If dragons are just people, it's not even dragon magic, just people magic. The dragon hunters are just racist conspiracy nuts against people with magic and accusing them of being lizard people

This is why we must be respectful and willing to listen to the dragons who harm nobody.

Is this Dragonheart inspired?

[removed]

“The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest in all the details of daily life.”

Those were the words painted in gold cursive on the side of Dedalus Dirkstrom's telescope. He licked his thumb, smoothed a wayward lock of hair, and peered through.

In the distance, below the skyline of a foreign port, a pack of sea dragons circled in the water. Their dark silhouettes churned and coiled, but for as long as Dedalus watched, their backs never broke the surface.

He was seated on the deck of his dirigible, miles from home and alone but for the company of his flying donkey.

"Tinker?" he said. "I have a job for you, but you're not going to like it."

The donkey brayed its disapproval.

The contraption Dedalus cinched to Tinker's back was comprised of a basket, a knot of gears, and an iron bit. When Tinker chomped on the bit, the gears would turn and the basket would open, releasing its contents to whatever waited below. Thus equipped, Dedalus smacked his donkey on the rump and sent him with a load of half-rotten fish to fly over the spot where the sea dragons swirled.

Ready again at the eyepiece of his telescope, Dedalus waited. Tinker dropped the bait, and in a flurry of seafoam and tarnished-brass scales, the dragons burst from the sea.

Fins flashed and serpents snarled, and Tinker escaped their ravenous jaws only by the hairs on the tip of his tail. As he flapped back to the dirigible, braying accusations at his master, Dedalus was filling his sketchbook.

A fin here, a wing there, an arch of precisely this degree. A lever, a hinge, a length of rope, and a whole lot of paint and silver and gold. Oh yes; by the gods and the heavens above, this was his greatest project yet.

When he returned to shore and home, Dedalus Dirkstrom had twenty-two pages of scribbles. With barely a stop to hitch his donkey and dirigible, he ran to the royal court, raised his sketchbook over his head and, out of breath, cried "I've done it."

The king, bemused by the spectacle of his exhausted-yet-overenthusiastic court engineer, stroked his beard in contemplation. "Oh? What have you done?"

"I've designed a new dreadnaught," Dedalus wheezed. "With fins and oars and ironclad sides, and it spits foam and fire from its bow." He shuffled through his papers, holding schematic after ink-smudged schematic before the king's nose. "Every detail is here, from the curve of the fangs to the silver-foil glint on its reinforced scales; a man-made sea dragon, built to command an armada."

The king folded his arms. "Well, it certainly sounds impressive," he mused. "But what of the enemy catapults? The ones on their sea wall, the ones I asked you to reverse engineer?"

With a moment to re-collect his breath and thoughts, Dedalus remembered the foreign port he'd journeyed out to see. "Ah, those," he replied. "I'll get to them tomorrow."

"So, I may have done a tiny, morally questionable thing with your DNA," I said, holding out the envelope.
"Jeez, do I want to know?"
"It was just one of those test kits, ya know? I figure, we know you're adopted. And the friendly animal stuff has been ramping up lately. And you've always been a great singer. And, well, you know I'm a curious sort of person. But I didn't want to see it without you. And can you just take it already?" The last bit was in mock anger and real frustration.
"Ok, ok," Jack replied, grabbing and opening it in one swift motion. He glanced over the results, and I moved to read over his shoulder. "Um, I don't understand half of this, but... Can I ask how you chose this DNA testing service?"
"Ah, yeah. That's definitely relevant. I mean, they're mostly used to check if... collector's items?"
"That sounds wrong but go on."
"Well, to see if those are legitimate. But because of that, they have the highest number of... celebrities, and rich people, sports guys and such."
"Such as in, say, royalty?" They just had to add a crown to the logo.
"I mean, like I said, the animals and the singing. I mean, there are three butterflies on you right now. And you have impossible upper body strength. Not that I'm complaining." He blushed. I probably did, too.
"Listen, Rita, thanks. I think it's really creepy what you did, but I also appreciate it. Don't do it to anyone else, okay?"
"Gasp!" I said the word while pretending to clutch at pearls. "What kind of women do you take me for?"
"Oh, you have been spending too much time with my ma," he chuckled and handed me the paper. "Now, do you understand any of this?"
"Yeah, let me just-oh my... Um..."
"What?"
"Do you want to know who your mother is?" "Really?"
"Yeah, looks like one of the princes isn't as charming as he thought." "What? Oh... Oh!" "Good news though, Queen Afrodille was royalty even before her marriage, so you are, technically, a prince."
"Illegitimate prince."
"Hey, let's not split hairs."

