posted on Jan, 13 2015 @ 08:58 PM
Atagon shambled down the steep embankment, toward the dismal sludge of a stream nestled in the mountain's bosom. Finding the water tepid, he sampled
it daintily, and pondered on what led him to such a place. Like an arrow in his side, it nagged at him.
The great war had all but vanquished his race - with weapons ablaze in an unholy light, and armor that put swords, spears, and even the dreaded black
arrow to shame, both sides had fought valiantly, but foolishly. And now, he, one of the last survivors from the inferno, had taken it upon himself,
(in a bit of a drunken rage), to take on the creature responsible for killing his father, son, and spirit: The Ghost of Death.
Although it was a funny title (for even he was snickering, now sober), the Ghost of Death was a legend on the battlefield - No one could pierce his
hide; weapons would be rendered useless against it. And then there was his fire; a morbid, flame-less smoke. This smoke leached through rock, killed
anything caught breathing it in, and scorched the earth black with rot. His weapons were like thunder on the mountain, only packed with more of a
punch that would send a soldier flying back; dead on impact. In his time, the Ghost killed hundred of the poor soul's bretheren and kin, which is why
Atagon set out on the mad quest to avenge his family's death.
It was rumored the Ghost inhabited a cave, hidden beneath the black peaks of Dagnoth, and the source of the polluted stream that Atagon now poised at.
Sighing at the bitter taste of the water (it stank of the Ghost, that was for sure). Finding the quiet surrounding him unnerving, he quickly retreated
to the side cliff; it was bad enough the stream valley could fit three dragons across, which meant Atagon was surely being watched this very moment.
Still, he pressed onward.
The lair was close - too close for comfort. All around its entrance, bones of kin and strangers littered the place; some scraps of bone still bore the
signs of battle: Chips and cracks in many of them, gashes and straight cuts in others. With a heavy sigh, he knew that soon, the sun would set, and he
would have to risk the entrance.
He woke to the smog filling the valley, the scent of decaying matter wafting past his delicate nose. Holding his breath, he made his way into the
lair. To all appearances, it looked like a typical lair, bones in the front, a fire in back, and gold crammed in the eaves. Atagon, upon hearing a
sudden noise, backed silently into a corner.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are", the singsong voice whispered, echoed, vibrated around the cavern.
"Deeper, Deeper you must come to find me - Why linger on my doorstep when I have invited you in?".
Oh, how that voice tormented him! Atagon wished he could forget it, but there was no mistaking it; the Ghost was here!!
Atagon crept silently - night-vision slowly filtering out the shadows one by one. He entered out into the great cavern in the heart of the cave, eying
the shadows for any sign of his host. There was no need, however: a swift movement caught his eye on the far corner; for the Ghost had come out.
"Well, well, well" the Ghost mused "It's been a while since one so...big, has dared to come and challenge me. No matter though, it will be a
pleasure adding your skull to my rather large collection. Do tell me, how are the rest of your kin doing? Oh that's right, you don't have any".
Atagon, who up until this time remained silent, spoke. "You are correct on more fronts than battles have, friend. But you clearly misunderstand that
who you are dealing with. I watched you come in, and slaughter my family you worm; even now you smirk thinking about their deaths. Well, my friend,
remember this: If you are going to kill a dragon, it's best you kill them all at once, because humans always underestimate the one dragon they leave
He finally rose to his full height - no more the sulking, wimpy golden dragon, Atagon was now strong, cunning, and focused on one thing: the puny
human sitting in his thrown of dragon bones.
The Ghost roared, sword blade black as night; it was said the blade was forged in the heat of a dragon's breath, made of a metal that had fallen from
the sky. And now, it was advancing on Atagon. Atagon's spiked tail matched the blade, sending both ringing aside. The Ghost made to bring the tail
shorter by a couple feet, but Atagon had other plans; his tail he left out like a snapping turtle's tongue, tempting the human to strike. When he
(happily) did, that was when Atagon let loose a barrage of flame, causing the Ghost to miss his strike, and instead to strike the trigger for the
booby trap (meant for the dragon). Atagon jumped out of the way, just as several black arrows pierced the Ghost, and ended his life quickly.
To say that Atagon was happy to see his nemesis die would be lying - Despite dragons being considered evil, uncouth beings, he tried to avoid killing
people if he could help it; many a time he would even guide a human back to their humble home, and let them tell a tale or two about how they
valiantly killed him. Finally coming back to the surface, Atagon covered up the entrance to the cave, stretched his wings to the fullest, and went
soaring to places unknown. He had many adventures since then, but that, my friends, is another tale altogether.