Chapter 19: The Dragon-Shaped Troublemaker

The morning mist hung like gauze, shrouding the workshop district of the muddy swamp in a hazy veil of vapor. Derun clutched a stack of formula sheets, his boots sinking unevenly into the soggy ground as he made his way toward the sulfur burning area. With each step, his boots squelched through the muck.

“Everyone, get up and work!” he shouted hoarsely, his voice cutting sharply through the swamp’s silence.

Only a few sluggish dragon roars responded.

Before the furnace, Onyxia leaned over a large pile of sulfur ore. Her slender fingers lightly toyed with the golden crystals, her nose nearly touching them. As Derun approached, he caught sight of her taking a deep breath, her dragon eyes narrowing slightly, lips curling into an expression of pure delight.

“Hey!” Derun kicked at the stones on the ground with his boot. “What are you doing?”

Onyxia lazily glanced at him, the tip of her tail flicking lightly against the earth. “The scent... it’s unique.”

Derun frowned, about to respond when he suddenly heard rustling behind him. He spun around to find a dozen or so dragonborn had quietly gathered. Like cats drawn to catnip, they all crouched down, burying their faces in the sulfur pile.

“Sss—hah—”

The Hornless Black Dragon scooped up a chunk of sulfur and inhaled deeply, letting out a satisfied sigh. His dragon eyes dilated, his expression blissful as if intoxicated. The others quickly followed suit, filling the workshop with the sound of successive inhalations.

Derun’s jaw nearly dropped. “What... are you all doing?”

“Sulfur...” a young black dragonling murmured, “It smells like sunshine...”

“Nonsense! It’s the scent of lava!” an older dragonborn retorted, taking another deep sniff.

Derun stood frozen, the formula sheets slipping from his grasp with a soft clatter. To his left—the Hornless Black Dragon rubbed his cheek against a sulfur chunk; to his right—Onyxia secretly took another inhale; ahead—a group of dragonborn were rolling around the ground in pure pleasure.

“Enough!!!”

Derun grabbed a nearby iron bucket and smashed it with a wooden stick. The loud clang startled several hatchlings into nearly jumping out of their scales.

“Get up and work!” he waved the stick like a shepherd’s staff, herding the addicted dragons. “Sulfur is for burning, not for sniffing!”

Onyxia straightened gracefully, brushing off imaginary dust from her paws. “What’s the rush?” She flicked her tail, knocking a few still immersed in sulfur’s euphoria off balance. “Didn’t you hear the human? Work.”

Reluctantly, the dragonborn stood, their eyes lingering longingly on the sulfur pile. The Hornless Black Dragon even stuffed a few small chunks into the crevices of his scales, earning a sharp glare from Derun.

“Light the fire!” Derun growled through clenched teeth. “Collect the smoke to produce sulfurous acid! If anyone dares to sniff again...” He glared fiercely at Onyxia. “I’ll have the princess dunk them in the acid pool for a bath!”

A faint smile curved Onyxia’s lips as black flames flickered at her fingertips. “Not a bad idea.”

As the black flame descended into the furnace, the golden sulfur began to burn slowly, emitting a pungent smoke. Coughing, the dragonborn returned to work, no one daring to steal another sniff—though Derun noticed Onyxia always stood just downwind.

That night, Derun wrote in his journal: “Today’s discoveries: 1. Dragons have a mysterious obsession with sulfur. 2. Onyxia is the ringleader of the addicts. 3. Security at the sulfur warehouse must be tightened.”

The sulfurous acid pool bubbled faintly, its pale yellow liquid shimmering eerily in the sunlight. Derun rolled up his sleeves, gripping a long-handled wooden paddle, sweat beading on his brow.

“Watch closely!” he called to the dragonborn gathered around the pool. “Stir gently! Slowly! Let the oxidation proceed evenly!”

He bent down, carefully circling the paddle through the liquid with the tenderness one might use to stir a cup of hot tea. The dragonborn tilted their heads, puzzled.

The Hornless Black Dragon scratched his chin. “Just like this?”

“Yes.” Derun straightened, handing the paddle over. “You try.”

The dragonling stared at the pool for two seconds, then swung his arm in a wide arc—

Splash!!!

A wave half a person’s height surged in the sulfurous acid pool, splashing liquid everywhere. Derun jumped back, but still got his pants soaked, the fabric instantly emitting wisps of blue smoke.

“My—pants—!!!” Derun’s roar startled the swamp’s birds into flight.

The Hornless Black Dragon looked innocent. “Isn’t that right?”

Derun took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to smack him with the paddle. “Gentle! Slow! Like this!” He demonstrated again.

The dragonborn exchanged glances and finally nodded in understanding.

What followed almost made Derun spit blood—while they moderated their movements, they overdid it. Their paddles barely skimmed the liquid’s surface, as if merely fanning the pool. The oxidation visibly slowed.

“Put some strength into it!” Derun flailed his arms in frustration.

“But you said gentle...” one dragonborn replied plaintively.

Derun wiped his face in despair, climbed onto the pool’s edge, and took over. Gritting his teeth, he paddled again and again, sweat dripping from his chin into the pool with a faint sizzle.

When he finally collapsed from exhaustion, gasping for breath, he found the dragonborn crouched solemnly by the pool, hands propping up their chins, watching intently—yet no one helped.

“You...” Derun’s voice trembled. “Just watching?”

“Studying!” the Hornless Black Dragon said confidently. “Human techniques require careful observation.”

