Lilium's Short Stories

[Lilium Mortem]

The Dragon Bard

There's a *SNAP* as loud as a whip crack, that draws your attention to the simple wooden stage as a beam of magic light illuminates it. Conversations die down as a figure, dragging a stool, steps up on the stage and sits down.

The figure would be tall for a human, if you could make out their species under their outfit. A green shawl over leather armor embossed with flames, serpents, and Celtic knots. It shows no skin, but the biggest thing that draws your attention was the mask they wear.

It's a lovingly carved wooden dragon head, worn almost as a helmet, that has brilliant green cats eye marbles in place of eyes that seemed to stare directly at you. You have no idea how they could see out of it, besides magic, obviously.

Grabbing a lute(did they always have that?) the bard, it's obvious to you now they're a bard, began tuning. After a few seconds they began playing a haunting tune.

"Let me tell you a story" They say, voice at the perfect volume to be heard, even where you are sitting. More magic? You don't have much experience with capital B Bards.

"A story about the dragons of this world." they punctuated that line by getting up, kicking the stool off the stage, and throwing their lute up in the air. You flinch back reflexively.

And then there's another *SNAP* and you realize that the bard is snapping their fingers. Green sparks explode from their hand, forming into ethereal copies of their own. The phantom hands catch the lute and continue playing as the bard fills the stage with their presence.

"Long ago, before the world there was darkness"

The lights shut off.

"And then there was a spark. And fire!"

A spark became visible from the stage, and then the bard appears, cupping a wild flame in their hands.

"This was the fire of creation. With it the gods were born, but even before them, the dragons arrived."

The flame splits up into rainbow riot of tiny flaming dragons that fly around the stage, each one being thrown by bard before opening its wings to fly under its own power.

"Many a being has tried to define what a dragon is. even the gods were sure in their answers, but they never quite lined up" The bard said, turning their back to the crowd and walking to center stage and doing a heel face turn. "Are they monsters? Hoarders? Tyrants? Villains? Or Guardians, Champions, Heroes?

"No one knows, except the dragons themselves. The things we are sure of is that they are Ancient, Immensely powerful, and magical in a way different from all other creatures."

The tiny fire dragons slowly fade, and the flame goes from a wild roar to a sedate candle flame, cupped close to the bard's heart.

"The rest of knowing a dragon is a feeling. Something you can only get from meeting one, as I did."

"This feeling can bring kings to their knees, and even make a god flinch. And to those that believe themselves powerful, the feeling of knowing a dragon is a threat."

The bard brought the flame up to the mask's mouth, and blew it out. The spotlight slowly rose on them as they fold their hands behind them and walk back and forth on the stage.

"We don't know how exactly the dragons of this world were reduced to beasts of legend, only the why. Simpleminded tyrants that did not want competition. And yet, they still live."

"Before I mentioned dragons 'arriving', and this story being about those of 'this world'. There's a simple fact I have left out until now. Dragons are universal, they exist in every world and in the hearts of those that sing their legends."

They drop onto the stool, which somehow got back on the stage, and the lute falls from the air with another *SNAP*. They begin picking up the pace of the tune, turning it into something dramatic.

Your heart is racing. What is this feeling?

"Dragons still live in this world. They still live in our hearts, they can even live as one of us without knowing it."

The world drops away. You panic. Were you- no, That would be ridiculous.  You can't just be a beast of legend... right?

"All it takes, to know a dragon, sometimes, Is learning how to meet yourself"

And then, as the song reaches its end, the spotlight fades, and the Bard is gone from the stage, not even taking a bow.

The crowd gets up and cheers. You clutch your heart, and make your way to the exit. The crowd makes it hard, their rowdy presence suffocating, hard to navigate. Someone bumps into you, and slips something into your hand, but you can care about that later. Eventually you make it out into the cool night air and take a breath.

Sighing, you check your hand, and your heart stops. You're holding a flame, and you get that feeling again. Looking around you, you catch a single glint of green in the distance before turning your attention back to your flame.

Your flame.