FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

They didn’t even have to knock; as soon as they were at the threshold of the white door, a familiar, cheery voice beckoned them inside.

Patrick pushed it open to reveal a cluttered space full of labelled office filing cabinets and leaning, towering piles of printer paper. Somewhere in it all was a desk and leather chair and a dragon sat upon it.

“It IS you!” the human pointed, “you’re the dragon who opened the portal.”

A wide, toothy smile spread on a red-scaled face, light reflecting off designer sunglasses. The dragon waved a thin hand and the door slammed closed behind them, dramatically; “yes! It is me, your nice dragon who healed you after your last adventure and led you into this far-flung planet of ours. I have been expecting you, as you are likely aware. Tea?” he lifted up a bone-china teapot, sloshing it temptingly in front of empty cups.

Lizzy tried to find a clean space to stand with her large wellies back on her feet, “but this doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t you just bring us straight here? Why all the mucking about with orcs and goblins and elves… especially this elf,” she nodded to Chase, who was looking at the dragon with an open-mouthed, confused stare. Dragons were massive behemoths of claws and death; they didn’t smile at you and offer refreshments while dressed in black leather coats and tight blue trousers.

The happy grin remained; “and where would the fun be in that?” the dragon asked.

Chase folded his arms, “I’m not here to drink tea,” he huffed as a steaming cup was offered to him.

The dragon tilted its horned head, “are you sure? It’s very tasty… if only I could remember where I got it from, I’m almost out of this blend.”

The elf pointed, frowning, “why are you dressed funny? Dragons don’t wear clothes.”

“I suppose I’m just different. I also don’t sleep on a large pile of gold; you really should open your mind to other possibilities. Has this adventure not taught you to abandon assumptions? I’ll have you know this outfit was hand-picked for me by a very good friend of mine a long, long time ago. Inspired by a character from Happy Days, if I recall,” he tapped his sharp chin, thinking.

Mortimer was confused; “the Fonz?”

“That’s the one! Your dear ancestor gave me this unique outfit and I have worn it ever since.”

“My ancestor didn’t watch Happy Days!” the aardvark spluttered. “That was hundreds of years ago! Not the 1980’s.”

“No, but your nephew did and, well, we dragons see past, present and future all at the same time. Your ancestor remembered the future, that is all. Why, if I turn my head like this…” he looked to his left, “I see everything that has ever happened, stretching out further and further. And if I look this way…” he turned his head to the right, “I see all that will be. And here…” he looked at the group head-on, “is the now. It is the now which is most important, though we should never forget the past and be ever vigilant for the future. This skill of ours can really mess our heads up. Much easier if you don’t know you have this ability, but, alas, it’s too late for me. The Anarchy I have now, on the other hand… I’ve never told him. He believes he is only part dragon and belief is very important when it comes to matters of magic. He is living his current incarnation in blissful ignorance, bless him. Please, drink up! I don’t often have visitors. I apologise for the lack of chairs; my long existence has led to me hoarding notes as you can see and my lair has become rather cramped.”

“Is that what all this is?” Lizzy asked, nosing at the stacks of paper and notebooks full of draconish scrawl, piled high around them.

“You know it’s rather funny, my particular flair is for memory manipulation and yet my own is wildly undependable,” the dragon laughed.

“Memory manipulation?” Patrick growled, not liking the sound of that one bit, “what in the blazes is that?”

The dragon sat up straight, more than happy to share, “with one look into my eyes, I can plant a memory in your mind of something that never was,” he grinned, “or remove a memory that doesn’t suit my agenda. Your mortal minds are easily corrupted. You can’t trust a dragon, after all. I could show you…” he curled a slender red finger around the frame of his sunglasses and a bright glow shone out from behind the darkened lenses.

“You’re not using your evil powers on us, dragon!” Chase warned, trying to find something – anything – that he could use as a weapon. The teapot was currently the only thing that came to mind. A solid whack over the dragon’s chunky, red-scaled head and they could make an escape, as fast as they could; which was not fast enough, he feared.

“Evil? No, no. Manipulative, yes, but not evil. We simply enjoy being in control.”

“We killed a dragon like you,” Patrick warned, “control didn’t get that scaly bugger very far!”

