DaddyBear the Minivandian approached the Portal of the Securitat.  This day would he be journeying back to his home and hearth, and he was anxious to get started.

“Good sir, welcome to the Portal of Securitat.  Before we allow you to make your way to the resting place of the winged beasts, please remove all metal objects from your person, and place them within the box of magic seeing.  Also, we ask that you also place within it the belt by which you gird yourself, as well as the magic elf box that you carry with you.  Oh, and you must remove the shoes which you wear upon your feet so that we may see if you have any dangerous potions or spells in them.  If you have any weapons secreted upon your person, please give them to us, and we shall make sure that they await you upon your arrival at your destination.” recited a young agent of the Securitat, her hands covered with pink gloves.

Her eyes grew larger with every chink, chunk, clunk, and BANG as implements of many uses, sizes, and edges were placed in the magic box of seeing.  DaddyBear brought out Gnarlthing, his blade of disembowelment, as well as Clyfrender, a battle-axe that had served his clan for generations, and handed them to the young woman.  She could tell by the stern look he gave her that dire consequences awaited anyone who would cheat a Minivandian when it came to returning freely surrendered weapons, and she quickly endeavored to tag them and speed them to the gnomes of baggage.

After disarming himself thoroughly, removing his belt and shoes, and placing his magic elven box with them, DaddyBear stalked through the frame of detecting, giving proof to his good intentions and honorable demeanor.  With a huff of derision, he collected his belongings, redressed himself, and continued toward the gates of the winged beasts.

As my lord DaddyBear approached the gate of his appointed winged steed, he noticed that a large crowd was already gathered.  Among them he saw warriors, both young and old, merchants, and several young mothers with their children.  There was set of lucky twins, their hair as soft and shiny as spun gold, a young barbarian dressed proudly in the red and gold livery of his house, and a wee babe, as innocent as an angel, asleep in his mother’s arms.  The Minivandian smiled at the youngsters, all the while inwardly praying to whatever god would listen that they would all sleep through the journey.

Sitting himself down on a stool near the gate, DaddyBear could hear the growls and howls of the winged beast that would take him and his newfound compatriots on their way to the City of the River.  By the sounds of it, it was a young beast of the variety born in the northwest forests and fens.  It sounded strong and ready to take wing, which gave the Minivandian confidence in getting home that day.

Presently, a clerk emerged from the gate.  Clapping his hands above his head, he began his litany of preparation.

“My lords and ladies, harken to me!  Each of you has been assigned a letter and a number.  It will appear on the air before you presently.  I ask that as your designation appears, you form ranks before the gate, and as I summon you, you show to me your mark.   In this way shall we get everyone aboard the winged beast and on their way to their destination.”

Grumbling to himself about wizards and their need to be cute with their magic when a slip of parchment would have worked, my lord DaddyBear looked at the air before him.  After a moment, a mark of his letter and number began to glow faintly in front of him.  Standing, he joined his fellow travelers in ranks of 30.  Presently, the clerk motioned to the first rank, who filed through the gate after showing him their mark.  Eventually, it was the Minivandian’s turn, and he went through the gate, into a tunnel,  and approached the winged beast.

At the end of the tunnel, DaddyBear could see the blue and red scales of the winged beast.  It’s wings beat in excitement, forcing a mighty wind down and behind it.  Through a window in the tunnel, its head, crested in golden fringe, could be seen as it watched travellers enter the chamber that was strapped to its back.  The tenders and keepers of the beasts were scurrying around, over, and under it, loading the belongings of the travellers, feeding the beast, and checking every claw, tooth, and scale to be sure that it was ready for flight.

Making his way into the chamber, the Minivandian found an open seat close to the wings and sat down to read from a scroll of patience and strength.  This was his ritual of preparation, and for once, he was able to finish it uninterrupted.  The rest of the travellers found their seats, and a voice from the front of the chamber began the pre-flight prayers and invocations.

