Long ago, in the Dark ages, the treacherous Britisk King Vortigern tried to build himself a great castle, but the walls kept crumbling. He consulted boy Merlin, who foretold the land was disturbed and beneath his fort two great monsters battled continually; the white dragon of the Briton's against the red of the Saxons, and he prophesied that one day the red would prevail. Vortigern's heroic successer, Welsh war chief Uther, adopted the dragon as his battle standard against the Saxons, and becaome known as Uther Pendragon the supreme "Head Dragon". Uther became father of Arther, to whom the ill-fated lengacy would pass, then was eventually slain in battle to be buried at Stone Henge.
Towards the end of the fifth century in Britain, as the last vestiages of the might Roman Empire was gaspings its lingering final breath, the power of the Pendragon would rise from the imperial ruins to resist the onslaught of barbarism. Thus the exploits of Artorius Verus, knows to legend as Aruther of the Britions, would forge his heroic exploits into the sword of British history.
Ok, that's how the Pendragon name came to be. How it came to me is a little less fantastic.
I write fantasy and sci-fi fanfiction. I like dragons. I used to be call Pen-dragon, but have since then lost the hypen. 1980 is my birthyear.
