He surprised himself to wake at the sound of bustling around him. Most of his meat was still intact and he yawned before reaching for his bag, and for once in his life it was unmolested. He rose to sit up and found Scritch covering up the campsite and disassembling everything she could. Though she had no pack or supplies, she made do with what she had.

He carefully packed away the meats in his waxed cloth and took a chunk of it for his breakfast. He looked to his reptilian comrades and noticed that they made no look at his food.

“Want any before I put it up?” He asked.

“Nah,” Scritch said. Blast chirred and chuffed.

“She says we already got some meats this morning before you woked up,” Scritch said as she waited patiently.

He shrugged on his pack, kicked around his campsite, and made his way out towards the main road.

“So, we didn’t speak much last night. We need to stay moving to keep you away from the mother, right?” Baldir asked.

“And find Blast new slaves and a good cave,” Blast said eagerly.

He put his pack onto his back and signaled his cohorts that they were heading out.

“Well, slaves aren’t cheap, and the land isn’t either. Caves mean mines and those are expensive or hard-won,” Baldir said, hefting his way out to the main road where his feet crunched gravel.

Scritch scampered behind him, her little arms gathered around the baby dragon. She looked significantly plumper than the night before. Her colors were duller than they were the night before and Baldir wondered if she’d be shedding soon and how much dragon’s skin would earn them.

“Blast can fight another dragon to take their slaves and cave,” Scritch offered.

Blast gave a spit of flame and chirr.

“Do you really think that Blast is big enough to do that?” Baldir asked seriously as he began to look both ways up and down the path to set their course north towards the next town.

Blast gave an offended snort.

“Not yet, but we can give her lots of meats and she’ll kill all the other dragons and be the best master,” Scritch yapped.

Baldir bobbed his head left and right before setting off in his desired direction, sure-footed and eager to move.

“Maybe, or we can just amass a lot of gold and do whatever we want, how we want it. Gold is the easiest and fastest way to do anything,” Baldir said.

Blast chittered and griped in Scritch’s arms.

“What’s our plan?” Scritch translated.

“We’re going to the next town. I’m going to get us a party, which is essentially slaves if you’re so inclined to think of it as such, and we’re going to go out to earn some gold,” Baldir said authoritatively.

Blast gave an assertive chuff and nod.

“Glad we all agree,” Baldir said, catching on to little snuffs of the dragons’ meaning.

A few minutes into the walk, Scritch tugged on the hem of his chainmail and he stopped to look down. She held Blast up under her arms and gave him a pleading look. Blast appeared perpetually annoyed.

“Yes, master?” Baldir asked as visions of abandoning the two danced in his head.

“She wants uppies,” Scritch said, reaching up high as she could with the struggling baby dragon. It gave frustrated gruff noises and made swiping gestures with its claws.

Baldir lowered his shoulder down to Blast’s level and she fidgeted to crawl onto his shoulder.

As he stood, he realized she didn’t stop there. He could feel the crook of his helm shifting, the shrill scratch of claws as they scrambled for purchase, and the eventual heft atop his head as Blast had seated herself on top of his helmet with a satisfied chuff.

“She has to be the tallest, of course,” Baldir said to Scritch who nodded once before darting off ahead of them.

Blast’s head swiveled to watch Scritch zip off into the distance, sometimes on all fours, mostly on her back legs. She leaped from the path, rooted through bushes, and periodically, her fat tail or bulbous red eyes would gleam up, out and from the brushes. Her breath was panting and Baldir was reminded of her spastic racing outburst the night before. His lips collapsed into a flat line and he let loose a slow breath.

“Scritch, are ye going to be making a habit of this?” He asked.

Scritch popped her head from another bush, panting. She gave a noncommittal shrug and made a series of grunting noises as he heard her digging and rustling in a nearby brush.

Her tail popped out of the bush, followed by flits of her back feet as she kicked a slew of items into the walkway. Baldir approached and slowly looked down, allowing the clicking talons on his helmet to readjust as they looked at the debris.

There were coins, bottles, and jewelry. Blast made eager tapping noises on his helmet as she turned in circles excitedly.

“Would you like down to see what she found?” Baldir asked.

Whrr!

