Like all its kin before it, it emerged from the dungeon walls, stepping onto a floor of grey stone and swirling white mists. A massive creature of scales and fangs, its body scraped against the ground with a harsh, grating sound that echoed through the cavernous space. Newly born, the monster's mind was a storm of instincts and an alien directive, the wills of its mother-maker-creator-master intertwining with its own, driving it forward witha singular purpose.
What was it? An infant dragon, a nascent terror born of the labyrinth. Its purpose? To kill mortals.
Lifting its snout, it tasted the air, its forked tongue flicking out to capture the myriad scents that swirled like invisible threads through the mists. There was the metallic tang of ore, the faint sweetness of lingering mana that saturated the dungeon's walls, and the sharp, acrid bite of something alive, moving, nearby.
The dragon's glowing amber eyes narrowed, focusing on the source of the scent as it crouched low, ready to hunt. The voice in its mind roared with primal intent: Seek them. Chase them. Destroy them.
The infant dragon was ready to fulfill its purpose.
Instinct stirred within the infant dragon, a pull to seek, explore, and hunt. Its scales, a pale shade of shimmering silver, caught the faint glow of the mists, and its claws made soft clicks against the stone as it padded forward.
For a moment, it paused, listening. The dungeon was alive around it, walls shifting faintly, distant roars echoing from unknown depths, and the faint hum of magic coursing through the labyrinth. It was both a cradle and a challenge, a place that birthed creatures like it only to hunt and kill those who lived above.
Its glowing crimosn eyes narrowed as the living scent grew stronger. Whatever it was, it would be its first enemy. Following the scent, it saw a group of creatures standing on two legs, unlike its superior four-legged form. They moved awkwardly, their limbs thin and frail compared to its powerful build. The voice of its mother-maker-creator-master filled its head, screaming with fiery conviction: These are the enemy. Mortals. They must be chased, hunted, and devoured to the last.
The dragon's chest rumbled with a low growl as its instincts aligned with the command. These mortals carried strange tools, gleaming in the misty light, and their voices, sharp, alien sounds, pricked at its ears like an irritant.
One of the creatures turned, its face hidden beneath a metal shell, and pointed toward the dragon with a cry. The others spun around, their movements quick but uncoordinated, and the air filled with the clang of weapons and the scent of fear.
Fear. The dragon recognized it, a raw, intoxicating aroma that fueled the fire burning within its chest. It stepped forward, claws clicking against the stone, and released a warning hiss, smoke curling from the corners of its maw.
The mortals braced themselves, their weapons raised. They were weak but defiant, a trait that stirred something curious within the dragon, a flicker of hesitation that the voice in its head immediately crushed.
No mercy. They are prey.
With a roar that shook the mist around it, the infant dragon surged forward, its teeth bared and claws outstretched, eager to taste its first victory.
That was the first time it had hunted mortals from above the dungeon, but it was far from the last. Unlike its smaller, dumber kin, it was clever enough to discern its limits. It knew when to avoid the mortals who carried too much strength, whose presence radiated danger like an unspoken warning. It listened to its instincts, honed and sharp, guiding it away from battles it could not win and toward prey it could overpower.
Each encounter taught it something new. The dragon observed the mortals closely, their patterns, tools, and magic. It recognized the ones who traveled in groups, relying on numbers for strength, and the solitary wanderers who carried power far more significant than their size suggested.
In time, it grew more adept, more confident. The dungeon was its home, its hunting ground, and every mortal who entered it was not just prey, but a lesson. It was not like its kin, driven solely by instinct, it was something more. Something greater.
The scent of prey lingered in the air, sharp and unmistakable. Two of them. Their footsteps echoed faintly through the mists, drawing closer. The infant dragon hissed, the sound reverberating in the cavern as its glowing crimson eyes locked onto the approaching mortals. These were no aimless wanderers, they moved with purpose, weapons gleaming faintly in their hands.
