The Dwarf and the Dragons

“There weren’t always dragon’s in the Valley.” Wilfred hooted, resting himself upon the worn handle of his shovel. “Nay, The Melding Valley, which made homes for many marvellous beasts, did not harbour a single dragon for such a time.” The stout dwarf took a hearty swig from his canister. Brushing his beard ignorantly letting the bronze liquid, which didn’t reach his lips soak deeper into his mighty brown bristles.

Continuing on his anecdote, after a moment paused. “It must have been two hundred years or so since they began dwelling here.” Wiping away the sweat that trickled down his brow. The sultry warmth of the cave had finally gotten to the old dwarf. His eyes searched through the cave's mouth along the ceaseless hills, mountains and rivers of the valley. The surprising heat of his current shelter was in stark difference to the cold storm of rolling rainfall outside. “Yar, the people have their problems with them, but I find them to be such beautiful creatures.”

“That's lovely and all Mister, but please give us a hand.” A feminine voice howled, breaking the old dwarf from his musings. Returning his gaze into the dingy cave, with ash that lashed the floor. Wilfred remembered why he came to this smelting cavern. Pulling his wagon he had noticed three travellers crossing the valley not an hour earlier. Taking refuge inside the cave when the storm arrived. He wasn’t surprised to enter and find one member of the group halfway down the jaws of a slender, ruby scaled dragon.

Wilfred hastily toddled towards the trio, nearly tripping on a staff split in twain. Lifting his peepers to spot a mammoth sized man, wrestling against the monster might. Who grabbed the arms of his companion, lodge within the dragon's clamp. Attempting to pull her from the monster's clutches. “Morg, ya clodpoll! Are you trying to rip me in half?” The red haired human screamed at the half giant. “Sorry Danny, but I don’t want it swallowing you whole.” Morg replied, while Wilfred was taken aback from the meek tone of the imposing chap.

“Jasper, you spit her out right now.” Wilfred commanded, his focus striking back to the ruby reptile. Wilfred waved his shovel in the air, trying to make himself look larger than the enormous Morg. “You’re having a laugh right.” Danny wailed, as the other two were left dumbfounded. Wilfred gamble paid off, as Jasper moved his attention over to the dwarf momentarily, until another scream ringed it right back towards the trio. “Fena! Just cast a blooming spell or something.” Danny relentlessly demanded the elf woman that had called for Wilfred help but moments ago.

“I can’t precisely aim my magic without Mapple, I don’t want the cave collapsing in on everyone.” Her eyes passed Wilfred landing on the decorative wooden staff, splintered on the soot ridden ground. “I'd rather take the chance, then become this dragon's dinner!” Danny hotly spat back. Wilfred, continuing to shake his shovel, caught the monster's attention once more. The sharp frantic twitches of its pupils began to soften. The sour yellow glows the dragon's iris, glistens and dazzles. Wilfred spots the beast's trembling jaws, discovering the swallow cuts that splattered its flesh. “There boy, you’ll be alright. Take it easy and -”

“Fena, Help!” The humans’ screams echoed. Her wail sends shivers down the beast's body from teeth to tail, though only the dwarf took notice. Instantly the others piled onto the monster's fangs. Fena taking over for the half giant. Meanwhile, Morg focused on grappling the beast's razor-like fangs. With an inhale so great, the air felt thin, the behemoth Morg began prying apart the dragon's mouth.

Jasper lunged his legs deeper into the cave, reeling his neck away from the party. Fena was holding tightly to Danny, but the two opposing forces only caused the woman more pain. Morg dragged in his second forceful breath. With the sound of engulfing air entering the man's lungs, Jasper cracked and whipped his head as if to shake himself free from the brutes grip. Morg slammed his feet into the stone. Causing the dust to scatter high and cracking the mould of the rock below. Jaspers under distress copied the large man, with his own intake of air, did a boiling heat form at the depths of the monster chest.

