Dragon Attack?

The grain caravan circled half the city before entering through the north gate. The grain for Longsaddle had been ordered by the Glimmerstone Council of Mirabar, who bought the supplies only to resell them to the city's residents at a high markup, while the residents in turn supplied them to visiting merchants from afar at an even higher price.

They say, "Ghosts scare people, draining their spirit; but people scaring people can scare them to death!" Everyone who had experienced the incident at the south gate was still trembling with the relief of having survived. Even those who hadn't been afraid at first (such as the two elves) were later terrified by the others. Once the dutiful caravan guards handed the grain wagons over to the trade officials sent by the Council, they scrambled into the Temple of Tyr along with the rest of the crowd. In this high-magic world, if you encounter a stranger with formidable spellcasting abilities who also possesses terrifying close-quarters combat skills, that stranger is either an avatar of a deity or a dragon in human form. Given the infinitesimal chance of a god appearing in the mortal realm, you can make a definitive judgment at this moment: this guy is definitely a dragon walking among the mundane.

As a temple dedicated to a greater deity, the Temple of Tyr in Mirabar was far less grand than the Temple of Waukeen, which sat on the other side of the city near the market. This left the proud and arrogant head of the Temple of Tyr, Bishop Vistark Orey, extremely displeased, yet he was powerless to change it. The people of this mining trade city were obsessed with the wealth brought by metal commerce, and the city's order was manipulated by the Glimmerstone Council. Aside from providing medical treatment, the influence of the Church of Tyr on the city was almost negligible. An extremely resentful Bishop Orey could only attempt to demonstrate his influence by crazily inflating the costs of healing, but this foolish decision only worsened the situation for the Church of Tyr in Mirabar.

When Drizzt and his party of thirteen arrived at the gates of the Temple of Tyr, the temple knights refused entry to the drow. The furious barbarian Wulfgar nearly smashed the heads of the guard knights, while Bruenor, unable to lift his battleaxe, could only launch vicious verbal attacks. As for the halfling, it was best not to count on him at a time like this.

The guards and mercenaries who entered the temple found the priest responsible for healing. "What? One hundred gold coins for a single treatment? You might as well go rob the Temple of Waukeen!"

"Before this winter, the price for treating a minor wound was only ten gold coins! It's gone up tenfold in just one winter! Father Jama! This is too outrageous! We've been old friends for years! You can't be pulling our legs!" Gosa, who was well-acquainted with the healing priest, said indignantly. Father Jama, his face showing signs of age, sighed dejectedly and gave a bitter smile: "Gosa! When have I ever pulled your leg? Bishop Orey set the price himself; there's nothing I can do!"

Gosa frowned and asked: "Has the Bishop gone mad? Why would he make such an outrageous decision? This is practically uprooting the foundation of your temple!" Jama leaned close to Gosa and whispered: "What else could it be for! A few weeks ago, Bishop Orey tried to enter the Glimmerstone Council, but the councilors rejected him without mercy! The Bishop returned in a rage, cursing loudly, and raised the healing prices tenfold." Gosa said contemptuously: "Bishop Orey is too delusional! A place like the Glimmerstone Council where they rake in big money wouldn't let him join for no reason!" Jama also sighed: "Indeed! Bishop Orey is desperate to expand the temple's influence, but he is far too eager for quick success!"

"Perhaps this is actually a very good opportunity," Gosa muttered to himself, stroking the beard on his chin.

"What kind of good opportunity?" Jama asked, sounding somewhat confused.

Gosa covered up nonchalantly: "Nothing! By the way, help me look at my arm first! It hasn't felt right these past two days! Let me state this first: I don't have the money to pay you!" Jama looked at the shameless mercenary leader with resignation, grabbed his arm, and kneaded it back and forth. He asked suspiciously: "What did you run into? How is it that almost everyone is injured?" Gosa said dejectedly: "Don't even mention it! It's been pure bad luck! First, we got beaten to a pulp by a dragon walking in the mortal world! Then we ran into a ferocious barbarian. Ouch! Be gentle!"

"A dragon? You mean a dragon walking in the mortal world? That joke isn't very funny! I've even had tea with an avatar of Bane!" Jama assumed his old friend was bragging. "You think I'm joking? I'm telling you! That dragon has already entered the city! Lady Sunderland herself led it in! If you don't believe me, ask my brothers if what I'm saying is true!" Gosa pointed to his companions and said to Jama.

Thus, the group described the scene at the south gate in a chaotic flurry of voices. "Hahaha! Little Sunderland is certainly bold, daring to tease a dragon! And to come back alive! That is the biggest joke I have ever heard in my life!"

