Lindworm (cognate with Old Norse
linnormr 'constrictor snake', Norwegian lindorm 'serpent',
Swedish lindorm 'serpent', German Lindwurm 'dragon')
in British heraldry, is a technical term
for a wingless bipedal dragon often with
a poisonous bite.
linnormr 'constrictor snake', Norwegian lindorm 'serpent',
Swedish lindorm 'serpent', German Lindwurm 'dragon')
in British heraldry, is a technical term
for a wingless bipedal dragon often with
a poisonous bite.
In a country littered with dragon slayers and their many tales of overstated heroic exploits, you would think there would be more dragons around to back them up. At least, that's what Angont of Resolven thought. As she stood atop one of the many hilltops that surrounded the region of Kinnoul, Perthshire she could not help wondering if her sources were correct. She had heard of a dragon, or a wyrm at the very least residing in a hole of some sort. Perhaps in a crevice or in the crumbling cavity of a hill? Her information wasn't specific, but that was what villagers were for. She sighed noisily, no one else was around to hear it.
"Honestly," She grumbled in her thicker-than-the-usual-English accent, "I would have had better luck in Beaucaire with that invisible demon, Drac..." The winding road ahead looked more bleak than ever. But stride ahead she did, as she always did.
As with most people of this time, the line between fantasy and reality was thin, if not nonexistent. Creativity and imaginations bloomed with stories of mythological creatures that filled their brains with wonderment. But Angont took those so called 'stories' more seriously than simple tales for entertainment. Her quest was that of revenge, and the victims of her vendetta were the dragons. Well, not just any dragon that happened to cross her path, (which they never did.) Her dragon was special. Any other dragon, no matter how rare a sight was not hers for the taking. Years of searching, tracking and hunting only led her to a small winged snake the size of a pig, and a few insignificant wyrm here and there. If not for the decline in these fable-bound serpents, she would have been considered an exterminator of the sorts.
But alas, the seeds of imagination were just starting to sow in the minds of both adult and child. Now she would be considered a fanatical wench, but no one told this to her directly due to the rather long English estoc sword strapped to her back. It wasn't too much an offense to insult a woman, but it was another matter to insult a woman with a sword.
So off Angont went, down the lushly grass-carpeted hilltop and on to the main road that led to Kinnoul. Night was encroaching upon the dusky afternoon sooner than she had planned, so she quickened her pace. As the road wound closer to the village gates she could make out a silhouette on the road's edge. A man laying on the edge of the road? Not unusual, probably banished out of the village for some obtuse reason. However distracting, however redundant to her mission, it would be wise to check up on him. If he was dead she could very well pilfer him. Only a little though. When Angont strode up to the man he rolled over on his back to face her. His face was burned from the sun, but it was clear he was young. About her age. His hair was a greasy, tangled mess of black, like someone had placed a mangled crow on his head. A black band of leather covered his right eye. Blinded or plucked out, probably. Oddly enough, the rest of his clothing looked as if it were in good enough shape. He wore a fancy-looking brown ochre vest with silver buttons over a clean, white tunic. If he dies any time soon he might just be worth robbing. Just as she thought this the man opened his crusty eyelid, cringing at the light.
“Bloody tavern wench, I said I don’t have any money…” He grumbled. Tavern wench? Angont crossed her arms and looked down spitefully at the grubby man that lay before her.
“The hell you calling a bloody tavern wench, damned knave?” This time the man sat up and faced her with only his single glaring eye. This was not very intimidating, but it was all he could do with one eye, after all.
“Woman. What is that tone you take with me? Don’t you know who your superiors are? Are you mad, are you drunk? No, I am drunk…” He leaned back and fell into the dirt hard, casting a cloud of dust over him. Pathetic, Angont thought. Who was this drunken idiot to think even he was superior to her? She might just pilfer the fool now, alive or not. She leaned over him, thinking he was passed out by now. His eye was wide open, rolling in his head and searching the sky above him for something that he was probably hallucinating in his drunken stupor. A tight frown wound down his mouth.
“I am…I am King Jack Knight. King of Thieves, you know. I could skin you alive in a split second with my sword here.” He was wearing neither sheath nor sword on his belt or back. The frown lifted slightly into a small smile.
“Haha, no, it took that away from me, didn’t it? It took all my comrades, my soldiers, my friends. Damned beast…” Angont was curious now, this may not all be drunken raving. This ‘Jack Knight’ could be her lead. She sat by his side now and shook his shoulders, his head bobbing back and fourth along with them.
