text: Attacking him head on would be suicide. Sure, it would be nice to blind him or cut into his underbelly, but he would just fry you with a blast of fire before you even got close. There is only one course of action to take in times like this: dodge.
  
  
  Like a timid bear you perform a false charge, pulling up at the last second as a blast of fire scorches the ground in front of you. Without your bulky armor you are able to twist and twirl, spin and swirl, dip and dive, jump and jive and pirouette away from the dragon fire while inching ever closer to the monster. Since when did you get moves like Jagger?
  
  
  “Die mortal,” the dragon shouts, releasing another blast of fire.
  
  
  You duck behind a conveniently placed boulder just in time to escape. The dragon stalks closer. His massive limbs quake the ground with every step: his tail smashing the wall without purpose. Another blast of fire. The heat coming off the rock is like lava. You fear it is about to melt.
  
  
  Is this it? Is this the end?
  
  
  “Foolish mortal. The only way to kill a dragon is with a disorganized band of heroes and a bard, or with a magic sword. And you don’t have either. Mwhahaha.”
  
  
  Shit. I’m totally fucked. Why didn’t I read that book on dragon clichés Jon bought me last Christmas? Think fast, think fast, think fast. Brain blast! Music! Music soothes the savage beast. Shit, I forgot my fiddle.
  
  
  The dragon rumbles closer, taking his sweet time. Any more bright ideas, Mr. Hero?
  > You dodge?
  If Jon taught you one thing, it is how to dodge like it is your job, and it kind of is. Sort of. I don’t know, just kill the damned thing.
  
  
  You leap over the rock and attempt a triple double-axle barrel roll in midair and land on the dragon’s head. For some reason, this works and you manage to dodge the dragon’s fire breath in the process with your sixth sense.
  
  
  The dragon thrashes his head against the cave walls, but you manage to cling on while avoiding having your body smashed to a thousand bloody bits. You hack at the dragon’s head with your sword, but it may as well be a butter knife for all the good it does against the tough dragon scales. Maybe you should have dodged over toward one of those fancy looking magic swords.
  
  
  Shut up. I have this under control.
  
  
  Ok. Whatever you say, Mr. Hero.
  
  
  “Hey, dragon, you suck.”
  
  
  “I will not have a mortal make mockery of me!” the dragon bellows. “Get. Off. My. Head.”
  
  
  The dragon swings his mighty tail at you, but once again, you manage to use your sixth sense to dodge all of the attacks. The dragon repeatedly pummels himself in the head with his own tail to the point where he shatters both his scales and his skull. You drive your sword into the crevice and perform a super-duper double whammy backflip with a 720 degree spin off the dragon’s head as he bursts into flames.
  
  
  “Wicked. Now how the hell am I going to haul all this shit down the mountain?”
  
  
  …
  
  
  What, aren’t you going to finish the story?
  
  
  Yeah, just give me a second.
  
  
  What the fuck is the problem? I won, I want to marry my princess and lose my damn virginity already.
  
  
  I’m just struggling to comprehend how you turned into a jedi.
  
  
  A what?
  
  
  Never mind.
  
  
  …
  
  
  Word of your victory quickly spreads across the land. The king of Irelandshire showers you in gratitude and offers you his daughter as a bride, which you decline because you proved to be a noble and heroic knight and you already have a bride. You take some of the dragon’s treasure back home with you and build a series of castles and forts at strategic points across the countryside. Your future kin are keeping this kingdom for life. Historians and bards alike flock to scribble down your life story and paint it in song.
  
  
  Your wedding to Princess Anne is a legend in its own right: drunken revelry at its finest. Samwellington entertains the masses by sticking himself with pointy knives and not screaming in pain, good old pork lard. Jon and The Rabid Fox have a friendly sparring match, showcasing some of the finest swordsmanship since your melee. Jon later demonstrates another kind of swordsmanship with his wildfire gingersnap of a wife. On the table. Next to one of the cakes. The king gets drunk and accidentally burns down the stage while a troupe of troubadours are performing. No one important dies.
  
  
  Most importantly, you finally get to bang Princess Anne, that blue-eyed blonde haired big bosomed goddess of your dreams: a night of ecstasy ends in an explosion of pleasure with many more to come.