Its instincts roared alongside the will of the dungeon, the voice of its mother-maker-creator-master urging it forward. Prey. Dangerous. Destroy them.
The dragon scanned the clearing, its slit pupils narrowing as it searched for more of them. Were these two alone? It sniffed the air, seeking hidden ambushers, but found nothing. The dragon's anger flared. Did these fools think two were enough to challenge it?
The larger mortal raised a weapon, a crude, heavy club adorned with metal spikes. The dragon recognized the threat in the way he moved, but it was unafraid. This was its territory, its fight to win. With a roar, the dragon charged forward the mortals dodged with surprising speed, closing the distance.
The smaller one, a swift, furious blur, dashed forward, her spear glinting like a fang in the dim light. The dragon's tail whipped around, a muscular blur aimed at her head, but she ducked beneath it with agility that infuriated the beast.
As the dragon turned to face her, the other mortal lunged from its blind spot. Pain erupted across its spine as the club smashed down, cracking its orange-hued scales. The force drove the air from its lungs, and it staggered briefly, flames escaping its maw in a guttural, choking snarl.
The dragon retaliated, twisting its long neck to snap its jaws at the larger mortal, but he evaded, rolling out of reach just in time. Its teeth met stone with a resounding crunch, splintering the ground as it roared in frustration.
Then came the sharp, agonizing sting of a spear driving through its hind legs. The dragon shrieked, its body trembling as it struggled to move. The pain was blinding, its limbs faltering as it tried to steady itself. But the spear had pinned its legs, leaving it staggering and vulnerable.
Another blow struck, this time to its snout. The pain seared through its head, and it hissed in agony, flames sputtering weakly from its maw. It snapped blindly at the air, its movements slowing as the relentless blows from the mortal's spiked club pounded against its skull.
The smaller mortal darted in again, her spear carving into its front legs. The dragon's body ached with every movement, its strength ebbing. Its crimson eyes, once filled with the dungeon's rage, began to dull as the repeated strikes clouded its vision.
A final, powerful swing shattered its jaw with a sickening crack. The force rippled through its head, and the dragon froze, its body swaying before its legs gave out. Darkness rushed in as its consciousness slipped away, its head hitting the ground with a dull thud.
The mortals' voices faded into the background as the dragon's world went silent, the will of the dungeon retreating with its defeat. For now, it was beaten, its purpose unfulfilled.
The dragon was awoken from it's sleep by pain.
It coursed through its body, sharp and relentless, a drumbeat of agony hammering against its will. Every blow from the mortal's club sent tremors through its frame, each strike a vicious reminder of its helplessness. Its once-proud scales, forged strong by the dungeon's will, now cracked and bled. Teeth shattered, bones groaned under the pressure, and the searing ache of the spiked club burned deeper into its flesh with every hit.
The dragon's instincts screamed at it to fight, to rise and tear these creatures apart. But no matter how it tried, its body refused to obey. Every movement was sluggish, its limbs faltering under the relentless assault. It roared, but even its cries felt weak, swallowed by the unyielding force of the mortals' brutality.
As the strikes continued, it curled inward, drawing itself into a ball in a desperate attempt to shield what little remained unbroken. The dungeon's voice, once a commanding presence in its mind, began to waver. The will that had filled it with purpose faltered under the weight of pain and exhaustion.
Then came the final blow. A hand forced its head to the ground, holding it there with a strength it could no longer resist. Its crimson eyes met the mortal's, and in that moment, the world seemed to still.
The mortal's gaze pierced through it, a strange and overpowering force wrapping around its mind. It felt the dungeon's presence being pushed aside, its fiery rage replaced by an icy clarity. The red glow in its eyes dimmed, fading to a cold, submissive blue. The battle was over, not just in body, but in spirit.
The dragon's instincts, its will to fight, even its connection to the dungeon, it all crumbled under the mortal's dominance. For the first time, it felt something it had never known: obedience.
