dragon keeper

by Bill Tiepelman

Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon

Deep in the heart of the Widdershins Woods, where even the bravest adventurers dared not tread (mostly because the gnomes had lousy hygiene), lived a bearded gnome named Grimble Stumbletoe. Grimble was infamous for two things: his crass sense of humor and his inexplicably loyal companion, a pint-sized dragon named Sizzle. Together, they were the stuff of tavern tales, mostly told by those who’d had one too many and enjoyed a good laugh at Grimble's questionable antics. The Introduction of Sizzle Now, Sizzle wasn’t your average dragon. He was barely the size of a large cat and looked more like someone had stuck wings on a grumpy lizard. When Grimble first found him, curled up under a toadstool in the early hours of the morning, the gnome’s first words were, “Well, aren’t you an ugly little bugger?” To which Sizzle responded by promptly setting his beard on fire. “Ah, he’s got spirit,” Grimble cackled as he smothered the flames with a slap of his grubby hand. “I like ya already, you little menace.” And thus began the start of a beautiful, if somewhat volatile, friendship. Grimble’s Daily Routines (Or Lack Thereof) Each morning, Grimble would saunter out of his hollowed-out tree, scratch his beard, and take a deep, satisfied breath of the forest air. “Ah, smell that, Sizzle! Smells like freedom. And possibly a dead raccoon.” He’d then look down at Sizzle, who would nod with a solemn understanding, as if to say, “I too, smell the raccoon, Grimble.” For breakfast, Grimble favored a diet of mushrooms, stale bread, and whatever he could scrounge from the woodland creatures, who were less than willing to share. “Oi, squirrel, that’s mine!” he’d yell, occasionally hurling a pebble at a furry thief. Sizzle, meanwhile, would practice his fire-spitting skills, toasting bugs and once nearly incinerating Grimble’s hat. “Careful there, you fire-breathing gecko!” Grimble would say, shaking his finger. “You char my favorite hat again, and it’s roasted squirrel for dinner.” Encounters in the Forest One fine afternoon, as they strolled through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth, they encountered a lost adventurer—a young man in shiny armor, looking as fresh as a daisy and about as clueless as one, too. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered, “have you seen the path to the Great Elven Temple?” Grimble eyed him with a wry grin, then leaned in close, a bit too close for comfort. “Elven Temple? Oh sure, it’s right over that hill. Just mind the goblin nests, the troll dung, and the occasional trap set by yours truly.” He winked. “Might take a while, though. So, unless you fancy an evening spent picking rocks out of yer backside, I’d suggest you turn around.” “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” the adventurer replied, pale and visibly unnerved as he backed away. Once he was out of earshot, Grimble chuckled, “Bloody do-gooders. Always thinkin’ they’re about to save the world or some such nonsense.” Sizzle let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Evening Shenanigans As dusk fell, Grimble and Sizzle would set up camp. Grimble, who prided himself on being “one with nature” (mostly because he was too lazy to build a proper shelter), would lie back on a patch of moss and settle in for the night, regaling Sizzle with tales of his “glorious past.” “I once held off an entire pack of wolves with nothing but a pointy stick!” he boasted, making grand gestures. “Mind you, they were about as big as yer average rabbit, but wolves is wolves, right?” Sizzle, unimpressed, would snort a little puff of flame. He had a habit of turning his head as if rolling his eyes, which only encouraged Grimble to embellish further. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. And anyway, you’re no saint, ya little fire-bellied troublemaker. Remember last week when you burnt down old Miss Frumpel’s toadstool cottage?” Sizzle looked away, feigning innocence, while Grimble chuckled. “Aye, she deserved it though, always waggin’ her finger at me, tellin’ me to ‘watch my language.’ If I wanted a lecture, I’d talk to the damn owls!” Grimble’s “Heroic” Deeds One night, a commotion arose from the nearby grove. There was shouting, the clash of metal, and the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing into a tree. “Adventure calls, Sizzle!” Grimble whispered with an overly dramatic flair, pulling his rusted dagger from his belt. “Let’s see if there’s a few coins to be made out of this mess.” They slunk through the underbrush until they found the source: a band of goblins arguing over a pile of glittering loot. “Oi!” Grimble yelled, striding out from the bushes. “Didn’t yer mothers teach ya not to make such a racket?” The goblins froze, staring at the odd pair. Grimble’s unimpressive stature and Sizzle’s miniature size made for a ridiculous sight, but Grimble was undeterred. “Now, I’ll be takin’ that shiny stuff there, and if ya make it easy, I won’t set my dragon on ya. He’s a vicious beast, see?” At that, Sizzle let out a tiny roar, barely a squeak, which only made Grimble snicker. The goblins, however, weren’t amused. With a series of hisses and snarls, they lunged. The Grand Battle (Sort Of) It was pure chaos. Goblins shrieked, Sizzle spat tiny spurts of flame, and Grimble dodged like a drunken acrobat, yelling insults at anyone who came near. “You call that a swing, you sorry excuse for a potato!” he bellowed, ducking under a goblin’s club. “My gran fights better than you, and she’s been dead three decades!” In the end, Sizzle managed to ignite a few well-placed bushes, which startled the goblins into fleeing. Grimble, panting and looking far more triumphant than he had any right to, picked up a shiny coin and spat on it to polish it. “Aye, well fought, Sizzle,” he said with a nod. “They’ll be singin’ tales of this day for sure. ‘Grimble the Bold and his Mighty Dragon,’ they’ll call it!” Sizzle tilted his head, clearly skeptical, but Grimble ignored him, pocketing a handful of the goblins’ abandoned loot with a gleeful grin. The Journey Continues The next morning, Grimble and Sizzle set off once more, as they always did, with no particular destination in mind. “So, Sizzle,” Grimble mused, “what d’you reckon we’ll find today? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Or maybe some rich fool wanderin’ through the woods, just beggin’ to lose his purse?” Sizzle gave him a sideways glance, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils as if to say, “Or maybe you’ll just get us into more trouble.” Grimble chuckled, ruffling the little dragon’s scales. “Ah, trouble’s what keeps life interestin’, eh?” With a skip and a swagger, he strolled off into the forest, the laughter of a grumpy old gnome and the tiny roars of his loyal dragon echoing through the woods. And so they wandered on, the crassest, funniest, most mismatched duo in all of Widdershins Woods, much to the terror—and amusement—of everyone they met.    Bring Grimble and Sizzle Home If Grimble's antics and Sizzle's fiery spirit brought a smile to your face, why not bring a piece of their adventure home? This delightfully mischievous duo is available on a range of high-quality products that will add a dash of whimsical charm to any space. Check out these Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon products, perfect for fantasy lovers and humor enthusiasts alike: Jigsaw Puzzle - Get lost in Grimble’s world piece by piece. Tapestry - Transform your wall into the heart of Widdershins Woods with this vibrant tapestry. Canvas Print - Perfect for any room that could use a bit of fantasy flair. Throw Pillow - Cozy up with Grimble and Sizzle’s hilarious companionship. Whether you’re a fan of gnomish humor or just love the idea of a dragon the size of a cat, these products let you bring a little bit of Widdershins Woods into your everyday life. Because, after all, who couldn't use a bit more magic and mischief?

