It was cold, dark and wet down in the mountain’s belly, in the domain of the dragon Nightscale. Little streams chattered; the river roared angrily. Stalactites and stalagmites ruled the landscape. The sound of falling drops was incessant.

We could only advance slowly. We passed the place where the duergars were instructed to leave their usual tribute. They paid their due three days before, but the treasure was already gone. Dragons do not linger when they could add to their hoard, do they?

Our path led along the rushing river. Shallow mud covered the bank, and we could advance only in single file. Was that a fish breaking the surface? An insect running on the water? A small break made in the stream by a rock? Or was that Nightscale, taking a peek at these impudent intruders before blasting them into oblivion? I can’t wait to find out!

The sounds of water surrounded us. Its constancy, its monotony chipped away our attention, lulled us into daydreams. Then an unusual or sudden sound made us jerk, panic, check on dark corners and dancing shadows. I have never felt myself as vulnerable as during that long walk along the river, with my magical candle perfectly enlightening me, but barely showing me anything beyond the ten paces its pale light carried.

Echoes were the worst. They made it impossible to tell where the original sound came from, often deforming, contorting it too. Or was that our minds playing games at us?

We crossed the river. A series of small islands were joined together by bridges. These were marvels of engineering, hundreds of years of old, still standing proud, refusing to give way the relentless tide of water and time. I wondered how were the orks ever able the beat the constructors of these proud monuments. The dwarves came here, into the heart of wilderness, carved their new life out in the belly of a mountain, humbled the roaring underground current, and most of their work still stood braving the elements, defying usurpers, recalcitrant towards the very flow of time.

I felt tiny compared to these mementoes of bygone ages, and suddenly everything I have done so far, everything I was striving to do in the future seemed inconsequential. Death cast a long shadow on my mind in that shivery, pitch-black night of the ancient caverns, and I could not keep away the overwhelming sense of futility. The water, the dark, the bridges, the shadows, the slight breeze over the river were all whispering to me: “No human has place here. Turn back now.”

But I was more and less than a human being at the same time.

Less, because a part of me contemplated my thoughts and my surroundings with the same stolid detachment and kept me from understanding the beautiful, terrible totality of this timeless, alien world.

More, because this part also kept me going, past doubt, fear and hesitation. This dispassionate, objective compartment of my mind, the product of a martial upbringing and a youth spent in wars, only cared about putting one foot in front of the other, keeping the hand ever close to the handle of my sword, and compelling the eyes to strain beyond their limits, scanning and scanning the dark waters, the shadows, the impenetrable and timeless night.

I did not turn back. I did not run away. I walked the course I decided for, and I arrived at the bank of the great underground lake, where the dragon Nightscale resided. And then kneeled, and shouted:

“Nightscale! Mighty and merciful dragon, protector of the mountain-deep and the frozen forests! We have brought presents for you!”

My voice echoed through the giant hall, came back into my ears louder then quieter again, contorted, distorted and changed back into my voice. Jim and Beldrak were also kneeling, and all three of us were pouring our treasures in front of ourselves. Gleaming gold, glinting silver, and fiery gems.

We knew Nightscale spoke Common, so I didn’t even try with my abysmal Draconic, lest I insult her by some mistake.

“You are an object of worship for of us, and we wish to live under your wise rule, following your benevolent guidance! Please, accept our offering, and take us as your faithful retainers!”

“I hear your plea, human,” came the answer. It was impossible to tell where it originated, thanks to the echoes caused by the walls and the water. “As generous as I am though, allowing one of your kind to serve me is still not a grace I should bestow without due consideration. Leave now and return in three days to hear my decision. But before you make your way out, push your offerings into the water!”

“We hear, and we obey!” I answered humbly. “Though… impertinent it might be, but we still have yet another appeal to you.”

“You are straining the limits of my goodwill,” declared Nightscale. “But you find me in a forgiving mood. I will hear out your second entreaty, and decide afterwards, whether I should punish your impudence.”

“We beg you, great and powerful wyrm, to grace us with a glimpse of your majestic frame! Let us bask in your glorious presence and observe your refined appearance!”

“Your wish is understandable if a little too presumptuous. Observe!”

Suddenly, in the middle of the lake, a large body moved. Nightscale raised her head, her shoulders, and for a moment it looked like she was standing upright on the water before she slumped back lazily. There you are! Now, if you would come a little closer… I shouted as if enraptured by the sight and wildly clapped my hands. Trueanvil and Jim followed my example somewhat less enthusiastically. I could picture the sour expression on the tiefling’s face without looking at him, but as long as he did not speak his mind, there would be no problem.

“Oh, great and glorious Nightscale! While your generosity already strains belief, we beg you to not to stop showering your favours on us! You granted us this brief moment joy, a glimpse of your majestic frame, but you have not shown yourself in your true glory! We have travelled to you from so far and were subjected to so many hardships on the way! Truly, we are blessed to be rewarded even by so much, but we beg you! Let us see you fly!”

Black dragons, unlike their white cousins, are not stupid. Beldrak made that very clear to me. But this was one still young, inexperienced, and probably as naïve as a dragon ever could be. This was in all likelihood the first time someone tried to appeal to her vanity. And truthfully, why should she have feared us? Nightscale was the undisputed queen of this subterranean kingdom, and she must have had no doubt in her mind that if we stepped out of the line, it was in her power to punish us.

Thus, for a brief moment, she abandoned the natural caution that was characteristic to her kind. She emerged from the dark waters, spread her wings, and amidst my thundering applause, flew several circles in the cavern.

To be fair, she was a graceful and elegant being, and her sailing through the air had a certain air of majesty. She was also a dangerous beast though, and there was no doubt in my heart now, what should I be doing next.

As the dragon landed in the water before us and stretched her long neck over the land to examine the treasure we brought her, I slowly stood. She was still encapsulated in observing the rich offering, not aware of the danger. Jim, ever so slowly, put his hand on the handle of Endbringer. I downed the potion of strength I received from the duergars. Beldrak fiddled with the pouch the contents of which he sometimes used to augment his spells. The dragon looked at us and said with annoyance seeping into her voice.

“What are you waiting for? Bring the treasure closer, so I can carry it away! Come don’t waste my time!”

“As you wish!” I snarled, and Shatterspike struck her between the horns.