It lay motionless as the mortal began to tend to its wounds, pouring strange liquids that stung before soothing. The pain began to ebb, replaced by a dull ache. It didn't resist as it was lifted and carried away, its once-proud form reduced to something... owned.
In the quiet of its new confinement, the dragon's mind churned. The dungeon's will was gone, replaced by the mortal's. It didn't understand this new bond, but it knew one thing with certainty: it belonged to the mortal now.
For the next while, the infant dragon's existence was reduced to servitude, a beast of burden under the iron will of its master. Once, it had been a proud creature born of the dungeon's depths, but now it carried its master far from the towering mortal nest, Orario as his master called it.
The dragon felt the strange presence of its master's mind threading through its own. His will, like chains, guided its movements filled its thoughts with new knowledge. It understood now that this journey was one of survival, escape from those who sought its master's life. The fire of defiance that once burned in its chest was buried, replaced by the compulsion to obey.
Its once-proud claws, made for hunting and killing, now served to tread quietly across the surface world. The closest it came to a fight was when its roar and presence frightened off surface-born monsters, lesser, wild things without connection to the dungeon's will. It didn't need to strike; the threat of its size and power was enough to send them scattering.
Then came the pursuit. The dragon's sharp senses alerted it to the strong mortals, adventurers, who hunted them. These were no ordinary prey; their presence was sharp and oppressive, reminding it of danger even through its master's dominance. It wanted to fight, to turn and burn them to ash, but the master's will held firm.
Instead, it obeyed, diving into a cold river at his command. The icy water stung its battered body, but it pressed on, its powerful limbs cutting through the current. The adventurers' voices grew fainter as the river carried them away, masking their trail. When at last the master's will bade it climb the riverbank, the dragon emerged dripping and weary but free from the immediate threat.
For a moment, it paused, shaking the water from its scales, and felt a flicker of something like pride. It hadn't fought, but it had helped its master escape. The thought was strange, foreign, like the will that now guided its life. Yet, it lingered as they continued their journey not into the shadow of the mountains, but instead into another mortal nest called Melen.
After being used to carry its master for what seemed like an eternity, the dragon's existence grew strange and unfamiliar. There were days when its master had no further need of it, when it was sent into the not-place.
It wasn't a true prison, but the strange, empty space where the master kept creatures he tamed. It wasn't a world of light or dark, but a limbo, a place that existed outside the boundaries of time and space. The dragon could not escape, could not move freely. It was confined, tethered to its master's will, with no purpose but to wait.
There, in the not-place, the dragon felt the presence of new creatures. Each one was strange in its own way, foreign to the dragon's understanding. But there was one that stood out, a creature that felt different from the others. A Kelpie. The dragon could sense the creature's struggle, its defiance, as it was tamed and brought into the fold. The Kelpie was wild, a creature of water and unknown depths, with a power that resonated like a distant storm. It could feel its will being broken, just as its own had been.
And then, the dragon felt something else, a gift. The presence of the Kelpie was suddenly gone, snuffed out by the master's command. The dragon could feel the strange, alien sensation of the Kelpie's essence, its power, now woven into its own. There was an odd, new sensation, an understanding of water. It could feel the currents, the weight of the water around it, as if it now knew how to fight in it, how to move through it as it had once moved through the air.
The master had sacrificed the Kelpie for this, exchanging its life for a power the dragon hadn't asked for but would now use. It wasn't the first time the master had sacrificed something for power, but the sense of loss, of the Kelpie's fading presence, lingered in the dragon's mind. Was this its fate, to be used and discarded like the creatures that came and went in the not-place? The dragon didn't know, nor did it have the will to question. The master's will had overridden its own, and it simply obeyed.
For a time, the dragon served in the role its master had set for it, becoming more than just a creature of battle. It hauled massive trees and heavy loads, its powerful form carrying the burdens of its master's domain. The dragon's existence had shifted from one of primal ferocity to that of servitude, but its new purpose was clear, whatever the master needed, it would do. It moved with a quiet obedience, following the commands that filled its mind, its every action a reflection of the master's will.
