hex_m_hell

Some would say that if you pile enough gold together, a dragon will smell it and come. Others said that dragons spawn naturally any time enough gold is together in one place. No one knew for sure.

In this mountain, long ago, a wicked king hoarded the gold he stole from his subjects. His advisors warned him of the consequences, but he was unable to listen.

He had not always been so wicked, and was once well loved among his subjects. There had been, even among his lowest subjects, many a toast to his health in the months after his coronation.

It had been easy for him to levy taxes to build and improve the town, to build fortifications and raise an army to oppose great threats. He had not resisted celebrations held in his honor. He had built a healthy reserve of wheat and gold, quite enough for a few short harvests or to hire mercenaries if his kingdom found the need. His wisdom had turned lack into excess, did he not deserve luxury in return? Coin by coin he filled his own coffer, asking more and more tribute of his subjects. He even sold off the granary for a pittance that he may pocket a few more coins.

He had, when stone could be squeezed no more, bought, with the blood of his people, a gold mine. That mine he held at great cost to those soldiers, though he felt their blood still a cheap trade for such riches as it regularly produced. Some dreamt that this would satiate his hunger, that his mind and heart would return. But somehow, in defiance of the plenty, the craving wildly grew. This horde of his became an obsession, his only duty. As his greed grew, so too, in his imagination, did the greed of all others.

Every day he became more and more afraid that someone would steal his gold. He couldn't part with even one single coin. First he had his guards count each coin nightly. Later he had other guards guard them while they counted. Finally he couldn't trust anyone else anymore.

He moved the gold to a secret cave outside the city, known only to his most trusted men. Each night he would sneak out of the castle to the cave, and each morning his carriage would come to bring him back. Through the night he would count each coin an piece again and again, while guards stood outside to protect him when he finally fell asleep.

One morning his carriage was dispatched to the cave but it did not return. Guards were dispatched to find out what happened. When they returned, the guards reported that the carriage had been destroyed and that the king must have been consumed by the dragon as he slept. They found only charred remains before they had to run for their lives from a great beast.

The kingdom had sent it’s best knights to fight the dragon, but none ever returned. Year after year the dragon demanded the king’s tribute and more, to be delivered directly to the cave. The kingdom sent for knights from other realms, promising the dragon’s hoard to any who could free the people from the shackles of this terror.

One knight answered the call. His bravery was only matched by his hunger for glory and riches. He would fight any battle to satisfy this craving, and there was no greater wealth than in this cave. Though no one had ever conquered a dragon, he had fought many battles with great beasts and won.

He had been observing the beast for some months, watching its habits, tracking its movements. He knew its patterns. He knew it's weakness, and how to attack it.

He crept in silence around the mouth of the cave to collect the creature's scales, and of them made armor and a shield. He had a special blade forged, and had it blessed, then tipped with the most powerful poison, from the most powerful wizard, in the realm. After months of watching and preparing, he chose the night of the yearly tribute to attack.

He hid among the gold, in one of the chests. The dragon sniffed each one as the workers wheeled the cart in, but didn't notice. The knight had worn gold and even eaten some to cover his scent from the dragon. It seemed to work, but perhaps the dragon had grown careless in its greed.

That night, when the dragon rested, the knight crept out. He moved silently. He had wrapped the dragon scales of his armor in soft leather to dampen the sound as the plates moved against each other.

Bones were strewn among the wealth, some charred others white and clean. A few skeletons were impaled on their blades, perhaps, he imagined, some had fallen on their blades to end a searing pain. What a fine challenge, he thought, that no other had managed to complete. He crept closer and readied his blade.

The dragon shifted, and awoke with a start. It sniffed the air, locked its eyes on the knight, and spit a torrent of flame. The knight leapt forward into it, surprising his adversary by diving towards it's weakness, knowing the scales would protect him through it.

The smell of burning flesh hung in the air. The knight stood, sword plunged deep in the dragon’s chest. It now lay limp across the cavern. He took off his smoldering armor and collapsed from exhaustion, into glorious dreams about claiming his title as the first dragon slayer.

He awoke the next morning as dawn’s light glinted off his glorious new treasure. The hoard seemed so much smaller than he remembered from the night before. He couldn't find the body of the dragon anywhere, but instead only a frail doll that looked just like a tiny man, impaled on a tiny sword. That sword was familiar. It looked so much like a miniature of the tremendous blade he had crafted to slay the great beast.

A new smell filled his nostrils. The room was alive with it, yet he had never noticed it before. He felt as though the scent had woke a hunger inside of him, and that hunger had now consumed him whole.