Oh. That isn't reassuring in the slightest.

Anyway, good story.

The mental and physical transformation of the character goes hand in hand but isn't necessarily identical. By the end she is only just starting to recognize that she is the greatest danger in the lands. I would say given her ability to fly and her hot breath that she is further along the physical transformation than she knows. But she is not dangerous because she burns villages in her sleep, it is her power and demand for absolute control that makes her dangerous.

In a land, where a cataclysmic event sent the world into an alternate course from the one we know, setting humanity back centuries, a knew creature would evolve. The common ancestor was the draco lizard.

In the ribs commonly used for gliding, muscles and tendons began to grow over the millennium that humanity took to get back on it's feet, from lack of pollution and far greater forests the oxygen level was just right, if not better for them to grow the the size of what we would've called a great Dane. They were quickly domesticated and their numbers grew along with ours. most creatures exhaled carbon dioxide however when they breathed it had an faint scent, even in the cleanest of their mouth's. Several homes exploded due to the fire for warmth in the winter. These people connected the dots with the "poisonous demon air" from the mines. They did some experiments and found there breath, when trapped in a bottle and heating bursts into flames, quickly they were utilized it war.

They were being bred specifically for one thing. To serve us however we demanded. They did not fight back, however showed little to no loyalty as a canine would. soon they were a common sight, in every city and large village where the houses wouldn't burn. However humanity wasn't exactly human with them, and the dragons... They were learning.

It was a rare sight at first, but the. More and more people saw it. They learned how to use tools, and developed a language. people would try to decipher them, understand them. They realized they were internalizing everything over the past ten centuries, and we're growing more restless.

They knew the humans knew what they were saying and all at once as if they had wires connected to each other. They flew to the sky, all the way into the capital. They made an attempt to negotiate. "We leave you with your society and we get ours." The humans fearing the worst agreed. They let them go and they were undomesticated over the years, they had created tribes all interconnected like a hive mind. When one found something they all found it, replicated it, and made a use for it. Even their breath, they trained their lungs to inhale more air to produce more flames. Quickly they were a their own nation.

Humans realizing their intelligence and potential was on par with their own and made an offer. " You don't have to live in the harsh wilds, you could rejoin us but more equal and not just pets." The dragons adamantly refused. "We would never sully our culture with the likes of slave owners, we only avoid war to avoid destruction of our societies, and any other potentially sentient creatures out there. It took years for us to remove the inbreeding from our people." The humanity rolled it's eyes. " Too bad then."

The two nation's watched each other closely learning about them. The dragons cought wind of all the domesticated animals and still stayed their fire, claws, and jaws. The humans entered another war, this time they used more advanced weapons, the dragons did all they could to stay out of it. Until the resisting nation decided to use the expansive forests for their weapons. Mass producing it faster than the forests could grow. The other nation did the same, leaching off the dragons, just like one hundred thousand years ago. This was the final straw.

"Make peace or we'll end both of your nations." They both scoffed, "you? Destroy us? Don't make us laugh. You said we could."
The dragons clenched their jaws. " We never did say that, we've been watching you both and could easily tear you apart from the inside. Turn your people against you, then you'd both lose to yourselves." The humans glared at each other. "Just pick a side and it would be over already. In case you couldn't tell we're at a stalemate, your vast numbers would easily turn the tide." The dragons sighed. "It's clear negotiation is not an option." And unleashed several generations of natural selection, scales as strong as iron, strength surpassing ours, heat condensed Into a two foot metal pole centimeters thick, they had completely lost all regards for the humans, even armor was used against them, the metal plates heated to a glow and roasting the wearers.

The humans in a last ditch effort attempted to negotiate.

The dragons leader spoke, "this may be the last time we gather around this table to speak." The human nodded grimly. "Indeed, we've made a form of water transportation. we could leave by the masses and never return, if you spare us our lives." "Spare you? After you've everything you've dragged us into? Never."

The human opened his mouth to speak reaching into his pocket for the flintlock. "Then do unto us as we've done to you." The dragons glared. "We would never stoop to your level. All you have to do is keep us out of it. Leave each nations problems to that nation."

