Tale of Metals

~
Copper had gathered the others on his travels between the oasis of the ashy wastes.

He hoped that his companions need only be told of their mission, to confront a tyrannical Dragon that had destroyed the burgeoning cousin-kingdom of Lord Alumina. It had worked on him, seemingly. In truth, he simply wanted to steal from the hoard of a Dragon, it seemed like a ruddy-good time, and he was nearly dying of boredom.

Brass, the most battle competent orc, was trickier. He was indifferent to the suffering of faraway lands. To employ him, Copper had challenged him to an arm-wrestling competition. A malnutritioned human like Copper had little chance; however he always had a trick up his sleeve. The orc knew this.

Copper glared into the orc's eyes with (faked) determination that a squire challenged by his master would have trouble matching. He liked that comparison. In fact...
"Brass, firsht one to place deir right hand on this table will be the oder's squire forevermore!"

He snorted, unsure if the mushmouthed runt had a plan or was just stir-crazy. Brass also was a little stir-crazy, as defending his home town left little time for fun. To him, finding this trick and beating it fairly was his challenge. "Hah! If I win, my first use of you will be cutting your tongue out."

Copper grinned at that, as though he found it infinitely hilarious. He quickly returned to determination.

The match started. Brass stayed his hand, waiting for the trick. Copper immediately threw his all into the fight, pressing his bony arm into Brass' hand as hard as he could, harder than was safe. Brass looked forward to laughing at the lad when he broke his forearm. Copper's face went red with exertion. He realized the arm would not budge, and reoriented himself, sticking the tip of his tongue out as he was perplexed. He pushed from a different angle. Brass smirked, confident he could move. There was no grease under his elbow or psychological damage Copper could do.

He suddenly forced Copper's hand halfway down, threatening to rip his shoulder out of the socket. Copper shrieked in terror as his teeth came down, cutting off a chunk of his tongue and sending it flying across the room. Tears welled up in Copper's eyes and he quietly checked to make sure his arm wasn't broken. Brass began chuckling, before roaring into laughter. He slapped the table trying to contain himself, creaking it, as he did every time the bards told their best jokes.

Copper's eyes lit up, and he jumped from his seat, pumping his left arm in the air victoriously. "Joke's on you, Brassie, I win! You just touched the table! I'm the best!"

The orc sat stunned for a moment. He looked to what he had assumed was the runt's tongue, to realize it was a cut of raw salmon he had mistaken in the dingy tavern's light. He looked back to the lad, and chose his words carefully. "What...what would you have done if I had not fallen for that? Would you still think you're 'the best'?"

"No! I'd run away and change my name to Craven!"

"And if you get a disease from the raw flesh?"

"I'll probably cry!"

Brass couldn't help but smirk again at his honesty. He had forgotten the fun of being beaten. "Fine, I will join your quest. But I am not your squire."
~


~
Copper and Brass had sought the local craftsman for assistance. He had fabricated the finest obsidian weapons and leather armor, and promised them the best, on the condition that he would gain ownership of the dragon's lair in event of its death. Copper loathed the thought of staying so far away from other people, and Brass had no need of cushy living conditions.

At the city gates, a mourning priestess met them. For a hundred years, the gods had not contacted the Material Planes, if they even existed at all. The temples kept appearances, but most doubted the divine claims. A Tengu orphan, Iron was her name, beseeched them. "Young adventurers, the Gods have deemed me unworthy. I nearly lose my faith that they are still alive at all. Wouldst you take me on this pilgrimage, so that they may prove themselves to me, and I to them?"

Brass rolled his eyes; he didn't want dead weight. Copper on the other hand relished the idea of seeing a sheltered girl's attempt at navigating the wastes. If she failed, he could laugh at her. If she succeeded, his job would be that much easier. There was no losing in his mind!

Yet his spirits were to climb higher. After a week of travel in the inhospitable ashlands, one night while making camp, Iron was left to make a fire and guard their belongings while Brass, the Craftsman, and Copper attempted to hunt a beast, as their rations would only last only part of their journey without capturing new food along the way.

Iron struck together what driftwood she found, but it was burnt and rough. She tried harder and harder, until with friction and a spark of magic, a fire started. Yet she was so concerned with the fire that she did not notice a wild hog, which crept up behind her and ate their rations. When she saw her folly, she became distraught, and began crying. Seeing she was no threat, the hog stayed to go through their other belongings in search of more food. Yet while Iron was easily shaken, she continued to work with what she had.

