GUMMY THE PINE GUM ELF

Gummy the Pine Gum Elf can take care of all of your pine gum needs he has salves, ointments, tinctures and air fresheners. he is also a top notch grappler he is the top fighter in his weight division. do not try to cheat this guy.

How to Catch a Dragon

There have been many songs sung and tales told of mighty dragon slayers, their bravery and heroism is legendary. The name, “Dragon Slayer”, conjures up images of mighty knights in shining armor astride magnificent steeds, banners unfurled and lances at the ready.

As a young man I joined my family and neighbors many times on boar hunts, armed with lances and hunting knives. We would chase the beast with dogs until they got tired and decided to stop and fight. They would back up into a thicket where we would then surround the brush and wait for the hounds to flush the giant swine out.

The boar hunts were always very exciting and more than once I had a close call with those slashing tusks. During these hunts I often thought of dragons and that this must be very much what the heroes must have felt like. The excitement, the adrenaline coursing through their bodies. I wanted to someday stand in that prestigious group known as Dragon Slayers. As I got older, I learned two things. First, dragons were believed to be extinct and second, that if you could catch a wild boar alive, nobles and the like would pay money for them. There was a great market to stock their hunting grounds, private zoos and arena fights.

The process for catching a wild boar is very similar to hunting. You chase the boar and run him with the dogs until he stops, but instead of spearing him to death, you rope and hog tie the sucker. Someone ropes his head, another person ropes his feet and then you stretch him out until he falls over. At this point, you tie all four feet together and pack him out to the highest bidder.

Fast forward a few years. I found myself in the employment of a Sir Frederik Frederikson, the youngest son of a powerful family. We were in a very remote mountain valley, speaking to a dwarven shepherd when we learned that there was local trouble with a medium size dragon, no more than fifty feet in length. The dwarf was actually quite profane and had some very imaginative ways of describing the dragon, it’s family and ancestry, but the short of it was this. The dragon couldn’t speak Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, or anything but dragon. To top it off, this dragon was so lazy and lacking in self-respect, that it would steal and eat domestic sheep. Most dragons feel it below them to eat domestic livestock unless it’s part of a castle siege for treasure and princesses. In that case it’s considered okay. Everyone gets peckish during a siege.

Sir Frederikson volunteered to slay the foul beast, so off we went, up the mountain to find it’s lair. As we climbed, I suggested the possibility of catching the dragon rather than killing it. I had heard that if a dragon swears by it’s name, it is magically bound to perform it’s side of whatever agreement was made. I was also sure that there had to be someone willing to pay very nicely for a dragon. I presented Sir Frederikson with my idea. He mulled it over for a time and agreed that my plan to catch the dragon was monetarily a better plan and that we should give it a try. If we failed, we could always kill it on a second attempt.

By evening, we had located the lair. We made camp not far away, nestled between large boulders. The dwarf had also given us the dragon’s daily routine. It slept most of the time, only leaving it’s den once a week to feed. According to the dwarf, it was very punctual. Tuesday mornings at six o’clock in the morning, it would emerge from the lair, fly around for an hour, eat one of the sheep, then be back inside by nine where it stayed until the next Tuesday. My plan was to catch the dragon as it left it’s lair.

Tuesday morning found me ready and waiting. I was on my little mare, a viking horse, small, stocky, gaited, and the most reliable steed I had ever ridden. I was just above the cave’s entrance with a strong rope I planned to throw over the critter’s head when it emerged from the cave. Sir Frederikson had another rope he would use to get the back feet tied and we would do this the same way I had done before with the wild boars. We had not been waiting at our posts for very long when we heard the dragon moving and working his way to the entrance. He let out some thunderous bellows and shot fire out of the opening. It was all very impressive. Suddenly it was there, standing just outside it’s cave. It wasn’t much of a dragon, but it was the only dragon I had ever seen and even a scrawny, uneducated, hill-billy dragon is an impressive sight. I was so impressed that I almost forgot to throw my rope. He unfurled his wings, I threw the rope, not a moment too soon. The next instant, he flapped and shot into the air, sending his head right through my loop. The moment the rope was over his head, I dallied off on my saddle. Have you ever seen someone get clothes-lined? The poor sucker had no idea what had hit him. He did an arial somersault and landed flat on his back, letting out a blast of flame right in Sir Frederikson’s direction. Sir Frederikson’s horse was not amused and fled the scene, taking his rider and rope with him.

