The Dragon Hunter

[anirbas]

*****ITA VITAST HOMINUM QUASI QUOM LUDAS TESSERIS*****

*HUMAN LIFE IS A GAME OF DICE
~TERENCE



***********QUI CUPIET METUET QUOQUE********************

*WITH DESIRE COMES ALSO FEAR
~HORACE



***********NAM FORTUNA SUA TEMPORA LEGE REGIT***********

*FORTUNE RULES OUR DESTINY JUST AS SHE PLEASES
~TIBULLUS



************PRAEPARETUR ANIMUS CONTRA OMNIA*************

*PREPARE YOUR SOUL FOR THE UNEXPECTED
~SENECA

[anirbas]

~The Dragon Hunter Act I


Beneath the cool canopy of shade
in the pewter shadows
on the far fringes
of an elf-shot glade:
Once upon a time,
neither, yours, nor mine...

In what was the middle
kingdom of old Brittania--
A knight-errant, our story's hero
trembled. Al beit, imperceptably.
As he gripped the hilt
of his sharply honed blade.
The finest of steel, ever made!
He could unerringly wield and did...

Against his hard forearm
carried in his other hand
his heavy, battle scarred shield.
Our hero quivered, not in fear.
But the utmost vexation!
For hours he'd been here!

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting...

For the legendary dragon
to draw nigh and near.
And to his eyes, appear.
He groaned inwardly.
Rife with aggravation.
Eager to proceed
with his chivalric deed!

Our hero's skin, prickled and chafed.
Beneath the rough undershirt he wore;
and the comforting weight
of the silvered links
that made his suit of chain mail.
Better for the task at hand,
than it's brother of armored plates.
Where he'd need to move quick!
Tho' both had their good traits!

Time crawled slow as a snail.
While our hero waited
on the edge of the emerald vail.
Squinting from his hiding place,
into the watery, thin light
of the aging afternoon.

Wondering, had he lost his mind?
Become a total loon?
drip. drip. drip.
Sweat rolled from his
thought furrowed brow.
Stinging liquid in his eyes.
Over his chisled, strong jaw.
Below, onto the leafy loam
beneath his aching feet.

Why wasn't he at home?
How long had he been here?
Only Brighid knew!

Egad! What's that there?
Finally! Movement!
On the far side
across the bladed meadow.
Our hero's hard won patience
by the god's of old, rewarded!

He stiffened to attention.
Focusing his salt bleared vision.
To see, with closer examination-
Glowing, tiny, winged beings
flitting from the nascent forest
into the sunlit clearing.
A band of blooming fairies!

He relaxed, shoulders drooped
in resignation.
What tomfoolery!
To think that he
could find and fell
the great, mythological wyvern!
That cunning, two-legged serpent.
Macropterously blessed!
And with a wicked, barbed tail.
Whom, upon it's whim and will
belched fire from the sky
onto the villages, far and by...

Now, all our hero had to show
for a day spent in frustrated boredom--
Was the privilege of witnessing
fairy folk skimming
above the violently
waving, thick grassland.

Violently. Waving. Grasses?
To his disbelieving eyes
the magnificent cranium
of a fierce dragon did arise!
Just above the dancing blades of green...

First, he did spy
a set of long, wickedly
curved ebony horns.
Followed by hooded, round orbs
of glitter shot garnet.
Next, a hugely nostriled, narrowed snout.
Then, a gaping cave of a mouth!
Filled with row upon row,
of razor sharp teeth.
With ivory fangs
as long as a halbred pole!

And yet our hero felt no fear!
Well, not much, my dear...

He watched the evil beast yawn lazily.
Awakened by the twittering
of the high pitched yakking
of the fairies.
Now, nimbusing it's horns
with their light-infused forms.

It shook it's mighty head
in royal agitation
at their careless transgression.
And wee folk flew, hither and thither
in every direction.
From the whorl of air
created by the dragon's action.

Our hero vaguely wondered,
was he drifting into early senility?
Under his nose
the deadly wyvern
the whole day long?

Now that would give
the court bards fodder
for a satirical, epical song...

[anirbas]

As this one is rather long, I have decided to post it in installments, or acts, per se...
Perhaps post, an act every couple of days, so one doesn't get bogged down in the reading of it...I would truly appreciate any and all comments on the piece, as I'm unsure myself, whether it is worth trying to get it published in a magazine, perhaps genred in the fantasy realm,
at some point in time...Or is just the rather hacked ramblings of a convoluted mind best shelved and forgotten...Peace out and blessed be, ya'll! Sabrina.

[rrw]

Well, I gotta say to start that, MAN! You have got some stamina! At this point and time I could NEVER attempt such a feat! I love the way you have structured it and the time you take to develop the idea of waiting for the battle, the things that goes through the warrior's mind as he waits. I totally love it all but one phrase really stands out for me: "Sweat rolled from his thought furrowed brow." It says a lot to me because I've been on parameter watch in Nam where you wait... and wait... and worry whether something is going to happen or not.
From this part of the story, you really do explore the idea of waiting for the storm. I love the description of anticipation... but you might consider seeing if you can come up with a more unique phrase to replace "slow as a snail." Maybe one that is unique to the environment you have created.
I found myself totally entranced by your description of the Hero and the environment he is in. I love the touch of the fairies movement and the hero's response to it and the idea that the dragon has been there all the time!

It totally kept my attention and the detail really kept me on the edge of my seat! The poetic style you are using works very well with the theme. I can't wait for the 2nd act.

Publishable? I don't know much about that... but I think that I would like to see a stage reading with maybe four actors performing it... Another idea is get with an illustrator and create some visuals to go along with it... although, it really doesn't need pictures. You have done a wonderful job of using words to paint with...
great job and am looking forward to the next installment.

[anirbas]

hmmmm...tweak the slow as a snail phrase...have to give it a twist...slipping in and out at the moment, multi-tasking...reading and cooking dinner...

thanks for taking the time to give me detailed feedback, Robert! when i get an extra second, I'll post the second act...actually caught myself revising, as i posted the first act, earlier...so, i guess it's true a poem is never finished...it was in one long continuous paragraph that never ended...even though it sported punctuation to give pauses, it looked ponderous...

so great to see you, Robert...grinning like a cheshire cat i am! Sabrina.

