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So, this is the novel I'm writing.

PLEASE NOTE: Updates for this will likely be few and far between, as I generally write slowly when it comes to this.



Damn, thought Simon. Short, even for a dwarf, he was about 3’ 5”, and had a long, dark brown beard with twin braids, each bound with an expensive gold band. His hair, also braided and bound, hung down as far as his beard; down to around the middle of his chest. His face, including a few scars from lucky hits by unlucky goblins, was contorted into a frown as he considered the situation. They had been digging for hours, and the dwarves were getting tired. They hadn’t found any resources, just more and more stone with the occasional small cave. And now, on top of everything, they had stumbled into a cavern with a slumbering Golden Dragon in it, who had to have been at least 500 years old. A giant, hulking monster, it still managed to look as graceful as a winter morning, golden scales shining magnificently in the dwarves’ faint torchlight. With the utmost care, Simon tapped the shoulder of the nearest digger, who happened to be his right-hand-man, Dexter. Quietly, almost silently, he ordered him to assemble the digging party. As they were gathering, a young dwarf tripped and fell, yelling out. Simon winced.

Then the dragon woke up.

“I REALLY wish you hadn’t done that...” Simon said conversationally. The Golden Dragon roared and the cave and shaft trembled, causing all the dwarves to stumble. Rocks began to fall, and a dwarf yelled “CAVE IN!” when a huge boulder slammed into the tunnel exit. Another roar, fainter because of the boulder, shook the tunnel for a second time. Suddenly the boulder began to shake rhythmically, slowly, as the dragon slammed itself against it in an attempt to shatter it and break through to the fleeing dwarves. Unfortunately for them, it succeeded. With a crash that felt like the Iron Teeth mountains were crashing down on their heads, the boulder shattered. The dragon flapped its wings, buffeting the dwarves and throwing several to the ground. Simon pushed Dexter up the tunnel, and started running. It was all they could do to keep in front of the blue flames the dragon was sending at them, but thankfully the two dwarves managed to surface halfway up one of the mountains, singed and tired. Simon panted, exhausted, and sat down. “A Golden Dragon. A bloody great Golden Dragon!” he yelled, punching the wall. “An entire party of dwarves lost because of this, one monster! Cthor’s mercy, what have we done to deserve this?” he sighed, and closed his eyes.
“No time for rest! Here he comes!” yelled Dexter suddenly, dexterously jumping up and diving away from the tunnel mouth. Just as Simon dived, the tunnel mouth exploded, and a head the size of three dwarves standing side-by-side burst from the tunnel, swiftly followed by the wyrm’s neck and torso, wings folded into its back. A chunk of rubble grazed Simon’s temple, and he fell. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the dragon’s elegant and terrible form disappearing into the distance...