The human shakily grabbed the handle and flashed the handle in the warm mid morning glow. "You've proven you could be a threat. We could easily stop this threat by taming it." The dragons placed an unusual orb onto the table, it had a string attached to it leading into what appeared to be a lighter. "You know why I'm the leader of my nation? I have the most control over my breath, even breathing into and open flame doesn't ignite it. We've taught our young how to control it. In combination that with what we call elastic. Formed from the tree sap being consistently stretched. I've filled it with an extremely concentrated amount of the explosive breath, we've also infused the rubber with the gunpowder you use for guns."

The human leader stared at the orb, taking in the full threat of what lay before him "well we believe unity is what we need, everyone working together for a common cause." The dragon caressed the lighter. "You call being an invasive leaching species a common cause? You disgust me."

Moments went by in silence waiting for the other to make a move as a crowded gathered around the window opened by the maid.

The dragon sighed and slapped the table with his tail. "I have an idea, you give us the ships and we could see if there's any lands worth while, if there are, you can colonize it. under our supervision." The human clawed at the table. "Why won't you let us go, you've already won." The dragon looked at the crowd out the window. "Because humanity is just a bunch of self destructive ape's who can't even beat a small village of gecko's. If we let you go and get as far and happy as you want, you'd take over and kill everything."

The humans sighed, "So that is how it is." Then shot a bullet. The crowd roared in Horror as the dragon rose up again and lit the explosive. " I guess we'll have to be the explorer's" the fuse quickly burned out and the nation's capital was gone, and with it the last humans. The dragons copied the boats and explored a new land. Forever remembering the ingenuity of man's nimble fingers and memorializing where they began and ended with a mural of man's history.

Young man I hear you. I hear you, in the bushes. I have heard you following me for three days. Why don't you come and join me. I have meat and a fire. It must be cold in that bush, and you have not stopped stalking me long enough to gather food. I have no ill intent. There shall be no bloodshed tonight.

Yes come. Let me see you in the light. I have only caught site of your shadow for three days and nights. You look awful. Eat. Indeed I did hope you would starve or succumb to nature by now. You do not look as worthy as you have proven. I have killed men twice your stature and age. You are unworthy.

You who know not why I am the enemy. This fight, like myself, is older than you can conceive. I have witnessed entire evolutions of man compared to your couple of decades. I have outlived anyone who knows my name. You are hunting a myth. To your credit, I have not been hunted in what feels like eons.

Indeed you have found the last dragon magic left in the world. This very fire is merely a product of ancient magic. Nothing like those odd sounding tools you carry and point. Do not click that one again. Those tools are nothing like the swords and guns of the past. Man has changed. I was once like you if you would believe. You hardly would.

What story have they told this century. The first was that I was the last dragon shapeshifted by Merlin himself. The second tale I heard was that a woman fucked a dragon producing what some called a hybrid and others a mutant. The last hunter claimed I was a traitor dragon hunter that had stolen the dragons' power for himself.

Had I known when I took a position in the dragon's guard that I would be here, I would have taken the death of my people. They died fighting the hunters in the name of the dragons. The dragon were dying. They had chosen my people, not only to protect them but the magic of the dragons.

That is what you want is it not. Or should I say what they want. All hunters are just hired by someone to do a job. I cannot blame you for trying to make your coin.

Unfortunately, you are far too late, hunter. This night was your last if you continued without food. You knew that, yet you continued. Brave, but stupid. What is to say I do not kill you at this weak point. Bravery only goes so far. I thought I was brave. Until given a magic that forced me to run for millennia. This magic was a blessing for my people, but your people turned it into a curse.

Still this fire and this food is all that remains of the dragons' magic. Before you sits nothing but an old man. I am too old to fight. I came to die here by this fire in this unrecognizable place where it all started. This magic is the only thing I have left. I watched the slaughter and slow death of my people, the rise and fall of civilizations, and killed many a man to protect a joy I could not share. You may take my heart when I die, though I doubt it will be enough to satisfy your employer. All I ask is that you let me fade into the darkness that I have been chasing for so long. Please, hunter.

So it turns out... all dragons are just people with dragon magic.

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Nice. So, for this whole time, was the protagonist in the wrong? Did they unintentionally massacre innocents and pillage every place they came across with their newfound power?

Nice!

