Some may have considered the rumbling coming from the tallest volcano on Bolecawn to be a brewing eruption of magma, but it was the belly of a dragon, which was in the midst of dragging herself out of a cozy, dreamless sleep. The talons gripped at the ledge Sariloth laid upon, each muscle in her body stretched, her maw opening and releasing a lazy roar of discomfort. She didn’t want to be awake. How long had this one lasted? Perhaps a week, maybe slightly longer but that was no more than a flitter of time to the scaled beast. Her head lowered and shook violently, her clawed foreleg rising to scratch at her neck. Sariloth leaned her neck out further, scraping it against the wall of the volcano, freeing small boulders as she did so. 

Wings so powerful they created small tornadoes in their wake, tried to open but couldn’t in the restricted space. It was no major issue for the dragon. She sauntered forth to the edge of her cliff, peering down into the glowing liquid below. She dove, head first, towards it, with hot air whipping around her. Her speed increased as she plummeted toward what would be doom for others. Her wings snapped open and the thermal air drove her upward and free of the gaping mouth of her lair. Up, up and away, the dragon ascended with beating wings. She rose above Bolecawn and then glided, banking to the left in a wide, floating turn. She was headed inland. 

Hidden above the clouds on this wonderfully warm morning, the dragon played with the wisps of water vapor that surrounded her. She breathed small balls of gaseous matter into her mouth and then released a spark, sending it hurtling through the clouds, creating holes that she could dance between. What exactly did she care if she was seen by a ship full of traders? She’s a fucking dragon. 

It was an hour or so before she reached the shore of some land she didn’t know the name of. She didn’t read maps. She didn’t see borders. It was all just land to her: Land that she dominated with a presence unlike any others except for those pesky worms that slithered through caverns beneath the earth. She could see them even now, scooting through one tunnel to the next, writhing bodies that shimmered with magical essence. She had never encountered one first hand and didn’t particularly strive to.

With a long inhale, her nostrils told her that food was close. Without targeting the prey with her eyes, Sariloth retracted her wings and her tremendous body dove at a steep angle, breaking through the cloud cover and gained speed quickly. The thrill of the wind rushing past the two holes behind her horns, just above the round of her jaw, brought exhilaration. She now saw what she smelled: A large herd of white fluff that gathered in a fenced in break in the forestry below. A holding pasture for sheep. Saliva coated her teeth. 

The great beast gathered more of the gaseous mixture in her mouth, the glands spreading wide to allow for a continuous flow. With a spark, the gas ignited and spewed forth, the momentum of it expelling in front of her body and striking the ground. The dragon’s wings sprung open and she banked in a tight circle, engulfing the perimeter of the old slash and burn style field. The wings closed again and she struck, her claws extending in front of her form like a King Fisher attacking a fish beneath the water. The sheep hadn’t even moved yet. Two, no, three of the fluffy white animals were clenched between her claws. She landed, slamming the docile creatures into the forest floor. With a flick of her talons, the sheep were airborne. Her maw opened and she snatched them in its clutch, swallowing them whole. More, her stomach cried out. Her snout came to the ground as her massive tail swayed and directed her movements. One after another, the flock was devoured. They could not scatter because the flames kept them in one group. Snarling teeth gnawed at their bones and struck again and again, severing limbs and gutting the peaceful animals. The final one stood cowering beneath the dragon’s form, shitting and pissing itself without control. 

Sariloth reached her left talon forward, clutching the baying sheep between two claws. She peered at it and threw it high above her head. Her neck tilted and she sprayed flames above herself, barbequing the sheep before it had a chance to touch her outstretched tongue. 

Her stomach quieted, for now. With massive strokes of her wings that snapped the smaller trees into jagged splinters, the dragon was gone. Unbeknownst to the dragon, a farmhand was left to witness the entire event. He quivered, unable to move, thanking the Nine that he was still alive. That was when he passed out, collapsing beneath the weight of what he had seen. None would believe him and he would be charged as a sheep thief. 

