The strangest thing.

My name is Narls Bjornsson and I am a Dragon slayer by trade; with seven fire-stones to my credit. I am looking forward to the day when one of the forges sponsor me but I seem to be doing okay without their support although it is tough work. I have followed some big hitters in the past but they tend to get in before you have a chance yourself and if I’m going to put my life on the line, I want to get the fire-stone as a reward so I have gone solo now.

Well, I say I’ve gone solo but for some reason, I seem to have adopted a follower. His name is Blit miner and for some inexplicable reason, one of the forges has seen fit to give him a suit of specialist armour to wear. Now it is a rarity for a Goblin to wear heavy armour in the first place but to wear power-stone armour is, to be honest, unique. I’ve never heard of another one; usually the Goblins take up a bow and fire at a distance but Blit, he’s a bit special. Not only does he have the special armour, he’s got four fire-stones to his credit and he got them from close combat with Dragons.

Now, you’ve seen how big a Goblin is and how heavy power-stone armour can be so you can imagine that most of the power goes to helping Blit move around but there is also a sting in his armour. He looks pretty funny to be honest; a bit like the head of a blunt mace but with arms and legs. He has a heavy visor that drops down and covers his face completely and a small boiler with short stacks on it. The weirdest thing is that he doesn’t carry any weapons. He just waddles around and goes head to head with the Dragon.

Can you imagine how ridiculous it looks when a knee-high ball of metal goes waddling up to a Dragon to fight it? Well Blit doesn’t care he waddles straight up; puffing and clanking. Normally, he’ll dodge a bit but then he just gets swallowed and you think he’s done for but that armour of his is special. It’s super tough and can withstand the bites and stomach fluids of a Dragon and when Blit is ready he activates the secret weapon. Once that happens, powerful spikes spring out and retract over and over again and the inside of the Dragon is peppered with holes. It is a horror to watch and you almost feel sorry for the Dragon as it retches and claws at itself to rid the pain from its guts. After a while, the Dragon falls down dead and once it is all still, Blit emerges from its mouth with a fire-stone in his hand.

I’ve talked to him about why he hasn’t gone back to the mines and he says that if he ever gets scared of the outside, he just closes his visor and he feels safe again. I think another reason is that he has become quite a celebrity and enjoys the opportunity to tell his tales and get rewarded. I must admit that I have become quite fond of the little chap… and he’s the only one I know who can drink as much ale as I do without falling over although I’m not sure whether some of that is down to his armour holding him up rather than his constitution.

Yes, I’d say we make a good team; me and Blit.

A late night visitor.

My name is Robert Brown and I live on this farm. My father’s father landed his kingship on the beach here and we have farmed in this valley ever since. We managed to trade with the stout fellows and they built us this fine house out of the best stone; strongly locked together using their skills of masonry. It is a good job too otherwise my family may have been lost to me.

Only last month we were awoken by the sound of the hounds barking. We quickly dressed and gathered our pitchforks and went the front door. I am glad it was securely closed because there was a terrible noise from outside before the hounds fell silent and then we heard the heavy footfalls of a Dragon. I went over to one of the narrow windows and looked out but all I saw was a large, yellow eye peering back at me. I told Maud to get back and shelter in the corner and she did as I told her; she’s a good wife, that woman.

Then the door started to heave under the force of the Dragon’s talons and the ground shook as it tried to force a way in. I could only think of my son and daughter so I rushed to their room and fetched them out to sit with their mother in the corner. They were terribly afraid but they knew they had to stay quiet and they did as they were told. Moments later the Dragon was on the stone roof and we could hear the scraping of his sharp claws as he tried to get to us. I must say that those stout fellows make a solid building because, try as he might, the Dragon couldn't get inside and after a long while of digging and scraping, it gave up and thumped back onto the ground outside. I managed to get a good look at it as it sloped off towards the milkers; it was a wonderful jade green colour and had a bright orange frill on its head. I know the pen dragons don’t tend to have bright colours on them so it must have been a drake and he was at least half grown; about five times the length of one of the milkers.

It was a terrible thing to see the Dragon catch one of the frightened cows. I’ll never forget the look of terror on its face as the Dragon flapped into the air and dropped heavily on its back, pinning it down and biting into its neck; killing it outright. The Dragon tore chunks from the cow and gulped them down before it had lightened the animal enough to carry. It then flapped into the air again and grasped the remains of the cow with its rear claws before it flew off with it. As it left it screeched loudly but then it was gone and everything was quiet. I made sure Maud and the children were safe before I went outside to have a look and when I opened the door I could see the deep claw-marks in the heavy oak panels and up the walls of the house.

The hounds were left in their own blood and entrails; poor things. They’ll be getting a good send off later for doing such a good job. Fortunately, the Dragon only killed the one cow but the rest were clinging to the fence with terror in their eyes... there’d be no milk from them for a day or so and what they produced for a week afterwards was only good for cheese making. Apart from that, we’d got off pretty lightly and I can’t praise the stout fellows enough for their masterful building skills; we’d have been lost if it wasn’t for them.

When it got light the next day, you could see all the foot prints and claw marks around the place and you could tell where the Dragon had dragged his tail along the ground. We collected the hounds together and wrapped them in cloth so that we could send them off and we were lucky because a Mhurni traveller happened to be passing and he helped to raise the pyre and prepare an offering to the goddess. We made sure he was well fed and watered before he left and he left some strong smelling herbs to settle the milkers down so we were truly blessed. Those Mhurni really know how to make you feel better about things but I have always felt strange in their company... they are so different to us, you know.