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by Andrew Chambers
After nearly an hour of heated arguments, Tarakk and his men had finally agreed to accompany the group of elven scouts into the Desolation, Malystyrx's domain. But promises of treasure—both magical and naught—had eventually been enough to sway them. Now, several days of traveling later, it appeared to have been a wise decision: the smooth, rolling foothills they traveled upon made for good time and beautiful scenery. Not nearly what Tarakk had expected from a place known only as the Desolation.
As the party moved higher into the mountain pass, light flurries of snow set upon them. At first, this effect seemed to enhance the natural beauty around them, but as the sun climbed ever higher into the clear sky it began to reflect off the crisp, fresh snow and severely hinder their vision.
Tarakk once again had to ponder if they were truly traveling through Malystyrx's domain, but where else could they be? Thriving on the natural glory surrounding them, the elves soon broke out into song, detailing in rich, sylvan voices the history of Krynn, legendary heroes and beasts, and other wonders of the world. Tarakk and his less-than-articulate band of human sellswords could do little to enrich the song of the elves, but contented themselves to relax and listen for the time being.
It was then that Tarakk's keen ears picked up what sounded like a distant rumbling. His first thought, "avalanche," was immediately discarded as a monstrous shape glided over the distant mountain peak. From wingtip to wingtip, the giant red must have stretched over three hundred feet. At the sight of the giant, blood red body pulling itself towards them with slow, graceful strokes of elegantly terrifying wings, many elves and even a few of the hardened mercenaries broke off from the main group and ran wherever their legs would take them. Blinded by fear, some even ran headlong toward the dragon. In horror, Tarakk realized that they had finally been greeted by Malystyrx, and his view of the situation suddenly changed.
A half dozen elven archers, Tarakk, and four human warriors stood and awaited their fate. Cursing under his breath, Tarakk swore he would down all of those who had fled. A threat of inconsequence, considering his own chances of surviving to see any of them again. Gripping his sword with both hands and raising it above his thick, well-muscled body, he screamed out a battle cry in an attempt to raise the morale of his men. Chanting in the Qualinesti tongue, it seemed the leader of the elves had the same idea. Neither attempt seemed to result in much, as the remaining fighters could do little but stand and regard their approaching doom with blank stares devoid of emotion.
As the massive wyrm approached the party, she began to leisurely circle them, provoking volleys of harmless arrows from the elves. Just when these minor annoyances began to abate, as if sensing the hopelessness had reached a peak, the great crimson maw opened, exposing rows of teeth larger and sharper than swords, and released a deafening bellow.
Then there was no white blanket on the ground. There were no more flurries of snow landing on them, and the plains below were glazed with ice and sleet no longer. Instead, they stood on loose shale and gravel, the mountain top slowly spewed molten rock from it's crater—not ice cap. The plains below were bare and featureless, wiped clean of all former life. Looking around in a dazed stupor, the group failed to notice the dragon tuck her wings and begin gaining speed, rapidly streaking towards her intended victims. Again Malys' gaping maw opened, and another piercing howl rent the air.
Looking up far too late, the elves and humans dropped to the ground when their knees could no longer support the weight of their bodies. Totally overwhelmed by the dragonawe, they lay cowering as the red's sleek and powerful body sliced through the air.
Tarakk, however, had not been affected by the dragonawe and had dropped to one knee in mock fear. His sword now gave off a slight glow, as did his shield. Gathering himself, Tarakk realized he had his proof of exactly what his heirlooms had been used for in ancient times. Now he crouched, anticipating the moment to act.
As the great dragon sucked in a giant mouthful of air, his entire body became tense, and he cut off both fear and conscious thought, acting purely on instinct. Then, the dragon exhaled. A cloud of billowing flames crashed into the bodies below.
Screams filled the air, but they were quickly cut off as their creators were burned away to charred, lifeless husks. "Now!!" Tarakk's mind urged him, and he tucked himself as much as he could behind the now-pulsing shield and rolled away to the side. Impossibly hot flames licked at his face, his body, and for a moment he nearly lost consciousness. Quickly jumping to his feet, he readied his sword for a strike when the earth rolled out from under him and thunder ripped through the air to embellish the earthquake. There had been no earthquake—Malystyrx had landed.
Malys now looked around and was disappointed to see that only two of the mortals had survived her wrath. With a disdainful snort and casual flick of one massive claw, the elderly, wounded elf gave off a sickening thud sound and flew through the air, landing amongst his blackened kin. Turning her attention toward the other proved more difficult, however. It seemed that every time her eyes focused on the human, he became a blur and she lost sight of him for a moment. Then, a bright glow gave him away, as he flew through the air and slashed a gaping wound in her paw. Although surprised and angered, Malystyrx still gained some measure of pleasure from watching the fool being sprayed by blood and scales. Deciding to end this before she lost her self-control was endangered, she reared up on her hind legs and bellowed, preparing to unleash her fiery breath again and again until this human who had dared to stand up to her was nothing more than ashes drifting on the currents made by her hot, stank territory. Then, it would be over.
* * * *Tarakk knew the wyrm was onto him now, but knew he had proved it was not invincible, and reared himself up again for one last charge—the last of the battle; the last of his life....
* * * *Malystyrx had finished off the last defender with no problem at all. Now, she was nearly done hunting down the stragglers who hadn't stopped running from the battle. Thinking back, she took a great measure of pride on her use of the magic which had passed its test today. She wasn't sure why they were here—likely to plunder lost magical items—but it mattered little now. The illusions of snow and breathtaking scenery served well to relax and fool the intruders until the time was perfect. Now, gliding over another hilltop, she spotted the last of the elves. A powerful snap of her gigantic maw ended her task for the day. Lazily turning around, she headed back towards her peak to properly tend the wound and let it heal. Soon, it would be gone—both on her hand from memory—and she would be perfect once more.