Nice one!

Nice one!

A dagger glints as it stabs into my table.

"Oh gods, not this again," I can't help but mutter into my half-finished pint of beer.

"Ye'll be wanting te' take this outside," the bartender calls to the dragon hunter who's just arrived at my table. "I don't want no trouble inside me pub."

"Let's make this easy," the hunter says. She's petite, but armed to the teeth. Her red enameled armor is studded with various knives, crossbow bolts, and poison darts. She has a crossbow on her back and a short sword at her hip. Judging by her stance, she knows how to use each and every one of her many, many weapons. "You tell me your name, and then you fly me up to Fire Mount and help me track down and kill the rest of your kind. I'll kill you last. Make this hard, and I'll just kill you now."

She wants my dragon name because she thinks I'm a disguised dragon. If I were a disguised dragon and she got my dragon name, she could command me to do whatever she wants, including fly her to the dragon stronghold at Fire Mount--a mountain literally so hot it would melt the flesh off any mere human who tried to climb it.

But I'm not a disguised dragon and I don't have a dragon name--just dragon magic which apparently hunters can smell. Each dragon husk they bring to the capitol gets them untold riches and their name in a big special book. All you need is a nose for dragons--or, rather, dragon magic.

You try and convince a greedy dragon hunter that you're human, though, see how far it gets you.

I've only just shaken a pack of hunters in the previous town. I haven't slept more than a few hours in three days. To say I'm getting cranky would be an understatement. I chug down the beer, slamming my empty mug on the table when I'm done.

"Let's take this outside."

I walk out first, sure that the either respect for the tavern keeper or surprise at my nonchalance will keep her from stabbing me in the back. But just in case, I twirl my right hand fingers into a quick shielding spell. It's a thin one--good ones take time to cast--but it'll stop any blades from slashing up my favorite green cloak too much.

Outside, the mountain air is bracing. I wish, not for the first time, that I was an actual dragon and not just some knock-off made by the generous whims of a short-sighted ancient lizard. Sure I can cast a few spells, but can I fly? Can I breathe fire? Is my body immune to the ravages of time? No, no, and a big old wrinkled no.

I turn around to see the hunter in front of the tavern, crossbow already aimed at my heart. I twist my fingers again, thickening my shield slightly in a way I hope she doesn't notice.

"Would you believe me if I told you I am not the dragon you are looking for?" I asked. I would hope my tired eyes and lack of literal wings would give me a way, but her eyes keep their steely glint. "Is that a no?"

She loosens the crossbow bolt, pinning my cloak to the ground. She has another one ready before I can move and the other side of my cloak is pinned. A third bolt is ready practically before I can blink and she's right in my face. I realize, a little too late, that I'm far too tired for this and also a little too drunk. I hold my hands up in surrender.

"Tell. Me. Your. Name." She hisses the words through her teeth.

"It's John, nice to meet you." I offer my hand, but I'm not really expecting her to take it. She only glares.

"Your full name. Now."

"It's John Xavier McDougal."

She jabs me with the crossbow. "That's not funny."

I sigh theatrically. "Ok, fine, It's John Francis Xavier McDougal. Are you happy now? Gods, I didn't want to share that middle name with anybody, but what can you do when someone shoves a crossbow in your face?"

Her expression flashes confusion and then concentration as she smells the air around me. She does it unlike any other hunter I've seen--kind of like a dog, with little sniffs and snuffs in and out. As she does this, she gradually forgets about the crossbow and lowers it.

"You smell…strange," she says.

I don't miss my opportunity, and yank the crossbow out of her hands before she remembers the large amount of zeros on a dragon's bounty. Gods, the thing is heavy.

She gasps in surprise, but has a knife at my throat before I can lift the crossbow.

"What are you?" she asks.

"Oh, so you don't think I'm a dragon anymore?" I ask sarcastically.

"No, I don't." The surety of her statement takes me more off guard than her arrival did. No hunter has believed me. Ever. Not in the entire decade I've been running from them.

"I-" I start, then think better on it. "It might be easier to explain without the knife on my throat."

She puts the knife away and jerks the crossbow from my hands before I can do anything about it. She trains it on my heart.

"Explain," she says.

I keep my hands up, but bend toward my pinned cloak. "I'm just going to pull these out, if you don't mind. I don't want to rip my cloak any worse than it already is.."

