After the Dragon Died

Slaying the dragon was supposed to be the end of it. 

It had been quite the feat. They raided the treasure hoard. They found massive dragon eggs buried in the gold. One of their number, a halfling, stopped to look while the others filled their bags to bursting with gold. She added two of the eggs to her purse of holding. The third their barbarian proposed to cook. 

They all puked at the rotten smell of the thing roasting. The halfling emptied her stomach again when they cracked the egg open. Gelatinous white egg reeking of sulfur flaked off a scaley body her size with satin like scales. 

She left the cave without eating a bite.

The first week the cities near by celebrated. The dragon who had stolen their gold was gone! 

The halfling drank her ale and did her very best to duck attention as her party paraded the streets throwing gold to the ground as they went.

The second week the cave rumbled so that the cities thought perhaps the dragon hadn’t been killed after all. The adventurers assured them they had. After all, look at the enormous head they had mounted in the town square. The dragon was certainly dead. 

The halfling packed her things.

The third week noxious gasses spilled into the valleys. Anyone who slept on the floor suffocated in their sleep. The halfling woke in her barn loft. She saw dead chickens strewn across the yard, too low to the ground for those that did not sleep atop the coop. 

The fourth week popping and grumbling sounds shook the earth. The tavern shook apart. The mayors house took damage. Even the old castle lost a wall. 

The halfling hitched a ride out of town on a cart. The party did not notice her absence.

The fifth week the mountain exploded. The top went flying, shattered boulders flung near and far along with a viscous splatter of acid and gelatinous masses that scorched the ground around them.

The halfling was half way out of the nation. 

The sixth week the cities began to get sick. Everyone who came in contact with the gelatinous goo fell ill. It wasn’t long before the cities were calling the plague dragon’s curse. The adventurers no longer paraded the streets. They were as likely to get rocks thrown at them as be thrown up on. 

The seventh week the crater of the mountain burned. The fleshy gelatinous mounds that had been ejected began to move. Flames jetted irregularly as the mounds shifted toward the piles of bodies taken by sickness. The oozing mounds began to consume flesh, dissolving it pieces at a time. 

The halfling chartered a boat and stepped aboard. The cities burned behind her. 

For all their gold, the kingdom sent a cry to round up the adventurers who had slayed the dragon. They bound them and marched them up the hill, torches in hand. If only they had appeased the dragon its spirit may not be haunting them. 

The city folk gagged.  Skin turned red and pustuled the closer they got to the dragon’s crater. Limbs dropped off. People fell by the wayside, heaving already empty guts.

When the first person crested the ridge, they let go of their last hope. They tumbled over the edge, dead before they hit the bottom.

The titanic rib bones arched up out of a mass of vile pulsing orange mounds and yellow gelatinous bile. Gold had melted to the stones, an acidic vein splashed across the dragon’s old home. The scales were slouched to the floor, flesh long since decayed by the shifting mass of gelatinous shapes. The townsfolk that looked saw only terror. There was no angered dragon here. 

When the spinal bones shifted, the earth itself creaked. The gelatinous masses spread out. The folk that came to throw the adventurers at the dragons mercy watched the ribs fall open wider with a crack that shook the stone. 

One gelatinous blob pulled itself over the ridge the villagers stood on. It gurgled and noxious gas spewed from around its center mass. The townsfolk dropped the tied adventurers and

ran. Stumbling past acid lakes, gelatinous masses caught some by the legs. The screaming didn’t stop for days. 

One villager made it back, eyes haunted while recounting what lay upon the mountain. 

The mayors of the surrounding cities got together and collectively agreed to destroy the contracts they had given the adventurers. The king must never know. 

They did not find the halfling. She was on a boat at sea, sailing to the other continent. She kept watch on her bag. One day the captain heard squeaking from her cabin. 

The halfling fed the hatchlings. She let them curl around her for warmth in the cramped quarters. It was the least she could do. 

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