You are a dragon.
You have burned down your first village. You have mugged another dragon for their treasures. You have 'recruited' an army of goblins into your ranks by your sheer 'charisma'. You have met your grandmother, who is a legendary dragon.
You have become the teacher to an ill-mannered juvenile, who apparently hates your guts. You have returned to your lair, only to find out that your 'recruits' had turned on you. It all turns out to be a misunderstanding. Oops.
You have repaired the damage to your lair.
You have failed to crack down on dargs in your territory. Lucky for you, your lair can fly.
You have now been cordially invited to attend a conference of mages, for some reason. You have met your mother for the first time in decades, and they are as abrasive, sullen, and as much of a shut-in as you remember. Somehow, you have successfully tricked the conference of mages into leaving you alone for now. You also took one last potshot at your mother before you left, leaving your wayward student with them. Oops.
You gained a slight amount of depression from the whole ordeal.
You return from your mother's lair, only to find out that your goblins have warded off an attack on your own lair. You make some repairs to the magical doohickey keeping your lair aloft.
You have been informed by your thankfully-competent subordinates that they are running out of supplies, and therefore set off towards the Sword of Vimanos. You finally faced its defenders which have boggled you for years, and you have won.
You are now currently looting whatever is inside the Sword of Vimanos, along with your subordinates.
You have burned down your first village. You have mugged another dragon for their treasures. You have 'recruited' an army of goblins into your ranks by your sheer 'charisma'. You have met your grandmother, who is a legendary dragon.
You have become the teacher to an ill-mannered juvenile, who apparently hates your guts. You have returned to your lair, only to find out that your 'recruits' had turned on you. It all turns out to be a misunderstanding. Oops.
You have repaired the damage to your lair.
You have failed to crack down on dargs in your territory. Lucky for you, your lair can fly.
You have now been cordially invited to attend a conference of mages, for some reason. You have met your mother for the first time in decades, and they are as abrasive, sullen, and as much of a shut-in as you remember. Somehow, you have successfully tricked the conference of mages into leaving you alone for now. You also took one last potshot at your mother before you left, leaving your wayward student with them. Oops.
You gained a slight amount of depression from the whole ordeal.
You return from your mother's lair, only to find out that your goblins have warded off an attack on your own lair. You make some repairs to the magical doohickey keeping your lair aloft.
You have been informed by your thankfully-competent subordinates that they are running out of supplies, and therefore set off towards the Sword of Vimanos. You finally faced its defenders which have boggled you for years, and you have won.
You are now currently looting whatever is inside the Sword of Vimanos, along with your subordinates.
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