[anirbas]

The Dragon Hunter Act II

Such an Eisteddfoddic event, being
neither here, nor there...
Our hero kept his steely stare
trained on the situation at hand.
Roundly cursing, the obvious stagnation
of his redoubtable, knightly ingenuity!

Whilst the violated fairies, regrouped
from whence they'd been far flung.
To their tiny cores, collectively stunned!
By the profanement of their sacred queen!
She and her retinue, invidiously shunned!
Treated in such a manner! How obscene!

Gone now, the naive wonderment
felt with the happenchance view
of the somnambulent dragon.
To glimpse and honor one of the last few!
Solitary survivors of a world
more ancient than their own!
The tiny, tattered beings coalesed
about their diminutive, fay highness.
A luminescent, fluttering, twittering
righteously angered, pint-sized mob!
Vespidic with vengeful ire!

As dusk draped across hills and shire,
our undaunted hero planned his attack.
Silently slipping his trusted blade
from it's tooled leather sheathe.
A bit at a time. Inexorably.

slith...slith...slith...

So careful, he forgot to breathe.
Determined not to make an overt sound.
Not yet wanting the dragon's glance his way.
Until he was ready, with it, to hold sway.

Unexpectedly, he was taken aback!
Had to bite his tongue not to shout
from his hidden nook!
When he felt the tomb-chilled touch
of long, slim fingers, clasping his wrist!
I need not tell you
our hero almost shook!
My friend, you would have, too.

So startled, he whirled about
to face the source of this
frozen hand on the half-pulled sword's hilt.
Once turned 'round, his head, he had to tilt.
To look into the eerie, soul searching eyes
of a woman, he vaguely recognized!
Tho' her given name escaped him.

He remembered she'd been villified, ostracized.
Even branded a natural witch!
And so denied the hearth of village and home.
Banished to the forest, to live alone.
With nary a hitch!
At the demands of more than one, old crone.
Out of fear, or jealousy...

For the wench's only crime seemed to be
her talent mixing herbs and simples.
That, and her otherworldly, ageles beauty.
"Only a woman who'd had congress
with the devil, could deny
her very years..."
Or so was the littany.

Still, when all else, them failed.
The younger women sought her out.
However, sly and surrepstiously!
Begging for her salves and lotions
spells of love and other potions...

"Witch! What in the name
of all that is holy,
are you doing here?"
Our hero questioned, tersely
through anger thinned lips,
her sudden appearance, there!

The woods doxie ignored him!
Urgently, whispered instead, a plea.
"Wait! Wait, Sir Knight. I beg of thee!
Just minutes more, I pray. For them!
For the last ray of zodiacal light
to slip below the cusp of the horizon's rim.
Freeing those, you cannot yet see.
Dark elves wait, circling this
monster infested, spirit sickened valley.
They may not step from the shade.
For they are to stone turned, and made
by the merest kiss of the sun.
Warriors all, they are, ready to fight Drago.
Beside you, and the folk of Faery!
I beseech you! Wait for them!
For as brave as you be,
it will take at least, the power of three
or more! To defeat that odious wyvern!
And that, may not well be enough, in the end!"

Our hero, plucked her fingers from
his mesh covered arm.
Pretended to consider
the comely, addled wench's barrage
of verbal twaddle and fluff.

Thinking he, what best now, to do?
With this pitifully insane creature?
To keep her from harm's way?
And hopefully, out of his...
What more, could go wrong, with this day?
What fresh hell was she, to him, anyway?

As our hero paused and pondered
the mist of eventide vestured
the shoulders of the thickly standing trees.
Crept about the thickets.
Sent hithy, exploratory digits
across the darkened glade.
Where the sleepy dragon
had again it's head, laid.
Lo and behold, merciful heavens!
He'd finally lost his senses, too!

For our hero had just imagined
from the corner of his vision
he did see a shape-
detach from a prickly, holly bush-
shift into a short, stout, bull of a man!
He supposed, the loon's aforementioned, Dark Elf.
Then another, and another
appeared like itself!
Nut brown complected.
Clothed in sepia furs.
Hair wild and black as raven feathers.
Armed to the teeth with
lethal axes and battle hammers.
By Thor, a fiercesome lot, they looked!

Ne'er the less, our hero rolled his eyes.
Permitted himself a tortured sigh.
Times being politic, he feared
not the snoring beast
dreaming of a human feast
in the moonlight, nearby.
But the unbelievable exploitation
of his once venerable reputation.
With the bardic interpretation
of this, his day, of ruination.

A vaunted knight, in his prime
overcome by a dragon
he couldn't find or summon.
Pointed out, beneath his nose
by the blundering of blooming fairies.
Besieged by a wench, out of her blithering mind.
Offered the aide of men
no taller than a lad, of ten...

He wondered, was this day's uncommon mein
from the god's of old, a lesson, to him?

[rrw]

Ani, I suggest putting Act II in the same thread as Act I. You can note the date that you added a new act so the reader won't get confused, but I think it would work a little better if you did this. I wanted to look back at Act I but by the time I got there I forgot why! I know, silly, but I'm old.
The piece is beautifully unfolding to me. And I really like the serial approach you are taking.

I wonder though about the use of Christian symbols in the piece. To me it seems a bit incongruities to have the Devil and so forth in a fantasy piece. if you need the Devil why not make one that is unique to the world of your story? It's just a thought.
I also have a little trouble with lines where our hero is thinking to himself about the witch. It just seems a little cumbersome.

Other than those few things i think you are developing the piece in a very unique and striking way. I love the appearance of the dark elves. It really had me on the edge of my seat. Great job! Got more? ;D
The rest reads really fine

[anirbas]

Actually...If you'd prefer to read the piece in it's entirety, it's on the back page of this particular board. I brought it forward in pieces, as it is so long...Close to a 1,000 lines,
as it sits at this moment...And I didn't know if you'd have time to read it all at one sitting.

I had considered it "finished", but when I brought it forward in chunks, I found myself tinkering with it...Putting spaces and things where they hadn't been before...Each act,
was in a continuous piece.

