There was once a land called Gilterea where gem colored dragons soared through the air and the shining seas sparkled and glimmered like diamonds. Fields were lush, food was plentiful and peace reigned. Dragons were the far superior race in both intelligence and strength, not to mention beauty. They ruled over the land, and mere mortals adored them. Epic ballads were composed attesting to their greatness, children dreamt of being honored to serving them, and old story tellers told of their great deeds.
That was until The Famine Days of the Dark Times. This tragedy marked the beginning of the end. The people lost their faith in the dragons and they no longer seemed so illustrious, so superior. They began to consider ruling themselves, and serving the dragons was no longer an honor. Children stopped admiring them, the poems and songs faded and were forgotten. In time, the dragons followed.
It came to the point when there were few dragons left, scattered and sad. With their great intelligence, they watched the human race make mistake after mistake, yet they could not help, for the humans began to think of them as mere animals. Few believed the old tales of the dragons and few knew of the great minds hidden behind now dull scales. The age of the dragons had passed.
But enough with the sappy, cliche fairytale part. This isn’t the story of some fanciful princess who finds herself a dragon and goes on an epic adventure to save a prince in distress. Or is it usually the other way around? No, this is a story of a man. That’s right, a man. A mildly unassuming man. Not even a prince, just a man. And not even a respectable man, but a thief. Yes, this is the story of a thief (and a dragon is in there somewhere, too).
A thief named Ferrabobanot.
Everybody called him Bob.