Finn stretched his wings, retreating to the crystal ball at the heart of his lair. Callum was an unexpected distraction, but he made a fine addition to his game.
The massive red dragon scratched the scales on the underside of his muzzle. He’d have to figure out to do with the new noble. He already had a riding lizard plot beat at the ready, if nothing else the wolf would be another element he could slot in for the others whenever he needed it. Finn would need to get creative in running Callum’s game long enough for him to be the right age when he encountered the others, but that sounded like a fun challenge. Maybe they’d need a riding lizard to carry around a young ward? Something to think about.
He gently tapped his glass of his crystal ball. Adam was naturally still in his cage. Tap. Charlie, sorry, Chawsess was still working in the mill. Tap tap. He could peer in on Veles again perhaps? Tap tap tap. Surely there was an interesting story going on somewhere right now? He had enough players in his campaign for some dynamic collaborative storytelling.
Finn huffed. He felt strange. His lair was as it should be. He was well fed. Things were nice and quiet. There were no more guests with an invitation to today’s game. He shouldn’t have anymore interruptions.
So why was he so… listless? He liked being in control, and the Chronivac had afforded the dragon an unparalleled amount of control over his domain, an entire fantasy realm, and his collection of players. All powerful dragons weren’t supposed to get ennui. Something had to be done.
Perhaps he should go upstairs and see if either of his kobolds had an interest in joining the campaign. Mike and Dave would agree to it of course, and somehow find a way to call him ‘Master’ with every other word while he discussed the idea with them, but he wasn’t sure they had mental faculties to actually write up a character sheet at the moment.
A bit of smoke started smoldering out of Finn’s nostril. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it. That was fine, he didn’t have to live in undesirable realities anymore. The dragon pulled up his phone. It was… surprisingly small now truth be told. He could make it bigger, but he was beginning to realize the ramification of careless changes. No matter, he didn’t need to make any changes at the moment. He just needed to look at his profile.
Finn. Red Dragon. Right right, was there anything that looked out of place? No grumpy checkbox? No pissed off slider? Come on, why did he feel so… so…
‘Desire: Grow his hoard.’
Finn stared at the status prompt. That didn’t make any sense. Sure, he was a dragon, but it was the twenty first century! He wasn’t about to send his kobolds out pillaging for gold. Money existed, but he was staring at an app that could add any amount of zeroes to any bank statement he cared to pull up. Money didn’t matter.
He didn’t have a hoard! He wasn’t the collector type! A few cinders snorted out of his snout as he tried to picture his chambers lined with the usual collecting peripheral. He wasn’t about to start lining his walls with action figures or first edition records.
This was ridiculous. He clicked on the prompt and immediately tried to delete it. The app protested. “Such a change does not fall within defined species traits.”
Great. Dragons were hoarders. He tried to picture a pile of gold in the corner of the basement and he just couldn’t see it.
Finn fidgeted with his spare claw. Tap tap tap. All he needed was his campaign and his players. He didn’t care if the rest of his basement was empty. Tap tap. Species traits. Ha! Like species mattered when you had a Chronivac.
Tap tap tap tap- Grr! He finally shot out a small billow of flames. Why weren’t his players doing anything! He wasn’t getting any more PCs to this campaign! One of them needed to do something interesting!
He watched the sparks fly in front of him, and finally got himself to clam down. He… he did have a hoard. He’d been hoarding player characters. There had been a steady trickle of people bringing him character sheets and that tap getting shut off didn’t sit well with him.
Finn looked back down at his phone. He tried a few creative paths towards tweaking his baser instincts, but the app refused to budge. As a dragon he wanted complete control over his domains, and as a dragon he was slave to an instinct to grow his hoard.
Well, no need to be stuck as a species he wasn’t enjoying. Finn hovered his claw over the species field and immediately felt the most raw primal rage he had ever experienced as a dragon. Someone was coming to take away what was his! His status! His power! His scales! The mere thought of someone being able to tap away his pure dragon blood made him nearly crush his phone. It didn’t matter that the person in question was him. The idea was simply unacceptable.
He pulled his thumb back, and the rush started to subside. That… was a part of himself he hadn’t dealt with before. He managed to drop his phone harmlessly onto the table, but he was unsure what to do next.
Finn was stuck as a dragon. He was sure he wouldn’t let himself become a fox again. Something had to be done though, and he quickly got to work.
A short time later, three enchanted scrolls were sitting on his desk. He’d finely honed each word for maximum potency. This should finally help him relax.
“Red Dragon Seeks Daring Band of Adventures!”
The scrolls were calligraphed with an emerald-black ink on period-authentic parchment.
“Are you ready for the campaign of a lifetime? Combat, romance, role-play!”
The sheet had a large stylized sketch of Finn looming over his crystal ball. On the opposite side of the paper was a group of nondescript heroes of various classes brandishing their weapons. It was all done in a very classic style from before perspective in art was fully established.
“Experienced DM requires players for an established but flexible anthro campaign setting!”
His contact information was spelled out in a crisp, distinct font.
“No experience required! Newcomers and pros are all welcome! Can accommodate single players, couples, and existing parties!”
Finally, at the bottom of the sheet in bold, triple underlined text was one simple warning.
“Players must provide a character sheet with detailed backstory upon arrival.”
There. That should do the trick. This was total nerd bait.
Finn picked the Chronivac back up. With a few quick keystrokes, the scrolls vanished entirely from his basement. They reappeared harmlessly throughout the city, pinning themselves onto the message boards of the three most popular comic book shops in town.
His new player problem was officially over. His hoard was going to come to him from now on.
Finn leaned back in his chair. He finally felt himself relaxing for the first time in a good long while. He hadn’t realized how much that had been getting to him. He turned his attention back towards his crystal ball with renewed vigor, but couldn’t help but cast a side eye at the Chronivac app on his phone. He had become unsettled at the idea of someone, anyone, even himself, being able to simply tap his scales away. He was going to need to find some way of making this device’s power his own so that no one had a chance to use it against him.