“In yet another one of her twisted schemes, Princess Trixie has left the kingdom of Midgard to seek out a dragon to capture her; surely King Odin’s wealth, a princess of the kingdom of Midgard, and the promise of glory and fame by defeating a knight – would be enough to sway any dragon; but oh, how wrong, Princess Trixie was. Every dragon she ever sought out, was weary of her – perhaps it was the foul stench of her not bathing, or the fact dragon was considered a delicacy in the kingdom of Midgard; as luck would have it, Princess Trixie chances upon a dragon by the name of Jormungand sporadically – the two are known to have several banter sessions, mostly with Trixie pleading for the dragon’s attention and the dragon telling her to jump into the river. Known to Jormungand is a one jester gone knight whom is never far behind Trixie.”

“Stand and deliver foul varlet!” says the obnoxious knight (at least to Jormungand’s ears).

“And what shall you do this time knight?” the dragon spits out smoke from his nose. This was going to be one battle he was going to enjoy.

Out comes the knight’s sword, and he holds it high, adorned by light from the ceiling in the cave.

“I need to get that fixed.”

“What?”

“Oh won’t you please marry me?”

Jormungand’s attention is called from the knight, Sir George’s attention is called from the hole in the ceiling; both wince at the thought of the princess at the far side of the room.

Jormungand snorts. He knows how this works.

Sir George promptly trips the minute he turns towards the entrance of the cave. Jormungand lets out another puff of smoke, cracks his tail and turns around – Sir George was beginning to make a habit of his own habits and the dragon knew damn well when and where Sir George would high tail it out of there. The dragon trips Sir George once more for good measure. Sir George has no time to shake his fist as he is already facing a far greater foe – a crazy princess is rushing him – he has one move, rush to the entrance of the cave, jump to his horse and high tail it back to Midgard.

“Ride like the wind Flail!”

Sir George’s words echo throughout the land scape; Flail does the opposite and falls over. There is a loud thud and an ‘ugh’. Sir George looks over once the dust settles and sees that the princess has been crushed or at least knocked unconscious.

“I don’t think the kingdom of Midgard shall miss her that much, nor should they know of her misfortune. Run Flail, run!”

Flail stands to attention and charges off to the kingdom of Midgard.

“Flail, we’re moving in the wrong… crap…”

Princess Trixie would not be hindered, not even by the full weight of a horse that just pressed her into what should have been an early grave. How this princess managed to survive is anybody’s guess, but she was now madly in love at someone that finally stood up to her.

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“Oh won’t you please marry me?!” her shrieks and cries echo throughout the distance.

Jormungand is left to laugh at the legend of a hungry horse, jester gone knight, and crazy princess. Jormungand himself was now part of the legend as the sleepy dragon that laughs at the three of them – but other inhabitants of his cave would have none of it. Jormungand is promptly snapped to attention by a gray fish that also dwells within his cave. Jormungand pulls his tail from the water and starts breathing smoke.

“Grab my tail will ye? Show yourself accursed devil, and we’ll see who laughs last!”

The fish surfaces and spits water straight into Jormungand’s eye before narrowly dodging his flames and splashing more water into the dragon’s face and disappearing.

“Show yourself you damned trickster! I’ll cook you alive!”

The dragon starts breathing smoke and spitting fire into the water. This time the fish would not live, as the dragon’s intent was to completely eradicate any water in the cave. Steam rises, and in the distance the jester gone knight is left to wonder about the steam rising from the cavern. It was clearly shrinking in the distance, but that was the exact opposite of a one princess whom seemed to be gaining.

“If she gets a hold of us, the reward money will be spent on a wedding, not your food.”

The horse needed to listen to no more – his speed jumps threefold and he charges off into the distance.

Sometime later the knight cools his feet in a river stream. Flail is tied to a tree and the knight is on guard for any sounds that sound reminiscent of the female of his species. It was dead silent; that is until there were shrieks of rage and cries of war – Sir George looks straight up at the noise and sees squirrels adorned in black garb, jumping from tree to tree. Sir George knew what this was – a tribe of ninja squirrels, sometimes simply called ninja bandits, inhabited this area just on the outskirts of Midgard. They were known for one thing – stealing anything of value from wayward travelers. But just as soon as their assault began, their cries of rage turned into frantic cries of dismay. They were clearly afraid of something and needed to get away from it – there in the clearing was a familiar sight, if not a little battered and bruised.

“Damn squirrels.”

Princess Trixie dusts herself off and simply looks at her knight like he is incapable.

“Can’t you keep yourself out of harm’s way for ten seconds?”

This was a definite change of pace.

“Ma’lady, I ne’er knew you were so capable.”

Princess Trixie just looks at him weird – then does something more Princess Trixie like – she pulls up a wand she was carrying and takes a bite out of a piece of meat.

Sir George gives one hard forlorn glance at the meat – it looked like a roasted squirrel body. Sir George looks over at Flail; Flail just lets out a whineyed snicker.

“That’s disgusting.”

“What?!”

“I mean… ah crap…”

Princess Trixie was pissed. She was already hued with a firmament and red aura; she was charging up some kind of magic that was unmistakable – she was an elf.

“Flail! Ride like the wind!”

Flail needed no other commands – he charged off back towards Midgard the minute the princess started throwing lightning bolts and flames in their direction.

This would be a new change of events for the kingdom of Middle Earth – elven royalty was rare, but more importantly, King Odin himself was not an elf, but a descendent of Valhalla. Trixie was clearly from the kingdom of Avalon and would need to be returned at the nearest convenience.

Until then the kingdom wouldn’t sleep, er… maybe at least Jormungand would. His cave no longer suffers from a fish problem.

At that instant in his cave, Jormungand lets out a hearty belch and faces the audience.

“And what’s it to you?”

THE END