Dragon and dice on a forearm
Traditional · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo
A black ink tattoo shows a dragon wrapped around a twenty-sided die marked with numbers such as 20, 14 and 9, with its tail coiling into a spiral of tribal-style spikes. A four-sided die and a six-sided die sit separately below the dragon. The linework is bold and solid, with flat black fill and no shading, and the photo shows the forearm against a blue indoor background with a multicoloured string bracelet at the wrist.
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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction
The dragon had been dead for eleven minutes, which was a record even for Brannoc, and nobody at the table believed it. He rolled again. The twenty-sided die skittered past the cold chips and came to rest against the dog-eared rulebook, showing a fourteen, then a twenty once Mara's elbow knocked the table leg. Somebody groaned. Scythrax, who had spent six sessions coiled around the ruined gate of Hollowmere, lifted her head one more time.
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I keep this diary because the campaign notes are a mess and because I like to know who I was on nights like this. Tonight the party wanted the hoard: the silver crown, and the four-sided die the goblin dropped, the one that always lands on the wrong corner. I told them the truth. Scythrax had never hoarded gold. She kept a ledger, a long spiral of barbed scales, and each spike was a name of someone she had eaten, or a debt she had not yet collected.
Mara asked if she could roll for persuasion. I let her. The six-sided die bounced off the edge of the table and rattled under the radiator, and for a full minute all of us were on our knees beneath the cabinet while the dragon waited with her patience intact. When Mara finally held it up, it showed a six. She laughed and said the dragon could keep the crown, and that she only wanted to know what the spikes said.
I wrote that down. Then I unplugged the lamp and walked home through the empty car park with the twenty-sided die heavy in my coat pocket. Scythrax, I suspect, is still sleeping on the oak.
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