[ WP ] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon . However , this is just a coincidence ; there is absolutely nothing magical about it , and you 're getting really tired of explaining this .

`` It is you!'' 
 
 No, it was n't. Like the ten times before that. 
 
 `` Yes, it is! You're the chosen one, the prophesied Dragon Master sent to us!'' 
 
 For the eighth time, I sighed. No, it was just a birthmark. It had nothing to do with the so-called Dragon Master that these elves kept talking about. 
 
 `` Yes, you are!'' 
 
 He reached across the table to grab my wrist. I let him, even though I ground my teeth. 
 
 `` Look! It's red around the edges, with black coloring -- you'll want to get that looked at, could be infection -- and it's got the eye in the right place! You're the One!'' 
 
 I glared. 
 
 `` Oh, you do n't believe me? Say this word. Fusterodie.'' 
 
 `` Foosh row daw.'' 
 
 `` No, no. The't' is silent and the'e' carries. Fusterodie.'' 
 
 `` Fus... rodie?'' 
 
 `` That's better. We'll work on that tomorrow. The language is part of your heritage my child.'' He winked. `` Right now, you must come with me --'' 
 
 `` Hell no. I'm leaving this place by myself, old man.'' 
 
 `` No. I'm really not.'' 
 
 His grip tightened. `` You can not refuse, my child. You are the prophesied Dragon Master, and you will bring salvation to us.'' 
 
 I stared at his eyes. They were glowing green. 
 
 `` You will not resist --'' 
 
 A blast stopped his speaking. He looked down at the gaping hole in the middle of the table. 
 
 My ears were ringing. `` Like I said... old man,'' I whispered. `` I'm not who you think I am.'' 
 
 I shook off his hand and fired two more times. He fell backward on the floor, black blood and bad booze mingling into a toxic puddle. I got up. 
 
 I looked at the bartender with a hand underneath the bar. I pointed my blaster at him, and he stopped. Then I reached into my pocket. 
 
 `` Here's some credits for the trouble,'' I said, and threw the card at him. `` I was never here.'' 
 
 `` The corporations never are,'' he muttered. `` But the damned elves keep coming in.'' 
 
 I saw him glancing at my tattoo and was embarrassed. 
 
 `` It's not real,'' I said. `` There is no prophesy.'' I holstered my weapon and put my hands in my pockets. 
 
 He grunted. `` They come in droves.'' 
 
 `` Maybe it's the whiskey,'' I said as I walked out into Skagit rain. 
 
 `` Maybe it's you,'' I heard him whisper.