“Wait, beast? What beast?” It was no use. Of all times he decided to pass out. The sun was almost set and the village gates would be closed soon. This could be the closest lead she’s had so far, and somehow she had to get this Jack to talk. Angont took a hold of the back of his vest and dragged him to the gates. He wasn’t too far away from the village so she didn’t have to drag so much. The two guards standing on either side were reasonable enough. Just asked of her province, occupation and undertaking. Surprisingly enough they weren’t at all suspicious of the unconscious man she was dragging along. According to the guards this had happened often, so they didn’t much care for what happened to him anymore.
When Jack opened his eyelid just a slit it rolled left to right, investigating his surroundings. When he passed out it wasn’t unusual to wake up in strange places. But this was stranger than the usual. What was this he was laying in, a clean bed? The air didn’t smell of animal droppings either so it certainly wasn’t a barn. And food. He smelled food as well. By the bedside a woman sat staring at him intently. Behind her was a small glass window. The curtains were tied to the side so the morning sun cast an angelic golden glow over her. He could have sworn those were blue eyes. Or green. She wasn’t wearing white robes and didn’t see any snowy feathers, but he didn’t care. He was dead for all he knew, so he couldn’t complain at this point. A goofy grin lit up his face.
“Come to take me away, love? Didn’t think I’d be dead from all that drinking, but no matter.” Angont rolled her eyes.
“I think you’re confused. You’re not dead, you just passed out yesterday.”
Jack tilted his head. Not dead? Then again, that voice was certainly not that of an angel’s. It was that tavern wench from yesterday. Where the hell was he then? When someone was kind enough to drag him off the side of the road he usually ended up with the animals in a soft pile of dung. This was new. He sat up and leaned his elbows.
“Ah. The wench. Where am I?”
“Dolt…For your information I am not a tavern wench. My name is Angont.” A hint of irritation had reached her tone. “I towed you into town to this inn. You’re welcome”
Jack gingerly scratched his scruffy chin and considered his position.
“So you want something from me?” So that was the catch. Angont smiled knowing he was aware of the situation.
“Just a bit of information, really. It was something you mentioned yesterday out in the road about your comrades. They were killed by something, weren’t they?” This wasn’t a question, but a statement. She had a feeling that he wasn’t just spewing random stories. He was drunk, not crazy. At least, she hoped he wasn’t. Jack’s brow furrowed and jaw clenched.
“Getting straight to the point, aren’t we?...Yes, they were. But you wouldn’t believe the story if I told you. Thanks for the room, miss.” He slowly climbed out of the bed, rubbing his head as he got to his feet. The throbbing hit him hard now, even more so then when he woke up. He grasped his head and leaned against the doorway.
“Augh…Son of a…” Angont, still sitting by the bed smirked. She had him for now.
“I’m paying for breakfast you know. I’ll meet you down there and you can tell me all about it, alright?”
“Bring water, my breathe smells like death.”
“I know.”
There the two sat, at a small table in a bustling sea of customers, cooks, maids and a few stray dogs wandering about looking for fallen scraps. Jack held his head up with two fingers, grimacing at the still grinning Angont across the table.
“Alright miss Angont, what makes you so fixated on my story?”
"Well, mister Knight-"
Jack held up a finger,"It's Jack. Just Jack." She rolled her eyes and continued.
"...Right, Jack. I happen to be a specialist of the sorts. Dragon specialist, to be exact." She watched for his reaction at the word 'dragon.' His nose twitched, but eyes remained calm. Nothing. He impatiently gestured for her to continue.
"So?"
"So, I think I could help avenge your fallen friends. I think that the 'beast' that killed your friends was a dragon, and well, perhaps I could find what I'm looking for along the way." Jack turned his head away from her, but she turned herself to face him too. Suddenly, before Angont could blink the man's forehead was almost touching hers from across the table. His one, now fierce eye stared straight into both of hers. Too close.
"And what, dare I ask is it that YOU'RE looking for?"
She hesitated, slightly taken aback. "W-what? I...Hey! Move your bloody face, will you? Honestly, you can't expect me to..."
For the first time, Jack had his smirk. He moved backward out of her face and awaited her explanation. "Well?"
"Let's just say that I'm after a particular dragon, alright? Ha, who knows if it's even a dragon? All I have is a faint memory to go by. But that's none of your concern, anyway."
Jack stared at her fixedly for a few uncomfortable minutes, then a goofy grin spread across his face.
"Very well, Annie!" Jack boomed loudly, as if he were still drunk. What was in that water? He got up and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door of the inn.
"A-Annie?"
