Zaluraak lounged in his cramped cave atop a paltry pile of silver, lazily stirring coins with a single claw. The fortune dragon was sick of this meager existence. This dreary cavern barely qualified as a lair, this little heap barely qualified as a hoard, and the arcane essences he craved couldn’t be found anywhere nearby—no magical items, no trade routes, no undiscovered crypts, nothing. A tiny cave at the northern border of the Five Kings Mountains was unworthy of Zaluraak, who knew he was destined for unimaginable greatness. But to reach the heights he surely deserved, he needed power.
Illustration by Lucas Fernando
The lands to the north of his tiny speck of territory held potential for such power. Though they had once been inaccessible due to the influence of the demon Treerazer, Zaluraak’s recent forays to those reaches revealed the nascent demon lord’s once-mighty forces in utter disarray. Perhaps the elves had been useful after all. If this barrier to the north was no longer an impediment, then Zaluraak was free to expand. Free to find a better lair. Free to manipulate the remnants of Treerazer’s forces, to exploit their desperation for a powerful leader. He could be that leader.
With command of an army would come the wealth and power befitting a dragon of his importance. The elves were rife with magical items, and as trade began flowing south again, he could demand a portion of anything that passed through his territory as tribute. The elves were surely exhausted after warring with a demon, unable to challenge the might of Zaluraak. Young though he was, he knew that he was formidable. “Dragons do not fear elves,” he reassured himself as the plan further crystalized. Yes. This was his destiny. Not this damp cave, this pathetic forgery of the wealth and greatness that was to come.
Fortune dragons coveted, well, fortune. All dragons had a reputation for hoarding wealth, but fortune dragons made the others look charitable. They are inexorably drawn to gems, coins, and magical items, and these treasures are drawn to them in turn, embedding themselves in the dragon’s scales, making a fortune dragon’s body an opulent display of excess. In this, Zaluraak was a prime example of his people. Though his collection was small by dragon standards, he’d already cultivated an underbelly gleaming with the silver coins imbedded in his hide. Soon, he thought, that silver would be replaced by gold and gems. He’d finally be the guardian of a magical hoard, and he and his riches would be admired in equal measure.
The elves of Kyonin may have defeated a demon, but a dragon is another matter, especially a fine arcane dragon like Zaluraak. He admired his green scales and his belly covered in melted silver in the reflection of a serving platter, a favorite trinket taken from his mother’s nest. It wasn’t just the wealth he craved—the knowledge, the understanding, the power, all his for the taking, waiting to be seized. More than anything, he craved respect and deference. In fact, he deserved it. He’d gather the remnants of the demonic cult under his leadership, shepherd intelligent monsters into his ranks, demand tribute from the elves, and finally, finally have what the world owed him. “Yes,” thought Zaluraak, “first the elves, then perhaps Druma, and even the dwarves of the Five Kings Mountains. All of these traders will one day pay tribute to me, and their riches will be mine.”
He gave very little thought to how Kyonin would react to this, nor how he’d maintain his imagined empire. He was a dragon, and unfortunately, he was too young to understand that even that came with limitations.
Josh Foster
Pathfinder Society Developer