There were moments when the dragon was called upon to serve as a mount, its back carrying the master's fox-mate into battle. The fox-mate, a strange creature in its own right, wielded a keen, tactical mind and a blade that could cut through enemies with ease. Mounted on the dragon's back, the fox-mate would ride into battle, directing the dragon's movements with swift, precise orders. Together, they became a force, a fearsome pair, one grounded in instinct and brute strength, the other in sharp intellect and agility.
But then, things changed again. The dragon felt as if a new beast was brought into the not-space. This time, it was one of its own kind: a green dragon that was rapidly broken down its added strength to its own. And that was it. The dragon returned to its role, beast of burden, mount, and enforcer of the master's will. It knew no other life. It didn't remember the freedom it once had, nor did it question the path it now walked. There were no other options, no other desires.
For a longer time, this was its life. Simple, direct, a creature serving the whims of its master. Whether it was hauling lumber or riding into battle, the dragon obeyed, carrying out its tasks with the quiet efficiency of a tool, and yet, in the silence of its mind, there was always the whisper of something more.
Eventually the Infant Dragon's purpose was changed again, being called forth for battle once again. The Dragon's body tensed as it saw the Magma Wyrm. It wasn't a true dragon, its form was wrong, twisted, a mockery of what a dragon should be. The Dragon's anger flared at the sight.
The fight began with a roar from both beasts. The Magma Wyrm lashed out with its huge, jagged sword, but the Dragon was faster, dodging the strikes with ease. It lunged forward, its sharp claws sinking into the Wyrm's arm, tearing through its rocky scales. The Wyrm hissed in pain but quickly swung its tail, knocking the Dragon off balance.
The Wyrm tried to retaliate, swinging its sword again, but the Dragon was already on its feet, moving swiftly to avoid the blow. The ground shook with each strike, but the Dragon wasn't slowing down. Its teeth sank into the Wyrm's side, and with a furious roar, it tore the Wyrm's flesh open.
Despite the pain from the molten lava that burned its belly, the Dragon was relentless. It roared in anger, the heat only fueling its rage as it dug into the Wyrm's back with claws and teeth. The Wyrm howled and tried to swing its sword, but the Green Dragon was too quick, always staying just out of reach.
Finally, after the Wyrm swung its blade one last time the Dragon was dismissed back to the not space before the blade could bite into its flesh.
After the battle, it returned to the not-space, a void that had become both a prison and a sanctuary. This time, however, the sensation was different. As it settled into the stillness, it felt something unfamiliar flowing into its being. The essence of the Magma Wyrm, raw and potent, surged through its form.
Unlike the fusions of the past, where dungeon-born constructs were grafted onto its essence, this essence was alive. The Magma Wyrm had been a creature of flesh and will, not a product of the dungeon's mindless design. Its strength, its memories, its very existence, began to weave into the dragon's own, not as a mere addition, but as a transformation.
The change was not painless. The dragon felt its body shift, the fiery essence of the Magma Wyrm igniting something deep within. Heat coursed through its veins, each beat of its heart carrying the molten power of its new inheritance. Scales that once shimmered with green now bore faint streaks of red and gold, as though veins of magma flowed just beneath the surface.
For the first time since the dungeon had claimed it, the dragon felt a spark of independence. The Magma Wyrm's essence was not bound to the dungeon's will. It was wild, untamed, and alive. That spark grew within the dragon, reigniting a sense of self that had been smothered for so long. It was no longer just a servant or a tool. It was a living creature once more.
As the fusion completed, the dragon let out a deep, rumbling growl that echoed within the not-space. Its body radiated heat, a reminder of the power it now wielded. It felt its limbs stronger, its mind clearer. For the first time, it was more than just a vessel for its master's will, it was a being of its own, with a soul that burned as fiercely as the magma now coursing through it. Now it was the Emerald Magma Dragon, a creature that had grown beyond its origins as a monster of the dungeon.
