Delta40
12-29-2008, 03:22 AM
It is well documented that dragons cannot smile, yet they are not all unkindly. Mothers regale tales to their children about fierce dragons, brave dragons and even magical dragons. Each one breathtaking in its way though not one will smile. How then does a person spot a friendly dragon and get close enough perhaps before realizing their fateful error? It is not easy but here is a clue for anyone who should happen upon a dragon: Beware of Eyes.
‘I have nothing to give you’ spat Tarasque at the lowly knight who stood at the entrance of the aging dragon’s humble abode.
‘You may come as you please to quench the thirst of your bloodlust desire, but you will fail in your endeavour. I tell this to you now that you may return without loss of face, or life’.
The old dragon ‘smoked’ and tried without success to dismiss the knight, who rattled nervously, at the ready, but remained steadfast.
Martha stood in awe of the frail reptile, who almost evoked her sympathy but it was her task to slay the dragon at some point nevertheless. Her mail and armour hid her weaknesses quite adequately, the villagers rejoicing when she had been assigned this adventure. Martha wielded a powerful sword at the creature, faltering slightly under its weight. She laughed haughtily.
‘Oh foolish dragon, do not think that I will be so easily turned away. Would you have my people languish at the mercy of one as foul as you?’
Tarasque was weary and sorry for the child who had little idea of anything other than the romance of mythology. He did not want to hurt her. His left wing was giving him gip too. In fact when he thought about it, so was his hip. He would have to do something drastic perhaps but if the truth were known, all he wanted at age one thousand and thirty nine was to live a quiet little life in the hills. Tarasque failed to see why this was such a problem for the locals. He was strictly a cattle and sheep dragon. It was a diet that other species partook of throughout the ages yet only he offended the villagers. What nerve! Tarasque had dabbled in a la carte but he found humans did not digest well and they had a taste that repeated on him. The dragon regularly ‘huffed’ about people who would try to slay him, cast spells upon him, impose land rights and even ask him to leave, albeit at times nicely. As if the world was made for humankind alone! His needs were simple and now this latest interruption to his peace left Tarasque more ‘huffy’ than ever.
He eyed the nervous knight with growing interest. He could smell the difference and so knew his challenger was a woman, which made it all the worse for him if he were to blow a fiery blaze from his left nostril and bake her right where she stood. Her charred remains would not go down too well in the village, he knew that much. Thin and crispy maidens caused him more grief in terms of vengeance sought and Tarasque desperately wanted peace. Unbeknownst to Martha, even dragons possessed a degree of chivalry, however thin.
‘Look here maiden, is there no room for negotiation? I have no wish to be conquered by one as brave as you. Let us come to some amicable arrangement.’
The tired old dragon tried to smile but it is nigh impossible for a dragon to do so. However, their eyes emanate, sparkle and express the most wonderful things to all who encounter them and Martha was caught a little off guard.
Bravery was not in Martha’s vocabulary. Unbeknownst to Tarasque, a vote was held by the villagers on who was the most expendable person to slay the dragon and Martha was it. Her life events had led her here. Paved a direct path almost. Nobody would care if any harm befell her, Martha was sure of that. She was duly armed, slapped and instructed not to come back until the dragon had been ‘given his just desserts’. Now Martha stood quaking in leather boots, the smell of her own fear alerting her to the dark isolation of the cave. Her insignificance suddenly amplified. She would not tell Tarasque this though. Instead, she put on a show of impudence.
‘I think not dragon! Your time on this earth is very short, I assure you!’
To kill or not to kill that is the question. The old dragon moaned inwardly, ‘My world for peace.’
His mind made up, Tarasque closed his eyes and breathed deep. He looked into the far reaches of Martha’s soul and witnessed her fear and pain.
In resonant tones he murmured, ‘I can see into the core of your heart’.
