Sven was totally pumped. After all, he had just slain a dragon. A hundred-foot, fire-breathing, shakes-the-earth-when-it-moves dragon. It had been an epic-hour-long battle, but he and his companions had finally slain the mighty beast. Now, of course, they were helping themselves to some hard-earned treasure. Cries of delight filled the cavern as they sifted through the enormous pile of goodies that the dragon had hoarded.
“Hey, check it out!” called Larry the Lightfoot (the thief of the group—he could steal a man’s false teeth from his mouth undetected), holding up a green-glowing scepter. “Looks like the Staff of Infection, right? Jackpot!” He grinned in a less-than-sane manner as he flourished his new prize. Larry was a Skulk—a member of a diminutive but deadly race, half the height of men but twice as lethal. Larry had snuck into the dragon’s cave, scouted around for a bit, and reported back to Sven—the scouting report had proven invaluable for the battle plan. The Lightfoot had earned his one-third share of the loot.
Desdemona, the brains of the group, rushed towards Larry and snatched the Staff from his hand. Ignoring the Lightfoot’s protests, she held the Staff up to the light, scrutinizing it slowly. “No, Larry. The magical signature on this artifact clearly designates it as the Staff of Chief, blessed with the power to grant authority. I feel it in my hollow bones.” (She was an Elder, an ageless, magical being. And, indeed, Elders had hollow bones.) Sven strode over to examine the Staff. “Excuse me,” he rumbled, taking the Staff. “There’s a barcode on the side, see? No doubt it can be identified by…” He reached into his pocket and produced a smooth, black wand. “…The Wand of Scanning! Ha!” He pointed the wand, and a red light shone from the end. There was a loud BEEP! and all three adventurers jumped. Then a voice spoke from the wand.
“This is the Staff of Legend. It was cut from the Tree of Factors by the greatest blade of all, Occam ’s Razor. This staff grants the powers of flight and invulnerability from harm, and can also function as an impromptu microphone for karaoke. Suggested retail price: $19.99.”
“Sweet!” exclaimed a wide-eyed Larry. “That’s gotta be worth loads in today’s economy!”
The three adventurers high-fived and went back to digging through the pile of loot.

 

From his hidey-hole in the corner of the cavern, Draco the little dragon watched sullenly. Who were these loud, evil people who had burst into his cave, slain his mother, and were now stealing their stuff? He wiped a flaming tear from the corner of his eye. These—these villains would pay for what they had done, that was for sure. But how could he hope to take his revenge? Little Draco was barely over a year old, and barely six feet tall from snout to tail. Breathing fire pretty much felt the same as barfing fire—he needed a bit more practice in that area before he was fit for terrorizing the countryside. And he didn’t know any magic either—his mother could mesmerize whole villages with her voice, but Draco couldn’t even get the rats to listen. Those blasted rodents—they’d just laugh at him and skitter off.
Draco studied the three intruders, trying to assess how dangerous they were. Their leader was a huge Northman with a horned helm—well, technically, they were antlers. Humph. Draco had heard the others call the big man Sven. There were some puns that could be spun out of that. Draco imagined himself ambushing the Northman with a growl of “It’s Sven too long.” Well, maybe not. He was pretty big, and that was a pretty bad pun anyway.
Then there was the Elder sorceress—Desdemona. Spells and such. Draco’s mom had taught her son well about the dangers of magic. He’d have to be careful around that sorceress. And Larry the Skulk. Draco hated Skulks. Fast as a viper and twice as mean. Mommy dragon had used to teach Draco math with Skulks: Draco, if a Skulk is half the height of a man and twice as deadly, and twice the height of the largest viper but twice as mean, who is meaner—the viper or the man?
Huh?
He and his mother had sat right there on that pile of gold for his math lessons. Now these thieves were “reclaiming” it. Didn’t they know why dragons hoarded gold? Gold was evil. It was toxic to humans, turning them into greedy, selfish monsters. Dragons took gold and guarded it in their lairs to protect people. Sadly, that had merely created a phenomenon known as inflation. And the more gold that the dragons took to protect people, the more valuable the gold became. It was a losing battle, and the greed of humans had only increased.
It was time for Draco to make his move. He had to act before the intruders had taken all of his mother’s stuff. But what could he do against three armed enemies? His eyes alighted on a gleam at the far end of the cavern. Aha. His mother’s most powerful artifact, forged in a bygone age to fight the forces of evil. With this mighty weapon, perhaps he could finally defeat these evil invaders and avenge his mother.
Quietly, carefully, he began to creep across the cave towards the Sword of Kittens.