For the first time while being in the not-place the drago- no I took note of my surroundings seeing through my masters eyes, a flat expanse stretched out before me, bordered by distant trees. The air was still, almost expectant, but that silence shattered as the forest exploded in a cacophony of breaking branches and snapping wood. Out stepped my masters opponent, Agheel, my master's will whispered into my mind.
He was massive, far larger than the Magma Wyrm, with scales blackened and ragged, a testament to his battles. His aura reeked of arrogance, but I could feel his frustration too. My master's derision seemed to cut deep. Agheel roared in defiance, but there was no strategy behind it, just raw, primal anger.
Without warning, he launched into the air, his massive wings casting a shadow over the battlefield. I instinctively tensed, already anticipating the move. It was a typical dragon's arrogance to flaunt flight, as if the sky made them untouchable. He circled once, his massive form banking gracefully, but I could feel the heat building in his throat. The fire was coming.
Before he could unleash his flames, my master acted. A massive arrow shot from a siege crossbow, its payload an enormous, reinforced net. The moment it struck, Agheel's flight turned into chaos. The net tangled around his head and neck, partially blocking his vision and muffling his roar. His flames sputtered uselessly against the thick metal weave.
He plummeted, wings flailing wildly, and the earth shook as he slammed into the ground. I felt my master summon me, and in an instant, I was there, materializing beneath him as he leapt skyward. My body surged with purpose, every fiber of my being focused. I threw him upward with all the force I could muster, launching him toward the crippled dragon.
Agheel roared again, this time in pain, as my master drove the Dragonslayer Swordspear into his chest. The lightning surged through the blade, its energy raking through the dragon's form. The skyborn beast dropped like a stone, unable to resist the weapon's ancient magic.
The impact of his fall reverberated through the ground, shaking even me. Agheel lay there, wings crumpled and broken, his chest heaving in labored breaths. Weak, vulnerable, he was no longer the mighty predator he thought himself to be.
I didn't hesitate. With a roar, I leapt upon him, my claws gripping his head while my fangs sank deep into his throat. His blood, hot and metallic, flooded my mouth as I tore at his vulnerable neck. His body convulsed, but he could do little to stop me. My master's weapons, blades imbued with curses, anchored him to the ground, their magic accelerating his demise.
Flames and molten bile erupted from my maw, scorching his airway and silencing his attempts to retaliate. My size was nothing compared to his, but his strength was meaningless now. He was grounded, broken, and dying.
It didn't take long. With one final snap, my fangs pierced his skull, shattering bone and tearing through the soft matter beneath. Agheel twitched once, then lay still. The trial was over.
I stood over the fallen dragon, bloodied and triumphant, as my master retrieved his weapons and claimed the corpse. His words reached me, low and almost approving.
"Hell, maybe you'll be my best buddy and partner in the dungeon."
Then it happened. Agheel's body, once so proud, was drawn into me. The process wasn't unfamiliar, but this time it was different. His wings merged with my back, my muscles stretching and reshaping as the essence of flight became mine. I stood taller now, stronger. The earthbound dragon I had been was no more. I was something greater, something more complete. For the first time, I stretched my new wings, feeling their strength. The sky, once beyond my reach, was mine now.
But the transformation didn't stop there. As Agheel's essence settled deeper within me, my master gave me more than physical power, it gave me a name.
Paarthurnax.
The meaning resonated within me, heavy with purpose: Ambition-Overlord-Cruelty. A name forged from dominance, carved from the essence of both the mighty and the weak. It was a declaration of what I was and what I would become.
No longer was I a mere beast bound by the will of my master or the dungeon. I had an identity now, one with weight, history, and intent. Paarthurnax, a name worthy of the skies I now claimed as my own.
As fine a name as any.