Fantasy
I Am A Dragon Killer
There weren't always dragons in the valley. It used to be a trade route. The King's gold flowed freely down the river Acheron, and then it didn't. Even from the mountaintops I could see the glitter of the dragon's hoard. And now, I stand in the middle of it. King's gold, Myrian gold, Askan silver, jewels of every shade and color.
By Rielle Hein4 years ago in Fiction
Blackrock
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” Far above, rimmed by a massive circle of rock and earth, the night sky paled towards the first hint of dawn. The man stepped away from the dangling length of rope that disappeared upwards into the gloom, pushing aside any thought of climbing back up the crumbling chasm wall. He turned his face away from the fading stars, away from his past life and his family and even his own name; none of that mattered any more. Instead, he turned towards his final doom. His release.
By Philip Peterson4 years ago in Fiction
Seductive Darkness
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley” breathed an elderly shell of man from the shadows, supporting his fragile frame with an intricate wooden staff that rose taller than him. I hadn’t noticed anyone observing me as I struggled to make words on the tattered poster peering it’s way through the towns notice board pile, attempting to still be seen through the endless wanted canvases, community announcements and upcoming events that the townsfolk have pinned. The small and barely legible banner reading “Here Ye! Here Ye! Dragon training: sunup, 2 days from the holy fare - not for the faint hearted”. I shuddered at the thought of being fierce and gruesome, riding into battle atop a fiery, scaly dragon. I turned on my heel to question the mystery stranger about the arrival of these beasts but was brought to a halt when there was not a soul to be seen. My eyes turned to the now empty and much colder alley in search of the weak and feeble man I laid eyes on just moments ago. The once small and cheerful chatter that surrounded my presence has now ceased into a bone chilling silence, so much that you could hear a pin drop. Sunshine and warmth that constantly radiated throughout the town was overcome by a sudden darkness in every nook and crevice, giving a deathly sense in the back of my mind. I somehow found myself automatically rummaging through my rucksack that crossed my body and hung just below my waist, in search of my mace. My mother always hounded me whenever I left the home to carry it with me, never actually believing I might need it one day. The stench of wet moss and decay filled the air in an instant. Tendrils of obsidian coloured shadows emerged ever so slowly from within the cracks of the pavers that lay underneath my now shaking stature. “Do not harm the girl, she is mine” a rich and almost seductive voice bellowed from the distance. Red glowing eyes and slim figures making their appearance from behind the cottages that lined the street, snickering almost as whisper scaring away the stray feline that wandered aimlessly around in search of an innocent mice or two. A headache threatens to tingle at my temples as I try to wrack the events happening around me. The hairs standing to attention on every inch of body caused me to quiver ever so slightly. I noticed the painful, icy shards start to consume my barely covered feet as the shadows made there way up my short frame, canvassing every curve and bump I had to show. My raven hair falling at the base of my back, blowing slightly from the motion of surveying silhouettes that continue to dance around me. A sickeningly sweet scent filled my nose as the physique that belonged to the deep and seductive voice stalked towards me. Within what felt like seconds, I was faced with a breathtakingly, tall man that appeared to be chiseled from the kings throne itself. My breath hitching in my throat as a golden eyed dragon followed behind, coming to a standstill behind this cryptic being. “Hello Annabelle, I’ve searched this kingdom high and low for you” a smirk forming on his full lips, his piercing blue eyes causing a haze in mine. A haze too much to bring back under control, I succumbed to the slithering coldness of the shadows. No longer having the strength to hold up my trembling body, I fell into the abyss of blackness that clouded my mind and into the arms of what I named, the seductive darkness.
By Nikki Edwards4 years ago in Fiction
Dragon Corps
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Issac remembered those words spoken to him time and time again. It was always the other part of that saying that chilled him to his core. Issac stood on the rampart, watching the dragon fly in the distance. A gentle breeze blew around him, lifting his white cape away from his body. The white plume of his helmet struggled to break from the grasp of his arm. The sun glistened off of his white armor trimmed with gold.
By Zachary Payne4 years ago in Fiction
The Anxious Hero, Prologue
June 14, 1999, Portland, Maine Witches and wizards often, though not always, went to special hospitals. There were a couple of reasons for this. For one thing, while most magicians lived a normal human lifespan, a few could live thousands of years. For medical reasons, it was most optimal for a doctor to know that a patient was millennia old. Some “regular” doctors could be trusted with this kind of secret. (“Regular” was a neutral, non-derogatory term that magicians used for humans without magical powers.) Others could not. Another reason was that those with supernatural powers tended to attract enemies with supernatural powers. One of the traditional roles of good witches and wizards was to protect regulars from malevolent witches and wizards and other dangerous supernatural entities. Not all witches and wizards embraced this kind of calling and instead preferred to focus on working as stage magicians or pursuing a life of solitude and simple pleasures. But most magicians either focused on protecting—or victimizing—regulars. Magicians who focused on protecting regulars often had to deal with attempted attacks from whatever dark supernatural entities saw them as an obstacle. This meant that going to a normal hospital could put regular patients and staff in serious danger. It was far safer for everyone for them to go to a hospital with magical security. Today, three magicians and three regulars were at the only magical hospital located in the town of Portland, known as Burr Hospital. It was named for Aaron Burr who had been both a prominent American politician and a secret wizard who used his powers to make Alexander Hamilton’s gun malfunction, allowing him to win a duel against the former Treasury Secretary.
By Charles Boyd4 years ago in Fiction
Eye of Voltare
"There weren't always dragons in the valley." The eye slot slammed closed enshrouding the young man in the alleyway in darkness. A mechanism cranked as the door slowly opened emitting a soft light into the alley. The man slid into the doorway as it slammed shut behind him.
By Zachary Payne4 years ago in Fiction
Death of a Dragon
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. We all know the stories, myths really of the age before they arrived a simple time; one of peace, quiet yet prosperity. The stories say that one day our valley will return to that time, but I don’t believe it. Nobody really does it's just one of those stories that are told to entertain troublesome children, and give those who are either stupid or desperate enough some scrap of hope. The truth is that even if we could go back to those times, who would want to, dragons brought us a gift greater than anything we ever had, they gave us magic. Magic allowed us to create wonders we had never even dreamed of before and surpass even our wildest expectations. I believe in magic, I believe in dragons, and I believe in myself and my ability to bring our great nation of Valdera to the future. Our future doesn’t lie in the Valley, it lies beyond in a world we haven’t seen since the first age. I intend to cross the Black Mountains and discover what treasures lie beyond for the betterment of all of humanity, if you want to be a part of this vote for Trajan Beckett ”.
By Ryder Jacobson4 years ago in Fiction