Simon awoke in a bed. “Wha... what? Where am I?” he asked the air, confounded. A familiar voice greeted him; “In the caves of Bthalft, beneath the Iron Teeth mountains. Where else?” A grinning, bearded face appeared in front of Simon, and he pushed it away, also grinning.
“Torolf! Cthor, but am I glad to see you. Is Dexter okay? How did I get here? What happened after the dragon attacked?”
Torolf looked confused. “Dragon? What dragon? When we got to the mine where your party was digging, we saw a caved in tunnel, but no dragons, nor signs of dragons, nearby. During a sweep of the area, one of our scouts tripped over you, unconscious and burnt. I thought that you could tell us what happened out there, rather than you asking us…”
Simon opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again. He sat up in his bed, trying to decide what to say. “Well, the mining party is dead. As you know, we were digging for iron. After a few hours we hit a large cave, and sleeping in it was a dirty great golden dragon, broad as day. Anyway, I assembled the men, and one tripped and fell, yelling. The dragon woke up, and the events that followed basically sum up into: the dragon got angry, killed a bunch of dwarves, me and Dexter ran, the dragon broke out of the tunnel, and I got knocked unconscious by a rock. I woke up here just now. Has Dexter returned, or been found?” He asked, concerned for his friend. “Last I saw of him, he was diving away from a rampaging dragon...”
“Dexter is fine and well, we found him trying to walk back here alone, exhausted but hardly wounded. Just a few scratches and a burn on his shoulder. Nothing major. He was confused though, and when he found us he fainted. He’s been asleep, waking only once or twice a day for the past week.”
Simon was stunned. A week? He thought. I’ve been out for an entire week? How has the dragon not been found yet? Uneasy, he voiced his thoughts to Torolf, who said;
“If there is a dragon out there, and I trust your word that there is, we need to be ready. A Golden Dragon could smash through a mountainside to a cave system as easily as an ogre steps on ants. As always, our defenders are always ready to fight, but we can’t keep our people inside settlements forever. Especially not in a small cave-town like this. We need food, and our farms and hunters’ game are out there –“ he pointed vaguely towards the wall of the cave and slightly down “- where the dragon can easily outrun and grab a dwarf as a meal. Now, are you hungry? You haven’t eaten for a week, at least. Maybe even longer.” As if Simon’s anatomy was heeding the conversation, his stomach rumbled as Torolf spoke. “A meal would be bloody brilliant...” he said gratefully.
As Torolf left to order a meal brought to the stout wooden table sitting next to the short bed with woollen sheets, Simon wondered where Dexter was being kept. Looking around, he noticed that a bed on the other side of the ward concealed a lump, roughly dwarf-sized, beneath its sheets. Groaning, the lump moved and rolled onto its side, before loud snoring began to issue from it. Dexter’s squat head, with ruffled red hair containing various sticks, stones, and leaves, popped out of the blankets. As Dexter rolled over, a closing gash along his right cheek, from the bottom of his ear down past the corner of his mouth and into his beard, came into view. Simon was shocked and surprised at the damage done to his friend, and let out an involuntary but quiet yelp. Dexter jolted upright, eyes still closed, and muttered something under his breath. He then laid back down on his bed, waiting for Torolf to return with his meal. Whether it was breakfast, lunch, or dinner, he didn’t know. His eyes slowly drooped, and he fell asleep.

He awoke, again in the same bed. A hot meal was resting next to his bed, and he felt more refreshed. Ravenously, he snatched the wooden bowl from the bedside table and dug in. The food wasn’t anything special, just pea soup, but he was hungry, and it tasted like a feast worthy of the Great Hall of Nalaafinth. Simon swiftly finished eating, and sat there, content. After a few minutes, Torolf re-entered the room. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “You’re awake!” he strode over to where Simon lay, and sat on the edge of the bed. “I see you’ve already eaten. Good. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, I’m feeling fine.” Came Simon’s response. “Have you done anything about the dragon?”
“Yes, yes, I have. Bad news, I’m afraid. The dragon still hasn’t been spotted after an entire day.”
An entire day?! Thought Simon. I thought I’d slept for an hour at the most! “From your expression I can tell you’re shocked about something.” Torolf looked slightly worried. “What is it?”
“Oh, nothing. I just thought I’d slept for less than a day.”
Torolf’s frown deepened. “Are you... are you sure? That... No. No. There hasn’t been a case of... but then, he is a rather...” Torolf’s mutterings continued, as incomprehensible as Cthor’s whim.
“What?” Simon asked. “What could be wrong?” He was worried now. Whenever the knowledgeable scholar was in doubt, it was generally cause for concern. “Erm... nothing. Not that I’m sure of yet.” Torolf muttered, still half lost in his own thoughts. Nodding his head to Simon, he stood up. “I must go and consult some books.” He said. “An old dragon appearing. One who bears the...” Simon heard as the dwarf sped away. With a last fleeting glance at Dexter in his bed, Simon rolled onto his side and tried to fall asleep. Unsuccessfully could be added to that sentence.

You have a very good writing style, Gandalf.

I just like it. You've used imagery to good effect. Your description is good.

