I had been thinking I should get a website to act as a portfolio for a while now—particularly from going through the headache of the job hunt. There were a few other things that pointed my mind in that direction too: My dad is in the middle of starting a podcast (be sure to check Soft/PowerFul Stories out!) and had asked me to help him figure out a domain registrar and server host. My cousin had made one for himself not too long ago. A friend brought up the topic with some other friends of mine who have computer science degrees, trying to figure out if there was a good way to host the site he coded from scratch for free (there is, via GitHub btw).

And so here I am.

It honestly took longer than I expected to set up. Because I wasn’t satisfied with the freely available options WordPress offered, I figured, “How hard could it be to throw a custom theme together?” And not that there wasn’t difficulty, but the main thing was just how time consuming it was. It took two full days, where this was all I did. And while it might not be the most polished thing ever, it’s mine and I’m happy with it.

The thing I found funniest about the process were what parts actually turned out to give me a challenge. Was it me trying to code the gallery system despite having no prior experience with JavaScript? Nope, that wound up working first try, and it’s the part of the site that feels like it works the best. But I lost sleep over me not seeing that there was one too few closing </div> tags.

I’m hoping I did enough work to future-proof everything I might need/use this site for. But that’s the one thing I couldn’t really test for. Only time will tell, but fingers crossed.

Now it’s just a matter of getting stuff onto the portfolios…

Fire poured from the sky.

The newly forged sword found itself laying in the dirt, alone. Well, not quite alone. The hand that had forged it laid there too, charred at the stump of the wrist.

Two great leather sails stirred up the dust as the beast flew overhead again, briefly flashing through the blade’s reflection. Its scales glinted like brass. The dragon shot out another column of flame—though where, the blade couldn’t see.

Footsteps echoed nearby, as though they were running through the forge. But that couldn’t be right, they sounded like they were going through where the walls should be.

People burst through the dust and ash that littered the air, fleeing. One’s sandals kicked the blade, and the sword skidded across the floor. The sound of wings grew and softened again. Screaming and quiet. The gentle sizzle of sparks. An inhuman screech.

As the beast roared in the distance, the cloud of ash and dust swirled. First, just like mist, then gradually growing into a spiraling vortex. Flesh grew around the vortex as particulates clung together forming shape: human hands outstretching. The hands reached out and grabbed the sword, a figure shrouded in a dark cloak now wielding the blade.

The figure coughed. Their hood shifted, revealing an old, withered face. They held out their arms, holding the sword point down, and started to chant. What exactly, the blade wasn’t sure. It had heard language spoken by its maker and the various visitors to his workshop, but these words were foreign.

Everything was dimming for the sword. Wait, no, that wasn’t it. The sword was starting to glow an ever-so-faint blue. The chanting continued, and the currents of air flowing through the smog slowed. Everything slowed, save for the blade and the figure holding it. Screams, the flap of wings, the fire—the sounds drew out to a low hum. Maybe even silence.

The figure’s eyes bored into the sword shooting a quiver up the blade. Those eyes harder than a thousand swings of the blacksmith’s hammer, the most intense the blade would ever see. There was fire deep inside them.

“I have seen the ends of time,” The figure said in a hurried whisper, breaking the otherworldly chant. “The Earth swallowed in flames,” And the sword was swallowed into the figure’s gaze. The fire grew, reaching out, suffocating, blinding. “A hellfire like no other. I bless thee—aye, curse thee. Thou shalt quench these many accursed flames. I name thee, Dragonsbane!”

In an instant, the eerie calmness evaporated. The air once again carried screams and ash. The sword fell onto the empty robes of the stranger, who once again was nowhere to be seen. And that is where it rested for a while, humming ever-so-slightly from the strange experience.

After some time, a woman and a young boy came running past. A roar echoed from behind them and a fireball shot past, narrowly missing the two. The boy’s foot landed on the discarded cloak and he slipped.

As he started to pick himself back up, he saw the sword. He stared at it.

“Arrit,” The woman hissed, but the boy didn’t move.

