Discussions with a Dragon

Discussions with a Dragon

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. But there was always Clarence. And Clarence was, at least technically, a dragon. His external appearance was that of an old, fierce dragon. Excalibur-like swords for teeth, impenetrable, dark green, scale-armor coating from snout to frighteningly-large, mace-like tail, and the standard Vesuvian fire breath. Internally however, other than his blood, Clarence was not really thought of as a dragon. His demeanor just screamed apathy. Normally, just being near a dragon, even if I hadn’t noticed it yet, would strike me with that “I am going to ‘lose my newts” sensation. But Clarence? Well, you might not even notice him, even if you went for a stroll in the valley and tripped over his murderous tail! The only people in town that paid him any attention were the children who were still entertained by what the rest of us considered mundane. Although Clarence was the closest dragon in proximity to town, he was not our governing dragon. Nor did Clarence even have a territory. This is why Clarence was the perfect candidate.

I would never be able to extract the blood of an epic dragon such as Hank. The noble dragon that governed our land. The one that we all paid tribute to. The Dragon that set forth the laws of our land. Laws that the heads of the wizarding clans all interpret and enforce today. It would also be difficult to take Hank’s blood for no one alive today had seen him or knew his whereabouts. His large mound of taxes paid in tribute just continually grows with gold and dust year after year. We knew he would return to take his tribute, and if it wasn’t enough, there would be literal hell to pay.

My family was part of the clan that enacted Hank’s wishes amongst the land. All the notable dragons had a land in which they claimed dominion. Yet, rarely resided. As dragons were typically off doing dragon things. Like fighting for more territory, claiming more gold and treasures to stash in their secret lairs, burning heroes alive for daring to challenge them, or you know, other dragon stuff. My mother was one of the speakers of Hank. Speakers interpreted the documents of the first Dragon Treaty. The Dragon Treaty that dictated Hank was our land’s god. We would respect his wishes, pay him tributes, and worship Hank as our savior. For if we did not do these things, we would be burned alive. Hank’s laws were old and Hanktenoville was forever changing. Since Hank wasn’t around to constantly govern, the speakers made sure to update the laws in accordance with Hank's views. Most importantly the speakers were in charge of setting the tax tributes making sure we had enough gold to please Hank on his return.

Every land had a dragon that was its lord. We here in Hanktentonville—the second land to adopt a dragon savior. This sparked other Dragons to claim territories and stop dragons from just running around murdering villagers everywhere. It allowed all of the other races of humanoids to really begin to flourish. Hanktentonville was viewed by all as the premier dragon kingdom. We got everything right that the first city of Janettown really messed up.

Clarence was the only dragon I knew of without a territory. Unless that territory was the valley. Even if that was the case, he still lacked territory because he set forth no laws or system of taxes. He never ordered anything to be built in his honor and so he couldn’t gather riches. He had no subjects or worshippers. Clarence just seemed to loaf off in the valley, crushing rocks, never gorging himself on beasts—only eating what he needed to survive—and most often, laying in the bottomless lake heating it with his fire to create a steam bath that covered the entire valley in a fog. Clarence defied everything we had learned about dragons in school. Clarence was The Bum of Dragons.

As for me, I prided myself on being the most efficient of wizards. Although, when you are as efficient of a wizard as I, it inspires jealousy, and my needlessly extravagant peers misinterpreted my efficiency for laziness. This rift in perceptions left me without any friends, companions, acquaintances or anyone that I really conversed with other than my fairy, Beaugart. I guess it would be nice to have a friend. It could increase efficiency if they were willing to follow all of my instructions to a tee. But alas, I have not found such a companion. My peers' goals were being Heroes of Justice or becoming Dark Lords, enslaving all living creatures. Studying conjuration or destruction, transfiguration or illusion, healing or necro-healing, they never focused on what truly gave one importance and power: gold. The school of magic that interested me was alchemy, turning magic into gold.

