Breath of Fire

Images of dragons and flame danced through his feverish dreams. Prophecies and words from long past, whispers in cryptic languages.

You'll perish if you don't wake up!
You'll perish if you don't wake up!

He awoke to a house ablaze, the room he had grown up in ablaze.  The place was going to come down at any moment, what to do? In a panic, he looked over to his beloved childhood chiffarobe which, at the moment, was being busted up by a fire. Gods no, there’s a nickel in there! He rushed over and took all of his unscorched possessions, heading downstairs to the main floor of the house.

Every villager was of the consensus that here they were safe from the fire. “Are you fucking crazy?” he cried, “I’ve just been upstairs and this motherfucker is on fire.”

They did not hear his cries, electing instead to calmly discuss the fate of the village. Some insisted on fighting, still others on running or survival.

Sara, the sole adolescent girl, said she would stop the army by magic. In demonstration of this, she turned the entire village council into stone to keep them safe from the flames and went out to face the family of the Dark Dragon.

We must take care of her now.
We must take care of her now.
Misplaced comma here. Lazy translation.
Misplaced comma here. Lazy translation.

It didn’t go well. Inappropriate.

The villagers regained consciousness, coughing granite chips and sand from their lungs. It was decided that the only other adolescent in the village would be the key to the Dark Dragon’s undoing.

He went outside, quickly surveying the scene. It would seem that the Dark Dragons were rolling deep, and everything except the two local merchants (doubtless with the coin to bribe the armies of the Dark Dragon) was burnt to the ground. The merchants were all too pleased to do business of course, citing a shortage of goods and a clear interest in robbing the now-impoverished village of every dollar they had before moving on to a place more profitable.

He, always righteous, eschewed their filthy goods tainted with Switzerland-like neutrality and struck out to deliver a message of peace and the gospel of the light dragon. The prophecies spoke of “warriors” and “fighting” to save the world, but he figured these were metaphores.

A bleeding wreck by the time he’d reached the town of Naia, he found that it had been entirely razed as well. Except for the castle, which I guess was now full of monsters. And everyone was too afraid to go in.

They're just misunderstood.
They're just misunderstood.

He objected to the term. “Can’t you see it is your incessant othering that is tearing this world apart? If you want monsters, look in the mirror.”

But it turned out that the castle was in fact infested with poisonous bugs and ghosts and things.

He was a one-man party.
He was a one-man party.

He awoke in the shrine of a dragon, reassured and sent out again on his mission.

Take your time and you will succeed.
Take your time and you will succeed.

“Oh fuck this,” he thought, at the prospect of dying over and over again for an unknown god.

“I’m going fishing.”

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