A Tyrant, Sort Of

Sable rested on her haunches, panting and exhausted, as she considered her newest skill—and basked in her triumph over her enemy. It was satisfying enough having taken the enormous creature down from a visceral standpoint, but punctuated by a level up, and an intriguing new ability? It was intoxicating. A thick, heady emotion.

***

[Arcana Specialty - Enchant] - Gain 100% potency on spells with a key-rune of enchant.

***

The skill description was the same as her frostfire specialty, though swapping the appropriate rune out—‘enchant’. 100% potency. Sable had never asked what that meant, exactly, from Roman. Probably self evident.

Though, what was the rune ‘enchant’ responsible for? Sable knew there could be significant variance in spells created with any given rune. Roman had given her a rundown on the topic.

Something like frostfire, when designed the proper way, could be bastardized into a simple lighting or heating spell—Roman had used the term ‘effect adjacency’. So what could enchant do? Both as it was designed for, and nearby effects?

She didn’t get the impression that the rune was meant in the ‘improve armor and item’s’ way, or at least not exclusively, but rather the older, more traditional sense. Mind-altering effects. Literally, to ‘enchant’ someone—to put them under a spell.

When Sable had first met Aylin, she’d asked if she had laid down enchantments on her hoard to protect it from intruders. At a guess, the ability—in varying forms—was foundational to dragons.

Seeing how her first skill had been [Dominate], which directly took over other sentient minds and gave Sable the ability to coerce them, it made sense she’d receive a branch of magic in line with that capability.

Sable swayed on her feet, even settled onto her haunches as she was. Thinking was difficult. She’d lost blood. Not a deadly amount, but with her injuries added to her exhaustion, she found it difficult to keep her thoughts steady.

She was interested in this newest skill of hers, but maybe deeper consideration should be saved for later.

A nice nap, time to [Recuperate] and bask on top of her hoard, sounded heavenly.

She inspected the monster she’d taken down. It was by far the most powerful she’d faced. It had posed real threat to her. And while a ‘real threat’ to a juvenile dragon wasn’t some world shaking power, it wasn’t weak, either. Even Skatikk, the leading city of a notable northern goblin tribe, had decided the orecruncher infestation too unpleasant to deal with.

So, maybe not a legendary beast, but a fearsome foe.

Shouldn’t fearsome foes drop appropriate loot?

Or something of worth? Maybe the raw resources extractable from the creature’s corpse would be valuable. Seeing how its carapace had been able to withstand her fire breath, and her spells, even glutted with mana, it could surely make good armor. And maybe other parts of its biology?

She didn’t know for certain, but she suspected it would be worth keeping.

So, naturally, she decided to lug it back to base.

Sable had grown many times in strength since carrying Granite across the forest, but this monster was also many, many times his size. Several times Sable’s size. She managed to get it into the air, but the burdensome weight, combined with her injuries, meant it wasn’t a pleasant task.

Fortunately, [Soar] still worked. She was out of combat, so the ability granted her an impressive movement speed bonus. Weighed down by an enormous monster corpse, though, she made much worse time than usual. And while Lake Plateglass wasn’t that far away, when slowed down, bleeding, and tired, it took longer than she’d have preferred to make it back home.

When she had, she set the beast down next to her tiny pile of gems, curled up on top of her hoard, and took a much-deserved nap.

***

Chieftain Kirak, once called the Scourge of the Red Wild, the Ironhide Conqueror, grunted as he settled himself into a chair, bones creaking more than the wood did. Age had taken its toll, as it did to everyone—even the classed. For a goblin entering his thirties, he was in remarkably good shape. But not good shape. Most goblins simply didn’t live to such an age. Thirty was ancient. His class had kept his soul lingering in this world much longer than it ought to. Long enough, in fact, he was starting to be annoyed by it.

“Let’s hear it,” Kirak said.

“The Danner Quarry has been cleared out,” Dranik said. “One of our scouts saw the dragon carrying the hivemother’s corpse away.”

Kirak digested this announcement, then sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Not as weak as we hoped, then.” They’d been wise to concede to her demands.

“It was also reported,” Dranik said carefully, “that she seemed injured. Bleeding. So not as strong as we feared, either.”

The cautious way he spoke the words suggested which side of the debate Dranik stood on. He wanted the dragon dead. Kirak wasn’t surprised. Dranik was young, hotheaded—though at least in a more subdued way than many—and growing in reputation and class. More than that, he was Rhaknar’s son. It was in his blood to take the riskier path when offered great potential.

