Every now and then, I like to look back at work from the past. This little poem/children’s story was based on the idea that when people grow up, they tend to forget about the magic the world once had when they were younger. I wrote it back in October of 2000 as part of a brief explosion of poetry. That was around my one year anniversary of going out with my soon to be wife, Sarah. Without further ado, here’s a poem for the whole family:

Dragon in My Underpants

In a small house
Outside of Saddleton Falls,
There sounds a scream
Which echoes through all the halls

“There’s a dragon in my underpants!”
Robert Cliffrose exclaimed,
But of course his mother
Doubted the absurd claim.

Mother Cliffrose
Has heard it all.
From a unicorn on Robert’s Nose
To a demon that stole pantyhose.

She’s heard Robert speak of angels
And talking pebbles.
He has spoken of Water Sprites and their confrontations
With cranky Southern Rebels.

But something was different!
This day was far from plain,
As evidenced when Robert
Came downstairs to explain.

Half naked and frightened,
The little youth bellowed,
as he told his story
of why his socks are now yellowed.

“Through my window it came!”
He said with a shudder.
“How did it fit?”(Mother asked rather politely)
“He used a stick of butter!”(Robert replied, not lying even slightly.)

“Robert, though I have to cook,
I will take a moment of my time,
Let the oatmeal simmer
And go take a look.”

Up the stairs,
Mother and son trotted,
As Mother Cliffrose wondered
What her son had plotted.

“Did he break a window?
No! I’d have heard the glass…
Maybe he he’ll get through this phase?
I hope this all will pass!”

Of course Mother Cliffrose spoke only to herself,
knowing fully well that there was no dragon,
nor beast, NOT EVEN AN ELF!
These things do not exist, she convinced herself.

To the door,
Where Robert’s bed is kept,
The Mother and son slowly,
Slowly crept.

With a squeak of the hinges,
there was a brief silence,
one that was not
a prelude to violence.

Nothing was there,
Not even the bed.
Not a ball glove or ball bat
Or stuffed animal head.

A stretched out pair of underwear,
Was all that was there.
A sight which brought Mother and son
Naught but dispair.

Robert Cliffrose looked up,
And smiled at his mother.
He never lied before,
And this was not another.

From that day hence,
Mother Cliffrose believed
The stories told by her son.
Regretting ever doubting any single one.

Hugo gingerly squeezed his legs and his horse took a few wary steps forward. His full plate armor glistened in the early morning sun as he poked his spear at the knight sleeping under the gently waving tendrils of the willow tree.

“Wake up Aaron!” he called, gently poking his comrade on the side. Aaron woke, startled and nearly tripping over his legs. His hand reached for his flamberge, a blade nearly as tall as him, which jutted out of the ground. Naked and filthy, he slapped the spear away with a wave of the hefty sword. His long, matted blonde hair tumbled near his waist and swayed like a field of wheat as he launched himself forward, tugging at the horse’s bridle. Swiftly, he pulled himself up so he could look Hugo in the eye.

“Don’t wake me with a spear, or that damned thing will find its way into your heart!” threatened Aaron. Hugo resisted belting his friend with an armored fist, but instead calmly explained that he had all ready tried the most gentle of measures of awakening his traveling companion and needed to resort to more drastic measures. “Bah!” dismissed Aaron as he leapt from the horse. “What’s the rush anyways? The dragon isn’t going anywhere. Bastard’s been asleep ten years, and he’ll probably be asleep tomorrow and next week, and for many months to come. Another morning won’t make much of a difference.” Despite his grievances, Aaron started to dress for battle in his suit of boiled leather and chain mail. Tucking his open-faced helm under his arm and slinging his sword onto his shoulder, he walked slowly beside Hugo.

Hugo looked down on Aaron and smiled at the bull headed knight. Aaron never rode war horses; he always had a love for swift animals and prided himself on his acrobatic prowess. In truth, Aaron was less of a knight than Hugo, but he certainly was a better fighter. Hugo never underestimated his friend’s skills; while Aaron may never had jousted in a tournament, he had proven himself again and again. Despite his laziness, he made for a good traveling companion. He had good eyes and knew his way around a battlefield. Aaron loved Hugo as a brother, and had an equal respect for the accomplished knight’s skill.

“So the dragon will know. I’ve heard that too many times. ‘The dragon is old, the dragon is wise,’ Bah! The dragons are a blight on the earth and an affront to the gods. A snake with feet and wings; liars and thieves the lot of them.” complained Aaron as he walked through the thickly wooded forest. The trees shaded them from the sun and kept them cool as the day became warmer.

