It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. In one of the obscurest quarters of London, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the police, a thunder of dragons, evidently of the lowest orders, had just arrived.

It was love at first sight. The first time Yossarian saw the chaplain, he fell madly in love with him. And then the dragons arrived.

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantelpiece, and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. Then the dragons arrived.

I scowl with frustration at myself in the mirror. And then 50 grey dragons arrived.

A little more than ten years after we had all arrived in Key West, saved the universe from annihilation, and settled back to have us some serious fun, bad ugliness and death came into my bar. And then the dragons arrived. - Callahan's Con by Spider Robinson