil allied to his own brilliant draconic intellect?

"An interesting proposal, Gnome" He yawned purposefully, licking his long tongue as he did so "What would the profit sharing arrangement be?"

Fizil felt a weak grin rise to his lips for the first time in hours.

"Shall we say 7.5% to you on the net profits of each trip and 15% from this first joint venture"?

Koril laughed a bellowing guffaw that blew away Fizil's small white hat.

"At such a rate I might as well keep all the goods from this caravan for myself and leave you here for the Trolls. 30% net profits & 55% on this first venture as a sign of good faith on your behalf"

Fizil's grin had vanished.

"Honored, venerable, wealthy Wyrm, I am but a poor and humble gnome with a large & hungry family to feed. 15% & 21%"

Koril was feeling magnanimous towards the amusing little gnome.

"On net profits per trip 20% & 30% from this first haul, with our future joint ventures being sustained by your descendants continuing and upholding our arrangement. That or no deal"
Koril emphasized this by deliberately licking his long white fangs .

Fizil scratched the fading brown hair on his forehead then nodded.

"I accept, may I now know the name of my new, wise & most majestic business partner?"

While he spoke Gelda discreetly removed the remaining chains off the dragon's main body, wings & tail (While muttering terrified prayers to Garl Glittergold and Chauntea).

Once she had done so the Force Dragon Korilandatrix arose, his wings sending the chains flying away in a whirlwind of dust and ash as he rose to his full height overshadowing the Gnomes as a Redwood pine would a mushroom bush.

"I am the Wyrm Korilandatrix. However we have One last dilemma ahead of us, 'partner', how can I trust you not to escape with the full profits from this first venture into far away lands hoping to escape your arrangement?"

PWOOMPF… BAMF

"I can answer that. Hello my Son"

Koril blinked and looked up behind him, neck strained as a huge shape blotted out the sun.

"Hello, mother" said the Wyrmling.

Fizil, Gelda and the rest of the small eyes staring out of the closed wagon could do naught but gape at the colossal towering figure of the monstrous yet beauteous She-dragon as she stood tall above him.

Such was her size that she overshadowed her progeny as a mountain would an Oak and casing a shadow over the entire camp site. Her legs were thicker than tree stumps; her eyes were the colour of purest white gold, her scales a million perfect diamonds and her form an artist's dream of strength, proportion and restrained power.

They did not however notice the jagged claw wounds on her back or burns on her side, newly healed through magic though they were.

She spoke again, each word rolling forth and holding their absolute attention:

"As I was saying before my young son interrupted me I have a simple spell that will solve this mockery of the prisoners' dilemma. I shall cast a magical contract of loyalty upon you and your family here Gnome. The spell which will be bonded to you by your very blood and that of your descendants will turn the head of your family and breaker of the vow into a living monster, with a skin of rot, bones made out of swamp gas, a snake for a tongue and constant horrifying pain as your companion should you foolishly attempt to renege on your word ."

Fizil barely managed to nod his head weakly, thankful at the least that the monstrous adult She-drake had not been more sadistic with her assurances.
"At least only the head of the family will suffer if the worse comes to the worst, there's nothing in there against retiring and passing on the position of family 'Patriarch' and if she's bothering with that then we're not going to be eaten"

Fizil Browhorn, head of the Browhorn clan of gnomes spoke.
"I accept".

He attempted to mask his terror with a superficial veneer of greed and long term vision but was quite unsuccessful due to the Dragons smelling his fear. (Not that the oath-caster minded).

The Quarter master himself ran up to greet Fizil as his wagon rolled into the army camp.

"At last you're here, the camp Commander's been furious about the delay, we even had to delay an execution since we couldn't spare anything for a last meal"

"Who's the unfortunate fellow?" Said Fizil as he began to unlock the supplywagon's side.

"Oh, Him, a bloody traitorous backstabber called Fithel Pearslip thats who.
He left his whole squad to rot after betraying them to a horrible monster. He almost got away with it, and in fact he would have too if not for the fact that his former commander, Lieutenant Gael Goldpine (You remember him right? He used to be your liason above me) came back a short while ago after escaping capture at the hands of a troop of Ogre & Orc bandits that he managed to escape from after destroying their camp and killing their leader himself singlehandedly!".

Fizil was barely listening to the tale of "heroism" still in shock at his "Flight" out of the forest.
'At least the children loved it' he mused as he began to help unpack the goods.

