Fantasy
Eight Dragons
There weren't always Dragons in the Valley. They came in one by one. It was a rainy Sunday when the first one appeared. Its fiery breath had burned the preacher, who had been talking about God's wrath. The children had laughed. The pious minister looked taken back. The service had ended early, and the worshipers cleared the square. The dragon flew in the sky. It glowed, brighter than the moon at night. And then three days, later the people noticed another. The pair seemed to dance in the sky. A collage of colors. The local painter tried to reproduce the sight. The villagers were praying that the creatures would leave, but a couple of days later the sky was filled with three. The weavers changed their weavings, and the colors of the sky appeared in the artist's fabric. People occasionally peeped out of their huts. But the usually busy streets were void of activity. The villagers sighed in dismay when the fourth one appeared. They wouldn't have even known what the dragons were if it hadn't been for the storyteller who traveled from village to village. Four more appeared over the next week. The villagers silently groaned. They expected to be overrun with dragons, but days passed, and no more appeared.
By Antoinette L Brey4 years ago in Fiction
Fire Becomes Her
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. There had once been a time when there was nothing but life in that glen. A brook babbled across the land while sprites flitted from stone to stone. Gnomes were always very busy doing Merlin-knows-what in the tall grass. Yet despite always being busy, nothing was ever done by day’s end. Wildlife roamed without fear under the lush canopy of trees. I had lived happily in that valley for a hundred years until the dragons came…
By Elizabeth Rigolo Wilson4 years ago in Fiction
Heart of The Carpathian Mountains...
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Nor had there been high in the Black Hills of the Carpathian Mountains for nearly thousands of years now, but the old folk tales were about to be made real. Nestled deep in the Carpathian Mountains, the castle walls rose high into the night sky, as the thunderous voice of the storm roared out before the claps of lightning streaked across the sky with a madding cry. The winds whipped the windows panes as the rain pelted the face of them like hard tiny pebbles being thrown across the stained glass. The fire roared within the chambers of the highest tower of the castle. A golden blue rim chalice set upon the table was filled with the finest aged wine. Incense and three candles in a circle slowly burned. A fine smoke began rising into the air creating the shape of the golden dragon of old Draco now flickered and sparked from the candlelight. The Queen’s handmaidens hurried to help the royal birthing mother at the queen's side. The Queen was in great distress as the birth of her first child was fast approaching with all the pain a mother could bare.
By Christine St.Croix4 years ago in Fiction
The Marked King
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. At least, that is what grandfather had told me. He was ancient as hell. He fancied sitting at his small round table, facing toward the window, as he told us stories. Which the family found a bit odd, as he wore a cloth that covered his eyes. We all wondered when he was finally going to keel over at that table of his, pipe still lit and stuck between his chapped lips.
By Upliftcash4 years ago in Fiction
The Anguish of Being Human
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Well, except for Jekaar, of course, but most days he didn’t feel the part. Jekaar casually strolled down the sidewalk with the city burning around him, hands tucked deep inside the pockets of his trousers. The screams of the dying humans crying out in the mountainside city around him would have normally rallied excitement within him, but the thrill of the hunt wasn’t his to claim. Not even the dwarf attempting to put out the fire in his beard with ale could draw out a chuckle. This curse, barring him from pillaging alongside his brothers and sisters in the skies, was near torturous for him. As it turned out, there was a fate worse than death...being stuck in the form of a human.
By Aaron James4 years ago in Fiction
There Weren't Always Dragons
I. There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but nothing was ever the same once there were. Hthrgar was a peaceful place once, free from war and horror. I can barely remember those days now. But what shards of memory I do have about the green fields that once we’re on the springtime smells of wildflowers daring the wind for a sway, I hold onto them fiercely.
By Gregory D. Welch4 years ago in Fiction
The Valley of Mourn
There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley. The Valley was a desolate place, with no good soil to grow food and too warm for anyone to stay longer than it took to pass through on their way to the capitals on either side. It was a dangerous path to take as there was no water and it was only used as a last resort for trade caravans or travelers. It was the meeting place of the two great mountain ranges from the north and south, the Reaching Highland and the Mourning Peaks. These ranges divided the continent for the most part. Many people did not dare cross the Mourning Peaks because of their dangerous sheer cliff faces and jagged spikes that made it impossible to pass for even the most daring adventurers that wished to test their mettle. The Reaching Highland was impassable because of its sharp rise that none could climb. The only way around these ranges was far to the north, south, or through the Valley.
By William Bradley4 years ago in Fiction
