Tale of the Divine Ursine
Sir Bear and his squire attained the high ridge before midday, the wind picking up their feet as though to urge them onward in their most righteous intentions. Although a typically capricious season in the Wild Wood, this spring was quickly shaping itself into perhaps the loveliest season in recent memory. She walked with grace through the copses and leas, distributing delicate flowers in her wake, her breath a fragrant caress, her words a gentle promise of summer still to come. Bear inhaled his deep contentment and let it out again with the slightest beefy overtones to spread itself through the waking air, as though to declare, “Bear was here, and he was glad!”
He had almost forgotten the potential mortality of the task at hand. Yea, he was not reminded of said dreariness until he let his gaze climb over the lovely landscape to rest at last on a far hill, upon which stood a ruined yet undeniably intimidating tower of bleached white stone.
“My dear Cluckphrey,” spake Sir Bear, gathering up his courage, “Upon yonder hill stands Sulfuro’s Keep. The vile creature has holed up in this mean and unaccommodating residence since he was banished these many years past by Sir Gormless the Dragon Vexer.”
“Why did this noble knight not slay Sulfuro?”
“Aye, my good Squire, that is a question many a voice hath uttered. Some say he lost his nerve. Others say the dragon bartered a deal with the noble knight, as carts of provisions were seen for many years thereafter making their way to Sulfuro’s Keep on a quite regular schedule. In fact, these deliveries seemed to coincide all too perfectly with the lifespan of Sir Gormless himself, ceasing abruptly upon his death three years ago. It might even be logically suggested that perhaps Sulfuro is merely in need of provisions, and has taken the princess not to harm her but to give himself some leverage in making his demands to the king.”
“What exactly does he demand?” asked Cluckphrey with a little tremble in his high-pitched honk.
“Nothing terribly special—mostly just barley and other granular staples. He has no problem providing himself with meat, as he is of course a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon. What use he has for grains, none can be sure. Some have posited that he prefers a balanced diet, and is therefore frustrated by his lack of access to civilised agriculture.”
“The solution sounds quite simple, Sir Bear. Would it not be easier to just grant Sulfuro’s few requests and have done with it than to risk his wrath and drive him to the point of absconding with fair maidens?”
“Nonsense!” bellowed Sir Bear, his maul opening wide, the spittle flying from his teeth to stick to the shivering feathers of his squire. “Don’t you see, you poor simpleton, that it’s the principle of the thing that matters? Our noble King Glenleavale has stated on many occasions, and if I may be so bold to say, rightly so, that he shall never negotiate with agents of terror! Whether he be asking for a single kernel of corn or the entirety of the Kingdom, the result is the same: the dragon shall in no way be humoured. He will either give up the princess and all his claims or he shall die!”
“But what of the princess, Sir Bear? Is she not in grave danger and are we not expanding this danger by threatening the dragon who is now the sole agent of her welfare?”
Bear stared sullenly out towards the keep and did not answer his squire. He merely moved onward, taking the switchback path down the steep slope of the ridge on his determined quest for dragon’s blood.
**************************************************
It was another two days of uneventful yet tiring hiking before the stalwart pair reached their foreboding destination. In truth, the dragon’s keep had looked a good deal more threatening from far off than it did here, mere meters away, where the crumbling masonry and the crooked tilt of the structure could be clearly seen in the sparkling spring sun. Sir Bear and Squire Cluckphrey were dusty and tired, their sack of rations weighing but lightly upon them since Sir Bear could never quite curb his passionate avarice for cheese. Indeed, they might find themselves in a spot of trouble should their mission run over-long and the sack empty itself well before their return to the Great Hall.
What’s more, their backs were sore and tired from lying on the unforgiving ground. Squire Cluckphrey had always endeavoured not to ponder too closely the implications of a chicken lying on a feather bed; but now it would seem 'twas all he could do to clear his mind of such soft-slumb’ring fantasies. Is it not alarming, gentle reader, how quickly we can abandon our own dearly held beliefs whenever we sense the slightest affront to our comfortable quotidian routine?
