The Thistle-Tongued Dragon

 Like all tales that have been passed into legend, the story of the Thistle-tongued Dragon was one which few knew the details of, and none now live who remember it.

In the age before ours, a giant dragon flew in from the East. The power of it's wings was incredible, it left an incredible gust in it's wake. It perched itself upon the towering castle in which the Lord Blackwell resided, and was said to have roared at the townsfolk. It was made clear what a powerful beast this was. It was clear how evil it was. And so the townsfolk tried to make peace with the beast.

At first they tried sacrifice, but the dragon appeared offended. Next, they tried gifts. But the dragon did not accept. Finally, one brave soul dared to compliment the dragon. And at this, the dragon did not react. It remained quiet, and at peace.

Soon, after showering the beast in compliments, it left. Spread it's broad, powerful wings, and flew off to the seventh peak in the eighteen spear mountains.

Or so the legend goes.

It is now, in the modern day, that we have our hero. Not a knight nor a king, not a bounty-hunter nor a brave townsman. It was an alchemist, a travelling merchant. She did not seek the scale of the beast or the fang, but rather to see the creature for herself. Curiosity was her fuel, you see.

On the day before this, our adventurer had left her stay at the inn with her bag of various chemicals, her supplies, determined to make it to the cave beneath the Seventh Peak. After a day's hike, she'd made it to the base where she set up camp for the night, and rested.

And now, we reach today. The Alchemist has packed her belongings, and is now marching her way up the mountain, bit by bit, stopping only to collect the odd rare sample of flower she comes across. Before long, she reaches the mouth of the cave, and peers inside.

"Hello?" she called out, into the darkness. "Is anyone there?"

Her question is met with a low rumble, the sound of a hundred drums beating with fire and haste. The wary Alchemist draws her blade, simple though it was, prepared to defend herself were she to be struck. She made her way into the cave, lighting her lantern, unsure what to expect.

It wasn't long before she came across the source of that sound: A large, violet-white dragon, with angular features, and pristine shining scales. As the light from the lantern struck the eye of the beast, it opened, and stared down the Alchemist. It rose it's head, huffing, and came to a comfortable position to monitor this.. intruder.

"Welcome," the creature said, it's voice filling the chamber, though oddly peaceful in it's way.

The Alchemist paused a moment, before returning her knife to her sheath. The Dragon raised it's brow at this, but said nothing.

"A pleasure to make your aquaintence," the young explorer said, "I am called Amelia, I've travelled a great many miles to meet you."

The creature continued quietly watching the explorer, not threatening, but not inviting, in either way. Simply.. present.

Amelia slowly approached the great creature, who in return took a step back.

"I wish not to hurt you," she said, "I wish only to know you."

The Dragon lowered it's head, resting it on the ground before the girl.

"Many have found me to be terrifying, in their time. Do you not fear me, traveller?" The dragons voice calmly danced around the room, with little tone to say what the mood of the creature was.

"I would wish only to be a friend," she replied.

"Friend? Friend with the Dragon in the depths of the Mountains? Friend with the Beast in the mountain den? That is the creature you would befriend?"

It cannot be said by any wiseman or the simple, what the Dragon's thoughts on the matter were, beyond this doubt. And yet, something in this doubt, in this neutral nature, fascinated the explorer.

"Would it be welcome for me to stay a while?"

The Dragon said nothing, merely staring at the explorer.

"If you have no objection, then I shall do so," The explorer again waited for a response.

And again, The Dragon said nothing.

So, she took her seat, and conversed with the Dragon. Sometimes they would speak at length about topics of their mutual value, Other times, Amelia would talk independantly about some fascination or another to the Dragon, who would say nothing. And sometimes they both sat in silence, their own thoughts occupying their seperate minds.

Soon, the day came to an end. The sun had set, and the Alchemist longed for a bed. She bid the Thistle-tongued Dragon farewell, and made her way back down the mountain. She knew not what the Dragon thought of her, but for her, the Dragon was now a friend.

And so, on some occasions, the Alchemist would make her way back to the Eighteen Mountains, march her way up the Seventh Peak, and enter the Den of the Thistle-tongued Dragon. Again they would have a long interaction mixed with conversation, monologuing, and silence. And again, the Alchemist would leave satisfied, if unsure how the Dragon felt.