Just Another Tuesday

It was Tuesday and I was still stuck in that goddamn, dragon-guarded cave with naught but the pack on my back and a knife. Getting in had been easy; the cave opening had been unguarded. Ran into nothing particularly dangerous on the first level, or the second level. Once I got down to the third level where the Staff of Indigestion was, I found out the meaning of dragon-guarded.

Three of them, a little baby dragon, its mama, and a very large papa dragon. When I walked in they were sitting down for some nice knight stew, and they didn’t want any company. Not that I wanted to stay for dinner. It did smell delicious, but I had lost my appetite when I walked into the pantry on the second level.

You wouldn’t have believed the roar that mama dragon let out when she saw me wander into their dining room. It shook the whole cave, and caused part of the ceiling to crash to the floor, which is actually an unimportant piece of info. Knowing then that I was unwelcome, I ran, like the coward I am, and hid. I hid in that hiding space for a week, waiting for a miracle.

I suppose by now you’re wondering who I am and what I was doing in that cave on Tuesday. The name is Wensley, Arthur P. Wensley. Don’t ask what the P stands for, ‘cause I couldn’t tell you. I’m your common adventurer and I was in that cave to get my hand on the much sought after Staff of Indigestion. It may not sound like it, but that staff is worth quite a bit a gold.

So, yeay, I was hiding, but I needed to get that staff and then get out of there. If only I knew where it was, and those dragons would just leave.

I had my chance that Tuesday, so we’re back to where we started. It was Tuesday and I was in my hiding place when I overheard the dragons saying something about the stew being too hot. They decided to take a flight while it cooled. I had my chance.

When I was sure that they were gone, I crept from my hidey-hole. Cautiously, I walked around making sure the place was empty. Once I was confident I wasn’t going to be eaten, I went searching for that staff.

Not in the dragons obvious dining room, nor was in it in the bathroom, and definitely wasn’t in the den. But there were some chairs in the den, a little one, a medium sized one, and a large one.

I was standing outside the den admiring how the dragons make it look so cozy despite it being deep underground, when I heard quiet giggling. At first, I wasn’t quite sure as to what I heard. I held my breath and listened. There it was again, a child’s laugh. My eyes darted around the room trying to find the source of that laugh. A flash of movement, another laugh from over by the baby dragon’s chair. I quickly turned my head to look. There, sitting on the chair, was a young girl putting off a beautiful golden glow, a sprite.

Mischievous little creatures, sprites tend to be. It’s always better to avoid them. Which was what I was going to do, if it hadn’t seen me.

“Hello,” the sprite brightly said from where she sat.

“Hi.”

“Who are you?”

I didn’t want to answer, but she asked in such a cute way. “Arthur P. Wensley.” Sprites are dangerous creatures, they’ll get you into a heap of trouble and you won’t be able to do anything about it.

“Hello Arthur. My name is Goldiesprite.”

Goldiesprite? I knew then what was going on. I had fallen into a fairy tale. I had a friend who had fallen into a fairy tale once. It had involved a werewolf and a sprite with a red hood. My friend now resides in a home for the mentally unstable.

“What are you doing here Arthur?” Goldiesprite asked me.

“Well, I’m looking for a magical object.”

“Oooo, really? Magical objects are so cool. Can I help you look for it?”

No! That’s what I wanted to say, but that sprite gave me those big, puppy dog eyes that no normal man can resist. Cuteness, an unusual power, but an effective one, nonetheless. “Yes, you can help me.”

“Yeay!” The sprite hopped form the chair in glee, and the chair fell apart. The fairy tale was taking effect. I only had so long until the dragons would get back.

Goldiesprite left the room, not really noticing that she had broken the chair. I followed after her, despite knowing better. It was too late; I was under the influence of that cute child and was now trapped within the fairy tale.

I followed the sprite into the dining room where I had first encountered the three dragons. There were three bowls laid out on the table. A bowl for the baby, a bowl for the mama, which said “#1 Mom” on it, and a bowl for the papa, which held enough to feed a family of ten.

“Oh look! Stew!” Goldiesprite exclaimed as we entered.

Before I could stop her, she ran over to the table

“What luck! I am hungry. Are you Arthur? Why don’t we stop and have a snack.” With that she took a taste of the stew from the big bowl. “Ow!”

