Never Go Off-Script

Chapter 3 - Archer's POV

It was too cold in the mountains.

Gray clouds shielded the sun, depriving the mountainside of sunlight. A cold wind blew upward from the valley below, carrying the briny smell of the sea with it. It clashed with the downward smoke-scented wind from above in spiraling flurries of ash. It wasn't like this all the time — I would know; I come up here often enough. But when it was, it could only mean one thing:

The dragon was angry.

Why it was angry, I had no idea. But seeing as it was a hero's job to keep civilians safe, I had no choice but to figure out what the dragon's problem was.

And so, here I was, hiking up the side of the mountain in heavy-ass armor — by myself, I might add, because my wimpy horse decided it was too steep. I left her where there was still grass and trees so she could graze while I was gone, and I knew I saw a puddle of rainwater from a recent storm, so she would be fine on her own until I returned. If I returned. I mean, it's not like one can just waltz into the dragon's lair and ask, "What's gotten under your skin now?" Or scales. Whatever.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I hadn't done this before. The other instances when someone saw the smoke rising from the mountains, I was always the first to accept the quest to see what the issue was. I'd always returned with all my limbs intact and the problem solved, so that's what earned me the nickname, "the Dragon Tamer" among the potion-makers and village people. It was a stupid nickname, considering I never tamed the damn thing — you have to defeat the dragon in a battle to achieve that, so it's impossible. But try telling that to a village full of programmed NPCs.

I hauled myself up onto the final ledge before the dragon's lair, my arms aching from the effort. Scaling the mountain was difficult enough without the extra fifty pounds of iron strapped onto your shoulders and chest.

Flopping onto my back in the rocks, I lay there for a second, staring up at the ominous cloudy sky. The background music had shifted to the eerie orchestral track that signaled an enemy was nearby. A long time ago, this track made me anxious, but I worked hard to change that. Now, it almost acted as a reminder to take an endurance potion before continuing onward.

So, pulling out my inventory bag, I eyed my remaining items. I had enough endurance potions left to get me through this quest, not to mention healing potions if I needed them, but I'd definitely need to get some more once I finished here. I might as well visit the village potion-maker, since I'd be returning to the village after this, anyway.

But... I thought to myself, debating, why would I waste the gold at a potion-maker's when I could just go to a trader? The idea was enough to perk me up a bit, and I frowned. Why would I look forward to the prospect of visiting a trader? It wasn't because of that weird trader guy, was it? No, he was just another NPC. No matter how different from them he seemed, he was still an extra. Even if he was sort of interesting and a little entertaining.

I raised an endurance potion to my lips, downing it in one gulp and grimacing at the bitter taste. Then I jumped up, my sudden burst of energy not just a result of the potion. I glared at the empty bottle in my hand before tossing it aside, where it landed among the rocks with a light clink. It didn't even break. Pathetic, I thought toward myself, irritated.

Tying my worn white handkerchief around my nose and mouth to keep from breathing in ashes, I marched into the dragon's lair, my armor clicking with every step. The noise itself wasn't loud, but in the silence of the cave, every little sound echoed until it was all I could hear. Just one of the many factors that prevented anyone from sneaking up on the dragon. Not that it mattered — even if one managed to catch it by surprise, its weapon-proof scales and 360-degree vision made it impossible to achieve anything, whether it was looting or an attempt to slaughter the beast.