For his draconic appearance, he's persecuted, but for his strength, he's feared. This is the story of Alidorim Ulkith, a Dragonborn warrior. Shunning most of civilization Ulkith braves the dangers of the Sword Coast as he seeks out a fortune to rebu...
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"Twenty silvers is the best I can do," The merchant stated. His tone was apologetic, but his demeanor was firm. Alidorim growled low in his throat but managed to temper his frustration. That was barely a third of what a good fox pelt would garner. The portly human had already explained that due to their muted coloring and small sizes, swamp foxes were simply not highly sought-after.
Sighing the Dragonborn accepted the offer. He guessed he should've been grateful the merchant was even dealing with him. The last one, at first sight, fled into his storage room, while the one before that had refused him service altogether.
Once he pocketed the currency, Olkith produced the next batch of items to sell. He'd learned long ago from a shrewd gnome that you never showed your full hand. By selling one treasure at a time he stood to gain more rather than losing its true value in a lump sum.
The merchant actually looked fascinated as he picked up one of the alligators' teeth. It was as long as his thumb. The beast hadn't any need for them and Alidorim would be damned if he allowed the encounter to be in vain. He had to take advantage of every opportunity to earn coin if he ever hoped to make it to Neverwinter.
"How much for these?"
The man didn't answer right away. First, he organized the teeth by size before examining each one as closely as the first. As the scrutiny unfurled, he kept up a mumbled commentary, noting the cleanliness of the teeth and lack of fractures. Olkith stood by patiently.
"I can do..." the merchant's finger tapped the largest of the teeth as he stared toward the heavens. "Three gold for the lot."
Which meant he could actually do four. Alidorim had dealt with many merchants. They were always thinking in terms of trade and resale value. They had to earn back what they invested and maintain a living. He could've haggled, maybe even offer to take the teeth elsewhere. Thinking of the previous merchants there was no way to be certain he'd find another who'd be willing to deal with his kind.
With another growl, he nodded. At least he had enough to get his weapon repaired. Whatever profit the mushrooms fetched Alidorim would need every coin in order to restock supplies.
Payment in hand, he bade the merchant farewell, before locating a blacksmith. After depositing his weapon for repair with the smithy he headed to his ultimate destination; the village tavern which also doubled as an Inn. Others who shared in his trade would be there, but also many of the local citizenry. Alidorim wasn't looking forward to encountering either.
The crowd parted before him as he made his way to the building. There were murmurs of fear and curiosity, but none dared meet his eye. For many, he might've been the first Dragonborn they'd ever seen. They were certainly thin on the ground that far north. Gods, he could count the number of his kin he'd met since leaving Tymanther on one hand.
The thick wooden door groaned open at his touch and closed just as soon as he'd crossed the threshold. As always, or rather as befitting any local watering hole, the heads of every occupant turned towards the new arrival. Leary gazes cautiously scanned over his armored body from his clawed feet to the arming sword on his back. They lingered on his draconic appearance. While he wasn't the only non-human in the crowd, he was certainly the only one of his species.
