The dragon looked upon the tired adventurer who stood there quietly after patching up their injuries.
Dragon - "I offered you gold and gems, you stand by a huge pile of treasure yet you do not reach for a single coin, you are not like most who make it this far."
Adventurer- "That's not real treasure, that's just gold."
Dragon - "Then what is it you seek?"
Adventurer - "You're over a millennia old, all I want is to learn the truth of this land."
Dragon - "Ah, a historian then - sit, we have much to discuss." -- Anon Guest
One millennium is nothing to a Dragon, you understand. It is but a mere fraction of our total lifespan. You small, squishy creatures cannot understand the timespans of Dragons. Even Elves live for less time than we. To us, you are annoying incursions into our hoards. You spread like mould on the surface of this world. You name things that need no name.
I was barely past being a babe when I found my caverns here. A mere five hundred years of age. I went looking for a place free of you squishy creatures. A place with a nice mountain and good stone. Somewhere I could claw out everything I needed. I was happy. I could mill gemstones from the ordinary rock and build my hoard in peace.
And then the boats came, and ruined everything.
Dragons have learned, of course. All those stories you hear about princesses and adventurers are from eras long past. If we abduct a Princess, it's generally play-acting arranged by the polities involved. Sometimes the Princess runs to our kind to escape an unfortunate match. I barely understand it. If you happen to be brave enough to enter a Dragon's lair, you're certainly some kind of desperate, or foolish, or both.
There has yet to be a Princess in my story. Not that I want one. Royalty - especially squishy royalty - is nothing but trouble.
It only takes one boat of squishy creatures to completely ruin an island paradise. Rats, pigs, other cattle... and the squishies themselves. Razing forests, building farms. Constructing cities. Dragons could try to stop them, but we've learned over the eons that that kind of behaviour only invites Adventurers.
Never meddle in the affairs of squishies, because a bloodletter bolt to the chest often offends. Even if you survive the bolt, the little buggers run off with half your hoard. And you have to move before they come back for the other half. It's nothing but a pain.
They were building in stone by the time I noticed them. And they were a little upset to learn that this was my island, but we reached an agreement.
They didn't try to kill me, and I wouldn't melt their little establishment into slag.
What? Kings? Dukes? Wars? I'm not interested in any of that stuff. That's squishy people nonsense. As long as they feed me four fat cattle a month, and leave me alone, I don't care what they're doing down there.
[Photo by Jason D on Unsplash]
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