So you were asking about having a mantle of nobility and being a knight errant rescuing maidens from dragons, were you? Let me tell you about that – it sucks. Put it this way. If someone offers you a mantle of nobility, run the other way. Don’t walk, run. It goes down like this.
There you are, swilling ale in a tavern, happily roistering, when some fool maiden needs rescuing from a dragon. Nobody sensible messes with dragons. It’s just at times like that when only a fool would volunteer that you get a seizure of nobility. And for what? Count on it, the maiden has buck teeth and a squint. The princedom you were offered as a reward turns out to have been a republic for the last 200 years. Currently there are 42 pretenders to the throne – you make the 43rd.
I ask you, what sort of maiden consorts with dragons? I’ll tell you. She was out picking flowers and didn’t hear the dragon siren. People are running every which way to get under cover. The church bells are clanging. Depend on it, towns with dragon problems have bad church bells. Does she catch on? No way. She’s daydreaming about a tryst with the fishmongers delivery boy. Doesn’t hear a thing. Head’s in a cloud. Literally, because the dragon spots her, says “Easy meat”, and hauls her off. That’s the sort of maiden she is, count on it.
And all that stuff you hear about dragons and their nests of gold? Fool’s gold, that’s what it is, iron pyrites. And that stuff you hear about dragons breathing fire – that isn’t quite the way it is. You see, dragons have this thing for garlic. They consume acres of the stuff at a single go. One whiff of dragon breath and you’re a goner.
And that bit about bards making up tales about your heroic deeds. Do you think that is going to get you the chicks? No way. First off those bardic tales describe some joker who’s seven feet tall and handsome, a regular stud-muffin. Doesn’t look like you at all. Some chick meets you and is ready to swoon when she takes a good look and says “You’re him!?”. You know what she’s thinking – “Talk about false advertising.” Besides, it isn’t you that is going to get all of the action – it’s the bard. Sweet words beat big muscles every time. Count on it.
This page was last updated October 16, 1997.