Fable

Song of the Sea
“To my wonderful son, a new graduate of the Igneous school!” said Poseidon, raising his chalice in one paw to the open sky. “Enoch, you have surpassed me, and I can die a happy dragon.”
By Harbor Benassa3 years ago in Fiction
Hearth and Guidance
The sound of children gathered around a glorious campfire echoed in the starry night. One could sense their excitement as they sat within earshot of a blind old man who smiled at the fire as if looking at a loved one. Everyone, even adults, rallied around, knowing their time with this wise grandfather figure was limited. Not because they were worried he would pass away (although, because of his long beard, withering strength, and an overall sense of eternal peace, some did genuinely believe it was past his eternal bedtime) but because he came but once a year to this small village deep in the forest, miles away from the nearest kingdom and only told one story before picking up his humble belongings and moving on. He had been doing this for about a decade now, every year without fault or pause, he rested around the fire on the eve of Spring, always with a new story to tell. Because of this routine, the kids grew up hearing his fantastical stories once a year, yearning for more and had affectionally nicknamed him Grampa Tales.
By Matias Costa3 years ago in Fiction
No Where They Could Run
Chapter 1 From The Eye and Ears of a Dragon A mother dragon was gathering food for feeding her newborn young when she found what appeared to be an abandoned toddler wondering alone in the forest. Immediately her motherly instinct was to take it and protect it from the robots or the male dragons, but out of fear that it was a trap she stopped herself. Robots were known for luring and trapping mother dragons so they could capture their babies only for them to never be seen again.
By Ruby Estelle 3 years ago in Fiction
Dragons Recompense
Zarel, the dragon, flew back from his escapade of plunder, destruction, and hunting. His hunting was something more fierce though. He was without mercy, compassion, and love. His hunt had destroyed an entire village in a clearing just outside the forest he knew as his home. He flew back with the taste of vengeance in his heart, a good feeling to him.
By Michael Butler3 years ago in Fiction
Guardian of the Forest
I closed my eyes as my wings drifted softly over the forest bark and ferns. I took a deep breath and pulled in the fresh scent of nature. It had just rained and it’s lingering moist aroma was still hanging in the air. My wings hit familiar leaves and I opened my eyes to look over at the familiar strawberry bush. They were large and red, perfectly ripe. I nimbly picked a few off the bush, savouring every bite. It’s sweet juices burst into my mouth and I smiled. Nature was such a wonderful gift. The sweet strawberry fragrance mixed with the musty odour of the fresh rain; and to me, it was perfect harmony.
By Alyxander McLean3 years ago in Fiction
Altar of Aligore
Worn smooth from years of rain and mother’s tears, the altar in the clearing glowed under the light of the full moon like it was a missing piece. The old priest limped to the stone and ran his hand down the edge from above his head down to his waist, forgetting about the small procession behind him for a few moments. Maeve stopped at the border between woodland and glade. Her husband, Caleb, placed his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her. She shook him off.
By Sean A.3 years ago in Fiction
Skin Is A Fragile Thing
Awoken by a sudden noise the Old Kin lazily opened its eyes; still undecided if it should care. They had been alone in this place for years. The rustling in their ears was hardly made by anything of substantial size, but what bothered them was that there had been no sound of the creature’s approach. The Old Kin was at the bottom of a massive, hollowed out, tree. It was a remnant of an ancient forest. One of the few trees that had not been completely razed but had not escaped the hand of time either. The remainder of the tree was petrified, leaving a base thousands of miles across, and a trunk that stretched far into the sky. Such that only a creature with wings, or the aid of pesky spells, could find their way into this secluded habitat. A place whose silence loyally betrayed any noise, had given no warning. Begrudgingly, the dragon lifted its heavy, diamond head and swiveled it toward the unexpected, and unwelcome, guest.
By Sol3 years ago in Fiction
Malenda
And there he was - a bare beast with taloned, varmint hands clawing at this young girl. Why, she was only 3 years of age. Her folds of fat, waiting to become longer limbs. Her teeth longing for a home in the crevices of that child's mouth, impatiently hoping to some day learn the word: Help.
By Sophie Wakefield 3 years ago in Fiction
The Fable of The Dragon Prince
Fire fumed through the trees, withering them away with its heat. Ash rained from the sky, settling on an infant boy. His cries echoed through the forest. The crashing of footsteps as a large silhouette approached the child. With every cry, it drew closer, until it was face to face with the smut-covered baby. If it weren’t for the illumination of the flames, the creature would have blended into the night. The dragon's mouth simmered; sparks danced through its teeth as it examined the child. The youngsters cries quickly turned to giggles, amused by the dancing sparks. Imitating the dragon, the baby’s teeth too began to spark. Small flames made their way through the gaps of what little teeth the infant had. Curious still, the boy reached out and touched the dragon. In an instant, the dragon recoiled, roaring in pain.
By Nick Forbes3 years ago in Fiction
Libelle
"It takes a village to raise a child". That's how the saying goes. But apparently not every village is so kind: especially if a child is different.
By Brigitte Bennet3 years ago in Fiction
Saccades
In spoken Romancy, the word "dragon" in its most literal definitions, means "non-living", or "un-alive". This was a fact that somewhat perplexed Iris, as she didn't recall feeling particularly "un-alive". As far as she was concerned, she was more alive than anyone. Especially, she was more alive than the little mortal things that defined her that way. The peoples of Roma, always so quick and desperate to define. Everything always had to be dangerous, or ancient, or foreign. They loved their definitions, even for the things they didn’t understand. Things like Iris. She was older than them, stranger than them too. A piece of the old world itself. But the peoples of Roma had their ways and Iris had hers. She was not one of them, of course. She was, as they say, a dragon; one of only four. Moreover, she was the oldest dragon, the first one. That made her the oldest thing of all things. However the little mortals chose to define her, that was their business. She knew what she was, and she knew her mission. She was blessed with it, burdened with it, even before her first moment in this world. Those misguided mortal things that so misunderstood her were actually under her sworn protection. Yes, that was her mission. They were her mission. Her blessing and her burden. She was created, just like her sister and two brothers, to cradle and protect mortal life. A weighty design to be sure, but one she was more than capable of fulfilling. She had a purpose. It was something she carried in her bosom with pride, even if the little people on the ground didn’t know it. It was enough for her to know.
By C. Martin Thornton3 years ago in Fiction
Witches by Nightfall
It was not a surprise when she came knocking at my door. The rain was coming down in torrents, and her umbrella did nothing to stop the relentless water from soaking her fine clothes. In my hand I held my favorite tarot deck, and in my heart, I could feel her sadness. “Moonchild, I require your immediate services.” Though we were acquainted, her tone remained steady and none the less chilly, as if she were talking to one of her handmaidens. I nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to walk into my warmly lit home.
By Serena Norris3 years ago in Fiction