[ WP ] You are a dragon guarding a cavern filled with treasure . You pride yourself on defending your hoard from the greatest warriors in the world . It makes you all the more annoyed then when the knights that have been coming to slay you seem to be getting more and more inept .

The tournament should have been the greatest idea I ’ ve ever had. 
 
 I mean, I ’ ve said that about a lot of my ideas, I know. But … they ’ re all really good ideas. 
 
 It used to be - ages ago - that my mere presence was enough to entice the finest and bravest to try their luck against me. As it should be. There ’ s only really one reason anyone wants to be a knight, and that ’ s to beat other people into a pulp. And a Dragon is the biggest damn thing to fight there is. 
 
 And I ’ m one of the biggest Dragons there is. 
 
 I mean - I don ’ t want to imply that *every* knight came to fight me. Oh no - I was a select choice. My hoard was - and still is - fantastic. Culled from the finest treasures. Statuary and art from history ’ s greatest civilizations. Gold coins in requisite mounds. Crystal and diamond goblets and jewelry. Hell, I employ gnomes just to keep it clean, indexed, and polished, to get the perfect shine from the cavern mouth. 
 
 I have *standards*. 
 
 I dedicated a wall of my cavern to recording the deeds of the heroes I vanquished. Their houses, names, sigils, banners - noted and displayed. I am not some *barbarian* who just burns his foes and eats them whole. I truly value those who make their way to my cave to challenge me. I treat them with honor and respect, as is traditional and right. 
 
 But lately… 
 
 I mean - there were always those idiots who thought they were better than they were, and I usually just put them out of their misery. A few I just straight sent home - I have no desire to roast some kid making a bad choice, or a vassal who ’ d been ordered to by some fat noble. Those made me the angriest. There was one time - I actually paid the poor farmer a bag of gold in exchange for his liege-lord ’ s name and address after the asshole dressed him up in cheap mail and ordered him up my mountain under threat of killing his wife and children. Scorched 250 acres in one breath taking that fat bastard out. But I digress. 
 
 I ’ m just saying, I have standards. And I thought, once upon a time, that everyone else did too. 
 
 I mean - don ’ t get me wrong. I *am* evil. I ’ m quite good at it. I try to be fair, but let ’ s face it, when your hobbies consist of flambéing cattle, kidnapping maidens, and ransacking castles for treasure, you ’ re not a force of good in the world. But it balanced, and they all knew what it takes to stop me. I am not immortal - just very, very hard to kill. 
 
 I guess I noticed first maybe, oh, fifteen years ago? Twenty? It probably happened before that, but there ’ s dry spells. You take out the finest knights of one generation, you have to wait for the next generation to grow up and desire revenge. But this bunch - seriously. I don ’ t think they even care. They walk up to my cave, issue an *incredibly* poorly-worded challenge ( who is teaching these children to write! ) and die without so much as denting a scale. It ’ s the same houses, the same family names. Their ancestry is writ on my walls in probably more careful detail than they themselves maintain in their own records. Some of these twits can barely lift a sword! 
 
 I mean - it ’ s a matter of respect. 
 
 But anyway. The tournament. So at first I suspected another dragon had horned in on my territory. I took a solid year searching to the limits of my range, but not so much as a hatchling had invaded. After that, I thought maybe it was my own fault - had I finally killed off the best and brightest? Had I so decimated the human population that this *was* the best I could come up with? 
 
 To my horror, I found that, no. There were still knights, just as many as there had always been. The little kingdoms that I terrorized were just as prolific and intelligent. They just no longer bothered to come after me. Instead, I got the rejects. The wanna-bes. The losers. The rest of the knights were playing *politics*, getting involved in wars and border disputes and righting wrongs and fulfilling ancient prophecies and - basically - not Dragon Slaying. 
 