In that moment, the deciding factor would come down to strength and speed. The dwarf who shared his passion for these creatures, unfortunately, knew how this would most likely end. “Hot, hot, hot!” Screamed Danny, as the maw of Jasper evoked a deep dull orange gleam across the cavities of its teeth.

Time running short, Danny and Morg pushed desperately once more, while Fena held onto her friend. Hugging the human tightly one less time. The dragon's mouth slowly inched opened as he prepared to flood the cave with fire. “Move aside.” The dwarf bellowed, through the dissipating darkness. Kicking up the ash and forcing himself between the elf and the half giant.

Without time to process Morg had been thrown from the dragon mouth, impacting a nearby wall with a crash. Fena, in the blink of an eye and with the force like charging elephants, was now on the ground beside her crumpled staff. Passed the clouding grim and to her side was the human lady, now free from the dragon's maw. Alive, but not completely whole.

“Danny your leg!” Fena cried, pulling everyone's attention over to the human laid down on the stone. Danny's breath was shallow. Her skin was torn and pale. Halfway down her left thigh was a mangled stump and a puddle of red, mixing in with the blanket of dust. “Morg! Help me stop the bleeding.” Fena pleaded, tears pooling from her eyes. Disoriented, Morg stumbled from the wall to assist his fallen comrade. Catching the serious stare that the dwarf pressed down on the party.

The cacophony of the party scrounging through backpacks, the whimpering of their fading friend and the downpour of rain outside; became deafened with the hardy crunch that snapped from the dragon mouth. Everyone; even a crippled Danny, looked up to the ruby beast. He then gave another crunch; yet this one creeped slowly through the cave, like a domesticated pet trying to conceal its chews. “Jasper, you spit that out right now!” Demanded the dwarf, his face as red as the monster's scaly body.

The dragon expression turns fierce. Stomping its trunk like feet aimlessly. Sprawling out its leathery amber wings across the roof of the cave. As it began churning its throat to mustard a guttural honk. “Spit it out right now mister, or no more Glatisant Beast Steak.” The dwarf ordered aggressively. Jasper huffed at the dwarf, failing around it weight, as if throwing a tantrum. Suddenly, amidst it thrashing a scratchy cough rippled through its windpipe. One, two, three more times the beast tightly squeezed what was caught in its gullet. Until churning out the missing leg, careening through the chalked and musky air and landing by Wilfred’s boots.

‘Gotta make this quick,’ Wilfred thought, snatching up the damp damage limb. Jostling up dust as he jolted over to the party. Wilfred noticed the half-giant bandaging up the girl as the elf emitted a faint white light from her palms. The glow flickered whenever the forlorn elf gulps back her tears. “I’m so sorry Danny.” Her voice dishevelled, her lesser magic only left to ease her friend's pain. “You’ve done enough dear, please move aside,” Wilfred asked. Him standing and Fena knelt by Danny’s side, both were at perfect eye level with one another. “What? No, I can’t. She can still make it. She’s stronger than this.” Feeling the withering glow of her spell momentarily, she lightly brushes the dwarf away.

“What about the dragon!” Morg jerks the dwarf’s attention towards, “Weren’t you going to deal with it?” He grabbed his shoulders with heavy hands. “Ay, but we have greater matters at hand. Like Missy here. Besides, he won’t hurt ya anymore. Isn’t that right Jasper?” The ruby dragon puffed out its chest once more. A heat swirling and growing in the air. However, instead of fire the monster let out a chafed scoff, before lurking itself deeper into the depth. “Let the baby pout.” Wilfred reassured Morg, his tone bleeding with hints of sadness, watching the dragon he named leave injured. Nonetheless, there were more pressing issues to attend with.

“Right, ya large lad. Go and get me some Crackle Moss.” Wilfred directed Morg. He Pointed him in the direction of the cave's entrance. “The yellow type. Make sure it's somewhat dry too.” The half giant looks puzzled by the dwarf request. “Chop, chop lad. Time is not on our side here.” Morg had watched on as a confused Fena struggled to heal their comrade. Then he stumbled to his feet and dashed into the plunging rain. “Fill this up for me too,” Wilfred continued to yell, throwing Morg the empty canteen. “I’ll need fresh water, if you want her back in one piece.”

