The Merchant Who Would be King

Former Adventurer

There are dragons that live underground: wyrms. They are not like those that soar the limitless skies; these dragons don't have wings. They bear a greater resemblance to thick-bodied snakes than to lizards. They have long and sinuous bodies covered in heavier scales than dragons have because weight is not an issue for them. Some, like this one, while lacking hind legs, had forelegs and nails tough enough to claw through the earth.

Blood of the fallen still stained those nails, though it was fading with time. Fading, like so many things did in life. The passage of time was cruel.

He stood before the great beast's maw, frozen forever in the act of opening wide enough for one to see all of the arm-length teeth jutting up and down from its jaws.

Lamarn had died from those teeth. They'd pierced his body and chewed him up before he'd been swallowed, gone forever. Well, his life was gone, anyway. They'd recovered the body eventually, after cutting open the monster's stomach and fishing inside for their companion's remains.

Gregor Weesely did not find himself moved to tears by the loss of his comrade that day; he'd lost plenty of comrades over the years. And he was not the weeping type. As a warrior and a man, he spat on such weakness.

It had taken days to haul the wyrm's head out of the Flaxxis Dungeon, the greater of the two dungeons located just outside the City of Lubelum and the reason for that city's existence. Why had they gone to so much effort? It had been a mixture of painful loss and being drunk on pride and glory, as well as some kind of revenge against the foe that had taken one of their own.

When the Hellions had resurfaced, their great feat had won them massive acclaim. The bronze and silver parties in the city had treated them like gods. The king had feted them. Crowds had turned out to watch as the wyrm's head had been paraded through the streets, to the awe of all.

It had been the pinnacle of his career, the crowning glory of a decade as a gold-ranked adventurer. He'd thought his future assured. He'd thought he'd be appreciated for all that he'd done, a [Warrior] with few peers, one who had stood toe to toe with that wyrm and who was the reason that the lower right fang was now cut in half, broken by a blow from Gregor's magical axe.

Fame and fortune had been his. His future had been bright. Until that ungrateful woman had kicked him out of the Hellions. The pewter tankard crumpled in his hand.

Officially, he'd left on his own. They'd given him that much. Even allowed him to take the wyrm's head as a personal trophy, not that anyone else had wanted the grisly thing. After all, it was the size of a small house. The only reason the skull was now displayed high up on his living room wall was because his living room was the size of a few small houses.

That wyrm had been guarding a lot of treasure. And Gregor had damn well made sure that they hadn't short-changed him his fair dues when they'd stabbed him in the back.

When she had.

She'd said she loved him. Liar. She hadn't loved him, after all. Captain Rainwalker of the Hellions, [Peerless Ranger], loved and admired by all. And she was a gem rank now. The ranks reserved for heroes and legends. Emerald rank. It might be lower than Ruby or Diamond, technically, but no one had earned a higher rank than that on this continent. And the number of rubies and diamonds in the whole world could probably be counted on one hand, two at the most. And thanks to her, he'd never rise above gold.

After leaving the Hellions, he'd continued to adventure on his own and with mercenaries, for a short while. But there was only so much you could do without the right team to back you up. And despite the general accolades that he got in public, ill word must have spread in adventuring circles because he'd never again been welcomed long into any other parties. Not even when he was a certified wyrm slayer, one of the few to make it that deep into Flaxxis.