In medieval England, Sir Reginald says to his wife, “Sweeting, I go anon unto the tavern.” His wife replies, “My lord, thou must not! After all that hath befallen, thou didst swear to forswear drink forevermore.” "Hark, I must go," decrees Sir Reginald, "for I have weighty business with Sir Archibald, Sir Thomas, and Sir Gregory. But take heart, my love—I shall have naught but tea and a crumpet. Thou hast my word.” “Very well,” she says, "Then shall I expect thee home with thy wits about thee.” Sir Reginald enters the tavern and what should meet his gaze but an ENORMOUS DRAGON! He draws his sword at once and cries, “Fear not, good sirs! I shall dispatch this foul beast!” But his friends leap up and say, “Whoa, whoa, whoa—easy there, Sir Reginald. This is Valkor. He’s cool AF. We’ve been drinking with him this past hour. Sit with us and hear the dragon’s remarkable tales.” “Oh,” says Sir Reginald, sheathing his sword. “Carry on, then.” The four knights make merry with the dragon deep into the night. True to his word, Sir Reginald keeps to his tea and crumpets until the dragon turns to him and says, “What art thou, a wee maid? Have an ale, thou absolute codfish!” “Well,” says Sir Reginald, “a new friendship with a dragon doth call for some small celebration. One ale cannot undo me.” HUZZAH! Some ten ales later, the knights decide to take turns riding upon the dragon high above the village. Sir Reginald goes last–and being thoroughly hammered, he swoons mid-flight, tumbles from Valkor’s back, and falls to his death just outside the tavern. Valkor gasps, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit” …and promptly flees the realm. Sir Reginald’s wife arrives, wailing, “What in God’s name hath happened to my dear Sir Reginald?!” Sir Archibald bows his head and responds gravely, “He fell off the dragon.”