Fantasy
Pendragon
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. That's what the people of the Valley called our family. I guess because it is in the name, Pendragon. Although my family lived in England for many a century, sometime during the last couple hundred years the family name changed and moved to the United States. Why you ask? The family started to hate the name. Legends follow you always when you have a last name as known as ours. To be constantly compared to an ancient ancestor tends to leave one with an urgency to disassociate with it. My great grandfather felt as much. So, the name changed. He picked a last name that was a common one, Smith. Not only describing what he did for a living, but also for it being a very generic name. Unfortunately, the famous first name still passed to the eldest male child, Arthur, my name. Yes Arthur Smith. Could I be more generic? Maybe. To break up the total commonality of my name, I became a tattoo artist. A very popular one in the tri-state area. So much so that my colleagues gave me a nickname, The Dragon. Ironic, isn't it? Why the dragon you ask? Because I slay my tattoos with fire and ferocity. Even thousands of years later, I am still being plagued with the family lineage. So it came to pass in my 25th year that a man came to the shop looking for the artist they called the Dragon. My sister, Miriam, was off that day. I had the duplicitous duty of tattooing and running the counter. Miriam's son was at home with the flu. I wasn't about to let her work when my nephew, Lance, was ill. She needed to be there for him. It was around 10pm when the man walked in. A full suit, bowler hat and cane to boot. A regular proper Englishman. Needless to say he stuck out like a sore thumb. I watch as he waited for me to finalize my transaction with my latest customer.
By MaryBeth Calahorrano4 years ago in Fiction
End of an Era
Prologue End of an Era
By Mary Rose Conlin4 years ago in Fiction
Parpetter
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. For the sake of everything good, there used to be people! Now though, the people were gone, the dragons were here, and all the beauty of the valley had been changed to fire, smoke and ash. The dragons destroyed everything including the butterflies, which had simply dissolved. Parpetter loved those butterflies, although he wasn’t really sure what the butter had to do with it. Parpetter hated flies, but he loved butterflies. It was confusing, but he guessed, “Probably cause of the butter.”
By Craig Rose4 years ago in Fiction
The Five Sisters of Kintail
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Until the winter of 2031, they kept to the high Cairngorm peaks, each one claiming its own territory atop a craggy mountain pass, and only descending into the valley below when food was scarce.
By Hillora Lang4 years ago in Fiction
Journey to Jahennah: Chapter Seven
The process of moving Lila’s family was simple, although the story behind the clockmaker was a bit more complicated. All Orva knew was that Jessie Sparrow had been at Orlodge Clockmaker’s when she had discovered the portal to Tortaris, and that the apprentice that worked there had seen her go through it. Orva didn’t know what had happened on Jessie’s return, whether the young clockmaker had waited to hear the story, or if they had stayed in contact since.
By Courtney Harris4 years ago in Fiction
The Song Wept By His Mother
He thought it was a cook fire. The dark smoke, and the smell of charred meat spoke of dinner. Jennick smiled, it meant the hunters had returned and that meant there would be celebration. Tales would be told, and the bravest of hunters smothered in glory. After, there would be dancing, and the leafale would flow freely. With that warm courage in his veins, Jennick may even dance with Sorren. He kept his speed in check, he did not want his enthusiasm to make him look young in front of his father and the other hunters, and made his way to the centre of the village. The smoke was cloying. The smell burned his nostrils. This was wrong, there was corruption in these sensations that did not belong. Jennick heard wailing, cutting through the smoke to assail his ears. Maturity forgotten, the boy ran.
By James Archbold4 years ago in Fiction
The Valley of Titans
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But after their arrival over two hundred and fifty years ago it seemed that, for now at least, they were here to stay. After The Burning in the year 354 when the great, winged titans of the sky descended upon the Valley, the inhabitants were forced out of their homes, lest they be choked to death by smoke or cooked alive by searing flames.
By S.E. Vallentine4 years ago in Fiction
