Morgan Oates
9/8/10
Monster Journal: Dragon
Hundreds of years ago, I was born to as fiery and fearsome a mother as could possibly be imagined. She was large, violent, and often angry at something or other. However, despite the fact that she was truly a nightmare, my mother took care in raising me to be her very opposite: gentle and thoughtful. I was known throughout the land as "that sweet little dragon." That is, until I was abandoned.
My mother disappeared in the middle of the winter, leaving me to fend for myself. At first, I was baffled, but my confusion slowly evolved into resentment. Who was she to simply take off one day when I was still in need of her guidance? Did her wicked behavior finally reach the extent of not even caring about her only child, as so many had predicted? Over time, stories about a docile dragon turned into legends of a dark, reclusive creature, and eventually the tales dropped out of common knowledge altogether.
I took to a cavern overlooking the sea, where ships would frequently crash into the side of the cliff below. On such occasions, I would swoop down and clear the vessel of every valuable object I could find. Having built up a lovely collection over a period of 50 years, I lay down in my cave to rest, awakening only to defend my hoard. I dozed in this manner for centuries until on fateful day, when a Swedish fool made off with one of my golden cups! The nerve! Naturally, I ventured out the cave to go teach him a lesson about lost possessions. As soon as his small wooden dwelling was ablaze, I sucked my breath in, so as not to do any more damage. It was no use. The flames leapt across the entire village. In all honesty, I didn't mean to be so cruel, but what could I do? The humans were resourceful; they would survive.
Thinking no more about the event, I settled back down to sleep, only to be shaken awake by the rumors that a great warrior was on his way to avenge the little burnt town. As I had fought various "heroes" before, I was not terribly worried. In fact, I almost felt guilty to take the lives of the newly-homeless people! When the party reached the top of the mountain near my cavern, I nearly laughed out loud. It was a small bunch of young men, led by a feeble-looking, gray-haired old man, dressed up in ancient armor! It was all I could do to keep from laughing and instead to stand there dignified. The old one rushed at me wielding a large sword, which promptly snapped as it came into contact with my skull. He fell to the ground as I released a gust of flames. The rest of the party ran, except for one. This man was smarter than the last: we dodged each other for some time. Suddenly, I felt a horrible, biting pain, and I realized that I had been stabbed in my soft underbelly. Instinctively, I knew that the wound was fatal, and so I quickly finished off my original opponent with a bite to the throat. Then an unnecessary knife blow cut my life even shorter. Before the world went utterly dark, images of my brutal-yet-loving mother flickered in my mind. She could have saved me; she could have taught me to save myself from such murderers.