antbearsden

[antbearsden]

Your small, otherwise unimpressive, kingdom is suddenly one of the strongest powers in the land. This is due to the sole reason that, unlike other rulers, you’re happy to work with the local orcs, goblins, dragons, and several other races that are usually attacked on sight.

[antbearsden]

“I don’t get it” the surly barbarian scratches his chin.

“Look at it this way, Aaron. Where do you prefer to fight?”

“In the arena.”

“And where do you prefer to drink?”

“In the pub.”

“And I prefer to read in the library. See how that works?”

“It’s not a library though. It’s a dragon lair. Dragon lairs have treasure. You slay the dragon, you get the treasure.”

“You saw what it has there, Aaron, and there is no possible treasure in there that you would be able to substitute for a comely tavern wench or a new shiny implement of destruction to satisfy your bloodlust. Also, I refuse to attack a sentient being solely in order to satisfy some tired cliché.”

You know the huge, hairy man means well, but you’ve had to answer these questions for a while now. You await the inevitable followup.

“Why give him more books though?”

Aaron seems genuinely curious, so you answer sincerely.

“He’s a creature that has lived for hundreds of years, heard all of our best plays, read our best books, absorbed our most penetrating ideas. If you met Hercules wouldn’t you want to ask him what he thinks of your skill with the axe?”

He still seems confused, but nods.

“Anyway, I have to go, Aaron, see you in the pub later. Good luck with your bouts, not that your abilities are in any doubt.”

“Bye, Hazzad.”

He turns around and strolls to the pub. You pick your leather backpack and head into the forest.

You’d understand why your newest friend would make his way further away from the town. Not everybody shares your open mind and curiosity, and superstitions run strong on the frontier. Also, people just make too much damn noise all the time, and that doesn’t help a soul read.

A small spell lets you find your way through the thicket and the command word lets the thorns around your destination know that you are free to come in. Even after several weeks the massive old mansion still fills you with awe and appreciation of the beauty and craftsmanship that has persisted through the ages. The ebony walls, stained-glass windows and wrought iron ornaments look pristine and are only overshadowed by the massive tower in the middle, curiously lacking a roof.

The owner here doesn’t particularly need to worry about trespassers, and he definitely doesn’t need a door. The guest entrance – an elegant archway- brings you in through a long corridor with beautifully detailed sconces, holding torches, shimmering with soft yellow light.

You enter the massive library.

There are more books in here than in this kingdom and the next three over. All different kinds of literature are carefully curated, labeled and preserved in their own separate alcoves. Natural history and science books with strict, uniform covers, stare against a collection of treatises on the arcane, each bound in a special material, presumably to contain the secrets within. You are always awed by the “Lost” section, containing masterpieces, lost to time to the rest of the world, but your favorite part of your visit is finding a niche filled with some completely unexpected facet of your new friend’s boundless curiosity. On your first time here, you were greatly amused that he has a massive collection of cookbooks from around the world.

You make your way to the center, right in the middle of the massive tower. There, comfortably reclined on a huge wooden chair, you see a huge dragon with scales in every shade of silver, immersed in a newer-looking tome that was obviously enlarged with magic.

“Greetings, Straszmodan, oh, Great One, I am once again humbled to be in your presence”.

“Hello, Hazzad, it is always a pleasure.”

It is still a little unnerving to see a dragon smile, but the majestic creature seems genuinely happy to see you. He closes the huge book, which shrinks to its normal size, and you recognize it. It is always a compliment to arrive to your host reading one of your gifts.

“I have to admit, this Brandon fellow certainly seems to have some interesting ideas.” the dragon continues. “It is fascinating to me to see what new stories have been put forth into the world while I sit here in my lovely abode.”

You bow.

“Oh, stop that. Come here and show me what you have for me today.”

You approach, fishing from your sack for a small brown tome, bound in cheap scraps of lamb leather – really, the only thing the local tanner could scrape together. You clutch it nervously, shaking in anticipation.

The dragon looks at you curiously, noting your discomfort, then takes the little book, and reads the title.

“Big and small hearts” by Hazzad the Brown.” His gazes fixes your eyes again. You are unable to read the ageless eyes, but his voice seems strangely thankful.

“It is not everyday that someone comes here and gifts me with a piece of their soul. I will treasure it.”

Whenever you visit the dragon’s lair, you give some treasure instead of taking some. People think you are crazy for doing this.