Fantasy
Apex
It was proud to be known as Scourge of the Vale. Who wouldn’t be? Beasts across the world knew the boundaries of its claim. None rivaled the Scourge’s size, the speed of its accursed, leathery wings, the unparalleled perception of its hooked nose. Predators in its claim survived only by leaving. And when the Scourge ate its fill, it rested in its great eyrie on the Spire. For decades, centuries. Millenia even. Until the Vale refilled with the oblivious and overconfident. Humans, usually. They were the most oblivious and overconfident. Prey mammals would be drawn to the overflowing foliage of the claim. Predators would follow. Then, the feast began.
By Jordan Berman4 years ago in Fiction
The Master Of Eight
Chapter One The ship docks in coarse black sand and the white froth of the sea laps at its aft. The parasites now dress in thick wraps of fur, they pull leather gloves on their sickly pale hands and wear the remnants of gutted animals on their heads. Cuffs of iron rattle when he is pulled out of the damp bilges, despite the dark mass of clouds in the sky, he winces at the assault of daylight on his deprived senses. On the right side of the ship, mountains of obsidian black loom high into the blemish of charcoal clouds. He only drags his eyes away from their magnificence when he’s held by the crook in his armpits and dragged forward.
By Safy Kezzim4 years ago in Fiction
The Lostling
1 Xyranna spied the wreckage from a mile in the air. In a remote area far away from human kind, where it was free for dragons to fly in the open without usually being seen, the sight of something unnatural to the wild was enough to shift Xyranna’s mood from one of sorrow to one of curiosity.
By Dustin Walker4 years ago in Fiction
Bonded for Life
Dragons avoided interactions with all two-legged races. During the war, their oldest friends were rendered extinct. For the safety of their kind, the Dragon King ordered the young and a few trusted elders to leave their birthland. However, shortly upon arrival into the new one, they were attacked by a race called humans. They were merciless, attacking the dragons daily. Even now, centuries later, they continued the offensive. The only difference between then and now, there was one two-legged the dragons trusted.
By Jordan Vallely4 years ago in Fiction
World's End
His anger surged within him as he blasted dragonfire upon the villagers. He could hear them shouting, he could feel their fear. He reveled in it. That is what he, the great black dragon commanded! Ah, the pitiful lives of these mortals, weak timelines at best.
By Dylan Brons4 years ago in Fiction
Dinner and a Show
Had any distant travelers chanced to look to the moon on this storm-shrouded night, the shadows cast by Larafael's enormous wings would have likely sparked great panic. Though, being the size of the baroque cathedrals of the elves, Larafael did not pay much heed to the concerns of humans, not unless their concern could produce an army of war machines eager to be turned into kindling. An unlikely prospect, for he lazily soared over the treetops of a forest far removed from the reach of their paltry enclaves. He belched a small gout of smoke and spat out the charred femur of a sheep that had been stuck in the back of his mouth for much of the flight back.
By Gordon Graham4 years ago in Fiction
The Fledgling
The clearing, ringed with spruce and birch and tussocked underfoot with coarse grasses, was tinged a murky yellow under the grey blanketing sky. A slow drizzle laced the air, the moisture neither falling nor rising, but coalescing on the little girl’s lashes, beading into bright gems around the darkness of each iris, one, deepest brown, the other unfathomable blue. She stood alone and quiet, in the centre of the clearing, the gaze of those wide, cloud-rimed eyes passing from shadow to shadow as she sought comprehension between the encircling trunks. She should have been cold, standing there, naked and wet in the cool air, but the water lay on her skin like it was obsidian, and the only movement in her small body were those probing eyes. She did not shiver or pimple, not from cold, and not from fear, as the gloom thickened above her and the wind whipped her black hair about her face. But in the valley, an ululation spread through the village setting cats and dogs alike to their crying, as the wise women watched the distant hillside and held their talismans tight to their breasts.
By Hannah Moore4 years ago in Fiction
The End of Fire and Scales
Nothing could distract one from a hunt quite like the smell of fresh blood. An avian screech cut through the air as golden nostrils flared at the scent. Below, pink cherry blossoms capped in snow passed in a blur as the face of the Jorgand Mountains fast approached. Slit-pupil eyes of molten honey slid from a frantically fleeing griffin to the trees below. She had thought her empty stomach had fooled her, but the air carried the delectable aroma of sanguine satisfaction to her from the east adamantly. It called to her, seemingly pulling her shimmering snout towards it with invisible tendrils. It was a call she had little choice but to answer.
By Alanah Phillip4 years ago in Fiction
