A Dragon's Purpose

Thinking. These days, that's all he ever seemsto do: move, breathe, and think.

The sun was beginning to rise, casting a warm orange glow over the land. He was sitting on a cliff, looking out at a vast expanse of forest that turned into beautiful, flowery plains at the horizon. In front of him there was forest, behind him there was forest. The only difference was that if he took a step forward he'd fall a few seconds before finally hitting the ground. Looking behind him, the forest seemed to be caught in a spectacular twilight. The dew on the leaves and grass sparkled like millions of diamonds and the foliage was colored with a splendid blue and orange mix.

He stretched out his grand, scaly wings, revealing the lustrous black scales and the bright white robe covering his massive frame, and yawned; he had been there for days. He then stretched his neck, and yawned again, revealing his razor sharp teeh. Rubbing his eyes with his scaly hands, he reached for his satchel and took out a leather container. After taking a drink of the crystal clear water it held, he once again looked out from the cliff where he had been perched for days like a massive gargoyle. He had been used to thinking for hours on end, and sometimes it took a toll on his gargantuan dragon body. Menacing as he may have looked, one peek into his deep blue eyes suggested an unusual level of gentleness and understading. He stretched every inch of his sore, scaly body that he could and began to walk into the forest behind him.

As he walked, he turned and looked once more at the cliff from which he had just spent time thinking about wat his purpose could be, his black scales shimmering in the light of the dawn. For over 800 years he had wandered the world, searching for his purpose. In his search he has done much, including taking the name and and sword of the two men he saw as his mentors: Sir Percival, who gave him a home, and King Arthur, who spared his life, trained him in swordplay, and gave him his current sword. Carrying with him the holy blade Excalibur, the sword his king gave to him before death, he searches for some way to embrace his full potential and honor his mentors. He'd traveled many places and defended many people from tyranny, but none of this ever seemed to be enough for him. He always left with a mask of a smile on his face, hiding the feeling that he hadn't found what he was looking for.

Long ago, one of his mentors told him to take out time every day to just think. It didn't matter what he thought about as long as he thought. While he had gotten into the habit of doing that, he felt it wasn't doing him any good anymore. He's had thoughts complex and simple, but of what use were these thoughts now? What would he do with these thoughts, these plans, these ideas? What would he do with himself? He began to slow his pace as these thoughts crossed his head until he came to a complete stop. Why do I keep walking? What's beyond this forest? What could possibly be out there to keep him going? Suddenly, he realized what it was.

Hope. Hope that he would find his calling. That was what kept him traversing the land, guiding him to do good as he had when he was a knight, serving under his great and merciful king. The sun had risen more and the light now gave his scales the appearance of obsidian. As these memories came back to him he let out an echoing, regal, dragon roar to signal to the world that he, Sir Percival Oliver Pendragon, would never give up until he found his purpose. With hope renewed, he walked into the now shining green forest with his eyes set firmly on his goal.