by Bill Tiepelman

Guardian of Ember in a Frosted World

In the frozen expanse of the Frosted World, there was a legend, whispered among the wind-chilled peaks and carried across the snowbound valleys. It spoke of a woman, a queen-like figure, whose crimson gown burned as brightly as the embers of a long-dead fire, a woman who could command both flame and frost with equal ease. Her name was Ashera, known to some as the Guardian of Ember, a being of immense power and mystery who roamed the icy plains with a small dragon at her side—her only companion in the eternal cold. The Frosted World was unforgiving, a place where warmth was a memory and the cold itself felt alive, constantly reaching out with icy fingers to drain the life from all it touched. For centuries, the land had been locked in a deep winter, a curse brought upon the world by the ancients who once ruled it. But while the land had grown still, cold, and barren, Ashera moved through it with grace, her red gown a stark contrast to the endless white that surrounded her. She had not always been alone. Long ago, Ashera had been part of a kingdom that thrived in the heart of the frostlands, a citadel of heat and light that stood as a beacon of defiance against the cold. But the kingdom had fallen, swallowed by the encroaching ice and time. Only Ashera remained, having made a pact with the ancient spirits of fire to keep a single flame alive within her—a flame that would burn for eternity as long as she wandered the desolate wilderness. Now, she was the last keeper of that ember, a fire that glowed faintly in the heart of her dragon companion, Seraphis. The small creature clung to her arm, its scales shimmering with the same red glow as her dress. Seraphis was young, but his lineage was ancient, tied to the very heart of the world. He was a symbol of hope, a spark waiting to ignite something greater—perhaps even to melt the curse that had buried the world in ice. The wind howled, sending flurries of snow spiraling around them as Ashera made her way through a narrow pass in the mountains. Her steps were soft, but each one left a faint trail of warmth behind, the snow melting momentarily before freezing again. The frozen landscape, with its towering trees crusted in frost and icicles hanging like claws from the cliffs above, was treacherous. Yet she moved with purpose, her eyes fixed on the horizon, where an ancient city lay in ruins, hidden beneath centuries of snow. She was searching for something—an artifact of immense power, one that had been lost to the frost but which could restore balance to the world. The fire within her was strong, but it could not last forever without being rekindled. The Flameheart, a jewel of molten energy, was said to lie deep within the ruins of the ancient city, guarded by the ice spirits that had overtaken the land. It was her only hope. As she crested a ridge, the ruins came into view—ghostly, silent, and shrouded in frost. The remnants of towering spires and crumbling walls peeked through the snow like bones of a long-dead giant. A heavy silence hung over the place, broken only by the soft crackling of ice as it shifted under the weight of centuries. Seraphis stirred on her arm, his eyes narrowing as a low growl rumbled from his throat. Ashera sensed it too—the cold was not merely a natural force here. It was alive, ancient, and aware of her presence. The spirits of frost had once been protectors of this land, but now they were twisted by the curse, vengeful and hungry. She moved forward cautiously, her breath forming clouds of vapor in the cold air. The air around her began to shimmer as she summoned the flame within, her gown glowing brighter as waves of warmth rolled off her, melting the snow in a wide radius. The frost spirits would come soon, drawn by the heat and the promise of fire to extinguish. The first of them appeared as a wraithlike figure, its body formed of swirling snow and ice, eyes glowing with a pale blue light. It hovered in the air before her, silent at first, but then it spoke, its voice a brittle, rasping whisper. "You should not be here, firebearer," it hissed. "This is a place of cold and death. Your flame has no place in this land." Ashera stood her ground, her hand resting on Seraphis’ back as the dragon hissed in return, tiny plumes of smoke rising from his nostrils. "I seek the Flameheart," she said, her voice steady despite the chill creeping into her bones. "It belongs to the world, not to the cold. Let me pass." The spirit shrieked, its form distorting as more wraiths appeared from the shadows of the ruins. They swirled around her, their voices rising in a cacophony of cold fury. "You will freeze here, like all the others," they taunted. "Your flame will die, and the Frosted World will consume you." But Ashera did not flinch. With a single gesture, she summoned her power, the flames within her surging to life. Her gown ignited in a blaze of crimson and gold, the heat rippling through the air, forcing the frost spirits back. Seraphis let out a roar, his small body glowing with molten energy as he joined her, flames licking along his wings as he spread them wide. The spirits screeched, retreating into the shadows, but they would not be banished so easily. They gathered at the edges of the ruins, waiting, watching. Ashera pressed forward, her gaze locked on the heart of the city. There, within the remains of the central spire, lay the Flameheart, its glow barely visible through the layers of ice that entombed it. She approached it slowly, Seraphis by her side, his eyes fixed on the jewel. The air grew colder, the frost spirits closing in once more, their fury palpable. But Ashera was undeterred. With a single touch, she reached for the Flameheart, her hand glowing with heat as the ice began to crack and melt away. As the jewel came free, the world seemed to hold its breath. For a moment, the cold itself faltered, the frost retreating, and in that moment, Ashera knew that the balance was shifting. The Flameheart pulsed with warmth, filling her with renewed strength, and she knew that the curse could be broken. But as she turned to leave, the frost spirits screamed in rage, surging toward her in a final attempt to reclaim the frozen world. She raised her hand, and with a single thought, unleashed the full force of the fire within her. A wall of flame erupted from the ground, burning bright and fierce, consuming the spirits in an instant. The Frosted World was silent once more, the cold retreating as the warmth spread from the Flameheart. Ashera stood tall, the jewel in her hand, her crimson gown flowing like liquid fire in the wind. Seraphis perched on her arm, his eyes glowing with triumph. The Frosted World would thaw, in time. The curse had been broken, and with it, the promise of a new dawn. Ashera, the Guardian of Ember, would ensure that the fire would never die again.     If you enjoyed the world of Guardian of Ember in a Frosted World, you can explore art prints, products, digital downloads, and licensing options inspired by this piece at this gallery link. Bring the magic of Ashera and her dragon companion into your home or collection with a range of beautiful items that capture the essence of this frosted fantasy world.