I just woke up from a peculiar dream where St. George (at least I thought of him as such), myself, and three of his companions went on a hunting trip in northwestern Albania, in the Korab Mountain range. We were hunting for a nefarious dragon, which was said to be a plague to mankind. It was said to be a field length long and as tall as a castle. This particularly large pestilence had been plaguing the countryside villages to the east of the chain, eating and burning whatever lay in its path. Some villagers even thought that it was some sort of icedrake, but those were only rumors and no such beast had ever been verifiable seen by more than one source at a time. So we did not give it much credence.
Not to get into many details of the actual journey (as they are starting to slip away and I want to keep this short), but it was long and we eventually found the lair near the end of the dream. This took several months to locate as the Korab Mountains are mostly made of limestone and dolomite (pretty much weathered/transformed limestone) and the range is littered with sinkholes and caverns. There were infinite places for a dragon to hide, but find it we set out to do and find it we did.
Before we entered the cavern where the beast lay, St. George promised myself and the other three members of our party that not only would we gain entrance into the kingdom of heaven for our service to mankind (by felling a foe of God), but we would also be invited into a prestigious order in which he himself resides over as the patron. All four of us cheered and ran head long into the mouth of the cave, though St. George did not enter as he told us it was our fight this day and he could no longer get involved.
The three other members ran swift as the wind and were too soon way out in front of me, as I carried a heavy lance I was in no shape used to carrying. And too soon they were swallowed by the encompassing shadow of the cave and were lost to me as I ran/crawled in and out of tight spaced walls trying to keep up. Their percussive foot steps echoed and reverberated off of every wall, nook and cranny, yet I followed still hoping I didn't make a wrong turn. Then all at once there was silence. I held my breath to see if I could discern what was going on when a giant fire ball lit up a chamber 100 paces ahead and three blood-wrenching screams shattered the silence and tore at my heart. I ever slowly inched my way around several rocks, trying to sneak up on the beast. As I round the corner of the last wall between myself and the dragon, I lay my hand on the wall and felt the terrible heat it radiated. I took a deep breath and turned the corner, only to find a thing I did not expect whatsoever.
Instead of the humongous, towering threat I had expected looming over three burnt skeleton corpses, I found a ten foot tall, green back, lime belly, olive bespeckled creature, with purple spine scales and a matching flop of hair growling at three men completely nude standing and holding each other as they shivered with fear. It appeared that the men's clothing had been completely burned away, but other than a few ashen splotches on their skin, they also appeared to be healthy, only a bit scared. They were standing in a steaming puddle of urine that either one or all three had relieved themselves during the blast. At once I lowered my lance and let it drop to the floor. The green dragon, who was startled by the sound of metal clanking to the limestone floor, jumped in surprise when he saw me and at once began to growl. As it began to suck in a large breath, I knew what the dragon meant to do to me. I felt like my testicles were going to reverse adolescence and climb back up ass my ass cheeks clenched tight together as I braced myself for the inevitable. But then the dragon's intentions halted when I shouted, "Eliot, no!"
The dragon's eyes beady black eyes at once grew to the size of basketballs as he released the breath he was holding. A little bit of smoke escaped his nostrils and a smile crept passed upon his face. My cheeks at once loose their tension and I myself exhaled in relief.
I couldn't believe it was the same dragon from my childhood staring back at me. I couldn't believe that the Scourge of Shumbat, the Killer of Kastriot, the Plunderer of Ploshtan, was in fact the gentle beast I grew up knowing could be a boy's best friend. It didn't make sense. And so I asked the dragon about it (after I had Elliot release his prisoners, which he was glad to see go). The dragon tried to tell me his tale, and what I assumed was his tale, but I really couldn't understand the murmurs, clicks, grunts, and growls that the creature made. I really don't know how Pete could understand his friend. But I guess after living with someone or something so long that eventually one gets to know these things. I simply nodded my head empathetically in hopes I was doing the right thing.
After about five minutes into the so-called conversation Elliot stood up in alarm. His back arched stiffly and he began to growl to my back, toward the passage I came from. When I turned around, St. George was behind me holding the lance I had dropped to the floor. Behind him were the three other men, who cowered together in the shadows in one of the sleeping roll blankets. St. George told me to back away slowly from the "villain" at the same time making sure that I was not hurt. I did not move, but instead told him to hand me the lance.
"This one is mine, George," I said and greedily George handed me the weapon. I turned around theatrically with it and faced Elliot, who had a somewhat puzzled and frightened look upon his face. I winked nodded at Elliot, hoping he would guess my intentions and he must have, because he winked back. Then I called out, "Okay you foul demon! Now prepare to die!" and rushed at him with my lance.
Elliot reared up on his hind legs as I approached and let loose a mighty roar. Bits of rock and dust began to fall from the ceiling, showering both of us and veiling the scene from the onlookers. It was then that the lance was snatched from my hands and Elliot folded it under his arms and let out a high pitch yelp and fell to the floor, shaking the very earth, then belching out a flame for a final effect. I climbed up upon his back and stood tall holding the lance when the dust settled and pulled it out dramatically so the others could see where it had been, using my foot to brace myself upon the dragon's thick shoulders.
The charade worked brilliantly and all four spectators began to cheer and stagger with their new found bravery closer to the "kill," as they shouted for its head. Scared that they might discover our debauchery and actually try to cause harm to what I knew as a gentle soul, I slid off his back and pushed them away. As it was my kill, I claimed the right over the carcass and its to be determined disposal. I told them that even though this creature had swept havoc over the countryside that such a magnificent beast did not deserve such defacement. I told them that it was my wish for this beast to be left untouched, left to rest in its tomb from which it sprang unspoiled. Reluctantly they followed my wishes and we left the cavern.
This is pretty much where I woke up feeling good about myself. I think if I had dreamed any further, I would have taken the garter and shoved it up Saint George's ass. Either way, it was a wicked dream and I can't wait to go back to sleep tonight. Yet, it will probably be nothing to compare with this one at all. My only interesting dreams occur during the daytime when I take a nap. The ones I have at night are usually dull and much like infomercials, about a bunch of useless crap. This is probably due to my afternoon naps being dreamed in a different sleep mode where my consciousness is much closer to the surface. Night time sleep gets further down, because I am under longer. Anyway, I wish I could have a job where I hunted dragons. And this is probably why I thought it was a cool dream, and good enough to share with you all. If you didn't like it, you can join Saint George with a garter up your asses. Speaking of saints and jobs, Saint Cajetan (also known as Pope Paul IV) won't return my calls, the bastard.
Peace out peoples,
-sib-