The duo looked on at the dwarf's remark in utter disbelief. With no other options however, Morg floundered with the flask beyond the lip of the cave, before disappearing into the waning storm. “Dear, I know this must be scary, but stay strong.” Wilfred said, rifling through his pouches. “Can’t I do anything to help.” Fena remarks exacerbated. ‘Poor lass, this’ll have taken a heavy toll on her. She must be newer to adventuring.’ Wilfred judged, looking down to the severed leg.

“Actually. You see, I am not one who goes around removing ladies' items. Would you be so kind as to take the armour off her leg.” The elf faced the burly man with a sour expression, most likely down to his phasing. With some time her legs laid bare. Morg soon returned with the requested items. Wilfred quickly mixed the moss, berries and leaves from his pouch into a thick, sandy yellow paste. “Now Lad, I need to hold her leg as tightly to her body as ya can. Dear, would ya please apply this around the parting, slowly and keenly.” Wilfred instructed, bouncing to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Questions the elf. “We'll still need one last ingredient, but I don’t think he’d be too happy if either of ya came tagging along.” The dwarf replies, hastily following the path down into the depths. “He is mad?” Echoed the half-giant, his words bouncing from the walls and dampening as Wilfred rans further inside. Soon the conversation of the party disappeared from Wilfred hearing, as he was confronted by the beast in its hold. “You’ve surely grown boy, now have you left a present for me.” He remarks cheerfully.

Once the ointment was applied with great care, taking more time to steadily cover the women hamstring. The duo rise slightly when hearing heavy clunks hurdling towards them. Morg is first to see the Dwarfs' gaze. “I said hold onto her tightly ya big lummox!” Wilfred scorns. Patterning over, as the clambering continued. Wilfred's arms dangled, one holding a dented shovel and the other carrying a sheet of flaky pink leather.

Wilfred kneeled by the giant and started wrapping the tooling around Danny's injury. Beginning over the mushy laceration and twirling the thick hide down to her ankle, twisting the end around in a knot. “If you could try using your magic once more, Dearie.” Wilfred requested the elf. Fena, reached her hand over once more, letting the warming glow caress Danny's body. “Nay, you need to focus it down here.” Wilfred gently guided, gesturing to the encased limb.

Shuffling down, through the ash and over jagged stones. Fena sat parallel to the other two men, placing her hands over the pink scratchy sheet. Inhaling softly but deeply, the slim elf's body jittered, pulling out what bubbling magic that remain within her. “Somethings happening,” Morg exclaimed. In moments the hide reacted, shimmering to the healing white glow. A crunching sound started to shiver across the pink substance. Stiffening and shrinking down the woman's leg, Fena hands flinched back some extent, but Wilfred reached out and placed his hand on her lithe shoulder. Looking into the young elf's eyes, did he see hesitation depart and swing into motivation.

The wash of endless rain subsides with a final clash to the surface. After one deafened splash, did the landscape become enveloped in near silence. Danny’s disjointed and heavy breathing at last settled down into a faint haggard whimper. However, Fena has taken her place, with every exhale hard and lingering. Her stomach slacked and spine camber. A dizzy look astride her face, telling the others that she taped out, as the warm white glow from her hand burnt out. The party's only source of light now blushed by new sunshine, breaking in the caves entrance as grey clouds retire from the morning sky.

“That’ll do Dearie, that’ll do.” Wilfred mustered, trudging himself to his feet. “Alright big fella, carry Missy outside for me. I’ve got a wagon perched down at the river. I can fetch her something for when she wakes.” Wilfred began to gather his things, including what remains of the leathery pink lumps from Danny’s impromptu surgery. Morg dubiously nods, slowly reaching down and carefully picking up the red haired woman. “Let's get out of here.” Morg called Fena, his tone light and caring.

