Fantasy
This is the Sound We Make
There weren't always Dragons in the Valley. The scriptures contain forbidden memoirs of a time before soldiers in the streets, in epistles that spark rebellion in the minds of the few who can read, and all those who listen to the blasphemous folklore carried down through generations. Subscribers to the Occult of Dsuena mark this time as the 217th year of Awakening from the control of Ušhumgal, the Great Beast. Those who claim that there never was a Slumber live in fearful service still, with no knowledge of the past, and no hope for the future. All in the valley are subjugated to the control of the Ušhuméren, the Dragon Soldiers; human as they are, their power is absolute.
By Meredith Lee4 years ago in Fiction
Dragons Are Awful, Like Turnips
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Usually they were in the hills. Or the cupboards, the clouds, the trees and bushes, or sometimes in your hair. But not the Valley; that was important. It’s the big rule: "There Be Dragons, But Not Here- Dragons Stay Out Of The Valley." We even wrote it on a sign and stuck it right outside, hoping the dragons would see it and not come in.
By John Davis4 years ago in Fiction
Almanac Imperium
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” The corpulent and wizened old man begins to recite the words from the Holy book, but thinks better of it with his enfeebled mind. “As the book says, it was at one time barren, in the time of fires and smoke that seemed to seep from every vein of this world, devoid of water. Nearly devoid of life until the great ones deigned to grace us with the remembrance of who we are, all in this world, who we were and who we would become.” The old man’s face falls with his animated gesture, all of him seems to settle into the weariness that comes with war and age, no matter how high born, even he, the son and father of barons.
By Herman Wilkins4 years ago in Fiction
Mortal Quest 3
Mortal Quest 3 By Alex Johnson CHAPTER ONE - Damage Control There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Jackie had made sure of it. As Head Developer for Gauntlet Games’ newest release, ‘Mortal Quest 3’, Jackie had scrutinized every element of the fantasy game before it’s launch. For the past three years in fact, her every waking- and often even sleeping- moments had been consumed with designing and building the game’s virtual reality experience with meticulous detail. Jackie designed all of the game’s beautiful and vast landscapes, every one of the complex atmospheric conditions, and the authentic architecture of multiple castles and villages. She created all of the game’s non-player characters and creatures, crafting customized artificial intelligence for each one. She invented all of the game’s weapons, imagined all of the game’s magic spells, and wrote all of the game’s storylines. Jackie had even learned medieval music theory in order to write the game’s entire score. There wasn’t a single aspect of Mortal Quest 3 that Jackie hadn’t built and examined ad nauseum. So when she learned that players were reporting a massive glitch in her game, that dragons had been spotted in the Valley, Jackie was incredulous. Tim, one of the VPs at Gauntlet Games and Jackie’s closest ally at the company, was the first to notify her of the reports.
By Alex Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
Hidden Archives
Chapter 1 There weren’t always dragons in the valley. One morning I was strolling along the river's end near the lake. Everything was normal.Then suddenly something above me caught my attention. And in the next instant, through a tornado of fire, winged beasts came down from clouds. And they were not alone.
By Jennifer David4 years ago in Fiction
Dragon Fruit
There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but as long as there are, no one is safe. Though magic was possessed, and openly wielded by many throughout all the lands, one sorcerer’s magic excelled far beyond the rest. Once set on helping the world, this sorcerer has now become set on merely ruling it-” …for the world’s own good”. This master-level sorcerer was deemed through trial and fire, and was further-so named, Dragamear, or “master of the dragon’s fire”. Dragamear possessed a power that seemed unmatched; unleashing spells of such ferocity and focus that he decimated almost any force that stood against him. Those that weren’t destroyed, became slaves to his will.
By Greg Davis4 years ago in Fiction
The Night They Arrived
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. I’m old enough to remember that fact, though I suspect few can say the same. I was but a boy in those days—a year shy of thirteen—but in the farthest reaches of my memory I can still smell the wild harebells and musk mallows on the hillside behind the family cottage, their sweet scent carried on the spring breeze of a cool morning in the age when men ruled that land. I can still taste the berries we’d pick off the prickly bushes that grew between bracken and moss-covered stones near the clear stream past Haveshire road once our chores were complete and we were free to run and play as children do. I can feel the dew on the grass beneath my bare feet as I ran in a fit of laughter with other Davonry children—for that was the name of the dale village in which I was raised. I hear still the songs echo through the valley, hymns of forgotten words sung, it seemed, by a chorus of angels in every corner of the basin, whether from home, schoolyard, or field. At times, one would nearly believe that the birds had joined in on rhythm and the butterflies danced along, though I suspect imagination the culprit of such thoughts. Though the lyrics have long-since escaped me, the melodies return to me now and again even in my old age, reminding me of what once was. I hum along to the song in my head, closing my eyes to see a lost world once more when the valley was green rather than black, and happy life blossomed as if ignorant of such a thing as death. I see my family cottage. I see the water wheel on its northern wall, dipping its troughs in a cool mountain stream. I see the chimney on its southern wall puffing out a bit of smoke. I see a wooden sign in front of the home and, on the sign, I see a name painted—Darrow.
By Luke Earl Mullins4 years ago in Fiction