Arrit’s hand crept towards Dragonsbane, so subtle that the blade couldn’t be sure it was a conscious act. Dragonsbane reached out as well, but being a sword, it didn’t move an inch. It felt a burning desire within itself now, a need to quench those flames.

The woman grabbed Arrit’s shoulder, pulling him back. “What are you doing? We need to get to shelter!”

Arrit looked dumbly up at her, once again taking in the horror that was once their village. His breath quickened. He glanced back at the sword, to the woman, and to the sword again. I could protect you, Dragonsbane urged. Arrit fished the sword up, the sword grasping his hand back, and continued to run. A mere boy like him couldn’t hope to face the monster.

The dragon and the boy would not cross paths again for another ten years.

Arrit had not put a second to waste. Training, planning, even just steeling himself for the encounter. He was a man now in most eyes. Before the dragon that now towered before him, it seemed an inconsequential growth. The beast stood fifteen meters tall on all fours. Smoke and ash had weathered its scales over the years, the only vibrancy left coming from the red of its eyes. Leathery moth-like wings unfurled, whipping up dust and blocking the sun. Its growl shook the Earth.

Arrit charged. Not forward, but to the side. Dragonsbane itched in his hand, longing to strike out at the beast. But Arrit was too careful. All that preparation? Ugh, how boring, Dragonsbane hummed to itself. If Arrit felt any of it he would have thought it was just the sword swinging with his stride. I want to stab something. Dragonsbane thought it was odd for a sword such as it to have never done any stabbing. It figured it was a late bloomer, but with the dragon right there, it was getting antsier.

But no, the youth needed to think of stupid things like “safety” and “survival.” At least, as much safety and survival one could have when using oneself as bait for the giant, fire-breathing lizard.

The dragon chased Arrit through the deserted streets of the small village it had adopted as its home. The preparation for this day had been tedious: with the creature being migratory, it was hard to say which town it would take a pitstop in. And so they had to prep every city through every hamlet in the immediate region. They’d missed the dragon last year.

Arrit’s first point of order was to keep the beast’s attention as the last few stragglers scurried into the shelters. That, and not get turned into a roast-Arrit hors d’oeuvre. Fortunately, there weren’t too many, and the noisy, zigzagging wannabe knight was attention-grabbing enough for the dragon. Now he just had to make it to one of the traps they had managed to set up. Dragonsbane much preferred the idea of spinning around and charging directly, but the sword didn’t have a say in the matter.

Arrit led the dragon through a large stone archway, the centerpiece of the town. Two loud booms. He stumbled and winced with regret. The local monument collapsed on the monster, shrapnel of stone piercing its hide. Dragonsbane could sympathize with Arrit. Should’a been me, it grumbled.

The dragon grumbled back, not that it could hear the sword. That first trap didn’t seem to do anything but make it angrier. Arrit spun around. No nearby cover and that sound meant fire.

White hot flame cascaded forth. Futilely, Arrit raised his sword to shield himself, as if a thin sheet of steel could protect him.

And the fire split.

Dragonsbane sang in silent laughter. Action, finally. The barrage roared past either side of them. Arrit stared at the sword as it sliced through the intangible, jaw agape.

When the flames let up, the dragon mirrored Arrit’s confusion.

Fight! Kill! Blood! Lusted the sword. Thankfully, Arrit took the opening. It only took a single stab to the gut.

#

Rain fell outside.

The sword rested in a pair of metal rods that forked at the top and bottom, under a suffocating glass case. It was covered in rust now, edges long since dulled. Time would do that. It had been in this museum for a little over a year. Getting traded around wasn’t uncommon. At least it was on display now, a rare luxury.

The curator hummed as she tapped on the glass. “And how are you today?” She mused. Meredith, as she introduced herself, had the odd habit of talking to her exhibits. To say nothing less, it confused Dragonsbane. Even if it could, it wouldn’t know how to respond.