 For a while I just refused admittance to anyone that came up to my cave but that got boring. There ’ s only so many topics of conversation one can have with a gnome. I toyed with one-shotting them as they rode up the mountainside - a breath of fire out of nowhere - and it was fun for a while, but ultimately, unsatisfying. I thought about increasing my cattle-mutilation and maiden-kidnapping, but decided if it hadn ’ t been enough to attract the finest warriors before, it wasn ’ t likely to work… unless I went all-out. 
 
 Of course I have human servants too. Through them I spent months working on my master plan. A Tournament. An inter-kingdom, prestigious tournament. Bags of gold and hands of fair maidens for the winners. It took several years to build up, but when it finally gained the size and recognition I wanted - it was glorious. Every single noble family for hundreds of miles attended. The festivities went on for a solid week. Every single king and his entourage was there. I actually started to take a lot of pride and interest in this little project - it was a fun diversion. 
 
 Like building a sand castle before you stomp on it. 
 
 And stomp I did. At the ten-year celebration. The final night ’ s awards ceremony. I was actually nervous, leading up to it. And then - oh, the glory. I timed my approach to appear over the horizon right at sunset, flying directly out of the sun. My first breath lit the treetops and flags - a precision shot. My second lit a ring of fire around the entire grounds - a circumference of miles. Of course, I left a little room to escape - no point in a grand showing if nobody ’ s around to tell the tale afterwards. In face, I specifically singled out every bard, storyteller, and entertainer so that they remained as undamaged as I could manage. 
 
 Oh, how they screamed. For the first time in so many years, I had their undivided attention. 
 
 Of course they didn ’ t fight me there. Airborne, a surprise attack, their tournament grounds, tents, and buildings burning around them? They ran, and died. I boiled them alive in their armor. I bit them in half. I festooned horse entrails from the flagpoles. I even seized an honest-to-god princess to take back with me, right out of her father ’ s protective arms. 
 
 And then I waited. With the hoard gleaming, the princess caged, their lands burning and desecrated, I waited. 
 
 And do you know what they did? 
 
 NOTHING. THAT IS WHAT THEY DID. 
 
 For a solid month. Not one knight. Not one attack. Not even a strongly-worded note. 
 
 I finally couldn ’ t stand it any longer, and one night, let the princess out of the cage to talk. 
 
 Why? I demanded. 
 
 She explained that dragon-slaying, which was an erroneous term as nobody had ever actually *slain* me was outdated. The kingdoms had learned to account for the loss of their cattle and fields occasionally and factored that into their economic plans. The extreme patriarchy decided that knights were far less expendable than maidens, and since I only took unmarried virgins ( STANDARDS ), the easiest way to avoid losing daughters was to marry them off as fast as possible. 
 
 They actually liked having me around! I drove off other dragons and even kept large predators out of my range. It was something of an honor to have your possessions looted for my hoard; some noble families kept track of how often I “ visited ” them and used it at a status symbol! One of the kingdoms had declared my cavern and hoard a “ historical treasure ”. 
 
 They felt I did them a favor by eliminating knights too stupid or short-sighted to try to fight me. I was an asset to the kingdoms. I was an icon. I was practically a god. 
 
 How? I asked her. I eat you. I kill your children. I kidnap your sisters and daughters. I burned you! 
 
 But you ’ re a good person, she said sincerely. You spare the poor and hungry. You kill the rich and mean. You never unfairly burden anyone. The tournament - they'd figured out I hosted it each year - it was so unexpected. She was confused, and thought maybe I was n't feeling well or they'd upset me somehow, and she was sure her father was confused, but nobody was going to come rescue her because she was sure that I was just going to let her go. 
 
 I didn ’ t. I fried her to a fine crisp and snacked on princess jerky for the rest of the night. But it got me thinking - and I finally hit on my mistake. 
 
 *That fucking farmer*. 
 
 So I think I ’ ve decided it ’ s time to move on. I ’ ll get rid of the hoard - probably give it away, I ’ m too fond of it to burn it. I ’ ve heard there ’ s an island off the coast that ’ s never even seen a dragon before. Some seaside living might just be the change I need. 
 
 I mean - there ’ s no point in staying someplace where nobody *appreciates* you. 

