My current latest project...I know I have far too many of these, but I want to know what the general consensus of the start of this is, to see whether I should continue with this narrative style or not.
Here There Be Dragons
Introduction
People are, in my opinion, some of the stupidest creatures in existence. Now, seeing as you’re most likely a human yourself, give me a moment to explain.
You spend most of your insignificant little life scrabbling around, trying to support yourself along with your mate and offspring. You take up a profession in order to obtain food (as if it is such a rare commodity!) and shelter (as if you’re too good for caves), and are constantly paying homage to someone who’s in a better position than you are and who holds sway over your pitiful life.
When you do finally die, you’re just replaced by your offspring, who go through the same wearisome toil. And thus it passes, generation after generation, eon after eon.
Sound fun? Well if it does, then good, because that’s your lot. If it doesn’t, then tough. You’ll die soon enough anyway, whether in battle or from disease or old age to give it much worry.
Now, all this would be just fine and dandy for you; I wouldn’t be complaining if I’d just be left well enough alone. But no, no, you couldn’t do that; you have to go and drag my kin and I into your little matters—especially those of love.
Oh yes, you humans spend a good deal of time worrying about that. Couldn’t make do with any of the females in your own village who are of the same stock and breed as yourself; no, you have to go for the finest of the brood. And look where it ends you up; she gives you some material token as a pledge, and you sally forth to do “brave deeds.”
Even this would be ridiculous but innocuous—save for the fact that the most popular of your deeds is to kill off my type.
It’s quite sickening, really.
And you wonder why we dragons don’t like you.
Of course, there are those rare exceptions. Those foolishly altruistic, idealistic humans who rave about peace between species and coexistence and are always written off as insane before they up and die. One of these pops up every century or so. I’ve met one. It was a long time ago; his bones are rotting in the ground now, I think. But I have the memories.
It was back a couple hundred years ago, when I was living in the pleasant countryside of Westerfold…
Chapter One
Our meeting started as most of these things go. I was asleep, in my cave, when the most raucous clattering and gasping reached my subconscious, drawing me out of my slumber. I kept my eyes closed (it’s best to never let on that you know they’re there; then they get all panicked and try something foolhardy. Much easier to pretend you’re unaware of their presence until—whoop!—they’re in your stomach). But I was listening intently, and with an inward sigh realized what it was.
Another enterprising young man was no doubt ascending the cliff, working his way up to my cave’s yawning mouth in the hope that he’d catch a napping dragon whose head he could easily slice off.
Well, it was my lunchtime. I stretched (silently, so as not to alarm the young man below), checked my claws (sharp and serrated, as always), and prepared myself for a bit of exercise. Call it the cat in me, but I always liked to give a young knight the feeling like he could possibly win the fight. Besides, it roiled his blood and made him much tastier than when they were frozen in fear (though of course I’d take one of those in a jiffy; can’t have the best all the time, now can we?).
There was a faint scraping sound, which I put down to the slippery part that lacked any sort of handhold. There was a muttered curse, a few rocks were dislodged, and then silence. He was probably hanging around a precarious spot, barely daring to breathe, wondering if the noise would awaken the beast within the lair. I kept in a snort of amusement and listened. Very faint—but I heard it. He was on the move again, this time going at a slower pace, more careful of his foot placement.
At this point, I gave a little cough that echoed through the cave in a warning manner, just to see what he’d do. The noises stopped; he was frozen again, most likely praying fervently and gathering his courage.
After a minute, I was beginning to wonder if he had fallen, but he started up again, rather reluctantly. I yawned; at the rate he was going, he would become my afternoon collation instead of my lunch.
I considered flying out, plucking him off the side of the cliff, and disposing of him then and there. But then, I was always such a sporting chap; wouldn’t be quite fair, and I could wait a little longer. Patience of a cat, that’s me—though I’ve already likened myself to a cat, haven’t I? Well, you know what I mean.
A gloved hand appeared on the lip of the cave floor, and my tail twitched in anticipation. I drew a little further back, into the depths of the cave, so as to be hidden by the shadows. Labored breathing, then—alley-oop!—his head popped up, and two anxious eyes scanned the cave.
I had had too much experience to let myself be shown, and there was a good deal of squinting at me before the youth decided I must be asleep deep within the cavern, since I wasn’t roaring or blowing fire (which is, contrary to popular belief, not commonly done; hurts the throat like hell). Taking heart in the silence, he pulled the rest of his clanky self up onto the ledge, then spent a good deal of time fiddling with the buckles on his helmet.
To say the least, I wasn’t impressed by what I saw. The knight looked like he was barely a man—seventeen, at most. He had a pale, sickly face with two eyeballs that seemed to strain out of their sockets and gave him a perpetually shocked expression. He was breathing hard, evidently out of shape, and his armor—well! I certainly wouldn’t be able to see myself in it without giving it a good scrubbing and soaking in vinegar, to get the rust off.
And the sword…perhaps the knight’s most critical item, seeing how it would be his main defense. I quickly spotted it, hanging from his belt in a scabby leather sheath. It looked like it was stuck in there, and I wondered if it had ever occurred to the boy who was now bearing it to check and see if it could come out of the scabbard.
The youth, in the meantime, had regained his breath and his feet, and stood warily at the edge of the cave, swaying a little as he tried to get a good look inside. The closed helmet on his head couldn’t have helped much, but he evidently felt like he should be prepared for whatever was inside (as if a bit of metal could protect him from my wrath, should I choose to unleash it!).
I toyed with the idea of simply converging on him with a frightening roar, to get that heart pumping, but I have to admit my appetite had gone a little sour at seeing how bony he’d be—not much meat or substance there.
So I decided to mess with his head a bit before doing anything else.