Torolf didn’t visit at all over the next week. Worse, Dexter still hadn’t awoken, two weeks after his injury, and Simon was starting to get seriously worried. With nobody except the silent Tenders – the Kûzan equivalent of doctors, who cut out their tongues as a rite of passage – for “conversation”, Simon’s morale wasn’t in the best shape either. He spent most of his days eating the same food, which became bland and boring to his taste, and slumping in his bed or sitting by Dexter. He was seeing his best friend in a new light – the handsome face, with a wispy moustache and small goatee, was marred by a long scar down the side of his face, from his left ear, down through his cheek, ending at the edge of his mouth. His startlingly blue eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily through his small, rounded nose. He has showed no signs of getting any better; his breath came raggedly, and he was constantly rolling from side to side.

Three weeks after the slaughter, Torolf returned. He was walking quickly and kept glancing at Dexter as if he would spontaneously combust at any moment. He reached Simon and quickly muttered:
“I know why Dexter won’t wake up.”
Simon sharply turned his head to look the scholar in the eyes. “What’s wrong with him?! Is it serious? Can it be cured?”
Torolf glanced at Dexter, and continued: “It’s serious. He won’t get better until something is done about it – he has been infected with the Taint.”
Simon looked across the room at Dexter. He looked the same as he always had, albeit with his new scar. “What’s the Taint?”
“The Taint is the power of evil. It could be the dragon you encountered was more powerful than any still alive should be, but... I don’t know how he got it exactly.” This wasn’t good news.
“I’ll kill it. I will find that blasted beast and rip it limb from lim-“
“Rip a dragon limb from limb?” came a deep voice and a laugh. Torolf and Simon’s heads both swivelled towards the door, where a tall, clean-shaven human with wide shoulders and an imposing physique stood. “That would be a sight.”
“Who are you?” shot Simon suspiciously. “Why are you here?”
“I’m Percival. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a human. I’m also a shadowmancer.”
Torolf, who had sat in muteness until now, widened his eyes partially. “What is a shadowmancer doing here?!” He exclaimed.
Simon tilted his head. “A shadowmancer? Is that a form of mage?”
Torolf nodded. “Shadow magic is powerful, but rare. It isn’t much respected, and shadowmancers have too much power to be trusted in most cases.”
Simon looked at Percival. “What’s a mage doing here?” He asked again. “What do you want?”
Percival smiled. It wasn’t a wicked smile. It was a friendly smile. “I was in Kûzû two weeks ago, when I heard a rumour that a Golden Dragon had been spotted out near Bthalft. I finished my business there, and naturally I came to investigate. When I arrived, I asked for whoever had spotted the dragon, and was directed here. And that is my reason for being here.”
Simon warily looked over at Dexter. “Do you know anything about the Taint?”
Percival looked at Simon. “I’m the world’s leading expert. I know pretty much everything there is to know about the Taint, without practising it.”
“My... my friend, Dexter. Torolf here thinks he is infected with it.”
Torolf raised an eyebrow in objection. “I don’t lightly make claims like that, my friend.”
“Okay. Torolf... knows Dexter is infected with the Taint. What... what can we do?”
Percival’s face fell. “If there is a dragon powerful enough to spread the Taint, we are in trouble. Unless... no, that doesn’t bear thinking about. If he is infected with the Taint, the only thing that can be done is to give him the sap of a Maranok Tree.”
Simon’s head tilted. “A... Maranuk Tree?”
“Maranok Tree. It’s a very rare tree that grows in the very heart of select woods, and it has a unique method of cleansing the Taint. He must ingest the sap.”
Torolf nodded. “I’ve heard of that. It isn’t mentioned very much in any texts, but the name is there.”
“And do you know where this tree is?” Simon asked dubiously.
“In fact, I do.” Percival said, standing as he did – from Simon’s perspective, impossibly tall and impossibly straight.
“Then let’s go! Where is it?!” Simon exclaimed eagerly.
“In the depths of the Shôk woods,” was the simplistic response.
Simon went pale. The Shôk woods were a large forested area in the southwest of the continent. They were supposedly inhabited by monsters, beasts that fed off the very life force of their prey. Creatures that would pursue their foe to the ends of the earth. Demons that were dangerously ingenious – and immoral. Well, not immoral, because they HAD no sense of right or wrong. The beasts acted on instinct, and were known by a single name: Trolls.
“The... are you sure it’s the only one?! There must be more! There has to be! We can’t go gallivanting into lands inhabited by... by... monsters!” The usually stout dwarf’s voice was urgent, and there was something else, something not often heard from him: fear.
A calm hand was raised, palm towards Simon. Percival’s face was the definition of serene. “Yes. It is the only one. Trust me – I’m an expert in this.”
Simon was distraught. “We can’t go there...” he feebly murmured.
Percival lowered his hand. “If you want to save your comrade, we must.”
Simon’s head fell. Resigning himself to horrors to come, he raised his head again. There was a steely sheen in his eyes. “If we must go, then we must. For Dexter.”
Torolf nodded, fear clear in his eyes. He stayed mute.
“It’s settled then.” Percival said. “When shall we set out, gentlemen?”
“When are you ready?” Simon asked tentatively.
“I’ve just arrived. I can travel at a moment’s notice. How about you two?”
Simon nodded. “I should be able to go in maybe a day. Torolf?”
Torolf thought for a moment. “A day? I can do a day. Midday?”
“Midday it is,” came from Simon at the same time as Percival uttered “Indeed.”

