Fantasy
Valley of the Accidentals
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. 300 years ago the Opius, the World organization regulating magic, planned to bring them back as powerful weapons to combat the Torrey. The Torrey were rising in power and threatening to reveal the true nature of magic to the ordinaries. The plan was to discreetly administer an elixir to a small fleet of Sky Warriors in the public eye, as to not stir trouble. They were directed to take a delaying capsule, then return to the camp in the woods for a monitored transformation. Morgan Lister, a highly decorated witch selected for this mission let her guard down leading to three ordinaries being exposed to magic becoming the first dragons since extinction, they are known as accidentals.
By Demetria Beck4 years ago in Fiction
Death in the Valley
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Not always. That was common knowledge. The reckoning of when they came and the tales of the destruction they caused however, changed constantly depending on the night and what bar you were in. An off duty soldier with his feet on the table would insist over his ale that the official report said it was one hundred and fifty two years ago exactly that the valley burned along with everything in it. The local gossip would hint through pipe smoke and chatter that she figured it was about fifteen family lines wiped out only four generations ago. An Innkeeper in particularly good humor would slip you an extra pint and tell you of when his great grandad was a boy and one of only six survivors of the building of the barricade and had the scars to prove it. No two stories were alike. But two things were absolutely agreed on. The dragons were in the valley now. And they were always hungry.
By Hadley Crane 4 years ago in Fiction
The Dragon Naturalist
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Most days, there were none at all. But there were always fresh reminders that this was no place to wander. Spoor that didn’t stop glowing for days, like something tipped gently from a giant casting ladle, holding lazy folds that one might mistake for cooling lava piled into graceful forms, perched like infernal icing on the boulders. Half-eaten things that were too small for the giant snouts to scavenge from the smaller rocky crevices where they had tumbled during a meal — “burnt orts” my father had called them. These bits were always charred into inedibility from what Naturalists termed the “finishing flare”: a sort of brief fiery rinse of the feeding area that burned all blood and residue into an inorganic-looking patina on the rocks, leaving nothing to draw crows and rats. Dragons were clean that way.
By Victor O. Leshyk4 years ago in Fiction
The Dark Magician
“There weren't always dragons in the valley. They appeared at the war's end when the fighting reached its peak. The ancestral beings came from the world beyond the sky to judge the deeds of men and women, as well as, to protect the sacred land.” Meerna said as she gently closed her book. “Who told you that?” Shane muttered as he sat on his bed with his forearms resting on his raised knees. It was still the early morning before sunrise and visibility was low in the servant’s quarters, but Shane’s bronze face caught the moonlight pouring in through the window almost perfectly. His face mirrored that of one in deep contemplation. It was partially covered by his curly raven hair which didn't help. Yet, his turquoise eyes had a piercing effect, almost as if once she caught his gaze her life would be laid bare before him.
By Arman Bryant4 years ago in Fiction
The Red Sun
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Our dearly beloved winged friends. Is this good or bad one might ask. It depends on who shares the tale. There was a long period of chilling fear and chaos in our world before the prophecy unfurled that brought to life our first dragons whose birth eclipsed the burning of the red sun.
By Nicole Ferguson4 years ago in Fiction
Hagop the Gem Smuggler
Hagop the Gem Smuggler There weren’t always dragons in the valley. But when the Turks ravaged the villages, expanding their reach into Armenia proper, the reptilian monsters followed. Opium was in demand again, and the Empire had big plans for poppy fields. But the irresistible draw, for reptile and hominid alike, was the garnet-like gem found in the hidden caves of the Caucasus mountains. Here, myriads of Rozilian mines had recently been unearthed. The swirl of light and dark red shades visible in each stone was hypnotizing. The gem’s beauty piqued the interest of the bored and drowsy sultanas, and its rarity captured the greedy heart of the smuggler. But for dragons, it was the smell: musky, sharp, rotting. The same stench that had kept the mines covered for centuries. But now the odor was released, and drew the creatures down from the north.
By Eve Burtness4 years ago in Fiction
The Guardian of Ry'luin
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. A cold war had raged between humanity and dragonkind for five hundred years prior to the sun’s rising on this 15th day of Blodeuyn, 807ac. The two species never mingled and unexplained accidents occurred in the melting pot of hostile peace, never tipping the scale back into open warfare after the casualties from the last true war they’d fought. Until now.
By Leann Evans4 years ago in Fiction
