Fantasy
The Cinnawarbler
‘There weren’t always dragons in the Valley!’ yelled Prince Shortbread as he looked back at the enormous double headed dragon chasing them both through the forest. ‘You don’t say?!’ shrieked Earl Brownie as he followed closely on his terrified stallion. The wind rushed past them both as they swiftly followed the trail to the edge of the woods. Suddenly one of the trees ahead, lit up a bright orange, as flames shot through the air and narrowly missed the crown on Prince Shortbread’s head. ‘Help me!’ yelled Prince Shortbread to Earl Brownie. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he yelled back. ‘Perhaps…’ he delayed for a moment, as his heart pounded in his chest and the horse picked up speed. ‘Perhaps… SLAY the dragon?’ he screamed as another burst of flames lit up the undergrowth next to him.
By Joshua Maggs4 years ago in Fiction
Arach
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. No, it had once been heaven on earth, to Owain at least. In the summer he would roam Glendalough for hours, lost in its endless menagerie of colours: the petals of the Easter lily, trumpeted and cloud-white; the yellow haze of the cowslips, their clusters like a thousand suns; the pale purple blades of squill dotting the riverbank.
By T. McCormack4 years ago in Fiction
A Dragon's Bond
Chapter One. The Assassination There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but then again, there weren’t always dragons here at all. Two summers ago, these green and pleasant lands had been turned into pastures of grey and barren waste. When the first dragons arrived, the Boarderlanders smelled them before seeing them. The smoke rising ahead of them like the bowsprit of a boat, the boats wake the death left behind. No one had been prepared for what would come after their arrival. No one. But that had been four months ago now. And Horrace couldn’t afford to live in the past. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he would live in the present. He looked out of the valley before him, with its twisted mountain walls leading like a stem on a leaf to a winding and pathetic stream. The charred patchwork of smoke, death, and decay a lasting reminder of the presence of these Western invaders. From his sniper's nest nestled into the hillside, he had observed the little village on the valley floor. For three days, he had watched the pattern of life in the valley. The shepherds rising early, and returning late, the bakers, who were the first to bring the village to life with their fires, and their smoke. And the Western Guard, who were as decisive as they were lethal. Horrace recalled his briefing from Edgard. “The Western Guard fight like lighting. A perfect combination of air dragon assault, infantry attack, and cavalry advance. Domination in all three spheres means domination on the battlefield, with no way of defeat.” Horrace had asked the obvious follow-up question, “if there is no way of defeating them, how do we defeat the guard? They have superior training, equipment, and tactics!” Edgard had chuckled at his reply. “Well,” he said, his voice as fatherly as it was empowering, “we don’t fight them on their battlefield.” And so that’s why Horrace was here, in the ice-cold rain, lying in three days worth of human waste so that he could fight the enemy, but on his terms and his alone. The brackish amber light of a winter's sun was relentlessly trying to crawl through the acidic smoke which hung in the valley like a plague. The darkness was good; he reminded himself. For his deeds could be done in the dark. It was the light that terrified him…
By Samuel Atkinson4 years ago in Fiction
Valley of the Great Lake
Chapter 1 There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The beasts of ash and fire were drawn, as all the creatures were, to the water. A lake gleamed at the floor of the massive ravine; it provided the singular clean water source within the mountainous and forested region. Here, life teemed…..and roared and growled and grunted and chirped. Most of the valley’s inhabitants were winged. The birds nested and sheltered in the surrounding pines while the dragons ran rampant among the stone, grass, and brown, coarse soil. An occasional herd of wild boar might charge their way down from the rock face to partake in the clear nourishment only to return in haste to the thick of their wood to avoid becoming a meal. Rarer still, a wild horse from the hills might stray down, find the lake, toss its head at the scent of the dragons, and quickly leave if it was in good fortune.
By Sonja Snow4 years ago in Fiction
Dragons in the Way
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Ducking back behind the boulder, Salk thought about those days, not so long ago, before the dragons came. Before this particular dragon came. Life had been peaceful and food plentiful. A nostalgic smile on his face, Salk recalled his last unhindered trip into the Valley with Rindie, his faithful, furry companion. Absently, Salk reached up and scratched Rindie’s neck and let his mind travel back in time. That last trip had been both successful and, although challenging, it actually bordered on fun, something with which Salk was not intimately familiar.
By CRAIG MAYERS4 years ago in Fiction
The Forest Grove
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. There was a time before. There was a time when the ancient forest trees were the guardians of the people who worshipped them. There was a time when the solstice festivals were alive with music laughter and singing between the people and the trees, and the equinox was a time for creativity and the grove transformed into a thousand colours. There was a time when our people would celebrate and dance through the forest with no fear. The forest grove seemed to dance with us.
By Isobelle Smith4 years ago in Fiction
World of C
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Funny thing is, those guys weren’t even the ones to fear. If anything they feared us. Or at least the ones we masked ourselves to look like. We soon learned that trying to resemble them at close hand only harmed their understanding of the world around them. We came to help, but maybe we did more harm than good. We weren’t allowed to leave until the mission was done. So they sent the next crew in, and now we watch in awe, for they were more stronger than any of us. Now we wait.
By Valentine Casey4 years ago in Fiction
Crispin Fletcher, Dragonhunter
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There hadn't been dragons for years, maybe even centuries, although that seemed a very long time ago indeed. At least no one living in the small village of Eldenvale or its surrounding farmsteads had ever claimed to have seen one in all of their long years. In the case of wizened, shrivelled old Edme Thatch who had no teeth and only ate soup, that was as far back as anybody could remember. Possibly even further.
By Daniel VanderWerff4 years ago in Fiction
Dragons of Summer
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The wide river and once fertile grasslands surrounding it, had seen a small community spring up. Slowly the people began to build in the valley, dams to control the spring floods and to harness the river's power. But over time, the people began to take too much from the land, the river began to run dry as they irrigated their fields, not for food, but rather for flowers, grown only for their beauty. The hill tops of the valley, once home to tall forests of ancient trees, had been cut bare leaving a desolate windswept vista.
By Bret Hampton4 years ago in Fiction