Probably no need to note the date, as though it was written over a period of approximately a few months, the entire story takes place in one day and evening, more or less.

It's fantasy, but fantasy set in a certain time period...the dark ages...When folks placed such power in Christian symbols and every Christian's nemesis the, so called, devil...Our heroine is a so-called if not self-professed witch...Branded as such, for not looking her age...One of the excuses, people of that time period used, for accusing or supposing one might be a witch...And had therefore had congress with the very devil themselves, they had...LOL...

Christianity, the new guard, was attempting to supercede paganism, the old guard, in Britain, in and around that time period...

The way the characters talk or think about religion, is somewhat based on the time's thinking...And they would have talked and thought that way...Does that make sense? Or, just to me? ggglgggl...

I sort of combined, many things I've read about this time period, in an effort to give a feel for the times...Does that make sense? And yet, it's fantasy...Fiction...

The belief in dark elves are found in Norse mythology...

You know what I think I'll do? Give it to you in it's entirety...
Re-do the entire thread...

All the acts, with revisions, which I felt made it more readable...And then delete this thread and the original thread...

As in asking what you thought of it...I saw it with different eyes, myself...The piece began to speak to me, again...Does that make sense? I did a lot of role playing in this one, which made it great fun to write...

So, please stop reading, for the moment...Don't look for the original...I'm going to re-do it, in it's entirety...

And thanks again, Rob, for taking the time to read it! I know
it's a ponderous beast, which is why I decided to break it into pieces, for you...But, I'll give you the whole dish...Just give me a bit...I have to go make a fire in the barbeque thingee and see if I can manage not to burn some steaks...LOL...Sabrina.

[rrw]

I really like the serial approach you are taking this time around so that I can look at its individual parts in detail. It gives me a chance to breath in between acts.
I see what your saying about the Christian connection.... It works fine once I understood where you're coming from. I got no problem with it But i was first thinking that you were writing a pure fantasy piece like Tolkien...
But other pieces have used the Christian connection so there's no reason not to use it in yours. Great job, again, Ani. I really think this is something to be published in book form with some illustrations. I can't wait to see the next chapter.

[anirbas]

Actually, I had as yet to read Tolkien or see the movies, his books inspired, when I wrote this one...The younger, twenty something crowd that first originally viewed this piece kept referring to it being Tolkienish...Which inspired me to read the trilogy the summer after I wrote this piece...Just to see what they were talking about...Whew...Those were some long winded books, but I well enjoyed the reading of them...

This piece, started as nothing more than the first poem...The first act...A piece I added to a thread dealing with fantasy poetry, inspired by them seeing the first movie of the Tolkien trilogy a few years back...And all of them, had read the Tolkien books, I hadn't yet at that point read...I didn't know the thread was inspired by the movie as, I hadn't any point of reference...But, I wanted to do something for the thread...And this is what I did...

The "boys" liked it so well...One suggested I put it in it's own thread and finish the story...

So, I did...It was fun...And soothing to me at the same time...Like when I used to put my younger siblings to sleep at night, telling them stories...When they got bored with the traditional ones I knew by heart...I started making up my own to shut them up...

Tolkien didn't inspire this...But, the Brother's Grimm sure did, in a round about way...

I woolgather and digress...Will get to work on editing Act III...

I prefer the book idea with illustrations...But...Not sure it would be considered
fairytales for children...I'm about to go postal in some spots...RAther gory...

Might not be something you'd read your five year old...LOL...You'll see....

[anirbas]

The Dragon Hunter Act III

By Jove's whiskers!
Our hero's reknowned patience
had been drawn and quartered!
The livelong dreary way.
Enough! No more.
It had seemed such a simple chore.
This task given him
by his king, for proffered treasure.
The aftermorning of yesterday...

Just find and slay,
the village torching beast!
Without delay!
Return with it's shorn horns.
As proof of the deed complete.

Frustrated beyond countless measure
standing in the inky shadows
of the be-dragoned glade.
Our hero, puzzled, unfathoming
what joy the powers that be
derived from their capricious toying
of his task at hand.

Exactly what was he to do?
With the crazed forest chatelaine
and her hircine, motley crew?
Much less, the damaged fairy retinue?

As tho' having read his mind
the baggage spoke, one more time!
"Prithee, Sir Knight!
Your pardon of our hindrance
of your gallant intention.
That we've bombarded you
in such a flocked flurry!

But I must repeat and mention
whilst we are thus assembled
we must work together.
And hurry!
Long we have waited for
one such as yourself.
To help us defeat that horrendous beast.
Prithee! Listen, Sir!
But one moment more!

And I shall present our plan.
Her Highness and the Folk of Faery
shall inveigle the dragon
without tarry.
Distracting it, at it's head
as our dark elvish warriors attack
from the ground, at it's belly.

And you, Sir Knight, at it's back.
After circling the meadow
coming 'round from behind.
You shall leap upon it
run up it's hispidic spine,
to it's horned cranium.
And lo, just above, but between
it's cucullated eyes.
A soft spot lies...
There, the wyvern you shall impale...

Piercing through it's brain,
nasal cavities, tongue, and jaw
with the long, sharp blade of your sword.
Then hang on tight!
With all your might!
Riding it's death throes, along.
Pinning it's fire belching maw
to the ground!"

Our hero, looked haughtily down
his patrician nose,
from the top of her insane head
to her hemhidden toes.
And back again
to her spellbinder's eyes.
His own filled with a
gleeful, sardonic glint.
But not a trace of merriment.
His patience, evaporated ages ago.

He spoke, voice laden with mockery.
As he rebuked the outcast doxie, severly!
"Traducer! Get thee behind me!
I have no need of thou and thee!"

He waved his hand, to include them all.

"Fairies, elves, or bewitched thrall!
I need naught from any you!
Stay away from me! Do!
In the name of all that is holy!"

With that,
he spun on his booted heel.
Unsheathed his trusty Toledo steel.
And charged headlong, impetously
from the liquid shadows,
within the ring of trees,
that spoke and moved...

