In a cave under a mountain slumbered a dragon.
This wasn't an unusual thing for the world. Many dragons slept in caves, and many of those were under mountains.
Nor was the sleep itself a thing out of the ordinary. All dragons are born after a long slumber, a dream state where their ancestors come and tell them of the ways to be a proper dragon.
This, however, was not that sleep.
This was the sleep of the first growth.
This was the passing of a hatchling into a youth.
And though the ancestors once more spoke to the young dragon, their tones were different this time.
They were alarmed. Disapproving. They had seen what he had done, and it unsettled them. Thus they had filled his years-long slumber with scorn and criticism.
Years, they spent heaping their disapproval upon him. This young dragon, who had been conscious for all of two days before going from one sleep to the next.
Perhaps they justified it to themselves by saying it was for his own good. Perhaps they were taking out their frustrations over their own, less-notable lives. Perhaps they were just a tiny bit jealous at his rapid progression.
Perhaps they feared the thing that had set him upon this path. The blasphemy that he had committed, and planned to further advance the second he woke.
But the dragon in question had his own opinion as to why the ancestors were roaring at him so. It was an opinion that was tempered by his relatively brand-new set of human memories and attitudes.
“You are all bitches,” he told them. “You cannot do shit to me here so cease your mewling and let me sleep.”
The dragon, whose name was Rotgoriel, had the distinct pleasure of his dreams twisting, and every last one of his ancestors turning their backs on him.
And finally, he felt sleep leave him.
He waited a few seconds to make sure it was not a waking dream, then he rose and stretched.
And stretched.
And stretched some more because goodness, there was a lot of him now.
As a hatchling, at his maximum growth, he could have rested his chin on the average human's head without lifting his neck too much. And from muzzle to tail, he'd been something like three humans long.
Now? Now he thought a tall human might come up to his chest. Maybe. And he was at least five or six humans long.
Oddly enough, one of his eyes wouldn't open properly. He poked at it... and sighed as he felt the skin pulled tight over an empty socket. Ah, now he remembered. He had lost that eye... lost it in a last-ditch attempt to avoid being possessed by an evil mask. It was still gone. He'd have to find a way to fix that at some point.
Putting it from his mind, he walked across the cavern. To Rotgoriel's surprise, his scales clinked where they brushed against the walls.
That was new.
“Dragonseye,” he said, and the all-encompassing darkness faded away and let him see clearly.
Most of what he saw didn't make sense, so he blinked and decided to ignore it for a second. Turning his head around on his long, long neck he studied himself.
All dragons, when they pass into their last hatchling sleep, choose their elemental affinity. The affinity choices come from the elements they are most familiar with, from the ones they spent most of their waking existence around.
For Rotgoriel, who had spent the scant two days of his conscious life exploring the most dangerous parts of his mother's mountain, the choice was simple.
Stone.
He had worried about one or two minor things; fretted that it would turn his beautiful black scales gray or something. He needn't have worried.
They were shiny now, like obsidian, flecked with pure white dots here and there. They clacked like stone against stone whenever one of his wingtips met the walls. And oh, was it a joy to stretch his wings after so long...
Rotgoriel had also had the opportunity to choose not just his element, but his form. One would have made him a king of the skies, a serpent with wings, more or less, agile and sleek.
Another option would have made him an immense serpent of the land, with stunted wings but a sturdiness that would eventually rival mountains... or let him destroy mountains, given enough time.
But in the end, Rotgoriel decided to stick with what he knew. A dragon he had been born, and a dragon he would remain. Four legs, two wings, and a beautifully balanced body that let every prey species to witness him know precisely what doom awaited them.
I am probably very shiny in the light. That thought cheered him up. Rotgoriel liked shiny things.
And the thought reminded him that he'd seen a few other things, that were probably best investigated now that he was certain his scales looked awesome.
Yawning, he stared at the brightly-painted walls around him.
Someone had taken paint and applied it liberally to the cavern that was his bedroom. A vast city of white stone and golden minarets filled a desertscape, with big, long-leafed trees around one of those places, those thingies where water pooled up in the desert...
Oasis, the borrowed part of his memories supplied. Yes, one of those. At least whoever had done this had the presence of mind to fill the skies with painted dragons of all shapes and sizes. Those were clearly of a different hand than whoever had painted the landscape. Cruder, to be honest. Still, he appreciated the gesture.
Then he turned his attention to his feet... and his hoard.
It was as he remembered. Copper and silver coins, and a few shining, precious bits of worked gold. Bracelets and candleholders and chains, that sort of thing. Then magical crystals and vials of powder, that almost thrummed with arcane potential.
