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Once upon a time, there was a fierce dragon that lived in a castle located far up in the mountains. The dragon had kept busy for the past 200 years raiding villages, hording stolen gold, and eating livestock and the occasional person--he didn't much care for people, but he wasn't one to waste food. His castle was loaded from floor to ceiling with treasure, and he loved spending his afternoons counting his golden trophies and making giant-sized snow angels in his mountains of gold coins. Life was good for this strong, middle-aged dragon. Yes, life was good, until one day when he got an unexpected visitor.

There was a knock on the front door. The dragon peeked out the window to see who it was. It was a man atop a dark stallion and clad from head to foot in shiny armor. The blade of his outstretched sword gleamed in the afternoon sun.

“Come out ye dragon!” the man yelled from inside his helmet, “Come and meet thy destiny at the edge of my formidable sword! Thou hast terrorized the village long enough, and I, Sir Delfus Prichard of Longbelch, son of Odwagon the Third, grandson of Collin Blackweld the Fourth, dragon slayer of Tens and friend to None, have come to thee to run thee through and avenge the innumerable evils of thy fiery, gluttonous wrath!”

His voice had cracked a bit on the word “wrath.” The dragon chuckled a bit. He liked visitors, and he especially liked long conversations with those who sought his demise, so, after thinking carefully what he should say, he called back through the window-- ….
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