Fantasy
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There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But then again, there weren’t always self-driving cars or even cell phones for that matter. It wasn’t like this was unprecedented. It was more like a long time coming. The way that things were going, it wasn’t a surprise that we were thrown back in time. With the discovery of new tech, it was bound to happen. I mean, if you think about it, it was as if they wanted this to happen. All my life, playing games online and watching films about it, there were always hints to opening “star gates” or “worm holes”. People called this the “Desensitizing of the masses”. So that when it happens, people wouldn’t be so afraid.
By Sonny Estrada4 years ago in Fiction
The Fire Tale Saga
The Valley, Present day There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There never should have been. It had been a green valley, with thousands of varieties of flowers in every colour imaginable. Trees, some 100 metres high and over 200 years old, making shade and housing hundreds of varieties of birds. At night the hum of cicadas was deafening, competing with but never quite drowning out the huge waterfall at the other end. The spray extended at least 50 metres, and had supported an extensive rocky outcrop of lichen, moss, and mushrooms. The water fell from a large river into a deep lake with a thriving ecosystem of fish. Thanks to the snails and schools of tiny moss-eating fish, it was always crystal clear all the way to its floor, which in some places was close to ten metres. It was clean, cold water, but never froze. The valley seemed to have a climate of its own – warm but breezy in the summer, and cool but never actually cold in the winter.
By Lee Knight4 years ago in Fiction
Draconem
Prologue There weren't always dragons in the valley. In fact, minstrels often spoke of the time they arrived. The wind roared and raged, tearing around and through the dense wood Althea sheltered in. Four days and nights travel through the winter boneyard that the forest's growing phase was in would be near impossible for a seasoned tracker. Their family's woodsman had put every effort in to teaching his young charges when they were given to his care as small children. He had recommended against this very undertaking for even someone as seasoned as he. As spontaneous as the journey had begun, supplies were not carefully thought out as they should have been. The last of the bread went on the second day. Without the rain pelting down and draining what strength she had managed to maintain, the task she had set for herself might have been possible. Owan had made it very clear that to find the dragon, barring a circular journey rather than a linear one, that on day four of consistent travel from her family's keep, she would find the dragon in the valley. None of the marked trees on her passage through the wood had reappeared and she hoped that proved she was true to the course. Of course night trips were always accompanied by the stars for guidance during her trips back home and the storm had certainly washed all chances of using those. The valley was fresh from winter. So fresh, in fact, that pockets of snow hugged stone edges where the sun had yet to reach. A great lake, while unlikely safe to travel on, glittered and mirrored the roiling storm above. He was there, that she knew. Long before she had even reached the valley, the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck has prickled with awareness. Yet, he observed her approach and simply watched. From where, she hadn't the slightest idea. Were dragons able to shift shape? They were the world's most accomplished mages, after all, and who was to say they didn't occasionally shift shape into that of a bird, or a wolf, or even a tree. She could be, at that very moment, within reach of the very thing she had risked death to find. What if, in spite of all the tales, this dragon would be unable to help her? What if this curse was to just follow her, creating a path of destruction in her wake until it eventually swallowed her and that was to be her story? A girl whose cries were echoed by lightning and whose fear made the very air boom with thunder? Would the minstrels even use her name or would it be lost to time? As those who had known her passed into history and any trait or quirk of self was lost with them, she might just become a tale to frighten children into behaving and a cautionary tale of the dangers of magic itself. Althea swallowed, growing terror surpassing any discomfort her physical self endured as the chill froze pelting drops, shifting the sharp rain into even sharper pieces of ice. If she were lucky the weather might end her problems before the dragon revealed himself and the guilt gnawing in her belly would never be a thought to any but her lone surviving family member. That thought brought her focus about instantly. There was no one she loved as much as Aethrel. Her brother had been her confidant and protector since the day she had been born. Nothing that had happened had been his fault and he didn't deserve to live with what happened while she took the easy road. "Please." Her voice was raspy from disuse and physical weakness. Over the storm it did not even resonate as a whisper. To her ears, at least. "So you have come to seek me and are not lost after all, child." The voice cleared the chaos of the storm easily, calm and measured. A great head, twice again the length of her body, parted the hale as if it weren't even a nuisance a few feet in front of her. She was weak enough that even the instinctual flight or fight response of any creature when facing clear danger was not enough to evoke a flinch. Instead there was almost a relief. Even if he chose to end her existence, it was most certainly out of her hands. She didn't think that was the intent. Owan himself had told her of days when he had guided those seeking help to the one most likely to offer. The dragon tilted his head, studying her with interest. A golden eye took in the sodden, torn clothing, the forest filth making her unrecognizable from the carefree child of the previous moon who