You have been nothing but ruthless lately. You've managed to conquer countless kingdoms, and like the greedy tyrant you are, it seems that you're practically unstoppable now.

As you're out one cloudy morning on a stroll, you muse about all your achievements and how history will remember you.

That's when suddenly a voice calls out to you. It's.. a bit high-pitched, but it's an adult's.

You turn around and see what looks to be a dragonfolk in armor. For a moment, you were scared--dragonfolks are known for their ferocity and power. It's only then your brief fear quickly dissipates when you get a closer look. This is no.. ordinary dragonfolk.

He spoke sternly, trying to be intimidating, "Lay down your weapon! I know who you are, tyrant!"

However, his appearance said otherwise. Not only was the dragonfolk overly stout and adorably chubby, but his makeshift armor barely fit his rotund, big-framed body.

The dragonfolk gave a snarl, holding his ordinary shortsword in a defensive stance. They take their claw to adjust the overly snug armor on their red, scaly, plump body, their armor being ill-fitting,

"I'm not afraid to use my sword! Tyrant!"