I will preface this by stating that this was a dream I had. It is obviously a warped version of the Doctor Who episode “The Girl in the Fire Place.” During the dream it took me a bit to realise this.
Koraki stood at the top of the stairs of a Victorian ballroom. The ballroom walls were lined with mirrors where he felt certain Victorian art ought to be. He, himself, was dressed in a fine suit with a tie.
Anika lay in her tent and stared at the ceiling. She was restless and found it difficult to get to sleep. She sat there with thoughts of home and Atron Reu. He always had made her laugh, and she missed him. The boy often got himself into trouble with the other elves. He had a habit of escaping the village, which caused her to drag him back. If he were to do that now, without her, Arajuan might find him. She despised having to deal with Arajuan’s cruel way of taunting her mind.
Anika felt uneasy about Atron, that he was unhappy without her. She hoped she was wrong as she already worried enough. Whatever the child did she wanted him to stay safe. The Aldarian Army hunted half-dragons now even more than dragons were. Thinking of dragons
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 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
“If you fail, I will deliver the most severe of punishments. Pain and suffering will be your only friend.” Gori to Arajuan
The warm sun could not cheer Arajuan’s defeat and losing the twins would cause him even greater pain. He had taken a full troop of men but now he had enough left for one platoon. As they marched towards Lenagard, he halted the men and sniffed the morning air. Mika, she must be taking the hatchling.
“Into cover now, we don’t have the men to fight another dragon!” He ordered.
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.
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.
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.