Into the moonlit glade.
Bellowing like a Berserker!
Our hero was unafraid!
Of his coming velitation
with the deadly wyvern!

The alleged witch rolled her eyes
at his vainglorious action.
Thinking to herself-
No fear, no brains, hero!
Now you've gone and done it!

As stealthily, she did follow
in our hero's wake.
Knowing she had to intervene
for his sake, now he'd lost his blithering mind.

For without him, none of them
would the dragon, overtake.
As without them, our hero
would not a victory make
over the now waking dragon...


The Dragon Hunter Act IV

Merciful Brighid protect us!
From this minion spawned in Hell!
The alleged wicche whispered
a frantic, quick appeal.
While the last echoes began to fade,
our hero had brayed
across the nascent glade.
Whence he'd rushed, impetously
from the shadows.
To meet, head-on, his Nemesis...
The nadir, this
of his otherwise,
laudable knightly career.

Silence then briefly reigned.
A heavily pregnant pause.
Then, not for awhile, again...
After an earsplitting roar
rent and tore
the chilled night air.

Our hero froze.
Halted in his track.
The daft, fleet hag slammed
into his broad back.
As the dragon vocally made
it's terrifying precense known.
Arising from it's meadowed throne.
A horrifyingly, gargantuan, maleficent beast!

Muscles rippling iron
beneath a rigidly scaled hide.
Garnet eyes glowering indignation
at the inexcusable deprivation
of it's slumbering rumination.
It's majestically statuesque
serpintine body sinuously
rising above the tree line.
To be framed by the starry void
above the far horizon.

Now it became apparent
to our knight errant.
Why the wicked, wily wyvern
to him had been transparent!
Amongst other things
it was gifted with
chameleonic subterfuge!
I might add, on top of being huge!
Magical, mutable pigmentation
enabling it to appear
to disappear!
Beneath one's nose, in plain sight!

Now, as it's silouhette
towered into the star shot night.
It's body was trisected
by three levels of background.
The upper third of the dragon
and it's folded wings,
were the darkest hue
of midnight blue.
Freckled with the illusion
of glittering stellular points.

It's mid-body, stood out
against the ring of trees.
A mottled, faded
silvery olive, brown
gray, and black.

While it's lower regions
and vibrating barbed tail
ombred into vivid green.
Where it met and rested
upon the floor
of the tall grassed vale.

Our hero stood, rooted to the spot!
In his throat, a knot!
With an open jaw.
And that, dropped in awe!
As the evil-ly endowed, humongous beast
unfurled it's macropterous
web-veined wings.
Beating a whirlwind with them
above and through
the crowns of the tress
dripping silvery, eventide dew.

The dragon peered at them balefully
from it's lofty height.
It's garnet orbs flaming to ruby.
As it bent it's sinewy
scalened viper's neck.
Pulling back it's long snouted mazard.
Without concern of any undue hazard.
Opened it's vermilion walled
cave of a fantastically fanged mouth.
Studded with row upon row
of jagged, saliva slimed teeth...

The wyvern drew a deep, deep inhalation.
Then held it's breath in seeming hesitation.

And in that split second-
the addled wench jumped from behind
to in front of our motionless hero!
Her arms outstretched.
Palms and eyes upward turned.
Babbling in an archaic tongue.
Unintelligle incantating!
He couldn't understand, nor discern.
An invocation to the Heavens!

Finally, our hero's mind churned.
He lifted his arm to cross himself.
Certain this was, his end of days.
To be charred and burned
in the fiery exhalation
of this draconic abomination!
But not in cowardice would he go down.
With the mattoid maiden
shielding his masculine frame.
That, would be unconscionably lame!

Swiftly, our hero laid hand
upon the madwoman's mantled shoulders.
Attempting to change their positions.
As a liquidic gout
of orange and yellow fire
streamed from the inner confines
of the odious dragon's rubied throat and mouth.
Past it's snarling ebonied lips.
Directly aimed at the hapless duet.
Fiendish proof of it's vesuvian ire.
That their situation was beyond dire.
Of that, one need not inquire!

In the moments before
the flesh searing flames vesicated
the witless wench's raised fingertips.
As she struggled with our hero
to maintain her frontal stance.
Something strange, did happenchance!
Miraculous! Beyond belief!
He heard a delicate: pop!
Like a bubble, 'ere it is pricked.

And lo and behold!
A clear, cold, shimmering
gelitanous fluid
covered them!
And to their bodies did itself mold.
Flooding their cranial orifices:
ears, nostrils, and mouthes agape.
As they gagged, within the involucre.
But survived the deadly inferno without.

Whilst all else, about
the tangled vines, shrubs, and grasses.
Shriveled and blackened
in the beast' maledicted blast.
Ah, but nothing can forever last...

Even a dragon has to catch it's breath!
Afore it's next assualt...

Now twas our white witch
stood still as stone.
Her energy evaporated, gone.
And our hero, his senses regained
their combined safety
now maintained.

Moving into action.
Turning her 'round.
Taking her cold, limp hand.
Dragging her with him.
As he sprinted back the way
from whence they'd run.

Flame repelling globs flying from them.
Plopping onto the hell scorched ground.
Over which they did bound.
The scent of sulphur filled the air.
Heavy,as his self-disdain and despair.
Never before, he'd been forced to beat,
such a hasty, graceless retreat...

[soulfir3]

* settles down with her drink, freshly made biscuits and enjoys the wonderful journey laid out before her, in the ever intriguing words of Nir*

[anirbas]

Thanks, Soul...More to come...I'm trying to give our Robert a chance to catch up before I
post more of The Ragging Dragon...ggglgggl...

Swipes a fresh biscuit from the plate...

[DavidMc]

Good to see this epic here!

[anirbas]

The Dragon Hunter Act V

Our hero, inquired increduously
of the courageous wicche.
"What in the name of Hades, was that?"
Both, still retching gelatinous remnants
of the slick,egg white textured substance.
From their throats, a-gagging convulsively.
"A dragon!" She snapped. Weakened,
but no less impudent...