looked forward to her tenth name day. The shivering had stopped, a surely dangerous sign, and though she couldn't meet his eyes, she didn't shy from boldly examining him, not unlike how he studied her. "The storm," she finally stuttered, "followed me from home to here and I can't make it stop. Is this what magic is? So unnatural it knows it has to kill its creator to return to a balance?" The words coming from her own lips brought the fear that had choked her for days to the forefront once more. Lightning flashed, far too close for comfort, in answer. Althea jumped as a boom of thunder followed it. "No, child. There is a balance, but I don't believe the universe is calling for the head of a frightened girl. Your fear feeds it, and like a dog protecting its master your magic seeks to do everything in its power to assuage that fear." A branch broke over head and a giant wing swept over to prevent what might have been a sure death. When the danger had passed, the wing remained, creating a canopy to keep the worst of the torrent from reaching her. "I can't…make…it stop." The flashes in the sky were coming back to back now, and closer at an alarming rate. "I am afraid, little Stormchild, that you are spiraling and exhausted to the point that nothing I say will have enough impact to stop this now. The best thing we may do now is await the time when your body finally succumbs and you sleep. Without your emotions to feed on, the storm will dissipate. After your slumber we shall seek a solution with clear heads and a warm belly. Just know that whatever has happened, you are now under my protection." The wing settled more firmly around her creating a protected dome with the fierce weather on one side and Althea and an enormous scaled head on the other. Her knees trembled and shook until they gave way beneath her. Her vision darkened and she struggled to not give in in spite of assurances that the skies would give way naturally if she did. "Your name….I've only ever heard them call you The Dragon…like…it's a title." The words were becoming definitively slurred and the spots in her vision were becoming blankets of darkness. "My name is Rakkar. Now sleep." She knew no more.
By Kerrie Nordstrom4 years ago in Fiction
When They Came to My Hometown
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But it's honestly surprising they weren't here sooner. I've lived in Simi Valley for most of my life. The city is a dull place that you live in to be close to more exciting places. Our most notable landmark is Ronald Reagan's corpse, buried behind his library.
By Kelce Casey4 years ago in Fiction
Lest There be Dragons
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There didn’t use to be much of anything in the valley, really. Still wasn’t. There was one small town, hardly noticeable, at the north end, after the valley proper. The freeway didn’t pass through or anywhere nearby. There wasn’t a single HoJo’s or Notel Motel within miles of Amfield, which at one time catered to miners and their entertainment, namely hookers, saloons, a barber, and a town jail when the fun got out of hand. The mines closed, the silver run out, and the town grew to accommodate outdoor enthusiasts; rock climbers and hikers in the summer, skiers and snowboarders in the winter for the lucky few who could find work in town. The rest of the residents had to travel eastward to Haven to work at the Nike factory. There was still a town jail in Amfield, but there was also a small courthouse, a city center which consisted of one building housing city records and licensing, and in the basement a morgue big enough to hold one body in its refrigerator until the county coroner could make it in to do an autopsy, but that didn’t happen very often. When it did, it was usually because someone got too close to the tree line while skiing or lost his grip on a ledge.
By Mayra Martinez4 years ago in Fiction
Forsooth!
Chapter 1: Sweaty Days and Sweaty Knights There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Last month it was Giants from the jungle hinterlands east of the Valley, beyond the castle-dotted peaks of the Border Mountains, that were making the rounds down here. Before that it was the Reaper’s Riverboat that threatened to claim the souls of all the Valley Kingdom’s inhabitants as he paddled down the lazy, snake-winding Queen’s Tears River. Oh, there were also the werewolves between the Reaper and the Giants—a rather short-lived scare. Before all of that were the fiery-eyed witches of Ealdor’s Pass, their blasphemous cants and irreligious rituals turning the night into a living nightmare as they sought to awaken slumbering evils within whichever malevolent realm suited your fancy. Now it was dragons.
By Andrew Iriana4 years ago in Fiction
Aithos
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Nor should we lament their passing. For hundreds of years, we of Veratalis and the greater Valley stood hostage to the scaled tyrants. Their time as dictators by talon and guile has finally closed, and thus unfolds a new age. Indeed the dragons showed us how to work the magic of the Anchors, and they gave us much, but I say to you that they hid even more. In proposition? An expedition I say! Hark, the Age of Mysticism has come to an end, so why not begin the new one in virtue of inquiry and enlightenment. Consider the possibility that the realm of Aithos is not a realm of terra at random, set to move at the whims of the Divines, but a world onto itself. One bounded in accordance with natural law and free from the constraints of Jaheelism. Through my studies of the extraterrestrial bodies, I put forth the hypothesis that Aithos is indeed a globe. As such I suggest a venture to disprove the lies of our deceased rulers. - Sypherus Aber Gamello
By Izaic Yorks4 years ago in Fiction
Myriad Colors Of A Thousand Wings
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There wasn't always a valley in the Valley. The histories of the two were as intertwined as mating snakes; it was impossible to determine where one ended and the other began. Nobody knew the truth of it all—not really—but everyone had their theories.
By Calen Bender 4 years ago in Fiction
