Acquisitive

In a small town on the edge of the mountains sat an old woman. No one knows where she came from or who her family was, but every day she sat on the edge of the market and told stories to those willing to listen.

This day was no exception.

Today she sat in her usual spot beneath the oak tree, a gaggle of children gathered before her, ready and eager for her to begin her tale.

She took in her audience with aged eyes, noting the cloaked figures who paused nearby to listen. With a sage nod, she straightened and began.

"What do you children know of thunder?" She asked.

"It's loud."

"It's scary!"

"It's not that scary."

The children went back and forth, teasing each other for a few moments before the woman cleared her throat, settling them down again.

"While it is true thunder itself will not harm you, it is wise to listen to it, for different types of thunder can warn of different things." She began to gesture with her hands, picking each motion carefully. "A gentle rumble means a storm may be approaching. A ground shaking rumble means the storm is here and about to start. But every once in a long while, indeed perhaps once in a lifetime, a very special kind of thunder rolls across the sky. Often accompanied by flat, amber clouds that cover the sky as far as the eye can see, this thunder comes in a sharp crack, followed by a growling rumble that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. This thunder you would do well to heed, for this thunder means a dragon has been created."

"Dragons aren't real." One boy interjected. He was one of the older kids, caught between his desires to be seen as grown up and his instincts to remain innocent.

Another child piped up. "Just because you've never seen one doesn't mean they aren't real."

"Yes it does."

"No it doesn't."

A third child jumped in, ignoring the other two in their quest to out-annoy each other. "Don't you mean it's when a dragon is born?"

The woman, ever unfazed by the fidgeting children, shook her head. "No, my dear, I do mean created. For, you see, the reasons you are unlikely to see a dragon anymore is because dragons aren't born, they are made."

Some of the children whisper to each other.

"Who makes them?"

"Maybe I can get my daddy to buy me one."

The woman cackled, a sharp, not altogether pleasant sound. The children quieted and returned their attention to her.

"Trust me, a dragon wouldn't make a very good pet." She took a drink from the flagon she always kept nearby. No one ever knew what she was drinking, be it water or ale or some other concoction. "I'll leave the debate of who makes them to scholars and other men of power who waste their time discussing problems instead of solving them."

She cast a brief glance at the strangers. She'd caught a glimpse of the younger one's clothes when he shifted his footing. The clothes were plain, but in much better condition than most travelers could afford. It was a giveaway of a noble trying to blend in.

"Well then," began one impatient child, "how are they made?"

A twinkle gleamed in her eye. "That is the real story, for you know, all dragons start off human."

A gasp rippled through the children, some astonished, others skeptical. One even rolled their eyes. The not-a-nobleman's-son leaned forward ever so slightly.

"It's true." She said. "It all starts innocently enough. Let's say a man runs into a bit of good fortune, finds a cache of gold. Suddenly he is very rich. And what does one do when they now have overmuch money? They spend it. Now, not every person who finds themselves in possession of a fortune becomes a dragon, but sometimes one such soul has the misfortune of falling prey to the Dragon's Curse."

"Why?" a young girl asked.

"No one knows exactly why one man falls victim when another in a similar situation is fine, but alas, it does happen. At first, it seems perfectly normal. They buy things for those they love, a few things for themselves, maybe even some land or a fancy house. Then it becomes obsessive." Another sip of her drink. "When one begins to acquire things just for the sake of owning them, you should take notice."

Not-a-nobleman's-son shifted, uneasy.

The woman licked her lips and continued. "Soon, the cursed one has more things than they know what to do with. This is when their appearance begins to change. At first, just a yellowing of the eyes. Oh, they must be sick, some might think. Then scaly patches begin to appear on their skin."

She watched as several children scratched their faces and rubbed their eyes.

"They start to get hostile. A simple question may set off a tirade. Slowly, the people around them begin to keep their distance."

"How do they get so big?" One boy asked.

The woman puffed up her cheeks and held her arms out as if to indicate a fat man. "They bloat up. The scaly skin is now everywhere. They shed for the first time. Now the scaly skin has become harder. They bloat again, and shed again. Each time they grow bigger, longer, more scaly. Their jaw shifts, they lose their teeth and new, sharp fangs grow."

"Do they grow a tail?"

"Wings, too." She replied.

At this, some of the boys again begin to chatter to each other.

"Cool, I want to be a dragon!"

"Yeah, we could fly around all day or just sleep in piles of gold!"

The woman tsked. "Do not think that it is a pleasant thing, to become a dragon."

The children quieted, uneasy looks passing on their faces. They had heard many of the woman's stories before and rarely did they have a happy end.

One brave girl spoke up. "Why not?"

"The physical transformation itself is rather painful. But aside from that, it takes a toll on your mind." she pointed to her temple. "At first you are just irritable, perhaps unsure why. But the process of going from a human to an animal requires a complete change in the way you think. You can tell that something is wrong as you lose your reasoning, your memory, and your intelligence. So you lose your mind slowly and suffer immeasurable pain without knowing why."

"Can the cursed be saved?" The not-a-noblemen's-son asked, his voice clear in a way only the educated seemed to manage.

"Once one shows the signs, it is too late. Occasionally a friend or family member will try to help. They only meet a grisly end, the dragon remembering who they are minutes too late. This is why dragon's roar. They weep for the lives they lost but are unable to abandon the hoard which they have grown. Now they have only to wait for someone brave and strong enough to end their suffering."

"What does any of this have to do with thunder?" The older boy again.

"The thunder is the cry they make when they realize for the first time that the transformation is complete. It is a cry of dismay."

A sudden crack of thunder made the children scream and then freeze as it growled above them, everywhere and nowhere at once. Seconds later rain began pouring from the suddenly darkened sky, scattering the children as they ran for home, leaving the woman and the strangers behind. Not-a-nobleman's-son stood, frozen. The woman's heart went out to him. The look on his face was that of sorrow, and of knowing it was far too late.