I don’t write much…
“My mother always wanted me to be a bard.” murmured Nubbins as he warmed his feet by the campfire. It was a beautiful night, and he thought only a song could do the stars justice.
Turek who was trying to sleep, and was not the least interested in either the stars or discussion, quickly groused, “You don’t have the voice for it, never did” and rolled over.
Nubbins didn’t let that faze him one tiny bit, and continued to think. He was never happier than he was right now, when he was alone, deep in the wilderness, with only his two greatest friends, Steelhammer Soulfourger, the Templar of Butcherblock (who was already snoring loudly enough to wake the dead), and Turek Toestomper, the… well… ever-grumpy warrior.
As he thought on the time that they had spent together (he had known Turek since he was just a child, and Steelhammer shortly after he was old enough to wander the plains of Karana), he realized how long it had been. As he drifted off to sleep he thought, as one often does when there are more sunsets behind you than there are ahead, on how he had spent his life, and what he had done…
Karana blessed him with sweet dreams that night, dreams of running throught the wilderness, simply enjoying the views that Norrath had to offer. He dreamed of heroic deeds, vanquishing evil foes, travelling to the furthest reaches of Velious, of the time he had spent in the realm of Cazic-Thule, trying to bring nature to that twisted, evil land.
He dreamed of simple times, like tonight, simply sitting at a campfire with friends. Time that he spent tailoring (which he enjoyed, despite Turek’s unending teasing that real adventurers didn’t sew), and the time that he watched in amazement as Steelhammer worked his wonders at the forge (which Turek approved of much more, “Weaponcraft! Now that is the trade of an adventurer!”)
He dreamed of the hours he spent trying to learn to play the lute, just as his mother would have wished… but he just couldn’t make his stubby little fingers bend the way they were supposed to, to make the music come forth. This counted as a happy time, even if it was unbearably frustrating.
Later in the evening, though, the dream became subtlely darker. He began to think of the edges of areas that he had never adventured beyond, he began to imagine tales he had been told by others, of places he had never seen, of quests he had never undertaken, and of foes he had never seen, much less vanquished.
He awoke the next morning with the sun already well up (which was unusual, he was quite the early riser) to find Turek already off hunting for a morning meal, and Steelhammer enjoying his morning ration of stout. “Heh, never too early… wakes me up a bit in the morning!”
“You know, Steel? I have never seen a dead dragon. Never killed one.”
“Huh?” Steelhammer and Turek had killed many dragons, and he was shocked to hear that his friend had never killed one.
“I never have… I’ve killed evil wyverns, shardwurms and the like… but never a fire-breathing, wing flapping, sitting on a pile of gold dragon.”
About that time Turek came crashing through the bushes back into the camp with the morning’s meat, already skinned, and he dropped it right into a pot sitting on the fire.
“How can you call yourself an adventurer if you have never killed a dragon?” he looked in amazement at his furry footed friend.
“I don’t know. I just never have.” Nubbins replied, embarassed.
“We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” his friends replied in unison.
As the trio was leaving the depths of Kithicor forest, and approacing the town of Rivervale, they ran into a group of old friends, whom Nubbins was surprised to see together. He had never known the mismatched crew in front of him to travel as a group. Maruq, an enchanter, seemed to be leading a group with Mzira, who just seemed happy to be with her friends, and Dourgut, who seemed…. well…. seemed too drunk to really seem any way at all.
“What in the world got you three together, muchless here?” asked Nubbins, genuinely confused.
Maruq looked over at Steelhammer, “He doesn’t know?”
Steelhammer and Turek shook their heads.
“We’re here for you, silly!” Mzira helpfully volunteered.
“Ok, great, but why?” Nubbins was still not getting it.
Dourgut leaned over… grabbed Nubbins by his shoulder, and whispered in his ear (Nubbins barely heard him… he was recoiling from the mead stained breath) “We’re going to kill a dragon.”
Dourgut just started to laugh.
