The Tale of Kragnar the Barbarian

And his hunt for the most valuable bushmeat in the kingdom.

Announcer: Welcome back to the Magic Mirror Network. We’re here with the mighty plains barbarian Kragnar, who is one of the Crawlers this spring’s Belman Fertility Rite.

It’s brought to you by the Temple of Mycelia. “The Power of Connection.”

Kragnar is one of the most successful Crawlers on the circuit. He is going to win the boons that will guarantee our crops’ future.

Cut to wide establishing Dagoth drone shot of Kragnar the Plains Barbarian standing on a butte, overlooking Lake Yagnar. Cut to close up of Kragnar with his hand on his son’s shoulder. He is pointing to something in the distance. Their skin is golden with the light of the setting sun: I was born in the Land of the Dragons and rode my first dragon when I was 6. It tossed me off into this very lake. Those were good times.

Cut to MMN broadcast studio — frame interviewer: “Kragnar, you love to fly dragons, but you also love to eat them?”

Kragnar dressed in full barbarian regalia sitting in studio: “We respect dragons. To eat them is a great honor. We pray to them before we kill them. We ask them to let us take their body into our body so that we might be strong like them.”

Interviewer: “I love your barbarian culture. It’s so f’ing manly and primal! I wish I was strong like you. Word on the street is that you are really here to hunt the dragon. How much does dragon steak go for on the bush meat market?”

Kragnar: “It is worth fukton. The only meat that is more valuable is medusa or basilisk. Only the most powerful magi and nobles can afford to eat dragon. They eat it so that they too might have its power.”

Interviewer:“What does dragon steak taste like?”

Kragnar: “It has the texture of a Headrattler lizard, and tastes like perfectly barbecued chicken.”

Interviewer:“Now for the big question. Are you going to try to kill the dragon?”

Kragnar: “Let us speak straight. This hick fertility rite won’t really save shire. It never has, because dragon is still here. That is what my tribe call ‘blahdity blah blah blah’. It is mastodung. Because I am big gladiator, I go for big kill. If I kill dragon, then I am hero and I get treasure. If I cannot kill dragon, I go for it’s tail. They pop off just like lizard’s. I can sell it and can retire if I don’t drink too much and have too many women.”

Interviewer:“We wish you the best of luck. One last question. Dragons have been hunted relentlessly. They are becoming harder and harder to find. Could they go extinct?”

Kragnar: “Dragons can’t be extinct. That’s dumb. They are too big and powerful.”

Interviewer: “You heard it here folks. Kragnar the Plains Barbarian, thanks for being on our show.”

With a horn blast, the annual Belman Dungeon Crawl was underway. A blonde eyed woman, a hairy red dwarf, a nimble dandy and a dark skinned elf with pretty pointy ears each descended into the dungeon through a door.

Then Kragnar’s eyes noticed how big the dwarves crotch pouch was. Was the dwarf really hung like a horse? Get your head in the game, he thought as he shook his head.

Then he noticed that the door’s thick iron grating looked like it had been rammed by a mastodon. There was going to be much glorious fighting in this dungeon.

A floating Eye of Dagoth followed each Crawler as they entered the dark depths. The technomagical drones broadcasted live feeds of the action to the tens of thousands of viewers who watched the annual Belman fertility rite on their magic mirrors.

As he watched them make their entrance, Kragnar thought about how some of these puny Crawlers wouldn’t live to see another day. He would though. He was smartest and strongest fighter of them all. He would track down the dragon, and pull off it’s tail. Then Kragnar would be so famous he would never pay for drinks or women again.

Six hours later…

Kragnar had picked up a couple of henchmen as he worked his way through the dungeon. They had been useful and had saved his life several times, but the best thing they were good for was killing goblins.

Goblin’s in this dungeon were crazy. They tried to cast a confusion spell, and blabbered on about “Monster’s have rights too” or “This is a hostile work environment.”

One claimed, “I have kids. If you kill me, they’ll grow up wanting revenge. Join with me brother. Let us end the cycle of violence here and now.”

Henchman Gregnok had cleaved the greenie in two like a piece of wood. “Haven’t heard that one before,” said the sturdy henchman. “Should we kill his family so they don’t come looking for you?”

Kragnar thought that was smart, but they had bigger fish to cook in skillet. Still Kragnar liked Gregnok. He was a manly man, except…well whenever Kragnar brought up the story of pulling off the dragon’s tail, Gregnok was, how do your people call them…a Negative Nellie.

“That’s sounds mighty dangerous,” he would say. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

Of course he did. Kragnar ate danger for breakfast. Danger tasted sweet like sugar, but made you feel powerful like coca.

