Adventure
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By Harry smith4 years ago in Fiction
Agartha
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. At one time long ago in a faraway Kingdom named Agartha, enchanted mythical creatures known as unicorns lived in the Valley of the Blessed and in the Dark Forest of Naraka. These gracefully being’s roamed everywhere in the Kingdom of Agartha. In particular, a special kindhearted Rainbow Unicorn named Arion. He sadly trotted in the Dark Forest of Naraka away from the Towering Kain Castles. You see, he was the last one of his kind to survive the ongoing war between King Ares and the ruthless Lamia, the Evil Dragon, and god of the underworld.
By Victoria Ramos4 years ago in Fiction
Blue
“There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There wasn’t always a valley. Before valleys became popular, most places just had big flat spaces— then someone decided to, quite literally, shake things up a bit. That’s how we got all this topsy turvy stuff going on with high bits and low bits. Somehow the high bits got higher and the low bits got even lower until some clever bugger decided it would be a good idea to throw fire into the mix— which of course set off the chain reaction of lava sprouting everywhere and before you could say ‘what’s that sulphur smell?’ we had volcanoes. I won’t tell you who brought in the water, but I guess it had to be done. Somehow the water went from up in the sky to down on the ground. Then it just kept going in a cycle until we had these long flowing snake-like things that went into big pools of goodness knows what, but it can’t have been good for anyone because before you knew it, we had this green stuff growing everywhere, I don’t know why it was green, and who got to decide what green even is but they clearly didn’t know what was good for themselves. Or for us. That’s how we got these big green bits and small green bits. Then of course, some clever dick decided we had to name all this stuff— dunno whose idea that was but of course it brought on disagreements on all sides because— what is a name? I don’t know why they decided these names, but they did, and now we have mountains and rivers and trees and grasslands and heather and council meetings and taxes and rebates and valleys. And that Valley in particular was pleasant and peaceful and quiet and nobody was that fussed about naming anything because… well we’d already been through all that. Nothing new. No more names. Peace was a plenty. We were full of peace.
By Matt Baron4 years ago in Fiction
Observations Regarding the Presumed Legend of the Mighty Kraken - Chapter One
O’ sundering Kraken! You great mysterious creature whose writhing tentacles and fantastic mass have been the death of countless ships. Your insatiable hunger seeking out those vessels filled with courageous men and women whose souls will give you the sustenance needed to grow untold sizes. Thou gargantuan beast, whose legends have stretched across a millennia, remain the terror of every human being bold enough to ride onto the great grey sea in search of wealth and adventure. This here is the tale of one such band of lonely adventurers, a disgraced intellectual, an enervated hunter, a drowned sea captain, and one humble observer, all of which went out seeking fame and fortune in the form of a dead kraken. Their story, which I recount for you now, is a tale of woe, a tale of danger, and a tale of great friendship.
By Mark Proudlock4 years ago in Fiction
There weren't always dragons in the Valley.
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact the species that ruled the area was the domesticated feline, your average house cat. The felines had taken over the planet. There was at least a population of 3 cats to each human. Being an invasive species they kept breading and killing. They killed so much they drove many different species to extinction.
By Christy Bang4 years ago in Fiction
Chapter one
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Occasionally , one or two came down from the Frontier Mountains to look for food, when things were scarce for them, but that happened twice a year at the very most. Even then most of them simply flew over Baro and went back to their nests. There hadn’t been a fatality for the last forty season cycles. And that too was a child no more than five autumns old, too stubborn, or young , or both, to heed the alarms of the Red nosed swifts, followed by the bell of Jinpa Dorji.
By Neil Marathe4 years ago in Fiction
