The following fiction is based on the dragon shape I spotted in the storm clouds above Kanawha County West Virginia. I have always seen shapes in the clouds and made up stories about what I saw.
The old man stood out in his field with his eyes fixed to sky. A hot wind broke over the mountains and shook his crops. His long gray beard whipped in the wind as he gripped his shield and prepared to hurl his spear for the last time. Even if he survived the battle with the nemesis this would be his last fight. Already, he could see the glow of the fires reflecting on the smoke and clouds. The thunder of the massive wings drew closer as the grizzled old warrior ran a finger over the prayers that were carved into the wooden shaft of the spear.
His mind raced back to the time when he was just an apprentice to the previous slayer. Each lesson played in his memory. Every maneuver was learned in the form of dance and the songs of the elders sealed the knowledge in his memory. For generations his people were the first and last defense against the ancient enemy. The tradion would end with his actions tonight. He was the last of his kind and so was the dragon that rode in on the storm.
Though advanced in years his hands were unshaken as the terrible reptile came into view. His shield would useless if the creature made contact with it so he lets it fall to his side. He kept control over his breath as he aimed the spear lining up the crystalline point with the soft spot where the dragon’s neck met it’s collar bone. In perfect form and with practiced accuracy he sent the spear to its mark. The spear itself was more then a mere weapon of war. It was a technology known only to order of slayers. The crystal blade was the only material hard enough to pierce the hide of a dragon. A silver rod was concealed beneath the surface of the wooden shaft and connected to another crystal at the butt end of the spear. The spear hit it’s mark with perfect timing and sunk deep in the dragon’s throat preventing it from being able to breathe fire. Then the storm did the rest as the charge built up in the clouds. Brilliant blue sparks coalesced into a bolt of plasma that found the silver in the spear. The dragon attempted to roar in pain but the spear had cut the windpipe. The dragon shuttered and folded it’s wings as it crashed to the earth. The old man placed a hand on the hilt of his sword until the dragon finally laid still on the edge of the field. When he was satisfied that the beast was in fact dead he relaxed his grip on the sword and knelt down to give thanks to God.
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