Fantasy
Leora - the gleaming heroine
The portal closed right after Leora planted her feet onto the unknown grounds. She looked around letting her eyes to absorb every single detail of her new surroundings. Not far from the hills they stood, a medieval city rose proudly. She noticed some oddly huge birds flying up in the lavender sky as some tall figures that looked like guards guided them by their leashes. She couldn’t help but gasp in wonder at the sight. She still felt like she was already at home, in her own bed, dreaming all these things, but as comfortable as that thought was, she knew this was real as possible. She straightened up and turned to her companions.
By Irina Ștefania R4 years ago in Fiction
Weaver: A Crystal Dragon
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. And yet, here I was, hunting the fiercest and oldest of them all. Not to kill, no, for killing it would make this adventurer forlorn. No, I was going to capture the great beast, train her and make her mine.
By Ellis Hughes4 years ago in Fiction
Polk-a-dot Rubber Boots
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. With their arrival, the Valley is not only a place where dreams die and drunks thrive, but now a place where dragons fly. My everyday life has become a remixed version of d&d called drunks & dragons. Every alcoholic attempting to slay or ride the mythical creature to complete a quest they just discovered they were destined for. That discovery always varies. Yesterday I had a regular at the pub tell me the whiskey whispered to him, when I asked what it said, he told me it was too quiet to make out and that I needed to pour him another. Today Ed told me he saw his quest in the booze he brought back up 10 minutes before, he refused to let me clean it up until he drew his ‘map’ out. And now over half the population has disappeared, drunks and dragons do not mix. I seem to stand alone as I watch everyone marvel at their arrival, unable to contain my raging anger. Their powerful wings could carry them anywhere in the world, to places where drunks wouldn’t try to harm them, to places where dreams fly just as high as they do and instead they flew here. My brain has been spinning round and round like a broken record player and I still can’t make sense of the why. The valley is lifeless. Picture an artist creating a beautiful outline for a painting and then just forgetting to add color, or people, or anything that brings actual joy and fulfillment. That is my home, a quarter finished painting forgotten in the back of a closet. All anybody does here is work and drink and if it were possible, I'd say the lack of actually living our lives is causing the town to fade further. The taste of our food is bland, the music is off key, and every living thing is dead surrounding the Valley except us. I shake my head, physically attempting to shed the tsunami of emotions that crash into me. The strength of the waves grow each time, and as it grows my desire to hold on any harder shrinks. I’m tired. Loneliness and despair slam into my heart causing tears to trickle down my cheek as the water holds me in its cold embrace. The waves crash against my frigid body, showing no mercy. Only as another wave threatens to drown me entirely does the numbness consume me. And when the water calms, nothing has changed, I'm still stuck in this place, too numb to ever escape. I expect the valley to be this way, though that expectation doesn't make it any more bearable. The bright, bubbly girl with her yellow polk-a-dot rubber boots and head in the clouds has been hiding for years and the woman I see in the mirror is just as lifeless as the Valley. Now I'm no drunk who has seen a sign in my vomit or had spirits whisper to me but I can’t deny the pull I've felt since the dragon's arrival almost 2 weeks ago. I fall asleep on a creaky old mattress, listening to the flap of their wings and when I wake I’m outside, fresh earth beneath me, drifting closer to them even in sleep. The dragons are making me have to work twice as hard to shove that little girl deep down inside my heart, I don’t have time for her excitement and honestly I don’t think I could handle another let down. The more you dream, the higher your expectations, the stronger the world can hurt you. Crushing what you cherished until there is nothing left. No dream, not even the arrival of dragons can convince me otherwise. The world is cruel to dreamers, more cruel than drunks and that's saying something. So no, these dragons change nothing, and I will not let them take up a single grain of space inside my heart for hope. I will not.
By Madison Baigent4 years ago in Fiction
Wildfire
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley.” The veteran’s tone was heavy with weariness. He led Kali through the sprawling war camp at an infuriatingly sluggish pace, dragging one leg in the dust. The deeper they went, the more Kali ground her teeth. The scrutiny of hundreds of Wildfire troops was like pins scraping her skin.
By Charlie C. 4 years ago in Fiction
The Book of Denya Léna
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Their rising came with the reading of the fourth chapter of the Book of Denya Léna, and by that time the people expected them. They had come to accept that all of the young witch's predictions came to pass soon after the words upon the page were consumed by human eyes, and they spent the few days leading up to the arrival of the dragons going about their business with hands cupped against brows, shading their eyes as they looked to the sky.
By Kate Sutherland4 years ago in Fiction
Treatment Protocols for Dragonpox Virus-Infected Persons
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Or rather, there wasn't always Dragonpox in The Valley. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything in this small valley in the American South. Located in rural Alabama, and comprising a total of less than 3000 acres, the valley—or The Valley, in CDC and governmental circles—was the best-kept secret in the fight against the next zoonotic pandemic disaster.
By Hillora Lang4 years ago in Fiction
The Tall Tale Of Arneas The Wizard
~ There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Once long ago in the medieval age of 1600 a.d. and through many doors, lived one survivor,a gifted young man named Arneas. Arneas wasn’t popular like today. He was a gifted young boy who often pondered, asked what gift was his? Growing up Arneas wasn’t like the other kids, he had other thoughts, replanned voyages knew not nothing but had a battleground heart. One day he would convince the world, convince his mother how he’d make it out alive. This was whether either of them made it out fdeas or alive. Arneas wasn’t like all the group of kids in his living space. When they were off thinking more highly of themselves he’d chose not to think nothing of it, because he knew pride came before a fall. In the picture up above reveals an ice castle with 13 doors.
By Rachael Frazier4 years ago in Fiction
The Blood of Dragons
THE BLOOD OF DRAGONS By Tyler Bragan “There weren’t always dragons in The Valley.” Malachi thought as he reached in his quiver and pulled out an arrow. He was careful to stay quiet. If he was caught, the Draguol would rip him to shreds. He spotted one ravaging an elk. He pulled back his bowstring and looked down the top of the arrow and fired. The arrow found its mark in its neck. He watched the creature let out a cry and slump to the ground, dead.
By Tyler Bragan4 years ago in Fiction