She doesn't shoot me as I tug the bolts free from the ground. I keep one hand up as I hand the bolts to her with the other. For whatever reason, this is what relaxes her. She lowers the crossbow, but doesn't put it away.

"What's your name?" I ask. I can tell she doesn't want to tell me. "Just your first name is fine."

Eventually she relents. "It's Kayla."

"Ok, Kay--can I call you Kay?--why don't I tell you all about it over a pint?" I gesture back at the tavern door. "My treat."

I can see the conflict in her face. She has a choice: kill me now and potentially collect a bounty, or listen to my story and risk me getting away. I guess she decides she'll be just as able to kill me later.

"Fine. But stay in my sight at all times."

"Yeah, sure, I can do that," I say, finally lowering my hands. "Not a problem."

I get to the tavern door first and hold it open for Kayla, but she doesn’t go in ahead. Eh, worth a try.

I twist my fingers to thicken my shield as I call out to the bartender, "Two pints, if you please, for me and the lady here." I slide into the same seat as before, my old mug still waiting for me, and begin my tale.

"I was a dragon hunter myself once, you see…"

Conventional logic from childhood does not allow for such joy and meaning in a class like this;
I suppose it’s good, then, we’ve set to abandon the old rules.
For admiration and gratitude make up a flood of love,
and love is not romantic nor shameful
but the natural response when our lives are changed so.

Eagerness feeds our tired brain,
writing in bed not because we have to
but because we want to.
She said the other day that ravenousness for learning is part of health.
I wonder how I did not think it myself.
Must be the same way I hadn’t thought about
how grief is a flood of love persevering
even as I have felt it every time I put on one of those dresses
that still smells like perfume
and see in my features
someone else standing there, smiling.

And when has respect not been rare?
When have we not breathed a sigh of relief at a learning environment that spells out safety,
discovered it in our thoughts every time the ground beneath us began to shake
our lip tremble, insecure?

Of course it is natural for us to feel so elated!
The true secret of happiness lies in taking a genuine interest
in all the details of daily life.
So it’s no wonder
we walk from class with a cloud of dragonflies lifting our feet
Our notebook and our heart
filled up a little bit more.

A dragon’s hoard is at once precious and precarious; none moreso than that of Mazzaroth the Black.

The great dragon rested upon the highest peak in the land of Gabreel and he was content to lounge about his mountaintop, indifferent to the world below; his eyes were turned ever upward to gaze upon the glistening twinkle of his hoard of fire and light—the very stars themselves.

Legend told that Mazzaroth, in his youth, had flown about the galaxy igniting planet after planet, creating star upon star until at last he landed upon the highest earthly peak to finally rest and admire his masterwork. It was a work of myth fitting for a creature of Mazzaroth’s stature.

There were those in the land of Gabreel who were made uneasy by this legend.

“How can we live with a monster such as this literally hanging over our heads?” Said a townsperson.

“Yeah! My children can’t sleep at night for fear that Mazzaroth the Black will come to burn their home and scorch their bodies,” said another.

“The creature is peaceful. He’s not once descended Mt. Galil since choosing it as his roost. We must let the sleeping dragon rest,” said one more.

“I shall climb Mt. Galil and slay the beast! And I will return with the treasures of his hoard upon my back!” Declared Prince Gabbor. The announcement was met with roaring applause.

Prince Gabbor was a fearsome warrior. The able prince had slayed more than his fair share of mythic creatures, but none would prove as monumental as Mazzaroth the Black.

The prince, breathless and weathered from the climb up the imposing mountain, paused to catch his breath. He was still a mile from the spot Mazzaroth rested. The moon was high in the sky, his trail illuminated by the silver moonlight. Gabbor could feel the presence of Mazzaroth, such a creature creates and demands its own gravity. The air was thin and the winds blew strong.

As Gabbor continued along the path, he began to hear messages upon the breeze.

Do not come further. Halt your advance.

You know not what you do. Return to your village and be spared.

This path ends only in ruin.

Gabbor was not to be deterred. He would not close the book on his hero’s journey on the last page. Soon he stood before the hulking mass of Mazzaroth the Black.

Gabbor struggled to see the menacing creature before him as Mazzaroth’s scales were reminiscent of the glowing night sky—he blended into and distorted the very fabric of space. The effect was sickening. Gabbor felt as though he was looking through a warped telescope, his vision blurred and deformed as the dragon’s rib cage slowly rose and fell. But Gabbor was cheered at this realization. The beast was asleep. He could slay Mazzaroth quickly and without contest.