“My lords and ladies, harken unto me!  I am Gwynneth, Shieldmaiden of Hospitality, and I, along with my partners Gonnevir the Fair and Snarglefist the She-Orc, shall be serving you this morning.  If you look to the front, middle, and rear of the chamber, you will notice portals of emergency.  We ask that you not open these unless there is a risk to your survival, as any passengers who open them while the winged beast is flying will need to learn to fly themselves, and those who open them on the ground must be wary of teeth, claws, wings, and tail. ”

If you are smoking upon this winged beast, you had better be aflame, for if you are partaking of the weed of the pipe, then I am afraid that federal law allows us to defenestrate you from 35,000 feet above the ground. ”

In the event that the winged beast decides to alight in a body of water, it will usually mean that it is hungry and fancies fish.  We suggest that you find something that floats and stay away from its head.”

We shall be coming through the cabin to bring you refreshing drinks and filling victuals.  We have beer, mead, wine, and products made by the mages of fizzy beverages.  We will be coming to you to ask of your wishes soon, but until then, please sit back, strap in, and hold on, because this particular beast is not known to be gentle when leaving the bounds of land.”

My lord DaddyBear leaned back in his seat, and continued reading from his scroll.  From his left, he heard a coo as of a dove of peace.  Looking over, he noticed the wee babe, now ensconced in his own throne of safety.  With one chubby fist, he was batting at a hanging bobble, and babbled sweetly to it as he played.  His mother, a lovely young woman who obviously loved her son, was preparing a bottle of fresh milk of the jungle yak for the boy.

After a moment, the doors to the chamber was closed and locked, and the shieldmaidens of hospitality found their way to their seats.  The young she-orc sat down just behind the Minivandian and the young mother, mumbling a prayer to her gods for protection from winged beasts.

It was not long before DaddyBear understood why she prayed so vehemently.  Where normally a winged beast would sedately walk to the line of departure, this beast loped with joy to the end of the field of takeoff.  Pausing and kneeling at the line as a runner does before a race, it went from a stop to a gallop within one bound.   Before half the field had passed beneath its claws, it stretched out is leathery wings and caught the wind.  Leaping into the air, it began to immediately gain altitude and speed.

DaddyBear smiled to himself at the enthusiasm of the young beast, and made a note to be braced for the impact of landing.

As the noise and jostling of takeoff subsided, the Minivandian looked over at the young mother and her son.  From the look on her face, he could tell that something was wrong.  Looking down at the child, he understood why.

The visage of the boy went from the pale rosiness it had on the ground to a deep red, then it gained a greenish cast.  Where the skin had been smooth and soft, it was now becoming scaly, and small horns were breaking out from the forehead.  Instead of the cooing and laughter that had been heard before, now a low growl rose from the seat of safety.

“My ears!  My ears pain me!” howled the small demon, struggling against its restraints.  The voice was both low and rough, as loud as the bellow of a were-gnu on the attack, and it raised the hair on the back of the Minivandian’s neck.  With every passing moment, the visage and voice of the changeling became more horrible to behold, and the threats and assertions it made became more horrible.

“The seas shall boil if my pain is not alleved!  I shall set son against father, father against uncle, and mother against cousin unless I find some relief!  The land shall burn and the sea shall boil! A plague will fall upon all of your houses! I do not know who is doing this to me, and I do not care!  For as I suffer, so shall you!  Look up on me, listen to my voice, and know that I shall make you all pay!”

Just as the Minivandian reached for the charm of protection he kept around his neck and began to mutter a spell of warding, he heard a loud pop, as if someone had bit into a blastfruit from Grenada.  At that moment, the small demon in 15C reverted to his original form.  Green scales were replaced with cheeks of peach fuzz.  The horns retracted into the skull, and the blazing red of the eyes faded to a pale blue.  The deep, rumbling curses gave way to coos again, and chubby hands reached out to the mother and her bottle of milk.

Behind the Minivandian. the she-orc intoned a prayer of thanksgiving to the gods of tympanic membranes, and the Minivandian joined her in the refrain, as did all of the adults in the chamber.

In time, the winged beast made a bounding landing at the City of the River, and my lord Minivandian returned to his home and hearth.  As he did each time he returned home, he promised himself that never again would he leave, but in time a quest of sufficient honor and interest would tempt him again, and he would return to the place of the winged beasts.  Many of these quests did he complete, and the legends of them are told around the fires of his descendants to this day.

