Fable
The Smith
Sweat sprayed from the young man’s well-muscled ebony shoulders with each hammer blow, mirroring the sparks cascading from the singing steel he grasped tightly with his forge tongs. Penub wiped his brow, leaving a trail of soot in the wake of his hand. He blinked away the sting of perspiration from his eyes as he placed the steel back into the forge. Once the metal was restored to a white-hot glow, that could even be seen on a bright sunny day like this one, Penub resumed his hammering. The steel obeyed each hammer stroke and soon Penub lost himself in the repetitiveness of his work. When he could get in these grooves, he would become unflappable, and time often slipped away from Penub. Last time this happened an entire day was lost to him as he hammered out fourteen horseshoes, twelve swords and a year’s stock of carpenter’s nails before he snapped out of it. That time the entire day was lost to him. If someone had stopped by the forge to talk with him, he wouldn’t have known or at very least had no recollection of them doing so.
By K.H.A. Wassing3 years ago in Fiction
Nima and the Human Boy
s an abandoned toddler in the forest. “I really don’t want to do this,” she muttered under her warm breath. Nima didn’t know why her mother insisted she be the one to go collect the offering from the Lake of Sacrifice. It wasn’t her fault her brother decided to be a total idiot and fight a troll when he knew what a little spite from a troll could do to a dragon.
By Nneka Anieze3 years ago in Fiction
You Are No Dragon
"What is your name, child?" asked the dragon, smoke swirling within her nostrils and fire burning in her belly. "Iduna," said the small child, round and supple from a diet of milk and honey. She smiled as she bit into an apple with her fresh, white teeth, leaving tiny bites in the golden skin of her favorite fruit.
By Emily E Mahon3 years ago in Fiction
The Rain Maiden. First Place in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge. Top Story - November 2022.
A thousand years ago a drought plagued the village of Shan Yu. Not a drop of rain had fallen on the village in three years. Believing Shangdi was angry with the villagers, they danced in his name, praying for storms and rain to fall on Shan Yu. But after dancing for seven days and seven nights, not a single cloud appeared in the sky.
By M. Fritz Wunderli3 years ago in Fiction
The Boy, The Beetle, The Burning (Chapter 1, Draft 1)
Ancient bones hold strong, despite the pains brought by dropping barometric pressure. It was a cool day, which he did not like. He had just eaten and needed the heat to help his digestion. Mist kissed his keeled, mottled scales and wove through the woods. Something was in the air. Something else.
By Elisabeth Balmon3 years ago in Fiction