Cut to Kragnar eating a spoonful of cereal. He squints, then nods confidently at the camera: “Danger O’s — Every O is dusted with real danger.”

Kragnar wasn’t complaining though. He liked his henchmen. But they never got burned, when the dragon fire poured through the tunnels. They said it was because they were sent to help Kragnar by The Players, the gods who ruled this dungeon.

But he was not so lucky. He felt like fire ants were eating him for lunch. He pulled out some of Barney’s BadAss Burn Butter and slathered it on his golden brown arms.

Gregnok watched him. He looked upset, but quickly went back to packing his gear when Kragnar looked up at him.

Kragnar drank the last of his pain potion. It had milk of poppy. He drank it, even if it made him feel funny. Otherwise each step would be searing agony.

At least I found a dragon egg, he thought. When he got out of this volcanus, he was going to hatch it and tame it so he could ride on its back. Then he’d be Kragnar Dragonrider. If only he could find its momma.

He headed up the tunnel, passing a vent hole where the dragon fire came out. If you felt hot air burst out of it, then dragon fire was coming, and you had seconds to escape. Kragnar wondered if the dungeon wasn’t actually a big pipe organ of pain.

After about 20 paces, he stopped. There was a dark rock in the wall that looked odd. Kragnar stopped to examine it, then he looked around. Where was his drone of Dagoth? It had been trailing him this whole time. Now the ever present eye was gone.

Kragnar pushed then twisted the rock and heard a click. A section of the wall slid back. He shouted up the hall. “I’ve found a secret passage!”

Then he ducked into the small hall and began crawling. It sure was warm in here, and it smelled stinky like rotten egg. The ground was jaggy, so it was a good thing he was wearing knee pads. Every Crawler did.

As he crawled down the hall he remembered the story of how his da had made a fortune by grabbing a dragon’s tail as it ran away from him. He had torn the tail off just like a lizard’s and sold it for a fortune on the bushmeat black market. Kragnar quivered with anticipation. Now he would do the same thing.

The corridor opened up enough for him to stand. He moved with panther like grace down the corridor before it opened into a large room with…

I knew it! he exclaimed. A big mouthpiece lead to convoluted pipes that disappeared into the dungeon walls. Levers on the wall could open and close them, so the dragon could control where it’s breath came out. Then Kragnar stopped.

Kragnar had imagined a bed of dragon treasure, but he had never seen a real one. That was a fukton of gold!

The dragon lay on the massive horde with it’s legs in the air like a dog taking an afternoon nap. It’s white throat was exposed.

If I stab it in the neck, I would have enough treasure to start my own kingdom, he thought.

That is crazy talk. He couldn’t walk across all those gold coins. It would be too noisy, even for a man who could walk through dry grass without making a sound.

The dragon’s tail flicked onto the floor.

You are a fool if you don’t go for that tail right now. If you strike quickly, you won’t have to step on any coins!

“I’ve been waiting for this moment all of my life,” he hummed softly, as he moved forward.

It was time to pull the ace out of his sleeve, well his underwear actually. Reaching inside his crotch pouch, he took out a vial of Dragon’s Bane and poured it across his dagger. Kragnar had bought the poison from a man many years ago who had told him that it could kill a dragon with one small cut. If I can just knick it, the poison will do the rest. He put the dagger back in its sheath.

Then he drew out the singing sword he had found deep within the dungeon. Kragnar commanded it to be silent. “Don’t speak unless I tell you too. Only then you may sing your Song of Death.” The sword hummed its understanding.

Kragnar tiptoed across the room, his sword in hand.

The dragon snored deeply, the sound vibrating in Kragnar’s chest.

The snoring stopped.

Kragnar froze.

The snoring started up again and Kragnar once again began to move.

“It makes you keep freezing, as if it were teasing,” whispered the sword as it vibrated in his hand.

“Silence sword!” whisper shouted Kragnar out of the corner of his mouth.

The snoring stopped.

Kragnar froze in mid-air. It was incredibly awkward. His skin felt like the sun. His muscles screamed in pain. But Kragnar didn’t move. He could stand still for fifteen minutes while stalking deer, but he hadn’t done it with his skin about to fall off.

The snoring started up again. Kragnar slowly put his foot down. He closed his eyes, but saw only white hot stars of pain as the agony subsided.

“The tension in this room is due to suspension. If you were a cutter, you could cut it like butter,” whispered the sword, as it shook.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” whisper shouted Kragnar. Why did he even have this sword out? This was a bad idea.

No this is a good idea. This is how my Da did it. Now it’s my time to shine.

He began to move with the pace of the dragon snore. He didn’t want to get stuck in mid stride again.

The snoring stopped in mid snore. Kragnar froze. I need to strike like lightning. Something is wrong. The dragon snuffled a bit and went back to sleep.