She gathered a long branch of unburnt wood. She knew she was too weak to fight the hog on equal terms, face to face as all warriors did, however she had made a life of studying the natural wonders in lack of help from her deities. She used her obsidian knife to carve the wood into a long arch, and then ripped her sleeve of silk off of her robe, winding it together tighter and tighter until it was strong. She ripped a small portion off, tying the knife to a thin branch, and then threading the longer strand to the arch of wood.

Using the structure of the wood and silk to trap her energy in its limber bonds, she pulled the elongated knife against it, building her strength until she sent the blade flying as hard as the monk priests of her hometown could strike. It hit the hog, slaying the beast. When the hunting party returned empty handed, they were stunned by the arc of wood and silk. Iron wiped away her tears and apologized for her failure, but they each celebrated her victory and ingenuity. The Craftsman was inspired, and pledged to make her as many long throwing knives as she needed for this arch of wood, which he dubbed "Archery."
~


~
In the second week, the wastelands were taking their toll on the group. The season of rains had started early, and the slush of burnt earth beneath them had made travel dangerous and difficult, and wind whipped ash to their eyes. Yet as they sunk into the ground, a loud horn blared across the plains. Through the cutting winds and rain, they spotted a strange lumbering mass, a large wooden structure that rolled on wheels and set a sail of cloth above it.

The group began to fear if they stepped through the marsh to reach it, they would sink. Copper vouched, and jumped from island to island of solid earth, until he reached the land-boat. He climbed up the side, calling for help, when a lizard's hand met his and dragged him through a window, which quickly shut behind him. His eyes adjusted to the candlelight, only for him to recoil in horror from the sight and stench of a Troglodyte!

"What do you want?!" He asked the creature, but the Troglodyte simply raised a hand.

"Nothing, other than to know why you crawl on my ship." He replied

Copper remembered his bonds, and quickly introduced himself and the plight of his friends. The Troglodyte nodded. "Very well," He said, "I am Silver, the adept wizard. I shall save your kind, so long as you help repair my ship's inner workings after this dreadful storm."

Copper agreed, and they set sail to their friends and dragged them into the boat. Each was repulsed by Silver, yet could not deny his goodwill and usefulness, and soon became friends with him. When the storm had passed, they found themselves near a city that seemed as though it had perhaps even a thousand people in it. The wizard's ship docked, and they set to observe the damage, while the skeletons that kept the ship running repaired the innards.

However, the wizard's ship was empty of food and drink suited to a mammal's tastes, and they asked to feed themselves before repairing the ship. After some convincing, Silver agreed, and set to tinkering. Yet, after an hour, they had not returned. Silver, though he was wary of the inhabitants, set into town to find them. And find them he did.

They sat in the well-lit, well-furnished stone building of an aristocrat, given lavish meals of jelly and breads. With his quick wit, Copper had convinced the owning noblewoman to allow them to feast, and the noblewoman asked only for a later favor of her choosing. Starving, the group agreed. Then, Silver opened the doors, and demanded to know the meaning of the situation.

The noblewoman, a tattooed Elf named Gold, gasped in shock. His rival from over the many decades they knew each other, she demanded he leave that instant. Silver then demanded that she relinquish his new crew. They began hurling insults at each other, to the bewilderment of the guests. The Craftsman offered his services if they were to drop the dispute, but their egos were more demanding than need for labor. Iron asked that they calm themselves, but neither wanted to listen. Brass threatened to force them quiet, but neither was scared.

Gold offered them the chance to be permanently her guests if they were to renounce Silver's transportation and destroy his skeletons and land-boat. Silver offered them quick passage to the Dragon and to fight alongside them if they were to denounce Gold's methods of manipulation and remove her lubberly public support. After their offers, they continued to shout at each other for hours, both unwilling to let the group leave until they chose a side.