“Just another mile and we’ll find out where the truth of the matter is. There’s good and bad in all things; I saw a giant save a child from a well and I’ve watched a serpent-man lay his life down for his human comrades. Villagers always say these things are evil, but they never truly know, do they?” Hugo said softly.

“Bah, I say! Bah! I never heard any of those stories from anyone but you. You’re young and full of ideals that just don’t hold up in the real world. A giant may save a life, but how many will he take in a month? Anytime he’s hungry, that’s one less kid in the world and one more pile of dung. I say track ‘em and kill ‘em.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of talking to the dragon like that.” said Hugo, trying to make the phrase ring as a warning to his friend’s ears. Aaron responded with silence; they were getting closer to the creature’s lair and he was starting to get on edge. Hugo strapped his shield to his arm; the leather straps groaned as he fastened the stag emblazoned shield’s buckles tightly. He said a quiet prayer, hoping that his God would bless him with the power to overcome the dragon peacefully. Aaron’s mind simply focused on his task. He would not pray to his gods, because he didn’t want to owe them any favors. He sneaked through the woods towards a giant cave that expelled a sulphurous and skunk-like stink. A purring sound rumbled out of the cave; the sleeping dragon simply stayed inert, oblivious to the possible dangers that lurked near it. Aaron entered the cave first, followed by the mounted Hugo.

“Awake, Thule! Awake and listen to me!” called Hugo, masking the sound of Aaron’s steps as he picked his way through a heap of gold strewn on the floor of the dragon’s lair. The dragon stirred in the darkness and opened its cat-like eyes. Sleepily, the dragon considered the mounted knight.

“What do you want!” boomed the dragon’s voice, “I’m tired and need rest. Why did you wake me?” Hugo felt the hot, rancid breath of the dragon wash over him. He slid his spear into its sheathe on the saddle and produced a small sack of gold. The dragon’s eyes flooded with greed as the bag flew through the air and crashed heavily to the ground. The dragon pulled at the bag’s drawstrings with its immense claws and let the coins spill out.

“Ask, then, if it is a question you want to ask.”

“I want to know where the father of dragons is.”

The dragon chortled deeply, not knowing that Aaron was in the shadows, readying his sword. “He is deep within the earth, at its core, far from the sun. Seek him at your peril. Why do you ask?”

“My reasons are my own.” responded Hugo, his hand on his spear.

“Keep your secret; your gold is good.”

“How do I get to the lair of the father of dragons?” asked Hugo. The dragon’s eyes narrowed evilly.

“What do you want with him!” demanded the dragon, whose ire was rising. Aaron tumbled out of the way as one of the dragon’s feet crashed into the ground near him. Aaron wanted to plunge his sword hilt deep into the creature, but he knew that Hugo would chastise him severely. Instead, he waited.

“He has something that is mine, and I wish to reclaim it.” responded Hugo. Tension rose as the dragon crawled forward slowly. Stalking Hugo, like a cat stalks a ball of yarn, the dragon licked its lips. Hugo began to worry when he saw the drool dripping from corners of the dragon’s mouth. Hugo pulled his spear from the saddle sheathe and drove his spurs into his horse. The dragon roared, blowing a stream of fire at Hugo. The thrust of the flame drove Hugo from his saddle with a force greater than any jousting lance could. The shield absorbed the heat from the flame, and glowed brightly. The dragon snapped its jaws at the prone knight, but whirled its scaly head about as Aaron plunged his sword into the dragon’s belly.

The dragon shrieked and rolled as Aaron held onto the sword with two hands, pushing and pulling the sword back and forth, aggravating the grievous wound. Hugo found his footing and launched his spear at the dragon. It found its mark deep in the dragon’s skull. The creature shrieked again weakly and then stopped stirring. Battered but uninjured, Aaron tugged his flamberge from the dragon’s carcass.

“Where do we go now?” asked Aaron wearily.

“North, to find another dragon. One will know where the father of dragons is; one will be able to tell me how to get back my soul.”

Sinking into the hot water, Marcus let his cares dissolve, if only for a short time. Closing his eyes, he felt at peace. As he was about to fall asleep, a tremendous rumbling awoke him. With a start, his muscles tensed and he sprang from the tub. A second and third tremor, then a fourth. The whole tower shook and dust fell from the rafters. Marcus slipped into a long, white tunic which clung to his damp body. Throwing open the shutters that closed over the windows, he almost immediately fell back from the sight; huge dragons! Seven of them. They skulked about the fortress and battered the walls. From afar, giants tossed boulders at the tower. This was the magnitude of an attack that Marcus had been expecting. He studied the dragons and found that they were slow moving and decomposing; they were zombies, raised by Astur himself.