“Me, I’m a bit nervous if I’m being perfectly honest. Not only do I have that big important meeting tomorrow—already enough to give me a nice dosage of the heebie-jeebies—but Clancy is out sick. Again. And there’s a tour today,” Meredith clutched at her heart and feigned a faint. “Fifth graders, oh the horror!”

As strange as she was, Meredith was the only one to break up the monotony of Dragonsbane’s existence, and for that, he appreciated her ramblings.

“But this does mean that I’ll get to put you on the tour. Seriously, I don’t get why Clancy doesn’t care for you. You’re interesting! Getting to blather on about you will almost distract me from how much I hate doing tours,” She threw out her hands. “Someone take me out of my misery!”

Lightning flashed outside, bathing the room in a momentary white light. Meredith jumped, letting out a sigh of relief as the thunder followed. “Gah, I’m too jumpy today. Almost thought that was the big fireball. See ya in a bit,” She winked at the sword before going on to chat with the next exhibit.

Not too much later, Meredith herded a horde of children into the medieval section. “Alright class,” She said, “This next exhibit is nearly a thousand years old. This right here is the sword of King Arrit the Great, who rose to power in the late nine-hundreds CE. Legend has it that he came to power by slaying a fierce dragon!” The kids oohed at that. “Of course realistically, said dragon of legend was more likely some feral beast like a bear, or perhaps even a hoard of marauding bandits…” She continued on.

Of course, she was wrong. A lot had been lost to history with the death of magic. That, or swords had awful memories, always a possibility. But Dragonsbane didn’t think that was the case. It reminisced in the memories of the warm dragon guts, Arrit’s coronation, and many battles well-fought. The curator’s monologue steering from one memory to the next.

“…Which is the point where most records suggest King Arrit died. It was far from an even battle, with his forces but one fifth of his opponent’s. The battle was one of the bloodiest of the century…” The curator continued, but Dragonsbane stopped following along with the words. It played that day back in its mind. Logically, it knew the boy would be dead. It had been centuries. But somehow, this was the first it learned of it: the when.

It had been an overcast day. Arrit was older, in his late forties. The two iron-clad armies stood in lines facing each other. Waiting. Silent.

Dragonsbane buzzed in anticipation. Arrit, subconsciously, took it as his signal to charge. He raised the blade, let out a yell, and the two walls of men converged. Arrows showered down upon Arrit’s forces. He continued on. He hit their front lines. Bodies fell at his feet as Dragonsbane tore through them. He continued on.

At some point, slick with blood, Dragonsbane had slipped. Landed in the blood-soaked Earth-turned-mud. There it lay, until just a few decades ago. It supposed it shouldn’t be too surprised Arrit had died then, or soon thereafter. But it had always hoped that it was all that fell that battle. A futile hope, perhaps, but it didn’t stop the truth from hurting any less.

As irrational as it was, Dragonsbane felt guilt too. As if the bloodlust of its youth had somehow been passed on to the boy. And what good did it do? A dragon slain, sure, but then what? The loss of a friend, if that’s what he was, and centuries lost in the ground.

The curator moved on to the next exhibit, telling more awe-inspiring tales.

The next day, a very different type of visitor came to look at Dragonsbane. He wore a business suit and spoke in a funny accent. Meredith met with him near Dragonsbane. There was a noticeable lack of other visitors.

“Why this sword?” He asked.

“It’s symbolic,” She replied. “Legend says it slew a dragon.”

The man scoffed, “There is no such thing.” Dragonsbane rolled its mind’s eye.

She smiled. “Its name is Dragonsbane. I’m hoping it being part of this program can help stop a new monster from ever hatching. Nuclear Armageddon is something I think both our people would like to best avoid. Sharing each other’s cultures helps with that. We’d humanize ourselves to each other.”

The man nodded. “It is fine idea. I admit, I did not put so much thought into my selection of artifacts.”

Odd, that, Dragonsbane thought, Being used as a peace offering for once. Perhaps it would be a welcome change of pace.

The curator laughed, “Oh, that’s quite alright. Not everything I picked out for you is so symbolic either. Here, let me show you the next one.”