End tale the Second.



Tale the Third

Prologue: Fire & Flame


In the multiverse there are countless realities.
These realities contain an infinite amount of planes. One of these "planes" is known as "The Material plane".

Inside this plane exists a universe, within which lie countless galaxies and solar systems nestled within innumerable crystal spheres.
There are dark things between the stars and worse things inside them, but this is not a tale of those things nor of the ships known as Spelljammers as they sail the cosmic winds of reality between worlds.

This tale deals with a single Crystal sphere within which there exist 3 planets lush with life that orbit a small young star.

One of those planets is known as Aber-Toril by its inhabitants (And reality or space traversing visitors be they gods, demons, Tel-Quessil or any other being).
On its outer surface exists the geological sub-continent known as Faerun a sprawling realm full of kingdoms, crypts, races, monsters, dragons, labyrinths, species, mages, warriors, barbarians, dungeons and a thousand and one other things (But this is a tale about only a few of them).

Within the boundaries of Faerun lies the Kingdom of Cormyr under the rule of its king.
Inside this Feudal realm of lords, barons purple-knights & War-wizards there stretches a great forest full of all manner of fell beasts and men barely removed from beasthood.

On the edge of this woodland realm there is a mighty mountain stretching tall and fierce.
Inside it (though not within its greater, darker, deeper depths) there live a pair of dragons one an Adult and the other (though no longer a babe) a child as its race measures such matters.

For many Leagues distant the forest continues until it begins to peter out, lush green trees decades or even centuries replaced by burned and hacked stumps.

There exists another high rising rock formation (Labeled a mountain by most surface dwellers who have seen it and lived), layers of basalt, granite & flint composing the outer layers of its sides.
Atop its peak there is a massive entrance into its interior. It leads into the distant interior of the mountain, into the Cave within, and there exists a great pit.

This crevasse is deep, it's bottom far out of the sight of human or even elven eyes (Though not other eyes), its sides perfectly smooth and sheer and ae covered with jet black obsidian polished & shaped to the smoothness of glass.

At the distant bottom of the pit a thin stream of magma coils its way around hardened rock & basalt insides the canals carved by it over countless millenia.
Surrounded by streams of golden-red magma & lava lie islands of rock upon which lie massive piles of gold & treasure, with even diamonds glittering Ruby red in the hellish red light emitted by the lava as it is reflected off the mirror clean Obsidian walls.

Upon the largest pile of all the glistening hordes a massive Great Red Wyrm lies.
Perfectly smooth & even claw wounds mark its back (some still oozing a clear fluid as they slowly heal and others still trickling blood that slides over golden coins and diamond flasks into the lava), and massive areas of its body are covered with deep bruises despite the Adamantium armour that lies upon its scales (themselves stronger than any armour of man or Drawven make).

The dragon sleeps, though with a single eye open (that eye reflecting a light redder than that within the heart of a fire spriteling) .
The dragon dreams.
The Red Dragon dreams of the translucent Force she-dragon that so barely bested it.
It dreams of its plans.
He dreams of Revenge.


Tale 3 – Revenge is a dish best served.. .

The bell rang.

Tassil Browhorn (Son of Fizil) looked up reluctantly from his book ("Volo and the 7 fiery sorceresses of Thay") to see a stranger (probably a noble or wealthy merchant from his appearance) enter the trading outpost (that he ran for his father).

The man was wearing beautiful clothing of the finest cut & weave with materials that looked to be worth more than a prince's ransom in gold, though the style was out of date with the newest fashions by almost a decade.
Despite looking no older than 38 he also held a staff of burnt Oakwood in his left hand atop which was a Topaz pommel, and in his right hand he wore a massive diamond signature ring (That was probably worth more than the store and everything in it).

The stranger looked around at the interior of the trading shop before turning to address Tassil in a cold, imperious tone dripping with contempt.
"Who is the owner of this establishment?"

Tassil felt indignant at the condescending tone but remembered his fathers advice about
"A potential customer is still a possible customer" and reigned it in.

He replied with a civil tone "I am the ow-, manager of this 'establishment'. Tassil Browhorn, appointed manager of this regional branch of the Fizzil Browhorn & Dargof Nerec trade & commerce firm", now can I help you? .

The man suddenly walked towards him, a warm smile on his face as he shook Tassil vigorously by the hand with a strong & warm clasp.

