He did not fly out to battle for glory and riches against his kin. He did not die to fire and claw.
He did not fly out to burn the castles and rob the treasuries of humans. He did not die to spear and arrow.
He did not fly out to raid and hunt in the mystic forest of elves. He did not die to spell and curse.
He lived for a very long time.
Every year some came to buy his advice, others to ask for wealth now in exchange for giving a greater fortune later. When the smithy was built or the trade caravan returned.
Nations gave him their treasures to store, for who could rob a dragon? Even the other dragons named him Elder and Wise and wouldn't dare offend him so.
His hoard was extensive, and where there is wealth there are always fools greedy enough to try to take it.
They never got too far, his continued life was in the best interests of the powerful and mighty. City guards had ears out for plots, and mercenaries patrolled the path to his mountaintop home.
But there were some stupid enough to try and strong enough to succeed. And it was known that Murzok wouldn't kill those who failed, they lived to tell their story of the mercy of the "harmless" dragon.
This batch of robbers stood twenty strong. Armed with the sharpest spears human blacksmiths could forge, the most cunning spell scrolls of the elven battlemages. Neither gotten in a manner fair or right.
Murzok melted one stalactite with his white hot flame, and shattered another with a swipe of his mighty tail.
He could have killed all of the robbers then and there, he knew it, they knew it.
Whenever this had happened before, this was the point Murzok let them leave-alive. But not this time, not these robbers.
"I don't like killing people. I dislike killing animals even! I am willing to buy a clean conscience. Listen to what I say and you shall leave rich, and I will sleep tonight knowing I have never killed a thinking being."
He reached deep into his treasure hoard and threw out a perfect ruby, large as two closed fists.
"Take this and leave."
The thieves had agreed on a way to split the loot, but that failed in the face of this beauty of the earth.
At once they turned on each other. Spears pierced and spells burnt.
The only survivor tucked the gem to his chest, even as his blood poured over it.
He staggered to the exit, turning through the labyrinthian caves, more disorientated and woozy with every step.
He reached the entrance, felt the warm light of dawn. Collapsed onto the path, into the sunlight. Dead.
ParshendiOfRhuidean t1_j745xr7 wrote
Reply to [WP] The peaceful dragon had been pushed one time too many. Someone was about to discover that "peaceful" did not mean "harmless". by quazerflame
Murzok the Peaceful was not an aggressive dragon.
He did not fly out to battle for glory and riches against his kin. He did not die to fire and claw.
He did not fly out to burn the castles and rob the treasuries of humans. He did not die to spear and arrow.
He did not fly out to raid and hunt in the mystic forest of elves. He did not die to spell and curse.
He lived for a very long time.
Every year some came to buy his advice, others to ask for wealth now in exchange for giving a greater fortune later. When the smithy was built or the trade caravan returned.
Nations gave him their treasures to store, for who could rob a dragon? Even the other dragons named him Elder and Wise and wouldn't dare offend him so.
His hoard was extensive, and where there is wealth there are always fools greedy enough to try to take it.
They never got too far, his continued life was in the best interests of the powerful and mighty. City guards had ears out for plots, and mercenaries patrolled the path to his mountaintop home.
But there were some stupid enough to try and strong enough to succeed. And it was known that Murzok wouldn't kill those who failed, they lived to tell their story of the mercy of the "harmless" dragon.
This batch of robbers stood twenty strong. Armed with the sharpest spears human blacksmiths could forge, the most cunning spell scrolls of the elven battlemages. Neither gotten in a manner fair or right.
Murzok melted one stalactite with his white hot flame, and shattered another with a swipe of his mighty tail.
He could have killed all of the robbers then and there, he knew it, they knew it.
Whenever this had happened before, this was the point Murzok let them leave-alive. But not this time, not these robbers.
"I don't like killing people. I dislike killing animals even! I am willing to buy a clean conscience. Listen to what I say and you shall leave rich, and I will sleep tonight knowing I have never killed a thinking being."
He reached deep into his treasure hoard and threw out a perfect ruby, large as two closed fists.
"Take this and leave."
The thieves had agreed on a way to split the loot, but that failed in the face of this beauty of the earth.
At once they turned on each other. Spears pierced and spells burnt.
The only survivor tucked the gem to his chest, even as his blood poured over it.
He staggered to the exit, turning through the labyrinthian caves, more disorientated and woozy with every step.
He reached the entrance, felt the warm light of dawn. Collapsed onto the path, into the sunlight. Dead.
Murzok reclaimed that blood-stone.