A Fierce Warrior
Or, The Brave Quest of Sir Goliath the Mighty
Sir Goliath the Mighty strode across the blighted landscape, his sword Monsterslayer at his side and a noble expression upon his rugged face. With each step he took, large dents were left in the earth by his broad metal boots, and the sunlight shining off his gleaming and glistening armor was enough to dazzle even a blind man. Women clutched at their bosoms as he passed by, each hoping that the handsome face would turn in her direction and grace her with a small smile.
But Sir Goliath had more important things on his mind at the moment. The King had called him to the castle that very morning with dire news of a savage and bloodthirsty pair of dragons that were ravishing the countryside, slaying cattle, women, men, and children. "We have heard of how you bested the bean sidhe, Sir Goliath, and we would be ever so grateful if…"
"Say no more, your Highness. It is my duty as a knight to rid the world of evil. I will need only enough food for a day's journey. The dragons will be dead before nightfall tomorrow. You have my word on that."
The King smiled gratefully. "Brave Sir Goliath, you are truly a boon sent from Heaven. Anything you wish of me, ask and you shall receive it."
Goliath had, while this speech was occurring, been staring at the Princess. A more comely creature he had never seen. She appeared to be about sixteen, and had long, luxurious red hair, long legs, and a rather ample bosom. She caught his gaze, and looked away, blushing prettily. Goliath smiled, then turned to the King. "I will tell you what I want when I return with the dragons' heads." He bowed, then strode out of the palace, aware of the princess' gaze on his back.
Now he stood, seven hours and many miles later, at the entrance to a large cave. Smoke was pouring out, and from the Stygian depths came the low rumble of dragons snoring. Sir Goliath frowned, then drew Monsterslayer from its sheath. He knew his duty, but it seemed rather unfair-and no fun at all- to simply kill the dragons in their sleep. "OI! DRAGONS! WAKE UP!" His voice echoed and reechoed among the rocks, bouncing back and forth, and the dragons heard and came slithering out of the cave, very perturbed at being awoken from their nap.
The female, a large blue dragon, roared and shot a jet of flame straight at Sir Goliath, who dodged just in time. No sooner had he evaded her than her mate, a large black dragon, struck, his claws aiming for the knight's arm. Sir Goliath dodged and swung his sword in the same movement, and the black dragon howled in anguish and rage as his fore claw was hacked off. He roared, and gave Goliath a blow with his tail that sent him flying helm over boots to land in a jumbled heap near a pile of boulders.
Sir Goliath stood and faced the enraged dragons. He knew that he was in for the fight of his life. A savage glee gripped him, and he cast aside his armor, then with a wild berserker yell he charged towards them, sword raised and bloodlust in his eyes.
He had just reached the male and was about to deliver a blow that would have hacked off his paw when a steel band closed tight around his ear and an angry Irish voice spoke up.
"Fergus, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times! Don't. Wander. Off!"
Sir Goliath groaned, speaking in a surprisingly young voice for one his age. "Mamai! I told you, I'm Sir Goliath the Mighty!"
"Huh. Sir Goliath, my left foot. What you are, Fergus O'Malley is a daydreamer who vexes your poor mathair something awful. Look at the state of you! Your clothes are all muddied and dirty, and with your Seanmhathair coming over! Oh, saints preserve us! Now, get home, and get cleaned up!" Mrs. O'Malley punctuated this last sentence with a swift slap to her son's bottom, and Sir Goliath the Mighty, bold slayer of monsters, defender of the Realm-and now a small seven year old boy named Fergus O'Malley-ran home howling with indignation.