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Tales from the Dragon's Demesne

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posted on May, 13 2005 @ 11:27 PM
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I decided to give a try at writing, and WorldWatcher was kind enough to grant me Writer status. I'm going to start a series of short stories about a dragon who is the last of his kind. It's going to be kind of like his memoirs, only they won't be in any kind of chronological order. The dragon is immortal, so he doesn't have any real sense of what time is, and cannot conceive of a concept such as chronology. It'll be kind of like the '1001 Arabian Nights', just story after story after story (until I get tired of it, anyway, and move on to something new)

The dragon, because he is the last of his kind, is quite lonely, and loves visitors. Many of his stories will be about the people (or things!) that come to his demesne. (a word that means realm or kingdom) The dragon loves to learn, and travels often to other times and places, absorbing all the knowledge he can, and many stories will be about those journeys as well. The dragon will have pretty much unlimited abilities, most notably the ability to take any physical form at will, so he will be able to 'mingle with the locals', so to speak, if he wants to.

I'm thinking of satirizing a whole bunch of stuff in contemporary society; we'll see how well (or poorly) I can do that! I figure with a format such as this, I can tell pretty much any type of story I want: science fiction, fantasy, mystery, romance; the whole gamut. That way, I can go with whatever strikes my fancy at the time, and still keep the same central character, so that I don't have to redo his background over and over.

I'm not really sure why, but I didn't feel it was right to give the dragon a name, so I didn't. Maybe I'll think of a reason why later; maybe he forgot it, or doesn't like it, or it's unpronouncable, or reminds him of something unpleasant; who knows? I don't know how many of these I'll do. It will depend upon whether or not I can find a summer job soon; I'm trying to get on with the company I worked for the last two summers, but they are taking their sweet time with the re-application. Hopefully I can do a bunch of these over the summer, at least until school starts up again; I won't have any time after that, most likely, judging from previous years.

Oh, and since the dragon is immortal, he can't die. Only another immortal can kill him, and since he is the last of his kind, that cannot happen.

[edit on 13-5-2005 by DragonsDemesne]




posted on May, 13 2005 @ 11:42 PM
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Greetings.

I am a dragon.

The astute reader would at this point most likely respond with something like “but there ARE no dragons!” And they would be almost correct.

For, you see, I am the last of the dragon race.

Once, there were many more of us. But, through no one’s fault but our own, we allowed our greed and egos to overcome rationality and common sense, until all had perished, except for I. To relate to you even the briefest summary of the story of draconic civilization would either entail writing a book so long that no mortal would live long enough to finish it, or else lack so much information that it would be wholly incomprehensible. Suffice it to say that once there were many of us and now there is one, the humble author of the passage you see before you now.

I live in my demesne. It is a wonderful home, in a place both impossibly far away, and yet tantalizingly near at the same time, in a realm that is impossible to truly do justice to with the clumsy tool of language. It is a lonely place, now, though once it teemed with life. Sadly, none else live here any longer. For aeons beyond counting, this has been so.

Occasionally, there are those who find my secret kingdom, human or otherwise. Sometimes it is because they have heard the age-old legends of my kind, and wish to see for themselves whether they be truth or falsehood. Sometimes, they come seeking for something else, and are surprised to find me instead. Many have come, lost and confused, to find my abode through serendipity and chance; perhaps even by fate, if you believe in such. Their reactions are as varied as the stories of their interesting little lives. I have seen fear, awe, disbelief, worship, love, hate. I have seen them all, and many, many more. They have come from all planes and spheres of existence, worlds without number or end.

All my visitors have simply fascinating tales to tell. I am always eager to hear whatever they may have to say, for I am always learning, even at my advanced age. (Dragons are not particularly forthcoming about their age; they are much like human women in that respect) A Benedictine monk who happened across my realm once most aptly described me as ‘petitor de cognito’, or, one who seeks after learning. He was so kind as to carve those Latin words with a wonderful calligraphy in one of the archways of my demesne, where they can still be seen to this day. Should you perchance to come and see them, you are welcome to sojourn for as long as you wish.

