When legends, fairy tales, and fables speak of dragons, when they tell of kingdoms laid waste, virtuous maidens sacrificed, and valiant heroes sent home as charred corpses odds are that they speak of the mighty red dragons. Also called flame dragons, fire wyrms, and mountain dragons, these horrific beasts epitomize the iconic dragon traits. - Draconomicon
more after the bump
Barston creeps carefully step by step into the dank and gloomy cavern in search of his target the mighty red dragon. Slowly searching he comes upon a might beast curled up upon a pile of gems that sparkle like the sun, gold piled to the ceiling and the charred corpse of a still smoking knight. The dragon wafts puffs of acrid smoke as it slowly breaths in an out apparently in a slumber. Barston coughs politely hoping to avoid the same fate as the doomed cavalier.
"Well mortal at least you have manners, unlike most who come here trying to stick sharp objects in me. I see you do not even posses a sword. Most would call that quite foolish. Tell me why should I stay my flames another second."
The dragon opening its cavernous maw shifts slightly on the pile of coins causing a cascade of gold that echoes off the cavern walls. Pinching his claws in and out the much like a cat bedding down the dragon rests his head on the pile once more. Barston, knees shaking and with unsure voice whispers, " I am sent by the master of dungeons to ask you questions 5 to rescue my lady love from the evil sorcerer"
The man cringes expecting to be broiled like a rack of lamb at a country fair but the dragon laughs. "Sent by the master of the dungeon are you? Well then, ask and I will answer your pitiful questions"
The dragon shifts again on the pile of gold coins sending more echoes of wealth unknown bouncing off the cavern walls.
Barston thinks for a moment then says "si..your highne.." the dragon scoffs "I am no queen nor a shopkeep to be sir, or more properly madam. You may call me Falir it is as close as your vulgar human tongue can come to speaking my name" Clearing his throat barston starts again, "Falir, the master bids you welcome and asks of you the first question: Have you any progeny?"
Falir smiles a large toothy grin, the fangs of her upper jaw as sharp as sabers, "progeny, you mean children, yes I have many. I am a matriarch of 2156 of your human years, I have spawned broods every century since my 600th year. Many of these did not thrive and were devoured by their siblings in the nest but I do have childer that continue to thrive in the mountains to the north. That was an easy question I hope the rest will not be that simple, human, I might be getting hungry" Falir lets out a small puff of smoke that trails from her nostrils.
If you are interested in the continuing story submit a question for Barston to ask the dragon in the next installment in the comment section below