"A pleasure to meet you my fine fellow, I've come here to this branch precisely because of your exceptional & efficient leadership and management".

He then spouted a list of referers, shared acquaintances, the amazing record of the firm and this branch in particular and praise.

Tassil was surprised by the abrupt change in attitude but quickly warmed to the overpowering charm, personality & charisma of the man who called himself "Terg Eda" .

Terg sat nonchalantly in a chair and continued his talk with Tassil:

"As I was saying my good man, I've been hearing amazing things about "your" company. And I want to invest in it, in fact I want to buy a full 25% of "your" trading and delivery firm as a near equal partner".


Tassil blinked in amazement.


In the 11 years since his fathers "Deal" the family trading business had gone from a bare handful of rotting old wagons propelled by spit and home made contraptions to a major regional trading power. It was now the third largest, seventh wealthiest and most profitable (Before profit splitting) company in all of Central Cormyr (A relative fact, aided by the unfortunate destruction of the assets of various rivals due to the mysterious and unexplained destruction of many rival convoys by means unknown despite heavy guard and watch while passing through well hidden forest and mountain routes)

His father had taken the family business public and had released shares in order to aid expansion and raise "seed capital", in fact even now Capital was still low, especially due to the main partner demanding all of his shares of the quarterly profits in precious metals). Still, the vast majority of the company was still held by his family (His father mainly) and the second largest owner was his father's "partner".


Terg's eyes were narrowed into slits as Tassil thought of all this but his jovial expression returned the instant Tassil focused on him again so quickly that even an outside observer would think that he had imagined it.

He continued talking, the well practiced spiel rolling off his tongue dripping with sincere, oily charm:

"I do know that currently only 9% of the total equity of your firm is open to market investment, but surely your father would be willing to accommodate the wishes of a well respected, serious investor such as myself".

"I assure you" He laughed as he said this "That I am no coin grubbing merchant from off the streets of Suzail nor a demon worshipping Thayan magic peddler, but a man of old and noble heritage and integrity" His eyes seemed to burn intoTassils own as he said this sincerity and nobleness evident in those bright focused orbs.


"Still until you can consult your father and his mysterious "partner" the elusive Dargof Nerec on the future of this firm I wish to provide assurances of my assurances as to my sincerity by having purchased this very day before arriving all available public stock in your firm and have made it public, greatly increasing the value of the shares and the value of any future shares that your father may make public. In addition I wish to sample some of the famously reliable service of the firm in the form of a large monthly delivery and purchase of Rhothe meat, Kara-Turan silks and the shipping of gold from a mine I own in the East. However I must leave, my grand-daughter will handle all the details, negotiations and payment"


Terg rose and went to the door before motioning in someone just outside of the thresh-hold

"Come in my dear" he said before turning back towards the still sitting (but now rising) Tassil.

" I'm afraid that I have to leave now on urgent business, but my granddaughter Isel has my full authority on all deals that need to be made. Good day my friend, it has been a pleasure to meet such a fine man such as yourself. { It's such a pity you're wasted here while your old father dithers away any chance of greatness }"

Tassil blinked not quite understanding these strange parting words but forgetting them almost instantly. "Good day, er- Sir Terg".

Anything else that he might have wished to say were choked off as he saw the young lady Isel enter the room.

Tassil had never seen a more attractive woman human, elf, gnome, halfling or otherwise and truly, and truly Isel was exceptionally "Sculpted".



She wore a single sheer low cut dress of bright green silk, held in place by 3 tightly bound velvet straps that accentuated her slender build and generous curves, her long unadorned obsidian black hair flowing freely behind her down to her hips while an exquisite bracelet of platinum and a single glistening Ruby lay nestled between her firm high breasts its colour bringing out her large, exotic orange-red eyes.

Slowly she sauntered towards him, hips swaying as the scent of her perfume, a strange husky scent which reminded him of wild flowers, washed over him.

"A pleasure to meet you Mr?" Her voice had a slight accent, a strange almost archaic one that he'd never heard before.

"Terg, er you mean I? That is us er that..." He mumbled tongue tied while fumbling with his outstretched hands.

She giggled a slender hand covering her small mouth.
"Do calm down, I know how daddy tends to befuddle people but he's a dear really. We'll both be spending a lot of time working together so you'd better get used to it"

Tassils face turned even redder than he would have thought possible
"Lots? Working together lots? We?"