---
[s]
It was plain as day why the smaller of the two companions was unscathed. The goblin seemed to materialize with its feet planted firmly on the ground while the armored one had fallen from nearly twenty feet above the earth. Oscar and Rupert witnessed the entire ordeal as they approached. During the middle of the evening, the red haired, dark skinned man had clambered down from his steed’s back to walk beside him, knowing that the pace the horse had kept until the wee hours of the morning had worn its energy to near exhausted levels. They strolled lazily now, cautiously even, as they came nearer to the two that had simply appeared. 

Oscar didn’t have a better description for what had happened. Bam! One second the two companions were cantering along and Oscar was mumbling to his buddy and the next moment a goblin and metal golem of a being were there. “Whoa Rupert,” Oscar whispered to his friend, patting the horse’s flank. The horse neighed and wagged its head, motioning toward the other two, as if to say, ‘What the hell just happened here?’ At least, that’s what Oscar translated it as. 

In fact, Rupert wanted Oscar to join them. They had arrived to the meeting place and these were two of the others whose shoulders would bear the weight of this debacle. 

The man’s hand reached to his side, fumbling to gain a hold on his sword, which clanked and gave away his position, as if the clomping of his and Rupert’s feet hadn’t already. With his right hand, he extended a hello to the two that lay before him. “Hello there,” he called hesitantly, unsure if he should draw and strike, or wait and greet them. After his hand fell, it reached behind his back and unfastened the shield that lay against his spine. It was round and reinforced with battered steel. It dropped into his hand and came to his front. He set it against his knees, his hand holding the top of it. His left hand never left the hilt of his long sword. “Are you friend or foe?”

Oscar had met and traded with goblins before. He knew their trickery and their lust for magic. Lucky I have none, he thought to himself. This other one, though. He is formidable. No person earns a suit such as that without having first earned the scars to warrant it. Oscar did not present himself as a threat, but readied himself in case one presented itself. [/s]

The two had traveled on through the night until the early morning light, only resting when Rupert decided he couldn’t go any further. Hours before, Oscar clambered down from his only friend’s saddle and walked beside him, hands swaying in the gentle breeze that swam across the grassy land. As before, Oscar built the fire for the two and dragged some dried meat from his bag, which still clung to Rupert’s side. He didn’t bother to lay his bedroll down because he knew Rupert wouldn’t let him rest for long. 

The man chewed at the cured meat, his saliva hydrating it and releasing the juices that had been stored within. It still tasted like three month old river possum that was unseasoned and gamy. “Ya know Rupert… I bet you taste better than this,” Oscar spoke to his companion, who was busy sleeping. As soon as they had finished, Rupert had neighed and laid himself to rest behind Oscar, who now leaned against the horse’s flank. 

Oscar chuckled and closed his eyes after popping the last piece of meat between his lips. 

Morning came far too fast for sleep that was hard. The words of the god continued to thunder in Oscar’s sleeping mind, causing him to toss and turn. At one point he thrashed so violently that he had stuck his foot into the glowing embers of the fire. The evidence, holes in the side of his boot, was still warm. 

The man dragged himself to his feet and glanced over his shoulder at Rupert, who awoke first and rocked side to side until Oscar arose. “You’re a jerk, you know that?” Rupert simply whinnied. “Let’s go, you oaf.” Rupert lifted himself up carefully, his hooves pawing the ground and his legs stretching. The horse was muscular and well fed looking. Oscar climbed aboard his vessel and the thumping of hooves continued. 

It was only an hour or so before the horse began to slow its run to a brisk trot, alerting Oscar of what it smelled on the air. In a distance that was nearly indistinguishable for his human eyes, two figures were present. The horse continued forward. Oscar reached behind his back from the lower left side and removed the thong that held his shield fast. It slipped down and he caught it in the same hand, twisting his arm awkwardly to bring it around his form and grip it against his body. His forearm latched into the first slot, his left fist gripping the second handle firmly. He did not draw his sword. Surely, whoever it was, saw Rupert and he approach. When he came into a distance that he considered earshot, the swordsman called out loudly, “Hello there!” In such an open space, stealth seemed unreasonable to request.