On a Dragon Hunt

There weren't always dragons in the Valley or at least not in the memory of any mortal or in the stories told by the bards but here they were. Two lithe black dragon's with their twisted and gnarled horns that swept back from their brow to run parallel with their neck and scales that appeared as sleek as glistening black liquid and even from this distance you could see their ever vigilant eyes glowing like smoldering coals.

Accompanying the pair was an entourage of roughly fifteen draconid guards that were milling about the camp and tending to various chores. The draconid race worshiped dragons as gods and did their bidding without hesitation. In return, the dragons granted the draconids a bit of magic to enhance their already formidable martial prowess.

Black dragons were one of the smaller variations of the species but they were also the most unpredictable and with a nasty temperament. Their acid breath was the most corrosive substance known and it did not take much provocation for them to use it.

Krrattarack and Ttrillchach looked at each other and their faces split into wide grins. They chittered excitedly and gave each other a knowing nod. These two ran a very successful band of dragon hunters that specialized in illicit black market trading of body parts and black dragons were in high demand. As a bonus, getting their hands on a dragon's hoard wasn't a bad pay day either.

Krrattarack and Ttrillchachh belonged to the arachnid race. A race that has a well earned reputation for violence and a fearsome appearance.

Arachnids have a humanoid torso that is set on a spider-like lower body, they have a multi-fanged vertical slit for a mouth and multiple glassy, solid black eyes. A hard sleek carapace covers their entire body.

Arachnids also possess a high degree of natural immunity to arcane magic which greatly increases their chance of surviving a battle with a creature which relies heavily on magical prowess. A creature exactly like a dragon.

The duo slid down the steep, rocky outcropping that overlooked the valley below and beamed excitedly to one another. It had been awhile since their last dragon hunt and their coffers were beginning to run low and their members had began to filter back in as their own funds ran low as well.

As they heading back down the trail to their campsite, Krrattarack chittered to Ttrillchachh in their native tongue, "It looks like it's time to gather up the crew, we have some business to attend."

Ttrillchachh grinned wickedly and replied, "I counted about fifteen of their draconid lackeys, are we going to keep our traditional wager?"

Krrattarack wheezed out a rasping, clacking laugh and responded with, "No brother, I am feeling generous and I am willing to honor your previous request from our last battle and increase the stakes to fifty gold per kill!"

Ttrillchachh stroked his wickedly spiked, short-handled halberd and clapped Krrattarack on the back while nodding vigorously in agreement and let out a rasping, clacking laugh of his own.

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The dragon Gilfangg and his mate Skersha had been traveling for two weeks in search of a suitable location for a new lair and they were both in an excessively foul mood. The red dragon Nyardishimak had forcefully chased them from their previous home.

In the battle with the red they had lost well over half of their draconid troops and a good portion of their treasure. Needless to say, they were irate and all too eager to lash out at those around them, including each other. This lead to their troops giving them a wide berth unless they were addressed directly.

They had both suffered serious wounds in the battle with the red. Gilfangg had nearly half of his face melted off from a blast of Nyardishimak fire breath that was a direct hit to his head. He knew that he would be left with a permanent puckered scar as a constant reminder.

Skersha had taken damage to her upper back and right wing when the red raked it's talons across her back, splitting her scales and digging deep furrows into her hide and tearing into her wing membranes turning them into tattered ribbons.

Defeated and nursing their wounds the two dragons stood in the center of their makeshift encampment sweeping their hateful gaze across the camp and glaring at nothing and no one in particular when one of their aerial scouts cautiously approached. He stood by silently until Gilfangg let out an exasperated sigh and asked, "What is it?"

With a low bow the scout shuffled forward and spoke quickly, "While patrolling the ridge line I spotted two arachnids scurrying away to the south of our current location."

As he spoke, he fidgeted nervously and tried to read the expressions on the two dragons steaming visage, "I observed them heading towards their own encampment which is less than a couple of hours march from our current location."

Skersha spoke next, She pressed her snout to within inches of the scouts own, her acidic breath wafted across his face as she hissed in a reedy voice, "How did our forward scout miss this encampment before we set our own camp so close?"

A dangerous gleam in her eyes told the scout to tread lightly or this day would most certainly be his last.

With his head bowed respectfully the scout cautiously glanced up at Skersha and warily replied, "I do not know mistress but at your behest I will send him over immediately to answer this question directly."

"You are the captain of my guard, are you not?" Skersha slyly responded.

The scout took a brief moment to choose his next words carefully before speaking, "I am indeed mistress but I beg you to allow me to point out that I was only promoted to this position AFTER the forward scout was deployed by my predecessor.

With a derisive snort and a bitter glare cast at her mate, Skersha nodded in acceptance and said, "It is true, Gilfangg lost his patience and now, due to his foolish tantrum we have one less able body among our already decimated troops."

A low snarl escaped Gilfangg throat and he growled out, "Hold your tongue mate lest we become short one more "able body". He spat those last words with a venomous tone.

His long sinewy neck snaked forward as he leveled his gaze directly at the scout and issued a menacing warning, "You had best hope that these two arachnids do not show up in our midst unexpectedly."

Gilfangg let the threat hang ominously in the air before turning away.

With his back turned he issued the scout a final order, "Begone."

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TO BE CONTINUED...