A sudden noise startled Sven from his looting. With the grace of an elephant on roller skates, he dropped the item he was holding—the Glasses of the Third Dimension—and spun, grabbing his enormous battle-axe. His companions, similarly alerted, dropped into battle stances on either side of him. Larry whipped out his magic dagger—the Point of Emphasis-- and Desdemona brandished her wand. All three gaped in surprise at the enemy facing them.
A tiny dragon—approximately the height of a man—stood proudly at the top of the pile of gold. In its clawed right hand, it clutched a pearly white sword. (Yes, dragons have opposable thumbs. Everybody knows that.) Desdemona gasped as she recognized the dragon’s blade.
“The Sword of Kittens,” she breathed in disbelief. “Impossible.”
“Suggested retail price: $19.99,” chirped the Wand of Scanning.
“Aww, he’s kinda cute, the little guy,” Larry said.
The little dragon raised the sword over its head. “My name is Draco. You killed my mother. Prepare to die.”
Larry scratched his head. “Hey, isn’t that from—“
Draco swooped from the pile with a rush of little wings, swinging the sword at the three adventurers, and all three threw themselves flat on the ground to avoid the attack as the little dragon swooshed by overhead, his blow taking off the tips of the horns—excuse me, antlers—on Sven’s helmet. The Northman glared over at Desdemona. “Hey, cast a spell or something!”
The three leapt to their feet as Draco circled, aiming blows at their heads. Desdemona pulled a small piece of candy from her pockets and threw it at the diminutive dragon with a few magic words. Draco tried to dodge, but the candy hit him with a ping and instantly he was completely encased in a giant, sticky lollipop. Panicked, he tried to move, but he was completely immobilized, falling to the floor and bouncing a few times before coming to a rest on his side.
Larry approached cautiously and kicked the lollipop-encased dragon with his toe. “Nice. You’re not going anywhere now are you, little psycho?”
Desdemona grinned and tapped the hardened candy. “A little spell called Dum-Dum’s Sticky Tomb. Never fails. I learned it from a hairy—“
With an explosion of sticky shards, Draco erupted from the lollipop (possibly the first time that line has ever been used in literary history), sending the adventurers flying backwards. Before Desdemona could get up, Draco tapped her with the Sword of Kittens, and with a poof the Elder disappeared and an adorable white kitten took her place.
“Meow,” trilled the kitten, blinking its enormous eyes.
“Desdemona!” shouted Sven in surprise.
“Aww…” observed Larry the Lightfoot.
Draco leaned over to Sven to turn him into a kitten (another literary first) but the Northman rolled out of range, batting the Sword of Kittens away with his battle-axe. “You’ll pay for that, creature!” he exclaimed, rising to his feet with murder in his eyes.
Larry leapt out of the way as Sven charged at Draco, bowling the dragonling off of his feet and sending him crashing into a gilded throne. The Sword of Kittens flew off to the side, out of reach. Sven brought down a crashing blow with his battle-axe, hitting Draco between the eyes. Larry cringed.
Luckily, Draco had inherited his iron-hard scales from his mother, and the battle-axe broke in two. Sven stared in astonishment at his sundered weapon as Draco clambered away, towards the Sword of Kittens.
He almost made it before Sven tackled him from behind. Draco’s snout crashed into the pile of gold with a clatter. Sven turned him over and clasped his hands around the dragonling’s throat. He began to squeeze until Draco couldn’t breathe. He was seeing stars. And unicorns, although that was normal, because unicorns do, in fact, exist. But he was suffocating to death. Then Draco remembered—he was a dragon!  And dragons breathe fire!
With his last puff of air, Draco sent a scorching fireball into Sven’s face, blasting the Northman off of him. Sven rolled in a  heap to the base of the pile, yowling in pain and holding his singed face. Draco retrieved the Sword of Kittens and walked down to him, stepping over his blasted-off eyebrows and nose-hair as Larry stood uncertainly.
The dragonling stood over the Northman, thought for a second, and said “It’s Sven too long.” Then he waved the Sword of Kittens and the savage warrior was replaced by a mewing, heart-melting ball of fur.
“Meow,” said Sven.
Next, Draco turned to Larry, who made no move to resist. “Eh, whatever. Go ahead.” Two seconds later, Draco stood with three mewling kittens in his mother’s cave. The golden hoard twinkled merrily, as if it were laughing.
Draco crouched and scooped up the three kittens, who sniffed curiously at their scaly guardian. The little dragon tickled them under their chins as he walked towards the exit from the cave. He paused for a moment to say goodbye to his mother.
“The world could use a little less greed and a few more kittens,” he observed sagely. Then he stepped out into the light and into the world.