But those are tales for another time.  Now let me tell you stories of high adventure!

DaddyBear the Minivandian looked down upon the scroll from Padrog the Snake Banisher school.  Next to him stood the Lady of Eyre, her face flushed with emotion.  Before him stood the Young Prince, streaks running down his crimson cheeks where tears had so recently run.

DaddyBear bent his knees so that his eyes were level with those of his young son.  The boy’s blonde hair was striking against the crimson hue of his skin.  This was the mark of a student that had transgressed the rules of the class in an extreme way.  Normally, the Young Prince would come home with a small, glowing, green mark upon the back of his right hand, the mark of a good day at school.  If his day was not so good, but not atrocious, his left hand would come home dyed a bright yellow.  If his behavior was very bad, he would be colored red from head to toe, with the darkness of the color magically getting deeper as the day got worse.  The Young Prince was the color of a bull red dragon during the rut, signifying a day that would be long remembered at Padrog’s.

“My son,” intoned my lord DaddyBear, “your teacher, Mistress Llewellyn, has sent this missive home with you.  It details  an accomplished list of transgressions.  Also, the master of the school has called upon your mother and me on two occasions already.  Do you have anything to tell us?”

“N-n-n-o, father.” said the Young Prince.   His chin was still quivering and fresh tears welled up in his bright blue eyes.

“It says here,” continued the Minivandian, a look of fatherly concern crossing his noble brow, “that you have come to blows with another young man in your class.  Have we not spoken about the need for you, a boy of great stature and strength, to not lay hands upon another child while not engaged in combat training?”

“Yes, father”

“She goes on to say that while in the chamber of music this morning, you were so disruptive that the sorceress of harmony wishes that you be accompanied to her class by an adult the next time you darken the threshold of her class.  Have we not talked at great length about your duty to be attentive and obedient in class, no matter the subject or the teacher?”

“Y-y-yes, my father.”

“And finally, Mistress Llewellyn writes that when she took you aside to correct you gently, you insulted her, called into question her motives and honor, and tried to remove the badge of authority from her raiment.  Is this true, my son?”

“Sniff, snarfle, yyyes!”

“My son, your skin is as red as any I have ever seen, and you seem to have well and truly earned that.  Do you wish to always be crimson from the top of your head to the soles of your feet?”  asked the Minivandian.

“No!  I wish to come home with the mark of green on my hand so that I may partake of the delights of the box of talking heads and play at games on the magic elf box!” replied the Young Prince.

“Then, princeling, you must earn that green mark, and earn it you shall.  You bring no honor to yourself or your house when you walk about the color of a cooked lobster.   Henceforth, I hope that you shall find it in you to contain your impulses at school, keep a respectful tongue in your head, and neither attempt to harm nor even touch another student.  Do you understand me, my son?”

“Yes, father.  I understand.  I shall try harder tomorrow, I swear!  But father, shall I be forever cursed with this hue?”

“Nay, my son and heir.  The mark of today shall fade as you sleep tonight, and you shall start anew tomorrow.  If you choose to obey the rules, respect your teachers and other students, and act in the manner your mother and I expect, then shall you come home with green upon your hand and the rewards for that shall be wonderful.”

“Oh, thank you, father!  I will try, I truly will!”

“Good my son.  Tomorrow, you shall also apologize to those you have wronged, and I only ask that you keep your honor and that of your ancestors in mind as you go through the day.”

The Minivandian then took his son to his breast, and hugged him tightly.  It was never easy to be angry with the Young Prince, and DaddyBear hoped that the day of red, discussing it with his parents, and the loss of his nightly entertainment would be enough to correct the issues that seemed to be plaguing the Young Prince.

“Now, my son, you shall go to your room and entertain yourself while your mother and I discuss today’s events and prepare the evening meal.  But before you go, please know that we love you, and that we want you to do well in your lessons.  Please remember that tomorrow as you try again.”

The Young Prince wiped away his tears with the back of his hand, snuffled once or twice more, then ran to embrace his mother.  After a long, tight squeeze, he scampered off to his bedchamber, there to play with his blocks of building and his new pet, a miniature talking panther.

