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Once upon a time, there was a gr--

No, scratch that. Too cliche.

Ahem.

Ronnoc approached the meeting hall. Supposedly, a fellow named Efil Chout, a minstrel, had arrived here in little old Tarochiwa Village. He must be a daring fellow to come this far out of the way; the nearest town was nearly a week away. Ronnoc eagerly approached the wooden hall, its high peaked stone roof sharply outlined against the night sky.

Ronnoc stepped inside the meeting hall, and found the minstrel, with his silly yellow-and-purple jester's outfit on, singing a song. An old favorite of Ronnoc's, it told the story of how the ancient kingdom of Namor fell.

"Once upon a time
'Twas a marvelous old land
Kings and queens, fair of face,
Ruled with gentle hand
Riches for all and, of course, poverty for none
Of all the kingdoms in the world, this was number one
Then one day a great big beast, both cruel and vile
Arrived and declared himself king for a while
Many rose up, and they all fell down
Slain by the dragon and
His seven evil sons
None could best them, for they were all too gerat in power
A wizard was the one last hope
'lest the world finally tumble to the ground
The wizard took his great skill
And with it sealed away
All, all eight demon beasts
In mountains, even today
They still sit, imprisoned in
A great large stony jail
In which the wizard once decreed where they would rot away!"

The crowd cheered, Ronnoc among them. Of course, no one thought it was true, the story. It was too far-fetched. They had never seen anything that would imply it had ever really happened. All odds were against the old story's truthfulness, right?

Ronnoc stayed in the meeting hall for another few songs and two or three ales. After a while he noticed that almost all the minstrel's songs had the same rythym, rising and falling like a tiny ship in rough seas. Bored of the same old ale and same old music, he spoke to his friend Nagol next to him.

"Nagol, I tire of the music. Shall we head home?" asked Ronnoc of Nagol.

"Yes, it has become rather boring. It's been going on for nearly three hours now. Let's go," responded Nagol.

Ronnoc and Nagol stepped out of the hall and began making their way down the south road to their homes. It was nigh midnight, and the night seemed peaceful. The sky was clear and the moon could be seen well. as opposed to the tendency to happen when nights are cloudy and you have a lantern out, creating the effect of shadows jumping out at you.

Eventually, the thought that had crossed Ronnoc's mind earlier, about the truthfulness of the song about dragons, started to seemingly nag at Ronnoc. Could it really be true? The far-fetched tale about dragons and wizards? He decided to ask Nagol about his thoughts.

"Say, Nagol, you know that song the minstrel sang earlier, about dragons and Namor?" asked Ronnoc.

"Yea, what of it?" replied Nagol.

"Do you-- do you think it could have been real?"

'What, the minsterel singin' it? 'Twas his first song, and I had no ale yet, so I think he probably did sing it, yes."

"No, no... agh, you jester! No, I mean the story of the song. What do you think, could there really have been an old kingdom destroyed by a fell monstrosity?"

"Abou' as real as me third foot, or me eleventh finger, ha ha!" To make a point, Nagol made a show of counting his fingers twice and double-checking he only had two feet. "Nah, that coudn' a' been real. Although, I do oft find unusual garbage in me back field, sword hilts an' old axe blades. A skull, one time, do ye believe it? A skull, in me field! Was right odd, right there and then."

The two men made jokes a good way down the road, until about fifty branches* from their homes, directly across the street from one another, they ran across three men. Each had rather dirty clothes and a grimy face, carried a pick, and they were all bald on top and had big scraggly beard, but apart from that were no different from any other man.

One stepped up to Ronnoc, and asked, in his rough yet welcoming voice, "Aye, hello there lad. D'ye know where Mount Do'arf is?"

Ronnoc, slightly humored by these men and their serious demeanor combined with their silly appearance, replied, "Yes, Mount Do'arf is about two days north of here by horse, or four by foot. Why do you seek it, if I may ask?"

A dirty blonde fellow at the back of the group replied, "We seek to mine the mountain, in the way of our fathers' fathers' fathers' grandfathers. We are, as you may say, master craftsmen."

Ronnoc smiled at these fellows' appreciaton for history and family. He had always valued that quite a bit, himself. He made a mental note to visit his parents in a few days. "Well, I hope you are safe on your journey, and that you do find many riches in the mountain."

Nagol piped in, "An' I hope ye spare some of the gold for me, eh?" They all had a hearty laugh at that, and each bidded the other farewell. Nagol and Ronnoc both went their separate ways.

*   *   *

Later that night, Ronnoc got up on his second floor, a thatch-roofed, open-air patio of sorts he had gone to great lengths to build. He leaned over the low wall and gazed up at the moon.

Could it really have been true? That ale was getting to him; he was getting more tired by the moment. Ah well, whatever it was, it probably had little to do with him. "Yaaawn..." Ronnoc would have jumped and surprised himself with his own yawn, if he weren't nearly asleep. He thought of what great deeds may have gone on, had that empire existed...

His dreams that night were full of daring, adventure, and, most of all, dragons. Eight of them.