It was too cold in the mountains.
Gray clouds shielded the sun, depriving the mountainside of sunlight. A cold wind blew upward from the valley below, carrying the briny smell of the sea with it. It clashed with the downward smoke-scented wind from above in spiraling flurries of ash. It wasn't like this all the time — I would know; I come up here often enough. But when it was, it could only mean one thing:
The dragon was angry.
Why it was angry, I had no idea. But seeing as it was a hero's job to keep civilians safe, I had no choice but to figure out what the dragon's problem was.
And so, here I was, hiking up the side of the mountain in heavy-ass armor — by myself, I might add, because my wimpy horse decided it was too steep. I left her where there was still grass and trees so she could graze while I was gone, and I knew I saw a puddle of rainwater from a recent storm, so she would be fine on her own until I returned. If I returned. I mean, it's not like one can just waltz into the dragon's lair and ask, "What's gotten under your skin now?" Or scales. Whatever.
Don't get me wrong, it's not like I hadn't done this before. The other instances when someone saw the smoke rising from the mountains, I was always the first to accept the quest to see what the issue was. I'd always returned with all my limbs intact and the problem solved, so that's what earned me the nickname, "the Dragon Tamer" among the potion-makers and village people. It was a stupid nickname, considering I never tamed the damn thing — you have to defeat the dragon in a battle to achieve that, so it's impossible. But try telling that to a village full of programmed NPCs.
I hauled myself up onto the final ledge before the dragon's lair, my arms aching from the effort. Scaling the mountain was difficult enough without the extra fifty pounds of iron strapped onto your shoulders and chest.
Flopping onto my back in the rocks, I lay there for a second, staring up at the ominous cloudy sky. The background music had shifted to the eerie orchestral track that signaled an enemy was nearby. A long time ago, this track made me anxious, but I worked hard to change that. Now, it almost acted as a reminder to take an endurance potion before continuing onward.
So, pulling out my inventory bag, I eyed my remaining items. I had enough endurance potions left to get me through this quest, not to mention healing potions if I needed them, but I'd definitely need to get some more once I finished here. I might as well visit the village potion-maker, since I'd be returning to the village after this, anyway.
But... I thought to myself, debating, why would I waste the gold at a potion-maker's when I could just go to a trader? The idea was enough to perk me up a bit, and I frowned. Why would I look forward to the prospect of visiting a trader? It wasn't because of that weird trader guy, was it? No, he was just another NPC. No matter how different from them he seemed, he was still an extra. Even if he was sort of interesting and a little entertaining.
I raised an endurance potion to my lips, downing it in one gulp and grimacing at the bitter taste. Then I jumped up, my sudden burst of energy not just a result of the potion. I glared at the empty bottle in my hand before tossing it aside, where it landed among the rocks with a light clink. It didn't even break. Pathetic, I thought toward myself, irritated.
Tying my worn white handkerchief around my nose and mouth to keep from breathing in ashes, I marched into the dragon's lair, my armor clicking with every step. The noise itself wasn't loud, but in the silence of the cave, every little sound echoed until it was all I could hear. Just one of the many factors that prevented anyone from sneaking up on the dragon. Not that it mattered — even if one managed to catch it by surprise, its weapon-proof scales and 360-degree vision made it impossible to achieve anything, whether it was looting or an attempt to slaughter the beast.
I could tell I was getting close once I could hear the rumbling of each of the dragon's breaths. I kept my hand on the handle of my battle ax, my fingertips brushing the sheath of my useless old sword. I don't know why I took it back; I was slowly realizing that having it was only a hindrance. I didn't even use it, for realm's sake. Damn that trader and his bright smile. It had to be a sales tactic of some sort.
Once I felt the rumbling growls beneath my feet, I knew the dragon was just around the corner. Pausing to take a steadying breath, I angled my body so the dragon wouldn't see my weapons and stepped out from the shadows of the cave.
