Tyler Kimball - Lessgently
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Pre-read - Travels of Anne: Eccentric Dragon - Chapter 1.
🕑 Added 2024-03-02 04:34:32 +0000 UTCGenre: Fantasy/Slice of Life
General Premise: Essentric dragon travels to meet the humans she has admired in her fantasy books.
I wrote this today. It's unedited and hot off the press. Let me know your general thoughts about this first chapter.
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Chapter 1
Flipping a page on a book was hard. The wonders and anticipation of what would come next could only be discovered if you continued onward. For many, this was a simple task. For some, the difficulty lay in a lack of sleep. For others, maybe the story just wasn’t to their taste. It was difficult for Anne, or Annezaroth, as her father had named her, for different reasons.
Long, sharp, enormous talons made flipping a single page arduous. She was dextrous. That wasn’t in doubt; the book was just… too damn small. Made for humans and not for her.
Anne mumbled under her breath as she concentrated. She repeatedly tried to jab one of the talons of her five-digit claw underneath the flimsy and delicate page. Oftentimes, flicking up two or three pages instead of one.
“You despicable…” Then, she found success. A toothy grin that would terrify any other living being stretched across her maw as she huffed with satisfaction. Her nostrils flared as superheated hair escaped her lungs—Superheated air that blew away all of her hard work, flipping the pages about in its wake.
Anne looked down upon the insubordinate book with malice, then glanced over to the minuscule leather bookmark to her left. Then it dawned on her.
She didn’t know what page she was on.
Anne snapped her eyes shut and angrily raked her claws against the warm stone underneath her—causing rifts to form in the stone itself and sparks to fly and light up her dim cave. She avoided the precious and delicate items splayed around her as best she could, but that in itself was aggravating.
In the end, she reigned in her anger and sighed as she gently picked up the book ‘Tales of Edgar Allenthar’ between her two talons and shuffled it back into the small bookcase in the corner of her den. It wouldn’t do for such a masterpiece to be destroyed because of her indignant and childish outrage.
Eager but fearful footsteps pattering on the stone floor announced one of the many servants her father employed. A goblin that didn’t have a name. “An…Annezarf…”
“As I said, Anne is fine. What do you want?” Anne said as she twisted her neck around to gaze upon the goblin, causing it to take a few steps back—from fear, she had no doubt.
“Lord… Lord want you.” He or she, Anne didn’t know, eventually and meekly uttered.
With a final huff, Anne rose up, towering over the goblin by well over a dozen meters, and casually stepped over its tiny form. She went through the broad and spacious tunnels to reach her father's chamber.
In the large yet dim chamber, her father rested upon his horde. Glittering gold and silver pieces, weapons, tiaras, gilded plates, and porcelain pottery—anything he could find that could glint in what little light trailed down from enchanted lanterns hung up on the nearby walls made its way here.
She came to the foot of his horde, not daring to step any closer in case she got accused of stealing anything from him… again.
“Daughter…” He rumbled happily atop his horde, deep and baritone. Pieces of gold and silver shook from his voice, falling downwards and flattening his shoddily stacked piles. “You choose today. The boon.”
Anne huffed out another load of superheated air. The ‘boon.’ She was weary—For all that she loved her father, Agnazarth, who was a proud and mighty red dragon. He was just as dim as the rest of her kin.
It was rude to say. She knew it and didn’t dare voice her opinion, but it was true. He ‘employed’ goblins to do his bidding and would fight tooth and claw against anyone who dared touch his gleaming pile of wealth—his horde. If any other animal or monster even stepped a foot near his mountain, he would rage and have an enormous pissing contest to show them who’s boss. He thought not about the future but only about what he wanted—fueled by instinct.
This wasn’t to say she was some genius; it was just that she felt average. The rest of them were just… going by instinct and little else. There weren’t conversations to be had like in her stories. It was just mostly bickering about items and fighting for dominance. Well, it was just her and him now. He killed the others.
