We Did Not Rob a Dragon

A Tale From The Mughouse
As told by Pongo, with unwanted assistance from Vyce and Pippers.

Before anybody says anything—
Yes.
We robbed a dragon.
And before he says anything, I know exactly what he’s gonna say.

[casually, from nearby]
We did not rob a dragon.

[immediate, unimpressed]
We took property belonging to a dragon, without permission, while armed.
That’s robbery.
He calls it a misunderstanding.
Pippers calls it—

[ecstatic shout]
DRAGON HEIST!

[exhausted sigh, then settling into storyteller mode]
This is why I don’t tell stories.
It started with a missing shipment.
Six cases of whiskey, two kegs of dark ale, and one crate Vyce had ordered under the description “emergency reserve.”
Apparently “emergency reserve” means liquor he isn’t supposed to drink while I’m counting it.
Anyway.
The shipment reached the Mughouse side of the Waylane.
Then it vanished.
No damaged cart. No broken locks. No witnesses.
Gone.
So I checked the manifests.
Another shipment from the same supplier, same batch, same sort of crates, had been delivered two days earlier to a mountain holding about forty miles north.
Owned by a dragon.
I said, “That’s interesting.”
Vyce heard, “The dragon stole our booze.”

[confidently]
Still sounds like a reasonable conclusion.

[firmly]
It wasn’t.
And before I could explain why invoices exist, Vyce had his coat on and Pippers had acquired climbing rope, three knives, and a helmet with horns on it.

[proudly]
Adventure helmet.

[deadpan]
It was a serving bowl.
So naturally, we went.
The dragon lived inside an old volcanic mountain with doors tall enough to walk a house through.
Vyce knocked, which he still claims means everything that followed was legally acceptable.
The dragon opened the door.
Old bastard. Thirty feet long, maybe more. Scales dark as iron. Looked like he’d already survived several lifetimes’ worth of idiots.
Then we arrived.
Vyce looked him dead in the eye and said, “We want our whiskey.”
Not hello.
Not excuse us.
“Our whiskey.”
The dragon looked at us.
Looked at the bottle beside him.
Dragon’s Breath Whiskey.
Then looked back at Vyce.
That’s when Vyce accused him of trademark infringement.

[defensive, slightly amused]
He got real particular about the name.

[trying not to laugh]
He asked whether there was actual dragon breath in it.
Pippers asked if he’d like there to be.
Diplomacy ended shortly afterward.
The dragon breathed fire.
Vyce threw up a ward.
It lasted about half a second.
We scattered.
Pippers climbed a chandelier—which raises several questions about why a dragon owned a chandelier, none of which were answered.
I drew the Mugshot and fired a few warning shots.
One ricocheted.

[teasing laugh]
Ya shot him in the ass.

[defensive]
Ricochet.
Then the dragon’s tail caught Vyce square in the chest and launched him across the cavern.
Vyce insists this was “tactical repositioning.”
It was not.
He screamed “OH SHIT,” bounced off a stalactite, fell about twenty feet—
And somehow landed standing on the dragon’s back.

[triumphant, laughing at the memory]
SEE? FUCKIN’ PLANNED IT!

[Pongo — deeply irritated]
He actually yelled that.
While riding a dragon.
Pippers dropped off the chandelier onto its tail. She describes this as descending “like a falcon.”
She landed face-first and hung on.

[offended but laughing]
A glamorous falcon.

[continuing]
The dragon bolted deeper into the mountain with Vyce on his back, Pippers hanging from his tail, and me chasing all three because apparently my survival instincts had taken the evening off.
Eventually we reached a storage cavern.
And there they were.
Crates.
Kegs.
Same supplier.
Same markings.
Same whiskey.
Vyce pointed at the whole pile like he’d just personally solved crime.
Then the dragon smashed into an old support column.
The cavern started coming down.
An ore cart broke loose.
We loaded what we thought was our shipment and jumped in.
I ended up in front.
Pippers stood on top because apparently sitting inside the cart wasn’t theatrical enough.
Vyce was steering.
With a shovel.

[completely sincere]
Multi-purpose steerin’ implement.

[gaining momentum, animated despite herself]
The track dropped.
Fast.
I mean fast.
The dragon came out behind us like every angry god in creation had decided to share one body.
I’m firing the Mugshot backward.
Pippers is throwing bottles she claims were empty.
Vyce is steering with a shovel like physics can be bullied.
We hit a split in the track.
I yelled left.
Vyce went right.
Right was unfinished.
We discovered that detail in midair.
Somehow the cart cleared the gap.
Don’t ask me how.
Pippers claims screaming encouragement changed our trajectory.