Contemplating the disarming whiteness of the dragon’s keep from close range, Bear thought this was all turning out to be entirely too easy. Sulfuro was, after all, a hideous and ferocious dragon. Should he not have an army of minions all about the perimeter, their spiked tails and horny heads serving as harbingers for the horrors which lay within? Should there not be a moat of fire or a great bellowed warning from on high, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…”?
Sir Bear was quite rightly befuddled. The keep was in fact so unimpressive and of such an innocuous appearance, he doubted whether he’d have bothered to give it so much as a second glance were he merely passing by. He began to suspect that the only reason this place had maintained such a fearful reputation was because no knight had dared for quite some time to actually approach the place. Bear shook his head as his esteem for Sir Gormless took a precipitous plunge and he was struck anew by the power of fear to skew the facts of things.
“Squire Cluckphrey,” he began to speak, even as he continued to weigh the situation in his mind. He had learnt long ago that a knight should never be silent for too long, lest his lessers begin to doubt his competence. “It seems there is but one way to lay siege upon this mighty tower.”
“Do we build a catapult and launch flaming cannonballs to smash through the stone and bring the whole thing down upon the evil dragon?”
“No.”
“Do we throw up ropes and scale the walls, attacking with great stealth and surprise when Sulfuro is asleep?”
“No.”
"Do we call in the reserves to launch a full-scale assault?"
"No."
“I don’t know, Sir Bear. What do we do?”
“We knock on the front door.”
It was then that Squire Cluckphrey fell into a cold faint, from pure, unmitigated astonishment.
**************************************************
The noble pair waited until dusk to finally approach the keep, using the intervening hours to finalise and perfect their plan. The beginning was very simple of course: walk up to the door, give it a good rapping, wait for the response, and hope the dragon was at home. It was the next phase which would take the real finesse and knightly skill. Sir Bear, though superior in years and experience, was nonetheless a fair-minded leader. He had listened carefully to the chick’s concerns and suggestions; perhaps he had even incorporated them into the final plan. What, then, did the ultimate picture look like? Imagine the great oaken door opening, creaking on its little-used hinges. Imagine that same doorway now framing the face of a ferocious dragon who perhaps does not like to be disturbed just as he is settling down to his supper. Imagine our brave heroes staring this dragon straight in the eye, as ready as they’ll ever be to enact their ingenious plan. What, gentle reader, have they decided to do?
He had almost forgotten the potential mortality of the task at hand. Yea, he was not reminded of said dreariness until he let his gaze climb over the lovely landscape to rest at last on a far hill, upon which stood a ruined yet undeniably intimidating tower of bleached white stone.
“My dear Cluckphrey,” spake Sir Bear, gathering up his courage, “Upon yonder hill stands Sulfuro’s Keep. The vile creature has holed up in this mean and unaccommodating residence since he was banished these many years past by Sir Gormless the Dragon Vexer.”
“Why did this noble knight not slay Sulfuro?”
“Aye, my good Squire, that is a question many a voice hath uttered. Some say he lost his nerve. Others say the dragon bartered a deal with the noble knight, as carts of provisions were seen for many years thereafter making their way to Sulfuro’s Keep on a quite regular schedule. In fact, these deliveries seemed to coincide all too perfectly with the lifespan of Sir Gormless himself, ceasing abruptly upon his death three years ago. It might even be logically suggested that perhaps Sulfuro is merely in need of provisions, and has taken the princess not to harm her but to give himself some leverage in making his demands to the king.”
“What exactly does he demand?” asked Cluckphrey with a little tremble in his high-pitched honk.
“Nothing terribly special—mostly just barley and other granular staples. He has no problem providing himself with meat, as he is of course a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon. What use he has for grains, none can be sure. Some have posited that he prefers a balanced diet, and is therefore frustrated by his lack of access to civilised agriculture.”
“The solution sounds quite simple, Sir Bear. Would it not be easier to just grant Sulfuro’s few requests and have done with it than to risk his wrath and drive him to the point of absconding with fair maidens?”
