Fantasy
The Beginning of Darkness
The roars of the Orc horde could have been heard from beneath the mines of Dresebul, the deepest mines of the world. They flew forward in a rage as the people of the small village of Fawnlight, within the land of Asterine, screamed and ran for cover. This small fishing village stood no chance against the onslaught as the Orc horde overcame them as a shadow cast from a setting sun overtakes the land. Fires erupted, people scattered and screamed as they attempted to escape their fate from the large apex predators viewing the village as prey today. Smoke filled the sky, the once stark crimson of a sunrise now marking a day of bloodshed. A young woman with a fresh gash upon her forehead cowers behind a dying horse, her small sweating hands exacerbating the horse’s temperament from a giant axe wound at its nape. Within her grasp, her younger brother swaddled against her chest. As she attempted to run, she is knocked over by the panicking horse, almost like a candle in the night, giving attention to a group of Orcs as she attempts to flee. She scrambled up on her feet and ran further and further, tears flew down her face, her breath caught in her throat, the burning sensation of the smoke caused her to choke, the burns of the fire were fresh upon her back. She still saw the stuck face of her mother seared into her memory. The sword wound in the young girl’s abdomen created more tension as she attempted to flee. The Orcs were gaining, their grunting to one another now a perfect harmony of understanding on how to corner their next meal. The sobbing of the young woman was overcome by the screams from behind her, the clumping of heavy feet gaining upon her, and the now dead silence in front of her. She hurried forward still, sheer willpower drove her until her foot caught on a decaying log and she fell into a wide birth of uprooted and torn down trees. She buried her burnt and scratched face into her hands, as she attempted to cocoon her young brother with her quivering body. She struggled to breathe as she cried, awaiting with torturous agony of what the Orcs had in store for her and her brother. After what felt like an eternity, she rolled over and wiped her eyes, looking in bewilderment at the group of Orcs staring past her with dumbfounded looks painted on their bloodied faces. She turned around to see a very large golden dragon, its neck curling backward like a cobra preparing to strike, its tongue flickering in and out while its hands spread wide, showing massive golden scaled wings in between its long and outstretched fingers.
By Sean Hubbard4 years ago in Fiction
The State of a Dragon’s soul
THE STATE OF A DRAGON’S SOUL By Nathan Baxter The thrumming of rain, the howling, and whistling of the wind through ancient untouched forest, sounds of undisturbed nature going about its life. All these sounds rose up the mountainside to a large well-worn opening creating a perfect lullaby for a hibernating dragon at the edge of the world.
By Nathan Baxter4 years ago in Fiction
The legend of Brochmail and Xia
Once upon a time there was a boy. At three years old he did not know he would become the king of Wales. He did, however, know that he was cold and hungry and not too far from death. He accepted it, though he was scared; he had never seen a dragon in the flesh. He pulled his arms around himself, trying not to smudge the woad markings that covered his body. Each year a child from the village was picked at random, painted with symbols and images that were older than the village itself, taken to the forest, and left there as a sacrifice to the dragons. This year Brochmail was the chosen child. His mother had explained the ritual as she tucked him into bed. He was not to fight when the dragon came; he had to let it kill him for the village to be protected. The other children must have fought back because, as far as Brochmail knew from the few, small bits of history he had learned from his older brothers, dragons had been attacking people and stealing livestock from this village for as long as anyone knew. Their village wasn’t the only one that sacrificed their children for protection. In fact, every village and town in Wales was required to do it by order of the king. Brochmail was still cold, his skinny arms doing little to protect his flesh from the elements. He knelt by one of the ritual candles that sat in a circle around him, and stretched out his hands to the flame, making sure to not get too close just like his mother had told him. Without warning everything stopped. The wind stopped blowing, the birds stopped singing, the squirrels stopped playing in the autumn leaves. Brochmail felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and his heart began to beat rapidly. The dragon must be coming.
By Rachael Roberts4 years ago in Fiction
Wretched, Beautiful War Bearer
Dear Christopher Paolini, My name is Christina Zakarian, and I’m from Montreal, Canada. I want to take a moment to commend you for all your masterpieces. I was twelve when I first read Eragon, and I have loved the series ever since. Your writing and imagination inspired me to create my own little world. I never showed my work to anybody for fear of being looked down on or exposed. But this is my first time showing my world to someone, and I hope you will enjoy it. Gardova is my special place, and I invite you to dwell in it for a moment. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for showing me how it feels to have magic at the tip of my fingers.
By christina zakarian4 years ago in Fiction
Nasitrlan Day
The fourth rounded moon after the third cycle of winter, a signal etched against the black of night surrounded by the gleam of speckled twinkles. A signal that would pronounce the day of holy celebration. The day the first dragon entered the earthly universe: Nasitrlan Day.
By James U. Rizzi4 years ago in Fiction
The Dragons Daughter
The hour was late, and as the sun slept thousands of stars danced in the purple midnight sky. Large, dark wings sliced through the warm summer air; these same wings had carried the great dragon far far away from its nest in the mountains. The golden beast knew not why his wings had carried him thus far, only that they had not carried him far enough yet. In the great distance, due to his enhanced senses, he could still hear the cries and screeches of his own kind. He could still smell the destruction and dread that they had caused in the now far away land, the burning of fresh crops and the melting of grand castles. Though solitude filled his heart with sorrow, he found it preferable to the company of his fellow dragons. He was different to his scaly brothers and sisters. He wished not to dominate the comparatively weak creatures known as man, instead he desired peace between their two species and that they might thrive in symbiosis. His brethren did not share his aspirations, which compelled him toward his current journey. Far far away.
By Cyrus K. Schultz4 years ago in Fiction
The Daughter of Time
“Moeteria, the Eternal Law must remain unfrayed" — The dragon crashed through the woods, her translucent scales carved grooves into the trees that weren’t knocked down by her tremendous size. Despite her large frame, compared to the other dragons that resided in these woods, she was a dwarf.
By A.T. Baines4 years ago in Fiction
Treasure
Fire sprung on to trees and ate their branches as people fled their small village in terror leaving behind their homes and belongings. They had known a village so near the Great Dragon’s territory was a dangerous place to live but two generations had passed since Cinder Town had been established. The people felt safe and were too comfortable, wandering too near the dragon’s land for their own good and had to learn so in the worst of ways.
By Brittany Nelson4 years ago in Fiction