Once I had enough gold, I would just buy all the friends and loyalty I needed. Now of course my family had gold. We were one of the most respected families in history. We were part of The Hank’s Council for dragon’s sake! My father was the most predominant healer in this land and any other. He was known for restoring people’s youth giving them that extra skin taut look. You know the one where your skin looks like you are taking off on a Pegasus way too fast and your skin is pulled back and taped to your skeleton. That look. All the elderly wizards were after it so that they could look young again, and his clientele kept getting younger. Of course, they all still died at the same age. Lesser healers took care of the sick. But there was rarely any gold in this for the sick often did not have gold. The problem was, I had yet to actually make any gold of my own. I just graduated from Hankverd and it was time to make some gold.

After my days of research on the potion, and creating my foolproof plan on how to extract the right blood and maintain my supply, it was time to summon Beaugart and head out. I went to my mirror, lit the five candles laid out in a star pattern, and chanted Beaugarts name three times into the mirror. Beaugart was a different kind of fairy. He requested this ritual to summon him. Most fairies just popped up whenever they were needed. But that was Beaugart and that was fairy magic. Some things could never be understood. I was just glad to have a fairy. And Beaugart was truly the best of fairies. Never chirping “ listen, listen” then proceeding to provide unneeded advice. Just there to add a bit of fairy magic and support anytime that I needed him. Any time wasted in his summoning was always made up with his cunning ways.

Beaugart popped up in a burst of flames, singeing my beautiful blonde bangs, “What are we getting into today boss?”

I proudly replied, “Dragons blood. A gallon should be enough to get us started. We are headed out to locate Clarence in the valley. I have enchanted this little needle here. I would like for you to fly up into the dragon’s ears where they are unprotected by armored scales. Engorge yourself in his blood. Then I will levi-barrow you back here.”

“Well, I guess if we need dragon’s blood, Clarence is the way to go. And I am interested in trying dragon’s blood. It is supposed to be delectable. What is your plan for such a rare substance?” Beaugart asked.

“It will be the missing ingredient to my Dysphoria Erasing Tonic,” I said, “Money troubles got you down? Sad, about another death in your household due to Green Spleen Thirteen? Anxious that the King is participating in a baby-eating conspiracy? I have the answer to your problems. Witch Pyriss’ Self Bliss Kiss! A one-size-fits-all way to leave your problems in the past.”

With a raised eyebrow, Beaugart snapped back, “Although I appreciated your commercial interruption, and have no quarrels with masquerading as a mosquito, this plan poses a huge risk. Even if Clarence is unconscious, he could kill us both by accident. I mean, I will just emerge back in fairyland, but you, well, your life will be canceled.”

“The rarity of Dragon’s blood is the crucial part,” I replied. “Dragon’s blood is known to produce mild bouts of euphoria but no one really knows much else about it because it is so unattainable. Think of the bard Cruno Neptune; his songs don’t need to make sense, they just need to be catchy. The blood does not have to do anything, it just needs to be alluring. I’ll distill the blood and add some ingredients: wormwood and toad skin to intensify and elongate the effects, a few drops of lavender for smell, a touch of potassium to make it fizz, and a sprinkle of your fairy dust to really make them feel wild. With that, I will have created a solution to the wretched feelings of life. Something that there was no cure for until today! And so, the patrons will keep coming back for more.“

“Last question here, who is Witch Pyriss?” Beaugart questioned.

“Oh, I don’t know. The sound of all those S’s I thought made it sexy. And thought people would trust a witch more than me with this type of thing. So, that's the name. It's a work in progress,” I explained.

As I had hoped, Beaugart jumped on board, “Alright, Pythryn, you have out done yourself! I love every bit of this plan. I see absolutely zero holes in your plot! Let’s make like a vampire and fly out!”

Beaugart and I set out down the hill. It was a long walk down to the valley. Thank Magic for my levi-barrow. I hopped in and began rushing down the hill avoiding that pesky foe, friction. Rushing passed the castles getting less impressive by the second. Passing the McCastles as we neared the end of the hill and a few seconds later we arrived in town. I had a love-hate relationship with the town inhabitants. The lazy louts in town had no ambition to work hard, make some more coin, and move out of town. Yet, they were my target market so I needed what little gold they did have.