Martha was mollified and knew she should kill him straight away but before she could take one step forward, a strange thing happened. When Tarasque opened his eyes, they had changed from deep blue to turquoise. Martha had never seen such an exquisite colour and was entranced. As his hypnotic gaze held her spellbound, Tarasque’s body, although weary and sagging with age became enlivened to Martha’s inner turmoil and personal pain and he began to move with the same agitation that Martha felt. Martha dropped her sword and shield as all the weight of her burdens were released from her own body. The cave became filled with Tarasque and his magical groanings of unrest. It was overwhelming and never had Martha beheld something so hideous yet replete with truth. Slowly, she experienced an uncanny sense of light and health as Martha began to lose herself in his beautiful display. Tarasque’s bones creaked and oh, how his wing ached!
‘Dear child,’ sobbed Tarasque, as his scaly haunches shifted in short awkward movements around the tiny cave. Pockets of earth rose with each odd clawed lurch. He gazed deeper and tears made their winding journey down his reptilian features to splash at her feet during the shuffling dance of Martha’s soul. He arched back and cried out mournfully as he hit deep ravines of her misery and his hip throbbed painfully. Tarasque’s warm, interlaced strands of smoky breath wove their way round, encircling her, like a prison. Martha gasped, her arms raised clear above her as the powerful enchantment swept through her. Gradually, he slowed in his movement, the curling embrace of dragon heat subsiding to leave Martha still caught in his grasp and utterly defenceless. Tarasque turned his beautiful smoking turquoise eyes towards Martha who remained motionless, both blessed and devastated by the dragon’s ‘gift.’
Finally, Tarasque settled himself. Tiny wisps of smoke escaped from his leathery snout.
‘I am now the bearer of your pain,’ he panted. ‘Your soul tells you this to be true. Would you slay one who knows you so intimately?’
Martha, freed from a self-portrait of torment, was strangely speechless. She had always believed dragons were fire breathing, cruel, ugly creatures who ate humans and livestock. What the dragon had done for her was truly benevolent. Martha had a complete change of heart. How then, would she protect Tarasque from the villagers? Before she could utter her concerns, Tarasque responded, his eyes changing to sunflower yellow, for remember, dragons are unable to smile.
‘Tell them I am no more. You now carry the task of bringing me my fare as I need it’. He could read people very well. It had come with the territory and age.
Martha struggled to snap out of her dreamlike trance. ‘You mean I am to steal on your behalf? I will be hung, drawn and quartered for such a crime!’
‘Perhaps,’ replied the leathery creature ‘but it is a duty you will undertake for I have seen your heart. You will do well to remember my gift.’ Tarasque ‘smiled’ once more. Emerald green. Martha realized fully the gravity of her situation and knew she had little choice but to do as he asked. He had seen her inner self. Under the dragon’s mystic power, she had been transformed from a simple village maiden, to a poacher held to ransom.
A dragon’s gift is a great burden indeed. Not to Tarasque, who did not ‘huff’ anymore and ignited happily between thick, cloudy smoke over the bestowal upon the unfortunate knight. Benevolence be damned! thought Martha amidst flaming sparks and Tarasque gave evidence of such damnation as his eyes glittered indigo.
‘It is a simple life that I ask and one which I have called upon you to help me lead,’ Tarasque puffed pompously, ‘I have no wish to harm others unless they mean to harm me.’ The dragon leaned forward, his aching wing flopping loosely to the side.
‘You understand now that I will know this of you always?’ His eyes changed to scarlet red and Martha nodded mutely, her mind screaming for solutions to questions that had yet to manifest.
Tarasque chewed the bloody morsel of a recent kill. ‘I am quite partial to sheep and occasionally partake of pigs on Sundays’. The gesture had its effect. Martha shuddered inwardly as her enslavement crystallized into reality.
There was nothing else for it. Martha dropped obediently to one knee and bowed humbly before the old dragon.
‘It is as you wish. I will serve you loyally Great One because somehow I feel I know you well.’ The captive knight rose to her feet as Tarasque accepted her deference with all the grace a dragon such as he could present.
‘We will meet again soon, dragon.’ Martha collected her armoury and made to leave, one hand firmly on the hilt of her sword, her smiling eyes unchanged in their colour. Hazel brown.