I caught a glimpse of mountains of gold piled throughout the nest before great red scales blocked the treasure from view, and then all I could see was the beast.
With a deafening roar, a gust of scorching wind blew over me, carrying the scent of smoke, sulfur, and strangely, cinnamon. That unusual sweetness caught me by surprise every time.
Shielding my face with my arms, I exposed my palms, showing the dragon that I meant no harm. I'd quickly learned that speaking to it did nothing; it was a cynical creature, and only trusted its own judgment. No matter what you said, if the dragon decided it didn't trust you, you were as good as dead.
After a moment, the roaring stopping, the smoke-sulfur-cinnaon wind ceasing with it. Ears ringing dizzily, I slowly lowered my arms, instantly met by a single, giant, blazing red-orange eye. It didn't blink, so neither did I. I stared back at it, my palms open, keeping a determined peacefulness in my stance and expression.
Finally, the dragon seemed to decide I wasn't dangerous, and it retreated its enormous head, looking at me with both eyes instead of one.
I recognize you, the dragon told me.
No, dragons don't speak. Everyone knows that. But what everyone doesn't know is that, if the dragon wants, it can tell you things through telepathy — which can be a serious mind-fuck if you've never met a dragon before, seeing as the only people who know about dragon telepathy are those who have already experienced it themselves.
"Yeah, we've only met about three times," I responded wryly, and the dragon exhaled smoke through its nostrils — a dragon's version of a laugh, probably.
Then what gives me the honor of a fourth, hero? The word "honor" carried such sarcasm that I scoffed. Typical dragons, mocking heroes every chance they get.
If there's one thing everyone knows about dragons, it's that they hate heroes. If they had any common sense, they'd hate adventurers more, since adventurers are the ones who'd want to steal their precious gold. But no, they decided that, since heroes might want to defeat them for glory one day, they're more deserving of hate — even if no hero has ever dared to attempt to battle a dragon (or ever will, for that matter).
That's probably why this specific dragon constantly attempts to convince its visitors to battle it. Or maybe hoarding a nest of gold gets boring after a few centuries, I don't know. But I wasn't about to ask; it's not like I give a damn either way.
"Believe me, I'm not here by choice," I told the dragon, crossing my arms. "The people of the village saw the smoke billowing from your lair and descended into terror."
The dragon cackled with amusement — it sounded a lot more like thunder than a laugh. I have been living above their town for centuries without so much as a whisper of a threat, and they still fear my existence?
"What do you expect? You may be peaceful, but you're not exactly harmless."
Wise words for a hero. I assume you speak from experience?
I stared at the dragon, annoyed. It was trying to get me to admit to being dangerous, because everyone hated to discover that about their heroes. It was one thing to know a hero was capable, but to view a hero as a possible threat was another thing entirely.
"Whether someone will face harm on my behalf depends entirely on the harm they inflict on others," I responded as complicated as I could on the off-chance that the dragon got too confused to understand. But it slipped my mind that, since the dragon was centuries old, it was an expert in the language of old — AKA riddles.
Once again, your words carry a wisdom not expected from your appearance.
Basically, the dragon said I looked like an idiot. "Thanks," I replied through my teeth, growing impatient. "Now explain the smoke so I can get this quest over with."
The dragon chuckled, a noise that sounded like the roar of a lion. Yes, I suppose that would be preferable for us both, wouldn't it?
It suddenly pushed itself onto its feet, its great spiked tail barely avoiding a pile of treasures, to reveal a bed of gold beneath its pale belly. I wrinkled my nose. Had it been lying on that this whole time? That couldn't have been comfortable.
I have been guarding this gold for nearly four centuries. I was raised in its midst. Before me, it was my mother's, and her mother's before her.
"Yeah, yeah, you're greedy gold hoarders, I'm aware," I interrupted. "Can you get to the part where you tell me what's making you angry, so I can help you and be on my way?"
