101 Writing Prompts

#42. Turning Point

Prompt: I read Eragon too much :)

Ares hated dragons.

He had heard the myths, the legends claiming how great they were, some splendid gift to mankind with their wisdom and might, and it had taken all of his self-control to keep from laughing. Dragons certainly weren't clever, not by any stretch of the word, and if they had any scrap of good in them it had been stripped away to depravity.

Since the dragons were practically brain-dead stupid he had made a habit of catching them. The smallest ones were the easiest, simply setting a scrap of meat in a cage and they'd come running, sometimes fighting each other to get in first. It was such a comical scene he wondered if he could charge people to come watch the foolhardy dragons vying over getting captured.

The larger ones were more difficult, especially when they got to be larger than houses. He had various methods, of course, with nets and traps and whatnot, but because of their size the dragons could snap him in two. As much as Ares liked to pretend he was invincible, he knew that one snap of the beasts' teeth would be his demise.

He didn't like the feeling, that feeling of helplessness, so he captured them instead. Better to give them a taste of his life than let them live their miserable existence burning and pillaging.

It had taken a while for him to be able to stomach it, but now he was one of the most renowned seller of dragon hides in the realm. Every day another letter in gold leaf and intricate seals would arrive in the post, some rich baron wanting to impress his suitor with a dragon-hide purse, or perhaps a full cape. Their requests were sometimes very specific, such as to have a single stripe down the side, or to be of one pelt, not many smaller ones pulled together, and those were the most difficult orders, but Ares always delivered. It was his job, and it pulled in good coin.

Of course, it helped that Daelfort was located right next to the largest known dragon nest on the side of the west mountains. The little town had paid for it, of course, and it was rare to see a building without the large swaths of burned wood slashed across it like an ugly scar, and roofs were rent with the telltale marks of dragon claws. The dragons might be stupid, but they were vengeful as hell.

Ares would often go watch them after he received an order, scoping out his next kill. A spear balanced on his knees, the serrated tip pointed to the dragon's hive. He sat perched on a small boulder, his usual spot, and propped his chin on his hands as he observed the dragons.

Baron Funar had requested a pair of gloved made from white dragon's hide. Ares had hoped for a more common color -- perhaps black or blue -- for white was very rare, although it was highly desired for its strength and fashion appeal. Try as he might, Ares was unable to espy a white dragon anywhere in the lair, not even a hatchling. The gloves wouldn't require much material, so a young dragon would suffice, but in the sea of black, brown and red he could see no telltale flash of his kill.

Growling with frustration, Ares spat the the side and drummed his fingers on the haft of his spear. His restlessness grew as he watched the dragons mill about. A few were challenging each other, battering their heads into each other's with tremendous force, then staggering away on wobbly legs. Some had horns that would interlock and they would twist their sinewy necks, forcing their opponent belly-up on the ground. One of the beasts went so far as to strike down his opponent with a swipe to the underbelly, shearing open the soft flesh to reveal a mess of blood and muscle inside. Ares reminded himself to skin the dead dragon later.

The lair was nestled in a large indent in the ground, freckled with deep cracks from lack of rain. A cliff soared up behind the lair, and the dragons had carved caves into the cliff's face, where they slept at night and even during the day. Ares had ventured to the caves before, since the dragons were easy targets while asleep, and some of the most magnificent dragons hid their hides in the caves.