//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: Dragons Stand Alone // Story: Ember, Hoardsmelter // by Bugsydor //------------------------------// Garble had been watching Ember. Not so much like a hawk, as like a vulture. A vulture watching a sun-addled creature stumbling through the desert in August. A creature that had the gall to not only fail to die, but also to fatten itself off of cacti and other such impossible food sources. Months turned into years, and Ember's rule continued to stubbornly refuse to visibly weaken. Not that Garble had been idle in his years of waiting. He’d been taking every opportunity to grow his hoard. Digging up treasure, beating up smaller dragons... Well, not every opportunity. He hadn't been raiding pony towns. His Dragonlord had expressly forbidden that, and he was just sure that any ponies he stole from would tell on him to their pretty princesses, and one of them would send a letter to Dragonlord Ember. And ticking off the Dragonlord when you had a grand total of two dragons on your side? Not, in Garble’s mind, a winning proposition. Despite the limits imposed on him, though, Garble had amassed a modest hoard for himself. He had grown past being a mere teenage dragon and into the realm of young-adulthood. He was taller, broader, stronger… While bipedal locomotion was still plenty efficient, he was beginning to see the advantages of going down to all-fours once-in-a-while. Lately, Garble had been hearing rumors. Crazy rumors. Rumors of teens and even whelps going about with pieces from the Royal Hoard. So Garble had trekked his way back to the crag-ridden heart of the Dragon Lands. As much as the Dragon Lands had a heart, anyway. Outside of a cave’s mouth, in the shadow of a cliff face, he ran into an old acquaintance of his counting treasure at a rough stone table. “Talc. Haven't seen you in a while. Looks like you’ve gotten yourself a bit of a hoard,” he said, noting Talc’s size. Talc had grown as well in the intervening years, though not in the same ways as Garble. Rather than broadening out, his general body shape had graduated from “twig” to “noodle”, leaving him a little longer than Garble was tall. His legs hadn't grown to match, either, consigning him to a state of obligate quadrupedalism. “Of a sort, of a sort. It’s more that I take my accounting personally, like any proper spineless wyrm. There's been quite a bit of that to go around here lately, by the by. All these little drakes and vixens just coming into treasure for the first time wanted somedragon to keep track of how valuable their new hoards were, and I was in the area. More coming by the day, too.” Garble blinked owlishly. He’d never known Talc to be so… talkative. Or forthcoming, for that matter. “So, Garble, what brings you to these parts? It can't be the Bloodstone Scepter's call, as the Dragonlord explicitly sent that out to the young and hoardless—” “So that’s why I’ve been hearing rumors of whelps running around with chunks of the Royal Hoard? Because our Cunning Optimist of a Dragonlord is giving them away!?” “Well,” Talc said, smoothing his nonexistent crest, “I suppose that answers my question. “And to answer yours, ‘Not quite.’” Garble raised a claw, opened his mouth, closed it again, and scratched his head. “Explain to me how she is not throwing away the Royal Hoard.” “Because, Garble, she expects to see it come back. With interest.” “I can see why she’d be interested in getting it back, but how's that make her any less crazy for giving it out in the first place? Greed is one of the main ways a dragon grows, after all.” Talc saw then that attempting to educate Garble on the ‘finer’ points of finance right then was a losing battle. “Never mind that for now,” he said, his eyes resuming their resigned cast of years ago, before brightening up again. “Say, Garble, you know I’m trash at explaining things. How's about we get you the word, straight from the vixen’s mouth? She’s set to give a speech to all the dragons around here this evening. Something about unveiling the scheme this all has been leading up to.” Garble was leery of his former minion’s apparent support for the latest craze. Maybe it was contagious? Then again, Garble had always considered himself to be eminently sane and draconic.