With wondrous thoughts of fresh livestock delivered to him on beds of hay, Tarasque discovered he would never need to look into Martha’s heart again.
‘I have nothing to give you’ spat Tarasque at the lowly knight who stood at the entrance of the aging dragon’s humble abode.
‘You may come as you please to quench the thirst of your bloodlust desire, but you will fail in your endeavour. I tell this to you now that you may return without loss of face, or life’.
The old dragon ‘smoked’ and tried without success to dismiss the knight, who rattled nervously, at the ready, but remained steadfast.
Martha stood in awe of the frail reptile, who almost evoked her sympathy but it was her task to slay the dragon at some point nevertheless. Her mail and armour hid her weaknesses quite adequately, the villagers rejoicing when she had been assigned this adventure. Martha wielded a powerful sword at the creature, faltering slightly under its weight. She laughed haughtily.
‘Oh foolish dragon, do not think that I will be so easily turned away. Would you have my people languish at the mercy of one as foul as you?’
Tarasque was weary and sorry for the child who had little idea of anything other than the romance of mythology. He did not want to hurt her. His left wing was giving him gip too. In fact when he thought about it, so was his hip. He would have to do something drastic perhaps but if the truth were known, all he wanted at age one thousand and thirty nine was to live a quiet little life in the hills. Tarasque failed to see why this was such a problem for the locals. He was strictly a cattle and sheep dragon. It was a diet that other species partook of throughout the ages yet only he offended the villagers. What nerve! Tarasque had dabbled in a la carte but he found humans did not digest well and they had a taste that repeated on him. The dragon regularly ‘huffed’ about people who would try to slay him, cast spells upon him, impose land rights and even ask him to leave, albeit at times nicely. As if the world was made for humankind alone! His needs were simple and now this latest interruption to his peace left Tarasque more ‘huffy’ than ever.
He eyed the nervous knight with growing interest. He could smell the difference and so knew his challenger was a woman, which made it all the worse for him if he were to blow a fiery blaze from his left nostril and bake her right where she stood. Her charred remains would not go down too well in the village, he knew that much. Thin and crispy maidens caused him more grief in terms of vengeance sought and Tarasque desperately wanted peace. Unbeknownst to Martha, even dragons possessed a degree of chivalry, however thin.
‘Look here maiden, is there no room for negotiation? I have no wish to be conquered by one as brave as you. Let us come to some amicable arrangement.’
The tired old dragon tried to smile but it is nigh impossible for a dragon to do so. However, their eyes emanate, sparkle and express the most wonderful things to all who encounter them and Martha was caught a little off guard.
Bravery was not in Martha’s vocabulary. Unbeknownst to Tarasque, a vote was held by the villagers on who was the most expendable person to slay the dragon and Martha was it. Her life events had led her here. Paved a direct path almost. Nobody would care if any harm befell her, Martha was sure of that. She was duly armed, slapped and instructed not to come back until the dragon had been ‘given his just desserts’. Now Martha stood quaking in leather boots, the smell of her own fear alerting her to the dark isolation of the cave. Her insignificance suddenly amplified. She would not tell Tarasque this though. Instead, she put on a show of impudence.
‘I think not dragon! Your time on this earth is very short, I assure you!’
To kill or not to kill that is the question. The old dragon moaned inwardly, ‘My world for peace.’
His mind made up, Tarasque closed his eyes and breathed deep. He looked into the far reaches of Martha’s soul and witnessed her fear and pain.
In resonant tones he murmured, ‘I can see into the core of your heart’.
Martha was mollified and knew she should kill him straight away but before she could take one step forward, a strange thing happened. When Tarasque opened his eyes, they had changed from deep blue to turquoise. Martha had never seen such an exquisite colour and was entranced. As his hypnotic gaze held her spellbound, Tarasque’s body, although weary and sagging with age became enlivened to Martha’s inner turmoil and personal pain and he began to move with the same agitation that Martha felt. Martha dropped her sword and shield as all the weight of her burdens were released from her own body. The cave became filled with Tarasque and his magical groanings of unrest. It was overwhelming and never had Martha beheld something so hideous yet replete with truth. Slowly, she experienced an uncanny sense of light and health as Martha began to lose herself in his beautiful display. Tarasque’s bones creaked and oh, how his wing ached!