Leaving the skirts of the market district, we entered the industrial area. The inhabitants here were almost solely oger. Being left out of the humanoid pact of 7777. They were classified as sub-humans and therefore unfit to live with the rest of the humanoid creatures. So, they inhabited the industrial district. A lot had to be produced for the citizens of Hankentonville to maintain their quality of life. And many people think that magic just happens. However, it most certainly does not. There is a lot of work that goes into it. And for any beneficial spell produced, there is also a negative effect as well. Most of the negative consequences were housed here in the industrial zone. The ogers were fit to handle such environments. Atrocious beings deserved atrocious conditions.

Upon entering, Beaugart pointed out a young oger digging through a dumpster. He had identical bulbous pulsating boils on each of his shoulders. The boils seemed to pulse quicker in sync with my footsteps. His grotesque head in the middle of the head-sized boils, reminded me of some sort of deformed Hydra. I quickened my pace to pass him in the alley. Although he would be no match for Beaugart and me, you never knew what one of these types was going to do. It was a narrow pathway and I did not want to get too close. He continued to rummage in the trash heap, seeming not to notice Beaugart or me as we passed. Then two thunderous simultaneous pops alerted my eardrums. Just before putrid smelling, heavy, wet, yellowish, snow cascaded my entire body. A disgust in the form of the utmost disturbing tingle seized through every physical and mental layer of my being. The oger turned to me with fright and sorrow in his eyes. He began with, “I am so sorr…” but that was all he got out before I hit him with a hex to the chest.

Beaugart immediately used some of his fairy magic to rid me of the putrid pus that covered my body. The use of his fairy magic would require payment later, but that would be worth it.

I was physically clean but the psychosomatic remnants of the atrocious act still disturbed every fabric of my soul. I looked down at the oger reading my wand. But something strange happened as I looked down upon him cowering and writhing. He seemed so broken and hurt. He was obviously in physical pain. But I could also feel his emotional agony. A wave of emotions seemed to connect me with him. Sadness, remorse and embarrassment all radiated out to me. I knew these emotions all too well. As they were emotions that I spent a lot of time repressing. He was expressing them while mine lay locked in a dungeon, the location only known to me.

Instead of another curse. I decided to speak, attempting to be kind, “Get up, stop shaking, clean yourself up.”

I reached into my satchel and tossed him an old cloak I used as a rag. I started to feel good about myself after my act of kindness. “What is your name, Oger?”

He stared at me astonished. A wizard had probably never even acknowledged his existence, especially one from such a social standing as mine. Less than one percent of Hanktentonville's residents were wizards after all.

“Oger, answer me,” I said in a stern commanding voice. “Why are you out here digging in the trash? Why did you allow those monstrous boils to become so infected and explode all over me? You need to take better care of yourself! You need to see a healer!” I gave myself a hypothetical pat on the back for giving this pitiful oger such great advice.

He stood motionless. My empathy towards the creature was being burned off by my growing rage. “I am a master wizard and you must…”

The Oger interjected, “Wizzy, you are a master delusionist living in a white tower built of self-ignorance.” Then he turned to walk away. New boils were already forming on his shoulders in true Hydra fashion.

After all of my kindness. This is how this oger treats me?! A wizard of such high importance? No. I will not tolerate such disobedience. I shot another hex hitting him square in the back. I walked up to him. He needed to answer for his insubordination. I summoned binding ropes for his hands and feet. Beaugart and I hoisted his unconscious body into my levi-barrow. This oger and I still had a long conversation to have.

We exited the town walls and began the winding path down to the valley. We still had a job to do, we still had a long way to go, and a lot of work to be done. We turned the corner of the ridgeline and a flaming vortex scorched our eyes, extreme heat scalding our faces. The largest gathering of dragons I had ever seen was circling a far-off point in the valley. As they circled they grew a pillar of blaze, so high that it seemed to be in line with the peak of Mount Qintyk in the distance. Then one by one they roared and soared off.

“Holy Shit!” The oger blurted from the barrow.

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but when there were there were a lot more than just Clarence.”