So there I sat, not knowing what to do next. The dragon didn’t give me much time to wonder. He quickly recovered and launched himself from the mountain side. He was prepared this time and I was the one that was swept off my feet. My horse and I found ourselves airborne. It was a wild ride, to say the least. We flew way out over the valley and that is when things got strange. A second dragon appeared and was very angry, but not at me. She was a blue, scaly lizard, speaking Common. She came out, calling my dragon a bum and apparently had warned him that this was exactly what she had warned him about. He replied something in Dragon that I could only assume was offensive, because at that moment, she attacked him in midair. A result of the two dragons fighting was that they stopped flying and started falling towards the ground. At that moment, I started to wonder whether I had made a wise choice in roping this little gray dragon.

About a hundred feet from the ground, the dragons disengaged. The blue female sailed back into the air, calling over her shoulder, “You are getting what you deserve, Steve.” Yes. I have a name, I thought to myself. But my attention was really on the fact that my dragon was still falling. Not as fast as before, but still headed downwards.

We were gliding in at an angle. I was a little afraid that my horse and I were going to hit a tree and end up tangled in a tree with a dragon. Not a pleasant thought. My horse hit the ground running, so that our landing was actually quite smooth. The dragon on the other hand gave up trying to fly and crashed hard into a tree and hit the ground. I didn’t hesitate. By the time he regained his senses, it was too late. I had him trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

It took two days for Sir Frederikson to catch up to us. In those few minutes in the air, we had crossed a lot of country. By the time Sir Frederikson got to us, I had found a pixy that could translate Dragon. The negotiations took another three days. Everyone was disatissfied with the outcome, we must have done a good job.

New Beginning

I begin my history on this night, the eve of my father’s death, and the eve before my departure form the only home I have ever known.  I do not know that anyone will ever read, or care to read, my history but it eases my mind to put to pen the thoughts and feelings coursing through my mind and soul.  

I was born Frederik Frederikson the fifth, and youngest, son of Sir Frederik Olardson Duke of Roglund and Hollardan called Frederik the Mountain twenty years ago last month.  My father began life as the second son of Olard Count of Risoria a minor holding on the western edge of Northland bordering the wilderness, and through conquest intrigue and the brute force of his will became the most powerful Duke in all of Northland.  His wealth was great, and his sons are many.

Therein lies the reason for my departure so soon after my father’s passing.  Father’s will was read today before the King and all the nobles assembled to our estate for the funeral.  To my eldest brother Willard the Duchy of Roglund, to Adelhard the Duchy of Hollardan, to Leidulf the county of Shaermar by the sea,  to Giles the county of Haganes all of these with all their cattle and men.

 Last of all to me Frederick he left his name, two horses of my choosing from Shaermar, four hounds from the kennels at Haganes, and five men each from the Roglund and Hollardan, I was also given  the county of Risoria, lordless and deserted these fifty years since the death of my grandfather. 

So I am now Sir Frederik Frederikson Count of Risoria a land of bandits and goblins that has likely been absorbed into the wilderness that was always on its doorstep.  My brothers wish me no ill will, but have made it clear that they also wish me gone.  I was born much later than they to my father’s second wife, and they never trusted me.  They are all as ambitious as father, and see me as a threat to that ambition.  At dawn I will choose my horses and my hounds  and my men, and will follow the sun to my new  life and home in an untamed land.

Welcome!

Sir Frederik Frederikson and Jord

We are glad you stopped by. My brother and I are about to relate to you the incredible adventures of two intrepid explorers, the one, as he seeks to claim his inheritance and the other as he follows his dreams and calling in life. So sit back with us and enjoy the ride.