This came our of a tumblr conversation I saw once, detailing why humans dominate the planet. Hint: it's not our brains - that came much later. We were badass long before we got smart. Look up the phrase "pursuit predator" and try to grasp how frightening that is.

Councilor Andam, for those of you who don't remember, is that catch-all "African" dragon that mostly speaks on behalf of the Council. He's the one that humani-locks Jake in that one episode. I picture this scene as taking place in whatever the magical equivalent of a bar or coffee house is, with he and Jake philosophising over drinks.

A charming quirk of humans is that they think of themselves as harmless.

When one of their kind is introduced to the magical world, their first instinct is often to bemoan how weak a mere human is in the face of a centaur, or a fairy, or a dragon for that matter. "Our claws are blunt and our teeth are flat," they cry. "We do not have the strength of the troll or the speed of the unicorn." And this is very true, they do not have either of those things. So why is it, do you think, that upon seeing a human, the first instinct of many is fear? A troll will act in anger and attempt to crush a human, because it is afraid. A fairy will trick and deceive and attempt to take control, because it is afraid. Ask yourself, human, with blunt claws and flat teeth: why are these mighty creatures so afraid of you?

Allow me to explain.

Imagine, if you will, a footrace between a horse, a hound, and a human. Around almost any track, the horse will win without difficulty. The hound will not beat the horse, but it will beat the human without much strain. The human, no mater how quickly it sprints, will come last. So the human concludes that it must be inferior.

Now imagine that the race is not on a track, but between one city and another. The goal is not easily in sight, and it would take even the fastest creature a month to get there.

This race starts as the other did, with horse and hound leaving human behind. But during the day, the horse will slow down. It will tire and grow hungry, and it will need to graze and find water to keep up its speed. It will need to sleep for a long time to find the energy for the next day. The hound is better off: it forages and finds its food, and it does not tire so quickly. The human, at the end of the day, will unpack some bread, dried fruits and meat, and some water, and will continue at the crack of dawn.

After five days time, the race is still on, and the horse is long since left behind. The hound is getting tired. It needs much time to forage in order to keep up its constant energy. It needs much sleep in order to continue day after day. The human, at the end of the day, will unpack some bread, dried fruits and meat, and some water, and will continue at the crack of dawn.

After two weeks, the hound is long since left behind. With a week to go, the human will unpack some bread, dried fruits and meat, and some water, and will continue at the crack of dawn.

At the end of the race, only the human finishes. The horse will have died of exhaustion. As have the hound, if it was not careful. The human rests for a day or two, enjoying the hospitality of the city and the glow of success, and then returns to where it came from.

Let me give you another example. Did you know that, in the ancient fairy tongue, which is still spoken today, there is only one word to describe all aspects of magic? It seems trivial, but if you think about it, it should strike you as odd. Magic colors almost every aspect of a fairy's life. All of their greatest myths are about heroes who performed spectacular feats of magic. Is it not curious that they do not really have the vocabulary to describe it in detail without using loanwords?

The dragon Nedroemer spent a lot of time with the fairy folk, and he formulated a theory on the subject. He suggested that, because fairies have such astoundingly powerful and diverse magic, they simply do not consider themselves "magical" in the sense that we use the term. To them, "magic" and "doing" are practically interchangeable words.

Do you see where I am going with all this, young dragon?

Most human languages, even the most ancient ones, have only one word for endurance. This in spite of the fact that human endurance beats that of any other known creature. By any magical species' standard, humans barely sleep. They eat almost anything, and they can continue to do incredibly complicated things for almost an entire day. Several if they press themselves. The human heroes of myth are all warriors who fought off hordes of enemies that would make even the mighty troll weak with fear.

Humans live only for brief periods compared to other species, this is true. Their bodies burn out quicker, but humans have many more active hours in their lives than most species. An elf might live longer than a human, but in the same number of days, an elf builds a hovel while the human builds a castle.

There is a human martial arts competition called a kumite. It is a Huntsclan ritual from China that bled into the civilian martial arts circuit. It is often brought up when discussing humans, to remind everyone of why we should be afraid of them. In the competition, the human being tested will fight a single opponent of equal skill level for two minutes, and must emerge victorious to proceed. After one minute, they must fight the next opponent of equal level. They must do this one hundred times to win.

A troll could manage maybe two. It would not survive.

A fairy could manage perhaps four. It would not survive.

A centaur could manage as many as nine before succumbing of its wounds. With magic, it might yet live.

A dragon could not manage even that. And it would most certainly not survive.

In history, 14 civilian humans have completed the challenge. It is considered passable to defeat at least half the opponents, though the Huntsclan demands that contestants complete it in its entirety to claim the title of Huntsmaster. Humans can do these things because they have hyperactive scar tissue that will heal almost any injury given adequate time. A missing limb would send a fairy into shock and eventually death, while a human can recover just by keeping still. A favorite example of mine is human spinal injury. It is one of the few injuries that humans cannot heal, not because it is too severe, but because the human healing ability works too fast to heal complicated nerve damage. Their own bodies halt the healing process of the spine, because it would otherwise grow together wrong and cripple them further.

As you can imagine, human hardiness and stamina makes them quite frightening from an outside perspective. They developed surgery centuries before they developed anesthetics. What humans consider to be routine medical procedures, dragons would consider to be elaborate murder. They even scar themselves for purely cosmetic reasons, and jab ornamental needles and studs through their skin with very little risk.

Now, ask yourself, young dragon: were you a king, what you would do with a species that breeds quickly, exhibits remarkable endurance, can survive almost any injury that isn't immediately fatal, and will never, ever get tired?

I see that you understand. For millennia, humans have been used for war. The Dark Dragon in particular was fond of them, but all the ancient dragons favored human warriors for the bulk of their armies. The human hordes would strike fear into even the strongest troll or the fastest unicorn. While they might be able to fight off a human - or run from it - they would eventually have to stop. The humans would not.

Humans and dragons became very closely intertwined in those years, and we learned much from each other. Much has happened since then, but bear in mind that the magical world has a very long memory. There are creatures alive today who remember the wars.

This, young dragon, is why most of the magical community fears humans. And it is why I smile when your young friends, in wide-eyed disbelief, say that they are inferior.

In a world of dragons and trolls, they are the weapons of war. And they think of themselves as harmless.

I think it is charming, and I smirk.

Many - indeed most - do not.