Butcher of Gadobhra Chapter 454 (Patreon)

It was a quietly furious Lesser God Emperor Unca Varn who manifested upon his thrown, and frankly, the priests were disappointed. He sat, thinking and mumbling to himself, cursing his friend/foe, Dammitbilly, and plotting his downfall. Minutes went by, and Unca Varn heaved himself from his throne and staggered to the feeding trough where he preferred his meals to come from. He had half filled a bowl with roasted honied hoppers and fresh grapes when he noticed the carved teakwood bowl. It was a beautiful work of art showing the ascension of God-King Tikitlitupac and his death by Godfire a day later as he stood upon the great pyramid during the storm-calling ceremony. It was a popular story told to children who liked to climb.

Unca Varn scowled,"What happened to my golden bowls?"

The priests bowed and explained the situation, "It is a new lunar month and the shiny metal bowls have been stored away. To please you, Lesser God Emperor Unca Varn, we have set our best carvers to make sturdy bowls of the hardest wood. They are perfect for a master of ranting. We saw that you hesitated to throw the shiny metal bowls that dented so easily. Fear not! These bowls will withstand even the greatest of ranting!"

Vernon looked around the room, noting that his throne was different and the wall sconces had been replaced along with any other item containing gold. Even the crazy crystal ball with a gold base was gone. No loss, the stupid thing never worked and had given him a headache. "Well, bring them back. In fact, I need a wagonload of the shiny metal. It's time to get this show on the road and find a bank."

The priests looked at each other, chattering in their own language, mostly arguing about the best way to inform Uncle Varn of the new God Emperor, and how best to enjoy his ranting. Some opted to dispose of the old God Emperor, citing the costs of keeping him fed. But others disagreed. They saw that Unca Varn meant to test the new God Emperor and challenge him for the shinies. This was good, just as Dammitbilly challenged Unca Varn. Only in conflict would the truly worthy emerge to lead them.

It had always been so. Under high-priest Gor-Sloth, the city had decayed as the factions warred and the outer villages rebelled. When Unca Varn miraculously appeared with his human troops and attacked by surprise, the priesthood cheered when Gor-Sloth was slain. It was the dawn of a new age and now they marched North to make war. The appearance of the God-Emperor-From-The-Stars-Arthramax was still being debated. Some claimed that Unca Varn was the herald of Arthramax, as seen by his love of the shiny, soft metal that the new God Emperor slept upon. Others claimed Unca Varn was weak and had invited the challenge. A third faction shrugged and pointed at the ancient stone glyphs saying that everything was happening as they had foretold. It was an easy claim since they tended to foretell everything they could think of.

A priest clapped his hands three times and shouted, "Unca Varn demands a wagon. Bring one now. We go to the Emperor's Vault of Shiny Metal. Form the great procession and bring snacks."

Vernon still wasn't able to understand much of what was said but was happy when his palanquin was lifted and he was followed by a large decorated wagon and a parade of his subjects walking in a long, single-file line. They talked happily to each other and brought with them large packs of food and drink. They knew that some challenges could take days, and the priests hated to miss anything. They wound their way through the city and down the long staircase, ending their journey before the great doors of the Vault. Vern was annoyed that the doors were closed.

"Open that up and let's get loaded." The priests took their positions at the door but otherwise ignored him. It wouldn't do to open them too early and have half the procession still descending. An hour later after all the priests and their attendants had entered the huge hall and were waiting patiently, the door was opened. Unca Varn had entertained them with his pacing back and forth, occasionally venting his anger at the delays.

Vern strode forward as soon as there was room for his bulk to enter but stopped at the sight that greeted him. The pile of gold was still there, and much larger. Offerings had doubled as soon as word reached the villages of the new God Emperor's arrival, his impressive size and handsome visage. Back taxes from decades ago rolled into the vault. The dragon was napping on his gold with only one eye cracked open. His minion hovered in the air above him, creating cooling breezes. The dragon loved the influx of gold, but it was far too warm after sitting in the hot sun. Luckily his minion's upgrades had included more than an extra pair of eyes and tentacles where his tongue had been. Chillhands could now open a small hole into the outer void. The bitter cold was refreshing and kept the dragon's bedroom at the right temperature. Arthramax ignored the sibilant whispers coming from the hole but his minion was becoming a huge fan.

Vern looked at the dragon and the floating Ice Mage. "What the hell is going on here?"

Chillhands landed before the Lesser God Emperor. "I am herald of the Great Dragon, Arthramax, and assist him in guarding the sacred hoard. You may address me as 'Most Revered Hands of Many Chills' until you have proven to be a useful minion. Thank you for volunteering to shine the coins." The dragon preferred his 'Shinies' to be very shiny. Chillhands was falling behind and was happy to have a new minion.

Vern stared at him with disdain and advanced. Chillhands found that four eyes gave him no advantage against the scorn burning in Vern's two eyes. "I don't deal with minions, heralds, or middle management. Wake up your boss and have him use those oversized paws to fill up that wagon, I'm making a withdrawal."

That statement was too much for Arthramax, who began to chuckle at the sheer audacity of the statement. He raised his head, looking at the large, rounded human snack in front of him. "Withdrawal? What ignorant sort of creatures are you used to dealing with? I thought humans were smarter than this. Shinies enter the hoard, and they never leave. And withdrawal is a stupid concept abandoned by dragonkind in the Dark Ages. Gold stays in the hoard: That's basic fiscal responsibility!"

