Dragon In Man's Clothing

Part 1: Chance Meetings

Avarax wiggled the stubby toes of his new form, marveling at the sensation of mud squishing between them. How humans walked without collapsing in ecstasy was just one of the many questions he planned to answer today, along with an age-old conundrum: which tasted better, Orc flesh or human skin?

The dragonstone in his chest pulsated wildly as he looked up and scanned the fields. People hunched over, hands working in the swampy flats, pulling up weeds from neat rows of greenery. One of their voices had drawn him here from his lair thousands of miles away, yet the sight of so many now made his stomach rumble. A veritable buffet, and one he could finally enjoy now that they weren't so tiny, they'd barely register on his taste buds. He strode to join them, feet sinking into soft loam with each step.

The cool breeze tickled his scale-less skin, sending it erupting in dozens of little bumps. A shiver ran up his spine. The sensation was more satisfying than he remembered humans tasting... albeit, it had been several millennia since he'd actually eaten one.

His eyes roved over them, looking for one as plump as the so-called princesses they used to offer him as tribute. Not a single one looked like more than a skin bag of bones. All thin and lanky, with dry, lean muscle.

His nose wrinkled. Whether it was the fertile soil or the people themselves, the stench smothered his appetite. His gullet twisted, threatening to rebel like the peasants he'd kept when he was a much younger dragon.

Heads jerked up, no doubt easy considering the small size of their brains. Eyes widened at his approach. Several pointed at him and whispered among themselves, while others averted their eyes. No doubt, even in this puny form, he still projected majesty.

One with a wrinkled face cleared its throat and pointed. "Put on some clothes!"

Clothes? Avarax looked them over. Of course, unlike him, they had wrappers. He'd seen many different kinds over the ages, from soft satin to steel rings. With soft flesh instead of scales, they apparently felt the need to cover themselves. These here donned roughspun sacks, which might leave fibers between his teeth.

"I said, put on your clothes!" It tilted its head at an impressive angle for a creature with so few neck bones. "Who are you, anyway?"

Avarax squinted at the bushy white caterpillars above its eyes, which jiggled and slanted upwards. It was a new experience to see a human up close from this angle, even if his new vision wasn't as sharp. He reached over and ran a finger over the bug. It prickled his fingers.

The human's hand shot up, covering the insect. "What, you've never seen eyebrows?"

Avarax raked his gaze over all the people gawking at them. They all had these so-called eyebrows, one above each eye. He brushed a hand over his own forehead. Apparently, he had them as well.

"The poor thing." A trilling voice called from behind the onlookers.

It was a beautiful voice, and his dragonstone vibrated with it. The voice was originally what had drawn him to this place. Avarax craned his pitifully short neck to see who had spoken.

An even thinner human pushed through the crowds, a bucket of water sloshing in the crook of its arm. Like the princesses from his youth, this one had mounds on its chest, albeit much smaller.

Avarax patted his own chest. Finding only tiny, dark circular bumps, he looked at the newcomer.

Its face was also rounder and smoother than the others gathered around, though it was just as filthy. "This man must have travelled from down south. Look how dark he is. And his eyes are so round."