And speaking of arcane potential...
...wait.
A stirring in his gut as dread built there, and ran up his spine. His most precious treasure was gone!
Carefully, forcing himself to move slowly so as not to crush anything, Rotgoriel used his claws to pick through the loose items.
No. No, it was gone! He hadn't been imagining things!
Just before he'd gone to sleep, he had fought an eldritch creature, and claimed the artifact he had been promised. A mirror that let him breach the veil between worlds. A powerful magical device that had let him confront the human who had been puppeting him like a pawn in a game.
It was all part of a bigger plot that he had foiled when he failed to kill the human. Had in fact found common cause with the human. Had shared memories with the human, and used them to mutual benefit.
But that didn't matter now. What mattered was that the best piece in his hoard was missing.
More than that, though. Something else was missing, and the last of the sleep haze fled from his mind as he realized what— no, who was missing.
“Geebo?” he rumbled. “Geebo! Answer me!”
Geebo was a draggit, a small creature of a species long subservient to dragons.
Geebo had been with Rotgoriel since the first few minutes of his birth. He'd been an ally... and even a friend, which was a highly improper relationship to have with one's slave.
Perhaps it was the human's influence. Perhaps it had been the hardships they had faced together. Perhaps it was just that Rotgoriel had literally had no one else on his side, not to start with, anyway.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Either way, the little draggit's absence worried him. The draggit would not have willingly left him alone and unguarded, Rotgoriel knew that.
But wait... there had been someone else with them, hadn't there?
Yes. A djinn. A servant of the dark power he'd pledged his dark faith to. What was her name? Something to do with stones?
No, he could not remember. Sighing, he cursed his intelligence. It was currently a bit low for his age... a fact that the ancestors used to try to shame him, back during his sleep.
Fuck the ancestors. Bitches all. He shoved them out of his mind... then paused.
He'd grown. He'd changed.
How had this affected his numbers?
“Status,” he said, and carefully read the results as they flickered and faded into glowing white words before his eyes.
Name: Rutger Royal
Age: 2 Days
Jobs:
Cultist (Anjuuta) 7, YoungStone Dragon 10
Attributes Pools Defenses
Strength: 336 Constitution: 333 Hit Points: 669 Armor: 190
Intelligence: 60 Wisdom: 70 Sanity: 130 Mental Fortitude: 190
Dexterity: 15 Agility: 40 Stamina: 55 Endurance: 25
Charisma: 55 Willpower: 331 Moxie: 386 Cool: 165
Perception: 301 Luck: 52 Fortune: 353 Fate: 17
General Skills
Brawling – Level 15
Climb – Level 4
Dodge – Level 13
Fly – Level 14
Ride – Level 1
Stealth – Level 2
Swim – Level 2
Stone Dragon Skills
Burninate – Level 13
Chomp – Level 8
Draconic Tongue – Level N/A
Dragonseye – Level 15
Earth Resistance – Level N/A
Flameborn – Level N/A
Hoarder – Level 1
Job+
Limited Equipment – Level N/A
No Thumbs – Level N/A
Sandblast – Level 1
Scaly Wings – Level N/A
Slow to Age – Level N/A
Tail Slap – Level 2
Cultist Skills
Conceal Status – Level 1
Curses – Level 1
Dark Chant – Level 1
Darkspell: Fool's Gold – Level 1
Enhance Pain – Level 1
Occult Eye – Level N/A
Servant of Darkness – Level N/A
Transfer Wounds – Level 1
Unhinged Mind – Level N/A
Unlocked Jobs
Cleric, Conjuror, Fire Elementalist, Grifter, Knight
Gear:
Assorted low-level reagents and crystals, and a dozen bits of golden furnishings and random objects
It took some time to read this over. By the end of it, Rotgoriel was left trying to remember what he had had before the rest.
The Cultist stuff hadn't changed, he remembered that. The dragon skills... Sandblast and Job+ were new, he was sure of it. Was anything else new?
No matter. Rotgoriel whispered the words that brought forth knowledge of his new abilities.
Sandblast
Cost: 20 Mox Duration: 1 Attack
Unleashes a torrent of sand from your maw. This attack effects an area that starts with your mouth and extends in a cone thirty feet long. This attack is constitution-based. It also inflicts the blinded condition on the target after a successful critical hit.
That was good! Abstractly, he wondered if he would be stuck with a gritty mouth after he used it.
But the next one made his jaw drop a bit.
This.
This was power.