"Balderdash. Gold is just heavier money. It needs to go into a bank so it can be used for useful things, like buying land or investing in stocks and bonds."

Chillhands was shocked that anyone would talk to the dragon so, but his master winked at him. The dragon realized that his priests had sent him a bit of entertainment in the shape of a court jester. Debating monetary policy with fools was always enjoyable. "Bank? Have you been drinking the Gnomish Kool-Aid? Putting money in a bank only benefits the Bank! The Gnomes learned from the dragons and have been imitating us for millennia. They recognize the power of a nice hoard and work to convince everyone else that they should take care of all the gold. Once you give them shinies, you never give them back. They give you little bits of paper you can trade for goods and services. So sad that so many of the lesser races fall for their bullshit."

Vern gestured to the vast pile of gold, "And sitting here, my gold does nothing! Money is a tool to control commodity markets, bribe officials, and build armies."

Chillhands sat down and began to polish a stack of coins, realizing his master playing with the human, but also giving anyone listening a valuable lesson. He'd seen how benevolent his Master was in that regard.

"Oh my, you don't see the advantages? My hoard gives me prestige and the respect of my peers. And of course, the effect on females has always been known. What intelligent female would marry a penniless drake? How would she hatch her eggs? Wealth is accumulated by combining hoards through marriage, building generational wealth! As to all the things you mention, I agree those they are useful tools in conquering new lands. But it's as if you've never heard of the concept of collateral."

Vern's eyes narrowed, thinking. "Collateral? For a loan? From who? Why borrow when you have the gold to spend?"

A long sigh came from the dragon. "From the Gnomes, of course. They'd jump at a chance to make me a loan, secured by my hoard. Then I can use their little bank notes to do all the things I want to do while keeping my hoard intact. All one has to do is make sure they are acquiring wealth at a rate that exceeds the interest on the loan, and use their new wealth to pay off the principal. Any noble, even a human, should be able to make over 30% a year on that money, and the Gnomes will loan money at 20%, and sometimes less for special customers of ancient bloodlines. Not that you'd know anything about that." He snorted a bit of cold air. "Withdrawal, what a silly concept."

The priests all applauded, judging the drake to have won the first round against the lesser god emperor.

Vern pointed at the wagon. "Enough of this stalling. I'm in charge here. Fill that wagon. I want to be on my way north by tomorrow. Priests? Deal with this beast."

Arthramax had ceased to be amused. He breathed out a small stream of icy Dragon's Breath, freezing Vern in his tracks. Then a long tongue dragged him into the huge maw. Arthramax chewed with gusto, enjoying the taste. "Nice! Good fatty taste, but not filling at all."
His teeth ground Vernon's gravestone into dust. "Oh, but he had a pit inside of him. Make a note of that, Chillhands. I don't like the food with pits."

The priests declared a holiday and cast the spells that would bring Least God Emperor Unca Varn back to his throne from the Underworld. They could hear him bellowing above them. A squad was sent to assist him and watch his antics.

The entertainment continued the next day when over a hundred human mercenaries and players charged down the stairs to kill the dragon. The priests took the better part of valor and exited the back of the room through cleverly concealed panels, watching from small holes in walls disguised by the stone decorations.

Vern had ordered his forces to attack, ignoring their protests, and recruited the two dozen players who were in the city, explaining it was a special event and their first chance to slay a dragon. The players organized themselves into a raid, backed up by the mercenaries, and they engaged the dragon who sat, waiting for them. All of their well-made plans seemed insignificant as they saw the size of the beast. Chillhands shared the priest's wisdom, and buried himself in the gold coins on the far side of the vault, encased in ice.

Arthramax saw the horde of mobile snacks coming his way and started drooling. A few arrows and spells bounced off his scales as he let them get close, and then one large breath froze the Tier 2 and 3 combatants in their tracks, coating them in ice but leaving them alive. He grabbed one with his tongue and began nibbling at it, trying to see where the pit was. The frozen treat was delicious. When he got a little past the legs it evaporated and turned into a frozen pit. "Oh, I like these. Taste great, and less filling. I could eat dozens. If they didn't have pits I'd order them by the thousands." One by one, he nibbled the frozen army to death over the next hour, taking off their legs and arms, and then tossing the pits in a corner. Then took a nap, dreaming of low-interest loans.

Arthramax was surprised when a smaller army came the next day. They were so pitiful. They looked similar, but these ill-equipped beggars were obviously the poor relations of the ones who'd died the day before. He wasn't hungry yet, so he froze them and sampled a few, then used them to play a form of dwarf-skittles, spitting iceballs at them and seeing how many he could knock down.

The priests had gone back upstairs, where Unca Varn was pacing in his throne room and cursing the God Emperor Arthramax and Dammitbilly, sometimes in the same breath. He was very upset that Dammitbilly and his mate were now allowed to sit at the same table as Unca Varn, something the priests had expected would happen, based on Dammitbilly's many victories. After many hours of ranting, Unca Varn left them to speak with the spirits of ACME. Word came that the human army Unca Varn had used to slay Gor-Sloth had not returned. They and the 'players' were retreating into the jungle toward one of the small villages. The priests did nothing. That village was behind in their taxes and would not receive any of their aid.

The time of Lesser God-Emperor Unca Varn was coming to an end. But, the priests looked forward to the war he had started. God Emperor Arthramax had declared his enthusiasm for the war and the recruiters were carrying word to all of the far-flung villages to assemble and march North.