Garanoth's Tale
An old story given a new twist.
Garanoth stepped through the door of the Black Crow's Foot Tavern, pulled off his helm and ran his fingers through his sweaty black hair. He had just speed-marched a hundred men from Upwater here to Graneth. Now they were pitching camp and eating trail rations at the army barracks some two miles south of here, and Garanoth decided the captain of the guard was about due for a large tankard and a hot meal. In the kingdom of Krade, captain of the guard means only four others of equal rank, and only the Lords of Krade themselves outranked him. Oh, the sweet smell of success.
Until five years ago, Graneth had been a small city/state on the east coast of Srentor… a fraction of what used to be the ancient empire of Krade. Upwater had just been a band of shallow caves beside the Clearwater River. Now it was a heavily fortified stronghold with a town springing up around it. The Lords of Krade reunified a kingdom fallen for two thousand years, defeated the prince of the undead, and eventually destroyed his predecessor, the grand lich Gur-Eshnen. Now the kingdom was enjoying peaceful prosperity, and Garanoth was living the good life.
After his tankard was drawn, he walked toward the rear of the tavern, where the old-timers were throwing darts. They nodded and saluted him by lifting their mugs. Everyone seemed to like Garanoth. He wasn't overly strong, but he was fast like a jackrabbit, with a crooked grin and bright mischievous eyes. Most folks would not go so far as to say he was ugly, at least not to his face, but still, he was a popular fellow.
'Now ye've all heard of my besting a Green Dragon, a feat I'd not want to try again soon, but that wasn't the first dragon I've seen in my life. I'll tell you that now!' His tale had just begun and already the darts had stopped. They all knew Garanoth had fought a green dragon. He had its claws and teeth to prove it. He also had four hideous wounds across his chest to prove he hadn't just bought them from an alchemist. Another tale of this dragon slayer facing the scaly beasts was something bards would lay down gold for. Oh, it was going to be a good one, Garanoth thought.
'Let me tell you boys about a wilder time in my life… a time when I made my living any way I could. For a while I ran with a group of pirates down south in the Small Sea. A spring storm blew in from the West just after a raid on a merchant ship from Katar N'Gara'. His pronunciation of the southern realms was flawless. 'We hit the reefs on the south side of the Small Sea, and "Ocean's Harlot" sank like a rock'. Garanoth paused to let the impact of his tale sink in.
'You mean ta say you washed up near the Old Forrest?', came the shaky words of an old merchant. The card game he had been playing had been abandoned.
'That's what I'm telling ya', Garanoth said. He sat back, took a long pull from his tankard, and wiped away the foam. He looked intently into the eyes of the gathering crowd, scanning the room for it's reaction. He had them. They'd swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. They were hanging on his every word.
'When I finally came around, I was in a bamboo cage, surrounded by a tribe of kobolds. They obviously knew enough to search me because my sword was gone, and one of them was dangling my thieves tools in front of me mockingly', at this, he threw a worn leather roll on the table as physical evidence.
'They marched me some four days south, toward the Old Forrest. We reached a charred hill that just plain reeked of evil. I thought I was some kind of sacrifice, but the chieftain threw my tools at my feet, and his lackeys convinced me at spear point to head into a cave entrance. They planned to take the dragon out', he smirked and swallowed another mouthful of ale. He seemed to suddenly find something of great interest in his tankard, staring into it. The crowd grew restless.
'And then what?' a young man-at-arms piped up. Garanoth raised an eyebrow and glanced up from his mug.
'Well, I proceeded in, followed by the chieftain, the shaman, and a dozen spear wielding warriors.' Garanoth noticed the crowd had grown. Maybe thirty people stood around him now… most everyone in the tavern.
'I was lucky enough to elude several deadfalls, and a crossbow trap… I could smell the dragon now. The stench made my eyes water. My heart was pounding in my throat. I opened the final door and there before me was a red dragon, over fifty feet long. It wasn't full grown, but it was still the biggest thing I'd ever seen, or ever want to see. The kobolds charged in, wasting no time on threats. Half the warriors were cinders in a mere instant, along with the shaman. Two of the kobolds guarded me while the chieftain and his guards charged in. They too died in flames. I body blocked one of the kobolds and ran for my life. I turned around just in time to see the last kobold kill the dragon!'
'Wait a minute… Are you saying a kobold killed a Red Dragon? And just how did he do that?' One of the old men that had been there from the beginning now seemed very doubtful.
'Got caught in its throat. The fool thing choked to death!' Garanoth finished his ale and allowed himself a grin while the tavern roared with laughter.
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