[ WP ] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium . Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you , the great evil , none finish . However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash , looks you in the eyes and says `` I have a proposition for you . ''

It had been a good day; I'd had a nice lunch ( three cattle ) and was settling down for an afternoon nap. Then I heard the footprints. They always think that because I'm huge I ca n't notice small things, and they can sneak up on me. That one guy, dressed in black with a curved sword, did actually make it pretty far, but he had extra soft boots. And still, I heard him coming. 
 
 But this was different. No clinking of armor. And the echo was clearly someone walking down the middle of the main passage, instead of sticking toward the side. And walking regularly, instead of in quick bursts, like someone sneaking from safe spot to another. Either this was the most overly-confident and foolish knight in all of existence, or he was just lost. Then he called my name. 
 
 `` Hello? Is this the home of Valgraud the Destroyer? I'm -- -'' 
 
 Turning the corner, and seeing me laying on my pile of treasure, he paused, both in his walking and his speaking. Then he continued, `` Um, yes, I see that I'm in the right place. My name is Thomas, and I've brought you some gold.'' He threw a coin into the pile. `` I have a proposition for you.'' 
 
 This was not something I was used to. Usually they try to steal my gold. Sometimes they promise me gold if only I do something for them. I eat them. I chose not to eat this one. 
 
 I fixed him with a stare: `` Your money has bought you five minutes of life. Use them wisely, and you may get more.'' 
 
 He looked nervous. That was nice; they taste better when there's some adrenaline in the blood. He said `` Well, you see, you like gold, and I know a way to get you lots of gold. Not as much as you've got here, I admit. But still, you'd have more gold than you do now.'' 
 
 I nodded at him, and said `` Yes, and what's in it for you? Going to keep some of the gold, are you?'' 
 
 `` Oh, no,'' he said, `` I do n't actually care about gold that much. I care about stories. And people care about stories. They like stories so much they'll trade gold for them. I want stories, and I want to share them with people for their money. And I'll bring the gold to you.'' 
 
 I decided he'd get a couple more minutes. `` Go on,'' I said. 
 
 `` I'm a writer. I want you to tell me your stories, stories of thousands of years of history that nobody knows anymore, and I'll write them down. You'll get full credit, of course, I'm not a plagiarist. But then I'll go and tell the stories to people from what I've written down, and collect the money, and bring the money back to you. I was hoping for maybe two or three hours' worth, and then I'll travel around for a year or so, and bring back all the money, and then we can get a few hours' more written down. I do n't want the gold. I just want to tell stories.'' 
 
 This sounded wrong, to me. `` Why would a writer be satisfied working as a scribe? If you want stories, you can just make them up. There is something you're not telling me. **Truth, now! **'' 
 
 He looked terrified. Words started spilling out of him. `` People hate my stories. My stories stink. I need good stories.'' 
 
 He sat down, looking dejected. `` I'm a terrible writer. I've tried to write my own stories, but I have no sense of pacing and I always get started and then ca n't figure out where the plot should go. And all the characters end up being versions of me.'' He kicked at the gold. `` I lied when I said people hate my stories. They *would* hate my stories, if my stories were interesting enough to bother hating. Mostly they just do n't pay attention at all.'' He sighed. `` When I said I was coming here, people said I'd get killed. I tried to blow it off, but the fact is that I'd rather get eaten than go on as I was, a failure at the only thing I ever cared about.'' 
 
 This was pathetic. I considered eating him, but `` pathetic'' tastes lousy. 
 
 He shrugged. `` So, what'll it be? I brought some paper, I can write down some stuff right now. I'll leave you alone for about a year, tell the stories as many places as I can, and bring back all the gold that I collect. If you're happy with how much it is, you can give me more stories. If you're not, I guess you can eat me.'' 
 
 I considered his proposal. Then I ate him. Why should he get famous telling my stories? 