All sitting together in Nubbins’ small mound in Rivervale (it was quite a stunt to get Mzira in there at all, but it seemed she had been practicing a spell for just that purpose) Nubbins still didn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “Aren’t we a little old to be going after Dragons? I thought that was sport for more youthful adventurers.”
Mzira took offense, “I am not old!”
Turek shushed her. “We weren’t talking about those dragons.”
The room got very quiet. After a moment…”We are great adventurers, accomplished hunters, but we are but a small party, how can you possibly expect to destroy one of the ancient dragons of Kunark?” Nubbins voice was all but a whisper.
“I’m not sure, but if we do it, they will sing songs of us for years to come.” Turek had a slightly crazy gleam in his eye.
Adventuring was rapidly losing some of it’s luster. Nubbins suddenly wished he had spent a little more time practicing the lute.
The preparations took quite some time, but soon a quiet confidence overtook the party. They were capable, experienced, and they knew each others every move without looking. They became quite the powerful little party, and soon, began their journey to Kunark. Nubbins had spent many summers there, and was well versed in the wilderness areas. It was a pleasant, if not entirely quick, journey.
The plan was quite simple. Turek was simply going to face the creature, with two of Norrath’s finest clerics backing him up, he feared no creature in the land. Nubbins and Mzira would use their most potent magicks, and Maruq would turn the beasts’ minions against him, one by one. They had practiced for weeks. They were sure it would work. The hardest part, without a doubt, had been keeping Dourgut sober.
Under the stealth of Nubbins’ magic, the party, unbelievably, made it to the lair of the great beast undetected. And as many plans do… this plan started to sprout leaks as soon as they gazed upon the gigantic lizard.
“I had absolutely no idea he would be so big” whispered Mzira, she was completely awestruck.
“He is a mite larger than his Antonican counterparts” Steelhammer was a master of understatement.
Without the steady stream of booze dulling his senses, Dourgut suddenly got quite observant. “Um, Turek, a single claw of his is bigger than you are.”
Always the Warrior, Turek simply stared at the beast, perhaps in a trance. “He will fall to my blade.”
Maruq simply meditated, and said nothing.
In the end, they decide to stick with the plan as they had practiced for these many weeks.
It started quietly.
The first of the minions never saw the adventurers that engaged them. Seemingly all at once, they were blind, and the very vines on the floor reached up to grasp their legs. As the venom of thousands of tiny insect stings accumulated, the protectors of the giant dragon died quietly, and silently, one by one.
Outside the very chamber where their chosen target lay, the priests of Brell stacked every blessing that they could think of upon Turek. His very armor seemed to gleam as it had not in many, many seasons, when it was new. Feeling invigorated and powerful, quick and smart, he simply walked in to the chamber where so many before him had died.
It lacked the desired impact. The great dragon barely cracked an eyelid, looked the smallest warrior he had ever seen, and closed his eye again. This did not require his attention. Giants on either side, however, did notice, and in the desire to please their master with the speed of their response, they strode toward Turek with great haste. Each of them had the same thought… “he will hardly make a good meal…”
And that was when the room exploded in activity… lights seemed to flash from every corner, and everything that the giants could percieve had changed, had changed for the worse. The lead giant suddenly felt as if he simply MUST sleep, althought he knew it wasn’t right, his every step became a struggle to simply keep his eyes open. The second, who quickly passed his sleepy friend, was the first to reach Turek. He would regret it. As he began to pound the tiny warrior, he realized that with every swing, great blades were piercing his skin, and before long at all, the area where his hands had been was completely destroyed. His final thought, as Turek dispatched him with a few well placed swipes of his sword, was that the blades had seemingly come from the little warrior’s very skin.
The second giant was somewhat awakened by seeing the very quick demise of his fellow guard… no, this was not a simple crazy adventurer who had wandered into the wrong chamber, and he had some amount of unseen support. He drew his sword, wanting no part of the blades that has so efficiently dispatched his partner. He grinned a nasty, toothless grin, as he was quite good with his sword, and he would be amply rewarded by his master for removing what had now proven to be a formidable foe.
The tremendous blade came up over his his head, and as it swooped down, Turek made no atempt to dodge, instead choosing to take the opportunity to inflict his own damage. The giant’s smile got larger as he almost tore Turek in two with a single stroke.
