Notes from An Alien

~ Explorations In Reading, Writing & Publishing ~

Tag Archives: Dragon

Friday Fantasy ~ Number Twenty-Five

Fable of The Distracted Dragon

~ He wasn’t sure what the trouble was.

Fable of The Distracted Dragon

Image courtesy of daniele vinaccia ~

He’d ruled this part of the coast for a thousand years.

The humans did what he said—until a few days ago

He also thought his fire-breath was starting to cool down.


He was direct in his actions.

He’d been evoked a few days ago by the local wizard.

He was here to protect the humans and he was invisible.

His mission wasn’t to kill—merely chase the dragon away


His search for the cause of his woes seemed in vain.

He became morose.

He circled on the scent for hours but could see nothing.


He enjoyed his conjured life, short as it was to be.

His memories were all borrowed from the humans so he could appreciate the humor of a dragon flying in hopeless circles and puffing uselessly against the wind.

He moved in for the coup de grâce


He left the plain and flew over the forest toward the mountain.


He followed the dragon to the mountain and caused a horrible rock-fall, pelting the dragon with boulders and uprooted trees.


He couldn’t enter his lair—he lay confused and weary at the blocked entrance to his treasured magic gems.


He used his borrowed mind to determine his job was done and vanished.


He circled the mountain for months, fearing to join his clan.

He imagined he was the first dragon to be driven insane.

He finally took the long flight—returned whence he came


And so ends the Fable of The Distracted Dragon.

Except to say, there is a moral to this story:

When you’re dealing with a debilitating myth, use your evocative imagination

Copyright, 2014, Alexander M Zoltai
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Friday Fantasy ~ Number Twenty-One

The Satyr’s Dream

~ Wurembla had only made the appointment because he had to—he hated dragons.


Image, reproduced unaltered, by permission of Araniart ~ ~ in accord with CC 3.0 ~

He ambled along the path, past the hillock with the twisted tree, and stopped at the large, flat rock next to the stagnant pond.

He waited

The sun was near the horizon when the animal appeared, high in the sky and swooping in long arcs, ever-lower.

It landed lightly on the rock, raising a cloud of dust, and hissed out, “Satyr of legend, I am Vexus, your servant.”

Wurembla looked the beast over from snout to tail and replied, “Yes, my venerable dragon, you have an ability that can be of great service to us both.”

“I am not a dragon. That could well be taken as an insult, Sir. I am a drake.”

“Drake or dragon, my friend, you have what I lack and I offer what you could never attain unaided

“The message said you wish an Appeal written in the language of the humans, since you lack the art of composition

“No mere appeal, damn drake, a Summons!”

“My hairy associate, you may summon all you like but, without the proper mode of appeal, your desire can never be fulfilled

“Oh, most shady wordsmith, I don’t give a spurt what it’s called. There is a particular human female I must possess and it is rumored you can write a sorcery that will bind her to me—can you?

“I can.”

“She has the treasure you seek and you shall have it as soon as I have her


The satyr and the drake consulted. The satyr speaking his wishes, the drake instructing him in the proper strokes to be applied to the parchment.


Many miles away, the beauteous princess was kneeling at the seashore in deep conversation with one of the merfolk:

“Yes My father’s magician has determined the plot—my capture by Wurembla

“Why would you let him capture you?”

“The magician foresees the satyr petitioning my father for an audience with me He can not refuse to offer it—the satyrs threaten attack on our villagers I must see Wurembla and the magician says he will have an Appeal to entrance me

“And, my dear, you want me to do?

“Steal the Appeal.”

“Just like that

“I shall admit Wurembla to my chambers. You shall be in my bath—”

“Wait. Your bath!?”

“This is not good?”

“I need the beast on the shore—I must have room to leap and grab, my dear.”

“On the shore


Word had been received from the princess. She would meet the satyr.

Vexus took up his position on the mountainside, waiting for Wurembla to gain control of the woman and, hence, her fortune—all the jewels going to the drake

Wurembla stood on the shore of the sea, leering as the princess approached—his loins growing warm—his thoughts swirling in a dream-world

The princess reached the satyr and asked, with a quaver:

“What do wish to say to me, Wurembla?”

“Me? Say? Nothing, dear wench, read!”

He thrust the scroll at her.

She stood frozen.

The merman leapt.

The boy lurched back to consciousness, joystick in hand, and said:

“Damn! Almost had her

Copyright, 2014, Alexander M Zoltai
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Friday Fantasy ~ Number Eleven

The Avatar and The Dragon

~ The people hoped Wurm was still asleep but they could feel the mountain tremble from his movements.


Image courtesy of Jason Antony ~

Do dragons dream?

The people feared his waking and interrupting over a thousand years of peace

They all knew Wurm was dangerous—legends told of his fire-breathing, not to mention what one swipe of his tail could do

None had dared enter his lair in the mountain’s bowels.

Still, there were more recent tales of his stirring but not waking, so folks began to ignore the tremors; also, they had something else to occupy their worries—that damned, purported Avatar

He had declared his Mission last year but who could believe that Beluian, son of Beluis, common citizen known to all, was a religious Avatar?

Certainly there were some who followed Him, lowly folk—those said to lack a soul by the Priests of Adion.

The Head Priest, Seuljas, had called a general Council and was seated in the Temple speaking to his acolytes:

“The Priests from Zelvan and Lessus will be arriving any time, be swift with your duties and well prepared to offer them obeisance!”