The dragon looked offended through the smile, “not like me! Dragons take and collect, but I… I made something; I created something: a friend, a companion, a loyal minion of my very own. An empty vessel cast aside just waiting to be filled with a new life and a new purpose. My dear Anarchy… I shaped him into what he is today. Oh, he believes many things; that my magic was transferred to his ancestor by error, for starters. But we dragons rarely make mistakes. No, I gave him those powers knowing full well what I was doing. It could have been calamitous, you have seen what happens when one of my kind loses their magic, first hand. How vulnerable we are. Instead of killing me, he bonded to me and just look at him now! A great commander amongst the stars, shaping his own little world with his influences. He doesn’t know that, I should add; he blames me for all the changes in this land – if I tell him anything, no matter how absurd, he listens and he makes it true subconsciously. I made a dragon! A great and terrible dragon who doesn’t know he is one, how’s that for a twist? He’ll catch on one day, I’m sure, for now, though, I’m having lots of fun running him around at my bidding.” The dragon chuckled, “some old habits die hard, I suppose.”

Mortimer argued; “what about the book? You wrote that, didn’t you? And it says that magic transfer was all a mistake.”

“I wasn’t about to write the truth, was I? Truth is Anarchy’s thing, not mine.”

“So… everything you just told us could be a lie,” Lizzy frowned.

“Yes! Yes, it could very well be!” the dragon was really chuckling merrily, now, he slapped his hand on the table, sending paper fluttering, “chaos!” he roared, “chaos and anarchy! We dragons thrive in it, revel in it! Ah… how wonderful… now, what were we talking about, again? Before the whole ‘Anar is a powerful dragon who doesn’t know it' bit.”

Chase counted off on his fingers, “portals, tea, something called Happy Days, past present and future, memories, dragon killing…”

“Yes! That’s it, knew it would come back to me. I do ramble on occasion. Here…”

On the clutter before them, the double-handed blade that Chase had been practising with appeared. The elf’s head moved from the dragon to the sword and back again. He slowly reached out, very wisely expecting trickery at any moment.

The dragon spread its hands, “you have been sent on a noble quest to kill a dragon, and so I shall be slain. It will be nice to get out of the office for a bit. Here, allow me to heal you; can’t have you limping up to your glade now, can we? Very unbecoming of a hero,” the dragon flicked his spade-tipped tail, the wide wings at his back spreading wide until they seemed to fill the room.

Lizzy felt her injured foot tingle and the sharp pain from running on jagged stones was miraculously gone. “You really are very strange,” she noted.

Chase blinked, the heavy sword in his grip, holding it aloft; “you’re… going to let me kill you?” he asked with an appropriate air of disbelief.

Still the dragon smiled as the room they were in dissolved around them and was gradually replaced with a canopy of lush green leaves with a mossy pathway beneath their feet, “you do want to be Glade Guardian, do you not, Chase? What a fine destiny, for sure! A life of security and safety within this lovely forest, never needing to step outside of its boundaries? I mean, where else would you go? What else could you do?” the dragon’s smile was a little more twisted as he spoke these words and Chase felt a lump in his throat as feelings stirred; he pushed crazy thoughts from his mind - it was not wise to listen to a dragon, they were tricky, sly and untrustworthy. Even this one.

The dragon took long strides into the elf’s glade, his motorcycle boots leaving heavy imprints. The others followed behind, still feeling as though they were woefully unprepared for whatever was about to go down, here. A dragon who handed his own slayer his sword and smiled about it? But did that dragon ever not smile? It was a bit unnerving.

Elves stopped what they were doing and pointed to the bizarre spectacle, muttering and scurrying to crowd around the clothed lizard as he stopped outside of the Guardian’s hut, fussing at his outfit so he looked just right. The dragon cleared his throat, loudly, drawing more attention.

Chase’s father almost fell out of the door, recoiling at their unusual visitor, “what is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, throwing a worried glance to his troublesome son.

“I am a dragon!” the dragon grinned, “I apologise that I am not dead yet, but your son here will soon see to that,” he spread his fingers to the young, nervous elf as all eyes were upon him. The dragon continued, “the logistics of dragging my body all the way here seemed tricky, and so I very sensibly decided that this was the best course of action. He has a bigger sword, now, too.”