Wilfred heard a platter of chain and leather armour beat behind him as he exited the cave. Stepping into the basking rays of the sun hanging over the Melding Valley. Roughly forty feet along the face of the hill, do the three get a wondrous vantage point to the vignette of the valley. From north to south two rows of gargantuan mountains face off against one another. Made from slate grey stone, grows turf of rich browns and vibrant greens. Each side's rocky walls shot from soil to the skyline, grasping at the sun as if trying to capture it from their respective side.

Between the mountains draped endless meadows of plant life. Forests sprout across the land like prickly spines amid fields of brightly brilliant flowers, arraying themselves in countless colours. Creatures call and breast bellow beyond the landscape, returning to the grasslands from shelters amidst the storm's vacation. The tame tattering of water beckoned Wilfred's to divert his attention from the valley, to the wagon he left by a nearby river.

Scurrying himself down a steep trodden path, leading from the cave to level ground. The dwarf ruffled out the excess ash that was wadding in his lengthy, frayed beard. The black soot drifted to the ground, letting his copper brown bush take in the sun's rays. His face, neck and arms share a similar copper coating. Tanned skin that revealed pale patches under his collar and shoulders. He pats his beige flat cap on his rotund belly; ridding it of dusty grime, before placing it back over the pale hairless spot on top of his head.

Wilfred step may have been quick, but soon enough Morg would pass the dwarfs' stumpy legs. ‘Well he’s a young’un and his legs are longer than my whole body,’ the dwarf thought to himself. Slightly stunned to see the fatigued elf passing him too only seconds later. Away from the dingy gloom of the cave, could Wilfred finally get a better look at the party. Taking note of their armour and equipment, while also getting a look at their faces whenever they turn to talk to each other.

Morg was definitely the tallest of the trio, ‘He must be above seven feet tall.’ Wilfred ponders, somewhat jealous. He wore little armour, animal hide trousers and thick pelt boots. Wilfred took a keen eye of the detailing before coming to his conclusion of, ‘frost mountain boar hide with patches of goat and bear too.’ Leather shoulder straps and gauntlets lined with what looked like iron or steel. Wilfred grimmest when spotting rust forming in the nooks of the metal. Morg skin was grey with tints of sky blue. A short black mohawk meets his eyebrow and climbs up his large dome. The hair breaking off the skin with a dangling ponytail that reaches down to his waist. Contrary to his party, Morg was unarmed with only dirty bandages wrapped around his palms.

The half giants stride was lengthy, solid, but also mindful. He seems to have a good eye for the land, taking care in carrying his friend. Danny, cradle in the arms of Morg. Was covered from the neck down in chain armour, which rattled against each link like branches clashing when yanked by a strong gales. The chest, lower right leg and arms are padded with leather and steel. Wilfred was able to identify the humans shimmering red hair before in the cave. It reminded him of Jasper, though he thought it might not be best to tell her of that comparison. This wasn't Missy's first scrap however, as ageing scares rested upon her face.

Lastly Fena, she was short for an elf; around five feet four. Though this could be due to her age. ‘Must be no older than one hundred and fifty or so.’ Wilfred estimates, peeking at his wrinkled hands. Her posture was hunched and her footing was wavering. ‘A high elf for sure, but with a little something else mixed in there.’ His thoughts continued, as she did indeed share the long silver hair, fair skin and sharp features of a High Elf. However, Wilfred couldn’t help but notice the dark markings under her eyes as well as rising across her forearms. She was wearing thin cloth robes that patted and bounced on the grass, soaking in the fresh droplets slacked on blades of grass. Her hands held both halves of her wooden staff. A mournful expression pastured her face as her grips then tightly.

