meanestbear

The dragon stared balefully at Sandra, with a slight hint of disappointment, as if it had been hoping for a more formidable opponent, and a small child, albeit one armed with a sword, seemed to be a major letdown of expectations.  So instead of getting to work on its prey, its head hovered hesitantly over her for a few moments before it drew back its lips to reveal enormous rows of jagged, yellow, slimy teeth, steam seeping out from between them.

Sandra stabbed it in the eye with Mr. Chu’s sword, and the dragon roared, jerking its head back in agony.  Sandra, who had barely managed to hold tight to the sword as the dragon’s head pulled away, turned and ran.  They were near the mouth of a cave, and she scrambled out towards the daylight.  The dragon took a moment to recover and then thundered after her.  It was angry from the pain, but the disappointment seemed to have lifted.  Maybe it had found a worthy opponent after all!

As it caught up with the little girl, the dragon threw a claw swipe at her.  She ducked and tumbled under it, rolling back up onto her feet and twisting around to face it, sword at the ready.  The dragon was enormous.  She and two friends could have fit whole inside of its skull.  It was covered with dull, chipped black scales in some stage or another of molt, and two leathery wings were folded along its spine.

Breaking into a run, she dodged another claw swipe and hopped left and right below its underbelly, nimbly weaving between its stomping feet.  She dared a slash, answered with a dull metallic thud, before rolling clear again and scrambling to a safer spot.  The dragon’s underside was no soft spot.  She would have to look for other targets.

The massive tail came sweeping across, and she jumped straight up, then landed just in time to jump again and avoid the return.  Next came a jet of fire, roasting the spot where Sandra stood, only she wasn’t there anymore.  The dragon lost sight of her for a moment, its field of vision filled by the billowing of its own fire, but there was a clang on its brow and she came into sight right in front of its face.  She cursed herself for missing a shot at the other eye, but stayed sharp enough to be out of the way when the great jaws came clamping down.

She crouched some distance away, breathing hard, as both she and her enemy regrouped, analyzing each other for weaknesses.  The battle was well-matched.

Meanwhile, in the nearby village of Valence, all the villagers were gathering in the main square.  It was not a celebration, but the tone was hopeful, if muted.  The center of the square by the fountain remained clear, as if reserved for someone yet to arrive.

In the stables of the village inn, sitting alone on a hay bale, was a young woman in simple armor.  She held a sword across her lap and was examining its blade idly, her thoughts elsewhere.  From outside the sound of the hopeful murmur carried through, and she knew she needed to make her appearance soon.  She hardly felt prepared.

Cassandra was an orphan, taken in by the local innkeeper and his wife and put to work as soon as she could handle it.  Her appearance suffered from the dirty work, as her hair became tangled with neglect and her hands became rough and callused.  She had thought she would never be anything more than a serving girl, and never expected anything more.

Everything changed one fateful day, when returning from the market, she tripped and fell down a gully.  It was steep on both sides, so she’d had to walk along it for a good ways, looking for a way out.  She must have walked the wrong way because it ended up leading into a cave.

Inside the cave was a strange pedestal from which came a column of flame.  Hovering in the middle of the flame was a shining sword, perfectly crafted, its blade interwoven with powerful magic.  “Many have tried and failed,” intoned an echoing voice.  “Only he who does not fear the flame may possess the blade.”

When she reached hesitantly for the sword the first time, she yelped and pulled her hand back on first contact with the fire.  It was, like fire often was, hot.  It burned.

Determined, however, she closed her eyes, willing away the pain, clearing her mind and focusing it.  Feeling strangely detached from the world, she reached in and grabbed the sword.  The flame abruptly went out, and the sword was hers.

When she got back to the village, she found out there was some kind of legend about a chosen one who would free the people of the village.  For centuries they had been tormented by the great black dragon up on the mountain, who took half their crops every year, and demanded one plump child as sacrifice.  One year they had given it a skinny boy, and the dragon had responded by torching the town in a fury.

Most villagers were skeptical, however.  Cassandra was a girl, and a lowly serving girl at that.  How could she possibly be the chosen one?  She was tougher and more determined than they could have imagined, however, and won over their hearts bit by bit as she proved her prowess in sparring, and rescued the village from a recent plague of bandits and robbers.  One day, an arrogant knight had come through and challenged all comers to a duel.  She had put on a full set of armor, including a helmet with a full mask, and fought him one-on-one.  After defeating him, she had taken off her helmet and shaken her long locks proudly, causing him to nearly have a fit.

“Defeated… by a girl?” the knight had gasped, and she smiled confidently.  It was then that she knew that she was no ordinary girl, and no ordinary hero, but something the land had never seen before - a girl warrior.  She believed in herself, and the villagers believed in her, and now they were sending her to fight the dragon.

Confident as she was, she knew the dragon was a formidable opponent, a beast large enough to destroy a house with one swipe of its tail.  Courage, she told herself.  This was destiny.  There was no one like her in all the lands, and she had been born for this moment.  If anyone could defeat the dragon, she could.  Smiling as bravely as she could, she rose and strode to the town square.

She hardly heard the village elder speaking, and her heart was pounding rapidly.  This was the moment.  Courage, Cassandra, courage! she thought.  The villagers cheered, and the few that would accompany her began to move toward the mountain road.  She said her goodbyes and followed, the procession moving silently up the mountain, hopeful yet afraid.

As they reached the top of the path, leading out to the wide meadow before the dragon’s cave, they saw the dragon, dead.  A little dark-skinned girl with a sword was sitting next to it, quite winded.

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