Strange, Peculiar, and Outright Weird Short Stories

The Black Dragon

Black pebbles smoothed by water, line the darkened shores. The rain is a slight drizzle, pittering down pleasantly onto the stones and waves.

Boats are on the horizon, large blackish boats, their hulls are slick, their bow slicing the water like a knifes' edge. They plow their heading straight, the sails billowing and snapping in the salty breeze.

A white dragon insignia is blazoned on their sails, it stands out against the ever-darkening backdrop.

The clouds from the storm are moving in, creating an inescapable wall surrounding this small cove.

The air smalls heavy with dew, and a rising pressure of sorts. You can feel it in your toes if you walk on the black sand, taste it on your tongue, hear it in the silent lapping of waves. The small pitter patter of rain.

The ships are bobbing on the horizon. The beautiful carvings of wyverns, dragons, and merfolk on their bow bucking against the waves. The sea and pebbly beach light up in reflection when the first fiery arrow finds its mark on our loving shores.

Screams.

The sound of feet running, slipping and slapping against the wet rock.

The smell of burning flesh mixed with rain and salt spray.

I run, not away, but towards the ships.

Rising up I extend my wings, bursting out of my hideing spot in the tree line. My stride quickens, with a few short flaps I'm in the grey clouds. Pelleted by raindrop bullets, my scales deflect their would-be harm.

Arrows streak through the air, the flames that they adorn cutting through the rain like a hot knife through butter.

I'm pierced by a few, but I shake of the pain. The rain quickly dousing the flame.

I nosedive the lead ship, my billowing black wings tucked to my sides, my graceful forelimbs stretched out, claws at the ready.

I take in a deep inhalation, fueling my body with oxygen, then with a gigantic guttural-screeching roar I blast their ship with arcing blue fire. It blisters the hull and turns the deck to ash, the screams of the people on board are quickly silenced as they die by my deadly blaze. The sail is just smoke in seconds, the proud insignia gone to the past where the dead lie in peace or never ending torment.

I claw at everything, peeling the wooden carving of a roaring dragon off for myself. I take the carving and plop it safely into the brackish waves to be retrieved later.

Standing on the burning ship I turn my attention to the two command ships, both armed and ready now to fire at me. Crouching down low, my tail dipping into the water I slowly turn the ship around. I use my tail as a rudder with my wings dipping silently into the sea, pushing the small boat forward. They don't see me on board, and when I'm directly in front of the two boats I curl up, slowly extend my neck to reach the front of the ship and...

FWWOOOOOMMMTCHHHHHHHH!!!

My flame coils and barrels out of me, consuming all in its deadly path. The fire licks and burns everything in its wake, sending the seawater steaming skywards.

The boats in front of me lurch to the side as they begin taking on water. Sailors fling themselves over the sides in an effort to escape the searing heat and sinking ship.

I laugh, it's a deep and highly unpleasant sound. It's grating, raspy, and ominous. It fills the cove with a deafening rumble, almost as loud as the thunder overhead.

With every sailor that jumps into the water, I earn another snack, and with each that stays on the boat, I'm rewarded with hearing their screaming death throes.

Jumping up I claw out the carvings of beautiful mermaids adorning their fast-burning ships and plop them in the water. The same area that I left the other carving.

I treat all the rest of the ten or so ships that are left, the same way. Bringing them all to a scorched end.

When it's done, the rain is pouring buckets. I go over to where my underwater statue collection is and gather my things, splashing out of the water, my arms laden with treasures, I glide over to my lair in the forest.

After a good twenty minutes of rearranging, all of my trophies in my hoard are placed nice and neat, cleaned up, and organized throughout my lair.

The treetops crack and sway, the leaves falling down almost as often as the raindrops. Thunder booms overhead as the rain pours down even harder.

I go and crawl towards my cave, it's a small cave, only big enough for me and my most prized treasures. I curl up inside and close my eyes. Drifting off into a pleasing dream.

.........................

No one goes to the dragon's lair on purpose, it's only wanderers or lost children that happen upon it.

When they arrive, all they see is a magical, secluded garden, floral plants springing from the ground and wrapping around the trees and rocks. Statues of wood placed neatly about, with lovely streams winding their way around their bases. Stone sculptures and marble pillars rise up to the green canopy above. Dew is on every leaf, every stone. The dirt a rich fertile brown, dark, almost as black as the nearby beaches.

The wanderers awe at such a place, while the midnight dragon watches silently from their cave. Observing the humans.

The people of the town know however that the dragon is a guardian, and it's lair is their fiercely protected shrine of sorts. To get in the dragon's supposed "good favor" all you must do is present it with another carving, or artwork to add to it's hoard.

..........................

Inspired by;

"Because we sail the rain, ripples on a black shore..."
- a song by Radiohead "Reckoner"