Along your travels, you come across an old town behind the hills and plains near a dwindling forest. You’ve heard of this place before, and the tales associated with it.
The sun is barely visible across the horizon and twilight begins to set in, and so you herd yourself into the local bar. It’s crowded, patrons are drinking and laughing in her groups together. You awkwardly walk around a bit before sitting yourself at a table with no one but an old man. After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, he turns to you with a crooked grin and speaks up.
You’re not from these parts, are you?
You shake your head, slowly assessing the man. He seems to be quite dishevelled, with a dirty grey beard and heavy eyes. You ponder the benefits of continuing on with the conversation before giving a response.
A story? He laughs. Of course, lots of stories to tell around places like these. So… what story would you like to know?
Wracking your memory for all you know, you give an answer.
So, that’s the story you’d like to hear, eh? Well, I’ll gladly retell it if you lend your ears.
Now, this was a story a well-time long ago, before the world was so connected and before magic was locked away in the minds of men. My grandmother’s grandmother was but a young girl back then, and witnessed this tale first-hand. And yes, this story did indeed take place in this very town. Back then, it was much smaller with an equally small population. We hadn’t yet expanded into the forest and began cutting down those large trees.
Indeed, in those times the forest belonged to others. The wild beasts of the time, more magical then the common bear or wolf. They were called light drakons, with the wings of a dragon and the skin and eyes of a snake. Small in size, the largest was the leader of their pack, about the size of a puppy and only just large enough to coil around a person’s neck. Most were about the size of butterflies or moths. Perhaps the most fantastical thing about them though, was the fire they breathed. Such a unique fire it was, green in its hue and toxins spread throughout its flames. They used it to prey on small animals, the squirrels and doves in the trees.
The folk of the town and the drakons of the forest learnt to leave each other be to their business. As long as the humans didn’t invade the forest and the drakons didn’t invade the town, all would be well. A mutual pact of non-aggression was signed silently through the common language of instinct native to all who roamed the Earth.
But there was those who sought to use that majestic fire for their own purposes.
Back in those old days, towns like ours, spread like dots across maps of the plains and forests, enjoyed some autonomy and independence from the claws of the rest of the world. Not ours though. It didn’t take long for the growing state at the time to catch wind of the light drakons’ inhabitance of our local forest. A representative was sent, appointed the mayor without consensus from the townsfolk and conscripted guards to protect their influence.
His first order was to employ over half of the town’s population into low-paid work: forcefully taking light drakons from their home and locking them in cages until military men from beyond took them to God knows where. It was clear to everyone what they wanted: the poisonous fire as a weapon of their own. A tool of the army to scorch and poison their enemies. They did not have the technology to utilise them back then, and they weren’t willing to train the drakons to follow orders. And so this.. endeavour, often resulted in failure.
Still, they kept pushing. Kept forcing the townsfolk to capture the drakons for practically nothing in return. Kept forcing the drakons into cages to be taken far away and abused before being slaughtered for “uselessness”. It was a sort of cruelty that could only occur back then.
One winter day, when the sun was covered by snow-white clouds, a wandering lady happened upon our town. She was… mysterious, unique, unlike other visitors that had came before. A long dark coat with scratches and tears draped her figure and long black hair covered most of her face at times. One particular curiosity about her was the instrument she carried along with her, one that she played at the bars and spaces in the town. A flute, etched with unreadable markings of some ancient demeanour, and which played a soothing melody of unknown origin.
The mayor had his suspicions about her, but he let the visitor be as he had done with previous visitors to the town.
That same day, the mutual pact of non-aggression forged wordlessly by the townsfolk and drakons was finally broken on both sides. A large swarm or serpentine beasts, led by their leader, entered the town as the sun began to set.
Their target was clear. Freeing their caged brethren before it was too late.
They rampaged through the town, curiously attacking mainly members of the mayor’s guard and administration although their toxic flames did result in collateral damage. Those same flames were used to melt steel bars and free captives from their enclosure as the mayor helplessly watched from his safe house.
Tyrants, no matter how small or large, never have the interests of the people in mind. They will always value their own resources or lives over the lives of the common folk. And so, the mayor, upon, seeing this wreckage turned to a desperate and horrific solution: drowning the entire village in flames and condemning both the townsfolk and the drakons to a fiery doom. The remaining members of the guard readied the torches, despite the protests and raised them high up in their air.
When suddenly, an old tune began flowing through the air between the smoke and toxins. A melody singing of uprise and companionship, and of harmony and liberation. The mysterious flute-player walked down the steps of the road amongst the carnage with no fear. An air of wisdom surrounded her like water does on a rainy day. The drakons stopped their ongoing incursion, turning towards the source of the sounds. Their leader looked towards the flute-playing lady, regarding her with an almost… familiarity and sense of kinship.
And then, a miraculous thing happened. The drakons conglomerated into a beautiful spirals and began chasing out the mayor and his cronies out of every crevice of the town. The citizens looked at this, and realising their own oppression under this decrepit old man’s influence, took up arms against him and took back their freedom.
Once the meddlers had left, the light drakons dived into the nearby pond, emerging with lungs full of water which they then sprayed all over the wreckage to put out the flames created by both themselves and the guard. Drakons and humans worked side by side to rebuild all that was lost. In the aftermath of it all, the leader of the light drakons seemed to make a choice. They looked at the second largest drakon, seemingly communicating a transferring of leadership… and promptly began following the wandering lady. It almost seemed like they were old friends.
Some of the smaller drakons followed their former leader and their new friend, while the new leader and their kin retreated back into the forests as the mutual peace was restored once more. The flute-playing lady, the Charmer of the Light Drakons as we now call her, left the village alongside her new friends.
It has been a century since that uprising of the light drakons, many in town delegate the tale to myth stating that if it were true, there would still be light drakons in the forest although it had since then greatly reduced in size.
You let the man’s words sit on the cusp of your mind before asking him a question.
Me? Well, I believe it. I believe it all. Why wouldn’t I? It’s a tale of fantasy… and it gives pride to our otherwise unknown town. Perhaps one day, the Charmer of the Light Drakons will return to this place and alongside her, our old friends.