Hounds Rising

To the West, Humboldt had set off with a small squad of ten guards, paid for by Queen Sylona herself. Though he was more than adept at promptly getting them to the Esterhold Peaks, they still had to search for the sapphire dragon’s lair. Thankfully, with his new eye that he kept under an eyepatch, he could find it in less than a day.

Explaining off the eyepatch took some work, but a drunken night and a few smashed bottles did more than enough to convince the Queen. It was morning, and he held the letter from Mr. Muffins. His squad was finishing up their packing of camp, and soon, they would be on their way. He thought to himself as he waited.

If all goes well today, maybe I’ll write him back.

From deep within him, as if answering back, he heard the other voice speak to him.

You will not fail. There is no “if”. You will succeed.

Humboldt took a deep breath. It was new, always having someone in his head, but the price would be worth it.

Within the hour, the squad finished packing and traveled the half mile to the lair. It was a large cave with large open spaces for a dragon to find refuge. Humboldt carefully moved through the cavern, his new eye catching the small details, but he did little to warn his companions. The first few died ten feet in as a trap unraveled, and a large boulder fell on top of them, crushing them immediately underneath. By the end, Humboldt was the last one alive. Nine of them died by traps or the unsafe environment. The last, he killed himself as he made it into the dragon’s lair and found its hoard.

If there was a dragon that had taken this territory for its own, it was nowhere to be seen. He moved quickly but silently through the large assortment collected over decades or centuries. Gold, platinum, silver, art, weaponry… A man’s greed would be his downfall in such a place, but Humboldt’s plan was far greater than greed.

Beyond the large hoard was a narrow passageway, too small for most people to notice, but it was easy enough for a gnome. He moved on all fours for what seemed like miles, tirelessly, deeper and deeper into the mountain. Then, he felt a large stone in front of him. He pulled out his wand, and with a quick flick, the rock moved away from the opening, grinding against the ground echoing in the small cavern.

He made his way in and waved his wand again. A singular flame bellowed out, giving just enough light to this small area, which had probably not seen sunlight in ages. On the floor in front of him sat a small crate. He knelt down and carefully opened it with one hand. Inside, unmarked by the passage of time, was a withered hand. He held it to eye level, and the voice inside called out again.

Yes! You have found the eye and hand… Now, you have proven yourself worthy.