Write the outcome

[FishWolf]

The rules are simple. I will give you the beginning of a story, and you can write the ending. Add a twist, or make it amazing. Do your best, and there are endless possibilities.



The moon hung low in the sky, cold yet comforting to the armored figure on the crest of the hill. His armor reflected the light of the moon, gleaming in the dark. The grass around him stirred in the breeze, and they whispered to one another of the battle of which this man was about to participate. The trees knew it too, and the leaves shivered in cowardice. Gremock is coming. They seemed to sigh, and the trees creaked softly in agreement. The wind pushed dark clouds over the skies, and across the moon. The pale light wavered and dimmed as the clouds covered the moon. Almost as if the moon was hiding itself in anticipation for the battle. Now there was barely enough light for the man to see in front of himself. He walked forward, slowly, and the knight drew out his sword from his hilt, the sword drawing out a hiss of metal against wood. He gripped the hilt tightly, as the sword was a small comfort. This was the sword Merlin had blessed with power. This was the sword that would kill the dragon. The knight knew that this battle would be difficult, harder than he could ever imagine, but his male vanity wouldn't permit him to tremble and shake like the leaves on the trees.

A vibration ran through the ground and into the man's legs. That was the dragon breathing. It was very near. The knight walked forward, his armor clicking slightly, and the breeze drastically warmed. The smell of sulfur came to his senses and burned his eyes, and the man stopped before an emense mountain. This mountain was the dragon. Each scale was as big as a horse, and the slumbering dragon drew large and deep breaths that created a windstorm every single time he exhaled. The dragon was curled, sleeping, and most of his body was hidden by his gigantic membraned wings. The soldier felt the urge to run home to his castle, but he knew that he must do this. If he didn't, the dragon would destroy the entire city, with one sweep of his tail. The knight hesitated. The air warmed considerably, and the dragon opened his eyes. The knight looked deep into those burning green eyes, and he nearly passed out. He could make out entire landscapes in those eyes, lands that only the dragon had laid eyes on. They were impossible, complex, and the knight was hypnotized by those eyes. But that was when the dragon stood up. The knight watched in horror as the dragon's size nearly doubled, until the knight was not faced by a huge dragon, but a living mountain. The dragon opened it's mouth in what seemed to be a smile, and his fangs were as long as the knight was tall. The knight gripped his sword even tighter, and prayed that Merlin's spell would work.

 

[Pattern]

Upon seeing the knight, his smile grew into a terrifying grin. The human smelled familiar, he thought, like the stench of someone else he had just defeated in battle.

"Your stench reeks my cavern, mortal," and as he spoke, the ground beneath the knight's feet rumbled, as though in awe of the presence of this legendary creature.

He watched as the shaken knight took a few steps back, still gripping his pathetic sword tightly. The dragon felt the urge to flick that toy off his hands, but he held back.

The knight remained vigilant, despite his question; "I have come to slay you, dragon!"

"I'm well aware of that," he chuckled, faint traces of smoke escaping from his mouth, "But are you aware of your position?"

He raised his sword slightly, letting it glimmer slightly for the dragon to see, "As aware as you are; I am a knight of the realm, protecting the people from your evil!"

"How quaint," he lifted his head, "But I suppose you mortals are like that,"

The dragon took a step forward, letting his foot fall to the ground in a threatening manner. As though in response to his challenge, the knight took a daring step closer to him, positioning himself in an attack stance as he did so. And all the while, the dragon kept a close look on his puny 'opponent'. Despite the brave display, he still smelled fear from him...and something else; that familiar scent still lingered.

"Amuse me for a moment, mortal," he spoke, stepping no further than he did, "If we are to be engaged in an honourable duel to the death, perhaps an exchange of names would be most appropriate, wouldn't you think so?"

At that, the knight seemed to pause, as though in thought. The dragon took this opportunity to flick his opponent's sword off his hands with the flick of his claws. The knight yelped, realising his folly, and tried to back away further. But before he could do such things, the dragon swished his tail to the knight's legs and watched briefly as he fell to the ground.

He quickly got to the unarmed knight and pinned him down with his claws; "Yes, an exchange of names, perhaps lives, even,"

The dragon chuckled as he watched this poor man struggle to release himself from his grip; "Why would I, when you've done nothing to prove your honour, monster!"