Chase’s father’s eyes widened at the great broadsword in his son’s grip.

Chase tried not to look terrified; was the dragon actually going to die?

“Upon my untimely demise, Chase will be the new Glade Guardian and there will be much rejoicing, I’m sure. Lovely day for it.” His scaly head took in the pleasant surroundings. He sensed the elf’s reluctance, “kill me,” he hissed.

“W-what, really?” Chase squeaked.

“Make it look good. Put on a show.”

Chase gulped, raising the bulky sword up high for a strike; “Die! Terrible… evil… beast? Creature? Fiend! Yes, evil fiend!” he swung with all his might and there was a resounding ‘clang!’ as the metal edge of the blade smacked through leather and into legendarily tough scales. It glanced off, reverberating in his grip, numbing his fingers. It had done nothing, just how he feared. Now he was going to look stupid. Fancy trusting a dragon!

A great shriek and wail erupted from his long, toothy mouth as the dragon threw its hand up to its forehead, staggering back and buckling its knees, “Ohhhhh!” he cried, gnashing his fangs, “I am SLAIN! My days of destruction are over, my reign of terror has come to an end!” He slumped down, his jeans in the moss, hands stretching out before him, fingers curling. He shot his head up to the senior elf Guardian, speaking clear; “it is very important that you know that it is your son, Chase, who slayed me, a dragon. He has fulfilled his destiny and made you proud. Oh! The pain! I shall surely wither and rot…” the dragon rolled over onto his side, writhing and thrashing, still dying and milking the attention for all it was worth, “farewell, cruel world…” he gave a choke and froze, his maw agape, tongue lolling. Still. Unmoving.

There was a hush. The audience didn’t quite know what had happened… but a dragon was dead.

Patrick firmly grasped Chase’s hands, pulling them up with a triumphant shout, “the dragon is slain! All hail the new Glade Guardian!”

The elves cheered, “hooray! Hooray for Chase! Dragon-killer! Mighty warrior!”

Chase beamed, his chest rising with relief and proudness; he had done it! Or he had done something that looked convincing enough and he would take it. His father threw open his arms, embracing him in a tight hug, probably just as grateful as his son that he had done something right for once without calamity.

He held his son’s face in his hands, squeezing his cheeks, “you did it! Your sister and I were afraid you would surely perish, if you could even track down such a creature! I have never been so proud of you.” He turned to Patrick and the others, “I knew I was right to trust you with this quest; mighty dragon-slayers, indeed! Our home is yours, stay as long as you wish, we will celebrate on this most joyous day!”

Patrick preened, “trained him myself. That’s my dragon-killing sword, that is,” he pulled it from the elf’s hands, fastening it back onto his belt. “We’ve had quite the adventure.”

“You will have to tell me more about it, over drinks and dinner; we will have a glorious feast in celebration, I have long-awaited this momentous occasion!” With a flourish, the Guardian removed his silver-edge purple cape and fine flower circlet, offering them out to his son who held them, trembling, his lips quivering. The dragon’s words were still eating at him; was this what he wanted? He’d been fully prepared to fail in all this and leave his father with no choice but to appoint his sister, Brook, as his successor. He’d almost hoped for it.

As he stood with the precious items in his hands a terrible roar filled the skies and a dark shadow passed overhead.

“The Winged Horror!” voices yelled, “the monster is here! Arm yourselves, look sharp!”

Mortimer whipped his head at the sound of thundering hooves approaching the Glade; Anar would be very upset to find his boss lying dead…

Only he wasn’t. The dragon had completely vanished; not a trace of him to be seen.

The elves drew their weapons, waiting for Chase’s orders; he was their new leader, now, and he’d proved himself in battle. He was a hero! If anyone could send the Winged Horror and its evil rider packing, it would be him!

Destroyer galloped into the beautiful Glade, his black flanks steaming, his grey rider’s golden epaulette stars glinting in the dappled light.

Chase’s stomach was full of anxiety; he couldn’t fight the General, he’d seen him almost break Patrick’s jaw in a punch nobody had even seen coming!

The elves were poised, weapons pointed, faces set.