Unfortunately, the visitors are few and far between in my plane of existence. It is so very difficult for mortals to find this place, and as a result I spend much of my existence in solitude. You see, dragons, unlike any other life form that has or ever will exist, are immortal. There are species that are so endowed as to live what is, by mortal standards, such a very, very long time. But, to a dragon, such lifetimes are tragically ephemeral, like a faint wisp of smoke or the softest whisper.

I do not always stay within the borders of my demesne, however. Many a time I have traveled far and abroad, to the farthest reaches of the Universe, because, as I previously remarked, I am ‘petitor de cognito’, always searching for new people, places, ideas, and knowledge. On my last such journey, a request was made of me, that I might share a few of my personal experiences. As you no doubt have already guessed, by the very fact that these words are in front of you, I chose to accept the request. I am not sure where to begin; there are so many interesting ones to choose from. I will endeavour to tell them in such a way that you should be able to understand them without having a background in draconic history, though I may, at times, accidentally assume that you know more about dragons than you really do.

I hope that you will enjoy them. I know that I shall enjoy writing them for you.

-Dragon



posted on May, 31 2005 @ 04:19 PM
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im just curious, maybe you can answer this question in another piece; but, how did this dragon stay alive when the others persishd? Could do some flashbacks to what was going on in the time of the dragons... that'd be cool.



posted on May, 31 2005 @ 06:28 PM
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Well, I'm still kinda thinking about how I'm going to do this, as you can tell by the date postings (over 2 weeks). Since the dragon is immortal, the only thing that can kill him is another dragon, and they are all dead. So I'm thinking that the dragons all killed each other and he is the last one, or else I have to invent a new kind of immortal or something capable of dragon killing.



posted on Jun, 1 2005 @ 03:07 PM
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yikes! I can see ur little problem... shouldnt be a prooblem though. I still think youd should write about the war of the dragons... that would be intense



posted on Jun, 1 2005 @ 11:43 PM
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Here comes the second installment in Tales from the Dragon's Demesne. It's a weird twist on Sir George and the Dragon, the 'real version'. This first person stuff is really ticking me off, though. I'll have to think of a way to switch it to third person, somehow. I might just abandon this idea and start with something new, I don't think these are going to turn out very well, but if people actually like them, I'll do a couple more; otherwise I will probably move on to something else.



posted on Jun, 1 2005 @ 11:47 PM
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“Hello, it is I, again, the last of the Dragons.

I do so enjoy a good tale now and then. The literature of the human species is absolutely fascinating to me. However, it does bother me greatly when an author attempts to pass off fiction as fact. It boggles my mind how the truth of the matter got so twisted and warped after only a few centuries. I did a little research, and discovered, to my great dismay, that the false story is the accepted version of events, no less! It is amazing how one proponent of misinformation can so completely alter the veracity of a piece of history.

Seeking to rectify this wrong, I shall now relate to you the real events, as they truly occurred. I should know, for I was there.

Behold! The true story of Sir George and the Dragon!”

SIR GEORGE AND THE DRAGON

I had just spent an exhilarating afternoon soaring the skies over that little island… what is it called by humans? Ah, yes. England. I was reveling in the beautiful weather; the clear, cerulean sky, the glistening, golden sunlight, and a slight, cooling breeze at my back. Perfect flying conditions! Oh, I was enjoying myself so very much; there is nothing quite like flying, you know.

Flying tends to make me hungry, and this time was no exception, so I decided to look about for a tiny snack. I spotted a herd of cattle several miles off, so I headed in that direction. When I got closer, I noticed that a colony of humans were living next to the cattle. As I approached, all of the humans left the colony in a mass exodus to the north for some reason.

I hovered above the nearest cow, which was mooing quite rudely at me. I stretched out my right foreclaw, seized the bovine snack, and bit into its succulent, juicy torso. Mmm!

