2/3

“When the Great Brown Death came to our lands, it immediately set out obliterating human settlements with ruthless efficiency. We forest dragons were smug. Humanity was getting its dues now; A dragon that an infinite number of humans couldn't threaten, nor harm no matter how hard they tried with their steel and pikes.” The green recited, mimicking a smug, self-righteous smirk. Slowly, his expression faded to something much more somber.

“Then, entire groups of our kind would disappear. What few survivors emerged soon told grisly stories of how the earth dragon was fiercely territorial and violent as any dull, mindless beast. Worse still, it was cannibalistic, feeding on forest dragon flesh as though we were nothing more than ruminants in the trees instead of distant kin. It was as though the gods had smited us with ironic judgement for how we'd treated humanity in our youth. As powerless as a human was against one of us, we were equally as impotent at stopping the earth dragon from slaying and devouring any green that found themselves in his calamitous path. He moved like a great tornado, leaving only death in his wake, forests left newly ruled only by the deer and squirrel that had managed to avoid his baleful course. We couldn't predict where he would move next, we could only try and stay out ahead of the storm. The Wandering End, we called him at first, not knowing his name, for he spoke no words amidst his ghastly work. It was by chance, once, that we heard human survivors speak of him in the night. A hollow, rambling shell of a man warned his kin to flee. It was then that we discerned his goal from the name they had given him. His real purpose: The Fall of Man.” Ollimar paused his story, purely for effect, the stray, dead oak branch he’d held having since bloomed with verdant leaves, giving his audience a moment to take in what he’d told them, scanning over their enthralled expressions with the smallest smirk before he continued his tale.

“And then, one day, he simply vanished without a trace. Left with rubble, we did what we could. We rebuilt. And humanity rebuilt, the two of us too traumatised to be at odds. Things had changed, and the world felt different. The humans have an idiom: ‘The enemy of MY enemy is my friend.’ It’s a petty, silly saying and yet. . . the two began to accept and respect the others' existence slowly and quietly from then on, both peoples utterly humbled. Fellow survivors, as it were, though we still kept our distance like before, if not more so now out of respect for their losses. Of course, a human's memory is only as long as their immediate family tree. Eventually, many of those simply end, and naturally, they forgot about us. More surprising still, they forgot about the earth dragon. Instead, they simply moved on. It wasn’t long until there simply wasn’t one alive among them that had even known anyone who had experienced the earth dragon’s genocide. Humanity did what they do best; they persevered and grew. For us, sadly, things weren’t as easy. Genetic diversity became more difficult to achieve when breeding. A clear lineage and clan system soon became necessary, and thus, through that necessity, our clan structure blossomed. The clans were led by the eldest and wisest of their territories. We were spread into at least eight clans at that time based upon their forested territories. For the most part, we didn't harm or interfere with humanity any longer. As we steadily recovered, they flourished tenfold.” The green says, sounding cautiously optimistic before slumping his shoulders exaggeratedly.

“ It was a long time before the earth dragon returned. But this time was different. This time, to our horror, there were two. Bedlam spread through the clans. Humanity naturally fears a dragon, but the mammals, with their short lives and shorter memories, had forgotten the wrath and deeds of the Wandering End. And so, it began again, with twice the effectiveness.” Ollimar said solemnly, bringing a closed fist to his muzzle for a moment, feigning concerned contemplation before he continued.

“It was hard not to notice something had changed this time. Much less of our kind got caught up in the wake of the earth dragons’ deterministic eradication. The female didn't harbor the disdain for forest dragons that the male did. Her empathy, and thus her presence, seemed to greatly reduced our losses. But it didn't prevent them entirely. By now, most of the elders had begun to reach their twilight, time calling them back to the forests from which we’re all wrought. Younger, strong willed dragons were moving in to lay claim to leadership. To the west, Argan, Lettered Sage had began to lead his people by ideals and creed, favoring history and tradition over ferocity. To the south, Miro, Animist Savant had begun to expand knowledge of magic and sciences to share for the betterment of the clans. And to the north, Doyen Rimu, Stoneheart of the Greatwood rallied all around him through sheer force of will, advocating fortitude, strength of body and the power of the enclave. Rimu, unlike the others, was not willing to allow these two to terrorize his home, nor his people without a fight. Knowing now that the earth dragons were capable of mercy, it meant to him that they were absolutely irredeemable, instead of mindless forces of nature we’d once assumed. Rimu rallied those willing to stand, urging the others to do the same. Argan thought it was best to let the storm pass, just as it had before. Miro didn't believe in answering violence with more violence and was prepared to accept whatever fate such a stance brought him. Enraged but determined, It took Rimu time to gather a following to face to earth dragons. By the time he had, the female had already gone her own way, disappearing from the continent, leaving the male to continue his grim work alone, as he had so many years before. This was the opportunity Rimu needed. He had prepared to fight them both off, and now with only one to face, his newly formed clan would strike the beast down, once and for all.” Ollimar paused, pacing as his audience listed, leaned forward to hear how the story ended, though some of those gathered could already extrapolate the conclusion.

“With a small army of forest dragons at his back, Doyen Rimu, Stoneheart of the Greatwood, mounted an attack on the Wandering End. They approached the vast mountain range that divides our continent, knowing it was where the Great Brown Death made his home. They would prove to him that this was THEIR home. They would not be cowed, they would not be stepped on, and they would never submit to an outsider, even if it meant their end.” Ollimar says, voice filled with fitting determination and resolve, emerald eye flitting to gauge the reaction of his audience.

“The battle lasted minutes. Rimu was the first to fall, dismembered and broken before his ranks. Fear and doubt spread through their group; The forest dragons had never known real conflict. They’d never known battle, and none had ever fought for their lives. The earth dragon had been born to conflict, like all of his kind, hardened and keened by constant death and pain and the impossibly harsh climate of his homelands far to the east. We were outclassed entirely, despite our numbers, and the clans were left in anguish when Rimu returned, barely alive and carried by the only two survivors.” Ollimar spoke softly, his tone sounding exhausted. Murmurs sounded out among his audience, several of them casting their eyes to the ground in solace.

---

An awesome headshot of the old brown by  Goldammer Be certain you give their gallery a look, it's got some amazing pieces in there to behold!

Despite having my nitpicks about this pieces, I've always loved the coloring and lighting so very much. Even the simple background Goldammer added to this piece just fits so well into the profile of the old brown.

Ollimar's story began in the previous submission, and will conclude in the next submission if you care about that sort of thing.