Part two of the first chapter...thanks in advance for any reviews!
*Rated 12+ for mild language.
Here There Be Dragons
“Who goes there?” I rasped in a guttural tone.
The effect was marvelous. There was a clanging as he jumped in his armor, and then he began to tremble, setting the whole cave ringing with a muffled metal rattling.
“Wh-who speaks?” he asked in a high, strangled voice.
“The owner of this cave, no less! Whom else wouldst thy expect?” (I reverted to my scant store of the Old Tongue; this was always a surefire way of gaining their respect. Besides, no one spoke it anymore and I was free to butcher the grammar however I wished without getting any jaw back about it.)
“Sh-show yourself,” the young knight demanded, gripping the hilt of his sword.
“What?” I thundered, making him cower. I was thoroughly enjoying myself now. “And who art thou, that thy shouldst give a behest and expect me, the owner and master of this cave which thou art in, to obey?”
I must admit, whenever I spoke in the old language, I often confused myself and my poor audience; the boy was no exception.
“Eh?” His helmeted head was tilted to one side.
“Silence, mortal!” (One can never go wrong with that bit.) “You are never to question me. Indeed, I shall question you, and now you must needs tell me the purport of thy quest here.” I moved forward, still mostly shadowed, but letting enough of the sunlight to show patches of my scales. My head extended forward a bit and I glared down at the boy.
He stared up at me through his visor, silent as a gravestone (I would say “grave,” but on Hallow’s Eve they just can’t keep it in, noisy specters). His silence began to irk me, and I growled, “Why do you not talk?”
“Y-you just said to be silent,” he protested.
“Oh. So I did. But that was then. Now I want you to SPEAK!” This last was given in an impressive roar that shook the cave. I distinctly heard a faint tinkle, as of broken glass. “Oh damn, I hope that wasn’t the mirror. Just my luck—”
I broke off, suddenly realizing that I was speaking aloud. Clearing my throat hastily, I boomed again, “Well, mortal, what havest thou to answer?”
“Erm,” he began, and I noticed his posture was a little less cowering than it had been before. Never mind, he’d soon be screaming in horror once I had him on his back, squiggling like a worm. “I’m on a quest,” he began, and I stopped him there.
“Oh yes, a quest. I’ve heard that before, and I know what your foul intentions are, boy! You think you are here to slay me and remove my heart and give it to the lady of your life so that she may pledge her love to you, her conquering knight! Oh yes, I know what you are here for.”
“Well, it’s not exactly like that,” he began in a mumble, but I didn’t care to hear the details.
“You shall find, however, that you have come to your demise. How many knights have come to this very cave, seeking my treasure, my heart, my head? And how many have departed with their own lives? None.”
“You mean none have come here before?” he asked, interest sincere in his tone.
“No, stupid, I mean that none return. Many have come, none have returned.”
“But surely someone must have returned. Elsewise, how could anyone know where you live?”
I paused. “Legend, boy, legend. I am known throughout the land as being the scourge of the countryside.”
“Right,” he said, in one of those patronizing tones. “But you are a dragon? I mean, I can’t see you very well.”
“Of course I’m a dragon!” I snapped, irritated. This boy wasn’t responding the way I had been expecting, and it was rather annoying. “You thought you were speaking with a lizard?”
“Or a wizard,” he said. I couldn’t be sure, what with his face hidden under that helmet, but he sounded like he was smiling.
That, of course, was a bad thing to say for someone in his position (namely, at my mercy). We dragons have a sketchy history with wizards at best, and a downright hostile one at worst. Not sure exactly how it started, but I know that personally I find wizards annoying little upstarts who want to control the world, lives, etc., without much knowhow. We dragons can’t help showing off every now and then, and it galls the wizards to see us flaunting our natural skills while they slog on and on, trying all manner of spells to emulate us. Very flattering, I’m sure, but when wizards start plucking scales here and drawing blood there for their potions, it goes too far.
“As you shall see, boy, I am no groveling wizard frittering away in a cave! I am a dragon, and a finer specimen this side of the mountains you shall not find!”
To prove it, I stepped forward into the light, revealing all my glory and splendor. I could almost feel the boy’s eyes widen behind that ridiculous helmet of his.
I’m not the biggest dragon out there, I’ll admit, but I do have quite a few centuries’ growth on my bones, and it was impressive enough to a youth who had certainly never set eyes on a beast such as myself. My forest green scales shone in the light, while the row of silver spikes upon my back glittered like jewels. My expansive wings I had to keep folded in the cave, but I swished my long, point-tipped tail and lowered my head (keeping a good eye on the sword in the sheath, mind you). I pulled back my upper lip and snarled, showing off my first row of sharp, meat-tearing teeth.
“Well?” I hissed, flicking my long forked tongue out at him. To his credit, he didn’t stumble back, only winced.
“You are indeed a dragon,” he said.
“Hell yes I am. And don’t you mention any wizards to me if you know what’s good for you.”
“D-do you,” he started, trying to find his words, “do you have a name?”
“A name? What for?” I eyed him carefully; the talkative humans are always the ones who have some ulterior motive to all their questions, if you can just discover what they’re aiming at.
“For being called,” he replied. Then, realizing how demeaning that could be taken, he added, “If someone were to want to get your attention.”
“Screams usually work,” I said casually, sitting up. Adolescence encased in sun-baked metal does not give off a pleasant odor, let me tell you.
“But, but surely you have a name? A title?”
“If it means that much to you,” I said, a little mystified at his persistence. “I’m Jot.”
“Jot?” he repeated dubiously.
“Yes,” I replied tetchily. “It’s Jot. As in, ‘I don’t give a jot whether you like my name or think it’s impressive or whatnot.’” Humans always took issue with my name for some reason. “Anyway, what about you, Stringbean? What do they call you?”
“My name is Chance, son of Ivan of the Woles.”
I knew the Woles area—a dreary, boggy land with sagging castles and a pitiful population. I had once burned their village down; it was unintentional, I swear. The place just looked so wet and dismal that I had wanted to light it up a bit, give it a bit more cheer. It just got a little out of hand. I have to say, though, it was the only time I actually saw the villagers move faster than a shuffle as they ran out of the buildings and beat the flames down.
“And what are you doing here, Chance?”
He took a deep breath. Here it came—the avowal of love, of fealty, of dreams. I waited resignedly.
“There is a girl—”
“Oh dear, I thought so.”
“—and I must rescue her.”
“Well, you must have the wrong cave, because there’s no girl here, I can assure you.” True that—the place was a mess. Definitely no female touch here for a while.
“I know that she is not here. But you are—and I need your help.”
I blinked. Then I blinked again, more slowly. “You what?”
“I need your help.”
MUHAHAHAHA!!
Hope that answers what you guys were asking.
I apologize for the delay, but I promised you a review, so here it is!