"No, woman! This!" Irritatedly
he sneered. Shaking shimmery
drips and drops of it from
hard, sword calloused fingers.
"Oh, that." She replied airily.
Waving her beslimed hand, freely.
"Just a wee spell of involucrum.
In the name of Brighid,
Sir Knight, if you please!
Not and never, Hades!
Attempting it, was quite a feat!
Unsure, I was, we'd not be beat!
Not knowing, if I had it right.
Having never invoked it,
afore this dragon cursed night!"
Our village slighted maiden,
hocked and spat, spiritedly.
Onto the leaf matted loam.

Our hero, wagged his head, wonderingly.
Amazed at her pugnacious audacity;
her shrewd, old world, sagacity;
her total lack of paucity;
her willingness to risk her life.
Irregardless of harmful consequence
or her own bodily strife!

To whit, for what? To protect his?
Battled hardened men
would not have followed him,
in his insane, Berserkers charge across the glen!
And with nothing more,
did she stand and defend him,
than a verbal weapon!
Her words woven into a prayer,
to her gods, for mercy on them...

Humbled, our knight errant
his eyes from hers, did lower.
To cast about,
to the shaggy, shapeshifting shadows.
The warrior army of dark elves!
Fearsome, and swarthy of visage;
bullstrong and stout.
Each armed with their choice of manglers.
Double-fisted, at that!
Lethal battle axes or hammers.

Pairs of gleaming eyes,
staring from the dark, expectantly.
As tho' awaiting his command, respectfully.
In spite of his recent, prideful gaff!
At which they had and didn't laugh.

Verily, our hero did rue
his gross underestimation.
Of the enormous beast' evil reputation!
The sheer magnitude of
it's hell bred gifts and powers!

His gaze returned
to the outcast woman.
Wrongfully village spurned.
The one he no longer considered daft.
But more mentally seated,
than he, on a balanced raft.
He shrugged his broad shoulders.
Addressed her, in words, tinged with atonement.
In a voice rumbling so low, in weariment.
It was fain inaudible.
Except, to our alledged,
hell enslaved, halfwit.
Whose woods tuned hearing, was highly laudable!

"And what, pray tell, Lady of my salvation,
would you have me do?
To help myself, and all of you?
For to your machination, I now submit.
And my swordarm, do commit."

At this, she flashed him a grateful,
gap-toothed, Cheshire cat's grin.
The reward of which, did not last.
Her smile disappeared, just as fast.
As she spoke, in earnest.
"Dear, dear, brave knight of the realm.
It is not my plot!
It is not I, who steers the helm!
But the Powers that Be!
Not, and never, insignificant me!
They have chosen and summoned us here.
From a-far. And a-near.
Together, to enact the only plan.
That may lead to the release
of this once peaceful land.
And rid it of yonder
draconic stranglehold of horror!
Take heed and heart, my friend!"
At this,she patted his chainmail encrusted
brawny forearm.

"Indeed! We have all acted,
oft times in error!
Still, I see, you cry not in terror!
Backpedaling in alarm.
Nor from your knightly duty,
do you now shirk!
So, forgive yourself, your prideful quirk.
Ahead of you, is much hard work!
For lo and behold.
There behind you.
Already the prelude
of this righteous battle,
begins to unfold..."

Our hero whirled about.
To find, no doubt.
Twas true! War did wage!
As the irridescent folk of Faery,
did the fiery behemoth, engage!
Against the star shot, nascent void;
and the creamy bloat
of the fecund moon.

Myriad nacreous, tiny beings-
the luminescent queen of fey,
accompanied by her phosphorescent retinue-
darted in vespidic rage!
A reticular, fluttering melee.
Artfully manuvering
in lustrous, irate glee.
Pinpointing strategically-
the hooded, leathern lids of the
enormous beast' iritic, garnet orbiters.
The inflamed slits of it's nostrils,
at the front of it's fang heavy snout.
It's incisors,
curved as a matched pair of scimitars,
long as a man was tall.
Fangs that sprang, from it's
sulfur blackened gums,and
overhung, an underslung jaw.

Diminutive, dauntless fairies,
flitted in and out,
of the wide space created
by the huge winged viper's,
venomously glistening tusks.
At the entrance to it's bottomless maw.
Not the least, in thrall.
Of a possible, blistering squall
issuing from it's depths.

Causing the centuries old, royal wyvern-
in reality, not a true, upstart dragon!
Instead, an ancient ancestor,
of the current, four-legged beast, my friend.
An actual, living predecessor!
Evolutionized, after careless gamboling,
with more than one gigantic salamander.
Into the more plentiful,
quadrapedic variety.
Blessed with the same draconic gifts.
This, magnificent, malificent speciman
the last, of a now extinct couple--
Causing the tossing of it's wickedly horned cranium,
in utmost aggravation!
At the irksome antagonization
wrought by the vengeful fairies' feasance.

It, the dragon thinking, I would imagine.
"How dare these flying, ant-sized peasants?"
Once more, as before
this headshaking action
Forced the wee folk to tumble and topple.
To aimlessly soar.
Hither and thither.
Some slammed ignominously,
against more than one tree.
Broken and smashed.
Shattered irreparably.
Their numbers subtracted!

Left dazed and in a dither.
No matter, to their natural, group
mentality and boundless spirit!
Why, the pugnacious fairies
simply regrouped and coalesced!
Into an arrow, comprised of many,
albeit now, a few less.
Pulled from the quiver.
Fitted to the bow.
And upon, the the fey queen's nod,
they flew, straight and true.
Without so much as a shiver!

They whizzed pell-mell
over the grassy vale.
Towards the humongous, angry beast.
Fearless of it's vessicating breath;
it's bottomless gullet;
or being dashed by it, into the sod!
In their tiny beating hearts,
fathomless courage,
did surge and swell!
For you see, my friend.
Like the odious wyvern,
our folk of Faery
were mad as Hell!