He lifted his arm to his head and felt the prying talons and sudden easing of weight from his helmet. He sighed in relief because the top of his helm was rubbing his bald spot sore from her weight. He lowered the baby dragon to the ground, and she made chuffing noises. She dug through and stacked the coins, a few coppers, a handful of gold and silvers, then chewed on an even bigger gold coin than the rest. He could hear her sharp little teeth ticking on and denting the malleable metal.

He stooped and knelt to peer through all the things. He found coins, a few rings, two ampoules of potion that had a somewhat murkily etched label, and various rusted keys. He was curious about them, but Blast seemed intent on guarding over the meager pile.

“Look at that, ye got your first lil’ horde. It’s adorable,” He said.

Blast grumbled something in response and curled up possessively after clawing the meager shinies into a small pile.

“Big mountains come from lots of small rocks,” Scritch said as she popped her head up from somewhere in the bramble and brush.

“What on earth have ye got in there?” He asked as he saw Scritch digging in the bramble.

“Shinies, pretties,” She said noncommittally as she began to grunt and tug at something that eventually gave and sent her tumbling back into stinger weed that didn’t seem to bother her.

“This is just old woods. Someone dropped their coin purse by this looks a while ago,” He said.

Within a few moments, she came grunting and dragging back what looked to be a degraded leather case caked in seasons of mud. She sat next to the pile she’d kicked out earlier, chittered at Blast.

Blast chittered back at her angrily. Scritch reached for the pile of things and Blast gave a hissing swat at her hand. Scritch gave a series of yelping grumbles to the tiny dragon and she relented to lift her tail and a back leg just a little to reveal the corroded keys he’d seen earlier.

“I don’t think that’s going to work. It’s all muddy so we might have to break the lock,” Baldir said.

Scritch shrugged and paid him no mind as he looked back into the brush. Hidden beneath bramble and brackets was an old wagon wheel sticking up, rusted in the dirt and grass around. Rotted boards and bits of metal had been dug up, overturned, and a grizzly sight of a human bone stood up from the mess. Baldir was torn between wanting to identify the bodies, pilfer for more goods, and to stay the hell away because he most certainly was not immune to stinger weed like Scritch appeared to be.

As he leered further, a resounding little ‘click’ was heard.

“Huh…” Scritch said in her shrill cough of a noise.

He looked over to see her waving her hand in front of her face and struggling.

“Something the matter?” He asked.

“Baaah! All the letters!” She said before clawing at her face a bit.

Blast and Baldir looked at her strangely.

“You’re getting messages from the gods?” He asked.

“AUGH! Go away! I just want to see the shinies!” Scritch said before Baldir stopped her and Blast grumbled to her.

“Oh…okay,” She said, her eyes going unfocused as she seemed to peer off into the distance.

Child of Chance

You have been chosen by Lady Luck and favored.

You are permanently blessed by:

Fortuna, Goddess of Luck

Amalia: Mistress of fortune and chance

Lyrix: Mischief Deity.

-cont y/n

Behind her eyes a message from the gods appeared, flashing bits of information. Scritch read them aloud in the common tongue to Baldir who’s jaw slowly creaked open a centimeter at a time.

“CONTINUE, YES!” he shouted, and she did, reciting at least three lesser-known gods and or beings of power that had bestowed some sort of favor over her.

“HOW THE FIREY HELLS HAVE YOU GOTTEN…” He said as he looked to Blast to see if the baby dragon would agree with him. Its little black eyes were round as saucers. Its mouth too was gaped in a small drop-jawed display.

Blast grumbled and chirred at Scritch.

“Messages from the gods are rare… I’ve only gotten like two my entire life,” Baldir said, impressed.

“Huh? I get them like…” Scritch said, looking at her hands and counting over her fingers.

“This many!” She said proudly holding up four fingers.

“That’s a lot,” he said sagely.

“That’s just this moon cycle,” She said, grumbling as if the whole episode were an inconvenience.

Baldir’s eyes met Blast’s. They both shared a bewildered moment and then their eyes shifted to the cracked chest that Scritch had dug from the remains of the upended cart.