Szalas, the most devoted of Seuljas’ acolytes, braved a comment:

“There have been recent converts in the merchant class to Beluian’s evil cause. Should we prepare the boiling oil?”

“Excellent, Szalas! A demonstration of our holy protection of the Faith of Adion will aid in securing the allegiance of the visiting Priests.”


The Council had finished its first meeting and adjourned to the central square of the city to watch the immolation of the infidels.

The cloth merchant, Heson, the seed merchant Kesun, and the shipping merchant, Guliaz, were being led to the metal-lined pit which sputtered and fumed with its bubbling oil.

They all showed signs of torture—holy torture designed to save their souls and give them the chance to recant their belief in Beluian.

Obviously, none had recanted and Szalas shared his joy with the other clustered acolytes:

“They were doomed when they first accepted belief in Beluian’s accursed ravings! Their souls were already dead or they would have recanted. God will bless us for consigning their bodies to—”

His last words were swallowed by the cheering of the people gathered for the holy event.

Some noticed that none of the merchants screamed as they were thrown into the boiling oil


The second session of the Council had begun and Seuljas was presenting his plan for the eradication of the remainder of Beluian’s followers:

“This false prophet is gaining too much ground, and swiftly. His lies are entrancing more of the upper class—even the senator, Mulophius, has succumbed.”

His speech was interrupted by the arrival of a messenger—with a missive from Beluian.

Seuljas bade him read:

“Oh, Priests of Adion, Zelvan, and Lessus.

“This is a summons from your Lord and the Lord of your ancestors.

“I have come as your prophecies foretold and as you must witness.

“It is said in the Most Ancient Tablets—‘He shall arise from among you and you shall kill His Friends with an evil heat’.

“Yet, ye are blind to how your own actions proclaim the truth of my Mission.

“It is not for God’s servants to test His Messenger but I shall, in my Mercy, offer you a chance to redeem your pitiful existence.

“I shall submit to whatever Test of Holiness you can devise.

“If I meet the Test, you shall admit the Truth of my Cause.

“I will await your appearance at the hill of mourners.”

There was profound silence

Then, nervous stirrings

Then, the Priests felt a tremor from the mountain

Seuljas stood, with weak knees but a straight spine, and said:

“We will invoke the Ancient Forces! We will Conjure the end of this Pretender!!”

Vesion, the Head Priest of Lessus, stood and said:

“Seuljas, you ask us to invoke the Dark Forces—imperil our souls?”

“I ask for nothing but what this evil creature deserves. Let us unlock the scrolls in the Tomb of Secrets and prepare to defeat Beluian with Creatures of the Realm he has risen from !”

There was much fevered consultation

There was a Decision.


Beluian was sitting on the hill of mourners in conversation with Szalas, Seuljas’ chief acolyte.

They had been talking for the past hour, ever since Szalas had arrived with word of the Priests’ Challenge.

Sazlas was in tears

Beluian, in the kindest tone, said:

“Sazlas, have no fear. Your belief in my Cause has given you new Life.”

“Beluian, they will arrive soon and unleash the most terrible of creatures against you—and, I shall be killed—I can in no wise go back on my realization of Your Truth

“We shall be together in My Highest Realms. Surely this can give you joy?”

Sazlas wiped his eyes, his face beaming with an effulgent smile.

The Priests were approaching the hill.

Sazlas walked down to meet them.

When he stood in front of them, he said:

“I greet you in the Name of Beluian. I adjure you to save your souls—from conjuring evil beasts as well as defiance against your Manifest Lord!”

The Priest, Seuljas, grabbed Sazlas by the neck and strangled him to death.

The other Priests took note that Sazlas gave no struggle

Seuljas rallied the other Priests to their Task—each kneeling and intoning the Curses from the Ancient Scrolls

Beluian stood on the hill with a smile—the smile of a father watching his children at play.

The Priests continued their chantings until two black clouds began to appear, one on each side of the hill.

One cloud began to resolve itself into the form of a giant ant which began to spit acid at Beluian

The other cloud turned into a horned beast that charged up the hill and gored Beluian

Beluian’s skin was blistering and His side was spouting blood, yet He still stood and spoke in a thundering voice:

“Wurm! Come forth from your abode and slay these manifest Phantoms!”

The ground shook and a wind arose, soon followed by Wurm, beating his wings and breathing fire toward the hill.

Beluian still stood, untouched by the fire

The giant ant released a stream of acid at Wurm.

Wurm’s wings began to blister and he landed on the hill.

The horned beast charged Wurm, slashing his belly.

As the dragon bled out his life, he consumed the creatures with his flaming breath.

With his last bit of strength, he wobbled up to Beluian.

Beluian bathed in the dragon’s blood, which healed the blisters from the ant and closed the wound from the beast.

Suddenly, Wurm disappeared with a blinding flash.

The Priests were running away in frenzied fear.

Beluian walked down the hill to Sazlas’ lifeless body.

He kneeled and took up the body with exquisite tenderness.

He walked back up the hill; laid Sazlas’ body on the ground; and, with His bare hands, dug a shallow grave.

Copyright, 2014, Alexander M Zoltai
Read More Friday Fantasy

To Leave A Comment, Use The Link At The Top-Right of The Post :-)
For Private Comments, Email: amzolt {at} gmail {dot} com
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GRAB A FREE COPY of Notes from An Alien

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