Beauty Sleep

"Avast ye foul lizard! Crawl out from that hidey-hole on your belly so I may stain my blade with your impure blood!"

He stood outside the dragon's den, a gallant figure clad from head to toe in gleaming metal. Shield and sword were poised, and the crimson plume adorning his helmet flapped in the sputtering breeze.

"You may have terrorized many a kingdom and slaughtered many a valiant knight, but not I! For I come bearing my family's ancestral sword, a bright woe-bringer to all the creatures of darkness which hide in their fetid pits! Enjoy your next breaths, dragon, for they shall be your last."

Deep down in the depths of the dragon's den, a pair of bleary eyes cracked open.

Oh please not ANOTHER one.

The Dragon yawned and stretched on its hoard; a wretched fuzzy taste had settled into his mouth overnight, and a dreadful scratch lingered in the back of his throat. An inordinate amount of gagging and hacking ensued as a modest glob of mucus was expelled from his lungs. That was disgusting; he'd be sure to clean it up later.

"You cannot hide from me, feeble wyrm! The way you cower at my words in your disease-ridden hole is evidence of your fearfulness!"

The Dragon jerked his head to the side, and a series of audible pops could be heard from the nape of its neck to the tip of its tail. Fanning its wings The Dragon rose from its bed of treasure, a king's ransom in gold, gems and trinkets. Intricate tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes glorious, beautiful and terrifying beyond human imagination.

Disease-ridden indeed.

The Dragon huffed and strode forward, talons clicking on the cool stone surface. From this vantage point in the darkness of his threshold he could quite clearly see what form of two-legged pest had come to disturb his slumber.

He sighed; tendrils of smoke rose and coiled, questing for the bright open air. All it took was a shiny set of armor, a pointy heirloom, and suddenly they fancied themselves heroes ready to carve a name out of the nearest scaly hide. One would imagine that they'd have grown tired - or at least wary - of it by now. But if anything their numbers had increased, and this blowhard outside was the fifth of his kind this month.

"Do you hear me, serpent!? Come out so that I may pierce your black heart and claim your head as my trophy!"

At first there was silence, intruded only by the slightest whispers of the breeze and then-

"I don't wanna."

The silence was total now; even the gossiping wind had been dumbfounded.

"… Well why not!?"

Nothing moved- grinning skulls and empty eye sockets stared at him from the ground where they lay strewn about the cave, but the silence seemed more awkward than grim.

"It's morning. It's cold in the morning. How would you like it if I showed up in front of your doorstep at the crack of dawn blathering like an idiot?

The Dragon's voice carried up to The Knight, and he could smell its sulfurous breath as it wafted out from the abysmal aperture.

"B-b-but, we must do battle!"

"And why is that? I'll have you know that I haven't terrorized a kingdom in over two centuries, and they weren't even very good kingdoms. Honestly, they didn't even have the courtesy to try virgin sacrifice."

"Then you admit your crimes! Slither out so that I may slay you, Burner-of-not-very-good-kingdoms!" much dramatic sword swinging followed this, and abruptly halted as The Knight lost his footing and fell flat on his haunches.

"I admit nothing; I'd only roasted eight of you folk in my life before you tin-plated lack-wits began showing up. What is it that reassures you your end shall be any different than those blade-flailing fools before you?"

With many a clank and a tumble The Knight clambered to his feet, "My ancestral sword! A bright woe-bri-"

"Do us both a favor," the agitated growl echoed up from the cavern's concealed depths, "see that skull lying just to the left of your feet? That one came with an axe which supposedly killed a hundred dragons. And do you see that one next to it, he came with a magical longbow that he claimed belonged to the high elvish kings- oh, and that one there- no, not that one, that one; that one was almost hysterical, he came with a sling and some yarn about slaying a giant."

The Knight said nothing, sword lowered to his side; had it finally worked? Had it finally sunk in that interrupting his sleep was hazardous to metal-clad health?

"And those are just the most recent; now take in the multitude of other remains scattered in front of my home, and think. Do you really, really, really want to try your luck and test my patience with that glorified sewing pin?"

The Knight stood there, as though absorbing The Dragon's words. At long last, it seemed as though he'd convinced one of the imbeciles of their folly! He could only hope that it was the sign of a trend…

Then all at once The Knight had his sword raised yet again, and was stumbling as much as running, over the skeletons and into the lip of The Dragon's den, all the while screaming "Baaaaaaattllllllllee-."

A great jet of fire burst from the cave entrance, drowning out The Knight's moronic cry. Eventually the flow of fire ceased, revealing a charred metal husk. For the life of him, The Dragon couldn't understand why they thought heavy metal armor was a good idea. They couldn't dodge and they couldn't run; all it succeeded in doing was cooking them where they stood. They were like baked potatoes running at him in their own tinfoil.

He would never understand the human mindset.

Grumbling, the dragon turned and, with an annoyed flick of its tail, trudged back to its hoard. No doubt there'd be another influx of idiocy in the coming months, with no foreseeable end in sight. He plopped onto the treasure-pile, greeted with the noise of shifting coins and other miscellaneous objects of valuable nature. A heaving groan passed his teeth, carrying with it a plume of smoke to swirl about in the darkness.  

He wouldn't bother worrying about the crisp corpse laying just outside- the goblins would come for it eventually. The Dragon honestly wouldn't mind overly much, except the blasted scoundrels kept bringing the bones back; stripped clean of skin, muscle, vital organs, and all shiny objects.

Alas, there was nothing he could do… nothing he could do but close his eyes and reclaim some of his lost sleep… he noticed the gob of greenish mucus out of the corner of his eye… he'd get it later…

Disease ridden… what does he know anyway.