The Legend of Thundar

The red dragon stared. A party of humans traveled in a long line along the river valley below, walking slowly, heads down, completely exposed to attack from above. Like sheep lined up for the slaughter. Litters bore the fallen members of their crew. The dragon slavered in anticipation of an easy meal. Claws clicked over bare rock as he shuffled clear of the stone overhang in front of his cliffside home. He opened and snapped shut his jaws several times in quick succession, working the bulging muscles along his maw in preparation for battle. He cinched tight the leather straps on his his jacket of plate armour and tipped back the metal helm atop his head. With a single flap of his wings, he sailed into the sky. For but a brief moment did the dragon allow himself a small indulgence, a heartbeat of time in which to relish the sheer pleasure of flying, that indescribable sensation of riding the air under one's own wings, the updrafts, the scents, the warming sun. A rumble in his belly brought his thoughts back to the present, and he stared hard at the men, using dragonsense to see more than mere eyes alone could discern. Not a one of them carried a crossbow, though one man had a bow strapped across his back and several others were armed with swords. The dragon nearly smiled as he drew back his wings and dropped through the air like a stone. Wind whistled against his ears. The ground rushed nearer by the moment. He closed in on the men like a bolt of lightning. A likely target presented itself, a lone human staggering off to the side of the main group, a pack atop its back. The dragon extended his claws and braced for impact. The human tripped and fell flat on its face. The dragon tried desperately to correct his course, extending his wings and twisting his torso in a panicked attempt to pull out of the dive. Too late, a thorn bush smote him a mighty blow across his chest, and before he could recover, a stout branch rattled off his helm. Instinct prodded his wings to fold protectively against his back, and he slammed hard against the ground, the force of the impact driving the breath from his body. For long moments he could only lie still, sucking in one great lungful of air after another. A human rushed up to his side. The man's sword glistened in the sunlight. The dragon tried to stand but could do no more than twitch his legs. An ignominious end. "It's not a bat at all," the human said. "It's some kind of a...mutant chicken."