The tail twitched, then lay still on the floor. It was practically begging to be torn off.

Kragnar held the sword in his left hand, then pulled out his poison dagger.

“I thought this job would be mine. If it’s not, then fine,” said the sword at normal volume.

Kragnar cringed. The dragon didn’t move. “Yes! Yes! Okay. Just be quiet,” he whispered as he put the dagger back in its sheath.

He picked a gold coin off the dragon’s tail. It was very warm. It uses the coins to store warmth. It must how this giant lizard conserves the heat its body is constantly radiating.

That was a strangely smart thing to think. Where had that come from?

He looked at the tail and his mouth watered as he thought of chomping into its succulent, roasted goodness, the perfectly cooked flesh practically melting in his mouth. Kragnar knew he had to move quickly before the it flopped again.

Then it hit him in the chest like a giant’s club. Kragnar was flying through the air. He had always wanted to fly. The last thing he saw was a wall of gold heading towards him.

The dragon lazily opened one eye, and the sword began to sing nervously.

“I’ve brought you some food, because you’re the dude! He has an egg. It’s part of your brood.”

Kragnar stared in horror at the sword as he realized that he was holding the infamous Traitorous Singing Sword of Barathorn. It had betrayed that noble knight in his greatest moment of need, and now it was doing the same thing to him!

“Ho ho ho,” chuckled a voice inside of his head. It sounded like his own, but wasn’t. “You were so cute when you stalked me like a kitten.”

An image filled Kragnar’s head. It was an ant being burned to a crisp.

No…it was a knight being burned to a crisp.

No…it was a knight being melted in his armor by a blast of dragon fire.

Kragnar suddenly understood his place in the world. He wasn’t a mighty, barbarian warrior. He was a mouse. He was the plaything of a thousand year old, fire-breathing cat with genius level intelligence.

Stupid Stupid! Stupid! What was I thinking? Then it dawned on him. He hadn’t been. The dragon had been inside his mind this whole time, probably ever since he got into town.

“You are cooked just the way I like my warrior steak, medium rare, and basted in butter,” said the voice in his head.

F-F-F-Frack! Kragnar felt a warm stream trickling down his leg.

Then something else clicked. The dragon had nudged his dyslexia. He hadn’t been putting on Barney’s BadAss Burn Butter. He had been covering himself in basting butter! I am just a self basting chicken! Terror swept through his mind like a wildfire, but he couldn’t move.

Maniacal laughter filled his head, and he began to dance like a marionette. He bowed low before the dragon only to find he had an overwhelming urge to keep bending over more and more. He wanted to kiss his ass goodbye, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t have the flexibility, but there was nothing that he wanted to do more in the world, or die trying.

Just when he felt like his joints would break, a voice said, “Now now. Let’s make this worth our while. How many pounds of my flesh did you hope to get?”

Wha? thought Kagnar.

“How many pounds of my flesh did you hope to get from my tail? Pick a number between 1 and 20.”

Kragnar had a really bad feeling about this. Don’t think of a number!

The number six popped into his head.

“I am feeling generous today,” said the smiling reassuring tone, that felt like the razor blade witches put in apples to surprise little children. “I shall give you six pounds of my tail, only…”

Kragnar’s shoulders slumped. He shouldn’t have thought anything, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You are my guest and therefore you should go first. I will take six pounds of your flesh…”

Kragnar started to hum a war song to give him courage.

“Only it is going to all be skin,” said the dragon. “And..”

The dragon’s eye watched casually as Kragnar began to humscream his song.

“We will start with your scalp.”

“Too bad we couldn’t warn the poor bastard,” said Gregnok.

“Yup we tried. Damn fool wouldn’t listen. They never do. The dragon always chooses the bravest and the greediest. If we had said anything, those damned Eyes of Dagoth would have caught it, and we’d be dead before the morrow.”

Gregnok nodded. “Let’s drop off the treasure. At least Belman will thrive another year, even if its in the shadow of a damned demon.”

— — —

I put a fukton of work into writing these. Now it’s your turn to give back. I would appreciate it if you give me a clap and share this with a friend so I can grow my audience. Thanks!

Explore the technomagical world of the Belman Chronicles in these other installments:

Welcome to the Dungeon — The Story of Strappin’ Jack Hawthorne

Kragnar the Barbarian — Kragnar goes hunting for the most valuable bushmeat in the kingdom, at the Belman Crawl.

Why Cheesus is My Lord and Savor — Dinosaurs, asteroids and the reason we can love.

The Strange Gift — There’s a sucker born every minute.

The Butterfly’s Shitstorm — Monster right’s activists’ small actions have big consequences when they help free a gobblin.