“Those dead humans sure don’t hide their treasures,” She said before dumping out a load of coins, trinkets, bottles, and jewels. She scrounged through it then jumped back into the detritus once more to fish around until she came up with a small arbalest that was big enough to be a crossbow in her arms.

She scampered back with it. Her eyes went unfocused again…AGAIN... TWICE in little more than minutes.

“H-uh…” She said before Blast began to fuss at her angrily.

You have found a Blessed Arbalest

This item’s strike is true to a lucky holder.

She read the description aloud and Baldir pursed his lips into a flat line.

“Okay, I’ve been a polite consort. I’ve been a considerate slave, but I need some answers,” Baldir said.

She looked up at him with her head cocked and held up the small arbalest to him. He looked at the thing, clean and pristine for something that had been buried for so long then looked back up to her curious face.

“At first I didn’t care! You saved me and I was going to help you. It’s not often you live through a dragon’s attack,” Baldir ranted.

“But I really need to know… What the FUCK happened?” He asked.

“I wanted to check for danger. I found treasures and dead peoples and dead peoples' money sacks,” She said proudly.

“No, I mean I need to know how you came up with a baby dragon, why a dragon was chasing you, and what trouble you’re in,” Baldir said as he pointed a finger at Scritch.

Baldir had an empty sack rolled up in his bag for gathering items and pulled it out for Scritch.

“We need to put this away and be on our way before bandits come or someone decides robbing a dwarf and two pint-sized lizards is a good idea,” He said sternly. “But you need to talk while we walk or I’ll reconsider my indentured servitude.”

Scritch canted her head and looked to Blast who chittered a few noises at her.

“Ohhh…You sure have a lot of words for the word slave,” She said before helping Baldir put all but a single large gold coin in the bag. Scritch happily threw the pack over her shoulder and walked. Blast perched back atop his head, holding the single gold coin in her mouth proudly.

“Well… my first dragon QueQua-“ Scritch started before Baldir stopped her.

“THE QueQua, the scourge of the ivory coast?” He asked, eyes going wide. She nodded heavily.

“She has caves in Morovian mountains. She and IroMir made a nest and made lots of eggs,” Scritch said proudly.

“Was that QueQua that was after you?” He asked. She nodded again.

QueQua was legendary among the crimson dragons. Her life had spanned generations of people and tales of the countless lives and pillage lost to her flames were profane to utter. Saying her name amounted to a swear in some countries.

“And… Blast is..one of QueQua’s eggs?” Baldir asked, his blood running cold.

“Yes!” Scritch said as she tottered along with her bag of pilfered goods.

“Okay… So how did you get Blast here?” he asked.

“So, Mistress picked me and... and Flick and Cinder and Chip and Ash and she gave us each a nest of eggs and we had to take care of the eggs to make sure they stay clean and turned and hatched! I saw Blast’s egg and it was small and small eggs don’t often hatch but then the face letters told me that ‘big things come in small packages.’ I went to show QueQua the egg and she got angry and told me to smash it but I knew it was going to be good big bestest draggin’ so I went to ask the old ones and then I fell and the egg cracked open.

The eggs are supposed to hatch, and then all the baby dragons fight and eat each other until there is only one draggin’ and then we go with the draggin’ with bunches of other kobolds and we make a new colony! But I broked Blast’s egg and then she saw me which is bad because when they start hatching I have to tell QueQua because when they see you they-“ She said, thinking.

Blast chittered at her.

“It's like when ducks hatch and they see you and follow you around,” Scritch said.

“Imprinting?” Baldir asked.

Scritch shrugged.

“So, Blast saw me and was all like ‘Mother?’ and then QueQua heard, and I was scared so I runned away and then I climbed on your head and you’re Blast’s slave now,” She said.

Baldir rubbed a grubby hand over his face and tugged his beard, feeling the skin of his face distort as he did so. His eyes looked up towards the sky and he shook his head in disbelief.

“You know better than I,” Baldir said before watching Scritch whip her head about sharply.

Baldir was about to say something before watching her dart back into the rubble. She scooted and scampered beneath the rotted frame of the wagon. A loud squeaking was heard, a sharp crunch, and warble of triumph from scritch. She stuck her head back up from the debris, rotted canvas, and bits of wood fell off of her head and she blinked her eyes separately in that reptilian way. The ass-end of a rat hung limply from her mouth.