He moved toward the dragon and drew his sword. Quietly.

Do not be foolish, child. Do not let arrogance and ambition be your undoing.

The dragon spoke without moving, or even waking. Gabbor continued his advance.

Every action necessitates an equal and opposite reaction, young one. Consider your action carefully.

Gabbor’s stride was long, his pace quickening—he felt his resolve slipping and sped faster and faster until he was in a full sprint.

Permanent solutions yield enduring consequences, boy. Think first to the future.

Gabbor would not be stopped. He leapt toward the dragon’s cavernous forehead and struck his sword down swiftly through the dragon’s skull.

Silence.

Gabbor cried as the stared at the body laying upon the ground. The dragon’s glow had dulled, it’s scales now a muted black. The consequences of his actions soon overwhelmed Gabbor. He searched high and low for the dragon’s hoard and found not even so much as a penny. He soon found the hoard as he turned us gaze upward.

And then the stars fell out of the sky.

Cosmic matter streaked across the night sky, illuminating the world around Gabbor with flashes of brilliant greens, whites, and reds. He watched in awe as the stars above grew ever larger until they filled the sky with light and mass and fire and death.

Mt. Galil was flattened into a scorched, black plain—the plain of Mazzaroth. Gabreel was reduced to a burning pile of rubble which burned for a thousand years—the last source of heat on the Earth. The fires that burn today—those life giving flames—were drawn from the smoldering ruins of Gabreel.

The night sky is now an empty black canvas and so it shall remain until our Lord Mazzaroth returns and renews this world of fire and light.

Until then, we wait.

r/InMyLife42Archive

I very much liked this prompt, because of what it got me to do. Thank you, OP.

It was the one too many stones thrown at her. The one too many mocking laughter. The youth, pimply and stupid, was still halfway through his pitchy cackling, when he was interrupted.

”That’s enough.”

There was a resolve to the deep voice, completely missed by the group of young men, standing before her.

“Holy fuck, it does speak! Ian, stab the thing, see what it does!”

The Ian of their group was all too eager to comply, but before his hand was able to retract the blade it had callously jabbed into the monster’s flesh, he was incinerated. Just like that, gone.

There hadn’t been a moment of hesitation on his end. The beast had been quiet that afternoon. A whimper of pain here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that showed any signs of distress. The stupid creature had taken their jaunts, as it should. So Ian had no doubts about whether or not he could use his blade, freshly sharpened, to slash a new wound into the gross oversight of his gods. This thing was an abomination. And he was righteous. It needed to hurt.

Only it didn’t.

A speaking dragon was rare, very rare. Not that it mattered. Much like the darklings of the south lands, speaking did not mean intelligence. It was still a beast. A beast, at his command, and for his pleasure. And if his pleasure meant that it be hurt, or even killed, so be it.

That is what Ian thought, in his final moments. Not nearly so concise, or even in real words. His final moments were in feelings. He felt entitled. Powerful. He was owed. And he wanted.

What he wanted most, in those final moments, was to hear the stupid thing roar. Admit it’s defeat. Admit that he was better than it.

Ian never did get his final wish. Final, in that it he would never make another wish again. He wanted to feel strong. Superior. Grand.

Instead, he only felt heat. Unbearable heat.

And the ringing in his ear, as the creature spoke again, louder this time. Loud enough that the young men felt it in their chests. A single sentence, ending with an eruption of flames, that filled the enormous cave the creature had taken shelter in.

”That’s enough.”

Haha, Unexpected twist but I loved it! When it comes to malice and destruction, even dragons defer to lawyers!

[removed]

(bonus points to anyone who can guess the source material correctly...)

​

"Be Still!" he bellowed again. But this time I was not going to let this six-ton geezer of a fire-breathing lizard tell me what to do anymore. He says I should seek gold and sit on it but not take his. Well, why not? I could kill him like I killed the men, he's only bigger. He's slow and unbecoming. I'm not afraid of this lazy blundering serpent anymore; I know he's bluffing this time. I pick up the same little emerald as before and whip it at his glassy eyeballs.

"your gold will be my gold, flaming snake!" I say, snatching up another glimmering object to pelt this beast with. The caverns shake as he rises and blows flame from every orifice of his ugly skull. he doesn't scare me anymore. The lazy bastard won't even try.

