Maybe medieval people happened upon a T-Rex fossil and came to a relatively logical conclusion that dragons existed.
I’ve read a couple books on this actually, thats exactly what happened. Also cyclops are from looking at bones from a certain type of baby elephant. The giant note hole and tiny eyes made it look like a single eye.
Yep, can confirm! And what’s even funnier to me is that back in the dark ages, Greek people used to find a lot of prehistoric bear skeletons – and those look exactly like human skeletons, except they’re like eight feet tall or something – so they naturally assumed those were the heroes of legend, and made armour and clothes for them and reburied them with the most splendid and sacred religious ceremonies they could think of? Fast forward five centuries, Athens’ all modern and rational, philosophers and scientists aren’t taking any shit from anyone – but the problem is, people will randomly find graves containing giant-ass warriors, so that’s something that can’t be explained away and yeah, demigods were a thing and yeah, they used to be eight feet tall and sorry I don’t make the rules.
Some scientists suspect that the origin of the cyclops myths came about because of elephant skulls, which are vaguely human in shape but with a honking big hole in the middle for the trunk but easily mistakable for an eye socket without any flesh
These hypotheses are heavily debated so I want to be clear when posting that this is in no way 100% fact.
…but I also want to add that the dinosaur Protoceratops or similar genera are hypothesized by folk scientist Adrienne Mayor to have been partially responsible for the griffin myth.
(via wikipedia commons)
I mean, yeah, I can sorta see how someone could mistake that for some half-bird, half-mammal beast, especially with incomplete remains that fossils almost always have as well as the lack of knowledge of what a dinosaur is.
Whether or not it’s true? Who really knows at this point, but it’s fun to think about.
Adrienne Mayor has a book out called The First Fossil Hunters on this exact topic if anyone is interested. I haven’t read it myself though so I couldn’t tell you how good or bad it is!
Part of me, reading this: those are some super cool theories, and sound fairly plausible too – and the reburied bears thing is hilarious
A much larger part of me: I see you trying to convince me that dragons never existed, and i call bullshit
“Well, hardly anyone does, these days. Times have changed, we have too. The scales and tails thing worked with the dinosaurs, but we learned quite quickly that… that wasn’t going to fly with you people.”
“You were around all the way back to the dinosaurs?”
“Well, not like… me personally. How old do you think I am?”
“… There’s no safe answer to that.”
“No.”
“So… when you say this is your hoard…?”
“All dragons have them. Some stick to the old gold and jewels thing, but that’s so cliche these days. Most of us like our hoards to be a little bit more sophisticated than ‘shiny.’“
“Like what?”
“I have known dragons to collect snowflakes from the first fall of the year over dozens of centuries. I know dragons that collect petals of flowers left on the graves of loved ones. Dragons that keep and care for soft toys and comfort items, left behind as children grow up. Dragons that guard happy memories and shards of sunlight, kept safe for rainy days. And me, I keep a sanctuary of words. A bastion of language, of poetry. Of written music and achingly beautiful prose. I am the Guardian of this monument to linguistic majesty. I collect stories of love and life and death and mourning and joy. There is nothing more beautiful in all the world, no coin or gem or sliver of starlight more fantastic than a well-told tale. A story is this world’s truest treasure, and what better chest for it than a book?”
“Wow. So these things… really mean a lot to you, huh?”
“More than anything in this world.”
“So… I probably can’t borrow your copies of Discworld, can I?”
Instead of a human who shapeshifts into animals, they’re, like, an owlbear that shapeshifts into a human.
They’re mystically attuned to cities, which their powers treat as a sort of exotic but naturally occurring terrain.
Rather than seeking intuitive oneness with untamed nature, they carry out hilariously reductive scholarly analysis of humanoid society, all writing up thesis papers like “On the nesting habits of the Common Halfling”.
(They can still call down a lightning strike on your ass, though, because some things don’t change.)
Summon Fallen Powerline; rev-Drd 3
#concept of powerlines need not be invented yet
While most of the party stepped warily into the darkened room, the druid took large, bold steps, pointing an accusing finger at the hooded figures surrounding the candlelit altar. In a loud, booming voice, he shouted at the group, “deluded, wicked men! You are the most foul and evil of scum, for your crimes are not merely against the laws of man, but against those of nature itself! Cease, and surrender at once!”
“You fools! You think you can stop us? Stop the True Path? Ha! Behold, foolish ‘heroes,’ and tremble before a mere drop of the power Great Zentron grants his devoted!” the demon-cult leader shrieked. Then, he and nearly a dozen other robed figures leapt down from the dais, leaving the few necessary underlings to continue the ritual. He had a wicked gleam in his eyes, and it wasn’t just a figure of speech – as those cursed eyes roamed across the party, all their protective wards, curative spells, and deadly buffs. A creepy, almost inhuman giggle trickled from his face, rising into a cackle, and then full-out laughter, before he and his subordinates threw off their cloaks, revealing them all to be well-equipped with no shortage of underhanded, cruel implements and concoctions.
The leader held up his hand, and a wide circle of glowing runes surrounded the battlefield, coming just short of the ritual. When next he spoke, it was in the deep, gravely tone of a being who did not belong on the mortal plane. “This will be your final thing; I seal us all within the ring. While the summoning does start, I will collect for it your heart. My blades grow sharp; my poisons fill, and you will all bow to His will. To ensure your soon death knells, I hereby strip us of all spells!” As he speaks, a powerful magic wall fades into being with the runes. The knives, swords, and sickles hanging from the cultists’ robes shine briefly, and several empty bottles glow and fill with mysterious, menacing liquid. Then, the final spell began to take effect.
In the eyes of the head cultist, the sigils and spells around the party wavered, then shattered, or simply vanished. Except for one. He glared at the defiant druid, who still had one more spell about him. With a demonic roar, the leader thrust his arm towards the adventurer, forcing more power into his command. The fool WOULD break. And then, the last spell snapped.
The effect was tremendous. One second, a tall human, covered in ivy and deerskin and holding a staff, stood in the circle. The next second, the human had vanished. In his stead, a huge dragon sat on its haunches, its silver head glaring down at the cultists, visibly miffed. With the cultists taken off-guard, the dragon swiftly swept most of them aside with its strong, scaly tail, where their own points and poisons invaded their flesh.
The leader leapt back and once more called upon his god’s power to end what was very obviously a Shapeshift spell of some sort. There was no response, save for a blast of freezing air from its jaws. Again, he tried, and again, nothing happened. On the third attempt, the dragon finally caught him, and a cloud of gas seized up his muscles. As he dropped to the ground, his body unable to obey his commands, the dragon’s expression changed to one of pity, almost sorrow, and it spoke, “if it is any consolation, your spell worked. However, I must now ensure your bigger spell does not.” With a decisive, wet “thok,” it drove its claws through its aggressor’s chest, making the magical walls vanish.
As it turned out, a blast of very cold air does wonders at extinguishing candles needed for ceremonies.