[laughs]
Yee-Haw!!!

[flat]
The dragon was still coming.
Then I saw Vyce staring at an old timber support.
I knew that look.
I said, “Don’t.”
He told me he wasn’t gonna.
Then his eyes did the thing.
So I ducked.
He blasted the support.
The tunnel came down behind us—stone, timber, dust, fire, everything—and we shot out of the mountain in that cart like a cannonball.
Landed in a snowbank.
All three alive.
Most of the whiskey intact.
And Vyce stood up covered head to toe in soot…
Wearing the dragon’s crown.

[pleased with himself]
Found it.

[incredulous]
You cannot “find” something on somebody else’s head.
That should’ve been the end.
It wasn’t.
The dragon crawled out of the collapsed entrance.
I expected fire.
Instead, he was carrying a piece of paper.
He stomped over and shoved it into my hands.
Invoice.
Paid in full.
Signed.
Stamped.
Correct delivery address.
Those crates did not belong to us.
They belonged to him.
I read it twice.
Looked at the crates.
Looked at the dragon.
Looked at Vyce wearing his crown.
And that’s when I said the sentence I have now been forced to repeat for years.
“We robbed a dragon.”

[immediate and adamant]
We did not rob a dragon.

[counting the evidence on her fingers]
We took his whiskey.
Collapsed part of his mountain.
Shot him.
Rode him.
Stole his crown.

[dismissive]
Misunderstandin’. Structural disagreement. Friendly tussle. An’ the crown looked better on me.

[exasperated]
We returned everything.
Paid for the broken bottles.
Helped clear the entrance.
Pippers apologized to the chandelier.
And somehow, while we were cleaning up, Vyce and the dragon started talking about whiskey.
Then drinking whiskey.
Then arguing about which whiskey was better.
By sunset they were laughing together.

[warmly, with a small chuckle]
Good dude.
We’re drinkin’ buddies now.
Can’t rob yer drinkin’ buddy.

[absolute disbelief]
You became drinking buddies after the robbery.
That doesn’t retroactively make it not robbery.
Anyway.
We finally got back to the Mughouse.
Burned.
Bruised.
Exhausted.
And down more money than the missing shipment had been worth in the first place.
I opened the storage-room door.
And heard giggling.
Tiny.
Drunken.
Giggling.
There were Guzzlgryns everywhere.
One asleep inside an empty crate.
Two wrestling over a cork.
One hanging upside down from a shelf by its bottle-opener tail.
One wearing a little mug like a helmet.
And right in the middle of them—
Our missing shipment.
Or what remained of it.
The cheeky little bastards had stolen it off the cart before we’d even finished inventory.
It had been inside the Mughouse the entire time.
There was a very long silence.
Then Vyce looked at me.

[cautiously, already knowing this is dangerous]
So…
Technically—

[sharp warning]
Don’t.

[suddenly exploding into hysterical laughter]
WE ROBBED A DRAGON FOR NOTHING!

[loudly, stubbornly defending himself]
WE DID NOT ROB A DRAGON!
We returned his stuff!
Paid for damages!
Helped fix his mountain!
Had a few drinks!
That’s not robbery.
That’s makin’ a bud with extra steps.

[summing up with mounting irritation]
So.
For the record.
The Guzzlgryns stole our whiskey.
We followed the wrong delivery record.
Attacked an innocent dragon.
Stole his legally purchased booze.
Destroyed part of his mountain.
Vyce rode him.
Pippers assaulted his chandelier.
I shot him in the ass—
By accident—
And then we came home to find the actual thieves drunk in our storage room.
We.
Robbed.
A dragon.

[stubborn, slow emphasis]
Did.
Not.

[pointedly]
You’re still wearing his crown.

[fondly]
It’s our friendship crown. Like a friendship bracelet… but a crown!

[breathless excitement]
CAN WE VISIT HIM AGAIN?!

[immediate]
No.

[casually dropping the bombshell]
Already invited him over fer drinks next week.

[long silence, defeated sigh, then reluctant affection]
…
I’m quitting.
No, I’m not.
Unfortunately.
Somebody get those damn Guzzlgryns out of the liquor cabinet.

We Did Not Rob a Dragon

[Verse 1]
Six cases vanished in the dark,
Two kegs gone without a mark,
No broken wheel, no splintered chain,
No muddy tracks along the lane.