At that, any sense of mirth was gone. The dragon neared its face to the knight and sniffed him, finally being able to quell his curiosity about the man's familiar scent. The knight was still squirming uncomfortably under his claws, completely unaware of the change of expression from the dragon.

He pulled back, staring down at the mortal; "You stink of Vortigern's people,"

There was a confused expression on the knight's face, "Vortigern?"

"Do you not know your own kind, mortal?"

"Not as much as you would, considering how many you've consumed in the past," he replied stubbornly.

The dragon growled angrily and squeezed the knight in his grasp, "Do NOT mock me, mortal," he shook the yelping man, "What are you?"

"I don't understand what you want!" the man whimpered.

"Your kind, you fool!"

The man was on the verge of tears, being in the presence of his loud booming voice, when he suddenly said: "BRITON! I AM A BRITON!"

Upon hearing that, the dragon stopped. The knight stared at him in surprise as he released him from his grasp, tossing him out of his lair. He sensed a change in the dragon's demeanour after what he said. There were questions flooding his mind, but before he could ask anything, the dragon spoke:

"Who sent you?"

The knight moved cautiously to pick up his sword, "The king of Camelot. Arthur,"

Immediately the familiar scent return; it was from the sword he carried, "I sense Emrys's presence in your weapon, Briton,"

He frowned, "Emrys?"

"Emrys Wledig, the mortal with the prophecy," the dragon gazed at the sword, "Or as you Britons now named him Merlin,"

How does he know so many? More questions popped in his head, but this time, it will be his turn to ask, "Who are you, dragon?"

Solemnly, the dragon stepped out of his lair. The moon, gleaming in the darkness of the sky, shone its light upon the mighty beast that finally entered its domain. Its light casts a large shadow over the knight's small figure as the dragon rose itself majestically before him. Under the light of the moon, the knight was able to make out the red scales upon the dragon. The spikes that protruded from his back, the mighty claws upon his feet, and those piercing eyes of green; this was no mere dragon. He has seen him before, flown in the winds of war upon stakes carried by the brave soldiers of Camelot:

"Y Ddraig Goch. The red dragon," murmured the knight, "I remember now,"

The red dragon spread its mighty wings before him. In a booming voice, filled with pride, the dragon spoke: "I am the red dragon, slayer of the white dragon, freed by the mortal King Vortigern," he lowered his voice slightly, looking back at him, "I am the prophecy of your kind. I have flown in your banners to war in the past. I have brought you victory after victory.

And I am the hope of your king,"

It had been many eons since he defeated his brother. He still remembered the time when the mortal Vortigern freed them from their drunken sleep (though he would rather call it a stupor than a sleep); the rage returned and the battle continued. It was as though all those times they spent sleeping in the ground passed by like it was nothing.

The knight frowned, conflicted, "But I was sent by my king to defeat you,"

"The sword you carry in your hands; it was blessed by Emrys, yes?"

He nodded, "Merlin, yes. He did,"

"Perhaps he knows of things to come," the dragon turned to the sky, pondering, "All things must come to an end, it would seem,"

The knight was confused by his words, "I don't understand,"

The red dragon lowered his wings, turning back to him, "Such things are not meant for you to know, mortal," he seemed to sigh, "If we are to fight, then we shall. I have told you my name, what would yours be?"

There was hesitation, amidst confusion, but he answered, "I am called Lancelot,"

"Lancelot," he spoke, tasting irony in the name, "Appropriate."

The knight called Lancelot raised his sword to the mighty dragon standing before him, "As much as I honour you, Ddraig Goch, I must honour my king, first and foremost,"

The dragon nodded knowingly, "Then we shall do battle," he lowered himself, ready for an attack, "Know that you will be remembered for this, among many other deeds of yours in the future, Lancelot of Camelot."

The Saxons would return and conquer Britain. Camelot will fall. Arthur will fall.

And its downfall begins with your sword, Lancelot.

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There were many renditions of this, but considering that you mentioned Merlin in your intro, I decided to delve into the prophecy of Merlin and gave it my own spin.​

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A tragic tale, truly, and it's all Lancelot's fault.​

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We hope you enjoyed reading this.


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[FishWolf]

Great! I would've never thought of turning this into one of the old stories. I love how you made the dragon's personality.