“Nonsense!” bellowed Sir Bear, his maul opening wide, the spittle flying from his teeth to stick to the shivering feathers of his squire. “Don’t you see, you poor simpleton, that it’s the principle of the thing that matters? Our noble King Glenleavale has stated on many occasions, and if I may be so bold to say, rightly so, that he shall never negotiate with agents of terror! Whether he be asking for a single kernel of corn or the entirety of the Kingdom, the result is the same: the dragon shall in no way be humoured. He will either give up the princess and all his claims or he shall die!”
“But what of the princess, Sir Bear? Is she not in grave danger and are we not expanding this danger by threatening the dragon who is now the sole agent of her welfare?”
Bear stared sullenly out towards the keep and did not answer his squire. He merely moved onward, taking the switchback path down the steep slope of the ridge on his determined quest for dragon’s blood.
**************************************************
It was another two days of uneventful yet tiring hiking before the stalwart pair reached their foreboding destination. In truth, the dragon’s keep had looked a good deal more threatening from far off than it did here, mere meters away, where the crumbling masonry and the crooked tilt of the structure could be clearly seen in the sparkling spring sun. Sir Bear and Squire Cluckphrey were dusty and tired, their sack of rations weighing but lightly upon them since Sir Bear could never quite curb his passionate avarice for cheese. Indeed, they might find themselves in a spot of trouble should their mission run over-long and the sack empty itself well before their return to the Great Hall.
What’s more, their backs were sore and tired from lying on the unforgiving ground. Squire Cluckphrey had always endeavoured not to ponder too closely the implications of a chicken lying on a feather bed; but now it would seem 'twas all he could do to clear his mind of such soft-slumb’ring fantasies. Is it not alarming, gentle reader, how quickly we can abandon our own dearly held beliefs whenever we sense the slightest affront to our comfortable quotidian routine?
Contemplating the disarming whiteness of the dragon’s keep from close range, Bear thought this was all turning out to be entirely too easy. Sulfuro was, after all, a hideous and ferocious dragon. Should he not have an army of minions all about the perimeter, their spiked tails and horny heads serving as harbingers for the horrors which lay within? Should there not be a moat of fire or a great bellowed warning from on high, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here…”?
Sir Bear was quite rightly befuddled. The keep was in fact so unimpressive and of such an innocuous appearance, he doubted whether he’d have bothered to give it so much as a second glance were he merely passing by. He began to suspect that the only reason this place had maintained such a fearful reputation was because no knight had dared for quite some time to actually approach the place. Bear shook his head as his esteem for Sir Gormless took a precipitous plunge and he was struck anew by the power of fear to skew the facts of things.
“Squire Cluckphrey,” he began to speak, even as he continued to weigh the situation in his mind. He had learnt long ago that a knight should never be silent for too long, lest his lessers begin to doubt his competence. “It seems there is but one way to lay siege upon this mighty tower.”
“Do we build a catapult and launch flaming cannonballs to smash through the stone and bring the whole thing down upon the evil dragon?”
“No.”
“Do we throw up ropes and scale the walls, attacking with great stealth and surprise when Sulfuro is asleep?”
“No.”
"Do we call in the reserves to launch a full-scale assault?"
"No."
“I don’t know, Sir Bear. What do we do?”
“We knock on the front door.”
It was then that Squire Cluckphrey fell into a cold faint, from pure, unmitigated astonishment.
**************************************************
The noble pair waited until dusk to finally approach the keep, using the intervening hours to finalise and perfect their plan. The beginning was very simple of course: walk up to the door, give it a good rapping, wait for the response, and hope the dragon was at home. It was the next phase which would take the real finesse and knightly skill. Sir Bear, though superior in years and experience, was nonetheless a fair-minded leader. He had listened carefully to the chick’s concerns and suggestions; perhaps he had even incorporated them into the final plan. What, then, did the ultimate picture look like? Imagine the great oaken door opening, creaking on its little-used hinges. Imagine that same doorway now framing the face of a ferocious dragon who perhaps does not like to be disturbed just as he is settling down to his supper. Imagine our brave heroes staring this dragon straight in the eye, as ready as they’ll ever be to enact their ingenious plan. What, gentle reader, have they decided to do?