It was a strange period. The Kingdom of Spain ruled large parts of what is now the Netherlands, but in the Far North, that wasn't the biggest challenge. The city and surrounding areas faced other, more significant challenges in those days.
On the northern and eastern edge of the Ommelanden (the name of the area around the city of Groningen), an azure dragon was a royal pain in the behind to the people who earned their living aboard the many fishing boats that sailed the Lauwerszee and trading ships that sailed from the Dollard to the Baltic Sea. Closer to the city, on the east side, a scarlet dragon had built itself a warm nest. These were hard times for both the city and the Ommelanden, because "rustig waark" (a reference to Grunnens Laid, the anthem of Groningen) doesn't exactly go hand in hand with two dragons that occasionally undo the hard work.
Then something unexpected happens. A third dragon appears. A young dragon, whose origins are not difficult to guess. With the fiery passion of his mother and the intelligence of his father, the Purple Dragon settles even further inland, just outside the northern city gate of Groningen.
Almost every evening, a large portion of Groningen's young men and women gather at the Ebbinge Gate to watch the Purple Dragon, which is prowling the Laege Landen (translates to Low Countries, but refers to the lower-lying areas bordering the city) outside the city walls. When the dragon returns to its nest with a full stomach after the hunt, the city's residents gather at the inn on Ebbingestraat.
That inn became a second home for many. A place where young people made plans for how the city would deal with the purple plague that was making trade on the Boterdiep so difficult. Where tactics were discussed. Where they teased eachother when their boastful talk went too far, and where they looked with admiration at the creators of the most brilliant attack plans.
The inn quickly became known as "the inn of the Purple Dragon." Even when the Purple Dragon grew older and left the Groningen area behind, the inn remained a place where people gathered. Where tactics were discussed, where plans were made. Where people helped each other with advice and practical help.
And when the Ebbinge Gate was no longer needed to protect the city, when the inn was no longer the first safe haven within Groningen's walls, only the memories and the name remained. And, though inexplicable, also the feeling of being welcome and safe.
The Purple Dragon