A NaNoWriLess Sampler Platter.
2 tonight, but they're a little longer. I figure if that dude can write a boy and his dragon tale at 15, then I'm twice the age so I should make twice the money. With that on the table, who could pass up doing one? Not me.

We also have a little more from the noble House of Manthick, in "Beyond the Welshman's Ambition."


A NaNoWriLess Boy and His Dragon Novel.
Itsagon

Itsagon was a shrewd but simple peasant boy living with his Uncle and cousin in a decent house outside of a humble village. One day, he found a big blue rock-jewel thing that later hatched into a dragon, which grew up pretty quick and started talking to him.

"I am your Dragon, Sambuca, and you are my rider."

"WHY ME!?!???!" Itsagon shouted.

"There's no need to shout, I can hear you just fine," said Sambuca. "I chose you because the land is ruled by an evil king and you're the one who can deliver us from him. Oh, and also because I love you."

"Awwww, that's what every boy who gets a dragon wants to hear. Okay, I'll help you. You can fly and carry me, right?"

"I sure can."

"And do you eat people, ever?"

"They're not my favorite but I can stomach them. Do you have any fava beans and a nice chianti?"

"I don't think so, why do you ask?"

"Never mind, let's just get on with your idea."

Itsagon and Sambuca flew for five days and nights, until they reached the lands of the evil king. They felt their bond growing closer than ever before during that time. They were all set to sink into the happy bliss of boy-dragon affinity, when they spotted what they were looking for.

"Is that him, Sambuca?"

"It sure is. Oooh, and he's out riding alone, too. Perfect."

The evil king was out for his nightly horseback ride. He'd conquered enough of the land to where he felt safe in the countryside surrounding his foreboding castle.

The dragon and boy landed in front of him.

"You! A dragon rider. I thought I had killed you all!"

"I guess you did? I'm a new one," shrugged Itsagon. "Anyway. Sambuca, NOW!"

Sambuca ate the king in one gulp, while he was still talking this-and-that about he was unthwartable.

"Ugh," said Sambuca.

"Here, have a drink of this," offered Itsagon.

"Chianti! When did you have the time?"

"It was when we stopped at the one village so I could ask directions. Sorry, no fava beans, though."

"Oh, it's perfect anyway, Itsagon. I love you!"

"I love you too, Sambuca!"

-------------------------

A Sequel to a NaNoWriLess Bodice-Ripper Novel Sequel.
Beyond the Welshman's Ambition

"Oh, Lord Manthick!" purred Princess Lydia.

The tall, powerfully built nobleman stood encased in full armor before the willowy girl. She could not see a single inch of his tanned skin, save for a small hinge-door in the front of his armor that currently stood open to reveal his engorged member.

"Is this some sort of trick you play on me?" inquired Lydia. "'Twould be unkind in the highest sense. I long to hear your voice, yet you but stand there. Why do you not speak to me?"

A voice echoed from the corridor. "Because, my dove, that is not I who stands before you!"

Lydia gasped, and quickly averted her eyes. The rigidity of the polearm protruding from the steel suit seemed to vanish like water flowing into thirsty soil. "Confound it, Manthick!" shouted the man in the armor. "You dare to interrupt my wooing of the fair Lydia?"

"I would not deign to call that sort of underhandedness 'wooing', Dafydd!" challenged Duncan Manthick, resplendent in his ceremonial armor. "Your father may be an honourable man, and a shining example of the nobility of a Welshman, but you! You act like the villainous bastard son that you are!"

"Then come!" cried Dafydd. "I shall show you your folly, son of a kitchen-maid!" He drew his longsword.

"With pleasure!" Duncan tore his two-handed sword from its sheath.

Lydia stood transfixed as sinew, muscle and bone clashed in a titanic struggle of dominance. For a while, it was a battle of equals, until Dafydd treacherously threw the sheep's bladder he had been planning to use later as a prophylactic into Duncan's face.

With a swipe of his sword, Dafydd knocked Duncan's sword out of his hand. "You are disarmed. YIELD!"

"Never!" roared Duncan. He stepped in close so that his adversary could not bring his sword to bear. With a mighty yell, he seized the Welshman with both of his steel-wrapped fists, and in one quick movement spun him about and slammed him terrifically into the unyielding stone wall.

Dafydd gave a couple of gasps, and then slumped to the floor, unconscious. Duncan Manthick stood over him, the very picture of grace and power. Princess Lydia felt her cheeks flush and her skin tingle, and at once she realized he was quite openly admiring her back.

"Oh, Lord Manthick!" she cried, and their lips met with eager abandon. She could taste the sweat and the passion of battle on his lips, and it turned her into a pool of moistness in his arms. She desperately wanted to lose herself in his strong but tender embrace, yet there was still the distasteful matter at hand.

Reluctantly and grudgingly, she disengaged herself from him.

"What troubles you, my Lady?" asked the handsome young nobleman.

"This changes nothing, I fear. In the eyes of my father, the King, I am still betrothed to this loathsome...this vile..." As she glared at the unconscious man, Lydia broke down into sobs.

"I must respectfully disagree, my Lady," offered Duncan. "I have gained proof of his malfeasance. 'Ere we speak, my father, Archduke Manthick, is riding with two dozen knights to foil their traitorous ambush and rescue the King."

"Then, he shall surely release me from this wretched duty!" exclaimed Lydia. "But...would you have me, Lord Manthick?" she asked in a quiet voice. "Even...even after being forced into viewing the manhood of one whom I do not love?"

"Princess Lydia, were you to be my wife, I can vouch that mine is the only manhood you ever need see."

"Then, yes, my Lord, yes! And would you think it forward of me if I were to ask for a preview?"

"Not at all, my Lady."

"Oh, Lord Manthick!"