Hsar’gl sighed, an impossibly long breath, tinged with sparks and embers. He lounged atop his horde, a mountain of gold greater even than the Great Wyrm hordes his father had spoken of. His tail flicked discontentedly, and Kobolds scattered out of its way, desperate not to lose the reports they carried to and fro in the castle’s main chamber.
Immortality was always going to be boring. There is only so much that is new and fresh and exciting.
After centuries of being in a rut—of spending weeks asleep atop his meager (it seemed to him now) horde, of waking occasionally to assault a caravan, raid a town, or raze a kingdom (just for the fun of it)—something interesting had finally happened.
It was a man, he thought now (he wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t important; he did remember that they were slender and gamey, however). Hsar’gl had grown bored with the idea of razing a nearby village halfway there and returned to his lair find someone crawling among his treasures.
He had given them a fair shot, about two minutes of struggling, before he nailed them to the cavern floor with his talon. It was a shame, really. He’d never seen a human move so deftly, even though it wasn’t close to enough.
Later, when he was picking a rib bone from his teeth, he had noticed a pack the human had been carrying. Unusually, it didn’t contain alcohol or gold, but books.
Hsar’gl had never been one for reading. Human letters were too small, and they never had anything interesting to say anyways.
Maybe it was because he was particularly bored that day, or maybe he’d absorbed some of the human’s spirit when he consumed them (an old superstition among dragons that Hsar’gl didn’t subscribe to, usually), or maybe it was out of some respect or curiosity for this most capable of humans—in any case, he made the decision to take a look at the books.
It didn’t hurt that the thickest among them was titled, “The True Wealth of Kingdoms.” It dealt with ideas that, at first, were—and it pained him to admit this—above Hsar’gl’s head. It dealt with this concept of the ‘economy’ and ‘prosperity’ and ‘people as capital’ and ‘monetary velocity as a vehicle for growth of the GDP’.
His horde had been growing painfully slowly these past few centuries, and he had never considered adding people to his horde, and he had certainly never considered that there were things you could add to a horde that would then grow your horde for you. These ideas were intriguing—more importantly, they weren’t boring.
He had been excited the day he flew four hundred miles to this castle, collapsed it with one swipe of his tail, and swallowed the piss-smelling man with the golden headpiece. He had been excited as he worked on optimizing the horde-generating capability of his new horde-members—as he lowered the taxes on the poor to increase the ‘velocity’ of their money; as he ordered the mass of Kobolds his presence attracted to dig out ‘irrigation systems’ and build ‘schools’; as he tore through the orc and goblin hordes that lingered outside of the city (that had, admittedly, been quite fun); as he learned to manage and delegate and trust the pieces of his horde whose goals aligned with his.
He had been excited. It was a project, a new idea. But now it was over. He had implemented it. His horde was larger than it had ever been and grew day-by-day at an impossible rate. The other kingdoms in this land were just more treasure to his horde in all but name, as they adapted to his reforms as not to court his wrath.
He had done and conquered more than any dragon before him. He had slept less and dreamed bigger. And now there was nothing.
A man stood before him, patiently waiting to speak. Hsar’gl remembered this one. The tattoo on his bald skull indicated that he was more fervent than most in his worship.
Hsar’gl swung his head around, and fixed the man with one eye.
“Speak,” he rumbled.
The man unrolled a scroll with trembling hands, tears of joy in his frantic-looking eyes. “I have here the report on the Westlands that you asked for, my great and terrible Lord of All There Is Was And Will Be.”
That was not one of his official titles. But, he had to admit that he didn’t hate it.
I like how you didn’t write it as some kind of utopia. Some people were happy, and some people were not. And the last part, where we get to see the dragon’s point of view, is the cherry on top. Masterfully executed!
(Part 5 of 5)
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Hsar’gl sighed, an impossibly long breath, tinged with sparks and embers. He lounged atop his horde, a mountain of gold greater even than the Great Wyrm hordes his father had spoken of. His tail flicked discontentedly, and Kobolds scattered out of its way, desperate not to lose the reports they carried to and fro in the castle’s main chamber.
Immortality was always going to be boring. There is only so much that is new and fresh and exciting.
After centuries of being in a rut—of spending weeks asleep atop his meager (it seemed to him now) horde, of waking occasionally to assault a caravan, raid a town, or raze a kingdom (just for the fun of it)—something interesting had finally happened.
It was a man, he thought now (he wasn’t sure, and it wasn’t important; he did remember that they were slender and gamey, however). Hsar’gl had grown bored with the idea of razing a nearby village halfway there and returned to his lair find someone crawling among his treasures.
He had given them a fair shot, about two minutes of struggling, before he nailed them to the cavern floor with his talon. It was a shame, really. He’d never seen a human move so deftly, even though it wasn’t close to enough.
Later, when he was picking a rib bone from his teeth, he had noticed a pack the human had been carrying. Unusually, it didn’t contain alcohol or gold, but books.
Hsar’gl had never been one for reading. Human letters were too small, and they never had anything interesting to say anyways.
Maybe it was because he was particularly bored that day, or maybe he’d absorbed some of the human’s spirit when he consumed them (an old superstition among dragons that Hsar’gl didn’t subscribe to, usually), or maybe it was out of some respect or curiosity for this most capable of humans—in any case, he made the decision to take a look at the books.
It didn’t hurt that the thickest among them was titled, “The True Wealth of Kingdoms.” It dealt with ideas that, at first, were—and it pained him to admit this—above Hsar’gl’s head. It dealt with this concept of the ‘economy’ and ‘prosperity’ and ‘people as capital’ and ‘monetary velocity as a vehicle for growth of the GDP’.
His horde had been growing painfully slowly these past few centuries, and he had never considered adding people to his horde, and he had certainly never considered that there were things you could add to a horde that would then grow your horde for you. These ideas were intriguing—more importantly, they weren’t boring.
He had been excited the day he flew four hundred miles to this castle, collapsed it with one swipe of his tail, and swallowed the piss-smelling man with the golden headpiece. He had been excited as he worked on optimizing the horde-generating capability of his new horde-members—as he lowered the taxes on the poor to increase the ‘velocity’ of their money; as he ordered the mass of Kobolds his presence attracted to dig out ‘irrigation systems’ and build ‘schools’; as he tore through the orc and goblin hordes that lingered outside of the city (that had, admittedly, been quite fun); as he learned to manage and delegate and trust the pieces of his horde whose goals aligned with his.
He had been excited. It was a project, a new idea. But now it was over. He had implemented it. His horde was larger than it had ever been and grew day-by-day at an impossible rate. The other kingdoms in this land were just more treasure to his horde in all but name, as they adapted to his reforms as not to court his wrath.
He had done and conquered more than any dragon before him. He had slept less and dreamed bigger. And now there was nothing.
A man stood before him, patiently waiting to speak. Hsar’gl remembered this one. The tattoo on his bald skull indicated that he was more fervent than most in his worship.
Hsar’gl swung his head around, and fixed the man with one eye.
“Speak,” he rumbled.
The man unrolled a scroll with trembling hands, tears of joy in his frantic-looking eyes. “I have here the report on the Westlands that you asked for, my great and terrible Lord of All There Is Was And Will Be.”
That was not one of his official titles. But, he had to admit that he didn’t hate it.
I like how you didn’t write it as some kind of utopia. Some people were happy, and some people were not. And the last part, where we get to see the dragon’s point of view, is the cherry on top. Masterfully executed!