
D. E. King
Bio
Life is an adventure and is what you make of it, so make it good!
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Stories (7)
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From Stories to Systems. AI-Generated.
For a long time, this space has been a bit… quiet. If you’ve stumbled across this blog before, you might have seen short stories, poems, or bits of fiction—creative experiments written at different points in my life. That part of me hasn’t disappeared. I still love storytelling, world-building, and exploring ideas through narrative.
By D. E. Kingabout 15 hours ago in Gamers
Fox Tales
A grown dragon finds a lost — or abandoned — toddler in the forest. The dragon approached quietly, with uncanny stealth and grace considering her massive size. She gently sniffed at the child who lay huddled at the base of a large Sugi (杉) tree with nothing but a fleece blanket to cover him. Lifting her head with a look of curiosity and surprise, she sensed a magical aura about the boy and noticed his blanket bearing the crest of the high Vulpine Court of Celestial Foxes. The boy looked human, probably around two years of age, and unlike the local population of humans in this region who all have ebony black hair, this boy had very light blond hair, nearly white in fact.
By D. E. King3 years ago in Fiction
Fox Tales
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Then one day without warning, the sky shattered and seemed to unzip in a streak of fire as a great rift tore open the Earth’s material plane, releasing dragons into the world once more. The people of the Taira Valley watched in shock and terror as dragons began pouring through the rift and descended on the nearby mountains and the single small village in the center of the valley. By the time the dragons moved on in all directions to claim their own territories, the village, and all of their crops and thatched roof homes were destroyed in flames. Over half of the village population died in the dragons’ wake. It was a nightmare beyond anything they had ever dreamed.
By D. E. King4 years ago in Fiction
Reflections
Worthless. It's all worthless. The daggers of the reality she now perceives as the utter refuse of her existence settle into her spirit, tearing at her heart as she sweeps her arm across her desk, sending flurries of papers and books sprawling to the floor. What's the use of even trying? Breaking down in sobs, she sinks past the chair and curls over her own knees on the floor, releasing the waves of her despair against the desk in her study.
By D. E. King5 years ago in Motivation






