Jan 1, 2019 8:30 pm
A dragon has been collecting a tribute from the small town of Allaya's Cove once a week for over fifty years. Two weeks ago, the demands stopped and no one has heard anything from the dragon.
The Dragon is somewhat mysterious and not often spotted. (The tribute is left in a cave, rather than given to it on a public ceremony.) Rumor varies, but it may be a lighter metallic (brass, copper, gold).
The town is smallish, about fifty families. Situated between hot, dry mountains and the edge of a salty sea (semi-tropical), the main industries are fishing, gathering salt for export, and handycraftsmanship. The reason for the latter is that the dragons tribute demands, left as written instructions each week at the cave where the prior week's tribute is left, include hand crafted items, so over fifty years, the town has developed marketable skill. Naturally, the townsfolk often grumble that the value of the tribute would make all the difference in their well being.
A further industry is shallow water barge shipping along the coast.
The tavern is busy, bursting even. Townsfolk have gathered to discuss the situation, and they are doing so vociferously, loudly even. The mayor, Aberwell, stands on a table waving his arms for attention. Hester, the proprietor whistles long and hard, the whistle she uses to quell out of control merriment when the ale has flowed too freely. The townsfolk immediately quiet, instinctively fearing being drug out by their ears. Again.
Aberwell coughs delicately. "Thanks, Hester. I've heard your concerns. Some of you welcome the relief from the Tribute, and suggest we let sleeping dragons lie. There is wisdom in that. Some of you fear that if we don't continue to deliver it, the dragon's wrath will be as terrible as can be imagined. Indeed, I fear the same. The wisest among you know the truth, that the dragon keeps the countryside clear of dangers that the youngest of us have never had to worry about." He nods. "Aye, my friends, think on that. We have no other real defenses from the sorts of bandits that prey on the weak."
Arguments arise again, and the voices shout concerns about 'the superstitions and fears of others' who no doubt 'exaggerate a missing comb to roving bandit armies'. Those of you from the town might be inclined to agree. Travelers tell tall tales, and you've never really had to fend off such threats as they claim lurk behind every bush.
Those of you from beyond the tranquil coastal land around Allaya's Cove know these are no mere rumor. Bandits, and much, much worse. It's not that the greater world is a land of predation and misery, but there are bad times that the locals seem to have lived without in their quiet lands.
The mayor raises his arms again, and the townsfolk gush themselves, sensing the gist of the matter at hand.
"I call for a team of brave people, to seek out the dragon, and determine its fate. Only when we know, can we plan our future. Who volunteers for this mission?"
The Dragon is somewhat mysterious and not often spotted. (The tribute is left in a cave, rather than given to it on a public ceremony.) Rumor varies, but it may be a lighter metallic (brass, copper, gold).
The town is smallish, about fifty families. Situated between hot, dry mountains and the edge of a salty sea (semi-tropical), the main industries are fishing, gathering salt for export, and handycraftsmanship. The reason for the latter is that the dragons tribute demands, left as written instructions each week at the cave where the prior week's tribute is left, include hand crafted items, so over fifty years, the town has developed marketable skill. Naturally, the townsfolk often grumble that the value of the tribute would make all the difference in their well being.
A further industry is shallow water barge shipping along the coast.
The tavern is busy, bursting even. Townsfolk have gathered to discuss the situation, and they are doing so vociferously, loudly even. The mayor, Aberwell, stands on a table waving his arms for attention. Hester, the proprietor whistles long and hard, the whistle she uses to quell out of control merriment when the ale has flowed too freely. The townsfolk immediately quiet, instinctively fearing being drug out by their ears. Again.
Aberwell coughs delicately. "Thanks, Hester. I've heard your concerns. Some of you welcome the relief from the Tribute, and suggest we let sleeping dragons lie. There is wisdom in that. Some of you fear that if we don't continue to deliver it, the dragon's wrath will be as terrible as can be imagined. Indeed, I fear the same. The wisest among you know the truth, that the dragon keeps the countryside clear of dangers that the youngest of us have never had to worry about." He nods. "Aye, my friends, think on that. We have no other real defenses from the sorts of bandits that prey on the weak."
Arguments arise again, and the voices shout concerns about 'the superstitions and fears of others' who no doubt 'exaggerate a missing comb to roving bandit armies'. Those of you from the town might be inclined to agree. Travelers tell tall tales, and you've never really had to fend off such threats as they claim lurk behind every bush.
Those of you from beyond the tranquil coastal land around Allaya's Cove know these are no mere rumor. Bandits, and much, much worse. It's not that the greater world is a land of predation and misery, but there are bad times that the locals seem to have lived without in their quiet lands.
The mayor raises his arms again, and the townsfolk gush themselves, sensing the gist of the matter at hand.
"I call for a team of brave people, to seek out the dragon, and determine its fate. Only when we know, can we plan our future. Who volunteers for this mission?"
except as hand crossbow
Ignore the snow, heh.