‘Dear child,’ sobbed Tarasque, as his scaly haunches shifted in short awkward movements around the tiny cave. Pockets of earth rose with each odd clawed lurch. He gazed deeper and tears made their winding journey down his reptilian features to splash at her feet during the shuffling dance of Martha’s soul. He arched back and cried out mournfully as he hit deep ravines of her misery and his hip throbbed painfully. Tarasque’s warm, interlaced strands of smoky breath wove their way round, encircling her, like a prison. Martha gasped, her arms raised clear above her as the powerful enchantment swept through her. Gradually, he slowed in his movement, the curling embrace of dragon heat subsiding to leave Martha still caught in his grasp and utterly defenceless. Tarasque turned his beautiful smoking turquoise eyes towards Martha who remained motionless, both blessed and devastated by the dragon’s ‘gift.’
Finally, Tarasque settled himself. Tiny wisps of smoke escaped from his leathery snout.
‘I am now the bearer of your pain,’ he panted. ‘Your soul tells you this to be true. Would you slay one who knows you so intimately?’
Martha, freed from a self-portrait of torment, was strangely speechless. She had always believed dragons were fire breathing, cruel, ugly creatures who ate humans and livestock. What the dragon had done for her was truly benevolent. Martha had a complete change of heart. How then, would she protect Tarasque from the villagers? Before she could utter her concerns, Tarasque responded, his eyes changing to sunflower yellow, for remember, dragons are unable to smile.
‘Tell them I am no more. You now carry the task of bringing me my fare as I need it’. He could read people very well. It had come with the territory and age.
Martha struggled to snap out of her dreamlike trance. ‘You mean I am to steal on your behalf? I will be hung, drawn and quartered for such a crime!’
‘Perhaps,’ replied the leathery creature ‘but it is a duty you will undertake for I have seen your heart. You will do well to remember my gift.’ Tarasque ‘smiled’ once more. Emerald green. Martha realized fully the gravity of her situation and knew she had little choice but to do as he asked. He had seen her inner self. Under the dragon’s mystic power, she had been transformed from a simple village maiden, to a poacher held to ransom.
A dragon’s gift is a great burden indeed. Not to Tarasque, who did not ‘huff’ anymore and ignited happily between thick, cloudy smoke over the bestowal upon the unfortunate knight. Benevolence be damned! thought Martha amidst flaming sparks and Tarasque gave evidence of such damnation as his eyes glittered indigo.
‘It is a simple life that I ask and one which I have called upon you to help me lead,’ Tarasque puffed pompously, ‘I have no wish to harm others unless they mean to harm me.’ The dragon leaned forward, his aching wing flopping loosely to the side.
‘You understand now that I will know this of you always?’ His eyes changed to scarlet red and Martha nodded mutely, her mind screaming for solutions to questions that had yet to manifest.
Tarasque chewed the bloody morsel of a recent kill. ‘I am quite partial to sheep and occasionally partake of pigs on Sundays’. The gesture had its effect. Martha shuddered inwardly as her enslavement crystallized into reality.
There was nothing else for it. Martha dropped obediently to one knee and bowed humbly before the old dragon.
‘It is as you wish. I will serve you loyally Great One because somehow I feel I know you well.’ The captive knight rose to her feet as Tarasque accepted her deference with all the grace a dragon such as he could present.
‘We will meet again soon, dragon.’ Martha collected her armoury and made to leave, one hand firmly on the hilt of her sword, her smiling eyes unchanged in their colour. Hazel brown.
With wondrous thoughts of fresh livestock delivered to him on beds of hay, Tarasque discovered he would never need to look into Martha’s heart again.