“I’m not really all that hungry,” I replied staying near the entrance.

“Okay. This stew is too hot. I’ll try the next bowl.” Goldiesprite took a taste from the “#1 Mom” bowl. “Yech! This stew is too cold.”

I should have stopped her. I shouldn’t have let her get farther along in the tale. But, I couldn’t. Strong magic’s were at work here.

“Mmmm, just right.” Goldiesprite settled down in front of the baby’s bowl and quickly emptied its contents. “That was delicious,” she said setting down her spoon. “Shall we get on with our search?”

She didn’t let me answer. Like I had a choice. I was to far gone at this time. Lost in the tale. I had forgotten the dangers.

We traveled around the rest of the cave, looking for that staff. We hadn’t seen any clues at to where it could be. Finally, we entered the dragons’ bedroom.

Goldiesprite looked at the beds then turned to me. “You know, Arthur, after that wonderful meal and all the searching we’ve done, I’ve gotten very tired,” she yawned and stretched. “I think I’ll take a nap. You can keep searching without me if you want.”

“Okay,” I said, completely in that fairy tale daze.

Goldiesprite climbed into the papa dragon’s bed and curled up to go to sleep. I watched her try to find a comfortable sleeping position until she finally sat up and said, “This bed is too hard for me to sleep on.” She then jumped off that bed and went to the next one.

After sinking into the numerous blankets of the mama’s bed and the desperate struggle to free herself, Goldiesprite plopped back down on the floor. “Way too soft. I need to breath when I sleep and all those blankets smothering me, yeay, not going to work either.”

I then watched her crawl into the littlest bed in the room. “Just right,” she muttered sleepily right before she drifted off to dreamland.

I was now facing the baby dragon’s bed and it’s toy box, which had been emptied out onto the floor. It was a mess common of any child, toys all over the floor. My eyes rested on a staff that looked oddly familiar.

“Where have I seen that before?” I asked in my daze. Suddenly, it came to me, the Staff of Indigestion. The fog in my mind lifted and I was free of that fairy tale.

“The staff. I’ve finally found it,” I said as I picked it up. Smiling to myself, I held triumphantly. “Yes, now I can go home.”

That sleeping sprite came back into my view and all that had happened hit me.

“Oh no.”

The sprite was asleep; the dragons would be home soon. That was not good for me. I needed to get out of there, and fast.

Clutching the staff tightly, I ran from the bedroom and down the hall, which led past the dining room. I started pass when I noticed the dragon’s were in there and came to a dead stop. To overcome by fear, I couldn’t bring my legs to move away.

The papa dragon leaned over and sniffed at his bowl of stew. He then pulled back, a disgusted look on his face. “Smells like a sprite has been eating my stew.”

“Smells like a sprite has been eating my stew, too,” the mama said sniffing at her own bowl.

“What do sprites smell like?” the baby dragon asked its mother.

“Sickenly sweet.”

“Oh, well in that case, it smells like a sprite’s been eating my stew too, and they ate it all up.” The baby dragon held its bowl upside down to see if anything would come out.

“Sprites, in our home?” the papa dragon grumbled. “I’ll have no such thing!” Then he saw me, standing just outside the room, frozen in place. “Who are you?”

I nearly wet myself. In fact, I think I did. “M-m-me?” I asked as I was shaken out of my frozen state.

“Who else?”

“I am, Arthur P. Wensley,” I squeaked out, “adventurer extraordinaire.”

The papa dragon walked up and sniffed me. He snorted then asked, “Seen any sprites around?”

“Uh, yes, actually. I saw one in the bedroom not to long ago. She’s probably still there.”

“Thanks,” he turned down the hall and sniffed the air, “Sprites, I hate sprites.”

“Well, you obviously have work to do, so I’ll be going.” Without waiting for a response I ran, and I kept running until I was out of that cave and breathing fresh air.

Later, I sold that Staff of Indigestion for quite a bundle. I never did get to use the money, though. Those dragons have charged me with burglary and now I’m doing time. It’s not that bad, roof over my head, three meals a day, and my own prison cell all to myself, not too shabby. I’m quite content now. As for Goldiesprite, well, she met an untimely end, which teaches you a very important lesson: do not go around sleeping in other people’s beds without permission. They won’t like it and most likely, burn you to a crisp.