"Maybe they sleep on it? Perhaps it's comfortable?" replied Alan "Have you ever slept on gold?"
"Not really, no. The life of a mercenary isn't that luxurious" sighed Dave, a grunt of approval going through the men at the table. "But even if it is comfortable, do you think our kings and queens do the same? They learn from dragons? Or the dragons learned from them?"
"Don't know. I never really met a noble. No, wait, I did. But we didn't get to talk much - they loose interest in chatter when arrows are sticking out of their throats" chuckled Alan, as the rest of the company smiled.
"True dat. But still - isn't it a bit odd? Noblemen and dragons seem to have a lot in common. Both like riches, both oppress whatever people they can get their hands on. And both definitely like virgins" Dave drank deeply from his cup before continuing "You know what I think? The dragons ARE the nobles. Or the other way around, it doesn't matter."
"So what? You goin out hunting noble dragons now?" laughed Alan "Boy, go find yourself some real work before you get into trouble. And let go of that mug - you're starting to talk nonsense again." The men at the table agreed to that and, after a short struggle, managed to take away Dave's beverage. Sulking, he left the tavern and decided to take a stroll under the night sky. The idea of vile beasts ruling over humankind wouldn't let him go. He always had crazy theories after too much beer - but unlike his past fantasies, this one seemed strong and true. Dragons ruling over humankind in disguise...
The next day Dave woke up in a gutter, as usual. And as usual the little money he had with him was gone. It was highly doubtful anyone stole it - after all, even stoned, the man was a formidable swordsman, an excellent archer and deadly assassin. All his past adventures forged him into a great mercenary - still he had a very weak head and a liking for strong beer.
As his senses adjusted to the environment he woke up in, yesterday's thought struck again, splitting his head apart - Dragons are Noblemen. The man found a puddle and splashed his face with water, hopefully. His skull pounding with dull pain, he picked himself up and swaying made towards the tavern. The doors were nearly torn out of their frame and every window was broken - it seems his comrades had a heated debate over something, most likely the share each one would get after the next job. Typical. As Dave entered the cool interior, a head splitting crash heralded the demise of the massacred door. The owner was nowhere to be seen - it would not be surprising to see him locked in a basement with his family.
I would like to stop here and explain why I wrote this. For some time now I have been writing short stories about Dave, for training purposes. No one is able to assess if it is good or not, tho, so I would like an opinion of the community here - what needs to be changed in my current style of writing?
I am aware that dialog is kind of eerie. I'm not used to making quotes over dialog text - in all the books I've read in my native language we use a dash before the text spoken by a character.
My concern is also the language I use - I tend to over detail everything and leave out other parts that could be important for a reader.
Any comments are welcome and will be taken into account
) -- now that it's gone I can freely make other, more important mistakes in the art of war... Writing, I mean.