The next day or so consisted of Simon running around gathering his various effects. His armour he rolled inside several blankets, and stacked it in a pile with his axe – Bianca – in a corner of his temporary quarters. Torolf was in charge of travelling supplies, while Percival had somehow managed to procure several spare ponies as mounts and supply horses from some unknown source. By midday the next day, Torolf had managed to set up three ponies carrying various rations for the journey, and a separate pack horse (or pony, as it were) with his own personal effects – mainly books. Large books, small books, thick books, thin books, square books, rectangular books – if it was available in text, he had a book of that shape. While Simon was clumsily (due to staring at the book-pony) attaching his blanketed armour to his pony, Torolf then added another pack to his own pony, and mounted. Simon finished attaching his personal items to his pony, and mounted on his second try.

A few minutes later Percival strode in, leading a magnificent black stallion by the lavishly decorated leather reins. The stallion whinnied and shook its head, its mane flowing after said shaking like a comet’s tail. Simon and Torolf’s ponies’ heads positively drooped in shame at the sight of this blatant display of condescension. Simon patted the side of his pony’s head reassuringly as Percival began to speak.
“Are we ready, gentlemen?” He enquired smoothly.
“I don’t know, are we?” Simon retorted sarcastically.
“Stop your squabbling, children.” Torolf said, smiling a little.
Percival nodded gravely. “Then let us be off.”
So they left. They rode along paths through the city all the way to the gates, until they reached the gates. The great, fortified walls of wrought steel slowly swivelled outwards, pulled by teams of oxen. The lumbering beasts must have had to strain to their very limits in order to create even the slow, rumbling motion that the gates went through. Eventually the gates, monoliths that they were, had opened, revealing the open world beyond... And Simon swore.

Right outside the gates was the gaping, salivating maw of a dragon.


Chapter 2.

This is pretty good so far! If I can ask, have you posted anything else relating to the world this all takes place in? Its pretty interesting. I like these dwarfs of yours.

edit: Nevermind, I found your "The Blight Descends" roleplay thread.

I really like this story and I remember that I had heard a lot of stories like this from my grandparents. Now things are not the way they were before, each and everything is going to change its ways and situations, e.g. in pastime the stories where moral oriented, whereas in these days stories are giving the lessons which have no use in our life. In-fact that may spoiling the lives of our generation. That is why I am against to all which may be illegal and unlawful