My lord DaddyBear and his mate, the Lady of Eyre, then discussed what could be done.  A missive was dispatched to Mistress Llewellyn, and a meal of fowl and potatoes was prepared.  As DaddyBear said the prayer of thanksgiving for the meal, he silently prayed to all that is holy that his son would find his way in the temple of learning.

So did the Minivandian and his family work through the tribulations of the Young Prince.  His way was never smooth, but he did eventually find it.  Many years later, as the Young Prince took his father’s place he encountered the same challenges with his son, as had his father, and his father before him.  The Young Prince took the lesson of his own troubles and used it to help his progeny, thus continuing a long family tradition of talks with educators about the behavior of young barbarians.

But that is a tale for another day.   Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure….

The Lady of Eyre took DaddyBear the Minivandian by the hand and led him toward the temple.  Waiting for them was the Master of Education, an elven mage whose wizened face gave the lie to his apparent youth.

“Welcome to Padrog the Serpent Banisher School.  Are you here to learn of our school or to participate in the mid-summer sacrifice?” he queried.

“Our offspring, the Young Prince, shall be starting his education here within the fortnight, and we are here to meet his teacher.” answered the Minivandian.

“Excellent.  Please go into the hall of meeting, where we shall begin the program in a few moments.”

My lord DaddyBear nodded his head in acknowledgement, and taking his lady’s hand, entered the hall of meeting.  Gathered there were the teachers of the young and the parents of the other acolytes.  Among them were warriors that the Minivandian knew, and they exchanged nods and stern looks of greeting.  The Lady of Eyre made the rounds of the other mothers, murmuring greetings and smiling.

After a few moments, the Master of Education strode to the front of the room, and in a deep voice of authority, bid the parents to take their seats.  After everyone had found their place, he fixed them with a warm gaze and greeted them once again.

“Welcome, my friends, to our school.   Before we begin our time of informing, I will ask the padre for a prayer.”

Entering from the shadows of the hall, the priest walked to the front of the assemblage.  His black robes were impeccable, and the dueling scar on his cheek told the Minivandian that there was more to him than a humble cleric.

“Lord of hosts,” intoned the holy man, “please be with us as we begin the education of our children and their preparation to be willing leaders of your faithful.  Help us to shoulder this awesome responsibility, and always help us to remember the prayer of our Lord and Savior:  ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do'”.

The prayer ended, the Master of Education again took the stage, and introduced the teachers of the young children.  Among the women there appeared to be masters of both magic and combat, with one proudly wearing a glittering red robe of dragon skin and another bearing a headdress of phoenix feathers.

After the introductions and some notes about how to utilize the magic elf boxes to gather still more information, the Master of Education bid the parents to adjourn to the chambers of the classes so as to learn about the teachers of the very young.

The Lady of Eyre placed her delicate but firm hand on the arm of the Minivandian, and they followed the teacher in red dragon robes down into the dungeon of the school, there to find the chamber of the Garden of Children.  Behind them filed the rest of the parents, 10 in all.

As they all entered the chamber, they were greeted with colorful pictures of runes and numbers.  A large slab of slate was bolted to the wall for marking, and small shelves for the students’ belongings were along the opposite wall.  Small tables with even smaller stools were situated around a throne carved from what looked like the thigh bone of a great red dragon.

The teacher stepped up to the throne, and placing her hand upon it, addressed the parents.

“I am Mistress Llewellyn, the teacher of the very young here at Padrog the Serpent Banisher.  I am very excited to be starting anew with your children.   I have been instructing here for many years, and I hope to do as well with your offspring as I have with other students.”

Surveying the gathered parents, she smiled the smile of a predator on the hunt.

“As you can see, the children are given their own space to keep their things.  The shelves should be large enough for their beginner’s scrolls and quills, pots of glue, and melee weapons.  We do ask that children of such a young age not bring missile weapons to school, except on Fridays of course.  That is the day of the school-wide tournament, and if a child wishes to compete in either the general scrum or the contests of skill, then they may bring their bows, spears, or slings.  You will find the permission slips for these activities in the folders on the tables in front of you.  In addition, even through I know that many of you may have begun training with them at home, we do ask that no bladed weapons be brought to school until the third year.   This is done to prevent any…. unfortunate incidents before we are sure that all of the children are ready for such things.

