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This one was another story originally written back in 2009, and as with all these I've been doing I've touched it up to fit my modern standards and ideas and shit but also. This one's special. It's the origin story of Iggy, one particular OC I don't always talk much about but has a very important place in my heart.

So. Look out, it's a


The tiny dragon rolled around in the massive pile of treasure, as if it were a kitten playing with the world’s biggest pile of yarn. He flung bits of gold into the air, and gnawed on silver rods. He crawled inside the bronze armor of long-vanquished knights, imagining they were tunnels deep underground where goblins dwelled.

Suddenly, a much larger dragon-the little one’s father-entered the cavern, and the tiny dragon stood straight, expecting meat. Instead, the father merely dumped a load of new treasures onto the pile, which his son rushed over to with wild abandon.

“Careful you don’t mess those up, son.”

“I won’t, daddy.”

Then the little dragon noticed a strange object, with gold and gems embedded, amid the pile.

“What’s that, daddy?”

“Oh, it’s just a book; humans and elves and such read ‘em all the time. I just wanted the gems and gold, so you can look at the worthless paper-stuff inside. Just don’t light it on fire. Even to practice your panini making “

And with that, the father dragon loped to the entrance of the cave and flew off, looking for bison meat.

The little dragon watched him go, and then turned his attention to the book. His mother had taught him how to read words scrawled on cave walls by other dragons - why couldn’t he read this? Carefully, he opened it, and began to scan the page.

His amber eyes widened in amazement.


Many years later…

The town was in chaos.

The streets were filled with desperate villagers, all trying to get to the safety of their houses. People barely avoided trampling each other in the mad rush. Most knew their thatch-roofed houses would provide little protection - yet they could not think of anything else to do against the coming monstrosity.

As the last of the villagers filtered into their homes, the beast swooped in. It was a dragon, small for his species, but still a menacing sight. His red scales were comparable to the thickest armor, and his sharp, amber eyes scanned the village before him. With a resounding thud, he landed in the middle of one of the town’s widest streets. He reared his great horned head, inhaled deeply as if to breathe fire…

And sighed a great loud sigh that rustled the nearby rooftops. Why do they always run away? he thought.

He cupped his claws to his mouth, as if holding a megaphone. “Hello, people!” he shouted. “There is no need to be afraid- I am not a bad dragon… really! I mean it! People?”

He sighed again and began to stroll the streets of the village. Everywhere I go to learn about people- elf glades, human cities, dwarven mines- I get turned away because they think I’m’ a bad dragon. What do I do wrong? Is it the voice? The smell? - he sniffed himself - My entrance? It’s not like I would want to attack them- Villages like these don’t have much loot in them.

He sat down on the dirty pavement and sighed a third time. He thought he should probably get going- the smell of unkempt houses was getting to him. Then, suddenly, his eye caught sight of something.

Sitting in the middle of the town square was a library. A library with gigantic doors.

With all the joy of a child running to his long-gone father, he burst through the entrance, skidding to a halt before he could knock a shelf over. Before him stood rows and rows of books, from wall to wall, ceiling to floor - but with just enough room to fit a dragon in between each shelf. Overjoyed, he inhaled lungfuls of air through his nostrils, savoring the old-book smell. With his claw, he delicately extracted a book from the shelf and began to leaf through the pages.

He read eagerly as the heroes of the story went on quests, slayed evil monsters, collected loot, and became famous. He loved these kinds of stories, and eagerly plucked another book from the shelf. He read this one with all the same enthrallment.

At least until the end. He pushed the book away in annoyance, for the heroes had ended up slaying a dragon in this one. Why do they always have to do that? he thought.

He picked up another book. Here the humans worked with the dragon… except the dragon was subservient to the human and even let him ride on his back! What kind of self-respecting dragon would do that?

He went through book after book, and the results were the same: the dragons were side characters at best, vicious monsters at worst. It had been the same in every other library he came across.

Suddenly, he heard a book fall from its shelf. He turned around slowly, and saw a middle-aged man cowering in the massive reptile’s presence. Sweat poured from his brow, and his eyes showed a mixture of awe and utmost terror.

Finally, the dragon thought, a chance to prove myself! A chance to show that dragons can be nice! I need to do something that will capture this villager’s heart and mind forever!

There was a long, suspenseful, silence. All that could be heard were the deep breaths of both individuals.

Then the dragon smiled awkwardly, displaying his very sharp teeth, and waved.

The human screamed a little schoolgirl scream and galloped toward the doors.

Before he could escape, he felt a claw tug at the back of his shirt. Instantly he was lifted into the air, sobbing hysterically.

“P-please, don’t eat me, mister dragon...”

The dragon groaned and shook his head. “I’m not gonna eat you; I just need to know something.”

The villager’s sobbing slowed down. He was looking at the dragon curiously now.
“Why do humans not like dragons at all? To you we’re either nasty man-eaters or beasts of burden.”

The human thought for a second, his face scrunching up in contemplation. Finally, he seemed to have an epiphany. “I dunno. It’s just the way things are, I guess. Besides, you don’t see dragons going around doing hero stuff…”

The dragon paused. Why not?

“M-mister dragon?”

The dragon smiled, a wide smile that nearly touched the bottoms of his horns. This did not reassure the villager.

Why can’t a dragon collect loot, slay monsters, and become famous?

“What did I do?” said the man.

The dragon put down the villager, patting him softly but distractedly on the head. “You said enough, sir.”

The man took no time escaping through the front doors.

We’ve already got the loot part mastered, why not the others?

He carefully put away his books, then walked outside.

He knew what he was going to do.

He'd get an adventuring party, go out, save the day, and be famous.

And then maybe finally he'd be appreciated.

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