Devouring the cow in three quick bites, I immediately pounced upon the next cow, which let out a short bleat before I ate it. I looked about me, and counted the remaining cows, of which there were thirty-seven. I selected four more cows, those that appeared to be oldest, and ate those ones. I always leave some behind, so that they will reproduce, and provide a meal for me sometime in the future. I have learned, the hard way, how very important it is never to wipe out a particular species.

Eating tends to make me sleepy, so I cast my eyes about for a good resting-place, and found a wonderful bed of soft, golden wheat quite close by the cattle herd and the abandoned human colony. How fortunate! I landed in the wheat field, and settled down for a nice, summer snooze.


I awoke to someone tickling me in the chest.

How peculiar! I thought. Tickling a sleeping dragon? I opened my eyes and beheld the strangest sight. It was a horse! A horse was tickling me with an odd-shaped piece of metal! This was absolutely fascinating to me, as I had no idea that horses were skilled in metallurgy, or that they had any predisposition to tickle sleeping dragons, so I allowed this to continue for a moment, while I simply observed.

The horse circled away to a distance about the length of my body, and then charged forward, carrying the twisted, misshapen piece of metal on its back. The heap of metal had a long shaft sticking out of it, and it was this point that the horse then proceeded to jab into my chest again, producing the tickling sensation. The silly animal then backed away and rushed forward to tickle me again!

I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh. I had been trying not to; I didn’t know if it would offend the horse or not. I obviously knew much less about horses than I thought I had, if they could craft metal in such detail, and did not wish to make a mistake again where this equine creature was concerned.

When I began my laughter, the horse stopped. Oh dear, I thought, I hope I didn’t upset the poor thing. Then, to add to my amazement, the horse spoke to me! Shouted, actually. It said, “Damn you, vile beast! Will you not fight me?”

Well! I certainly don’t appreciate being talked to in that manner!

“I beg your pardon?” I asked.

The horse snorted. “I say, will you not fight me?”

I shook my head. “I most certainly will not,” I replied, “I gave up fighting a very long time ago. It’s terribly foolish, and almost inevitably results in someone getting hurt.”

“Coward!” The horse screamed, and then tickled me some more with the silly-looking piece of metal. I resolved not to utter a peep of laughter, this time.

“I am curious,” I began, “I have never seen a talking horse, before. How is it that you can speak?”

The horse stopped. The contraption on its back moved, pulling on itself at the top. I blinked in surprise. There was a human face inside the metal device! I realized my mistake then; how silly I had been! This was no talking horse; this was a knight! I had seen them before in my travels, and should have recognized this one sooner for what it was.

“Are you stupid as well as a coward?” the knight taunted, raising the tickler that I now realized was called a ‘lance’ at me. That meant this knight was actually trying to hurt me!

I sighed. “Sir Knight, I have nothing against you. There is no reason for you to act so violently. In addition, you will never succeed in wounding me with your lance; I am immune to such weapons.”

The knight, however, was not deterred by my words. “Vile beast, you have attacked this village, which I am sworn to protect with my life. One of us will not survive this day.” And the brave but foolhardy knight spurred his horse forward, and attempted to run me through again.

I was taken aback by that. I had not attacked anyone, except for a few cows, and that only for food. “I did not attack this village,” I replied, “All I did was eat a few cows.” This knight seemed awfully confused to me.

“How can you sit there and lie about your misdeeds, foul creature,” the knight shouted, “when the evidence is all about you? Your bloated body as we speak now crushes a year’s worth of crops. The entire village had to flee or be devoured, and you have the gall to claim you did nothing?”

Oh, dear! That simply had not occurred to me. The very bed of wheat that had served me so well as a mattress had been growing as food for those poor runaway humans, apparently afraid I was going to eat them.

