I was a tender 30 years old, reeling from the loss of my twenties..

A friend had also suffered similarly and felt that there should be something potent to mark this occasion. "Should we get tattoos" he asked?
I scoffed, this was the new millennium! "Tattoos!" I exclaimed, "Are we sailors now?"

For all I scoffed though the idea lit a fire in my belly, one which would not be put out. And so it was some weeks later I found myself in a sterile parlour showing my pallid flesh to a large bald man bedecked with ink. I explained what I needed, something to blot out the stain of age and give me the power and vitality of youth again. He looked solemn and motioned be to be still as he closed up shop.

He led me to a darkened room at the back stacked high with old and rare artefacts. It was like something from Raiders of the Lost Ark, or The Goonies. "I might have something that can help" he said and gestured toward an ornate urn carved from the palest of oaks. On the side was a burned in design that set my heart racing and made my neck prickle. Its a design you may have seen, its the one that adorns my arm now. "What does it mean?" I gasped as the urn pulled at my eyes.
"Its Incan," he explained "It means.. Tears of the Dragon"

Before I could blink I had the leather strop in my mouth biting hard as the needle dug deep into my arm, tracing into my very soul with black lines of fire the power of the dragon and it's forever sorrow.

I left the tattoo parlour a changed man that day. Power was now mine to behold and the mere trifling of numbers that some labelled age was something to scorn.

Behold

The Tears of the Dragon.