Dragon Fiction

Hey folks! Matt here with some Dragon Fiction Willie asked me for. This is intended to appear at the beginning of the Dragons section of the Monsters book.

That's how this works, by the way. When someone at MCDM asks me to write some fiction on a topic, I write something inspired by that topic, but maybe not literally featuring that topic.

So in this case you will note; you never actually meet a dragon here. In spite of that, I think this text is very much about dragons, but it's also about..., well, I've leave that as an exercise for the reader.

Also this is not the final text, just a first draft!

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On Dragons

“John you don’t have to do this.”

Sir John ignored his draconian friend.

“Maybe ditch the arms and armor,” Bootblack said.

“Nah I thought of that,” John looked down at his gear. “This is who I am. I go in there under some…some pretense and I might foul the whole thing up.” He shook his head. “Just another kind of trick.”

He turned to Embers. “Any luck?” he asked.

Ember’s eyes, currently solid starscape, faded into her normal, gold-flecked azure eyes. “Yes,” she said, and some tension fled from the group. “Chloryxoviox, The Forge of Pain.”

“Oh wonderful,” Jackson Bootblack said while the rest of the team groaned.

Embers recalled her void vision. “I know this dragon,” she said and closed her eyes. “Wings like swordblades. Chloryxoviox razed a dwarven city, the city of Kal Aethyrion.”

Dazar gave John a Look. “John, Kal Aethyrion was sacked 12,000 years ago,” he said.

“It wanted the legendary armory of Zor, the Metalmaster of Aethyrion. They treated with it. It allowed them to evacuate the city first.” Embers opened her eyes and looked at John. “It can be reasoned with,” she said, and nodded.

“I think it'll work,” John said.

Vaantikalisax put a hand on the pommel of his mace. “Why?” he demanded.

“I’ll tell you why,” Jackson said. Everyone looked at the polder.

“Well we all know it’s in there, right?” Jackson asked, gesturing to the cave. They nodded.

“Then it…or he, I guess, knows we’re out here. And he hasn’t roasted us, so…maybe he’s waiting to hear our offer?”

John smiled at the troubadour having come to the same conclusion he had. He turned to Embers. “A crucible dragon?” She nodded. He sighed.

“The Crucibles make fortresses of iron. Steel. And they burn with eternal heat,” Dazar said, the second most qualified loremaster among them. “This is just a cave,” he said.

Gwillyv appeared with what looked like a metal roof shingle. She passed it to A Mist Curls Around Dying Embers. You could see how heavy it was by the way she held it.

“Yes,” Embers said, looking at the metal dragonscale made of blackened iron. She pressed her palm against it. Metal scored over centuries and impregnated with ancient soot. “This creature had a home recently, such as you describe Theochron. But something happened and it was forced to flee. Wounded, probably. This would have been years ago and it slumbered here since. Then something woke it.”

She turned the heavy, metal scale over in her hands. “When a dragon gets this old, all it knows is pain. It becomes hateful, spiteful.

“Yeah I had a bad toothache once, it was a bitch, I know how it feels,” Bootblack said. Everyone ignored him.

“There has to be some other option,” Sir Vaantikalisax said.

“Well I talked to Ffyllynvir or however you pronounce it,” John said.  “The Thorns are at an impasse. They can’t pull back without exposing whole villages to this thing and they can’t bring it down.”

“So we fight!” Dazar said, and gripped his staff in a battle stance.

John shrugged. “They tried that,” he said. “If the Thorns couldn’t take this thing down I doubt we could. Time to try something else.”

Dazar came to inspect the dragonscale. Vaantikalisax grabbed John by the arm. “John do you know what you’re doing?” he said under his breath. Others had asked essentially the same question, but this was Vaant.

John smiled at his friend. “Yeah.” He looked at the group arguing about the wisdom of his plan and gestured with his head toward a boulder before walking away from the group. Vaant followed. When they were out of earshot, John explained his plan.

“Look. I don’t believe in coincidences, ok? We need the Thorns, at the keep, when Saxton shows up. So what happens? They’re tied up with this dragon. Well that’s pretty nice for Saxton, isn’t it?” He left it at that. Waited for Vaant to catch up. 

Vaant looked around. It took him a second. Then he looked at John. “You think Saxton got here before us.”

“Yes I do,” John said. “I told you I talked to Ffyllynvir, right? Do you know what they said?” John paused for a moment and his eyes unfocused as he remembered what Embers said the dragon’s name was. “Chloryxoviox,” he said suddenly coming back to reality, “started this vendetta against the wode elves a week after Saxton came to power. And I think? It might have been less than a week.”

“Ah,” Vaant said, impressed. “And you don’t believe in coincidences.”

“If Embers is right, this dragon might be the most dangerous thing, of any kind, in the entire duchy. If I were Saxton? Getting that thing on my side would be my frist priority.”

“Because if it works,” Vaant said, “You start your campaign with a powerful ally. And if it doesn’t…,”

“Then he starts with a powerful enemy. So, first thing he does is find out whose side the dragon’s on.”

“Because that dictates his entire strategy,” Vaant was impressed and more impressed because he’d known John for years, and was still surprised. “Well done, John.” Vaant acted like the dragon was already on their side.

“Everyone thinks this is some big risk, some daring ploy,” John was looking at the rest of the team. He shook his head, then looked back at Vaant. “But if Saxton did it, if he talked to this thing? I can. And I’m a better negotiator.”

“Because you’re not an…an ‘unrepentant…,’” He couldn’t remember what the polder, Jackson Bootblack, had called Lord Saxton earlier.

“Cockbag,” John finished for him. “I’m not an unrepentant cockbag, yeah that’s the idea.”

“Smart,” Vaant said and shook John’s hand. “Good luck.”

“Hey!” Jackson Bootblack said. John turned to look at him. “Saxton’s armor is made from the whispering iron,” he said. “It’s only found in Hell. Pretty good prize for a dragon with taste who turned out to be on the right side. Or no side.”

John looked from the polder to the others. “Is that true or did you make it up?”

“I’ll tell you after you come out,” Bootblack smiled. “If you come out.” John shook his head with amused exasperation. Bootblack spread his hands and bowed deeply.

Sir John proceeded toward the cave.

“John,” Embers said. John sighed and stopped. “Flatter him,” the void mage said. “Appeal to his vanity. Remind him that he’s the most powerful thing in all Omund’s Land.”

“I got it,” John said, and filed the information away. He didn’t really know what he was going to say, he was going to present himself and see what happened.

“And if you're wrong?” Gwylliv whispered. John could barely hear her, but he could guess what she said.

John shrugged with one shoulder. “If I'm wrong we're all going to die anyway. No point living in fear. Anyone else?” No one said anything. Only Vaant and Embers could look him in the eye.

“Wish me luck,” Sir John said, and walked alone into the dragon’s lair.