Back at the Withershins Inn and Tavern, our fair fairy is…

You know what? Forget that. Nothing interesting is happening there.

Moving on.

***

Oh, the horror.

Deep in the forest glade, we find our fearless Elaine, artist of the profane language and bane of drunk gnomes everywhere, staring up into the biggest, toothiest smile she has ever seen. It is, without question, a dragon.

Oh, dear.

“Sssuch a tantalizing tassste of tender toothsssome tart twined to a twice-shattered sssylvan ssstone”

Amazing how the word “toothsome” can emphasize someone’s… um… teeth.

“Right… uh… good morrow… sir?”

*GRRRRROOOWRRRR*

“Ma’am! Lady. Dame. Mistress?”

A low rumble meets this last title.

“Mmm. Mistressss, yessss. I am the magnificent and melodious Mistress Mellifluousss, munificent monarch of Mount Moon. And you, my sssimpering sssylphid sweeting, seem such a polite and sssuculent sssnack.”

“Right. About that—”

“But ssseemings offer slender succor to sssagacity. You might be but a tart-tongued toadying trickssster trying to tempt me from my treasure.”

“Nonononono! It’s not me—”

“Do not dissssemble with me, my dissssentious daughter of deceit. Sssuch feeble feigning. Would you facture faithlessss fiction as fact? I sssmell those mendaciousss miscreants upon you, my mercurial and machination-mongering maiden. Those thrice thanklesss thievesss! I would use their tharms for thatching!”

Tharm: an obsolete noun referring to one’s intestines. In other words, our Mistress Mellifluous would like to strip their guts out and use them for roofing material. Which sounds a bit like it might leak in the rain and be hell on the decorating bill, but to each their own.

Where were we? Oh, yes.

It takes Elaine a moment to work this out. “The bandits! Yes! They—”

“Ah! Admission of assissstance. Abettor of abhorrent activitiesss. Abjure your association with your accomplicesss, these abject abominations of asssinine audacity, and I may yet accede to absssolution.”

Our fair heroine sorts through this quickly. “Uh. Right. Not their accomplice. See?” She tugs at the ropes demonstratively. “They kidnapped me.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Mmm. Perhapsss. It is posssible you are but a pawn in these pestiferousss and pecuniary plans.”

Elaine nods eagerly.

The dragon lowers its head, a thread of smoke snaking from each nostril to wind around our maiden fair, sending her into a coughing fit.

“Or perchance you are a prattling, prating pigeon sssent to persuade my perssspicacity away with your plenteous pleasss.”

“Um.” More coughing. “No. I’m pretty sure that’s a no.”

“Well then, my—” The Mistress of Mount Moon stops suddenly and pulls her head back to cock a draconic brow. “You are not then a feral female with a fey fetish for fetters and… um… festoonery?”

“NO.”

“Mmm. No. Well then, my mewling morsssel, in what manner might you mend my misssgiving?”

“Mend misgiving… mis—oh! Right! I can tell you where they are.”

“I trow the tart would turn turncoat.”

“Not a tart.” Oh dear. I do believe our valiant girl just rolled her eyes at the winged terror of the skies. “And yes. Would love to watch you trounce those tedious… two-faced… twits!”

Oh, sweet reader, prepare yourself. For now the dragon’s head is rearing back and a ball of flame is bursting into the air—things are truly dire for our heroine—as the great beast… laughs?

“HA! Then we both call contemptuousss these cowardsss who crept craven to my cave and carried away my child.”

“Absolutely. I—Wait. They stole your baby?”

“My embryo enssconced in amber eggshell.”

Another puff of smoke and flame escapes the dragon’s nostrils, but this time there is no humor in her reptilian eyes.

“The vagrant villiansss vacated afore my vengeance was victoriousss, and vended my darling dear one to dwarven delversss dwelling in deasil dale!”

Hmm. I’m not certain, dear reader, but I think our dragon might actually be… sniffling? Interesting.

Oh! And dangerous!

Apparently draconic sniffling induces sparks of flame as much as anger or laughter and, seeing as it’s been rather dry lately, things around Elaine are beginning to… um… smolder.

Our brave and buxom bar-keeping beauty—

Oh. Wow. That’s contagious. Sorry ‘bout that. As I was saying…

Elaine is currently stamping somewhat ineffectually at the flames as they creep across the dry grass at her feet.

“Right.” *stamp* “Dwarves in the valley to the west. Got it.” *stamp stamp* “But if you know who those idiots sold the egg to, why can’t you just go get it back?”

*stampstampSTAMP*

“Do I look of a size to fit in a four foot dwarf mine facetiousss female?”

“Um. No, but…”

*GRRRRROOOWRRRR*

Another huff of flame passes over her head—“Shutting up now!”—and…

And a familiar clanking is coming from the edge of the trees.

Oh, dear.

Sir Jeffrey, our valiant would-be champion, tumbles back into the clearing, drops his sword, scrambles back up with it, straightens his helmet again, and brandishes the blade in the general direction of our winged matron.

Who is, quite frankly, not even bothering to look at him.

“Never fear, fair damsel! I shall defend you from the foul beast!”

Our brave knight swings the weapon, lodging the tip in a convenient tree trunk.

“Face me vile creature.” Tugging ensues. “I have no—damned fey-bent oak—no fear of thy fiery breath. I shall—Aah!”

The blade springs free and Sir Jeffery topples back into the bracken, only to spring up once more, sword still in hand. “Have at thee!”

The tip of Mistress Mellifluous’s tail flicks round and catches our hapless knight across the chest. Knight and sword alike go flying back into the trees once more.

“Now then my tempestuousss tart…”

“Can we please stop with the ‘tart’ thing?”

“Tender thine troth in exchange for thine tiesss.”

“I… uh... not following.”

“I shall absssolve your accord with the acrimoniousss activities of the accursssed thieving troop, and repay your retrieval with regal recompense, if in turn you trace down my tender taken treasure.”

“Oh. Yeah. Um, egg hunting isn’t really my thing.”

“I could jussst eat you.”

“Egg hunting sounds GREAT.”

“Indeed. But if you fabricate falsssehood and flee, I shall follow you to the furthermossst fensss to fall fire and flame upon you and all your fiendish family.”

“... just… great.”

Wonderful. And thus, dear reader, does our heroine find herself employed by a dragon.

***

Meanwhile, at the Withershins Inn…