"perhaps, tiny angry beast, I did not make myself clear. You didn't find my discipline easy to follow, perhaps you feel like what man does when he sees you, but now you must know the same pain if you are to listen! I know all, and you know nothing! Feel the wrath of omniscience!" He rises to his full height saying this.

Maybe, just maybe, this old angry ball of fur did not contemplate just how large an immortal serpent really is. But I suppose I can't run away now. He rears back, his internal furnace explodes with flames that eject from his wrinkled old snout, and I dive behind a pile of coins to avoid his fire. It still singes the hair of my back off, it nearly burns me entirely, and I can barely move as it engulfs the fur on my back. I recovered, but what I didn't expect from this geriatric monster was him to try and crush me with his elder paw, but I surprised myself with how much I could lift of him, but he quickly bats me away with his wing, I tumble into the cave walls. Pain shoots through my entire back as I let out a furious bellow.

"Go back to your bed of gold, beast! I want nothing more of your lazy and contradicting advice, if you say I shall take gold, then you should protect yours better!" I shout at him. I know I will lose. Fighting a dragon is surprisingly harder than ripping Danes in half. I grab gold pieces and pelter him with as many as I can before trying to escape the cave. I think I finally realized I was wrong in my entire life, that repulsive ancient serpent was but a frail elder when I walked in, still terrifying me for the first half, and undoubtedly teaching me quite the lesson, but I suppose my nature took over and I mistakenly tried to kill a 75 foot tall fire-breathing cynic. Now I am running for my life for the first time in it. Oops. I thought i could make it, surely I am faster than he, but I did not calculate his ability to grab me, however. I was locked in his scaly, crusty claws before could run out.

"Take this as your only warning, and your sign never to return", he yelled, "You asked for my help and then you just assault your teacher? tiny monster, you have much to learn. perhaps the dirt will teach you manners."

He throws me at incredible speed out the mouth of the cave, and all I recall after that is waking up back near the cliffside. That damned ram is still standing there. I'm going to push it over for hell's sake, finally. I'll show that dragon one day.

Murzok the Peaceful was not an aggressive dragon.

He did not fly out to battle for glory and riches against his kin. He did not die to fire and claw.

He did not fly out to burn the castles and rob the treasuries of humans. He did not die to spear and arrow.

He did not fly out to raid and hunt in the mystic forest of elves. He did not die to spell and curse.

He lived for a very long time.

Every year some came to buy his advice, others to ask for wealth now in exchange for giving a greater fortune later. When the smithy was built or the trade caravan returned.

Nations gave him their treasures to store, for who could rob a dragon? Even the other dragons named him Elder and Wise and wouldn't dare offend him so.

His hoard was extensive, and where there is wealth there are always fools greedy enough to try to take it.

They never got too far, his continued life was in the best interests of the powerful and mighty. City guards had ears out for plots, and mercenaries patrolled the path to his mountaintop home.

But there were some stupid enough to try and strong enough to succeed. And it was known that Murzok wouldn't kill those who failed, they lived to tell their story of the mercy of the "harmless" dragon.

This batch of robbers stood twenty strong. Armed with the sharpest spears human blacksmiths could forge, the most cunning spell scrolls of the elven battlemages. Neither gotten in a manner fair or right.

Murzok melted one stalactite with his white hot flame, and shattered another with a swipe of his mighty tail.

He could have killed all of the robbers then and there, he knew it, they knew it.

Whenever this had happened before, this was the point Murzok let them leave-alive. But not this time, not these robbers.

"I don't like killing people. I dislike killing animals even! I am willing to buy a clean conscience. Listen to what I say and you shall leave rich, and I will sleep tonight knowing I have never killed a thinking being."

He reached deep into his treasure hoard and threw out a perfect ruby, large as two closed fists.

"Take this and leave."

The thieves had agreed on a way to split the loot, but that failed in the face of this beauty of the earth.

At once they turned on each other. Spears pierced and spells burnt.

The only survivor tucked the gem to his chest, even as his blood poured over it.

He staggered to the exit, turning through the labyrinthian caves, more disorientated and woozy with every step.

He reached the entrance, felt the warm light of dawn. Collapsed onto the path, into the sunlight. Dead.

Murzok reclaimed that blood-stone.