The Dragon Hunter Act VI

As the fairies swarmed
the enormous, vesuvian beast.
Drawing to them, it's malevolent focus.
From our hero and the others' locus.
The alledged devil's pawn
raised her slim arm.
Crooking her index finger
over her slime cloaked shoulder.
Signaling beyond her.
Without hesitation,
nor faint hint of a whisper.
The swart sons of Yer
did step forward,
from the loden green brush
and nascent, hithy shadow.
Not a few to several,
as our hero had first thought.
But, bands of tens and twenties.
Mayhap, three hundred of them!
Stepped readily, into the moonlit meadow.
Then, entered the glade at a gallop.
After the alledged Satan's trollop
dropped her hand,
in silent command.
Stoically mute and grim faced.
En masse, they charged and raced!
Across the moon silvered glen.
Some, indulging in quick sips,
(perhaps, my friend, their last!)
from a treasured, golden flagon,
carried at their hips.
Gaining fast, as they dashed
upon the otherwise, occupied dragon.
Tromping through the vertigreen wall
of grasses, so tall.
A phantasmic, earthbound
mob, not uttering a sound.
Reaching the unsuspecting
fairy beseiged enormous monster.
Upon it the swarthy eleves did fall.
A-hacking! A-slashing!
And a-hammering!
at the dastardly viper.
Blood streamed and sprayed,
redded the twilit glade.
From the wounds the hirsute
warriors, inflicted and made,
in it's scaled sides and underbelly.

Caught off guard,
as the elves and fairies,
it, did doubly bombard.
The serpentine, macropterous winged,
fire breathing wyvern,
lost it's chameleonic coloring!
Reddening, to an intense shade of vermilion!
From it's vibrating, barb tipped tail;
to it's horn topped, scaled mazard!
At that, the white witch, tapped lightly,
our erstwhile hero's link encased chest.
Whispering, conspiritorially.
"My friend, you know what you must do...
To you, belong the battle's etude.
And the waning eventide's victory.
God's speed and may you be blessed.
Upon your noble quest!
And may Brighid protect you!"
Our knight errant
inclined his head,
at our redounded maiden.
Gazing at her inscrutable face.
No longer, with her, arrogant.
Nay, nay! Councilitory.
He spoke, saying what he felt
must needs be said.
Afore he left the spellbinder's presence.
And mayhap, wound up dead.
"I prithee, my Lady, your forgiveness!
For my lewd,obnoxious cursing,
of your venerable reputation and person.
And my eternal thanksgiving,
to you, for my life saving!
Tho' this dragon cursed eve,
perchance, it may yet be taken!"
With that our hero,
chucked her under the chin.
Stating heartily,
"You're one hell of a woman!"
Then he pivoted,was off and gone.
Disappearing into the misty arms
of the fog enshrouded wood.
To do as she, had him, bid.
Leaving our ardently spirited sapient, alone.
To manage, as best she could.
Shivering in her slime soaked cloak.
To the her skin, cold and drenched.
Muttering betwixt her teeth, clenched.
Anxiously, incantating an invocation;
for the wee folk, elves, and knight,
a mantle of protection.
And then some!
Over what was left,
of this evil mongered twilight.
And what was yet to come...




The Dragon Hunter-Act VII

Leaving our presumably madcap maiden,
to her prayerful cathexis,
our hero skirted,
the edge of the misted forest.
To come round,
behind the odiously mighty, beast.
The closer he crept,
the more odiferous the smell!
Wafting from the dangerously
whipping barbed tail!
He stopped short,
the far side of the
magnificently winged serpent's gyrations.

Awestruck, for the umpteenth
time, today and night,
by the royal Wyvern's bodily precense.
It's long muscles of rippling iron.
Flowing powerfully beneath it's hide;
of thick, carpaced scales.
The beast twisting action,
crushed more than a few,
of the dark elves, in a slew.
As they did, irregardlessly
at the dragon,hack and pound.
From their stance, upon the ground.

Our hero heard,
their bones snap and crack!
Neath the fiendish writhening,
of the dastardly dragon's rolling attack!
And still the son's of Yer,
uttered not a single word or sound!
Without further delay,
our knight errant, shucked
his soft leathern boots.
Bared his feet, to free his toes!
The better to grip and climb,
my friend, as everyone knows!
Unbuckled his sword belt.
Reverently bent, to lay it down.
And in that position,
slid the knee length,
hooded, chail mail tunic,
over his broad shoulders,
and no longer hard head.
Let it slip with a slither,
to the mouldering woods floor.
And lie in a glimmering muddle.
A metallic puddle on the leafy loam.
T'would do him no good here!
Not against the advent
of liquidic flames,
and poisonous fangs!
T'would serve him best,
where it now lay.
By lightening his load,
this, the final end, to his day,
of shame and chagrin.
Our hero retrieved his belt.
The trusty sword of finest Toledo steel!
Cinched it tight, about his waist,
as he refocused his hardened gaze,
upon the mighty clash,
within the darkness,
of the emerald glade.

Our hero crossed himself, once more.
For victory he prayed, they did meet!
Then,trotted quick and hard,
from his hiding place.
Subtracting the space,
t'ween himself,
and his nexus,
into the bloody fray.
And the regal Wyvern, he hoped to defeat!
Ready to take the beast to task!
The elf and fairy murdering,
peasant munching, village burning,
and crop pillaging monster!
Not to mention,
our knight still smarted,
from the fiery blast,
delivered upon his ass.
And that, of the courageous,
presumed mattoid, woman!
No longer did he loyally serve,
as his king's warrior.
Paid with a limitless treasure offer.
Mercenary gain for a deadly venture.
Nay, nay, my friend!
This had become personal, to him!
He was primed and ready,
be that, how some ever,
still foolhardy.
Considering his well
endowed, and mightily gifted opponent!
But our hero, was prepared
to tear that beast of flaming vermilion,
limb to limb,
and patulous wing to wing!
No longer for king and country!
But for himself,
and his newfound friends!
Just as he reached the Wyvern,
he crouched and sprang!
Leaping into a long broad, jump!
Hoping the momentum,
would carry him higher.
Fingers clawing the air,
like a hungry tiger.
Ready to kill, to live!
Our hero, leapt right from
the frying pan, into the fire!
I tell you, my friend.
His situation, was dire!
As he landed upon,
the rounded,
spring loaded upperside,
of the macropterously blessed,
serpentinic dragon.
Wishing, as he did, fleetingly,
for a sip of what the elves had,
in their many a golden flagon!
As he felt those organs unfurled,
blacken the moon and stars, above.
The downdraft whipping his hair,
about his eyes.
Blinding, further still, his sight.
Threatening to blow him,
from his precarious position.
Hanging by a thread,
as he was,
so to speak...