She laughed "Come on, you can buy me some wine at Averno's winery to celebrate our impending arrangement then we can discuss business and other things"

Tassil's blinked "Other things?"

She grinned and pushed him (slightly) with her arm.
"Like your name silly, now come on the day is hot enough without being in this stifling little "shop", {Where your father has left you to be ignored and under appreciated} ".

She led the befuddled Tassil after her hand in hand as he stumbled along in a haze of spun confusion and artful distractions.

Meanwhile, not that far away in mid shape-shift a Great Red Dragon laughed a roaring chortle that shook the leaves of trees for miles around, while at the same time his polymorphed Great-great Granddaughter just barely kept herself from laughing inwardly at the effects of an overgrown milk-sack & a fragile, weak half-human form enhanced by spells of Enchantment & glamour on small-folk males.
The young offspring delighted at their inability to effectively digest & metabolize something as simple as crushed grapes. The evening and morning wore by and again she delighted at the inferiority of the weakest small-folk races in resistance, for how easy it was to alter their desires, shape their memories, alter their minds, implant spells of binding & fealty and to implant mental suggestions in their weak unfortified psyches (Especially after they had been sufficiently inebriated).

Many Leagues away a She-Dragon shivered as if someone had walked over her burial plot in her lines ancestral Dragons Graveyard.

Her son called out to her anxiously "Mother! Are you allright? I thought that you had shielded yourself against the cold evokation?!" His words were a rapid, anxious babble despite springing from a toothy jaw now capable of invoking increasingly complex magics in time & tune.

She turned to him and spoke in a soothing tone "Calm down my dear Koril, you're improving but it shall be a long, long time yet until you'll be able to cast a dweomer capable of affecting me, let alone harming me no matter how good you're getting at using this worlds Weave.
Now, lets practice meta-magical augmentations again, your breath was the same tiny puff last time you tried it and the lung exercises will help your breath control and focus".

And so they continued their training blasts of energy illuminating the shadowy interior of the cave in a rainbow of colours, many beyond the limit of human or even Elven eyesight, while far away peasants dared not look in the direction of the glowing, cursed mountaintop fearing the demons their parents had told them dwelled within.

The caravan train winded to a halt, a mile before the edge of the great forest.



Fizil browhorn got off of his seat at the front of his private wagon, pushed out a ladder then descended to the ground. His foreman, a swarthy dwarf by the name of Fah Decorum trotted over on his pony.

"What is it Sir? We still have a good run yet until we reach civilized lands and get out of the stalks of the bandits in this accursed wood". - There was a reproachful tinge in dwarf's words.

Fizil stared at the ground for a moment then looked his recently appointed Foreman squarely in the eye (though this caused him a considerable neck-ache).

"Fah, you remember (no doubt) what I told you when I promoted you from the Suzail branch and bought you here, About there being "special circumstances" that would crop up? This is one of them.

Continue with the baggage train alone, with luck I should rejoin you at the base camp within a week at most".



"And without luck?"



Fizil looked at the sky for a second then returned his steadforward gaze to to match that of the Dwarf's.



"Then tell my clan and close kin how much I love them, and to check the legacies with Tassil retrieving the will first".



"How do you even plan to get to... wherever you're ventured? You can't maintain a lone caravan and going by foot is suicide!?"



"Well, I've been meaning to test the prototype for long enough as is..."



"That insane experimental scout wagon!?!... May Glittergold and Waukeen watch over you."



"And Moradin's blessings to you, my friend".





The "Scout-Turtle " wagon\XV-42 prototype or "Dragon's wing" as it was known was the product of a rare collaboration: Gnomish ingenuity, an inebriated and indebted war-wizard, dwarfish craftsmanship, draconic inspiration and most importantly of all – large amounts of gold and darkwood.



Its shape was far more compact and small than a typical Caravan wagon or even Gnomish battle-wagon.

Its exterior was smooth and flowed like a rippling muscle lined with hardened scales (Of the rare ____/living metal, a compound that constantly grew as if it were alive, reducing the need for repairs) although this turtle-like design paradigm was interrupted by a number of large spikes attached to its base and front.

It sat on a disjointed multi-part framework that was reinforced by a number of springs and thick pads of soft wood to absorb jolts and the ground underneath it so as to prevent any vital components from being disabled (Such as an Axle), as it moved on its Seven large wheels, arranged as they were in groups of three in the front and back and a single wheel under the base, the wheels were also covered with the same protective living metal as the rest of the wagon's exterior so as to prevent any chance of the wheels breaking in their rapid acceleration under the power of the wagon's motive force.