Truthfully, a decade ago, Kirak would have had the same perspective. As Rhaknar, his old friend, had.

It was irritating, in a way, that the dragon had found them at such a juvenile stage. Had the creature been even a few more months grown, a few levels deeper onto its path, then there would be no debate among the leadership of Skatikk. The threat would be too enormous to entertain facing head-on.

But a juvenile? And now one injured from a fight against a orecruncher hivemother? It was within the realm of possibility—feasible, if risky—that a coalition of the Bonecracker Tribe’s best warriors could slay the beast, especially if they laid a trap, or somehow deprived the creature of its hoard. The latter was unlikely, but still possible, could they discover where the beast had hidden it. Removing a dragon’s source of power had been a somewhat frequently used strategy so many centuries ago, as far as Kirak knew.

But that defeating the creature, rather than accepting its rule, was possible meant there was a schism inside Skatikk. Within Kirak himself, even. Had the dragon been an adult, they could have accepted their new life. The tyranny of a dragon would not have been a pleasant thing, but at least they could have accepted it, and the city of Skatikk would have continued.

But to risk its destruction by attempting to slay the creature. A failure meant annihilation. A victory meant continued sovereignty and, of course, great riches in the body of a dragon: teeth, scale, every inch of the creature would create artifacts unparalleled within the city of Skatikk. Not just to rid the world of their destructive nature, dragons had been so fiercely hunted because they were soaring mountains of gold—not just in claiming their hoard, but the value harvested from their very selves.

Kirak rubbed his forehead, feeling exhausted. This time, only partially from age. “And I assume the council’s opinions have not changed.”

“If there were a time where it could be slain,” Dranik said, “it would be if it returns to us while injured.”

“Clearing an infestation of orecrunchers likely raised it by a level, if not several. It will be stronger, now, even if it’s hurt.”

“The window shrinks by the moment,” Dranik said, disagreeing while agreeing. “Now, or never.”

“Assuming it does, indeed, get close enough for us to lay an ambush,” Kirak said. “It seems to be keeping its distance deliberately.”

Everyone in the Council had noted the dragon’s refusal to set down for any meaningful period of time inside the city. For the most part, it had stayed decidedly in the sky, away even from the effective range of the ballistae, and used its enthralled minion—that poor young woman—to do her bidding.

Dranik sneered. “It knows it is weak. A coward.”

“It is intelligent,” Kirak growled. “An opponent that knows her limits is far more dangerous than one who does not. That is why I’m so wary.” Dragons weren’t supposed to be intelligent. That said, dragons weren’t supposed to exist, either. Kirak leaned back and sighed. “Perhaps we could rebel in the short term,” he said, “but if the creature concedes an immediate loss? And returns when we cannot resist—which would not be long? Weeks, perhaps, of advancement? Or if it simply chooses to terrorize us in ways we can’t deal with? Our only path to victory comes from an ambush followed by a direct fight. And we likely could not kill it if it chooses to flee from that encounter—I can’t imagine a way to kill a dragon in a single strike to prevent that possibility. Can you?”

“It’s a dragon,” Dranik said. “It doesn’t behave in such ways.”

“And what do we know of dragons?” Kirak snapped. “Really? We have stories from centuries ago. Our records don’t go nearly far enough back. Would you risk our tribe’s fate on such uncertainty?”

Dranik stared at him, jaw clenched. “I recall,” he said, “a great Chieftain who has done exactly that, many times.”

Kirak sagged back into his chair. It was, unfortunately, an excellent point. Kirak had not forged the Bonecracker Tribe through timidity.

“Do we have news of Gadenrock?”

“Not as of yet.”

“Then go. I will decide with the Council. I have heard your report.”

Dranik didn’t seem pleased at that, but saluted and left. The man bordered on insubordinate at times, but never actually so.

Kirak rubbed his face. He wasn’t sure why he’d been trying to convince Dranik in the first place. He was a rising name in the tribe, but not of any meaningful import. Too young and untested.

Except, Kirak did know why. He was Rhaknar’s son. But clearly he did not have his old friend’s wisdom. Too hotheaded from youth. A good warrior, but not a general, yet. As both Rhaknar and Kirak had been in their warlord years.

He sat there, slumped in his chair, and stewed over the fate of the Bonecracker Tribe.