Unseen Forces: The Legend of the Impenetrable Cave

The plan was foolproof, as solid as any plan hatched by two mischievous gnomes could be. Twig and Thistle, dwarflings by different mothers, had stumbled upon the dragon’s lair by pure luck. Not wasting any time, the brothers—half-gnome, half-dwarf—had cooked up an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the hidden cavern and steal the coveted eggs. Snatching the dragon’s pride-and-joy would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams.

“This here’s our ticket to immortality!” Twig announced, polishing the elaborate drone he’d concocted from old gardening shears and discarded clock gears. The pint-sized swindler really outdid himself this time, breathing life into a one-of-a-kind whirling masterpiece. “They say the Dragon Queen's eggs are more than just treasure. They're the path to forever."

Thistle’s heart raced, a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Do you really believe that?” he stammered, giving the retractable blades a final swipe. “That those eggs can make us live forever?” Stealing a glance at Twig, his eyes sparkled with the hope and promise of rose-colored glasses.

“Oh yeah buddy, you know it!” Twig skidded across the room, twirling like a bearded ballerina at the ball. “All’s I’m saying is we’re going to be famous after this.” His eyes exploded like firecrackers in the night sky. “Beyond famous!”

Twig's enthusiasm was infectious. A motley crew of villagers, bursting with pride, paraded the young inventors through cobblestone streets, led by a spirited marching band of goblins, hobbits and elves. The energy was electric as confetti rained from the skies. The real pot-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow was Wessalian the Wizard, awaiting them at the village fountain, with pints of sweet cider ale, and badges of courage. But amidst the cheers and celebration, a shadow dampened the mood. The lads exchanged a nervous glance, knowing full well their daring escapade had fiery consequences. Stealing from a slumbering giant might not be the most intelligent thing to do at any age. Even the bravest of dwarves couldn't help but wonder if their luck would hold. 

After the revelry died down, Thimble made an executive decision and nicknamed the drone. "Oh Clawdius,” he gushed, “You’re my new best friend.” he said, petting the gadget under its wiry chin and kissing its claws. With a crunch in his brow, he paused, a flicker of doubt in his tangerine eyes. “You sure this thing is going to work?”

"Ye of little faith!" Twig snorted, "Edward Scissorhands, he’s got nothin’ on us!” He spun the rover in his hands, giving the remote control a final punch with his thumbs. "You know what Nate the Great always says…”

"Oh yeah! I know that one!" Thistle bowed his head, clasping his hands together in mock prayer. With a dramatic flourish, he recited the ancient proverb: “A nest without eggs is empty, but eggs without a nest are…” A mischievous grin spread across his rosy cheeks. 

"...ours for the taking!” 

They chimed in unison. bursting out into a maniacal laugh. Thistle jumped between boulders, clicking his heels in a spirited jig, all fourteen-and-a-half inches of him shaking like a bowl full of jelly. 

Twig couldn't help but grin at his brother's antics. "Indeed they do," he agreed. The Great Goblin, an ageless sorcerer, spoke truths far more than old wives tales. Truths that were sacred proclamations. Truths that were legends. Truths spun with such power that they could turn dust into gold. Ideas burst into reality beyond the wildest desires of any believer. The sorcerer’s raspy voice, booming like a prophet's, reached into lost shores and hidden corners of the kingdom. Even the most unexpected creatures were inspired to awaken their own magic.

Twig chuckled, flirting with the memory. His wide eyes opened a crack, as if letting Thistle into a front row seat to the memory in his mind. Then, his expression turned serious. He lowered his voice. “Before the full moon ripens the blackberry blossoms, those eggs will be ours, all ours.” He sneered, thumping his chest with his fist. “C’mon, let’s get our forever started.”

By the snowy owl's third hoot, the gnomes were halfway to the river's bridge. With Clawdius nestled securely in their knapsack, they wove through the moonlit woods, the roar of the distant waterfall growing louder with each step. Gossamer fairies, hidden beneath towering ferns, cheered them on with high-pitched squeals. At long last, they reached the camouflaged cave; the holy grail within their reach.

But as they edged closer, a loose stone gave way beneath Thistle’s foot, kicking-up the soft sand, causing a landslide. Stifling a yelp, he tumbled forward, dragging Twig with him, plunging headfirst into the raging river. They both disappeared beneath the surface. 

Sputtering and coughing, their red faces popped up on the inside of the cavern, “You spazz!” Twig gasped, scrambling to the muddy bank. “A swim was not in the plan.” He whacked his brother on the side of the head. “Watch where you're going, you clumsy oaf.” Pulling a small snail out of his ear, he flicked it into the water. “Come on, follow me.” 

