Aestival Scribbles and Doodles- πŸ”₯ π™Žπ™’π™–π™ͺπ™œπ™ͺ𝙨𝙩! πŸ”₯

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Aestival Scribbles and Doodles- πŸ”₯ π™Žπ™’π™–π™ͺπ™œπ™ͺ𝙨𝙩! πŸ”₯

I can't remember the last time I've put ink to paper. Probably been years.
Decided to doodle whilst being stuck on the phone.
Don't judge me, k?
Or you can; I'm rusty.
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Most dragons hoard thingsβ€”trinkets, jewels, odds and ends of disputable value. But this dragon, curled upon an oddly shaped knoll in the placid meadow of exuberant wildflowers, collects none of those things. He hoards intangible memories with a terrifying fervor. Those innocuous specks of space and time roil in his slumbering mind like the bubbling cauldron of his beloved Master's pot, always steeping some edible concoction over the crackling hearthfire.

The rickety shack they lived in was barely a house, listing heavily to one side, as if waiting for a stiff breeze to bring its misery to an inevitable end. The roof leaked. The floorboards had rotted away. Mice and rats surprised in the shadows just out of reach of his jaws, and in summer, the interior grew unbearably hot, But...

It was homeβ€”their home. His happiest memories were made at her side: weeding the garden with his taloned feet, stoking the hearth in the middle of the night so she could sleep soundly a little longer, chasing trespassers from her land like a large, overly zealous watchdog, tongue lolling happily from his toothy mouth as he returned to her at the slightest call.

Those memories of days long past were the hoard he jealously guarded as fiercely as he does his Master's grave. The measured clink of metal tore him from his treasures, hurling him back into the sorrowful void of consciousness. Another cocksure knight approached, seeking to claim the essence of her power. Sword aloft in challenge, the dragon met him with a blast of searing smoke from his flaring nostrils.
 
A long time ago, I drew this sketch:
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Yes, I know I need to vacuum up all that dog hair, don't judge me :cry:
 
Ah, to capture the majesty of dragons! A monumental task indeed.

Dragons and humans, after all, have many similarities. Why else would humans ponder them, attempt to understand them? Worship them? Even believe they can stand against them?

For this event, I have arrived, dear Sanctum Dwellers. One of many dragons. A lurker in the depths.

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The mountain casts a great shadow
It bows to me, the conqueror
The legend, the terror
The death-bringer of scale and claw
The predator who has no rival
Who lays waste to nature itself

But mankind never submits
Sure as time, they invade my mountain
With boyish dreams of glory and wealth
At my hoard of gold, their eyes sparkle
Before I pluck them out
Such is the punishment for such arrogance

And yet, alone in the cold
I grow weary and lost
I crave something beyond words
That thousands of years have not sated
Killing, stealing, consuming;
Never enough
Always hungry

I am no king;
A king's throne can be usurped
I am no god;
They do not cry my name in the face of doom
I am no angel;
These wings are warped and twisted and darkened
I am but an echo
Of what I could have been

And so, I will wait
And collect more gold than any mountain could hold
And take more lives than any god could
And spread fear into the hearts of the fearless

Perhaps, before the march of time takes me,
I will find kinship
I will find a friend
But, like the dream of slaying me, this is a foolish wish

For who could befriend a creature that defies existence?
 
This was her hoard, one she was proud of. No human in the world would ever begin to know how to treasure it as she could. Surely, some humans found these things tedious, boring, and a waste. But to her, they were the world. They allowed her to see how humans thought, how they behaved in the eyes of others, and how they acquired their mates. Fascinating little creatures, they were.

Her hoard sat in piles, tall as the cave itself. Dusty, bound, and with wrinkled spines. She loved her hoard of torn-down trees and ink on the skin of the trees' trunks. Barbaric, it may be, but to her, it was art.

What was it humans called them again?

Oh, that's right. Books.

This was her hoard of books, and should any human try to take any from her claws, she would decorate her cave with their likeness.
 
I have, as always, written a rap song.

This time, it's about dragons.

Sing along if you know the words.

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[Intro]
Uh... yeah....
Dragon, dragon, dragon, dragon deez nuts 'cross yo face...
2025, baby. Yung Dreezy. Gonna make 'em say yeeeeugh.

[Hook]
I'm a dragon in the sky, smokin' loud, gettin' head
Bad bitches on my tail, layin' naked in my bed
Weed roll thick, got that fire I exhale
Blow smoke on her tits, diamonds drippin' on my scales

[Verse]
She ridin' dragon back, no saddle, just skin
Mouth full of kush, that's how you know I win
I nut fire, bitch, call it pyro cream
Wake up in a dungeon like a porno dream

Stack gold coins, then I roll up a blunt
Got your princess in my lair and she lovin' the stunt
Fuck a knight in armor, I'ma steal his bride
She deep throat fire while I'm gettin' sky high

[Hook]
I'm a dragon in the sky, smokin' loud, gettin' head
Bad bitches on my tail, layin' naked in my bed
Weed roll thick, got that fire I exhale
Blow smoke on her tits, diamonds drippin' on my scales

[Outro]
Ain't no bitch ass knight gonna come in my cave
Nuh-uh! Only the homies, only the bitches!
Rollin' big blunts, stackin' gold in a pile, y'see?
Call that a dragon hoard for my dragon whores
Yeeeeeeugh
We out!
 
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