#lowerburg

When the dragon awoke it began to terrorize those that disturbed its centuries old slumber. It was funny, how the greed of the halflings drove them to dig into the glacier and they bothered the one thing that was greedier than they were. Salabyr laughed at the memory, a deep croaking noise.

As always, “heroes” formed and they went to fight the wyrm, they of course failed as most “heroes” do. Like clockwork, more foolhardy adventurers filed in to fight the dragon. A few wandered off the path and Salabyr along with his brother had to “deal” with the interlopers.

Some time passed, Salabyr and his brother didn’t notice the passage of time as much as the natives of this plane did. Frodla had attempted to bring more brethren in to this world, but something about the constitution of these small folk made them resistant to these attempts.

The troglodytes they found were better suited as servants than as spawning vessels. Salabyr wasn’t sure the degenerated humanoids could even be infected as they lived in the filthiest dens. One day, a troglodyte informed Salabyr that the dragon had been severely injured by some heroes and was now recuperating. Killing the dragon, was easier than anticipated. The beast was almost comatose from it’s wounds. Arrows and burn marks coverings its ivory hide. When Frodla sunk its wrist barbs into the beasts neck, it tried to roar, but only succeeded in spewing forth blood onto the ice. The nova of flame explodes from Salabyrs webbed fingers, disintegrating the flesh of the wyrms head. The dragon’s hoard wasn’t focused on gold, gems, or jewelry. There was a substantial amount of that, but in one corner of the lair, heaped one on top the other, comprising a massive shaggy bed were furs. Great white pelts from the ice bears, striped feline pelts of the tundra tigers, massive shaggy brown mammoth hides, other bears, wolves, rabbits, wolverines, weasels of various sizes. Even an unusual number of walrus hides.

A few bones, the choicest of ivories from the mammoths, the walrus tusks and teeth of the tundra tigers still embedded in the skulls were found. Standing near the dragon are frozen statues of those that had brought the dragon so low. They provided the opportunity that Salabyr now had. Preserved and through a series of attempts, Salabyr was able to change his shape into one of the heroes. The dwarf would be the easiest, they were gruff and not very talkative. Perfect for what Salabyr had in mind. He needed arcane texts and a supply of materials to bring more brethren into this world. 

The halflings, so trusting, so thankful didn’t press the silent dwarf for too much information. He had brought back, gold, hides and white dragon scales. Luckily the halflings spoke his new name for him. “Are you Wilhorf Saltbeard? Did you slay the dragon?”

He did what any enterprising dwarf would do, he created a tavern and served simple food and drink at whatever people wanted to pay him. This was not meant to be profitable or to stand out. He was able to acquire tomes for alchemy and arcane practitioners. Salabyr carved a basement out of a small series of tunnels created by the giant ice toads. He kept them well fed, even domesticating them by creating a spawning pool. From the texts he learned to cultivate the toadstools that were so deadly to these humanoids. He didn’t want to kill them, some of them he even enjoyed seeing their antics.

But he had a dedication to his brethren, he needed to bring them from the otherside. To create more of his race, it was instinct. Salabyr didn’t languish at his inherent desire and obligation to his brethren. He was no more capable of escaping these desires than it was for the halflings to escape theirs.