Fable
Return of the Chosen
An army of yellow lights held atop torches approached the woods at the edge of the valley of Landor. Whispers passed in the wind as forest trees woke from the slumber that had carried them through decades of peace. Redwoods and Oaks spoke in the ancient language of the Druids, warning of the threat approaching in the distance from beyond the blankets of grass that stretched across the Flat Plains to the Dark Lands. Drum beats thundered through the air in songs of war. Legions of Ogres, followed by legions of Orcs, covered the earth for miles. In a quarter day's march, the first of their lines would arrive at the forest's edge.
By The Invisible Writer2 years ago in Fiction
When the pen is mightier than the sword!
Long ago in a landed forest of written words, where many liked to concoct imaginative anecdotes, narratives, fables, parables and myths, there dwelled an evil wizard. Prince Volcan was the last in a long line of horrible, wicked and conniving storied royalty. For as long as anyone could remember, the royal witches and wizards had been capturing people's souls and forcing them to spin all sorts of mystical and unbelievable tales.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction
The Forest of Lost Knowledge. Top Story - April 2024.
Tomorrow marks eight hundred years since the great Celestine Library vanished. Einar rested his pen on blank pages. Some scribe he’d turned out to be. They were a week into their journey and not once had he written about their travels or findings. Not that there was much to report on that had not been recorded a thousand times over.
By M. A. Mehan 2 years ago in Fiction
Buddha Throws Stones
"Perhaps if we toss stones into the Abyss, we’ll fill it up to the top, and no one will ever have to fall again," the poet said. "Dirt and rocks and seeds and a pleasant deluge of good intention could grow a garden of Heavenly delights."
By C. Rommial Butler2 years ago in Fiction
The whispered whimsy of seashells
Amethyst sat by the seashore staring far into the distance, looking with eyes that saw not the present, but the not so distant past. The long ago past blended with the illusion of time, warping the memories, as if bending time in refracted rays of nostalgia. She held the seashell to her ear and listened to the voices of those beyond the confines of her sentient world. What was out there that lived and thrived, where everything existed without the inevitable connection one to another. Independent beings roamed wild out there, each having a mind of their own.
By Novel Allen2 years ago in Fiction