“In the folders you will also find the forms for deciding on whether your child shall bring their mid-day meal with them from home, or shall purchase it from our Master of Culinary Magic, Master Dispertiebat.  Please remember that he tends to prepare rather exotic fare when allowed to, so unless you have served your offspring firedrake sausage or sea serpent steak in the past, you might consider having them bring lunch for the most part.

“Pick up and drop off for the first week will be done quite slowly and methodically as the children learn their combat roles and how to leap into the back of a moving vehicle.  Of course, after that, we expect them to roll out of their car seats and pull themselves back into the vehicle as you roll past as fast as you can safely do so.

“Finally, I just want to ask if any of your children have learned any spells, and whether or not they have actually been able to curse anyone?”

My lord Minivandian raised his hand, remembering the condition of the boy who had broken his daughter’s heart.  It had taken weeks for the curse of the black warts to wear off, no matter the dire punishments with which he had threatened the Young Prince.  Mistress Llewellyn made a note of the Minivandian’s affirmative response, and that of a handful of other fathers.

“Well, now that we are through that, does anyone have any questions?” she asked.

The Lady of Eyre raised her hand, and the teacher acknowledged her with a friendly smile and a nod.

“We have found that our son transforms into a hairy, ill-tempered beast if he is given the milk of the field-beast that has not been magically gathered by Hungarian cattle masters, and filtered through the used stocking of a Filipino fairy princess, or if he is fed food colored blood-red, or flavored by the mages of artificial sweeteners .  Does the school stock commodities that would prevent that, or should we send along his midday meal from home?”  inquired the Minivandian’s mate.

“In that case, I would suggest that he bring his lunch from home, my lady.  Of course, on Wotan’s Day, we provide the meat and tomato pie of the Italians, and he might enjoy that as a treat.”

The teacher answered several more questions about how the students were to dress, the time of beginning and ending of classes, and whether or not the children would learn advanced combat techniques, both armed and unarmed.

Eventually, all questions had been answered, and the parents were shown the circuitous route back to the place of parking.  On the way out of the temple of learning, the priest took the Minivandian’s hand and wished him well, one old warrior to another.  Returning the firm grip of the wizened old cleric, the Minivandian returned the sentiment and made a mental note to enjoy a few ales with this priest.  No one tells better war tales than a cleric who has had a few brews of the wheat and barley.

Returning to his freehold with the Lady of Eyre, my lord DaddyBear felt confident that the Young Prince would do well at Padrog the Serpent Banisher.  Packed in a box downstairs was the miniature war club that he himself had practiced with in the Garden of Children, and his father, and his father before him.  He looked forward to presenting it to his young son on the first day of learning.

Many adventures did the Young Prince have at his school.  Many new lessons did he learn from his teachers, and I dare say that he taught them a few tricks of his own.  But those are stories for another time.

Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure…..

DaddyBear the Minivandian stood at the edge of a field of competition.  His heir, the Young Prince, stood before him, kitted out in his finest sweater and running shoes.  His mate, The Lady of Eyre, along with his daughter, Listens to Stories, stood to his side.  The Lady of Eyre was making preparations to use her magical box of images, while Listens to Stories was rapidly telling harrowing tales of rushing mobs and hand to hand combat to her brother.

As the family of Minivandians waited, the highest of the local holy men walked to the front of the crowd.  The cleric raised his hands, asking for silence from the multitude gathered around him.

“Silence!  Silence, please!” he said in his quiet, but authoritative, voice.

The crowd slowly gave their attention to the wizened holy man.  The mass of townsfolk was made up primarily of children and their parents, with a healthy leavening of gray-headed grandparents.

“My friends, we come together during the Festival of the Risen God.  I am delighted to see so many young children here today.  We mark this holiday with sacred green plastic grass and chocolate.  We revere the symbol of this season: the white rabbit wearing a colorful vest and top-hat.  And finally, we mark this most holy time of year with a quintessentially holy rite:  The Trial of the Golden Egg!”