‘Mapple I believe she called it, must have been sentimental.’ Wilfred assumed, viewing the dent in the head of his shovel. The sound of flowing water woke the dwarf from his mind. The party approached the man's wagon, which perched alongside the riverbed. Its wood was dark, well worn, but maintained. A wide, dirty, cream cotton tarp was dressing the contents inside. An oily, vicious smell was looming above the sheet. Its two wheels almost matched Wilfred in stature and long handles rested down in the dirt. A rope was tied to a knob at the cart's rear, leading into the gushing river's water.

Wilfred pulled the tarp, spreading it out over the damp grass, “Put her down here,” he told Morg. Following his instructions the lumbering lad rested her upon the fabric. The other two adventurers plant themselves by their partner's side, as the dwarf rummages around his wagon. “Dearie, if I may?” Wilfred said, reaching out for her broken staff. Fena sharply denied the offer, leaning herself away. Her grip tightening, only to flinch at the sight of splintered wood piercing her palm. “You’ve helped us out so far.” She quietly and reluctantly answers, handing it over.

Joyfully jolting back to his wagon, Wilfred picked and prodded around his belongings. Taking out a hammer, assortment of vials and stones. “Hold yourselves here for a moment.” He called before wandering off through nearby trees. By the waters edge he scampered along the tree's trunk. In one hardy hoof, the dwarf removed a streak of dusky green vines. Plopping himself under the shade of the foliage. With nothing but the babbling brook and distant chatter dancing in his ear. The dwarf hardily began to work.

Returning back minutes later, he plopped his tools back in his wagon. Meeting the elf's bright eyes as they gleam with amazement as she spied her broken staff full mended. “Not my best work, but she’ll get the job done.” The dwarf chortled, holding out the lengthy wand. “But how?” Was all Fena could respond. “Wasn’t much, I used the vines and nectar of the Willowghaste trees that hang by this river.”

He gently moved the staff, showing that the bonding was strong. Fena's smile was twirling from ear to ear. “Ay, but luckily this wouldn’t have hold if I didn’t come across some Bog-Beetle dung by the roots.” He explained matter-of-factly. Fena's smile scraped itself from her face, leaving only a glum grimace. “Here ya go Dearie.” Wilfred said, offering her the staff. ‘It wasn’t much, but it's in a dwarfs blood to fix what's broken.’ He chants in his head. With each other person's hand grasping the staff, did Mapple then return to their rightful owner.

‘Who is this man?’ Fena thought to herself. Holding onto Mapple fondly. Watching on as the dwarf dangled from his wagon. Her nose twitched, as a faint aroma arose from her wand. “Is that magic?” Her question was thrown to the wind. Kitting itself into the dwarf's ear. He then proceeded to toss a stone from his pocket. Fena startled, fumbling to separate her loving embrace from Mapple. Scarcely manage seizing the stone before it made contact with the dirt.

Clay in colour with a smooth surface, akin to the feeling of wetted soap. She gave a short sniff of the rock and sure enough, that was the smell that caught her attention. The scent crackled in her mind as she pictured the roar of a bonfire. A taste filled her mouth as the smell lingered, ‘Copper?’ she muses. “That's a mending stone.” He answers without question. Fena realised the quizzical look her face had adopting.

“They’re all tape dry now. I’ll have to charge them when I next visit Daligrad.” He continues as Morg abruptly piped up. “You’re from the East then?” His sudden excitement spooked Fena slightly. “Nay.” The elderly man responded, leaving Morg to simply frown. “He’s a dwarf ya big lummox.” A familiar voice joined the conversation.

Fena looked down to see the human stagger from her slumber. “So where in The Chester Hills do you hail from? Danny prodded him with a lashing tone. The dwarf didn’t respond with any concern, mildly vexing the drowsy human. “I don’t live in the western kingdom either.” Fena watched the puzzled expression churn on her friend's faces, ‘I am making the same face as them?’ She indeed was.

A harsh crackle broke the silent stares, as Danny’s brace began to wither and crumble. Flakes fell off her bare leg and glided to the ground like autumn leaves. “What is this stuff?” The human fussed, while frantically peeling at the makeshift bandage. “Be careful.” Morg urged the firecracker, leaning in to stop her hands. The fiery redhead jumped from the giant gasp and hobbled to her feet. brushing off the last of the dry, leathery substance.

