The Tower of Waiting. Sentinel of the town of Fallcrest, artifact of Old Nerath, and home to the group of adventurers known as The Gatecrashers. The fifty-foot granite pillar had stood for almost a thousand years, and survived the fall of the empire that built it. Now, the sounds of combat from its basement threatened to damage the tower that had survived so long.
Mord Trevak looked up just in time to catch a roundhouse swipe to the jaw. The dragonborn paladin fell heavily, dazed. Leaping up again, he squared off against the young dragon that had struck him.
This time, the fight would not be an easy one. This foe posed a serious challenge, and Mord briefly considered retreat, before shaking his head and continuing. Flapping his expansive wings, Mord executed a flying tackle against his larger opponent. His weight threw the dragon off balance, and the two tumbled end over end, grappling and thrashing. His vision obscured by a wall of rippling muscle sheathed in shimmering alabaster scales, the paladin had to rely on instinct and reflexes. Though it was a young one, this dragon still outweighed him at least three to one, and it had the clear advantage. With no chance of outcompeting the beast in a contest of strength, Mord switched tack.
Using his smaller size to his advantage, the deep green dragonborn slipped free from the dragon’s claws and jumped onto its back. Grabbing a hold of a wing, he put his other arm around the wyrm’s neck and began to pull.
The dragon growled, then let out a barking laugh as it rolled over, crushing Mord into the treasure-strewn floor. For the third time in the past few minutes, he thanked Bahamut for his padded breastplate. Pinned beneath the creature’s bulk, the paladin was running out of options. Grabbing a wing with both hands, he pulled at the joint. The dragon yelped and rolled off of him.
Jumping up again, Mord feinted left, before making a flying leap and catching the white colored dragon in the jaw. Using his arms to brace the dragon’s jaw shut, he did his best to hold on as it shook its snout wildly. As it slowed, he performed a quick flip and landed astride its neck. Reaching down behind the beast’s jaw, the paladin began to squeeze, hoping to end this quickly.
The dragon had other plans. Lifting its wings, it jammed the spars beneath him, then pried him off. Catching him in its front claws, the dragon cried out excitedly. Using one large paw to pin the warrior to the pile of coins beneath them, it opened its jaws and looked at the paladin with an air of satisfied anticipation.
‘Damn,’ thought Mord. ‘And I nearly had it. Well, I guess that’s the end of my streak. It’s over with.’
Opening his mouth to speak, the paladin sighed. “Okay, fine. I yield. You win this one, Zahmulvir.”
The dragon laughed, leaned down and gave the dragonborn a playful nudge. “One for me! I told you I’d win this one!”
Mord rolled his eyes. “We haven’t wrestled since before I went to the Dawnforge Mountains. You’ve grown a lot since then. Plus, you outweigh me by about five hundred pounds; you don’t exactly get to gloat.”
Grinning as best as a dragon could, Zahmulvir let the soldier of faith get to his feet and begin checking for injuries. “Oh, I say you just don’t like losing. You used to be all high and mighty when I was just hatched, now it’s my turn. Let me bask in the moment.” With that, the young dragon flopped down and began rolling in the pile of gold upon which it stood.
Satisfied that he had no serious wounds, Mord began shaking coins out of the folds of his wings and the hem of his tunic. “Speaking of basking, this is the last time we grapple in the treasure room, we’ve knocked everything over. If you damaged any of Sarantol’s favorite crowns, he’ll be pissed.”
Looking up at him over outstretched paws with the air of an indignant puppy, Zahmulvir chuckled sarcastically. “Oh, let that stupid Halfling deal with it. It’s not as if he knows a wizard who could just fix it.”
Mord smirked, stretching a sore shoulder. “True. I guess he’ll have to deal with it. Come on, it’s getting near dinner time.”
The pale Steel Dragon quickly sat upright, shaking off coins like a dog drying off. “Finally! I could eat a horse!”
“You know, that’s usually used as an exaggeration, but with you it’s an understatement,” Mord said. “I told the kitchens to make you a roast ox. I know how you get such an appetite from wrestling.”
The paladin and the dragon climbed the stairs side by side, enticed by the scent of roasting meat and the indistinct chatter of friends talking happily. Neither could deny that this had been a good evening.
The following morning, the air was heavy with anticipation. Mord shifted uneasily, once again checking that he wasn’t missing any pieces of his plate armor. One hand on his pack and the other holding his sheathed sword, he watched the two mages arguing in front of him.
“I’m telling you, the harmonic matrix is all wrong! At best you’ll cause a large and unwanted explosion, at the worst you’ll throw the whole town into the Nine Hells or even the Far Realm!” Questqueton shouted. The blue robed human wizard folded his arms around his staff and scowled at the Tiefling facing him.
“Well of course you would think so, you don’t even know the basics of Infernal transposition and warp magic! No, it doesn’t work without passengers on a theoretical level, our minds provide the balancing force while we’re in the portal!” The crimson skinned warlock glared at his colleague, his deep gold eyes full of frustration. Tossing his long purple hair behind his horns, Eldren turned around and continued etching runes in the earth with his scepter.
Mord looked on, slightly concerned. He had no idea what the two were talking about, and arcana had never been his focus, but they were arguing over a rather vital bit of magic. If their portal spell malfunctioned, they could land anywhere in the multiverse, or even outside of it.
A tug at his sleeve shook Mord from his reverie. He looked over to find Sarantol, the group’s rogue. The leather-clad Halfling had his trademark mischievous glint in his eye.
“Hey, Mord, I got three gold on this fight lasting ten more minutes.” As the two mages in the background escalated their volume more and more, Sarantol snickered. “Make that five.”
A rumbling laugh answered. “I’ll take that action,” said Zahmulvir, who didn’t even bother to open an eye. Stretching, the young dragon ruffled her wings, returning to her cozy spot on the grass.
Mord briefly considered accepting, before his virtuous conscience took over once more. “No, I think it won’t. I’ll resolve this myself. Plus, I know better than to take your bets. I’ve lost far too much gold to you to fall for that again.”
Turning back to the arguing arcanists, Mord cleared his throat. “Hey, mana-brains!”
The two turned and shouted in perfect unison: “WHAT?”
Mord smirked at their behavior. Different though they may be, the two mages were so similar at times. “I’ll solve this for you. Eldren, you can trigger this portal more than once, right? So send me first. I’ll take one of the Linked Pouches, and if I’m okay after, I’ll send you a note.”
Questqueton gaped. “But that’s… um…”
Eldren raised an eyebrow. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘genius’.”
The blue-robed human scowled at the warlock. “No, I know that, I’m just trying to comprehend that Sir Meatshield here has a better plan than either of us. We must be slipping.”
Mord refused to allow the playful jibe to annoy him. “Come on, you two, you have more magical prowess than half the continent put together. Just try to make this thing safe, and I’ll test it.”
The two mages exchanged meaningful glances, before looking back at the dragonborn paladin. “It’s about as safe as it’s going to get,” said Eldren. “Either it’s fine, or it’s not.”
“Alright then,” said Mord. “Charge this baby up, let’s see what happens.” He stepped into the circle of runes. Eldren and Questqueton looked at each other and shrugged, before each channeled mana from their respective sources and funneled it into the portal circle. Mord was surrounded by prismatic glowing energy, before vanishing in a flash of violet light.
Questqueton looked to Eldren again across the still faintly glowing runes. “Was that supposed to happen?”
Eldren had paled to a pinkish tone. He stammered for a moment, a horrified look on his face. “No. No, that was supposed to be green light.”
The pair of mages shared worried looks. “So where did he go?”