Fantasy
Creosote Promises
Chapter 1 Dust Storm “There weren't always dragons in the Valley.” The sun tried its best to beat against the skin of the elderly man. Like leather it was dark and wrinkled but also, aged and tough. He took a long draw from his pipe as rocked in a chair as old as him. Cutting grooves in the porch of the bygone gas station that was only ever visited by tumbleweeds and dirt. Three relics from an ancient past from when Dragons didn’t live in the Valley. The smell of rich tobacco filled the air as he exhaled. Smoke coming out of his nostrils and the sides of his mouth. “You look like a Dragon.” A young half-ling quipped, smirking in the shade of the tattered porch roof. He sat crossed legged fiddling with a soda bottle he couldn’t open. “You think you’re funny stupid?” The Native gave him a sideways glance. “Aw come on old man I’m just playing,” the half-lings cat like ears rotated down dejectedly, “but I mean you do, you know. At least the kind I’ve read about in your books. I wasn’t meaning like the cartel in Edinburgh.” At this the Old Man grabbed the soda and popped the lid off using his pipe, “there.” Hey thanks.” He snatched back and took a quick swig, attempting to curve the heat. “Wait you got tobacco in it.” The half-lings nose and mouth wrinkled in disgust his whiskers flicking around at the taste mixed with his drink, but the Old Man missed it. He was watching the old road that ran in front of the station. Dirt was being kicked up on the horizon about two miles down the stretch of highway, “Nicholas, look.” Pointing his pipe in the direction of the disturbance that had caught his attention. A soft, low rumble could be heard across the normally quiet desert. Nicholas was scraping his tongue when he caught what the Old Man was looking at, “No way.” He popped to his feet, quickly clamoring his way up a beam on the porch and climbing onto the roof, “careful fool you're getting dust and crap all over me.” The Old Man snapped, trying his best to brush his blue jean bomber jacket off. “You are at least 90 percent dust and crap.” Nicholas said under his breath shielding his eyes from the harsh rays hoping to get a better view. The sound of a bottle could be heard hitting the roof underneath where he perched, “I’m old stupid, not deaf.” Nicholas looked down at him through a hole in the roof, hissing back, “way to go, you owe me a drink now!” The Old Man let out a dry laugh, “You see anything yet? Cause if you don’t come on down here so I can whoop you within an inch of your life.” Nicholas watched as little black figures started to appear among the dirt on the horizon, the sound of the low rumbling getting sharper and louder, “You couldn’t hit the floor if you fell out of the bed Viejo.” Nicholas said sneering. At this the Old Man started kicking the wooden beam that Nicholas had clawed his way up. Debris cascaded down blanketing him, “Aw crap! Look what you made me do! Now I’m dirtier than before!” The old man spat and cursed. “Hey calm down!” Nicholas pushed his furry face through the hole a little stretching his eyes and nose back a bit. “I think I see..people Old Man.” At this he stopped his swearing and threats. “Are you positive?” Nicholas hopped down landing deftly on the dirt, a tinge of concern in his eyes, “positive.”
By Ben Garcia4 years ago in Fiction
Of Ether and Earth
There weren't always dragons in the valley. More than seven generations ago, they had been pursued and hunted down, feared by the ignorant and persecuted by those who would steal power and force their dominion over the land and its people. Today, they are but a faint and distant memory, held only in shadows and dreams. But recently, strange and ominous rumors have been moving through the people of a great winged beast being spotted in the mountains of Carantheal. But the reported sighting was feeble and from an unrealiable source so most did not pay heed, for the only dragons known to the people today lived in stories and legends. Many are too afraid to consider truth in the tales... but for the believers.
By Kristina Ellis4 years ago in Fiction
Alerta
‘There weren’t any dragons in the valley!’ Alerta exclaimed. Now what I see is chaos, bloodshed, corruption, and lack of nationalism Alerta laments as she flashbacks to 85 years ago when the land she grew up in was lush and green. She recalls sunbathing on the lovely beach and caring less about what she will eat, wear or live as all these were catered for with less tolling. Oh! how I miss the days when life was simple… she hissed. What is independence when we still live in bondage? Alerta rhetorically asked herself. Edina walked into the sitting room and noticed Alerta speaking to herself. Are you speaking to yourself Alerta? Startled by the presence of her friend, Alerta quickly composed herself and said, ‘oh actually I was just thinking aloud, and nothing much. So, what are you doing here Edina?
By Sarah Elisha4 years ago in Fiction
Monday Night in the Uncanny Valley
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. In fact, they usually only came in on Thursdays. Thursday was Bingo night and dragons always thought that meant darts, for some reason. Lots of confused screaming ensued, but it was all in good fun. Until Hazmat the bartender's fake eye inevitably popped out of his skull and everyone was cut off until they found it again. Thursdays were weird.
By Gregory Roberts-Gassler4 years ago in Fiction
Vras's Valley
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But they were sure there now. There were all sorts of stories about what it had once been. Some said it had been a wide expanse of flowing grasses where man and beast had coexisted in peace. Others that it had been a sprawling testament to technological development and commerce with tall steel buildings that touched the sky. Still others said that it had been ground zero of a war that devastated the planet. Maybe they were all true, or maybe none were.
By Rich Conlan4 years ago in Fiction
The War of Draconia
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. At least there hadn’t been for a long time. But war has a way of changing things. It takes so many lives and causes much chaos. This war is no exception, and now the great Kingdom of Draconia was destroyed, what remains still engulfed in flames. The heat was unbearable, and the smoke suffocating. The streets were littered with rubble, as well as the bodies of innocent civilians and soldiers alike.
By Kate Woods4 years ago in Fiction
Breathe Fire from the Stars
There weren't always dragons in the valley. Not until eight months ago when the soldiers of house Dr’ghan, the advance forces of the Syroth, brought fire and blood to the peaceful village of Heirke. Their black banners stained red with the visage of the off-world beast they called dragons hung over the council building, the watchtower, the tavern, and any other building where villagers congregated. The people of Heirke were simple craftsmen, hunters, shopkeepers, and most of all scholars. They were not fighters. Bards and learned men and women came from all over Sylastia to visit the fortress-like library that held the greatest repository of knowledge on the planet.
By Adam Baldwin4 years ago in Fiction
The Sixth
There is a tree in a high country. It stands alone on the bare land. At dawn the tourmaline light of the sun shines wanly upon its pale branches from the beckoning east. The mist in the dales retreats, leaving behind the morning dew on the heather. The whispering grey of the noonday sky fades, replaced by an inky darkness which crawls from the horizon. By the light of the stars, the tree waits. Its roots speak haltingly to the ancient loam, and dance with the youthful stones. Deep beneath the tree, brittle murmuring drifts through rough-hewn passages, rippling unheard against earthen walls, and cresting against the dark basalt in the deep places of this meandering land. The tree waits, alone in this high country, its gnarled bark grimacing at the onslaught of millennia of cold rains.
By Patrick Rawdon Hoagland4 years ago in Fiction
The Mountain Journey
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. That’s why it was so terrible that morning. In most of the Realm, especially regions where dragons are common, they have watchtowers that are continuously manned, watching the skies for anything too large to be a bird. There are horses, specially bred for speed and endurance, with daring riders who will race outside the town to draw the dragon’s attention, and lead them away from the farms and buildings. In larger cities, they even have trained artillerists, with ballistae and catapults, who can knock a dragon out of the sky with a single well-aimed javelin or boulder.
By Thomas Kennedy4 years ago in Fiction
