Memoir of Furin
My life started as any blue dragon, born beneath layers of sand. Being a blue dragon, my mother and father are the most nurturing out of any chromatic. I had other siblings, but fought them for dominance, winning the battle and taking their life as a prize as time went on. My parents taught me how to hunt, how to use magical components, and the tactics of fighting adventurers. “It is no longer the medieval era, my son,” I remember my father saying. “These adventurers these days fight with experience. You must fight with your own. A lonely warrior is weak, fragile, and snaps under pressure like a bird’s neck. A party of 4 or more might be your downfall. If you think you’re at death’s door, there’s nothing wrong with fleeing.” I, Furin, would never take this advice. What is man but beneath my feet? We, blue dragons, are proud of our scales. My very claws could rupture the sands and create canyons, dunes, and mountains. I am everything they cannot be. This arrogance, while expected of blue dragons, came from a lack of knowledge, of wisdom through the sands of time aging my scales.
Once reaching the age of a teenager, most mortals would call it, they let me to my own devices. They made sure I had my own cave, had a handful of minions, and left me to repeat the cycle of life. I wouldn’t talk to them since I no longer required their assistance. I began expanding my territory, killing off the last of my siblings. Dragonborn, imperfect beings, would travel from their city and worship their bones. They would bury them, treat them with respect and kindness. I hated it. Why worship weakness when you can worship strength? I made them worship me when encountered.
Years went by, and gems kept reducing my land. My once beautiful sands are covered in filthy green. I tried to figure out the cause of this transmutation, but its labyrinthine maze blocked me. My parents never told me of this. I could sense the presence of something draconic beneath the ground. One night, I encountered adventurers and made them bow, stole their food. I had watched them fight, and what is killed in my territory is mine. All seemed to bow but a nephilim, saying that they only bowed to the deity. My blood boiled, but I couldn’t give them satisfaction, so I destroyed their camp and planned to torment them.
(Episodes happen and are described up to the fight at the upper levels of naoki)
These arrogant worms wouldn’t accept their deaths at my hands. They decided to fight like animals and wound me. A half-orc using an empowered axe and a monk with stronger ki manipulation than expected. I had underestimated my prey; I should have killed them one by one, then cast an illusion of some kind. Their attacks created an explosion, and I awoke in a crater with three individuals. I had no time to ponder, so I fought, but they were constructs. We fought for at least an hour before I used my strength to break through a wall. A place to rest, interrupted by some kind of dragon blood ooze. Killing it, I finally rested, then, with anger, went on a rampage. I slaughtered anything within my sight, beyond recognition. Something kept whispering in my ear, but I ignored it. I saw visions but ignored them. They didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be remembered. I entered a doorway and found two warriors, wearing distinct colors. We fought and then (insert the entire fight)
How could a worm pick me up? I surely weigh five times his own weight?! How could this happen!?!? I am Furin of the sand. I am Furin of the sand, I am strength, I am glory, I am pride, I am a DRAGON
(The last two pages describe in detail how each bone snapped, how Furin’s last breath was laying on the ground, stood over by Atticus. For the first time, the dragon shed a tear.)