The grey rider pulled up to Chase, his dark steed rearing with a hot snort, a glowing green and metal, barrel-shaped item gripped in his gloved hand, rings of crackling energy spaced along its end-rod; this was the source of the terrible green fire that the legends told of.

“You killed your dragon?” the General asked him as Destroyer tossed his head, showing the elf his nose horn.

Chase paled, “y-yes, I killed the dragon. I am the new Glade Guardian!” he shouted with all the confidence he could muster. He still hadn’t put on his outfit. “You’re next!”

Anar rolled his eyes, “come on, elf, this is your chance to tell your folk about our great alliance.”

“Alliance?” the elf blinked.

“Yeah,” Anar brushed invisible specks of dirt off his black linen officer’s jacket, “I mean, you can have me as your enemy if you’d prefer, heaven knows I have enough of them already, but wouldn’t it be nice if you had me as an ally? I hear you’ve been having trouble with orcs in these parts and I’m known for keeping those green-skins in check, right? I can make everything safe for a very long time around here. All I ask is a bit of negotiation. Look at ‘em,” he nodded to the angry elves around him, “think how impressed they’ll be if you wrangle some land defence from me - the dreaded Winged Horror’s rider, yeah? You’re in charge, now,” he laughed, darkly, “it’s not all it’s cracked up to be, kid, I’ll promise you that, being the leader means everything is always your fault. You ready for people to be pissed at you?”

Chase paled, the heavy robes of duty like a lead-weight pulling him down as the aardvark General leaned to him with a crafty smile; “unless you got better places to be, that is. I’m not always a dick…” he pulled a sleek rectangular box from within one of his many fatigue pockets and hovered a grey finger over a red button. A screen lit up on its smooth face in strange sigils, an array of symbols waiting for one purposeful touch. “After all, I like adventure as much as the next hero. But… I’m made of the right stuff, are you?” he winked. With a firm click of the red button a swirly blue circle materialised within the glade, whirling with a mystical aura. “It’s time for your new buddies to go home. Again. With any luck, they’ll stay there this time.” The General pulled up his long, grey head, raising his voice for the benefit of the crowd, “I look forward to our negotiations together, Glade Guardian; I’ve seen your mighty, dragon-slaying feat from the skies and I’m hella impressed, I must say! Quite a fierce band of elven warriors you have here, my word, yes. I won’t cause beef with you lot in a hurry. Away!” the nightmare unfolded his wings and turned on his sturdy hooves, roaring as muscled haunches spurred him to a thundering gallop, taking his grey rider out down the mossy path and up into the air, flying high beyond the elven community’s sight.

Chase gazed wistfully at the portal, feeling sad that his friends were leaving him so soon.

Patrick thumped him gently upon the arm, “it’s been a blast, Guardian! Best of luck with… everything. I’ll miss you.”

Chase’s face fell, “no,” he moaned, “I don’t want you to go. I can’t do this without you.”

Lizzy smiled, “not every woodland elf gets such a wonderful story to tell, I’m sure of it. Just embellish a few details and they’ll be talking about ‘Chase the dragon-slayer’ for years.”

Mortimer grumped, “so much for seeing my nephew, he all but kicked us out! Cheeky sod.”

The rabbit’s whiskers twitched in amusement, “you did upset him quite a bit, considering. That orc Queen probably chewed his ear off. It’s for the best. Come on, before that portal closes without us and your nephew gets really mad.”

The aardvark sighed, “I suppose.”

Chase watched them wave cheerily to him as they walked through the blue circular door between worlds, his own feet taking him nearer to it as he said his farewells in return, his heart sad with loss; would he ever see them again? Would he ever see anything outside of the forest?

His muddied elf-boot touched a rock sticking out of the soft green ground. It was a very uneven path, wasn’t it?

The blue circle began to close and his mind raced with urgency; was he made of hero stuff? Heroes did some crazy, illogical things sometimes…

“Oh no, I’ve tripped! I’m so clumsy!” he shouted, dropping his Guardian costume upon the ground and stumbling forwards; well, if a bit of overacting was good enough for the dragon, it was good enough for him! “Brook, take my place, you are the new Guardian! Remember the Winged Horror’s rider is a reasonably good guyyyy!” with arms flailing he fell into the blue, moving light, and was swallowed up as it blinked into a tiny point and then went out, completely.

