The Bogmoor Drake

Author: Mahdaan

From 'Songs and stories of Khaz Modan', translated from Dwarvish.

There was once near Dun Modr, a local mountaineer that had discovered the site of a destroyed dragon roost, but more importantly, an egg that was still intact. He took it down to his village of Bogmoor, and showed it to his dearest friends. After a week or so, the rumour had spread, and the dwarf’s neighbour came by to look at the egg. Then another one knocked at the door, and soon the whole village was in his living room, looking at the egg.

One of the dwarves suggested making an omelette with it, for the whole town to share, but another dwarf thought it would fetch a good price in Thelsamar. The dwarves argued over the mountaineer’s possession until he himself spoke up. “Me good lads an’ lasses, I’ve seen dragons and how they defend their nesting places. We are nae safe from red nor black, and we must always live with an eye to the skies. I was thinking we could do with a dragon of our own.”

All dwarves looked stunned as the mountaineer lifted the egg and placed it into his hearth. “I will hatch the egg meself and train the whelp, until it defends our home as its own. We will be safe and no bandit or drake will ever dare to threaten us.” The dwarves all cheered at their neighbour’s courage, all but the elder, who said it would be dangerous to keep a dragon, no matter how little. No one would listen though, and the mountaineer ended up stoking the fire to hatch the egg.

Weeks later, the egg finally cracked, and out came a little hungry whelp. The mountaineer cared for it every day, feeding it raw raptor meat at alarmingly increasing volumes. It didn’t take long for the little devil to fill up the entire living room, so he moved him outside. The elder protested a last time, but without success. The mountaineer had the support of the whole village, and he started dedicating his whole day to the drake, relinquishing his scouting duties.



The villagers of Bogmoor were all excited about the drake growing up, and all helped to feed him and care for him. It became a town effort, since the dragon would protect the town for them forever. Everything went well for a year, until even the elder came to agree that maybe this wasn’t the worst idea. In a whole year’s time, no one had been bitten or burned, and the growing drake seemed likeable enough, for as much as a dragonkin could be.

One day though, a villager was found dead on the edge of the village. The elder sent a few mountaineers to make sure it had not been the drake. He had to make sure, to put to rest his lingering doubts. The dead villager turned out to be the victim of a raptor attack. A few of them had been driven to rage after the mountaineer’s project had killed so many of them in a short time.

The elder was furious, and summoned the drake-keeping mountaineer to the town square. He charged him for neglecting his duties as a mountaineer, and endangering the village, ironically, not for raising a dragon, but for making the raptors so dangerous. The mountaineer did not protest, but burst out in weeping. He was overcome with shame and grief, and for his actions, he chose to leave the village for good. He went to say goodbye the next day, to his village and his drake, and left soon after, into the eastern hills.

The elder, knowing drakes to have moods and an unpredictable temper, went up to the drake on the hill where it usually rested. He offered it to stay, or to leave with his caretaker. The elder thought such a choice was a sensible offering. The drake was free to leave or to stay. The village of Bogmoor does not exist anymore, because that day, the drake took to the skies and burned the elder to a crisp, then circled the town and did the same to every dwarf he did not choose to eat. Only the mountaineer survived.