

The Language of The Last Dragon
by Daryl Devoré
The era of The Last Dragon would be the mid-11th century. But, I did not write a historical piece. This is not set in England, as many fantasy stories are. It is a fictitious land where Kings rule their domains and do not answer to a higher King.
To give the impression of the era, I set some scenes in a tiny village with an Abbey, monks, and a Sheriff. Then I went a bit deeper and wrote it in a more formal tone.
I truly had to watch that I did not slip any current slang into medieval conversations. Two knights would not greet each other with, “Whass up, bro?”
Example
With a jubilant spring in her step, Derry hurried along the cool sand to the path leading up the side of the cliff. On one of her afternoon searches for firewood, she’d noticed a patch of late summer berries. If the birds hadn’t ravaged it, there would be a sweet treat for breakfast.
I did not name the berries and left it to the reader to guess which fruit it was. Why? Because what we call the fruit in 2020 is not necessarily the same name they had 1,000 yrs ago.
Prince Hawkyns uses a very formal tone of voice to distinguish him as being of noble birth.
Example
Blood boiling, Hawkyns spun to face the speaker. “I am a knight. I would never kill someone from the back.” He stepped into the space of the man. “If the scoundrel were running, I would catch him, turn him around and let him watch as I slay his vile self.”
Scenery and costumes play a big part, but words and tone can help settle the reader into the period of the story.
A prince, A dragon, An ancient sorceress, and a heartbreaking secret… The Last Dragon by @DarylDevore
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Scene set – Prince Hawkyns and Derry, having completed a rescue mission are temporarily housed in a nunnery. Hawkyns speaks first.
“Baswich Abbey is no more. It has been burned to the ground.”
“The people burned…”
Hawkyns shook his head. “A dragon. He flew in breathing hellfire. The village—” He closed his eyes and heaved a dejected sigh. “Pariset’s father told me to take his son. Protect him. Do not let the dragon steal his soul. The horse struggled with all of us. He jumped off. I searched for him, but had to give up to get his mother here.”
He slammed his hand on the table. His mug of ale shook.
A soft cough sounded behind them. The Mother Superior stood with her hands folded. “I fear ye may not stay. We have no rooms for a man.”
“But—” Derry was silenced by the gentle pressure of Hawkyns’ hand on hers.
“I can sleep rough. ‘Tis early autumn, but the evenings are still warm. A blanket would be most appreciated.”
The nun bowed her head and exited.
Anger darkened Derry’s brow. “’Tis not fair. Ye risked yer life—”
“The sisters leave the world as we know it. Men are not part. I will find a quiet place and bed down. My bones are so weary I could lay on a pile of rocks and snore so loud I’d make the forest tremble.” He finished his stew and showed her the empty dish. “In the morning, I will search for Pariset. I will find him and return him to his mother.”
He did not need to wait until morning. A loud smash against the nunnery’s thick, wooden front door and a yell, we have the boy, signalled where Pariset was. “Give us the babe and we will not hurt the boy or the sisters.”
Hawkyns gulped the last of his ale and stood. Derry wanted to yell for him not to go, but she knew that was selfish and wrong. He was a knight. A protector. He had to go. Even though deep in her heart she knew this was the man she could love and that letting him walk into the mob meant his certain death, she said nothing as he walked away.
Her lips held back words while her heart screamed with fear.
- Jan 15
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Thanks for spotlighting my latest – The Last Dragon.
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I think the cover looks very nice.
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I agree
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