“Oof!” he smacked headfirst into the solid, unyielding frame of Patrick.

“Chase? What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?!” the man demanded, catching him, “we just got you ready to be Guardian and now you come hurtling through our portal? Bloody fool of an elf!”

“I want to drive a Range Rover,” he blurted, getting to his feet. “There’s no Range Rover’s in the forest. There’s no friends in the forest! What is this place?” he looked around him at the curious room made of metal. There were posters on the wall with planets and stars and constellations.

“This is one of my spare rooms,” Mortimer explained, “it was the dragon’s lair many hundreds of years ago. You are in my house, or castle, rather. The seat of my ancestor the dragon was talking about: Warlock Court. This is not your home planet; you really shouldn’t be here. Unfortunately, I’m not sure how we can get you back,” he frowned.

“I don’t want to go back! Brook can be Guardian. I want to see another world, it sounds exciting.”

Mortimer snorted, “exciting? Hardly. There’re no rings around this planet and we only have one sun. Nowhere near as exotic as where you’re from.”

“And anyway,” Patrick scowled, “you can’t drive without the proper paperwork, can’t just turn up out of the blue from outer space and expect the DVLA to issue a licence; you don’t exist. Got to have a birth certificate and proof of residency. Not that I’m not happy to teach you,” he added at Chase’s crestfallen expression.

“I suppose the dragon will sort it all out one way or another. Until then, I guess my home is your home now. Let me show you around…” Mortimer led them out across the landing’s faded brown carpet and down the grand staircase leading to lower storeys.

“But didn’t we kill the dragon? I’m very confused,” Chase admitted, peering at the unfamiliar surroundings.

“He did some very bad acting, that’s for sure. I told you he was a queer fellow.”

Lizzy bounded down the last of the steps, “perhaps you’ll be seeing in the new Millennium with us? How exciting! Do you have fireworks on your world? I bet you’ve never watched television! Wait until you use a computer for the first time, your mind is going to be blown.”

Chase was excited; “yes! All those things! But especially the car driving. If I can,” he added. “I suppose I was a bit rash, but I couldn’t just let you go! Look at this,” he marvelled at the electric digital wall clock on the wall, at the many curious objects that lay all around him. He’d never seen a plug socket or a light switch before this adventure, never mind a Sony VCR or a leather sofa. He walked up to a large portrait painting, hung up at the far end of the long dining table; “who’s that?” he asked.

An aardvark looked down at them, a black, web-like scar at his grey chest and a long cloak of brilliant blue clasped around his neck. In his open palms rolling orbs spun, dazzling and glittering in azure hues.

“Oh, that’s the original Anarchy, that is; our great ancestor. We’ve got a book about him; the dragon wrote it in his native language - though now I’m not so sure it’s completely truthful. I’ll be happy to show you sometime if you’re interested.” Mortimer picked up a bundle of official papers from atop his side cabinet; they hadn’t been there before, he was sure of it. He flicked through and read aloud: Chase Alltrip… born on the twenty-fifth of August nineteen eighty-one… in Birmingham of all places, I don’t believe it, it’s a birth certificate! And… adoption papers?!” the aardvark gasped, “that bloody dragon! What does he think he’s playing at? I…” he looked at the young elf who had a quizzical expression. “I think you’re going to be here a while, Chase. Are you good with horses?”

Lizzy couldn’t help but be nosy, “Chase is your son now?” she grabbed the official documents, flicking through.

Patrick started laughing, “there’s no way that can go wrong! You? A father? Can’t even steer a boat.”

Mortimer’s eyes flashed, craftily, “good job I’ve got you around then, isn’t it? Seeing as you’ll be teaching him to drive, for starters.”

Chase folded his arms, “no BMW’s,” he sniffed. “I won’t be a bloody BMW driver.”

“Don’t you worry, lad,” Patrick reassured him, still highly amused, “I’ll teach you how to use indicators. You’ll start off in a Corsa same as everyone else, anyway.”

Lizzy’s stomach growled; they still hadn’t eaten anything after the Happy Hovel feast the previous night, “Chase has never had pizza, we should order in some pizza. I’m sure there’s a menu around here somewhere, always dropping through our door.” She handed back the documents to Mortimer and went off in search for fast food pamphlets.