(1) Surely he’d be able to resist whatever madness was catching among the weak. “Eh, why not? It's not like there’s anything else I was here to do. It was time for the speech. Whelps and teens were scattered around a sort of ceilingless cave lined with concentric quarter-circles of cut-stone benches that got higher towards the back of the cave(2). Garble and Talc weren’t the only larger dragons present, either, or even the largest. A few adults and young adults were interspersed with the audience, complete with areas of empty space surrounding them corresponding to their size. There were even a couple of elder dragons peering down from where the ceiling should have been. Well, it was almost time for the speech. Garble and Talc had arrived early, and were seated about midway down the center-left portion of the cave. They had a modest clearing of free space around them. “Heh. Those door guards were pretty enthusiastic, eh Talc? The way they were flexing and bumping into stuff, you’d think they’d just tripled their hoard sizes.” “You might not be too far off there, Garble… “Ah. There she is!” The golden, sapphire- and topaz-studded doors at the head of the cave swung open, and in walked a tall, lithe-limbed vixen on all fours. Her cerulean scales gleamed, though not so brilliantly as did the branching lines of gold inlay set into the horns curving around her head. Wrapped in the coils of her tail was the Bloodstone Scepter(3). She reached the front of the raised flat area, sat on her haunches, and transferred the Bloodstone Scepter to a foreclaw. “Wow,” Garble whispered. “She, uh, really grew into her position.” “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that, only silently,” Talc whispered back. “She's about to speak.” “Vixens, and gentledrakes,” she began, her voice clearly loud enough to reach the back of the stepped ceilingless cave. “Welcome, to the Grand Amphitheatre! The firstfruits of my project. A great gathering place for the dragons of the world, and you made it yourselves!” “Made a cave?” Garble whispered. “Also, just how new is this place?” “Well yeah,” Talc whispered back. “It’s not like these stepped benches formed naturally. And quite new; this is the first time I’ve been in here, too.” “You may have noticed, coming in, the strapping young dragons guarding the doors. Every one of them worked to create the building you sit in now! And every one of them started out a year ago as a hoardless whelp, and has been paid handsomely ​from the Royal Hoard for their services. “There will be many more such projects, and many more opportunities for advancement, for those willing to work for it.” Some scattered cheers rose from the audience, and greed flickered in the eyes of many a whelp. “The dragon of yesterday was parasitic, caring for nothing but theirself. They never made, only took what they could and destroyed the rest. Where is the pride, the nobility in that? Dragons were a people of lonely raiders, only ever coming together for their great migrations. “But we. We are different. We are here together to remake the image of dragonkind! We will become not just a mighty people, but a great one! And that greatness will start with this, our capital city of Drakkenstadt!” “Capital what?” Garble whispered. “For those of you not in-the-know,” she said, twirling her scepter with affected absence, “a city is a place where thousands of people live, work, and create. A city is typically filled with buildings, not unlike the one you’re sitting in right now. A capital city is the heart of a nation, so this is where I will live. At the center of everything. And it's where you’ll live, too, if you're strong enough. “What if I told you, that you didn't have to steal to fill your hoard with gold, gems, and whatever else you desire? What if I told you, that you could make those things yourself?! What if I told you, that all you’d need to do so is the knowledge that I’m going to impart to anydragon willing to listen?” “I’d tell you you were crazy,” Garble whispered to himself. Everydragon else was looking to their Dragonlord with keen interest. “Together, we can make our own treasure. With draconic strength, magic, and fire, the wonders we create will see the hoards of today and yesterday treated as mere dross!” she shouted, rising to her hind legs and thrusting the Bloodstone Scepter heavensward. “Who will rise with me, to this shining tomorrow?!” All of the lesser dragons cheered, and the amphitheatre erupted in a chorus of flames. A few of the adults joined in, too, though a few looked unsure(4). Even one of the elder dragons was grinning widely, though she refrained from providing a conflagratory contribution of her own. Garble turned to Talc, eyes wide. “Our Dragonlord's going to get herself killed. “She’s going to get herself killed,” he said, applying both hands to his cheeks, “while draining the Royal Hoard, and making the office of Dragonlord into a laughing stock. “Tiamat take us all. It's a really dark day for dragonkind when a Cunning Optimist is in charge.” (1) Or he would have, had he known what those words meant. (2) Or, as ponies would call it, an amphitheatre. (3) For the size Ember was when she first earned the Bloodstone Scepter, it would have been more proper to call it a staff. It’s called a scepter regardless, as a Dragonlord is meant to grow into their position. (4) “Unsure” was the closest concise translation, though the word has no perfect analog in Draconic. The literal translation of the Draconic word is “before the decision.”