Derun turned to Onyxia leaning against a tree, sending a silent plea. The black dragon princess yawned lazily, flicking her tail, sending a nearby dragon tumbling like a shooting star into the distant swamp with a splash.

Plop!

“Now,” she narrowed her eyes, “either work or fly off. Choose.”

The dragonborn instantly grabbed paddles and began stirring vigorously, their motions surprisingly professional.

Derun slumped beside them, muttering, “So this is dragon management…”

Inside the ammonia workshop, Derun poured buckets of fermented raw material into the reaction pool. The pungent ammonia scent exploded in the confined space, striking everyone’s nostrils like a heavy blow.

“Ugh—”

The Hornless Black Dragon was the first to succumb, retreating three steps while covering his nose, his scales paling. The other dragonborn fared worse—some shifted back into dragon form, flapping wings and attempting to flee, only to crowd at the doorway.

“Come back!” Derun grabbed a black dragonling’s tail. “Put on your mask and keep working!”

“No! This smells worse than a dead lizard!” The dragonling struggled desperately, claws digging deep grooves into the floor.

Veins bulging on his temple, Derun looked at the only one still standing—Onyxia. The black dragon princess had magically wrapped a barrier around her head, but the twitching at her lips betrayed her struggle.

“You can’t stand it either?” Derun raised a makeshift gas mask—flimsy linen soaked in spices and activated charcoal.

Onyxia’s dragon eyes narrowed dangerously. “Watch your words, human.”

“Then help manage this bunch of deserters!” Derun pointed at the writhing dragonborn. “Wasn’t it said dragons aren’t afraid of decay?!”

A black shadow flickered as the first fleeing Hornless Black Dragon was swept back by a tail strike. Onyxia’s claws dug into his pauldrons. “One more step, and I’ll soak you in ammonia until you molt.”

The brutal suppression lasted ten minutes. In the end, every dragonborn wore crooked masks, teary-eyed, standing at their stations. Derun inspected their gear, finding their faces scrunched beneath the masks like steamed buns.

“Work faster!” Derun knocked on the reaction kettle. “Wait for the nitric acid solution...”

Splash—

A hatchling’s hand slipped, dousing itself with a bucket of raw material. Thick smoke hissed from between its scales, and it yowled wildly, thrashing like a cat with its tail stepped on.

Derun closed his eyes in despair. When he opened them, Onyxia had already bound all the dragonborn around the reaction pool with shadow chains.

“Now,” she licked her sharp teeth, “anyone moves...”

The chains tightened, forcing several dragonborn to roll their eyes.

Under the threat of death, the dragonborn finally worked with astonishing efficiency. When the last bag of ammonium nitrate was sealed, Derun collapsed in a corner, a weak laugh muffled beneath his mask. “Should’ve used this trick for the sulfur gang...”

Onyxia withdrew her barrier, delicately dusting off nonexistent dust. “I told you, sticks work better than reason.”

The sunset’s afterglow filtered through the workshop roof slats, gilding the towering stacks of ammonium nitrate sacks. Derun leaned against the pile, fingers tapping his knee as he tallied the day’s yield.

“At least three and a half tons...” he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. “Enough.”

Onyxia approached with graceful steps, her claws ruffling the sacks, making a soft rustle. She sniffed, her dragon nose wrinkling. “Smells like rejects.”

“Chemicals rarely smell good,” Derun smiled wearily, patting a sack. “But these can change the tide of battle.”

The black dragon princess snorted softly, curling her tail and effortlessly lifting several sacks. “The lair is ready.”

Derun nodded, pushing himself up on his knees. His movements were slow—an entire day of commanding, demonstrating, and yelling had drained him. Onyxia glanced at him and subtly pressed her tail against his back, silently supporting him.

The dragonborn lined up, shouldering the ammonium nitrate sacks toward the lair. The Hornless Black Dragon led the way, occasionally glancing back at Derun with a hint of awe—the ammonia nightmare had clearly left its mark.

Onyxia’s lair lay deep within the swamp, transformed over time from a dark, damp cave into a secure storage area. Magical barriers shimmered at the entrance, sealing the interior completely from the outside world. Following the dragonborn inside, Derun was surprised to find the lair neatly arranged with shelves, moisture prevention wards, and even temperature and humidity monitors.

“When did you...” Derun began.

“Last night.” Onyxia’s tail lightly swept over his wrist. “If we’re storing ‘important supplies,’ it has to look proper.”

Derun stared at the orderly shelves, the moisture wards, and the standard Dalaran-style monitors—none typical of dragonkind. The shelf heights suited human operators, and the ward runes followed the strict “Alchemy Storage Guidelines.”

“You...” he started again.

“Silence, human.” Onyxia turned away, but her tail honestly twined around his wrist. “Just to keep your lousy sacks from getting damp.”

After the last sack was placed, Onyxia waved her claws, weaving shadow runes into a net that cloaked the entire storage area.

“Now,” she said with satisfaction, “besides you and me, anyone who touches this dies.”

Derun smiled and nodded, then suddenly his legs gave out. The relentless day’s toil finally demanded its toll. Before he fell, Onyxia’s tail had already coiled securely around his waist.

“Humans are so fragile,” she said disdainfully, carefully adjusting her grip. “Time to sleep.”

Derun drifted drowsily toward the lair’s resting area—where, sometime unnoticed, a stone bed lined with soft furs awaited, just large enough for one human and one dragon.

In the last moments before sleep claimed him, Derun felt something warm gently enfold him. The scent of sulfur and obsidian lingered at his nose, and Onyxia’s steady breathing whispered softly by his ear.