Job+
Cost: N/A Duration: Permanent
As the whispers of the ancestors have given counsel and approval to you, your mind has expanded and grown. A second job is yours, to help you remake the world as you see fit. Once you choose it, this skill shall vanish from your list.
Rotgoriel wasn't sure how much approval he'd really gotten from the ancestors during the last dream session, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had access to an entirely new set of skills.
And though he had unlocked a number of jobs during his brief and dangerous existence, there was one choice that loomed above all the others.
A dragon god, a thing of impossibility and blasphemy, wished him to be its Cleric.
He had been set in motion like a stone dropped from a great height. A large part of the god's plans revolved around this next step, he knew.
That gave him pause.
Rotgoriel ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling them, familiar yet not-so-familiar after his explosive growth. He had the power to thwart the god's plans, here and now. He could choose another job, any other job.
He could. But...
The god had made of him twice-named. It had set him up into a position where that had allowed him to fight and prevail against creatures and situations that should have ended him many times over. He'd died thrice, even still. He'd almost failed, time and again.
But at the end of it all, he hadn't.
He had reaped many rewards in the form of power and rapid growth.
Or, as those whining ancestors had pointed out, he had cheated.
The thought of those dead morons made his muzzle draw back from his fangs.
They would hate it, hate it if he complied with the god's wishes.
Not just that, but it promised more power.
Yes, those two benefits were too good to pass up. “Job Plus: Cleric,” he declared.
ERROR! Choose your deity!
“Job Plus: Cleric of Konol.”
You are now a level 1 Cleric!
CON+3
LUCK+3
WIS+3
You have learned the Blessing skill!
You have learned the Faith skill!!
You have learned the Godspell
You have learned the Holy Smite skill!
Your Holy Smite skill is now level 1!
You have learned the Lesser Healing Skill!
Your Lesser Healing skill is now level 1!
You have learned the Shield of Divinity skill!
Your Shield of Divinity skill is now level 1!
Rotgoriel nodded. Those were a lot of new skills, on top of the other ones. Though they were probably not needed due to his might and power, he decided to look them over anyway.
A few rumbled words and some light reading got him the information he wanted.
Blessing
Cost: 1 For per point invested Duration: Until canceled or dispelled
Clerics can have a word with divinity, enhancing a chosen ally in the short or long-term. To enact a blessing, the Cleric spends fortune, increasing one of their attributes by one point for each point of fortune invested. This reduces the Cleric's fortune by the casting cost of blessing until they choose to cancel the spell. A being can only be under the influence of a single blessing at a time. A Cleric can only bestow one blessing at a time. This skill is a spell.
Faith
Cost: N/A Duration: Passive Constant
To be a Cleric is to live with the eyes of a god upon you. As such, you've got a destiny ahead of you, if you survive. Your fate is increased by your Cleric level.
Godspell:
Cost: ? Duration: ?
NULL DESCRIPTOR
Holy Smite
Cost: 10 For Duration: 1 minute/level
Sometimes turning the other cheek only gets that one struck as well. Sometimes you have to call down the wrath of a god and layeth the smacketh downeth. Holy smite increases your melee attack damage by one for each level of the skill. It also makes a really awesome-looking see-through aura of a giant weapon around whatever you're using to attack. This skill is a spell.
Lesser Healing
Cost: 5 San Duration: 1 Action
Instantly heals a living target within a hundred feet of the Cleric, restoring a small amount of HP, influenced by the level of this skill. The amount is equal to the Cleric's level, plus the level of this skill divided by two. This is light-based healing, and when it is used upon an undead or dark-aligned target, it inflicts damage instead of healing. This damage bypasses all defenses, and automatically hits. This skill is a spell.
Shield of Divinity
Cost: 10 San Duration: 5 minutes
Gods are pretty good at keeping their chosen faithful alive. This buffs a target's armor rating by an amount equal to the level of this skill. The Cleric can only put this buff on a single target at a time. This skill is a spell.
All of them were straightforward, save for that Error one. What use was it?
He could experiment and try to work it out...
...but on the other hand, his companions were still missing, along with his greatest treasure.
That took priority, he thought. And so the dragon rose, stretched one last time, and set off to nose around the room.
The exits were worked into the mural so cunningly that he had trouble finding them, at first. But find them he did, and Rotgoriel considered each of the three openings carefully.
One smelled of smoke and spice.
Another smelled of water.
The third smelled of nothing at all.
And that last part was the most suspicious. Rotgoriel slid into the darkness, scales eating what little light there was like an endless night sky...