The Harder They Fall

Skyrentalimar was old. More than old, he was ancient. He was a member of the revered race of dragons, in which age was synonymous with power. Elder wyrms were among the most fearsome and awe-inspiring creatures in Faerun, and he had been a silver dragon. Silvers were among even the most powerful of dragonkind. But even that maxim had its limits. Time is an enemy that even the most powerful dragon cannot, in the end, triumph over. Skyrentalimar’s days of glory had long since been eclipsed. Once he had been a champion of justice, known throughout the land as a great protector of the innocent, and a terrible foe to evil. Elves and dwarves, gnomes, halflings and men, all had sung his praises. But then, shouts of "Skyrentalimar the Mighty!" and "Skyrentalimar the Just" had slowly been replaced with jeers of "Skyrentalimar the Feeble" and "Skyrentalimar the Pathetic", and eventually those had been replaced with nothing at all. He had become forgotten. A legend, nothing more, before his time.

Skyrentalimar, or Sky, as the humans had called him, with some effort managed to summon enough strength to raise his head and gaze about his chamber. It was an enormous cavern, so large that a person could scarcely see one end of it from the other. However, it seemed cozy, almost cramped. The space that wasn’t filled with dragon was filled with a hoard of treasure that a dozen kings of men would envy. Treasure was Sky’s one weakness. He loved to look upon it, to watch how the light cascaded over his mounds of gold and was then broken into a thousand pieces by his gems. It wasn’t greed that drove him to collect so much, it was memories. He could remember the story behind every single piece in his lair. Be it a gift from an appreciative king or the spoils of a tyrant vanquished, he cherished every memory. The memories of better days. Finally Sky lay his head back down, resting it upon a mound of gold coins, and let himself drift off into dreams of those days.

Seconds after Sky had closed his eyes, his ears ears twitched, roused by far-off noises emanating from somewhere in the caves surrounding his lair. No, no just noises, voices! Human voices! It had been more than a century since he had heard any voice other than the one in his own head. Now humans were in the caves nearby. He had an odd fascination with humans. Their lives passed by in an eyeblink, at least compared to his, but they lived life with a fury that could make even a dragon envious. More excited than he had been in many years, he waited for them to come, and listened:

"I cannot believe we have lost our way, Ranas! It seems your mapping skills are as poor as your fighting skills." This voice was rough and deep, and almost reminded Sky of a dwarf, if not for the obvious human accent.

"Me? I thought you were mapping this place! Eh, it matters not. Once we find the gold that the drunken fool from the tavern stashed here, we’ll find our way out soon enough, Farek, and we’ll be wealthy men!" This voice was thin and wiry, and reminded Sky of a door that needed to be oiled.

Skyrentalimar snorted in disgust. Thieves. Sky hated thieves, and considered them to be the worst examples of humanity. Still, any company would be a welcome diversion. Old and weak as he was, he still had no fear of human thieves.