For transportation it relied on devices of great cunning, 12 stones enchanted with spells of flying or for reppeled gravity itself that were welded into a number of areas inside the wagons frame and there they could be manipulated via the ropes and switches that could be flipped by the wagons operator, as he hung in a web of control ropes and levers inside the wagons fortified interior, this method allowed the wagon to rapidly accelerate in any direction (Though the strength of the stones was not enough to let it fly, a short 2 inch hovering being the most it could do without ripping itself apart).

Most importantly this allowed the wagon to travel in great silence and without the need for beasts of transport or the amount of supplies horses or even battle-dogs would require, which meant that it could be used for days on end by a single man (Though there was room for three inside it) behind enemy lines or in bandit infested woods while offering amazing protection at incredible speeds, as it flew up hillsides as if it were falling down. It was also the cause of its inventor's painful lumbago.



Fizil examined it carefully, checking the spy-holes, the wheels and its internal mechanisms before he entered it and carefully locked the small entrance behind him.



After a few minutes of huffing and puffing he was finally attached to the spiders-web of ropes and control levers that controlled the stones (The wheels were autonomous, moving according to the propulsion, each on their own frame). He sat on a chair that lay suspended in mid-air, held there by ropes attached to the corners of the tiny "room", then carefully and securely strapped himself to it with a number of soft silken ropes.

The wagon shuddered, rose a half inch into the air, settled back downwards, rolled backwards slowly on the ground's slope then abruptly careened forwards at a blistering speed that would have done a Quickling proud. The only sounds to be heard were that of the wheels bouncing on the ground, birds twittering, Wargs howling and an over-weight gnome screaming for well over a minute:

"STUUUPIIIDDD WWAAAGGOOOONNNNN!"


A small band of Orc bandits had heard the noise of the approaching vehicle (Or to be precise, its contents) and had laid in wait, springing onto its path as they heard it near.

"Yer money and yer Li-" –SPLAT


Thus died Berobad, the terror of the woods, burner of the village of "Fair meadows" and second in command of the Raw blood Orc clan.

And thus did the Dragon's wing gain a new coat of paint for its front wheel.

Onwards rolled the "Turtle", through the dark woods and the sunblasted plains, skirting the outskirts of the few small towns it passed and outracing any that tried to interfere with it.

Until, at last, it reached the base of the Mountain.

The 'Wing jerked to a halt, shuddered alarmingly then tipped onto its side, shattering a viewing hole and dislocating a ramming spike.

Inside, Fizil untangled himself and eventually, after much shoving and grunting, he opened the entry hatch and clambered out of it, shaken and bearing a number of livid bruises but uninjured.

After he had finished heaving the rich lunch he had shared two days ago with the commandant of the army supply camp he had visited (A man named Gael Goldpine, and one with an amazing constitution for wine).


Fizil staggered over to the very base of the towering mountain then composed himself, a hand over his pounding heart, before cupping his hands to his mouth and shouting for all the world to hear:


"OH DEAR, I FIND MYSELF HERE ALL ALONE. WON'T ANYONE COME TO HELP A POOR, DEFENCELESS OLD GNOME!"


'What a ludicrous password' He muttered to himself irritably.


"Last time It bought a rogue Air-Elemental after you. Now, I have an excellent summer-time cooling system for the cave. Steady yourself Gnome!".


The words arrived in the gnome's head without bothering to pass the toll-booth of his ears, but Fizil had little time to appreciate this as he was sucked away in a breath.

Only to find himself facing a titanic Dragon's head, mouth open, teeth larger than his whole body, a hot breath passing through the gaping maw over him.

The Two dragons examined the convulsing Gnome quizzically. The Young Korilandatrix spoke first.



"I can't remember him ever doing that before. Is that some sort of greeting customary to small fo-To Gnomes, Mother?"



"No dearest, I believe that your little "business partner" is having an arrest to the motion of his blood, or what they call a "heart arrest"".

"So?"

"Most small-folk only have One heart, dear.

Now, let me see, a spell of healing to keep him alive and an amulet of health to prevent this from happening again should see him till age takes slowly, or until you decide otherwise"


A chant, A cant and an over-weight Gnome's heart regulated himself, leaving its owner to face his business partner in excellent health (Though he did not think much of that, nor for a good many years more).

