Dragon Fyght – Part 1
Just. Ugh.
Haven’t felt like doing much of anything lately. Haven’t felt like much of an author. Haven’t felt like much of a father. Haven’t felt like much of a husband.
Lots of things are on our plate at the moment. Lots of problems are beginning to compound and interact with one another, creating some horribly misshapen super-mutants. It’s not pretty, and I won’t lie, it’s making me really want to give up on this whole writing thing as a pipe dream.
I’ve made strides. Nothing that any other author would consider progress, but steps nonetheless. Got my first kindle read, and they read the entire first entry. No more views or sales since I ran my free weekend last week. I’m out of those, so until I can expand the entry to other digital carriers, that’s basically it for exposure.
I have several options to pursue as far as trying to generate some additional promotion. However, one of them is contingent on me managing to finish a book. That’s… not a simple prospect. I’ve had so much trouble trying to read lately. I have so much occupying my mind that I can’t seem to clear it enough to focus on anything requiring extended concentration. Writing is easier, because I can pick it up and put it down on a whim, and I’m at the stage where I keep writing in my mind even when I’m not at the keys.
As for my previous short story, I’m not going to lie: it’s been a few weeks since I looked at it, and the sharp outlines of what I wanted to say with it have been lost to the endless murmuring of tasks which require my attention. I wanted so very much to take some time and get that story fleshed out. I promise, it was a good one. Lots of drama, intrigue, and wonderful world building baked in. It’s hard to admit defeat, but especially in a world of creative endeavors, mood and timing play a critical role.
So, here I am, Monday and in need of a short story premise, and lacking anything really interesting to work on. So, I’m going to do this. I will have my wife feed me two random topics, and I will use that to create a story. One will be a video game, the other will be a random non-sensational news topic. And that’s how we will play this.
Wife’s input: Skyrim and All-girl Afghanistan Robot Team forbidden from competition, but the robot is allowed.
SO HERE WE GO OH MY GOD IT BURNS
Dragon Fyght
The roar of the combatants was nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd watching. As the arena floor was awash in the twisting, curling scales of two fully grown male dragons, that was saying something. The bucks were lathered with blood and tarry sweat, the green mixing with the dark ichor to form a slurry mess on the sand of the arena. A hundred thousand roaring throats rose in harmony with their ferocious cries. Every face there was bearded, as required by the Infinite Fathers.
A sudden sharp cry, out of tune with the bugling call of a male in battle, rent the harsh call of the crowd in twain. The larger of the two dragons reared, the fluttering remains of it’s neck scales showing where a mortal blow had landed. Off balance, and reeling from the blow, the large dragon toppled. Instantly capitalizing on it’s advantage, the smaller dragon pounced on the back of the enormous brown Oskivalli. The crimson scales of the triumphant buck flashed in the sun, and with the sound of a thousand oars snapping, he broke the neck of his subdued foe. The bleeding and sweating head of the victor was thrown to the heaven, shouting his triumph for all the Fathers to hear.
A team of handlers trooped out, waving huge sides of slaughtered beef to distract the dragon from his kill. It worked, as it always did. Dragon meat was gamy at the best of times, and no dragon would ever turn down a fresh cattle kill. It slithered, the many facets of the scaly monstrosity writhing as it oriented itself on the side of beef. It ignored the puny man-things which stood between it and the fresh meat. A shrill call sounded the charge, and the red Horrivan charged into recently cleaned cage. The handlers rushed out, their job having been successfully completed. The cage doors clanged shut, yet the dragon hardly cared. Food was available, and a long tongue-bath and nap were awaiting him after his meal.
A team of drudge-wizards arrived, being led on their shackles by one of the Highborn themselves. The Highborn cracked his whip, and the captive wizards began drawing symbols in the blood and ichor soaked sands. Once finished, their throats rang out in the chanting harmony of their magics. The sand stirred, first at where their symbols marked the sand, but soon rushing out to fill the whole of the large arena. The sand burst into the air, a solid wall of blistering heat and motion which left the onlookers and the wizards untouched. After a few minutes, the sand quieted from it’s howling tumult, drifting back down to rest upon the arena floor. Of the vanquished dragon, the blood, and the ichor, there was no sign. The sand was as clean as when the combatants had entered the arena.
The Highborn, having been bored by the spectacle, cracked his whip once more, and the drudge-wizards shambled out of the arena. The Highborn motioned to one of the slavers, and he in turn motioned to one of his apprentices. The apprentice began calling compliments and cooing at the returning slaves, and upturned a bucket of scraps taken from one of the arenas many eateries. The wizards basked in their praise, and set to their reward with a vicious will, equal to that of any victorious dragon.
A rumbling peal of thunder, starting low and growing in strength, began to fill the arena. The gathered men began stomping their feet, demanding of their King a new battle to entertain them. In the middle of the arena, a raised dais seated the highest of the nobility and their sovereign. The King, suited in the worked scales of a black dragon he had slain to obtain his title, raised his arm to the thundering crowd. He extended his thumb upwards, the sign that another match would be had that day. The crowd cheered, drowning out their stomping with the sounds of their approval.
The gates opened, and a slithery green Ichthallin rapidly entered the arena. The handlers assigned strained, their enormous muscles just barely holding the dragon in check. The dragon, sensing the battle to come, was eagerly scanning the arena for any foe to dispatch.
Another cage, at the opposite end of the arena, cranked open. From the depths emerged a hilariously undersized blue Y’yichtull, barely twice the height of a man. No chains held this creature back, no restraints of any kind were needed to subdue the dragon to a humans will.
To put the final insult to this jest, the team which led the docile beast were women. The crowd began booing and jeering at once, calling for the team to be dispatched, and for the women to return to the households they had left to be here this day. Dragoning was a mans sport, the passions of battle were a mans to enjoy. No woman was welcome there!
The small knot of women gathered around their tiny beast conferred with each other, and to the crowds alarm, with the beast. The dragon seemed to understand their words, and nodded in uncanny resemblance of their more intelligent masters. The women all patted the beast, who unfurled wings as wide as the beast was long, to encompass the party in an embrace. The dragon fluffed her wings, and let out a high, clarion call of battle. Then she beat her wings, taking to the air above the sands, as the Ichthallin was loosed.
The lopsided battle had begun.
To be continued…
Dragonfully,
Justin
