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Zoltan

"No." he says simply to the now revealed gigantic beast. "We seek no fortune. Rather we seek to divest ourselves of one."

[[ ooc: do any of these names/descriptions sound familiar to the master of stories? ]]

[Good question, Nep, I'll answer that in the ooc thread.]

<Weston>

When the gigantic dragon head ... it couldn't have been =anything= else ... made itself know, he almost fell from the rock he had been standing on for a view. So clearly =not= a poser. But it also begged the question. "Why doesn't the curse bother him", he asked no one in particular ... then clamped his hand over his mouth.

Jex

The bard heard Weston but replied to the great wyrm instead.

"I know of thee, Master of the Winter. You are at the heart of many a great tale. Your wisdom and cunning are world renown! How you punished the Wizard King for his folly is legendary!"

He turns to the others to tell them the climax of story.

"In ancient times, the Wizard King wanted the ultimate power over life and death, held then by the White. So the Wizard King raised an army and marched on the White's lair. While they attacked the White, the Master of Winter was not as complacent as his brethren."

"But the Master of Winter was more cunning than his kin and less arrogant. He flew high and far, over the Wizard King's army and back to the island capital on Stormmaker. He destroyed the city, killing all of its people to punish the Wizard King for his wrongdoing."

He turns back to the dragon.

"Lore has it that on that awful night you were wounded and many thought you dead. But it seems your cunning outwitted them all. For here you are and you are not dead - a testament to your cunning and guile."

"I am known as Jex, because I do not deserve a longer name. I am but a weak and meek mortal man that cherishes little other than knowledge. And now that we have made your acquaintance, please elaborate for us puny humans and explain what sort of handicrafts interest you. And what, aside from our lives, are we trading for?"

Tindarien

"As my colleague explained we are here primarily to return a treasure that we believe to have been stolen from here. However I have another interest in that the river has been poisoned. I would like to see it restored to its natural state. Is that something you could help with?"

No harm in asking..

Seyja


He face grew grim and cold as she listened to the bard's tale and, once he had finished and Tindarien had spoken, she swung her greataxe around in front of her, stepped a pace or two toward the dragon and spoke.

"Is that true? You were attacked and you did not retaliate against your attacker? Instead you destroyed the innocent people of the attacker's city?"

Seyja shook her head and again spat off to one side.

"That is what I think of such an action."

<Weston>

"Ideals are fine", he said to Seyja. "But in a war you do what =ever= you have to do to win. Otherwise 'they' win and all you stand for is lost. Do you truly believe that the world would be a better place if our friend here had died an 'honorable' death and the Wizard King had prevailed?"

Seyja


She turned her head slowly and glared at Weston for a long moment, then shook her head again and grunted disdainfully.

He did not understand and she did not feel like explaining to him what troubled her so much.

GM

The dragon grunted, the sound of a glacier sliding, and it reared up, spraying frost from its nostrils. Somewhere on the other side of the glade, its spiked tail twitched, splintering trees.

You saw a deep cut in the scutes of its neck, an unhealed wound that spat and blubbed with thick, steaming dragon's blood. More than enough to kill most dragons, let alone more mundane creatures, and this white wyrm bore other recent injuries too, raw and sticky wet. They might some day mend and add to its masses of scars, but at that moment there could be no doubt it was hurt.

That didn't seem to curb its enthusiasm.

"Bed-time stories from a bygone age!!" It snarled, before Weston spoke and the corner of its mouth seemed to curl into a smile.

"Well said. Let us not raise the ghosts of the past.

"Not when we have so much to talk about here and now."

It sank back down, getting more at your eye level, to be... less intimidating?

"I have no need of more treasure, but if it helps you I can throw it on the old pile.

"And yes, yes I'm quite sure I can help you with the poisoned river too." The white wyrm said amiably, each of its words showering you with ice chips.

"In return, I would ask for oh, a small token. Something to remember you by. I do like scrimshaw, ivory carvings and such. Do you happen to have something of the sort? A bangle or ring per-haps?"

Sergeant Almador

His knees knocked and he literally quaked in his boots, and arm thrown up to shield his face from the dragon's icy breath and luminous, one-eyed gaze.

At least the Sergeant stood his ground though and kept hold of his polearm. His teeth were chattering too much for him to speak, but at the back of his mind he did recall what Weston told the party about his ivory ring.

D

He was genuinely surprised to meet a dragon, never mind a legend in the world. In addition it wanted something small not their lives, not massive amounts of treasure. He is so stunned he doesn't even speak, though his mind tried to come up with something that they might have found to fit the bill.

Tindarien

He looks around at the others enquiringly.

"Anyone have anything that fits the description?"

This seems too easy and he is not sure whether this will work out but the dragon is hurt and maybe there is a simple solution..?

<Weston>

"All I have is a ring, the only connection to my real mother. How much would we need to get in exchange for that", he asked.