“Second breakfast?” Baldir asked as she shook her head a little, letting the limp rodent flop about the sides of her face with thick slapping noises.

“Schnack,” She said through a full mouth. She made a chittering half-snark of noise, something in slurred draconic. The baby dragon looked back from her pile and made a whirring chitter back. Scritch jutted her face forward a few times and made thick gulping noises before downing the creature.

“No taste for rodents?” Baldir asked.

Blast gave him an indignant but shared look of distaste.

“I have more meat in my pack,” he offered before she gave the chuff that he recognized as ‘no.’

“So, are you going to let Scritch have the arbalest?” Baldir asked the dragon and she looked contemplative before chittering and growling.

“She says it’s hers but I am allowed to use it as I see fit,” Scritch said before scampering around and rooting in the debris once more to see if she missed anything. She brought back a few coppers, a bent gold coin, and a shiny mother of pearl button. Blast looked over the assortment proudly.

Baldir got to his knees, removed his pack, and began to fish in it for a carrying sack. The leather case that held the coins before was of no value but did nicely to dampen the coins jingling, he moved the empty case into his sack and looked to the baby dragon.

“Look, we need to move on and store this somehow,” Baldir pleaded.

Blast spit a spark of flame at him.

“Look, I know you want to, but how about we just put some of the jewelry on you and stow the coins away until we can find you a nice safe place to sleep for the night and you can sleep on the gold all you like, on my honor!” Baldir professed.

The dragon furrowed its brow ridge as it looked at him. It chittered a few syllables and he didn’t need to hear Scritch’s high-pitched response.

“What honor!?”

“Good point, but we’re going to have to part with some of it and-“ He started, but Blast was indignant and spitting sparks.

“She says no,” Scritch said before she came back, chewing on the rat’s tail like a treat.

“I got that much, thank you,” Baldir said.

“We need a wagon to travel, to carry all your gold. It is a small investment for now, and you can ride at the highest spot! It can carry more slaves,” Baldir professed.

Blast looked contemplative.

In Blast’s former life, she had been a dragon of renown and met his timely end atop a massive mountain of gold the likes of which no mortal man had seen. She had been a different dragon then, a stronger one than she was now. She had all that she ever needed, save for more gold, and the thought of parting with it rather than taking things in strength was a foreign concept.

“Yes, you spend a little gold now and you can use it to get even more gold,” Baldir continued.

The dragon gave a hesitant nod and they packed up the gold into the sack. Blast watched as they counted every single coin, making a mental tally of all that was there. Baldir affixed a bracelet around the dragon’s neck and a ring onto one of her dainty small forelegs before letting her seat herself regally onto his head once more.

Scritch played with the arbalest before loading a degraded bolt into it and aiming it at the sky.

“That thing may need some work before it fire-,” He said before hearing a clean twang of string.

A sudden ‘thwack’ was heard, a disgruntled squawk, and from the sky fell a bird with a solid thud.

It was a beastly thing, a small bird of prey. It was an indigenous hawk with enough size to have carried Blast away. There was a chance it was stalking Blast for it to have been so close.

“H-uh…” Scritch said as she stared at the dead bird.

“Huh,” Baldir said.

“Whr,” Said Blast.

There was a long moment of silence as everyone stared at the dead bird. Baldir prodded it with his foot.

“So… are any of you going to eat that?” Scritch asked and Baldir pursed his lips.

“This is worth a few gold and you just had a whole rat,” Baldir retorted.

She sucked the dangling rat tail into her mouth and gave a quiet crunch.

“Yeah,” She said with a sad sigh, lamenting the lack of more rat.

Blast perked up at the mention of gold and yammered at Scritch a bit. Scritch looked up at Blast in that peculiar way with her head canted and eyes wide. There was a dynamic between the two, caretaker and child, master, and servant. The two seemed equals, with Scritch humoring her bossy little friend more than anything. He was amused by their interactions.

They set off onto the road once more. The next village they might get to by evening if they were lucky. Scritch found no other treasures along the way, but she did bounce along and keep the trail ahead watched for danger. He guessed they were just fortunate to not have encountered highwaymen.