I'm not even going to read this before I post it...I wrote it almost 2 years ago, and I dont even wanna know how it sounds... xd
Flightless.
Long ago in medieval Europe, there existed a great beast of immeasurable power. He destroyed any adversary with a single slash of his monestrous claws, he could set towns ablaze with a gust of his foul breath, ruin castles in an instant, and strike fear into the hearts of the most courageous warriors. His enormous wings spanned the length of the farmers field as he devoured the live stalk, his claws measured twice the length as any sword he had shattered, his teeth ten times stronger than any bones he had crushed, and his face...more frightening than anything of this mortal earth. Only few have lived to tell the tale of this engine of destruction...this Dragon... He threatened every living being who crossed his path. He lived to destroy. Nothing pleased him but to see chaos, and nothing quenched his thirst for death but to inflict it upon others. He was immortal, nothing could stop him. Any campaign made by any hero was suicide, any king who defied him was a fool. Peasants fled their towns at the whisper of his wings as they cut through the smoke filled air. He was the master of the land, and of the skies. Nothing dared blocked his path to total control.
This dragon, known was given the name "Bahamut". No one knows who gave it this name, but its known to all who live, and all who live fear it. It translates into "Dragon King", which suits him. He is the king. His rule is final, and his wrath is swift. A tyrant one would call him. He made his throne on the highest mountain peak, and from there he sees all with his piercing gaze. Well...all that is, except for one small kingdom. It wasn't made up of much. A corroded castle that took up a small chunk of the hillside it was propped up against, abandon buildings, empty shops and poverty-stricken homes. Few subjects of the young king lived here. The ones who did had no other choice. They were either too old to leave, or had no where to move. This king had no army, no family for that matter. He lived in his empty halls all alone. This kingdom had no great treasure, had no unknown secrets, it had...nothing. The king didn't have anymore wealth than the commoners. He possessed only the things his father the king passed down before he and the kingdom were erased from the earth. A tattered cape, a bent sceptre, and a dull, bent sword, that was in his fathers dying hands as he attempted to fend off Bahamut, away from his kingdom. This nameless young king sat upon his throne, contemplating.
"This kingdom...it's nothing." He thought aloud. "What am I supposed to do if Bahamut discovers that I still draw breath...a king of country already conquered by the dragon. He will be furious! One kingdom that didn't fall to the dragon lord...we sit on the edge of destruction, balancing on the tip of a dagger. One mistake would send us plummeting..."
Wind whistled through the cracks in the walls. The halls echoed. The king was in need of guidance, but had no advisor. He needed a plan of action, but had nothing with which he would execute a plan of such magnitude, as to over through the dragon king. He stared blankly at the ceiling and closed his eyes, but was startled by the slamming of the rickety doors to the throne room. A towns person quickly approached the throne, knelt and then spoke.
"Your highness, Bahamut was recently seen dismounting from the mountain tops!" stammered the breathless peasant. "You must take action, he is headed this way!"
The king was shocked...he didn't know what to do. He was ill-prepared for such
an occasion.
"I...I leave you in charge of the few people left in our town. Take them to my fathers burial tomb behind the hill...I prey for your safety." These words came from the king in a very calm way...almost like he knew what he had to do. In fact he did know what he had to do.
Minutes passed and the people were safely transported to the final resting place of his father, deep within the hill. The wingbeat of this demon was deafening. He came to a landing nearly 100 paces from where the king stood. The dragon beckoned...
"Ah...the nameless king. The sole survivor of my onslaught upon your family 10 years ago...I will end your pain"
"You will fall by my sword Dragon!!" The young king drew his sword, gripped it tightly and prepared to strike.
The dragon let out a fearsome inferno of flame engulfing the king and scorching the land. The sky was clouded by smoke. The dragon let out a thunderous cry, rejoicing in the destruction. He turned to take back to his mountain when he heard yet another vicious cry. From the ashes of the dead king, and the spirit of his father which was infused with his rusted sword ascended the most beautiful of all things. From the flames and from the smoke flew a Phoenix, the
embodiment of the two brave kings who both fell in battle against the monster. In shock of this, the dragon stared...and gazed upon the fury of the restless spirits reborn. The graceful bird of light and fire descended upon the dragon. With its talons sharper than diamonds, and his cry sharper still, he now struck fear unto the dragon.
With one swift movement, the Phoenix severed the wings of the dragon. Grasping the dragon firmly in his claws, he climbed high into the sky and burst into flames. Bahamut was forced to glide blindly on the remains of his smouldering wings. Bahamut landed on an isolated island, and wasn't heard of again for a very long time.
This is the story of how the komodo dragon was once a dragon tyrant, and how they lost their wings, and received such a bad attitude towards humans.
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