“I am very sorry, Sir Knight, I had no intentions of causing any trouble. I shall fix the problem immediately.” I flapped my wings, and lifted myself off of the field of wheat. The horse screamed (yes, the horse this time, I am sure) and threw the knight to the ground, and bolted away as fast as it could. The knight took several moments to stand up, evidently weighed down by the suit of chain mail he wore. With a clang of metal, he drew a sword from the scabbard at his waist, and attempted to cut open my underbelly. Of course, a sword was no good for that task. I lifted myself just high enough to keep out of the knight’s reach, and waited for him to calm down.

“Now, Sir Knight,” I said, “I shall rectify the situation immediately.”

I do not know if you are aware, but Dragons possess magical powers. At least, those who do not understand them call them magical. I used those powers then on the wheat, closing my eyes and waving my forepaws slightly as I concentrated. I straightened the wheat back to its full height, and also coaxed it into growing even beyond that a little bit, just for good measure. The knight dropped his sword in astonishment and gaped in silence as I repaired the field of wheat. It took only a minute or two, then it was done.

“Sir Knight. I cannot replace your cows, but I have righted your grain. There is no sense trying to hurt me; you shall not succeed, and besides, I mean you or your kind no harm. If I had wanted to, I could have destroyed you at any time, but I didn’t.” To prove my point, I spewed a small jet of flame into the sky, hot enough to have turned the knight and his armor into a bubbling liquid mess.

I think the knight finally came to his senses at this point, and realized I wasn’t his enemy. He fell to his knees, and whispered, “I cannot believe my eyes.” I tend to get that reaction a lot when I use my magic for some reason.

“Again, my apologies about the cows; I did not realize they belonged to anyone. Now, if there is nothing else, I’ll be going.”

“Wait, noble Dragon,” the knight begged. I waited. “There is something you can do, to make up for the cows.”

Oh, good! I was so happy to hear this! I felt so awful about eating from those poor peoples herd. “If it is in my power to do so,” I promised.

The knight lowered his head. “I swore on my honor to the villagers that I would bring back your head or die trying. Since I cannot harm you…”

“Oh, I see.” I thought I understood. “This will only take a few moments, Sir Knight.”

“George. Sir George,” the knight said.

“Sir George. Very well, I shall oblige your request.” I began to call upon my magic again. While I did so, I noticed the knight shivering with fear below me; why, I could not imagine. He must still be nervous about magic, I reasoned. I carefully wove the threads of magic, and watched my creation take form, growing out of the dirt, larger and larger. It began to assume the beautiful greenish hue of my kind. Oh, how I missed seeing that color! Finally, it was finished.

As the magic finished, the knight stopped his shivering and looked up tentatively, and saw my creation. His eyes bulged in surprise and relief. He looked up, and the look on his visage was replaced by one of perplexity.

I had formed an imitation Dragon’s head out of the soil of the earth. It was only the size of a Dragon child’s head, but any bigger and Sir George could not have possibly lifted it. I do not know what Sir George had been expecting, but it had apparently been something very different, indeed.

“Th-thank you!” Sir George stammered, “Thank you for sparing me!”

“You are most welcome, Sir George, although I had no intention of harming you, as I believe I mentioned earlier. There is your Dragon’s head; I believe my debt is now repaid. I shall be off, now. Good day, Sir George.” And with that, I took to the skies again. It was still prime flying conditions, after all; such days should not be wasted sleeping, now, should they?


“I do not know what Sir George did after that, but apparently the man was more than a little dishonest in relating his deeds to his fellows. The stories I have read about this event claim that Sir George vanquished me in combat (haha!) in an epic struggle, which, as anybody who knows anything about Dragons knows, is absolutely ridiculous. No human would last two seconds against a Dragon, and no human could possibly slay a Dragon; we are, after all, immortal. Strangely, people believed his fanciful tale, and it became the accepted version of truth.”

“I hope you enjoyed my tale of SIR GEORGE AND THE DRAGON. I have many, many more tales to tell, more than I could possibly tell to you in your lifetime. I shall now ponder which of my life’s experiences I shall share with you next. Until then…”

-Dragon



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