Marcus slammed the shutters closed and spun on his heels. He grabbed for a chain shirt made of precious mithral rings and slung it over his torso, wriggling into it. He desparately searched for his pants when Klimt stormed into the room. His hand was missing; he had lost it long ago in a battle with a ranger and used a locked gauntlet in its place. Klimt reached for Marcus’ breast plate on the floor.

“Damn!” He shouted with exaspiration. “My wife was just tending my wounds, they suddenly the whole world starts shaking! Why’d they have to wait until we came inside?” Marcus walked over to Klimt and the orc helped him don his armor. “Does he really want that damned sword so badly?” King Astur sought the sword Lolor; when it was brought to the orcs near Moonrock, Astur’s army soon arrived, trampling all in its wake. The Elves of Moonrock put up a valliant fight, and when the army turned towards the orcish fortress, it was assumed that the army was weakening. In truth, they were originally trying to lure the orcs to Moonrock, perhaps to join the cause against the elves. King Mugluth refused to join Astur’s army, and soon became the target of Astur’s wrath. “I need a hand!” demanded Klimt, shaking his gauntlet in Marcus’ face.

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, Mugluth shouted encouragement to his troops. He drew Lolor, and charged at a nearly skeletal black dragon. The king’s horse shied away from the horrifying beast as it turned its empty eyes on the orc king. A hissing steam of acid shot out at Mugluth from the dragon’s maw. The king rolled away, narrowly avoiding the torrent of acid. He swung the sword at the dragon, but it returned the slash with a barrage of bites, ripping claws, and a smashing tail. The dragon then simply leaned its weight on Mugluth; the king’s breath rushed from his lungs as he heard the sound of his ribs cracking and his armor caving in. He stabbed the dragon again and again with the sword, but the creature simply pressed on. Mugluth felt the surge of an inky blackness tried to take him over. He nearly fell into unconciousness as the dragon rose again.

Karn rode by, shrieking at the dragon. His horsemen surrounded the creature and began punturing it with their spears while they rode about it in a circle. Mugluth struggled to his feet and found that his crown had been shattered by one of the dragon’s feet. His breath came in short gasps, although a spark of life remained in him yet. Anger filled him, and he slashed at the dragon wildly. Distracted by the horsemen, the dragon felt Lolor cut through rotten flesh and yellow bone with a powerful slash. The dragon collapsed, thrown off balance by the loss of limb. The hobgoblins swarmed over the dragon like ant, stabbing ferociously. Mugluth collapsed as the dragon’s head hit the ground. The life ebbed from him, just as it did from the dragon.

Ahorse, Marcus saw the scene from across the battlefield. He pulled at the reigns and galloped towards the scene. Klimt followed closely. When they arrived, Karn was trying to pry Lolor from Mugluth’s grasp.

“Don’t touch it!” ordered Marcus. Karn grunted at him defiantly. Klimt stepped forward, banging his axe on his shield threateningly. Karn looked about, and saw the war raging about himself. There would be other prizes, but none so grand as Lolor.

“I am king in Mugluth’s place. The sword is mine.” said Klimt as he tossed his shield aside.

“Take it then.” rasped Karn, kicking at Mugluth’s hand. Klimt looked at the sword and felt anger well up within himself. He quelled it with the simple thought that the world needed creatures like Karn just as much as it needed him right now. Like it or not, the hobgoblins were an essential part of the war effort. Karn mounted his horse again, with a sneer as Klimt took up Lolor in his left hand. Never taking his eyes off Karn, he slid the sword under his belt.

“Take it away from here.” Marcus said, “And hide it well. Astur wants it, and he’ll starve us and beat us until he has it.”

“I will take Flavish with me.” responded Klimt.

“Good. And others; ones that you trust.”

Klimt rode off the field, towards the South. Marcus didn’t watch as his friend disappeared into the haze of battle. He had enemies to kill and a war to win. If Astur did truly seek the sword, then maybe this gamble would pay off. It was possible that he could flank the army of the dead, but even then, how could he prevail over an army that never sleeps? Marcus let the thoughts pass and lost himself in the battle. The day was far from over…