Literally by all his digits!
With all his might he hung!
His nostils filled with dragon reek.
Both toes and fingers,
gripping the thickly undulating
scales, the size of pewter platters!
He might as well, have been a gnat!
For all that,
our clinging hero was noticed.
By the overgrown, vesuvian tempered,
firebreathing, barb tailed bat!
Tossing it's ebony horned,
mighty skull, to and fro, visciously.
Still flinging hapless fairies,
far and wide!
Then bending it's supple neck.
Sending it's atrociously visaged mazard,
to do unto the elves, vile hazard!
Picking them, like fruit from a peck!
From it's scalened,
shimmying belly.
Willy Nilly!
In twos and threes!
CRUNCH! CRUNCH! GULP!
Eaten as an oyster!
A bite and a swallow!
An ignominous, sad ending,
for the fearsome children, of Yer.
Expiring as a feast for a flaming fiend!
I wish it t'weren't so, my friend!
But t'were.
Wasting not a moment longer,
our hero scrambled up and over,
the cylindrical, draconic ogre.
Paying no heed,
his hand and feet, did freely bleed.
Slashed and gashed
open,by the sharp edges
of the beast rippling scaled ridges.
Our profusely bleeding knight
gained the raised spines
of the beast long, sinuous backbone.
Using the fleshy protuberances,
for balast. As our hero raced,
jumped, slipped and slid,
in his own body's fluid!
Onward and upward,
til precariously he stood,
'tween the smoothly flexing, clavicles.
That grew into the webveined,
scalloped and taloned,
humongous wings!
And there,
sandwiched betwixt
the matched pair of sky
sweeping organs,
it was still,
as the eye of a storm!
In the vacuum created there!

Our far to human hero,
there did pause.
Gasping raggedly,
to catch his breath.
Inhaling deep draughts,
of the fog laden air.
Then continued,
his scandent climb
up the muscular, narrowing neck.
Towards the mighty Wyvern's wide,
wickedly, horned cranium.
Blood trickled and redded his brawny arms.
And ran in rivulets, from his heels,
over the beast vermilion scales.
But, ever our hero, ascended.
It would not be recommended,
one try this at home,
my friend!
Til he slid, then stood.
His scarlet clotted feet firmly planted,
atwixt the ebonied horns.
Which he used, first one, then the other,
for balance, as he wiped each of his hands,
of his own gore and slick blood,
upon his rough under tunic.
SLITHER.
Went the voice of the Toledo steel,
as he drew it, from it's tooled scabard.
Taking it's hilt, in all his fingers,
and both his palms,
he rammed it,
without further qualms,
and all his might,
until it's razor sharp blade
disappeared from sight!
betwe'en and behind,
the empiric Wyvern's garneted orbiters,
it's only spot of vulnerability,
as the outcast woman
had him bade.
Scarlet sprayed,
gushed and fountained,
about the buried hilt of our hero's sword!
Blinding him,
as the fatally afflicted Wyvern,
with a great ROAR!
tossed it's wounded, forehead!
Our brave knight to one side slid,
of the dragon's mazard.
Now, in greater peril and hazard!
Hanging by his nails, figuratively.
From his sword's handle, literally.
His insensate, gore covered
feet, dripping his blood
into the beast mouth.
By the dropperfuls,
from his torn, numb toes.
The mortally impaled Wyvern,
twisted, coiled, and writhened;
it's unfurled macropterous wings,
madly whipping tornadoes into the skies,
from our hero's delivered coup de grace.
Yet, in this finishing stroke,
neither, more helpless, than the other.
As grimly, our hero clung
to his blood soaked sword hilt.
Thrown about,
by the beast death throes.
The doomed magnificent dragon,
coiled and wound,
itself to the ground.
It's last dying bellow,
a wall of sound,
in our hero's,
now, also bleeding ears.
Then, ever so gently, regally,
laid it's royal Wyvern's head, down.
Took it's last rasp,
of a rattling gasp.
And was no more.
Of this world.
As the sun's rays whispered,
faintly, of a false dawn,
over the far horizon.

THE END!
or is it?

~Sabrina.

[anirbas]

The Dragon Hunter-Epilogue.

And so, our band of bodily injured, though spirit strengthened, warriors left the disenchanted glade.
But not before, the Dark Elves hurriedly, hacked from the Wyvern's head, the ebonied horns. Which they then presented, to our hobbling hero. The Toledo steel, they left driven into the dragon's cranium.
Then the son's of Yer, ran quickly for the protection of the shadow lined forest. And the secret caves of their homes. Their curse, to be stoned, by the light, of the quickly dawning day! Those of them, put out of action, or dead, disentegrated, at the sun's first, glorious kiss. Nothing left of them, to save, other than a walnut sized, heart shaped onyx stone, whence they'd been.
The wee folk of Faery, gathered their injured and dragon slain. Lifting into a luminescent swarm. Orbing into the nascent thickets of the woods. They disappeared, gone.

Our hero, returned to his king, and his people. And gave evidence of his deed, the shorn ebonied horns, of the slain Wyvern. He loyally recounted each and every detail of his quest. Leaving no stone unturned, to his king. Making it clear, this was not his, nor the king's victory. It was a combined effort and belonged to the people. Then, our hero, relayed to the king, that without a heavenly dose, of that which cannot be seen, the king's request would not have been accomplished...

The king was amused by our hero's newfound meekness. Where before, our knight would have bragged of his solitary exploits. Now, giving credit to wee folk, elves, and a witch, with his mission! Humble and discreet, about his own bravery. Wings of silver, now swept from our hero's temples. Where before, there'd been,but sprinkles.

Our hero's king, wisely surmised, his chosen knight, deserved much more from him. Than a war chest and acres of land. And on the spot, betrothed our hero, to his eldest daughter! Eager, to see, what get, he would have as grandson's from the pair, he'd matched!