At his words, the assembled children whooped in glee.  The shook their brightly colored baskets and hooted their excitement.

“Across this mighty field of sport are scattered thousands of colored eggs.” the priest continued, gesturing at the expanse of green grass behind him.  “All the children will be released to gather as many as they can, and the one who finds the Golden Egg shall be remembered as the champion of this holy competition for an entire year.  But beware, young adventurers, this competition is difficult.  There is only one Golden Egg in this field of thousands of eggs, and every child here is going to be fighting and clawing to find it.  This trial is only for the pure of heart and thick of skin.”

“Now, if everyone is ready” he said, as the noise from the assembled children rose to a war cry that made the Minivandian wistfully remember barbarian hordes set to sack a monastery and other wonderful parts of his youth, “We shall begin!”

At his words, the crowd of children broke into a dead run.  As the line of children spread across the field, they snarfled up the colorful eggs like a plague of locusts.  The young and timid were happy to pick up the normal eggs in order to savor the sweet treats they contained, but the truly adventurous and ambitious eschewed such easy pickings in search of The Golden Egg.

The Young Prince broke from the pack, along with several larger boys, as they scanned the grass for a glint of gold.  Clasping his father’s bag of holding, he ran past clutches of red, blue, green, and yellow eggs in search of the elusive prize that would bring him fame.

A larger boy, hoping to cut down on the competition, attempted to knock the Young Prince down and out of the running.  Seeing him coming, the Young Prince dipped his shoulder, caught the knave in the breadbasket, and flipped him over onto the grass.

Continuing his quest, the Young Prince noticed a metallic glint coming from the corner of the field.  Picking up speed, he ran toward it.  Other children noticed his change of direction, and the three closest moved to intercept him.

The first attempted to trip the Young Prince, but the young warrior anticipated his attack and dodged it.  As his opponent overextended his feet, the Young Prince landed a well-placed kick to the knee, knocking the bigger child to the ground with a howl of pain.

Within feet of the Golden Egg, the Young Prince was knocked sprawling by a tackle from the largest child on the field.  Scrambling forward on his elbows and knees, the Young Prince mumbled a curse and flung a handful of grass and dirt into the boy’s face.  Bellowing in pain and rage, the young orc tried to lash out, but the young Minivandian was able to scramble to his feet and dive for the prize.

As his hand closed around the most prized of all eggs, he felt another hand closing around his.  Muttering the beginnings of one of his most heinous combat spells, the Young Prince looked up into a pair of beautiful blue eyes.  The young girl who gazed back at him was barely two years of age, but had been able to both keep up with the Young Prince and fend off the hordes of older, larger children who tried to impede her quest.  Her clothing showed the grass stains she had gained in her struggles, and her golden curls of hair were coated in dirt.

As she realized that the Young Prince had bested her, though by the smallest of margins, the glee on her face melted to sorrow.  A single small tear crossed her cherubic cheek, and her smile turned quickly to a quivering chin.  As only a two-year-old girl can, she began to cry.

The Young Prince considered the young girl and looked at the Golden Egg. It’s cool metal suddenly felt very heavy, as did his heart.  Where was the glory in being the hero of the hour if he must harm one so small and beautiful to do it?  Could he face his ancestors in the Hall of Heroes when his first conquest had been a girl not yet old enough to walk across the street without holding onto her mother’s hand?

Muttering under his breath, the Young Prince released his grip on the egg, dropping it into the still outstretched hands of the little girl.  Her quivering chin returned to a wide grin as a look of surprise and happiness crossed her face.  Wiping the tear from her cheek, she grasped the egg and wrapped her arms around the Young Prince in a hug of thanksgiving.

Hurrying up to the Young Prince, My Lord DaddyBear saw this tableau and knew that his son was truly a noble young man.  Taking him by the hand, the Minivandian helped him select several of the other eggs that were strewn on the ground as the Lady of Eyre captured images of the adventure for later reflection.

Thus did the adventures of the Young Prince begin with a noble twist.  As he matured, he had many other moments of glory, but this was the one his father would look back on most fondly.

Now, pass me those jelly beans so that I may tell you tales of high adventure….