The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived when the gaping wound closed up, and healed itself before his very eyes. Realizing that his situation was dire, the giant stepped back to look for the third guard, who should have engaged by now…
He looked up just in time to see his fellow guard, with a yellow gleam in his eye, delivering the blow that would end his life.
By now the dragon had begun to watch, with great interest, the show that was being put on by the miniature warrior and his unseen friends. The last guard, still with an awkward look in his eyes, turned toward his master and began to swing his sword against his scaly hide.
The dragon was confused for a moment, and then realized the source of his troubles. He began to inspect the shadows that undoubtedly held a hidden enchanter.
As Turek closed on his giant foe, he realized that he had lost the monster’s attention. This was the moment in the plan that they had feared most, when all the support for the warrior would be brought out in the open. The dragon raised his head, and breathed. Tapestries that had been draped across the ceiling bust into flame, lighting the whole room brighter than the sun. And suddenly, he saw them… two dwarves, an elf, a barbarian, and a halfling.
It is quite difficult to concentrate when you have two enemies taking large chucks of your flesh with every swing of their sword, but somehow, the dragon managed. He quickly moved toward the elf, whose head was detached from his shoulders before either of the clerics could even react. It seemed as though it had happened instantly. Turek had managed to climb to the monster’s back, and was tearing through the scales as quickly as he could, to get to the tender flesh beneath. The giant guard, whose enchantment had been broken, never got the chance to make up for attacking his master. He was bitten in two before he realized what he had done.
Now, however, the full force of the party was upon the dragon, he felt blows from every angle as blasts of cold, of heat, and seemingly the wrath of Brell himself assaulted him. Again and again he clawed at Turek, and again and again the wounds healed. And whoever this party was, they seemed to be gaining reinforcements. Wolves, bears, and even a disembodied sword attacked from various angles.
A disembodied sword? The dragon, lurched around, and lo and behold, sat the enchanter, calmly meditating. And whole.
The realizarion began to dawn that this party might be able to do exactly what they came to do. The dragon had never before contemplated his mortality, and did not have time to do so now. He looked around, and saw that the halfling had become too confident in his victory, and was striding right up to the dragon’s head.
With his final breath, he threw a stream of fire. Right at the halfling. He would make sure that at least one of these adventurers would bear lifelong scars of the encounter. He did not know what healing magic these dwarves wielded, but he was certain that nothing could eliminate the effects of a dragon’s breath.
Nubbins disappeared.
The dragon breathed his last.
Recovering from the battle, the entire party looked around for the body of Nubbins to perform the powerful healing magicks they had prepared for this purpose. No sign of him was to be found.
Turek was frantic, “we MUST find him, we MUST use the magic!”
Both dwarves were stumped “Where, what can we cast it on? There is no body!”
They all spent the next day looking for the smallest fragment, the smallest bit of ash, on which to perform their enchantment.
Their search was in vain.
At the end of the next evening, Mzira entered the somber camp with something in her hand. “I think this is for you” and she placed a small locket on the ground between Turek and Steelhammer.
The Templar bent to pick it up… it was a box with the letters T.T. and S.S. printed on the bottom in an awkward halfling script. He opened the box, and Turek began to read over his shoulder.
My Brothers,
If you are reading this, either something terrible has happened, or Karana has taken me in his arms. Just so we can all sleep better at night, let’s assume it’s the latter. Regardless, I am not there, and I am likely not coming back. I want you both to know what you have meant to me, and that I am with you, always. I am not good at long goodbyes, and this is an awfully small piece of parchment, so let’s leave it at that.
Be safe,
Nubbins
Steelhammer wiped away a tear. Turek turned away so that no one would see, and the note was passed around. Everyone read it, and then placed it beside the locket on the ground. Silence held the camp for what seemed like an eternity, and exhausted from the search itself, the party drifted off to a troubled sleep.
Turek’s last thought that night was that Nubbins never did see a dead dragon.
He dreamed of his little friend playing a lute.