A northern ledger bore a name,
A mountain keep, a matching claim,
The same black crates, the same old brand,
So three fools crossed the frozen land.

Through iron halls and furnace breath,
Past stone that smelled of smoke and death,
They found the whiskey stacked in gold
Beneath the claws of something old.

[Chorus]
We did not rob a dragon,
No matter what the records say.
We only crossed a mountain
And took his whiskey away.

There was fire in the rafters,
There was thunder underground,
There were three damn fools still standing
When half the mountain came down.

We did not rob a dragon,
That story’s gotten out of hand.
We simply made a drinking friend
The hardest way a person can.

[Verse 2]
The first demand became a blaze,
Good judgment died inside the haze,
A ward broke bright against the flame,
And all good sense went up the same.

The Mugshot cracked against the stone,
A ricochet found flesh and bone,
A sweeping tail cleared half the floor
And sent the Magus into war.

He struck the rock and dropped through smoke,
The laws of gravity somehow broke,
And where a wiser man would fall,
He landed standing over all.

Upon the dragon’s armored spine
He rode through sparks and shattered pine,
While from a chandelier above
A jester joined the mountain run.

[Chorus]
We did not rob a dragon,
No matter what the records say.
We only crossed a mountain
And took his whiskey away.

There was fire in the rafters,
There was thunder underground,
There were three damn fools still standing
When half the mountain came down.

We did not rob a dragon,
That story’s gotten out of hand.
We simply made a drinking friend
The hardest way a person can.

[Verse 3]
They found the crates beneath the stone,
Marked like the cargo they had known,
And victory lasted half a breath
Before the ceiling threatened death.

A rusted ore cart hit the rails,
Loaded down with stolen ale,
The dragon thundered close behind,
A furnace given teeth and mind.

Down through the dark the iron screamed,
Past broken beams and rising steam,
The track split left, the track split right—
They chose the road that wasn’t built.

Out over blackness, wood and steel,
No earth beneath a single wheel,
Then somehow iron found the line
And carried three more lives through time.

Behind them waited beam and stone,
One flash of gold, one thunder thrown,
The tunnel folded in the flame
And buried half the road they came.

[Chorus]
We did not rob a dragon,
No matter what the records say.
We only stole his whiskey,
Then brought half his mountain down that day.

We rode the rails through fire,
We outran death and falling stone,
And when the smoke had cleared away
The Magus wore a dragon’s crown.

We did not rob a dragon,
That story’s gotten out of hand.
We simply made a drinking friend
The hardest way a person can.

[Bridge]
Then through the ruin came the truth,
Not vengeance, blood, nor burning roof,
But ink and seal and payment made,
A lawful bill for lawful trade.

Correct address.
Correct supply.
Every bottle bought outright.
Every crate beneath that mountain
Had belonged there all that night.

The whiskey wasn’t theirs to take.
The crown was not theirs either.
The mountain had been mostly whole
Before they came to meet the creature.

They gave it back.
They paid the cost.
They cleared the stone.
Repaired the loss.

They raised a glass, then raised some more,
And somewhere between drink and dawn
The dragon they had fought that day
Had somehow turned into a friend.

[Verse 4]
They staggered home through ash and snow,
Too broke and tired to even know
The missing shipment they had chased
Had never left the Mughouse place.

Behind the storeroom’s wooden door
Lay tiny thieves across the floor,
Bottle caps and empty crates,
Little tails and drunken faces.

The Guzzlgryns had found the load,
Had stolen every drop they could,
While three fools crossed a frozen range
To start a war over the goods.

The chase, the fire, the mountain fall,
The broken track, the shattered wall,
The crown, the booze, the dragon fight—

Had all been for nothing.

[Final Chorus]
We did not rob a dragon,
That’s how the legend still begins.
With stolen booze and burning stone
And three catastrophically brave friends.

We did not rob a dragon,
Though every witness swears we did.
We only stole his whiskey,
Broke his mountain, wore his crown,
Then paid him back and shared a drink
Before the dying fire went down.

We did not rob a dragon,
Let every tavern understand—
We simply made a drinking friend
The hardest way a person can.

[Outro]
So raise the glass and tell it wrong,
Add more fire with every song,
Make the mountain twice as tall,
Make the dragon ten times long.

For the best damn tales grow wilder
Every time they’re passed around.

We did not rob a dragon.

We only made a friend.