Ethigrim had never seen a dragon. His father had often spoken about them, with a mix of fear and awe in his voice.
Dragons were the greatest of foes, a worthy challenge to the greatest of warriors.
Seeing one now, in a cave beneath the sea, was more than a little exciting to Ethigrim. The creature, covered in scales and spikes, was abhorrent but majestic. When it spoke in its native tongue each syllable chilled his very bones.
Dragons were thought to be extinct, the Dragonborn killed the last of them. The knowledge that one was still alive gave Ethigrim a twisted sense of joy: One day, Nord warriors might once again get to test their mettle against these beasts of legend.
…or not. He had been so awestruck by the presence of the dragon that he had forgotten that its kind was utterly evil, every last one of them.
It soon became apparent, however, as the beast demanded the crown of a Jarl in exchange for the artefact they sought.
He, and his companions, tried reasoning with the creature, but even the death of the entire world did not overcome the monster’s greed.
Ethigrim let out a frustrated sigh. He looked over to Llyjek, and their eyes met. Although they did not see eye to eye in most matters, this was an exception.
Talk was getting them nowhere. It was time for battle.