They had been chased from the nest. Their mother had been a harsh creature, teaching them to hunt and to fly, to breathe fire with precision, with punishments for even the slightest slip. But then the day came. They had been chased from the nest.
The volcano had been comfortable, but out here in the words, it was green and cold, and it made him angry. Nearby his brother and sister were fighting, squabbling, spitting flame. The sister had ventured into a goblin cave, killed the little vermin, and recovered a silver goblet. The brother had wanted it the moment he saw it.
Correction. He didn't want it, he just didn't want anybody else to have it, let alone his sister.
Pyrion walked away.
He could feel the anger and the fury, the spite, rising up within him. He could go back, slap down his siblings, take the goblet, make them worship him, as was his right. He breathed out, it all seamed so pointless.
He continued walking for several hours, only a few months old, contemplating life. Goblins, Elves, Humans. The lesser species seamed to succeed by forming societies. It was a novel idea, that their success could match the dragons, but there it was. His mother had told them stories of Dragons destroying villages, but then the humanoids always returned.
Pyrion stopped to consider this, what if the humans, for example, were a singular creature as a species. If true, that would make them unstoppable, relentless, dauntless. He doubted if any other Red Dragon has thought this way.
The forest path continued for half a day, until soon, the salt air filled his nostrils, and as the path breached two mountains, he saw the coastal village below and ocean beyond. The wyrmling decided that maybe this was a chance to learn. Summoning his still undisciplined sorcery, he began to focus all his will upon the human form. Okay, maybe not human. Half elf. Pyrion knew he was an outsider, so his best chance was to appear as a humanoid outsider, then his oddness would not be so out of place.
It took nigh on an hour, and He took on the visage of a male half-elf. He kept the appearance of red clothes. Red is the best, afterall.
And them, he continued the trek. Pyrion would soon be a new inhabitant, a new student, a new adventurer.
Little did he know of the ancient bronze dragon, watching his every step.
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When faced with an issue, most people would rather be negative than find a solution.
"The Biggest problem D&D player face is their own bad decisions." "What doesn't kill you makes you more likely to die."- Thauraeln_The_Bol "Well, hey, if it ain't broke, then break it!"Former_Queen_Yvonne See my homebrew spells, monsters, and this thread part of the cult of science, and the Cult of the Nothic, and plays on Tenbrae Sine Fine Please help us!!! (Link) Nickname is Colton. PM ME THE WORD TOMATO. The best name for the mad gibber
Two fighters and a cleric. He had joined them is a strange meeting place, something called a Tavern. It was a very odd concept. Overpriced drinks, overpriced food, grubby plates and grubbier servants, and yet somehow they liked it. The order of business? a pack of Orcs had moved into the area and killed some farmers, and stolen their cows.
Orcs are little more than vermin, only slightly better than goblins, but if they had the strength to take what they wanted, good for them. He raised that very point with the three 'party members'. Pyrion wondered why they all looked horrified.
Killing and stealing? gasped the cleric, momentarily lost for words, "that's okay with you"?
Pyrion just shrugged. He wanted to answer "Sure, if you take it, its yours", but decided to wait on their remarks, he was trying to learn, after all.
"You don't kill innocents, you don't steal, you don't do loads of stuff, cos you wouldn't want folks doing that to you", continued the cleric, "By Bahamut, if we all did anything like that, society would fall apart.
A shiver of hate ran up Pyrion's spine. That name, Bahamut, the betrayer, God of cowardly metallic dragons.
"You know of Bahamut"? asked Pyrion.
"At this the cleric was simply incredulous. "Err, yeah, I'm a priest of Bahamut".
'Note to self', thought the whelpling red dragon, 'kill the cleric at some point'.
"So anyway", said Pyrion, "Killing and stealing is bad. And now we go kill some orcs and steal their cows".
"The farmers cows" said Warrior One. Pyrion had heard his name earlier, but didn't care to remember it.
"The farmers are dead", answered Pyrion.
"You are harsh dude", said Warrior Two, who also had a name that Pyrion forgot.
"I'm a realist, anyway, I was never given any moral teachings", said Prion truthfully, "so please forgive my bluntness".
