Chapter Three: Hope for a Race Final Draft

 

“O to see a dragon birth.

To travel to one’s dark lair

Deep within the earth

Pray the Dragon spares thee”

Quoted by Arajuan to his men

warning them the danger

of hunting dragons.

Deep in a massive shadowy cave, the smoky black egg was preparing to hatch. The father, Rork crouched down and blew flames on it to hasten its incubation. His vast scorched wings tucked behind him, his neck stretched forward toward it. He focused his entire energy on hatching the egg.

To the left side of Rork sat a smaller female curled up in her nest of straw and rocks. The mother, she was a misty-black dragon. Her wings were thin delicate membranes she kept folded into her. She pressed the frilled crests to the side of her smooth face and neck as she edged nearer. She watched over him with an anxious eye.

A new large line appeared on the shell. Rork looked up and detected the crack. He called out with telepathy.

Mika, it is hatching, he exclaimed.

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Chapter Two: A Fight and a Choice Final Draft

“Protect her with

your lives. Guard

this offspring

of the Moon.

She is my light and

I will be in her shadow.”

–Arajuan’s command.

The march was a three-month journey, a winter season. Early on the surroundings had been snow-covered. Now patches of flowers peaked from the ground. The capital was to the north-west of Lenagard, the land of the elves. A trail of destruction lay behind them. They had avoided the cities, but the forests were soaked in blood rain mixed with melted winter snow. The icy wet drips fell off the trees and clawed down Arajuan’s back. He shuddered from the cold. The unit was close now; a stench of dragons wafted on the wind. Arajuan was one of the few who could distinguish dragon blood, that made him invaluable to the emperor.

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Chapter One: Beginning of The End- Final Draft   

 

“Hear that, my friend. It is

the call of the war drum. Thump,

Thump, a heartbeat and

it summons me to war”

-Arajuan to Socrates

A man with icy blue eyes and short salt and peppered hair gazed from a dark, tall, and jagged throne. He held a cherry wood scepter with carved woody thorns and a large garnet stone. The gem itself pulsed with cloudy swirls as if alive. He wore a deep navy robe with a dragon clasp at the neck and silver thread lining the sleeves. His aged face twisted into a bitter grimace as he tapped the armrest of his throne with impatience.

The room was a dismal, bare space; on the wall to the right hung a painting of a dark oily Asian Lung and its partner, a young man with dark brown-black hair and similar piercing eyes. Displayed in a corner was a mannequin dressed in an elaborate inlaid silver breastplate with a blue jeweled dragon design and an attached black roman style war kilt. On the mannequin’s head was a helmet with ornate blue and silver feathers.

A long, burgundy carpet led to the throne from the large oak wood entry doors. On either side stood two sturdy dirty-blonde haired identical elf-orc guards, their armour jagged in a way that appeared covered with needles and thorns. Their noses were semi-flat, and their lower canines jutted over their top lips. When the doors opened, the grey-haired man turned his attention to the one who entered.

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Prologue- Final Draft

 

“Come listen to my tale, lest

we forget the horrors of the Dragon Wars.”

-Mika Tsuki

Napidő 28, Holdi időszaka

In the annals of history many great wars were fought and forgotten. Kingdoms would rise, and they would fall but our world was not the birthplace of war. The Divines, the first race through which all races were born, were a peaceful science driven race. They set out to travel worlds and found Gaia. They lived amongst the mortals and Gaia became a magical place where the inhabitants honored the Divines and Dragons. In return, we blessed them and guided them. Both worlds lived in harmony with the pulse of the universe.

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The Nucker Worm

By Damien Knight

Twisting down a spiral well
There a nucker worm doth dwell
Coming out for children sweet
And other tasty forms of meat
Scaly skin slimy ooze
Many a man challenge to only loose
The nucker drinks it’s share
And has a fearsome stare
With the nucker none can compete
Becoming his next slice of meat

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Chapter Seven: The Shadow Revealed (Revision)

“How many fear the dark only

to find there is little to fear”

-The Bird-Child Socrates

 

 

 

As the shadowy mist faded away, a foreboding man with charred brittle skin appeared. In the cracks, there glowed what appeared to be red-hot lava. His eyes were like embers as he glared at them. Ayana regained her bearings, Tarnink behind her, sword drawn. A small troop of twisted men circled them.

Ayana found herself faced with this monstrosity. His eyes glowed so hot that his stare burned into her. He was blind, yet Ayana felt he could sense her that he was looking at her.

The scar he had on his left eye glowed the brightest red and cut deeper than the other red cracks of his flesh. Strapped to his right side he carried a sword, and in his right hand a long spear. His long feathery black hair blended in with the darkness of the forest. He wore a battered Spartan styled armor without a helmet or a shield. His tattered maroon cape draped his shoulders. His body alone seemed like a stone as if the charred skin was protection enough.

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Chapter Five: The Lady Ayana

“There are none fairer than the

Gaian Elves of Lenagard”

Tarnink, ambassador of Lenagard

A young woman with elven beauty walked along a narrow forest path. Her black and red streaked hair swept past her high cheekbones with a small wind. She froze at the sound of a snapped twig and sniffed the air. She caught the distinct scent of rohit-elafi along with the familiar trace of sulfur. The woman grabbed her bow as she peered out through her emerald eyes, the slit pupils narrowed when she spotted her prey. Her arched eyebrows curved in concentration. It was an older rohit-elafi and was not likely to survive the coming winter; she shot and hit her mark.

The woman approached the small red deer like creature and lifted it over her slender shoulders with great ease. The weight shifted on her shoulders. She moved a strand of her wavy hair away from her eyes as she slid down the path. The narrow path grew wider and large trees dotted it, spaced out in an interesting pattern. The air smelled of oak and the comforting scent of sulfur left the winds. This was the elven village of Mila and the homes were in those trees. She moved with stealth through the village.

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