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The Fable of the Dragon's BankOnce upon a time a Korovia dragon convinced the village of Aiton who lived below his mountain that their gold and valuables would be safe and secure from bandits if they gave it to the dragon for safekeeping, and that this would ensure the future wealth of the village. The mayor of Aiton and the villagers foolishly agreed to the dragon's plan, giving all their gold and valuables to the dragon who added it to his hoard - and then fell asleep upon it. Dragons find soft gold to be very comfortable to sleep on, so it makes a really good bed. Meanwhile the villagers had to rely upon barter, which hindered trade within the village as no one had any coins. Poverty began to take its toll as people could only trade for food or what they needed if they had something the other person wanted. Furthermore, when merchants traveled to the village of Aiton the villagers had no gold to buy anything with. That plus the bandits, merchants stopped traveling to the village because there was no profit to be made from the dangerous journey. Eventually the villagers became angry, and so they climbed the mountain to visit the dragon in his lair. "Have you come to add more gold to my bank?" asked the dragon. "Nay good dragon," said one of the villagers. "We want some of our gold back so that we can use it for trading. Trade in our village has slowed since we lack coins to trade with." The dragon yawned and stretched, coins spreading out from under his torso and a few trickling down the mountainside. "There you go. Use those. Now go away. I am very tired from protecting this giant hoard of gold." The villagers went back down the mountain, unhappy at this turn of events. A lucky few who had scooped up the gold that had trickled down the mountain used it to buy things, but it was scant few of the villagers who saw the benefit of this to their local trade. Eventually after a few trades the foolish mayor collected the gold as taxes and decided to take the gold back to the dragon, you know, for safekeeping. And once more the villagers had no gold to trade with. So again they climbed the mountain to speak with the dragon. "Don't worry!" said the dragon. "I am sure some more will trickle down sometime." But it didn't. Not for a very long time, and only then because a thief had come to the village. The thief who arrived was just a wee Hab from the Habbel city of Shorin far to the south, but he was stealthy and quickfooted as could be. He found nothing worth stealing in the poor village, but he had heard stories of a wealthy dragon who slept on a giant pile of gold - just ripe for the taking. The Hab sought out the dragon's lair, and found it up the mountain that lies north of Aiton. He snuck in to the dragon's lair and stole some gold, and then bought some things in the village. Conditions in the village improved as gold improved the local trade. Wanting more, the Hab kept going back to the dragon's lair and stealing more gold, becoming a local hero as each time trade within the village improved. When the dragon awoke he became enraged. Enraged that his bed was shrinking the dragon decided to eat the foolish mayor. The mayor tried to reason with the dragon, but there was no reasoning with a greedy beast who was used to getting his own way. Naught but the mayor's hat was left after the dragon ate his fill. The villagers asked the Hab if he would become the new mayor, and he agreed on one condition: The villagers had to help him to slay the dragon. The greedy beast could not be appeased. It had to be defeated or killed. The villagers reluctantly agreed, but fortunately the Hab had a devious plan. He contacted several groups of bandits and hired them as tax collectors. He then raised taxes on anyone who lives inside the mountain. The villagers meanwhile set to work digging a great pit and lining the bottom with spikes. Then they covered the pit with a lattice, leaves, dirt and hay - creating the illusion of a hay field. They needed to lure the dragon on to the field. The tax collectors went up the mountain, espied the gold while the dragon was sleeping, and promptly stole all the gold. They had been bandits after all and old habits died hard. When the dragon awoke he saw all of his gold was gone. He flew into a blind rage and stormed down the mountain. Straight into the waiting pit trap. He crashed into the spikes below, but did not die. The Hab ordered everyone to throw their spears and pitchforks at the dragon's wings, and they did so with earnest. His wings were so injured that he could not fly properly, and he crashed into the spikes once more and did not move. The Hab didn't want anyone to get injured checking to see if the dragon was truly dead, so he ordered the villagers to dump stones on the dragon and then fill up the hole with dirt. The bandits bought land and built themselves homes, becoming landowners and farmers. The Hab hired them as militiamen should the village ever be threatened in the future. Gone was the dragon, gone was the bandits who plagued merchants and hindered trade between the villages. Gold flowed freely within the village, and merchants came from other villages and towns to trade. The Hab opened a trade school to train carpenters and blacksmiths, turning the tiny village into a hub for craftsmen as they attracted apprentices who would later become masters of their craft. Decades later when the Hab died of old age, the town that had blossomed remembered his cunning leadership and erected a statue of him in the market square. The little Hab who had brought the greedy dragon low. The moral of this story? Pay your taxes lest the common folk come for you with their pitchforks and spears. Being greedy for more than your fair share only makes you a target for thieves and tax collectors. What will you do when the pitchforks come for you? The End.
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