Copper, however, was annoyed by both the Elf and Troglodyte. He set off as night fell, tinder box and rumors in hand. Within a day, he had spread information of Gold's romantic escapades with servants and her common-born mother, and then set alight Silver's land-boat, burning it to the ground while they were both busy arguing. Copper then entered the dining hall, and proclaimed that he had chosen a side, that of the original group, and if they did not both uphold their bargains he would leave them destitute. Both realized their folly, and solemnly agreed, and joined the quest to slay the Dragon out of hope to maintain what was left of their honor.
~


~
In the third week of their journey, they reached the kingdom of Aluminum, and set to speak with Lord Alumina. However, to their great sorrow, they found the King had been assassinated during their travels, and the town was full of Dragon-induced anarchy. Try as they might, they couldn't get the city to work together, as the natives constantly turned at odds to each other. As they resolved to continue to the Dragon's lair, they met a strange sight marching out of the city and into the wastes.

A Kobold, knee deep in ash, marched towards the looming volcano from which many storms originated. His dull tan scales had been burnt past recollection of his original color, and his tail cut halfway down into a stump.

Iron moved to help him out of the shifting ground, stepping carefully towards him. The Kobold gratefully accepted the help, climbing to a more stable ground. She asked curiously, "Why dost thou charge towards the mountain?"

The Kobold gripped his sheathed obsidian blade, a blade enchanted to saw down any foe. "This beast has taken many things from me that a Dragon should have! He burnt my house, I have no lair! His anarchy destroyed my business, I have no hoard! His claw slashed my body, I have no full tail! On my honor as a Dragon, I must reclaim these things!"

"And you were going alone?" Brass chortled. "Foolish. There is no honor in certain failure."

The Kobold glared at him, and then marched past, continuing to the mountain. "You are the fool. I have many things a Dragon needs, and so long as I keep them dear, there is no failure. He cannot take them away from me. I may die, or I may survive. I am not dependent on consequences, I am my actions."

The Craftsman dusted off his hands. "What is your name, then? We would wish to join you."

"I am Bronze. If you have what it takes to charge into there with me, you deserve my help."


They climbed the mountain, avoiding falling rocks and choking smoke, until they found the entrance to the Dragon's cave. "WHO DARES ENTER?" shouted the Dragon, as it rumbled the mountain. With the hissing of a thousand snakes and the wailing of a banshee, it stomped from the depths of the volcano, bringing with it the bubbling of lava and the stench of death.

Without fail, each member of the group froze like a frightened deer, unable to will themselves to fight. Then it appeared before them, at its full height, towering over the group of heroes. It lowered its face, a mouth large enough to hold each and every one of them if it needed to. Lava dripped from its scarred lips. "BY WHAT RIGHT DO YOU DESERVE TO CHALLENGE ME?" It roared. The echo of its thundering voice would surely have drowned them out even if they could speak, but as it slowly subsided, Bronze marched forwards, raising his sword.

"You have attempted to steal my Dragonhood from me! By our ancient rights, I challenge you!"

"YOU ARE NOT A DRAGON!" It bellowed, the echoing loud enough to rumble their bones. "I SHALL NOT SUFFER THIS FALSEHOOD TO EXIST." It nearly burst their ears, but this only made Bronze angrier.

"HALT!" Bronze's own voice easily rung above the Dragon's. "I may have no fire to burn and no claws to rend, but every Dragon has its breath, and you shall NOT take it from me! I may have no wings to fly here, but I climbed regardless! I am Bronze, and you shall never take my pride, my voice, or my actions! These things are my hoard, they are my Draconic legacy, and they are things which will never be erased or stolen by size, scales, claws, or mere breath of fire!"

Bronze threw down his magic sword and readied his claws, as he would never fight an unarmed enemy with a weapon.

In that moment, the heroes' respect for each other burned brighter than their fear of the dragon. They each raised their swordarms, ready to combat the Dragon. And that they did. Each leapt into action, Copper gathered magical implements from the hoard and turned them on the Dragon, Brass climbed its scales and cut its back, Iron shot its eye, Silver bound its wings in arcane energy, Gold shouted warnings and commands, and Bronze roared and clawed its face.

Soon, the Dragon fell, and the heroes stood victorious. Each took the other in their arms, thrilled and thankful that the others survived. From their actions came great prosperity, and they lived to see a world of grasslands and trees and merriment. The Craftsman, a risen peasant by the name of Jagannath, used the volcanic lair of the Dragon to relearn the lost secrets of metalworking, and named each glorious metal after his heroic companions.