[Vodstok]

I think parts of it are a bit rushed and incomplete, but i am pretty staisfied with theoverall story. let me know what you all think. Although it is old-school fantasy, i just cant resist injecting irony into everything. i hope you enjoy it :)



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Sitting up in the cold mountains, near the peak of a medium sized crag, was a cave. It was terribly inaccessible, with cliffs and loose rock peppering the entire route to its opening. But that had not swayed the bold, intrepid and foolish over the centuries, for inside the cave was a chamber.

The chamber was massive; far bigger then one would think the mountain top could accommodate. It had been built millennia before, carved out of the crag as a hall for a kingdom, of a mighty and wise dwarf king long forgotten. The ceiling was made of rectangular marble plates, carved in intricate detail with relieves of massive battles, and plentiful mines.

Entrances spotted the sides, allowing masses of subjects to enter and feast with the great king. Many of them were now boarded over with tables and benches from the great hall. Bases of long destroyed statues littered the floor. The soft, warm glow of an eternal hearth burned at one end, filling the chamber from end to end in dull orange light.

Time and evil had long claimed the kingdom, leaving behind the hall. Civilizations came and went, most unaware of the chamber. The occasional explorer or looter would happen by, but most either returned empty-handed, or were claimed by the evil that lurked behind the boarded portals.

Eventually, a great reptilian beast arrived. His name was Emberwind, a name chosen for him to describe his fiery breath. Emberwind had taken a liking to the giant chamber. Ever the planner, he realized that the great expanse of the chamber would eventually serve his needs, and accommodate his growing mass.

The lurking evil tried to drive him out, but it was no match. Emberwind was the most vicious of his kind; his rich red scales matched the rage contained within. He burned the evil out with his flames, and drove them back with his hate.

Back in those ancient days, Emberwind was the terror of the surrounding area, swooping out regularly, eating people, destroying cities, and stealing treasures. Now, centuries later, he rested upon a massive pile of treasure. Gems, coins and jewelry of every culture that had lived within a thousand miles lay on the floor, piled tens of feet high in the center of the chamber. Emberwind’s massive body was almost dwarfed in the sea of gold, platinum and silver.

Sections here and there were melted into solid lumps of metal, often centered with a black smudge; all remains of the bold, intrepid and foolish. Dragon slayers were the rule for centuries. Thieves often tried to make off with bits of his treasure, but the dragon spent so much time around the pile, he was intimately aware of every coin and stone, and where it lay.

He would pursue the thieves relentlessly, destroying them utterly in the course of returning even a single necklace. But thieves merely angered him. Emberwind truly enjoyed the slayers. Self-righteous, over confident fools determined to rid the world of the Dragon’s deadly scourge. Many of them had met with previous success with other dragons, but Emberwind was not like most. He was clever, strong, and most of all, intelligent. His attacks were usually crafted in his mind before hand, and he never assumed his home was safe. More than once he would leave to ravage a village, only to return to a small horde of armed men bent on ending his reign.

But Emberwind always had the advantage, especially in his home. He had rigged the entire chamber with traps and spells, all aimed at giving him the advantage. He would toy with them, rather than kill them outright. They usually expected a giant beast to come snaking into the chamber, but he most often would morph into a human form and simply stroll in under noses before attacking.

These days, however, the massive dragon merely slept. He dreamed of past conquests, and especially of battles with those who would see him dead. People had stopped settling the surrounding area, and the ones that did were of such meager means that Emberwind had lost interest in terrorizing them. It was like toying with an injured mouse. There was no challenge, and no reward; poor folk had no treasure to hoard.

Eventually, the slayers either forgot about him, or cared very little to hunt down a dragon that no longer posed a threat. The great beast grew bored, and eventually depressed.

He sighed and stretched for the first time in over a decade, turned slightly, and lay back down. How he missed the little creatures that used to invade his home. He thought fondly of bygone days, when their screams would echo in his great hall, and he would revel in the rush of hot flame as it escaped his mouth and scorched his victims.

Each little death brought him such joy. If only he could recreate that feeling. His head popped up from his pillow of gold coins. An idea had crept into his mind. Perhaps there were still dragon slayers about. They could not have killed off all of the dragons in the world. Some hero must still wander looking for the challenge of the mighty wyrms, for a chance of being a legend, or simply to usurp the dragon’s wealth.

Maybe he could find one, and lure him back to a fight…

The dragon smiled as he stretched his two hundred foot bulk and rested on all fours. Yes, he would find a dragon slayer and lure him back for the kill. For the first time in nearly five hundred years, Emberwind invoked his natural ability to change shape and shrank noisily into human form. He appeared as a tall, muscular man wearing black clothing. His eyes were no longer the familiar red, now an intense, icy blue. His head was clean shaven.

He pocketed some coins and crawled over the piles of treasure toward the cave entrance. He hoped the currency was still valid; the human cultures were so temperamental, shifting leadership every half century, each one bringing their own ideas to the forefront.

After a short walk, Emberwind stood at the mouth of the cave. He had forgotten how sweet the cold mountain air smelled. He inhaled a deep breath of icy wind and smiled.

It took all of his self control to not shift back into his natural form and take to the air. Flying was one of his greatest joys, but he chose not to reveal himself. He had a game to play, and it required him not alerting the world to his presence. Not yet, anyway.

He held his palm out and concentrated for a second. A hole appeared in the air before him. In it was a picture of a lush green pasture, strong, tall fruit trees, and off in the distance, a city. He smiled and walked through.

A new city had grown in the time he slept. When he had last been out, the landscape had been brown and scarred from his exploits. A single, pathetic village had cropped up near the river, which had always teamed with trout. Its sad, meager existence had been instrumental in the great dragon sequestering himself in slumber.

It now appeared that his absence had lifted the blight on this land. As he glanced around, he decided it had been too long. This new generation should know terror. The thought made him smile inwardly.

He expected to see a massive wall surrounding such a large city. Instead, it was wide open. The road changed subtly into a city street. Carts filled with various wares plied up and down the main thoroughfare, beggars intermingled with common folk, asking for handouts, while rich merchants rode exotic animals. Bakeries, restaurants, and stores lined the streets.

Emberwind stopped and scanned the street. He needed a pub or a bar; those were the places where blowhards and want-to-be heroes would be found. Perhaps, if he was lucky, there would be proper hero in among the rabble.

As he scanned, his eyes fell upon a sign for a side street: Cask Street. If nothing else ever stayed the same, humans had a penchant for naming streets after their most prominent feature. He decided either pubs or mortuaries would be found on that avenue; either one would be entertaining.

To his delight, Cask Street was lined on both sides with all manner of inn, pub and bar. Even in the middle of the day, drunks and men in various forms of mercenary garb staggered in and out of the many establishments.

Being systematic of mind, Emberwind entered the first one on his right and walked straight to the bar and sat down. The bartender was a slight man with thinning hair. It grew in a thin horseshoe around his skull, and three wispy fingers of greasy hair were stretched over in a vain attempt to cover his massive bald spot. It was as if he had grown through his hair, and the fingers were trying to hold his head in.