Everyone paused at the markings that hid beneath the bandage. A scarring of deep dark skin circled around the former separation. Its colours seemed to shift in the sunlight, like oil swimming on the ocean's surface. “That would be due to the dragon’s moult. Don’t worry, the colouration should pass in a week or so.” The dwarf finally answered, breaking the soaring silence.

“Dragon’s moult?” Fena immediately spouted, her head spinning back to meet the dwarf. “Ay, that moult was from little Jasper nonetheless.” The elderly man gave out a tired huff, pushing his back against the wagon and slumping himself down to the floor before he resumed. “You never bother a whelpling when they start going through spurts.” He pats the grass offering the others to sit. Fena turned to see Danny ignore his gesture, while Morg on the other hand went to his knees intensely, he looked curious at the man's musings. Fena also slowly lowered herself to the warm yet wet thicket of grass.

“Temperamental would be an understatement. Imagine going from the size of my hand, to three times as big as this lad in just under a hundred years.” Fena noticed his mannerizing shifting, becoming hyper expressive once he started his telling's of dragons. Waving his arm around delightfully and dramatically, pointing to Morg when comparing sizes.

“Wait, he was just a baby?” Morg blabbed, eyes widening, mouth gaping. “Laddie, if he were an adult.” Wilfred said, pausing to grow tension. “You’d be dead.” He snorted, slapping the shoulder of the lumbering giant. Who would join in the merriment. Fena couldn’t help but lose her bewildered demeanour, for a light laugh at that moment. However, this did bring a question that had been on her mind for a while now.

“Are you that monster's keeper or something?” Danny bitterly shouted, unknowingly stealing Fena's inquiry. Once again; ignoring the woman's lashing tongue, he replied. “Ay, I brought Jasper and all the other dragon here. I’ve been raising them ever since.” His voice loitered on his lips in an almost nostalgic tone. “Like pets!” Morg barged his way into the conversation once again with childish excitement. “Nay, I farm the beasts. Eggs, loose teeth, fallen claws. Even the moults can make a pretty penny with the blacksmiths.”

“That beast nearly had us all killed. In fact, Lots of adventurers have died because of them!” Danny barks down at the two men. “Missy, that would be your own doing.” Wilfred remarks in a dry yet accusative manner. Fena tilted her head to her boisterous companion. “When the whelplings moult, they bundle up in their holds until their new scales harden. They won’t go looking for food, nor water and certainly wouldn't go looking for a fight.” Wilfred took to his feet once more and gathered the leftover moult from his wagon. Unravelling the pouch of fleshly scales, he pulls a mangled silver sword.

“I saw this in his hold. The poor thing was shaken. His skin was cut, they were fresh too. Must have been after he had moulted, cuz missy. If this sword hit him when he hardened. Well it wouldn't even have broken flesh.” This was the first time Fena had noticed a sense of malice in the dwarfs' voice. He placed the sword partway between him and the human. Whom of which, could only look at the blade in new found shame. “You short-life races are too quick to throw your lives away.” He dejectedly concluded.

“Danny did you?” Fena questioned, as both locked eyes. Danny pupils twitched from concerned to that of rage. “Are you both ignoring that this man has illegally brought dragons into the western kingdom?” She screams. “You have no right, coming to my home and assaulting my livestock.” Wilfred claimed, keeping his volume in check. “What gives you the right to snuggle those monsters into the west?” Her inflection scratched like stone on steel.

“This isn’t western territory, this is my home.” He jeered back. The scene was building and the elf would catch glimpses of the human peering down to her sword. However she focused her thoughts towards the dwarf. “So you live out here?” She interrupts in a higher pitch. Getting between the two, she softens her face. hopefully offsetting the attitude of her friend. “Well of course, I own this valley after all.”