Rocco – with banner (170 mm)

« He's gonna eat me, I can feel it... »

Rollo, whom the whole tribe called « El Matador del Rocco », was not feeling at ease. Of course, in front of the others, he would show off, swagger and make the females fall for him with just a quick squint glance. Indeed, he had reasons to do so ! No one, for nearly two centuries, had been able to ride a great wyrm, a dragon. Everyone who had went and tried it on had, at best, come back empty handed, at worst, been devoured by the saurian. With every possible variation between these two extremes. Everyone but him, Rollo.

But he did not tamed the beast...god no...just made a deal. Dragons were on the brink of extinction. Their usual strategy, pilling up wealth to attrack adventurers did not work anymore. They were too dreadfull, no more prey would risk it. On the battlefield, however, Rocco could forage until its heart's content. This, was what Rollo had betted on.

« The day you won't feed me will be the day you'll be my food ! » had hissed the beast.

Hence, being a sentinel was the perfect job. The acute senses of the dragon allowed it to scry its preys from several kilometers afar and to claim its share first hand. The bifid tongue sprung back and forth, the saurian had spotted its next meal.

Rollo hold tight while its mount dashed forward. He let a deep breath out : today, he would live.