Honestly, Galanoth didn't believe it. A Dragonlord was coming to Dragesvard. Not just to stop by, they were moving here. Not just in a general area in the town, but quite literally next door to Galanoth's own home. This Dragonlord was going to be his neighbor. Their dragon was going to be his neighbor. And there was nothing he could do about it. The property was paid for. The simple cottage that stood next to his own simple cottage was torn down and replaced with a damn castle, moat and all.

"And it just looks tacky." He said. The famed Dragonslayer was looking out a second-story window in a rare moment of armorless-ness. It was currently the early morning twilight, the time when morning had started but the sun hadn't risen yet, leaving the sky in a faded blend of midnight and sky blue. Even in such poor lighting he could see the new castle standing erect next door. The building stuck out like a sore thumb, looking greatly misplaced amongst the cottages of Dragesvard. "Whoever made this thing obviously didn't know not to make their walls bright, shiny silver."

He sighed and ran some fingers through his hair, then looked around his study. On his desk were several maps with the locations of several villages having dragon problems circled in red. There were books written about the demons, their weaknesses, where they're found, what works best as bait. There were his own notes as well, written in the event that he ever took up an apprentice. Galanoth chuckled at that thought. "Like that will ever happen." He mumbled.

On the wall, the enormous head of a red dragon rested atop a dying fireplace. Dragesvard being built on a glacier, it got very cold most days, so when Galanoth had moved in he requested there be multiple fireplaces installed. They were all enchanted to burn throughout the night and keep the house warm, but he still had to replace the logs each morning. And yet, even if all of the fireplaces in his house were lit and (ironically) roaring, more often than not he would still be cold.

On another wall was another dragon's head, this time that of a plasma dragon. Plasma dragons were a rare breed, apparently said to live near the center of the planet, but he'd found this one near a trading town called Ioba, obviously quite a ways away from the center of the planet. A short while before he had the creature's head mounted, he noticed notches carved into its top left horn. In all the years since he'd never been able to figure out what those notches were from. It could have been possible that they were put there by his own spear when he killed it, but his blade had went nowhere near its head. Mysterious carving or not, he still considered it to be a great trophy and a good find.

Another wall was barren, holding only the window he had been gazing from. The final wall, the one with the door on it, bore a vast collection of dragonsbane-coated knives on it as well as the regular wooden door. Every single one of those knives had been used to either kill a dragon, cook a dragon, skin a dragon, or some combination of the three.

And this room wasn't his standard trophy room. All of the rooms in his house, with the exception of the bathroom, had at least one head mounted on a wall. All of the rooms, including the bathroom, had weapons in them covered in dragonsbane in case something crazy happened. There was a large carpet in the living room downstairs made out of a rather large green dragon's hide. The severed wing of a dragon hung on a wall in his bedroom.

He was a dragonslayer. He was the Dragonslayer. If he found a dragon, he would kill it. No exceptions. Ever.

And yet...A Dragonlord had apparently decided to move in next door. He honestly did not—could not—even begin to fathom why such a thing would take place. "It's almost like this is the pilot to some bad comedy show. Or a buddy-cop series."

Again, he chuckled at his own sleep-deprived thoughts. He always seemed his funniest when tired. Or maybe he was just so out of it at the moment that anything was funny. "Dragonlord and Dragonslayer: they fight crime."

Before he could contemplate what sort of crime that team-up would be fighting, he noticed his back was getting a bit warmer. There were a few rays of sunshine leaking through the window, signalling the end of the morning twilight. People would be up and about soon, and with the recent increase in attacks from the local frost dragons, they would need his help. Galanoth forgot his musing for a moment to look himself over. A thick (very thick) robe, some slippers, a night cap, all lined with rhoddu fur and stitched with love so as to be as warm as possible. All well and good for sleeping, but he was a defender in this city. He needed his armor.

With a final glance at the soon-to-be-occupied castle, some more hair rustling and another sigh, Galanoth left the room to fetch his armor and begin his day.

"Hard to believe they'll be here by the end of the week."


The next few days flew by as quick as a dravir fleeing in terror from the famous Dragonslayer. The frost dragons' attacks on the neighboring villages had increased ten-fold, so Galanoth was kept rather busy. The villagers had been told that his home was always open if something horrible happened and he would always be willing to help them. And come they did, in droves even. He barely had any time to himself at all.

Which is why he was savoring the time he had now up in his study. For the past few minutes he had been watching a team of workers hauling furniture into the castle. Most of it was still in boxes, but every so often he would see a bedframe or some couches, as well as a desk and several bookshelves. He wasn't exactly hiding, so when one of the workers noticed him and waved, he waved back.

He'd heard a lot from the locals about this new addition to the town. Apparently the Dragonlord's name was Price, a well known do-gooder in the region. Price had been travelling to different towns over the past several months solving the villager's problems. Bandit attacks, werewolves, even the odd trobble infestation were quickly dealt with. Unfortunately, that was the only concrete information Galanoth had about the apparently elusive Dragonlord. Most of the villagers' information was simply rumors. None of them knew what this 'Price' character looked like, how old they were, what sort of class or skillset they had, or even what their first name was.

Needless to say, he was very curious about his new neighbor.

He had decided in the intervening days that it'd be best to meet this Dragonlord when they arrived. Size them up. "Maybe I'll even send a basket of muffins as a welcome to the neighborhood." He mumbled. He'd probably have time to make said muffins, too: it was only a little after lunchtime and this 'Price' wouldn't arrive until shortly before the sun went down.

He was brought out of his daydreaming by the faint sound of flapping. The sunlight streaming throught the window lessened as the flapping grew louder. He knew what was causing that sound all too well. Wings. Dragon wings. They were being attacked! Instinctively, he reached for his spear, and rushed to the stairs. He was about halfway down when he noticed that he couldn't hear any screaming and his house had yet to be barged into. Unfortunately he was mid-step when he noticed this, and ended up tripping down the stairs. Ouch.

Thankfully nothing was broken. He checked to see if anything was sprained as well. Nope. At worst he would end up with some bruises, but nothing serious. Oh well, at least no one saw that.

Still...If there was a dragon in the town and no one was screaming, it probably meant that Dragonlord was here. That was odd, why were they here so early? He suppoesed it didn't matter. What did matter is that they were here period and he needed to find out more about this Dragonlord. So, feeling a bit clumsy and more than a bit stupid for jumping the bolt and rushing to fend off their 'attackers", Galanoth picked himself up from the floor and made his way to the door. It was time to meet this new neighbor of his.


NOTE: This came to me while I was sleeping. Or rather, when I was tossing and turning in bed and trying to sleep. Though the original draft was a Frostval story; we may get to that later. I kinda like this though.

'Jumping the bolt' refers to a crossbow bolt since I don't think guns are prevalent enough in this world to create an idiom like that.

Does anyone remember Zero Hex? Has he done anything lately?