“He’s never played Monopoly! Oh, the possibilities are endless, Mortimer! I’m the top hat,” he winked, “but I warn you, lad, once I get all the train stations it’s game over.”

“Train stations?” Chase repeated, his brow furrowed.

Patrick threw up his hands, “he doesn’t even know what a train is! We can take a day trip to the Severn Valley; we could take the holiday special and go to Brighton beach and give him a donkey ride – he’s never had a Mr. Whippy with a flake!”

Mortimer wasn’t convinced; “he’s not a toddler, Patrick!”

The human paused, mid rummage through various board games in the next room, “why, of course he isn’t, we can get him drunk and let him loose with my shotgun and clay pigeons! Even better.”

“No, no,” the aardvark wagged a finger, sagely, “he’s under my care, now, he must keep all his fingers.”

“Ok, got the Pizza Hut menu; I’m going for the personal pepperoni deep pan, what do you boys want?”

Chase took the offered piece of printed paper from Lizzy and scrolled through. What a wondrous adventure this would be! No orcs, no goblins, no heavy robes and silly flower circlet that brought responsibility and demands. Just mozzarella sticks – whatever they were – and clay pigeons – also a mystery, but certainly less dangerous than wargs! “I want one of everything,” he breathed.

Mortimer tutted, “well you can’t, or I’ll have to go to the cash machine!”

Patrick all but flew into the room, dropping Cluedo onto the floor, “I’ll take him! In the Range Rover! Come on, elf, let me show you how our banking system works.” He grasped the elf’s cuff and pulled out a set of keys from his jacket with a flourish, dangling them like rare treasure. “I’ll even let you use the horn.”

“How was your day at work, darling?”

Anar poured himself a very generous glass of wine as he smiled at his wife across the restaurant table; “you’ll never guess what happened today.” He took a healthy swig and leaned back, swirling the crimson liquid.

“Hmmm, well, you had to come back from the Crystal Empire because of an emergency. Knowing you, that could either mean a war you didn’t expect broke out or you got bored,” Sarah laughed.

He shook his long, grey head; “even better than an unexpected war, my uncle turned up with some friends on a quest to kill our dragon.”

“No!” her mouth fell open, “they didn’t, surely? I’d have heard about it if they had.”

“Dragon’s safe back in his office, drinking tea, probably did the old sunglasses trick on them. Uncle looked well, anyway, even if he had been going around pretending to be me and got himself into a vehicle accident. He even tried talking to goblins, by all accounts, promised to negotiate with the White temple elves on their behalf, and you know what a bunch of uppity arseholes they are.”

Sarah almost spat her wine, “he did what now?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into the old duffer! He was never this interesting when I went to stay with him.” He looked disappointed.

“And why…?”

“He missed me, I think. I hope. That old, bald human guy he was with squared up to me, gutsy bugger, so I’m thinking he’s to blame for their shenanigans. I got rather cross about it, actually, and now I feel bad. I sent Monty and his pals back home. This world isn’t safe for middle-class twits like them; it’s barely safe for me and I have a whole army at my disposal.”

Sarah smiled, taking her husband’s grey hand in hers across the tablecloth, “well then, if he misses you then you should go visit your uncle. Much safer, that way. Take the Ferrari, he’ll be so happy to see it again, even if it is mostly held together by heavy-duty gaffer tape and a prayer. A little holiday will do you a world of good. And you can see how the renovations on your old castle are going. How long has it been since you went home?”

Anar nodded, “too long, honey, too long. But you would want to come too? And we can’t leave out Victus. He’d love to see his great-uncle Mortimer.”

Sarah shook her head, “Queen Raz is always saying we need a girly vacation, we’ll go to the big city for shoe shopping while you’re gone,” she gave Anar an amused look. Shoe shopping was not his idea of a good time.

“I’ll never get used to that dizzy woman being a Queen. Fine, you go shopping, I’ll save my ears and take Victus to stay with Monty, if I can get away from work, at least.”

“You’re the General! Just say you’re going and go.” She leaned across to him with a crafty smile at her lips, “Put the dinosaurs in charge.”

“You know,” Anar said, slowly, his eyebrows high, “I have always wondered what the end of the world would look like…”