It appears patience is not a virtue heroes desire. The dragon sat down again, and the ground shook beneath my feet. My arms shot out for balance, but there was nothing to grab onto, so I stumbled awkwardly until the quaking stopped.
"I don't concern myself with patience. Urgency is more important."
Spoken like a true hero. But the way the dragon said this made it sound more like an insult. Fine, I will humor your urgency. It should come to your relief that I don't require your assistance.
Quite the contrary. This pissed me off. Because that meant I came all the way up here for nothing. "And why's that?" I snapped.
I was merely scaring off a thief who attempted to steal from me under the cover of darkness.
"Wow, you let him get as far as an attempt?"
The thief was a woman, hero. And yes, I wished to see what she was after.
The fact that she was a woman made no difference to me. It was what she was after that mattered. "Which was...?" I urged the dragon, my practically-nonexistent patience wearing thin.
The dragon acted as though it wasn't going to answer, and I wanted to scream at it. It was baiting me on purpose to piss me off, I knew it. Unfortunately, it was working.
But then, the dragon lifted its tail to reveal a mountain of gold behind it, atop of which lay a single, aged scroll, bound by electric-blue ribbon.
This is, perhaps, one of the most valuable items in my collection.
"Uh-huh..." I muttered, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. There's no way a piece of paper could be worth more than all this gold.
Your ignorance is to be expected. I wish I could be there when you realize it, so I may laugh at your embarrassment.
"Keep talking like that, and I might just agree to battle you."
As entertaining as that would be, I have no interest in battling you, hero.
At these words, my inkling of patience vanished, and my restraint snapped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?! You've been challenging adventurers to battles left and right, but you won't budge when someone challenges you, instead?"
The dragon watched my outburst in silence, its tail swishing gently back and forth above the scroll, almost playfully. It was enjoying itself. And if I wasn't so pissed off, I probably would be, too; after all, it's not every day you get to banter with a dragon.
"Well?!" I shouted, abandoning all my respect for the dragon — not that I had any in the first place.
For someone who speaks so wisely, you have little intelligence. The dragon sighed, and more smoke filled the cavern. I do not wish to battle someone who has no passion.
"No passion?" I repeated slowly, an angry heat rising up my neck. "I'm a hero! The way I see it, I have more passion than you do."
Opinions vary, hero. Facts do not. The dragon suddenly stood, towering over me. I expect the dragon meant for this to be intimidating, but it just made me even angrier. Did it think that just because it was bigger than me, that made it stronger?
As if it could sense my indignation, it lowered its ugly snout toward me, exhaling a cloud of fiery smoke that knocked me off my feet. I tumbled backward, landing in a heap against the cavern wall behind me.
You might want to apprehend the thief before it's you she steals from. The dragon told me in a commanding tone, and it showed me its memory of the thief. A fair-skinned woman with wild red hair flashed before my eyes, her face hidden in the shadow of her hooded black robes. And now that you know her appearance, you have no excuse to let her wander free.
"Don't tell me how to do my job, dragon," I spat, pushing myself onto my feet.
But the dragon merely retreated to its nest, curling into a ball with its back to me. If you wish for a challenge, hero, I shall give you one: Do not return until you've found a purpose. Once you find something you're passionate about, it will change you — I'd be willing to wager my entire collection on it. Personally, I can't wait to see it.
I glared at the dragon's back, reaching for my battle ax tucked beneath my belt. The beast was only about twenty feet away — I could run up and behead it before it even noticed me coming.
But I sighed, dropping my hand from my belt. It wasn't worth my time. None of this was.
"You want purpose? I'll show you purpose," I muttered, and I marched out of the cave, seething. I wasn't going to chase after some petty thief. I wasn't going to do anything for that damn oversized lizard. No, I was going straight to the village for another quest. I didn't care what some old geezer dragon thought; its opinions were outdated by multiple centuries, anyway.
As far as I was concerned, there was only one purpose in existence, and that was to be the best.
But in order to achieve that, I needed some more supplies...