The children ran through the streets, excited for the arrival of the Gift Dragon. Every year, the Gift Dragon would fly over the streets and hills, delivering presents to the good children of the world, while burning down the houses of those that were naughty. Needless to say, few were naughty. But this year, things would be different. The Gift Dragon had not yet arrived, and it was the Chris-mas morning. The delay was caused by an evil man.
Scorr was a man that delighted in causing things pain. He had control of a Dragonstone that was enchanted with a long-forgotten spell that allowed him to control a dragon. During the glory days of the Blue Order, a dragon had attacked the Wizard Tower. Many wizards perished in the battle, and the Archmage of the day swore never to be caught unawares. They created the stone, and lost it on a journey.
Scorr had taken the Gift Dragon captive because it burned his house down a record six times. He was tired of the children screaming and shouting as they opened their gifts on Chris-mas morning.
A group of warriors, who couldn’t bear to watch their children crying, set off to find the Gift Dragon, and help him along his way. They marched far and wide, with great speed. They came upon the mountain fortress of Scorr, and heard horrible shouts and groans within. They walked to the door, and knocked. A great and terrible roar reverberated throughout the countryside.
The door refused to open, so with a battle cry, they smashed it down. They then saw the source of the horrifying sounds that plagued the countryside. The Gift Dragon, its usually mirror-like scales dulled, lay chained in the courtyard. Scorr sat on a throne, and ordered the dragon to attack. It had no choice to obey, and attacked the only way it could, by gift-wrapping the attackers, and finishing off with nice bow. The warriors extracted themselves from the wrapping paper and rushed Scorr. He fought, but was soon overpowered by the enraged warriors. The Dragonstone fell and smashed into a thousand pieces. Scorr cried out, but it was in vain. The Gift Dragon was free in a moment, and bowed its head to the warriors in thanks. The warriors left and the Gift Dragon burned Scorr’s house down once more.
The Gift Dragon’s scales glimmered in the sunlight, and, as the smell of burning timber filled its nostrils, it sent off to complete the mission. It flew once more over the cities and hills of Gielinor. Everywhere it went, a gift fell to the doorstep of a house. It had done its share of burning that day, and was glad to be free.
It flew to north, farther than any ship could sail, or dragon could fly. There it had its hoard. Unlike other dragons, it had given up its greed, and its thirst for more treasure. Its hoard consisted of everything imaginable, from sets of Bandos Armor to Purple Party Hats. These were the gifts it gave. Few deserved such gifts, and only the bravest of the brave would receive these. Then it gave some thought, and uncovered four ancient sets of armor, the likes of which had rarely been seen. A fitting gift, it thought, for the men who had freed it. It flew back to the town from which the men had set off from. On their doorsteps, for the first time since they were children, they received a gift.