Fantasy
The Rise and Fall: Turmoil in the Heavens
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There was a time, my dear child, when mankind had no knowledge of dragon kind whatsoever. Rumors of such magical beings had been heard of course, but their existence was not validated by mere human eyes. No, dragons were territory of the heavens: unbeknownst, like many things to the meager mortal mind. We were always kept in the dark. The heavenly beings intended for our existence to wait at doors and altars to provide worship and praise for their divine egos. Yet, the gods left us knocking, waiting, and longing for our purpose and answers to our questions about life’s truths. This is a tale about one of those times; a time they left us knocking, and a time when no gods answered the door, no god that is, except those who had been banished from the heavens already.
By E.L. Martin4 years ago in Fiction
Dragon's Den
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” I read to the group of kids sitting in a group on their miniature mats. The museum lobby has been taken over by these little ones with wild eyes and open ears. I am only sixteen but being able to have this summer internship at my favorite place has made almost all of my dreams come true. “The Valley is where most of the fossils in this museum have come from!” I point to the bones strategically designed to display the dragon fossil hanging from the ceiling. I have spent most of my time in this lobby reading and studying the fossil of the dragons that have been found throughout the world. I know this pamphlet from front to back and the kids get engulfed by it. It is nice to look at all their little faces and see so much diversity but only two kids that are humans also.
By Alexsandra Barentine4 years ago in Fiction
Stone Valley Saga
There weren't always dragons in the Valley, there were rumblings, but no one had seen a dragon for more than a century. It all started one cold night, the winter of my eighth year. It had been a hard winter, with many losses across the land. Our village, called Stone Valley, was not large by any means, nestled in between two large mountains along a strong river. It was always open to travelers and anyone else who chose to call it home. One night, the men and women were gathered in our great hall to speak about the discovery of two small dragons found along the southern border of our lands. I watched them as I hid behind the enormous chair that my father Alrich was perched on as he listened to the concerns of his people. Though not a king by name, my father was called the King of Men and was looked upon as a leader whose wisdom was sought after by many. The clamoring of the crowd had reached an almost deafening height when a sharp clang rang out through the hall. All eyes turned towards Sabine, an enchantress to some, merely a witch to many more. Her coven stayed towards the northern outskirts of the village, however they were still seen as members of the community. Even as exiled as some of them seemed to be. I watched as her knuckles blanched as she gripped her staff, the source of the echoing cacophony. “Alrich…” she purred, her voice soft and alluring, one of her many gifts. Sorcerers or enchanters as they were called across the land dedicated their lives to various magical practices. Sometimes, they were as harmless as placing a rainbow in the sky. However, on the other side, they had a penchant for being downright deadly. “These dragons do not have to be our downfall, we have the opportunity to use them to our advantage, our greatest advantage.” She continued melodically, her words weaving in and out of the villagers ears. She knew that no one would speak up against her, except perhaps my father. The two of them rarely saw eye to eye and as my father spoke this would be such a time. He was not swayed by the power of her voice, its potency waning over perhaps their years of tentative friendship, or even a deal struck between the two. “It’s madness, Sabine, pure madness to think that you and your enchanters would stand a chance against dragons.” He said, his emphasis sounding as if he spit the word from his throat. It pained me to hear how he spoke about enchanters, knowing that my mother had once been among their greatest. “Dragons…” He said trailing off. I did not know if my father was having trouble finding the words or if he was just choosing them carefully. He took a breath before he began again, his resolve renewed. “Dragons are not something that can just be wished away with your spells and staffs, they can only be dealt with using swords and steel.” He said knowing just the reaction that he would release in Sabine. The enchantress was incensed at the audacity of her old friend’s words, her nostrils flared as she brought down her staff hard onto the stone ground. The sound cracked through the great hall and echoed off the walls as smoke billowed out, her black hair flared out and the image of a dragon filled the great hall. “You forget that I am more than just spells and staffs, you forget just how powerful I am!” She said, her voice taking on a life of its own as it boomed throughout the hall. The people cowered in fear of her, scrambling to get out of her path as she advanced on my father. I looked on in awe of her, while most were terrified by her power, I was fascinated by it. No one else dared to stand against my father. Though he was not impressed nor intimidated by her display. He had seen many things outside the Valley during his years at war. He saw her smoke and mirrors as a mask to hide the fact that she was merely flesh and bone.
By Stacey Maynard4 years ago in Fiction
The Shifting Sands
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. If Shadi remembered right, they’d come about twenty years ago, when she was just a child. She adjusted her spyglass as a sudden gust of wind kicked up the sand from the dune she was hiding behind. Shadi ducked down, swearing softly and wiping grit out of her eyes with her free hand. Would a dozen bolts would be enough to protect her if she was exposed? It was an uncomfortable thought. She’d taken few chances, wearing thick robes over her tunic and a face covering to blend in better, but she knew their attention was easily drawn by sudden movement.
By Zakarias Triunfo 4 years ago in Fiction
The Mirror Guard
Two AFTER THIER PARENTS DIED, EVA TOOK CARE OF HER BROTHER AS HIS SOLE GUARDIAN. No one cared about a couple of scruffy kids that lived in the Coal District. Buildings here didn’t have the crystalline luster of the most other parts of Crystalis. Here, the buildings were crafted from cheap crystal parts and metal. From that top of the wall, the Coal District looked like a blight.
By Nathan Charles4 years ago in Fiction
Girl With The Dragoon Tattoo
"She who fights too long against dragons, becomes a dragon herself." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche (paraphrased) There weren't always dragons in the Valley of Ataúd, but Nyx was the third person on Draco Primus to find an artifact originating from the ancient Dräägz civilization. The first two had been the twin brothers, Ereboz & Eroz. Both of them became human-dragon hybrids known as Dragoons. Egregiously, either one had raised an army of Dräägz and launched attacks against settlements situated in the valley's outer rim.
By Obsidian Eagle4 years ago in Fiction
Song of the Universe
"There weren't always dragons in the valley," I mumble to myself as I run for cover again for the third time today. I land face first in what I thought was mud turns out it was dragon poop. I stand up and try to clean my face, and overhead a dark shadow appears. It grows larger. I bend down to pick up my sword and feel a breeze that knocks me down. I stand, gain my balance, and feel the strong urge to find water to bathe.
By Jeff Johnson4 years ago in Fiction
Vigour Mortis
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. When they arrived it was in droves. They each converged on the valley from their own covetous corners of the world, inescapably compelled to make the journey by latent instinct. Once all had gathered, their restraint finally broke, proving once more why dragons are the worst kept company. Shortly thereafter followed a time known as The Rain of Blood.
By Paul Kitchen4 years ago in Fiction
