Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

The woman was old...older than time itself...and she was very weary. In the beginning, she had led a mighty army, but that was so long ago. The woman had watched as her forces dwindled and the believers, tired of the endless war had...one by one...hobbled away in defeat to become swallowed up by the mist-shadowed realm of lost kings and abandoned causes. And when she was all that remained, the woman stood alone and held her own for time out of mind, but the stalemate was long since finished and done, and now her magic was fading along with her once formidable strength. The tide was turning...mankind winning and the earth was losing.

Grimlor had been her final hope. The dragon on the mountaintop was the last of his kind, just as the woman was the last of her own. But, there was a difference. The dragon's power was not tied to the well-being of the earth. In truth, the contrary beast seemed to thrive on the poisons of mankind that filled the land and infiltrated the air.

The woman looked back towards the mountain as a bitterness took possession of her heart. A swirling maelstrom of lightning flashes and rumbling thunder erupted from the mountaintop as the dragon soared off into the night. It was a mocking, jeering, blatant display of power...taunting evidence of all that he had and yet refused to share.

Magic! Power, grand and glorious. Enough magic to cleanse the land and freshen the air and stem the fatal tides that doomed the precious earth. ...and all of it wasted upon a single dragon and his obscene lust for gold. T'lerin's eyes brimmed with tears for all that had once been and would never be again.

T'lerin was ready to retire in defeat. Ready to follow all the other faded creatures of magic, leaving man to his own self-destructive follies and the earth to mankind's cruel mercy. And thus it would have ended had not Grimlor overplayed his hand and spitefully destroyed T'lerin's beloved home.

T'lerin returned to her cherished valley for one final look. The previous day, it had been lush and lovely, filled with the myriad green of grass and tree, and the dew-shrouded song of bird and cricket. But now, there was only silence, blackened stubs and a few wispy tendrils that drifted heavenward. The stench of dragon hung heavy in the air.

And that proved to be Grimlor's greatest mistake. T'lerin might well have resigned herself to retiring in defeat faced with the ravages of mankind, for it was their time to rule and none could deny them that, but to allow a dragon to wantonly destroy that which she loved most on all the earth...that T'lerin could not allow to happen.

She determined that greed would be her weapon...the greed of Grimlor. The required spell would sap the last of her strength and the last of her magic...there would be none remaining to carry her into the misted lands of peace and rest. But, T'lerin speculated, if she knew anything at all about dragons, then she would win this one battle and just maybe the whole war.

A dragon's greed is something upon which one can always depend, and even more so, one can count upon the arrogance and twisted need to gloat over a vanquished enemy. Grimlor returned to T'lerin's valley just as she had known he would and thus, it was there that she lay her trap.

Dragons are able to catch the scent of faerie from a mile in the air. Grimlor was no exception. He suspected nothing. In his great and stupid arrogance, it never once occurred to him that it was all just a bit odd for a treasure trove of faerie gold to be buried in the valley he had so recently destroyed. Never once did Grimlor stop to consider the fact that, had such bounty been there all the time, he surely would have found it long ago. No...Grimlor did not stop to think at all. He simply swept up the silver-bound chest and flew off like a thief in the night.

Fast and hard he flew, soaring high above the clouds, until he reached the loftiest peak of the highest mountain in all the land. He landed on a narrow ledge and waddled into the dark mouth of a huge cave where, lo and behold, treasure of every kind and description glimmered and glittered in each nook, cranny and corner...silver and gold, gems and jewels, crowns and scepters...more treasure than the world has ever seen or will ever see again, all of it piled and strewn about to make a dragon's bed. It was there that Grimlor lay his weary head and slept the peace-filled rest of a well-satisfied malefactor.

But an odd thing happened as the dragon slept. His breathing turned to the noisy snorting snores of an ominous dream. Grimlor's newest treasure began to quiver and shiver and shake. The silver bands fell away and slowly, the lid began to rise. Gold spilled over the sides of the chest and, akin to a volcanic spew of moonlit spray, T'lerin leapt from her hiding place beneath the gold.

She regarded the dragonly hoard and smiled wryly at Grimlor's excessive greed. She raised her hands and began a slow swirl. Her voice held an almost deathly calm as she began to recite the words of what would be her last magic spell:

Treasures you are
And treasures you'll be;
But treasures heed well,
And listen to me.

Here you now are,
But there you'll soon be
For when the thief steals
Twice, what is stolen
Will turn into trees.

Ash and elm, cedar and oak
Filling the valleys
Forests and glades
Giving life to the land
And death to the haze.

Treasures you are
And treasures you'll be;
But treasures heed well
And listen to me.

She spoke the final words in a voice so laden with tranquil command, the earth shook and all its creatures bowed down in worship and fear. Grimlor awoke with an enraged roar of anger...something was very wrong. The fragrance of magic hung heavy in the air. Grimlor was quick to see the cause.

He towered over T'lerin in his frightful rage and although his gaze was colder than arctic ice, his breath came in spurts of dark and angry flame.

"Your kind has never been known for playing the fool, Earth Mother. Surely you do not seek to challenge me."

"I seek not to challenge you, Grimlor," replied T'lerin, "but to give you one final chance to use your power freely, to turn the tide and preserve the land and air until the race of man either learns the wisdom of preservation or destroys itself with its foolish ways."

"You already have my answer to that, T'lerin," hissed Grimlor. "You know I care nothing for the fate of mankind, or magickind, or even this pitiful earth. My treasures and I will endure forever and it matters naught to me if all that remains is a silent, motionless desert."

"Then I will take my treasure and leave you to your own," said T'lerin. "May it bring you much joy in your desolate solitude."

"Leave now and never bother me with your presence again," commanded the dragon. "However, your gold and silver shall remain with me, for I have no mind to see them go."

"Then I would not be watching, if I were you," replied T'lerin as she magically lifted her hands and faded away with a smile, taking her chest of silver and gold as she went and leaving behind only a wispy puff of translucent smoke...and one exceedingly angry dragon.

Grimlor gave out with a monstrous roar that shook the mountain. He hit the air running and spread out his great wings as he leapt from the mouth of the cave.

"I shall steal it right back again!" roared Grimlor, swooping down through the clouds toward the valley where T'lerin, calm and serene, awaited his arrival.

She did not even bother to attempt to hide the chest of gold. It sat in the center of the devastated valley as an open invitation. Grimlor did not stop to wonder why, merely sweeping up the casket of faerie treasure before circling back to his cave.

T'lerin cried for sheer joy when the beautiful trees began to appear. She laughed out loud when Grimlor's powerful roar of utter rage swept down from the mountaintop.

T'lerin gazed with love upon the newly-sprung saplings and savored the memory of earth as it had once been in all its deeply-forested glory...so long ago in the days before mankind came to rule. She smiled as her feet took root in the earth and, as her limbs hardened and changed again to silver bark, she spoke aloud one final time...just before the last tiny fragment of her magic faded away:

"I wonder whose greed will end first...that of Grimlor or that of mankind."

Novareinna welcomes all tale-travelers to Penumbra, her beautiful site/sight of stories and poetry and design.