Paragon of Destruction

The tavern was filled with a thick air of stale beer, and although it was the middle of the day, the interior was almost completely dark, with the few windows the building had small and covered in yellow-brown grime.

Inside were slightly over a dozen locals, most already inebriated despite the early hour. A few of them cast glances at Arran as he entered the tavern, but they soon turned their attention back to the drinks in front of them.

Arran looked around the room, then walked up to the tavern keeper. "I’ll take a mug of ale and a bottle of brandy," he said, putting down a small silver coin on the counter.

"You a traveler?" the man asked, giving Arran a curious look.

Arran responded with a nod. "I’m looking for someone named Crassus."

The tavern keeper put down a mug of ale and a dirty-looking bottle, then gave Arran an inquisitive look. "Who’s asking?"

"Someone with little patience for nosy strangers," Arran replied bluntly.

The man frowned, but after a quick glance at Arran’s sword, his frown faded. "He’s over there," he said, pointing at a small table in the corner of the tavern.

At the table sat a ruddy-faced man in his middle years, with a portly build and hair that was more gray than black.

Arran approached the table, then asked, "You’re Crassus?"

"That’s me," the portly man replied. He greedily eyed the bottle in Arran’s hand. "You going to share that?"

"It’s all yours." Arran set the bottle down on the table. "I just need to ask you a few questions."

Crassus opened the bottle and took a swig. Then, he gave Arran an appraising look. "What do you want?"

"I’m looking for a guide," Arran replied. "Someone who knows the mountains."

"The mountains?" Crassus snorted, then took another swig from the bottle. "You don’t want to go there. The mountains are filled with dragons."

"I know," Arran said. "I’m looking for someone who knows where to find them."

At this, the man narrowed his eyes. For several moments, he remained silent, before finally saying, "I can do that, but it’ll cost you."

"How much?"

"It’ll be dangerous..." Crassus looked at Arran pensively, trying to figure out how much he could ask. "Maybe a dozen silvers?"

Arran put a gold coin on the table. "That should be enough, then."

Crassus snatched up the gold coin in an instant, his hand moving with a speed that surprised Arran. After a brief look at the coin, it disappeared into his coat.

Then, he gave Arran a troubled look. "Of course, that’s enough for me, but my poor family... my wife said she’d leave me if I went into the mountains again."

Arran very much doubted the man even had a family, but he put another gold coin on the table. He had no interest in wasting time on haggling over gold.

"That’s enough to buy yourself a new family," he said. "And I’ll give you another ten if we’re successful."

The man quickly snatched up the second gold coin, then gave Arran a distrustful look. "How do I know you’ll pay me when we return?"

"I could’ve haggled you down to half a dozen pieces of silver and another bottle of drink," Arran said, his patience starting to wear thin. "Now, are you in or not?"

Crassus considered Arran’s words for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough." He took the bottle in his hand, appearing to gauge how much was left inside. "We’ll leave at dawn. Meet me at the eastern gate."

Although Arran had planned to leave immediately, it was obvious that his guide wouldn’t want to depart before emptying the bottle. And once the bottle was empty, Arran very much doubted the man would be in any state to travel.

Instead, he returned to the inn, then explained to Snowcloud what his plans were, albeit without telling her too much about the guide he’d found — he didn’t want to cause her too much worry, even if it was warranted.

When morning came, he headed for the town’s eastern gate, where he found Crassus already waiting. There was a pale tinge to the man’s ruddy face, Arran saw, and he surmised that Crassus had drunk more than just the one bottle the previous day.

Still, the man’s spirits seemed good — doubtless he was already excited at the prospect of earning the fortune Arran had promised him if they were successful.

As Arran approached, he could see that Crassus held what looked to be a bundle of blankets in his arms.

"Take this," the man said, then handed Arran one of the blankets.

The blanket was gray and musty, and Arran looked at it with some confusion. "What’s this?" he asked, wondering just why the portly man thought he needed a worn blanket.

"It’s a blanket," Crassus said.

Arran had gathered that much, and he gave the man a puzzled look. "But what’s it for?"

"It’s for hiding," the man explained. "Dragons are vicious beasts, but they’re dumb as bricks. If you see one, hide under the blanket, and it’ll think you’re a rock. Keep it handy, and you have a decent chance of surviving if we run into a dragon."

"That works?" Arran asked doubtfully.

The man nodded emphatically. "Saved my life more than a few times."

Although Arran had more faith in his duskcloak, he did not argue with the man. Between the two of them, only Crassus had ever seen a dragon, and Arran would defer to his judgment.

They left at once, Arran as eager to find dragons as Crassus was to earn his gold, and it barely took them a day to travel from the foothills into the mountains proper.

To Arran’s relief, his guide seemed to be intimately familiar with the area, confidently leading them through hidden paths and passes as they ventured deeper into the mountains. Although Arran had been doubtful about the man’s capabilities, it was clear that Crassus had traveled the area many times.

As they traveled, they regularly came across small valleys that held long-abandoned villages. It seemed that at some point in the distant past, the mountains had been filled with small communities, though only ruins now remained.

"The people moved away when the dragons came," Crassus explained. "Legend has it that’s why Relgard’s so big — when the mountain folk left their homes, they settled right outside the mountains, hoping the dragons would eventually leave."

They steadily moved deeper into the mountains, and the farther they went, the less confident Crassus became. Before the first week was over, their speed had already dropped by half, with Crassus insisting they scouted all paths carefully before advancing, to avoid running into any dragons.

The slow pace caused Arran some slight frustration, but he did not complain. If his guide said it was necessary, all he could do was accept it — the man knew far more about the region than he did, after all.

Near the end of the first week, they scaled yet another steep path up an even steeper cliff. At the end of it, Arran discovered, lay a small valley that held what looked to be a sizable abandoned village.

Before Arran could venture forth, Crassus hissed at him, "Wait! Last time I was here, there was a dragon. We need to see if the coast is clear before going any further."

At the man’s insistence, they spent over an hour waiting, looking at the ruined village from behind some large rocks for any sign of movement. Yet they saw nothingm, and eventually, Crassus breathed a sigh of relief.

"You wait here," he said to Arran. "I’ll just have a quick look around."

By now, this was very familiar to Arran. Whenever they encountered villages, Crassus would insist on taking some time to search for any valuables that remained in the ruins.

This, Arran had discovered, was the reason Crassus was so familiar with the region: he often ventured into the mountains to search the abandoned villages for valuables.

Arran sat down on a rock, watching as Crassus headed for the village. Yet after a moment, his eyes went wide when he saw movement — a large rust-brown creature twice the size of a horse, with a powerful build and sharp-looking scales. A dragon.

But while Arran saw the dragon, Crassus was completely unaware of what lay ahead. Several ruined houses stood between him and the dragon, and every step he took brought him closer to the creature.

For a moment, the shock left Arran speechless, but then, he called out, "Dragon!" Shocked though he was, he couldn’t just let his guide walk toward certain death without warning.

His fat man responded instantly, falling to the ground and wrapping himself in his blanket, turning into something that only very vaguely resembled a large rock.

Yet at the same time, the massive creature turned its head toward Arran. It opened its mouth, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth, and let out a bone-chilling screech.

Then, it rushed toward Arran.

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