After a few more drinks, the four adventurers made their plans, before retiring for the night.
The next day, the four made their way to the mountain caves beyond the farms. The signs of the orcs presence were obvious, for the vermin had smashed and defiled what they couldn't kill or steal. The route taken to the caves was as plain as the orcs footprints in the mud. As the four neared the caves, the smell of roast beef drifted through the air, and Pyrion mused that they no longer needed to return the beasts.
The orcs were bigger and stronger, but the two fighters fought with skill and precision. One of the two was heavily armored and wielded a shield and a Viking style arming sword, the other warrior was wearing less than leathers, and with a claymore, appeared to be raging. The Cleric stood back, throwing out healing spells, and the occasional lightning bolt. Pyrion did his part. Fire sorcery leapt from his hands, and orcs fell under his barrage of upcast and quickened scorching rays.
There was no great spoils, no treasure to capture. But the coastal farms around the village would now be protected. The journey back was a duality, at times triumphant, and at times sombre. At one point, the cleric whispered to Pyrion to slow his walk, and shouted to the warriors to keep going, they would catch up.
"Do you still want to kill me, little red dragon"?
"How did you know", replied Pyrion to both points.
In an instant the cleric had Pyrion by the neck, his physical strength was immense, impossible, and the young drake found himself backed up against a tree. The clerics skin shimmered, and for a second, Pyrion thought he saw bronze scales. Lightning coursed over his body, and it took all of the red dragons will not to cry out.
"I knew you the moment you passed the mountains, I watched your every step, whelp", and the cleric spat the last word. "The village is protected, by me, and you will now despoil it".
"Okay", whimpered Pyrion, "I walked away from my people, I just want to learn".
The cleric of Bahamut leaned in close, his breath in Pyrions face, "You are indeed ignorant, but you have not as yet done evil". He dropped Pyrion to the floor, and the young dragon rubbed his neck.
"What now"? asked Pyrion.
The ancient bronze dragon started to walk away, and looked over his shoulder.
"Follow, and I will teach, and you may continue to live".
Pyrion
They had been chased from the nest. Their mother had been a harsh creature, teaching them to hunt and to fly, to breathe fire with precision, with punishments for even the slightest slip. But then the day came. They had been chased from the nest.
The volcano had been comfortable, but out here in the words, it was green and cold, and it made him angry. Nearby his brother and sister were fighting, squabbling, spitting flame. The sister had ventured into a goblin cave, killed the little vermin, and recovered a silver goblet. The brother had wanted it the moment he saw it.
Correction. He didn't want it, he just didn't want anybody else to have it, let alone his sister.
Pyrion walked away.
He could feel the anger and the fury, the spite, rising up within him. He could go back, slap down his siblings, take the goblet, make them worship him, as was his right. He breathed out, it all seamed so pointless.
He continued walking for several hours, only a few months old, contemplating life. Goblins, Elves, Humans. The lesser species seamed to succeed by forming societies. It was a novel idea, that their success could match the dragons, but there it was. His mother had told them stories of Dragons destroying villages, but then the humanoids always returned.
Pyrion stopped to consider this, what if the humans, for example, were a singular creature as a species. If true, that would make them unstoppable, relentless, dauntless. He doubted if any other Red Dragon has thought this way.
The forest path continued for half a day, until soon, the salt air filled his nostrils, and as the path breached two mountains, he saw the coastal village below and ocean beyond. The wyrmling decided that maybe this was a chance to learn. Summoning his still undisciplined sorcery, he began to focus all his will upon the human form. Okay, maybe not human. Half elf. Pyrion knew he was an outsider, so his best chance was to appear as a humanoid outsider, then his oddness would not be so out of place.
It took nigh on an hour, and He took on the visage of a male half-elf. He kept the appearance of red clothes. Red is the best, afterall.
And them, he continued the trek. Pyrion would soon be a new inhabitant, a new student, a new adventurer.
Little did he know of the ancient bronze dragon, watching his every step.
When faced with an issue, most people would rather be negative than find a solution.