He had been going on about this boon for the past year. Always mumbling about the time and how it felt. In all of her books, she never once found mention of any ‘boon.’ But he was her father… she had been playing along for him. It was at least some flight of fancy other than his baser instincts. She would try to foster this weird imagination.
“What are the options?” She asked.
She watched as her father's face scrunched up, obviously thinking about what she had said—trying his best to put the words together. “Might… Form… Greed… Obedience…” He slowly rattled off.
Anne barely gave the options any thought. Might? She was already mighty. She was a damn dragon. Greed? Her father was greedy enough. She was content with what she physically had. Obedience? From who? The goblins? Form…?
Form? She thought. My father… the Lord of Scathing Flames… mentioned form?
For a few seconds, she pondered about why her father's addled mind would think about form. It didn’t really fit any of his baser instincts. He was the perfect form. Eventually, she decided that the answer to her question was simple.
“I choose form.” She said. This would at least give her some insight.
Her father stared at her blankly for a few seconds before giving her a nod. He then curled back down atop his mound, causing another tiny avalanche of coins. She waited a few moments for him to continue but only heard the dinging of falling coins, followed by rumbling snores.
That was to be expected… She glumly thought as she made her way back to her small den.
Along the way, Anne stopped to gaze into the now barren dens of her former brothers and sisters. Goblins had made them their homes. Each time she walked by and stuck her neck into a den, the rambunctious and often filthy goblins froze in fear at her appearance. She stared down upon them, judgment evident, as the goblins stood awkwardly in fear.
They were sorry creatures—Filthy, unintelligent, and murderous… but they didn’t know any better. It’s not like they had any proper role models to follow. They often fought and chittered amongst their kin when they thought nobody was around. They never dared to impede her in any way, always deference and fear. She supposed that they were often bored during the times of her father's slumber.
Arriving in her den, she gazed upon her horde. Leather-bound books stored in small human-made bookcases and a wide assortment of enchanted magical items comprised most of her prized possessions. It was clean, organized, and valuable—if only to her, as It didn’t include anything her father wanted.
Unlike her father or former brothers and sisters, she was not overly attached to her possessions. Of course, she liked them. Like the others, she also felt an instinctual attachment to her horde. The difference was that she could rationalize her instincts. She knew that was what they were and would be willing to part with them if needed.
The prize of her collection was her many books. They were filled with stories about humans and the outside world. Daring adventures, heroic deeds, and showcasing the strength one could rise to when adversity dawned its ugly head. She loved them and took great care to keep them in pristine condition.
If only they were easier to read.
All of the enchanted items were plain in appearance. Simple iron rings and necklaces fitted for what she assumed to be human fingers and necks. Bands and bangles. Some cloth bags that shined in such a unique color under her magical inspection, as well as sets of leather armor, robes, and other non-shiny items.
They were all organized and set aside on steel armor racks, stone tables, or inside claw-made decorative chests.
Nearly all of it was from what the goblins had tried to give to her father. Of course, with them not glittering under light, he discarded them.
She plonked down on the smooth stone dais in the center of the room and used her body heat to reheat the surface.
Anne gazed around her lonely den and huffed out some air. She looked down at her clawed hands, covered in near-impenetrable scarlet scales, and for the briefest of moments, she wished that she was different.
She knew what she was. She was a Dragon—the top of the food chain. Oftentimes, she was the final battle in many of her books. She was the perfect form, having unrelenting strength, supreme magical prowess, scorching flames, flight, and fortitude… but her form couldn’t flip a damn page on a book. She clenched her claws together with all her strength in frustration.
More superheated air shot from her flared nostrils as her yellow-slitted eyes gazed at her prized possessions. Possessions she would never be able to use.
Deciding to give herself some time to wallow in her own self-pity for being the best of the best, she tried to sleep. Hopefully, she would be over her problems in a few weeks when she woke from hunger. Her wings encapsulated her form, blocking the dim, magical lighting as she closed her eyes to rest.
