The Sad Story of Norman the Dragon
Listen now, to the sad tale of a very misunderstood dragon
Once upon a time, there was a Mummy Dragon. She was big and green and scaley and scary, like dragons are supposed to be. Mummy Dragon had had lots of baby dragons that were all grown up. They were all big and green and scaley and scary too, like Proper Dragons.
One day Mummy Dragon laid a clutch of eggs, just like all the other clutches she'd laid in the past. Days went by and all the baby dragons hatched one by one. Finally, Mummy Dragon sat watching the last egg cracking... a small head poked out of the shell, with little bony ridges, just like all the other dragons. He was green and scaley like all the other dragons. He had wings and a tail and teeth like all the other dragons. He had claws just like his brother and sister dragons. But he wasn't big and he wasn't scary. He was small and green and scaley, and he wasn't scary at all.
Mummy Dragon wasn't too sure what to make of all this and went into a panic. You see, all dragons have to have a Proper Name, but this dragon was Different. You could hardly call such a tiny thing Bone Crusher or Flesh Boiler or other Proper Dragon Names, now could you? So she thought and she thought and she went to see a Suspisciously Nice Wizard. The Suspisciously Nice Wizard listened gravely whilst Mummy Dragon told him about her dilemma. He stroked his long white beard and "mmm'd" and "aaah'd" and thought for a while, before going to a big book in the corner... "I have just the name for you, Mummy Dragon." Said he, and scribbled it on a scrap of paper for her.
So away she went, and named her baby dragon Norman.
Now years went by and things got a lot less friendly between people and dragons. For some reason, people were no longer happy to have the odd cow or annoyingingly irritating villager disappear courtesy of a Proper Dragon. Dragons soon became very rare in England, because men-people took to hunting them to prove how Manly they were. One of these men-people was someone by the name of George. George was an unassuming boy - skinny, with hair the colour of mud and large eyes that watered a lot. His girlfriend wasn't too impressed that everyone kept on putting him down, so she'd told him to go do something about it. "Go kill a dragon, that'll prove you're Manly!" Said she.
So off George went, in armour too big for him and carrying a rusty old sword. His Noble Steed was a donkey with very bad gas. George quaked the whole way to the hillside where some people said there'd last been a dragon. He shook and shivered so much that the dragon heard him from several miles away and came out to see what all the fuss was. George pulled up his donkey, staring in horror at the huge shadow engulfing the hillside. His Noble Steed farted in terror. Closer and closer the shadow came, until George could see a green, scaley, winged and fanged Dragon. Except... it wasn't a Proper Dragon. It was small and not at all scary.
George's heart pulled itself back down from his throat and he started to laugh at the dragon. "Ha! I am a, um, Manly, um, Knight, come to, er, slay you, um, Evil Dragon!" You've guessed it, dear readers, the dragon was Norman (Or Norman the Small and Not Particularly Terrifying, if you want to be all formal about it). Norman looked at the tin man and said, in a mournful voice, "Why do you want to kill me? I ain't done nuffink to nobody. I just like to c'lect shinies an' snack on the occassional sheep wot the villagers leave for me. You want ter find a Proper Dragon. I ain't a Proper Dragon 'cause my mum named me Norman." So saying, poor Norman started to cry.
"Oh, umm, terribly sorry old chap," said George, "but my girlfriend said I had to kill you or she'd dump me." So George swung his rusty old sword and killed poor Norman dead. And all because he wasn't a Proper Dragon.
Once upon a time, there was a Mummy Dragon. She was big and green and scaley and scary, like dragons are supposed to be. Mummy Dragon had had lots of baby dragons that were all grown up. They were all big and green and scaley and scary too, like Proper Dragons.
One day Mummy Dragon laid a clutch of eggs, just like all the other clutches she'd laid in the past. Days went by and all the baby dragons hatched one by one. Finally, Mummy Dragon sat watching the last egg cracking... a small head poked out of the shell, with little bony ridges, just like all the other dragons. He was green and scaley like all the other dragons. He had wings and a tail and teeth like all the other dragons. He had claws just like his brother and sister dragons. But he wasn't big and he wasn't scary. He was small and green and scaley, and he wasn't scary at all.
Mummy Dragon wasn't too sure what to make of all this and went into a panic. You see, all dragons have to have a Proper Name, but this dragon was Different. You could hardly call such a tiny thing Bone Crusher or Flesh Boiler or other Proper Dragon Names, now could you? So she thought and she thought and she went to see a Suspisciously Nice Wizard. The Suspisciously Nice Wizard listened gravely whilst Mummy Dragon told him about her dilemma. He stroked his long white beard and "mmm'd" and "aaah'd" and thought for a while, before going to a big book in the corner... "I have just the name for you, Mummy Dragon." Said he, and scribbled it on a scrap of paper for her.
So away she went, and named her baby dragon Norman.
Now years went by and things got a lot less friendly between people and dragons. For some reason, people were no longer happy to have the odd cow or annoyingingly irritating villager disappear courtesy of a Proper Dragon. Dragons soon became very rare in England, because men-people took to hunting them to prove how Manly they were. One of these men-people was someone by the name of George. George was an unassuming boy - skinny, with hair the colour of mud and large eyes that watered a lot. His girlfriend wasn't too impressed that everyone kept on putting him down, so she'd told him to go do something about it. "Go kill a dragon, that'll prove you're Manly!" Said she.
So off George went, in armour too big for him and carrying a rusty old sword. His Noble Steed was a donkey with very bad gas. George quaked the whole way to the hillside where some people said there'd last been a dragon. He shook and shivered so much that the dragon heard him from several miles away and came out to see what all the fuss was. George pulled up his donkey, staring in horror at the huge shadow engulfing the hillside. His Noble Steed farted in terror. Closer and closer the shadow came, until George could see a green, scaley, winged and fanged Dragon. Except... it wasn't a Proper Dragon. It was small and not at all scary.
George's heart pulled itself back down from his throat and he started to laugh at the dragon. "Ha! I am a, um, Manly, um, Knight, come to, er, slay you, um, Evil Dragon!" You've guessed it, dear readers, the dragon was Norman (Or Norman the Small and Not Particularly Terrifying, if you want to be all formal about it). Norman looked at the tin man and said, in a mournful voice, "Why do you want to kill me? I ain't done nuffink to nobody. I just like to c'lect shinies an' snack on the occassional sheep wot the villagers leave for me. You want ter find a Proper Dragon. I ain't a Proper Dragon 'cause my mum named me Norman." So saying, poor Norman started to cry.
"Oh, umm, terribly sorry old chap," said George, "but my girlfriend said I had to kill you or she'd dump me." So George swung his rusty old sword and killed poor Norman dead. And all because he wasn't a Proper Dragon.