Like most of the other caravan Dragons, with a RingaGelani, great performance isn’t the same thing as great manners. Extremely ill-tempered and rebellious, these Dragons snarl and hiss so much that it leaves uninitiated passengers numb with fright. If they’ve been fed a steady diet of shark meat—which they intensely dislike—they’re prone to snap at anyone getting too near. Since shark meat is cheap, the common practice of Dragon Bosses is to make it the standard ration for caravan Dragons. Yet the mix of bad temperament and poor food makes for an uneasy relationship between RingaGelanis and their masters.
In short, the RingaGelani is powerful, fast enough, and probably the only Dragon that will scare the pants off of you just by the way it looks at you. That, and the fact that a team of these beasts makes enough racket—the rumbling in their throats is the worst—to make your body vibrate. But you’ve got to love these hard-working caravan Dragons. Being strong enough to pull a caravan through an avalanche doesn’t come without costs. If you’re going to die anyway, why not drive a high-powered team of bad-attitude RingaGelanis like a maniac over some of the worst roads you can find? It’s an adrenaline rush no hot-clawing Dragon can provide. Trust in this: the RingaGelanis will get the caravan there, even if you don’t make it.
Special Feature: The Maggon Dragon
As has long been known, scientifically speaking, the Maggon Dragon is not a species of Dragon, but rather, something entirely different. More closely related to crocodiles than to actual Dragons, the Maggon has no close physical relationship to Dragons, and none of the social and cultural habits that generally characterize Dragons.
Having now made that clarification, let us move to BorMane’s account. Some years after his encounter with the Maggon Dragon, BorMane, in response to persistent requests, told the complete story of his actions on that day. The following is an account of BorMane’s words, as reported in the Norder Bay newspaper of the day.
The Maggon was a Dragon more likely to catch and eat beasts that tried to trap it, than the reverse. Its massive size, and greater strength, were generally enough to keep it safe from hunters. The Maggon’s amazing taste, however, and delectable aroma as it sizzled on the grill, made the dangerous challenge hard to resist. Especially for seabeasts who lived most of their lives on “seabeasts’ snot” as they called ship’s galley food, the peril of going after the great lizard seemed but an added thrill. So it was that when Sabre Tusk d’Newolf brought his ship to anchor off of Maggon’s Island, and went ashore with his crew, we accidentally discovered the culinary wonders of the Maggon.
When we landed on Maggon’s Island, Sabre Tush dispatched work groups to refill water casks, gather fruit, and hunt for game. It had been a long time since we had seen any food that looked appetizing, and we were almost delirious with excitement at the thought of fresh food, especially meat. I was put in charge of the party sent to replenish our water supplies. Finding a creek flowing down, we followed it upstream for a distance seeking the sweet springs that fed it. For its part, the hunting party set off in a generally similar direction.
The hunting party was moving very quietly through the deep woods, when they caught sight of brush moving ahead of them where the woods opened into a clearing along a creek. Approaching cautiously, their steps froze when they glimpsed a gigantic lizard-like creature resting on the wide bank of the creek. Stretched out to its full length—perhaps fifty feet—the creature seemed to be resting. The lower body of the massive beast was covered with streaks of red mud, as if it had run quickly through muddy ground, giving its normally bright yellow skin a striped look.
As they stood gaping at the beast, it opened its mouth and spit out a gooey glob of crushed bones and fur, apparently the remains of a recent snack. Three rows of sharp teeth glistened in the sunlight. Although the beast was at rest, when it swished its tail, the movement was blindingly fast—a blur. Lifting a foot, the beast lazily picked its teeth clean with its claws. The sickle-shaped claws clearly could slice a beast open with a single swipe.
“I’m telling you, Strummer,” GutCheck, one of the seabeasts, whispered in an urgent tone. “I know Sabre Tusk put you in charge of this expedition, so I’m respectfully askin’ to be excused from duty—I’m happy eatin’ fruit, ’specially if it means I’m not walkin’ around missin’ arms and legs.”
Before Strummer could reply, the beast suddenly lifted its head, dark red eyes darting here and there.
“It senses danger,” Strummer whispered.
He had barely completed his words, when the beast bounded into the brush lightning-fast.
Stunned at the speed of the massive beast’s movement, Strummer and his comrades exchanged glances of concern. They now understood the dangers of the hunt—perhaps they were now the hunted.
“All right,” GutCheck growled in a low voice, “I hope we’re satisfied—we’ve got a fifty-foot lizzy-monster out there, that’s quicker than anything I’ve ever seen, and we’ve no idea where it is.”
“It’s no safer goin’ back, than it is finishin’ the job,” Strummer replied, pulling his machete out of its holster. “Come on, it’s ten against one.”