DaddyBear the Minivandian kissed his son, the Young Prince, good night.  It had been a long day of caring for his steeds and making repairs to his castle.  The recent attacks by trolls had caused many of the plates that lined the outer walls to slip, and he had gone out in the wind and the damp to make what repairs he could.

“Good night, my son.” he rumbled as he pulled the covers up for the boy.

“Father, would you read to me tonight?  I wish to hear tales of high adventure.” asked the Young Prince.

“But of course, my cub.  What would you like to hear?”

“I want to hear the tale of Herbert the Horrendous and the Big Red Dragon!” said the Young Prince.

The Minivandian went to the cupboard of scrolls and selected the correct one.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he unrolled it and began to read.

Herbert the Horrendous and the Big Red Dragon

Twas brillig, as Herbert the Horrendous left his castle in search of treasure.

 

He searched high and low.

 

He searched the cathedral, but all of its treasure was already gone.

He searched the village, but all of the villagers ran away.

He searched the fields, but all of the farmers just watched as he tried to talk to the cow.

 

Suddenly, Herbert the Horrendous had a brilliant idea!

He would search the mountains, looking for the lair of a dragon.

“Dragons always have treasure!” he thought to himself.

 

He searched the tall mountains, and the deep valleys.

He searched the dank caves and the dry slopes.

But no dragons were to be found.

 

Herbert the Horrendous was tired and sad that he could not find treasure!

He began the long walk back to his castle.

 

Suddenly, he heard the flapping of big, leathery wings!

A dragon, a big red dragon, was swooping down to its lair at the base of the biggest mountain in the land!

Herbert the Horrendous hurried to the mountain.

 

As he got closer, he could smell the dragon’s stink,

He could feel the dragon’s hot breath,

And he could hear the dragon’s snoring.

 

Herbert the Horrendous crept up as quietly as a mouse to see the dragon and his treasure.

That old dragon was asleep on his bed of gold and jewels.

Puffs of steam and smoke came out of his nose as he snored away.

 

Herbert the Horrendous raised up his mighty sword and shouted

“Awake, foul beast!  I, Herbert the Horrendous, am here to take your treasure as my own!”

 

The dragon awoke with a start, and flew up in the air.

 

It used its smell to try to stun Herbert the Horrendous.

It used its hot breath to try to cook Herbert the Horrendous.

It even used its mighty roar to try to scare Herbert the Horrendous.

 

But none of these things worked.

 

Herbert the Horrendous jumped up onto a tall rock.

As the dragon flew past him, he jumped out upon its back, grabbed the dragon’s wings, and pulled with all his might!

The big red dragon fell from the sky, landing back on its pile of treasure.

 

“You win!” roared the big red dragon, “Take the treasure, but leave me with enough to make another nest!”

Herbert the Horrendous let go of the dragon’s wings.

He let the dragon go, and let it take along 20 gold pieces, 20 silver pieces, and 20 pretty jewels to start its new nest.

 

Herbert the Horrendous put the rest of the treasure in his bag of holding, and journeyed back to his castle.

He was celebrated as a great warrior for defeating the big red dragon and for bringing home so much treasure.

He spent the rest of his days telling tales of adventure and glory, and he never had to go out looking for treasure again.

My lord DaddyBear looked up from the scroll at his son, who had fallen asleep with a smile on his impish countenance.  Leaning forward, the Minivandian kissed the young barbarian good night, rolled up the scroll, replaced it in the cupboard, and left the chamber.  Many good dreams of battle and fire breathing dragons did the Young Prince have that night.

Many years later, when the Young Prince was a warrior of great fame and power, the Minivandian would look back fondly on the evenings when he was still small enough to listen to bedtime stories.  Many books of adventure, many sagas of poetry and heroics, many magical tales of the little people and their games did the Young Prince listen to as he drifted off.  And then, when he himself was a father, did he read these very same scrolls to his children, sometimes with the help of the Minivandian, his hair grown white and his eyes grown tired.  So did the cycle of noble parenting continue, and so did the next generation of warriors learn their place as defenders and adventurers.

Now, let me tell you tales of high adventure…..