Fizil slowly woke up, feeling as though his head were a pounding drum and his chest the drummer.

Opening his eyes to the sight of two massive fang filled maws hovering above him didn’t help much, but oddly enough he felt calmer and surer and as his wits returned to him, panic dissipated leaving only a tingling in his gut.

He coughed then pushed himself off the floor.

“My apologies, for fainting, I fear that- “

“You did not faint Gnome”. The rumbling tones of the Great She-dragon left no room for disagreements on even the simplest of matters, but irritation at his humiliation left Fizil feeling irritable.

“My pardon, oh great and all-knowing dragon, then what did happen to me, if your cave sized mind can comprehend the happenings of lesser beings who fail to share your- “

“You died, little gnome. I would advise against removing the amulet on your breast if you value your continued health”.

Fizil’s mouth gaped like a fish before he recovered.

“Er, My thanks lady Wyrm”. His benefactor merely turned and strode off to one of the great piles of treasure and platinum coins that lay in the cave’s corners and curled up. “Wake me after you finish playing with your little gnome”.

“Yes mother” said Korilandatrix, before turning to the Gnome.

“Well, now that’s over with, how goes our business? I fear that your last messenger got eaten by a troll on the way here, and the troll’s digestive tracts had dissolved the records by the time I’d finished dissecting it”.

Fizil wiped his brow with his silk kerchief (A nervous tic that neither family or draconic business partners helped with much) and began to discuss records, deals, fruits, metals and competitors, his demeanor improving noticeably as he did so.

“And we’ve managed to keep our competitors from muscling into the routes you’ve kept clean by changing routes, leaving them to suffer bandit attacks once the conditions worsen, but we’ll need to focus on short term but brutal “cleansings” if we want to keep it up. I’m especially worried about traitors being slipped into the wagon’s staff, as your flambéing half an escort but not the other would raise too many questions”.

Koril, as always had an answer. “Well, have them take some sort of slow acting poison with the antidote at your destination, that works on humans, doesn’t it?”

Fizil shook his head, and carefully kept a condescending tone out of his grandfatherly reply.

“I fear that you’ve been reading too many Volo books from what I’ve sent you, something like that would net us only desperate men, or those with anti-venom imbibed. Never mind the fact that the venom and its antidote would cost us a literal fortune.
I was thinking of offering the men a small but set percentage of each trip en lieu with much lower base wages off course. It would be costly, but we’d have the best men with a strong stake in making sure the cargo reaches the market. Another benefit would be that they’d have an interest in protecting it in “civilized” lands as well, not just the forest short-cuts you clean for us, and we’ve had 3 occasions so far of the cargo being hijacked inside or near city walls”.

Koril huffed slightly, releasing a gust of wind that sent Fizil’s hat and handkerchief flying.

Fizil spoke hurriedly again. “Of course, it would be your decision, being a security matter, but it would save us so much money, and would prevent so many thieveries.”

Koril’s eyes glittered at the mention of the words “Money” and his eyes flashed red at the mention of the mere possibility of “Thieves”.

“Very well, Gnome. We’ll go with your idea, but if it fails the anti-venom’s coming out of your share of the profits. Now, I remember your mentioning that the company shares weren’t selling well, is that still the case?”

“Well, after you ‘suggested’ that we set the shares at one and a half fold the common buyers price the shares remained entirely in our hands until recently, when someone began to buy every share out on the market, its driven the prices up delightfully even when I promised reduced profit sharing per-share on future stock. I’d just recommend against releasing further stock, at this rate someone with the common stock and a few of my families controlling shares could have a serious say in the companies management, and I don’t think that either of us would want that, eh?”

Koril’s snout furrowed. “But if the price is so delightfully high…”

Fizil sighed. “All right, All right, a few more shares but no more. All it would take is a few of my close family selling or buying the shares themselves and we’d be in deep, S-, er, Lava”.

Koril licked his gleaming teeth white with his long tongue. “I knew you’d see it my way eventually”.

Fizil worked up a chuckle, “Yes, somehow quarter ton dragons always get the last word in everything over 80 pound Gnomes, fancy that”.

Koril examined him with slit eyes. “Surely, my dear Fizil you’re not suggesting that your acquiescence to my profitable suggestions over the years has been a mass to fang ratio matter, and not one of simple brain mass?”

“No, No of course no- BRAIN MASS?!”