Crouched in the cave, Thistle fidgeted nervously, his fingers twisting his long braided beard, dripping like a soggy mop onto the moss-covered floor. The plunking drops startled the dragon, waking her from a deep sleep. She twitched her tail, letting loose of a thunderous gas that shot up to the ceiling in a puff of smoke.

“Ugh!” Twig gagged, waving a hand in front of his face. “That’s worse than hobbit breath!”

“Oh ye of little grit!” Thistle teased, without even a twitch of his nose. His nimble fingers snatched the controller. “Just give me that.” he growled, flipping his beard over his shoulder in a huff. “I got it from here.” With a grunt, he lifted Clawdius out of the holster and set him on the launch pad. “Three, two, one…” 

“Go! ” Twig nudged Thistle with his elbow. “Now! Go!” 

Thistle’s fingers danced around the controls, gliding Clawdius with laser-beam precision, straight toward the gossamer nest. “Just like playing Whack-a-Troll back home.” he said smugly, not paying attention to the whirling helicopter in a tailspin. “Oh Shah-eeet!” Thistle jerked the joystick, sending the Claw flying towards the dragon, swirling an inch from the sharp daggers on her brow, teeth on the outside as well as the in. Her bulging eyes were a merciless glow as she swiped at the drone annoying her, like a pesky fly. 

“Who lurks within my walls?” the Dragon Queen roared, scraping her mighty talons against the cavern wall, pebbles crumbling to the floor like flakes of coconut.

A dozen tiny voices giggled in reply. Hidden in plain sight were a bevy of bats, dangling like icicles from the highest ledge. Fluttering their beady eyes, the nocturnal creatures chirped in a dialect the gnomes didn’t understand. The dragon queen mumbled a response, spellbound by the colony in her cavern. Her eyelids grew heavy by the familiar melody, lulling her back to sleep. A flurry of cobwebs and bat dung tumbled down, as she gave one last, powerful flap of her iridescent wings, finally settling back into her nook with a contented sigh.

“Watch your head!” The dwarves ducked as Clawdius suddenly spun out of control, twisting and sputtering, disappearing past the waterfall, straight into the night sky. One moment the drone was there…the next minute, vanished into thin air.  

Fear gripped Twig's heart. If Clawdius could be snuffed out like that, what chance did they have? He grabbed his brother's hand. "Run!" he cried, bolting towards the exit.

"No, wait, we need at least one of those eggs!" Thistle lunged toward the nest. But he was too late. The Dragon Queen’s fiery orange eyes flipped open, twin infernos of rage. A guttural hiss rattled from her throat, shaking the cavern to its core. She was clearly miffed, her scaly wings ruffled. She let out a snarl, blasting another plume of fiery steam from her nostrils.

“Never mind.” Thistle jumped, the hairs on his legendary beard singed. “You nasty ol’ beast!” He threw his fists in the air, shaking them like maracas, before tucking under the waterfall, and rolling into the forest, smack dab on his brother’s heels. 

Word quickly spread of the attempted heist to steal the coveted eggs promising immortality. The tale swelled by the hour, more notorious and exaggerated with every passing day. Every troll, fairy, hobbit and elf within striking distance would try their luck at snatching the treasure from the Dragon Queen. All were met with a similar unfortunate denial. 

Folklore would say that it was a bizarre twist of fate, that it was bad luck to convert discarded scissors into flying toasters, especially when jinxed with a nickname. Others disagreed, shaking their heads and blaming it on superstitious rituals of attempts to get frisky with the everafter. Still others would chalk it up to the evils of modern technology, swearing off anything remotely associated with a blinking light. Baffled and terrified, the forest dwellers spun tales of the mysterious disappearances, vowing to stay clear of the dragon’s lair. 

But the bats in the belfry, sworn protectors of the Dragon and her realm, were one step ahead. Chirping in their native tongue, they scoffed at the commoner’s relentless attempts to rob the cradle. One by one, elaborate flying contraptions would sputter and stall, ensnared in an invisible net, before vanishing into thin air, leaving no trace behind.

The bats' breath, once unremarkable, now held a touch of the Great Goblin’s magic. With each inhale, tiny, glowing crystals formed in their blackened mouths, mushrooming into round miniature pearls; smooth as silk, deadly as a scorpion venom. Blowing tiny bubbles with their spiral tongues, the bats launched the gems skyward, flinging them like pellets from a BB gun. Each blast a critical hit to the menacing drones, disrupting their delicate machinery, pulverizing them into nothingness, never to be seen again. The bats, guardians of everlasting life held the secret weapon against the technological invasion.

And so, the legend of the impenetrable cave grew, each embellishment adding a new layer of fascination and fear. But amidst the lust and greed, passed down through the generations, the truth was often twisted. Storytellers lost sight of the most important lesson of all — that even the most intelligent of artificial inventions are no match for the unseen power and creativity of natural forces.