The king's daughter was as tall as our hero, in her stockinged feet. Rawboned in a feminine way. And while not beautiful, all in all, a comely woman. Topping it off, being of royal lineage! Our hero's sons, would be born princes! Heirs to the throne, no less!
Times being politic, our hero did not quibble, with his king's proclamation of an impending marriage. And in time, the king's daughter, bore our hero, three strapping sons. But, that's another story...

And our alledged mattoid witchy maiden? She was dragged, back to her former village. By the joyously remorseful, shirefolk.
She even went on to establish a profitable business! Ye Olde Village Green Apothecary! With a little home, for her, outback. From whence were seen dark, shaggy beings, coming and going, of an evening. And orbs of light, sometimes, shot from the chimney, straight to the star flung skies!

But no matter, the formerly narrow minded village people, just shook their head, and went about their business. As they always should have...

While our witch branded woman, never did marry, she still bore three beautiful daughters. And the once more, the villager's paid that no heeed, either. Especially, since two of her children, were the spitting image, of our hero's grandmothers, respectively! And the third, was the female visage, of he! No doubt about it!

Besides, our hero's frequent visits, to and from, and through their humble village, had caused to built for them better roads and a gristmill! And their taxes were lowered, cut to a pittance of a bill! So, what cared they, if he dillied and dallied, with their agelessly, beautiful apothecary? Times being what they were, a man could both marry, and have a mistress! If he could afford it!



And in a certain, forgotten, disenchanted glade, peeps and squeeks were heard. As the high sun glinted and gleamed from the exquisite hilt, of a Toledo blade!
For you see, my friend and friends, our hero and his motley band, had not slain a dragon.

But instead, a Draconia! Who'd lovingly, just the eventide before, spent her time, laying and covering her children. Then laid her head to rest, for a much deserved respite! Afore she was disturbed, by that vespidic fairy herd!

And now, six dragonets, fed from their mother's immense, mouldering carcass. Of their toddlerdom, only one would survive, to become a magnificent bull, of a royal Wyvern!
Whose pillaging, murdering, and rampaging, would bring together,all of our hero's children. To finally bind, as a family, in their courageous endeavor! To rid their future lands and times, of a Wyvern, now turned teenager, hormones raging, as he searches for the one thing he will never find, being truly the Last of the Wyverns...

But, that's another story!

LOL

~Sabrina.

[wistfuldragon]

Just finished rereading this and yes...I still love it...still captivated by it...and later I have a friend coming by to read it...she is gonna love it too...
Hugs sister...

[anirbas]

Thanks, Mishie! Bumped it up, just for you. I'm blushing with the knowledge you're going to share this piece with a friend. Hugs backatcha, mon ami! Evernir.

[wistfuldragon]

Dear Sabrina Fair...
Yes my friend came and read and read and read and read...you get the point...so much did she read and love that now she is getting her system hooked up so she can come on her own and keep reading...afraid to say she become addicted mostly to the Dragons on our boards...but she is the same in regard to the love and darkness...
I was very proud to bring her here to read all these beautiful gifted poets and friends...
All she could say was that she adored everything herein our world...and that she'd be back...to read at least...

[anirbas]

Good to know...Good to know...A suffusion of pride where this place and it's inhabitants are concerned flushes my face after reading your comments, Misharae!!!!

To our newest reader, welcome to our alternate universe of poetry when next you land to read. A friend of Mishie's is a friend of ours...Sincerly, Sabrina.

[wistfuldragon]

Must say Sabrina she is most taken with this place and its word magic creatures...and I thank you for the welcome to her...she'll be thrilled to read it...I guess everyone wowed the heck out of her...
Smiles across the miles...

[anirbas]

Wowing the heck out of our readers, is our job...LOL...Smiles backatcha, Mish...

[wistfuldragon]

A job well done indeed dear friend...with smiles and hugs...

[anirbas]

Okie dokie...Trying to put these pieces in order, just for you...I'll haul out The Dragon Warrior for you, next...though it is woefully, unfinished...but, these three, are all tied in together...Or, were supposed to have been...LOL...Still can't find The Witch of the Silver Maples...Which has nothing to do with these poetical epicals...

But, tired I am now...Stayed up late, so hopefully I'll sleep late, tomorrow...
So, hopefully, I can handle working ten p.m. Xms eve til seven p.m., Xms morning...
To go back Xms night at ten p.m. and work til seven p.m., Wednesday morning...Ugh...

The things we do to make a buck and pay the bills and keep a roof over our kidlets heads...
I'm ready for January...And a return to my regular schedule...days...And I'm ready to be healed of this crud Ivy and I have...blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah...Shutting up whining and now proceeding to the land of Nod...it's almost two of the a.m., here in NIrland...

Hope I sleep til five p.m., tomorrow...Then up to attend a family gathering on Xms eve and then off to work after that...ARGH...Is it January, yet? At least, it'll look good on the old paycheck...

Love, hugs and moocheese...

[anirbas]

Bump.

[artolmaeus]

In the Addams family, Gomez would go all Pepe LePew on Morticia's arm if she said something French....now those summabitching writers should have expounded some scenes should she speak something Welsh.

Dear God! This is a great time. A culture and vocabulary enhancer, a wordsmith smithing away and at first glance, Eisteddfoddic was a Nordic word I would have thought like a Viking fight, but it is Welsh....oh there's more and I am pulling up my desk and may have to send the teacher an apple, cause some of these lessons are the best....I have to take time to build on this work looking up words new to me, and it is awesome, and it is really sofa king good...wow wham kazowee and a kazoo playing thirds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[artolmaeus]

oh it has so much, it should be a book!!!!and a damn good book it would be!!

[artolmaeus]

I would buy it and read it,
it should not come for free

[artolmaeus]

it has the potential to be right up there with Gibran's "The Prophet"....started on the part II so far, and I had to go back......this is something written for writers and for me it's like crack, Jack!!!

[anirbas]

Artol, still my favorite piece, I have ever written. I had such fun in this metaphorical glade while I was writing it. I also enjoyed Witch of the Silver Maples. But, much of that is lost in the dusty bowels of the Bnet archives.