“As you pointed out, I outweigh you many times over, and my head is rather larger than yours by a factor.”

“Yes, but it’s an issue of quality, not quantity as my dear wife always says. The fact that your brain is huge is irrelevant unless compared to the proportional size of the rest of your body, why a troll or Ogre dwarfs me, but have less brains than what I snort into my handkerchief’s”.

Koril leaned his long neck back as he considered this.

“Then Gnome, the only way to settle this would be to weigh each of us and to examine the shape and weight of our respective heads in order to reach an exact ratio”.

“Well, we could always get a sawn off bridge and a few heads of cattle for you” Joked Fizil.

“True” said Koril, missing the subtle nuances of non volume based languages and hence humour that was expressed in anything less than B-flat.
“However, I can’t help but recall a tale I heard when but a fresh-beaked hatchling, concerning an adventurer of the dwarven race, who bargained for his life with a game of riddles. When his opponent (My Great-great-great uncle’s son’s cousin’s daughter’s nephew) tried to answer the question of weight and head mass by such a scheme as you proposed, he was sadly decapitated by an ingenious saw powered by his own weight. You wouldn’t be thinking of attempting such a subterfuge on me, would you!”

Fizil stammered “Of Co-, of course-“

Koril began to approach Fizil, teeth bared and wings outstretched in a predator’s slow, hypnotic saunter.

“You want my share of the profits and my investments, don’t you? You think that you’re strong enough to succeed without me, that your guards and reputation will keep the wagons safe, that I’m not deserving of any rights!”

Fizil peddled backwards but fell over, arms raised “No,nononoo, It was just a joke, I’ve never even heard of that story”. Tears of fear welled on his muddy cheeks.

Korilandatrix lept forward and lowered his face until his drops of steaming saliva fell at Fizil’s feet. “You were ‘just joking’? Well,” He opened his mouth and drew in a great breath, leaving Fizil breathless.

“So was I. Boo.”

His laughter vibrated Fizil almost to the point of unconsciousness.

Fizil failed to share the humour “You miserable overgrown lizard! I almost died, again! Your brain’s smaller than an ogre’s, you, You!”

“Dragon” said the sleeping She-dragon, as she opened one of her slitted eyes.

Fizil was never one to fail to notice a warning, but his ire was not so easily diminished.

“Bah, you’re just a big bully. Take away your magic, and scales and claws and wings and what do you have left?”

“A genius with a tongue of platinum that could talk you into eating yourself.”, Spake the she-drake before rolling over and covering her ears with a tapestry of ancient Myth-Drannor, and returning to her slumber.

Koril had stopped laughing, and actually felt guilty over the reaction of the (to him) humourless gnome, but he certainly wasn’t going to show it.

“Very well, little gnome, so Dragons are superior by far to anything not wearing a halo or wielding a pitchfork, and we use it. What of it? When have you not used your advantage over some animal before eating it, or have you failed to use your size and hands prior to eating a rhubarb?”

Fizil was still too shaken to reply beyond a waved “Pfah!”

Koril leaned back. “Well, if dragons are such humorless ‘overgrown lizards’ then I see no reason why little gnomes would want to meet such a beasty”.

Fizil was taken aback. “What?”

Koril spoke softly, a hint of amusement in his pitch. “You did ask me a number of times about your younger children and grand-children seeing me, how one expressed it as her dream? We can’t do it here, but there are enough caves in these mountain that can fit a young Dragon and a gaggle of Gnomish young, don’t you think?”

Fizil couldn’t help but smile. “Ye’re as sensitive as a mountain, and not just the size of one, but yes, I think that the young scamps would love seeing ye, no matter that the clan don’t know about our agreement.
They’re probably old enough to keep a secret, and if not, who’d believe them anyway. I’ll tell them that my business partner is a half-dragon or Lizardman or somesuch, and that their imaginations blew ye up”.

Koril let out a whooping boom that Fizil guessed (correctly) was another laugh.

“Do that, gnome, after all, one joke deserves the other. Now, let us eat and drink before you leave, I believe that you favored the hind quarters of the beasts burnt to a black colour, or was it red?”

As Fizil tucked into a large haunch of (red) coloured meat, he couldn’t help but reflect that while this partnership was more stressful than most, at least it was interesting.
He just hoped that the dragon would gain a better sense of humor by his son, or future great-grandson’s time.

If he had known what his son was doing, and what was being done to him by a dragon, he would not have been so optimistic.