Form…
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An incessant prodding caused Anne to awake sluggishly. She mumbled frustratingly and tried to ignore it, but it relentlessly continued. She furiously snapped awake and swatted whatever poked her. Whatever dared disrupt a dragon's slumber.
She barely managed to see the giant goblin, some kind of mutant of its kind, evaporate into a red mist from her swipe. An enormous sword fell from its grip.
A mere goblin dared attack me? ME?
Although Anne wasn’t a creature of instinct, she had her pride. Anne rose furiously, aiming to extinguish any of its compatriots as goblins didn’t attack alone, but immediately, she noticed something was wrong. Her hips and legs weren’t working correctly.
It felt as if her joints were dislocated. Her hips tightened and threatened to break if she dared lower herself onto all fours. Actually, her legs themselves felt too long—distended and elongated.
She tried to twist her neck to view herself, but it would barely move. She couldn’t view her back or wings. She could barely glimpse her pale white shoulder and long, flowing red hair.
Pale white shoulder? Hair?
Anne's anger evaporated as she looked down in shock. She was no longer a dragon. She had long, flowing scarlet-colored hair and pale white skin, along with two lumps of tissue on her chest, which she attributed to breasts—the things mammals had. She had fingers, slim and slender, with nails and not talons—the perfect size for one of her enchanted rings. She had toes, which wiggled independently of her own will…
Was she human?
Shakily, she tried to stand. She held her arms outwards for balance as her legs wobbled like a newborn deer, unfamiliar with bipedal movement. Rising and rising until, eventually, she flattened out at her full height.
Her bare feet felt cool on the stone as she tried to walk back and forth, testing her mobility. Her foot hit something metallic, a dagger in a pool of blood and bone. Confusion gripped her mind, but she remembered swatting the giant goblin, who was apparently a normal-sized goblin, into oblivion.
It was then that she realized she was human-sized.
She glanced around her den in wonder, feeling like a tiny mouse in her enormous cavern. Immediately, she ran to her bookshelves and gently grabbed a book from within—tales of Edgar Allenthar.
Almost reverently, Anne opened the cover and flipped through the pages. It was easy. The pages almost flowed at her deft touch. The words, formerly much too small to read, were apparent. Able to be read effortlessly at her will. She skimmed the pages, eventually finding where she left off, and quickly grabbed the leather bookmark to mark her spot. With shaky, excited hands, Anne placed the book back into the bookcase with no trouble. It felt like a dream. To be able to interact with her horde with such ease.
Next, Anne wandered to her enchanted items. She grabbed an enchanted robe and managed to equip it after a minute of struggling. Then, she grabbed a pair of leather boots, a belt, rings, an amulet, and one of her bags. She fiddled with the items, but eventually, she managed to get them all on.
In some of her books, some of the more… educational ones. There were mentions of clothes that a human wore under their armor. They mainly dealt with removing them, but she didn’t have any of those or the fabled socks. Now, she wanted some. For the first time in a long while, her greed was winning.
Anne walked around her den, feeling the fabric and leather rest upon her form. It was comforting… comfortable.
She wanted to show her father her new form. While he wasn’t a typical loving father, he did care for her. Well, as long as she didn’t steal or challenge him. She started to walk and then tried to jog but found her reactions lacking. Quickly, she aborted jogging and cast a spell. Flight.
She had only cast this spell once before, as she had wings and obviously didn’t need it. It was on a passing goblin, and she remembered the length was an hour. She remembered the duration only because the goblin fell from the sky and splatted onto the ground, but, as one of her favorite books said. It is what it is.
She flew down the corridors of their cave and quickly passed many of her father's employees overhead. It seemed they were rambunctious today, jumping, hollering, and energetic. As she felt joy today, she would not begrudge them the same.
She flew into her father's chamber and gently floated to the ground, unsure of her landing. Once on solid ground, she gazed up and spotted an open maw swirling with white and gold scathing flames inches before her.
Then, all she saw was fire.