Inside the Hall of Sparkling Stones, the meeting to plan for the upcoming peak sales season had stalled due to the temporary absence of Lady Sunderland. The portly Marquis of Mirabar, Erastu Larim, was chatting and laughing with the councilors.

"I am certain! The quality of our mineral products in the coming year will shock everyone! Look! More than twenty metallurgical experts and alchemists! They are the most knowledgeable people in the world regarding metal! Yes! Even more knowledgeable than dwarves!" Hearing this, the only dwarf councilor in the Hall of Sparkling Stones, Agranth Heavy-Hammer, curled his lip, which was covered in a thick beard, in disdain. As the highest-ranking member among the thousands of dwarves in Mirabar, he was loyal to the city, but as a priest of the dwarven deity Dumathoin, he was even more certain that only dwarves were the race that truly understood the secrets of metal in this world—none others!

The self-satisfied Marquis clearly noticed the silent dwarf's look of disdain. He waved his disgustingly fat hands and announced his fantasies to the surrounding councilors in an even louder voice: "Just watch! The best experts! I have given them the best treatment! Even from the lowest-quality ore, they can extract high-quality metal! Mysterious alchemical formulas make ordinary black iron possess magical properties like mithril! We will no longer rely on the quantity of trade to survive! Small and exquisite products are the best choice! Armor imbued with magic! Legendary weapons worth a fortune!" Marquis Erastu, intoxicated by the wonderful future, wore an expression of rapturous excitement.

A councilor interrupted the Marquis's delusions with some hesitation: "But in this way, our production will be greatly reduced, far from enough to meet the demands of various cities! This will have a terrible impact on our reputation. It will cause public outrage; for years, this has already caused dissatisfaction among other lords!"

"Then let them come and buy more legendary equipment! I will sell it to them at a fair price! Of course! If they really don't have the gold coins, those poor wretches can learn from the goblins and orcs! Wooden shields are also quite sturdy! Hahaha—!" The bloated Marquis laughed arrogantly, and the other councilors joined in with sycophantic laughter. The councilor who had just spoken sighed with a flushed face, while the lethargic dwarf councilor beside him snorted, kicking the chair beneath him with his short legs in dissatisfaction.

Just as the councilors were unscrupulously criticizing the decline of the southern nobles, the doors of the council chamber were pushed open, and a guard with a panicked expression ran into the hall. Marquis Erastu reprimanded him with extreme dissatisfaction: "Has no one taught you to knock before entering? You uncultured fellow! Get out! This is not a place for you!"

"But my lord! I am a messenger for Lady Sunderland; she has important matters to notify you of!" the extremely embarrassed guard replied, at a loss for what to do.

"What important matters? Could they be more important than our trade plan? (Laughs loudly) Very well! I am a magnanimous lord! Guard! Tell me of your so-called important matter and let me see if it is truly that urgent!" The lord's feigned elegant posture was nauseating, but no one dared to laugh at him, except for the dwarf!

The guard looked at the other councilors, feeling somewhat troubled: "But..."

"If you don't speak, get out of this room!" Erastu was somewhat angered by Agranth Heavy-Hammer's mockery, but clearly, the dwarf's vital role in Mirabar forced him to vent his resentment on the poor guard instead.

"Yes! My lord! A dragon walking in the mortal world has entered Mirabar. Lady Sunderland wants me to tell you to prepare for contingencies as soon as possible!" The guard had no choice but to state the message he was tasked to deliver.

"A dragon walking in the world? Hahaha! Are you here specifically to amuse us? Is that it?" Everyone in the hall burst into laughter, including the dwarf!

"It is true! My lord! This is what we saw with our own eyes! The grain caravan from Longsaddle was captured by this dragon! Mr. Elrago of the Habel Family has already been buried in the dragon's belly! Lady Sunderland personally exposed its disguise! However, the Magistrate has temporarily stabilized the dragon for now!" To convince the Marquis, the guard could only present his conjecture as fact.

The dwarf councilor, Agranth Heavy-Hammer, stopped laughing and interjected: "Lady Sunderland would never make such an outrageous joke! Either this guard is lying (at this, the messenger guard hurriedly swore an oath on his honor) or there really is a dragon that has entered Mirabar!" At this point, the dwarf's expression changed.

Hearing the dwarf's words, everyone's expression shifted. Panic and chaos erupted, and the hall was suddenly in an uproar, with tables and chairs thrown into disarray. The portly Erastu was so terrified that he called out to his guards repeatedly: "Degafur! Degafur! Quickly! Quickly! Protect me and get me out of here! Take me away from here!"

The dwarf councilor also shouted: "Torg! Torg! Damn it! Assemble the Axe of Mirabar! Assemble the Axe of Mirabar! We are going to war with a dragon!"