The little orange dot grows into the campfire you know, then to a storm of dancing flames rising thousands of feet high. A pot of stew bubbles on the gathering of stones topped by glowing red logs, flicking away in black sooty puffs at least thirty times your size. You scream towards this rolling pyro storm, but a quick air current blows you the tiniest bit off course.
One of the five figures sitting around this campfire now grows larger. Once known as the pint-sized powerhouse of the pack, the brown scaled kobold wizard is who you drift towards! Eyes shut tight as the deepest of dreamers, you might well be the only one that knows that he isn't sleeping on the job as the stew he's supposed to watch simmers. The crocodile jawed dragonkin is meditating, he called it something specific once or twice...
"We's call it 'Finding the Dragons'!
He seemed so happy to talk about it over a pint of ale, pleased somebody bothered to ask him about his race's traditions. His tail swished around like an excited dog's, almost tripping the mossy half-dragon strutting behind him. Made you wonder how often anyone actually noticed him among the bustling groups of adventurers twice his size or larger.
"We looks for the dragon within all of us, the great one who gives us all mana! Without the mighty scaled ones, we's not magical in the slightest bit!"
His twitchy little fingers struggling to hold up his frothing pint, the little needle teeth that poked out of his grin, the bitter taste of the cheapest ale in the tavern. These moments of your life flash before your eyes as you descend upon the same little reptile, large enough to use an entire mountain range as a bed! He doesn't stir in the slightest as you...
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.11 seconds at 12:08am on Feb 09, 2025 via server WEBX1.