#

It rained dust.

Ropes fell to the ground, shattering the long silence. Sunlight touched Dragonsbane for the first time in millennia. It felt different.

It had been so long since the sword had seen people, it figured its memory was flawed. The two people who rappelled in wore baggy suits that covered their whole bodies, with a semi-transparent sheet shielding their faces. That wasn’t how it remembered them looking.

Static crackled. “Y’have any clue what this place was?” It was hard to tell which one had spoken since the voice was transmitted over a speaker.

“Looks like it could have been a museum. Remarkably well preserved, all things considered,” The other voice, less deep.

“Sweet! Might actually find somethin’ cool. How long we got?”

A muffled sigh. “It’s already overdue. They don’t just abandon a rock for nothin’. I don’t know how I let you talk me into this, Jay. Let’s just try and be quick, ‘kay?”

The two split up, each digging through rubble, though still a bit off from where a chuck of rock pinned Dragonsbane down near the entrance to the medieval history section.

“Totally nova!” One of them, Jay, muttered to himself in awe. “Yo, Rach, check this out.”

An antique teapot came flying and clonked his helmet. “Don’t jinx us. Whatcha got?”

Jay held up a partially eroded saber-tooth tiger skull. He puppeted the jaw open and closed; garbled teeth-mashing sounds echoed out their comms.

“You’re an idiot,” Rach responded.

The two continued to scavenge the museum for valuables. Now, as to what exactly was valuable, they had about as good of a guess as the sword. Eventually, Jay drifted towards the medieval section.

Dragonsbane could remember how in its youth, it thirsted for blood, for combat. It had been so long since it had last seen life. Now, it just wanted to be held again. It tried to call out, draw attention to itself, to no avail.

Though as Jay began to dig around the nearby rubble, a fleck of sunlight glinted off the sword—a pinhole-sized spot somehow untouched by rust—right into his eye. He paused and glanced at the sword. It hadn’t been looked at in so long.

The rock pinning Dragonsbane was pushed aside. Jay bent down. Dragonsbane was wielded once again!

Not that Jay seemed to know what a sword was. What are you doing?! Dragonsbane thought as he held it upside down. Jay swung the sword around, holding it by the tip of the blade and making sound effects with his mouth.

“The hell are you doing now?” Rach walked by.

Swing. “I found some sorta,” Swing. “Cool ancient weapon,” Swing. “Like a club, or a,” Swing, “Mace. Or somethin’,” Jay swung.

“I think you’re holding it upside down. We should get going soon, stop fooling around.”

Jay studied the sword, adjusted his hands to the hilt, and righted the blade. Much obliged, hummed the nauseated Dragonsbane. Jay then strapped the sword to his side.

“You’re keepin’ that?” Rach raised an eyebrow.

“Art sells, don’t it? I’m sure I can find some sorta collector,” Jay said.

Was that who it was now?

The two humans dug around for a few more minutes, stuffing various knickknacks into pouches and bags. Then it was time to leave. They each hooked a device to their ropes, pressed a button, and rocketed up and out of the museum into an unfamiliar landscape.

Red sand washed about on hills of hardened clay. The signs of life, human or otherwise, were missing. No buildings. No trees. The only thing that broke up the view was the lump of structured metal Jay and Rach were heading towards.

They hopped in the contraption, taking their seats at the front.

Jay flipped a few switches and the machine began to rumble. “Thrusters ready.”

Rach checked the dials, “ Everything’s fully operational. Let’s go.”

They started to rise, building speed before shooting off the surface of the planet itself.

“Engage warp drive,” Rach instructed.

As Jay did so, a wave of energy shook the ship. Rach paled. They rocketed along with it, folding space ahead of them until they outpaced it.

Jay laughed, “Nova, that was close.”

“Too close,” She sighed. “A minute later and that exploding star would have roasted us.”

A feeling of emptiness consumed Dragonsbane, its last shreds of magic gone. Neither human paid any notice. The ship sailed onward, towards new strange lands Dragonsbane couldn’t imagine.