Zoltan

He shrugs. "I have nothing like that. But perhaps there is something in the pile of treasure we are carrying?"

Tindarien

He has not really looked closely at the proportion of the treasure he is carrying. He opens his pack and does so now.

D

Seeing the action he joins the magic slinger by opening his own pack to check. That was a good idea and something he could do rather than stand around gawking.

GM

If the wyrm was the Master of Winter of legend, it was aptly named.

It was as Jex said. The legend told that before the Dawn of the Dragon Empire, the Wizard King of Yore, marched on the White with a whole army of dragon slayers, fitted out for the one purpose. His aim was to steal the secret of commanding the dead from the White.

It was a war on white dragons, and they stood alone against the onslaught, too arrogant to ask the Three for aid or call upon allies from younger races.

One by one the white dragons fell, killed by their own hubris as much as by the enchanted weaponary of the Wizard King's army.

Until they encountered the Master of Winter, who, as winter always did, found the weakness in these dragon slayers. Their homes and families.

He avoided the fight altogether and flew straight for the island capital in the Stormmaker Sea, and there he wrought such devastation it was thereafter known as the Necropolis. The souls of the dead, he cursed to hound their living relatives and so the army of dragon slayers was destroyed, not by dragon's breath, but by despair.

As for the Master of Winter, he was said to have been mortally wounded by the city's formidable defences. Yet his fate went unrecorded in the annuls of the time.

Could the Beast and the Master of Winter be one and the same? It was massive enough, ancient enough, but it's interest in handicrafts was very perculiar, verging on eccentric.

At the mention of the ivory ring, the dragon's one eyes gleamed as if it's inner fire had been stoked, and it loomed closer, its scaly lip curling back.

"Ah. Now I do quite like that." It said softly. "It would make a wonderful gift and I'm sure your mother would have approved."

There was nothing amongst the stolen treasure that could rightly be called handicrafts. It was mostly jewels and jewellery, set in gold and silver and even rarer metals, with a few hefty statuettes and smaller purses of coins. Sir Edward the Red had a discerning eye, balancing encumbrance versus value.

It was all completely ignored by the white wyrm.

<Weston>

Anyone watching would have noticed him 'slump' when it became clear that the dragon had decided on =his= one precious possession. Intellectually he knew that it was a good 'trade'. But in his heart he was still loath to part with the one link he had to his birth parents. The two clamored in his mind for dominance ... heart and mind.

In the end, pragmatism ... something he had learned from the generous couple that had taken in an orphaned child and accepted him as their own ... won out.

"If I had known my mother I =might= agree", he said with a sigh as he pulled the leather thong from around his neck. "Unfortunately I do not have those memories. I have only this", he said holding the thong out, the ring, still warm, hanging from it. "If it will help to end the suffering of the who commissioned us, I will be satisfied."

Sergeant Almador

Buffeted by the wintery breathing of the white wyrm, the Sergeant is largely distracted until Weston offers up his mother's ivory ring.

It didn't seem right or proper to Almador. He thought of his family and how they'd all shared a life together, with all its trials and tribulations. Weston had none of that, only the one heirloom.

What had this dragon done to deserve such a gesture? So far, it had done nothing at all except intimidate them.

Reaching into his tunic, Sergeant Almador pulled out the picture of his wife and held it up with a shaking hand. It was a cameo engraving in mother-of-pearl, a local speciality and surely the epitome of 'handicraft'.

"Will you not take this, dragon? A cameo in mother-of-pearl, made in my home town by the sea! T-tis my wife, but means not nearly so much to me as she does."

Tindarien

He gave a respectful nod to Weston understanding how much that ring probably meant to the man. To make a sacrifice to safeguard the lives of others is noble, and this is a sacrifice.

He turns in surprise as the Sergeant makes an offer, surprising truth in his words. He extends a nod to him also.

Jex

"I too have something which I think is priceless. Not everyone agrees, but it is a thin blade that has been at my side for many years, a rapier that has tasted much blood. I willingly offer you the blade known as 'frosty blood lust'! I named it so because of the chill it sends down the spine of my foes and the blood it likes to drink. It has seen many a battle and the fact that I stand here today is testament to the fact that it has never failed me. The souls of many an orc has been spilled by the tip of the blade. It is yours, as a sign of good faith!"

Zoltan

He watches as several others offer crafty trinkets to the dragon. He himself has no such articles, so he simply watches and observes.

D

Things were just that. Though he had tools, he had nothing special because of what he had gone through. It offered him an interesting perspective while he watched their actions.

GM

The dragon coughed and spears of ice flew over your head, exploding in shards against the rocky hillside.

A gout of orange blood spewed from the ghastly wound on its neck, steaming hot as it splashed on the ground. The white wyrm ground its teeth and spoke with a clenched jaw.

"I do not want a poxy pricker or a picture of a pug." It snarled before forcing a smile.

"Just... give me the ring."