NICE
"The Biggest problem D&D player face is their own bad decisions." "What doesn't kill you makes you more likely to die."- Thauraeln_The_Bol "Well, hey, if it ain't broke, then break it!"Former_Queen_Yvonne
See my homebrew spells, monsters, and this thread
part of the cult of science, and the Cult of the Nothic, and plays on Tenbrae Sine Fine
Please help us!!! (Link) Nickname is Colton. PM ME THE WORD TOMATO.
The best name for the mad gibber
Two fighters and a cleric. He had joined them is a strange meeting place, something called a Tavern. It was a very odd concept. Overpriced drinks, overpriced food, grubby plates and grubbier servants, and yet somehow they liked it. The order of business? a pack of Orcs had moved into the area and killed some farmers, and stolen their cows.
Orcs are little more than vermin, only slightly better than goblins, but if they had the strength to take what they wanted, good for them. He raised that very point with the three 'party members'. Pyrion wondered why they all looked horrified.
Killing and stealing? gasped the cleric, momentarily lost for words, "that's okay with you"?
Pyrion just shrugged. He wanted to answer "Sure, if you take it, its yours", but decided to wait on their remarks, he was trying to learn, after all.
"You don't kill innocents, you don't steal, you don't do loads of stuff, cos you wouldn't want folks doing that to you", continued the cleric, "By Bahamut, if we all did anything like that, society would fall apart.
A shiver of hate ran up Pyrion's spine. That name, Bahamut, the betrayer, God of cowardly metallic dragons.
"You know of Bahamut"? asked Pyrion.
"At this the cleric was simply incredulous. "Err, yeah, I'm a priest of Bahamut".
'Note to self', thought the whelpling red dragon, 'kill the cleric at some point'.
"So anyway", said Pyrion, "Killing and stealing is bad. And now we go kill some orcs and steal their cows".
"The farmers cows" said Warrior One. Pyrion had heard his name earlier, but didn't care to remember it.
"The farmers are dead", answered Pyrion.
"You are harsh dude", said Warrior Two, who also had a name that Pyrion forgot.
"I'm a realist, anyway, I was never given any moral teachings", said Prion truthfully, "so please forgive my bluntness".
After a few more drinks, the four adventurers made their plans, before retiring for the night.
The next day, the four made their way to the mountain caves beyond the farms. The signs of the orcs presence were obvious, for the vermin had smashed and defiled what they couldn't kill or steal. The route taken to the caves was as plain as the orcs footprints in the mud. As the four neared the caves, the smell of roast beef drifted through the air, and Pyrion mused that they no longer needed to return the beasts.
The orcs were bigger and stronger, but the two fighters fought with skill and precision. One of the two was heavily armored and wielded a shield and a Viking style arming sword, the other warrior was wearing less than leathers, and with a claymore, appeared to be raging. The Cleric stood back, throwing out healing spells, and the occasional lightning bolt. Pyrion did his part. Fire sorcery leapt from his hands, and orcs fell under his barrage of upcast and quickened scorching rays.
There was no great spoils, no treasure to capture. But the coastal farms around the village would now be protected. The journey back was a duality, at times triumphant, and at times sombre. At one point, the cleric whispered to Pyrion to slow his walk, and shouted to the warriors to keep going, they would catch up.
"Do you still want to kill me, little red dragon"?
"How did you know", replied Pyrion to both points.
In an instant the cleric had Pyrion by the neck, his physical strength was immense, impossible, and the young drake found himself backed up against a tree. The clerics skin shimmered, and for a second, Pyrion thought he saw bronze scales. Lightning coursed over his body, and it took all of the red dragons will not to cry out.
"I knew you the moment you passed the mountains, I watched your every step, whelp", and the cleric spat the last word. "The village is protected, by me, and you will now despoil it".
"Okay", whimpered Pyrion, "I walked away from my people, I just want to learn".
The cleric of Bahamut leaned in close, his breath in Pyrions face, "You are indeed ignorant, but you have not as yet done evil". He dropped Pyrion to the floor, and the young dragon rubbed his neck.
"What now"? asked Pyrion.
The ancient bronze dragon started to walk away, and looked over his shoulder.
"Follow, and I will teach, and you may continue to live".
When faced with an issue, most people would rather be negative than find a solution.