Fable
Xylon
The rays of the morning sun streamed through the canopy of the Telora forest, bathing the forest floor in dappled beams of light. Through the speckled patches of light, a lone toddler made his way through the underbrush, babbling happily and oblivious to any impending danger. His laughter reverberated throughout the forest causing several animals to retreat into the comfort and safety of their dens. One creature, however, stirred from his morning respite; a trace of curiosity flickering within him.
By Amanda Ciufecu3 years ago in Fiction
Wings
It was early morning, with the sun still below the Orasobian horizon. Aldes was waking up, his eyelids slowly beginning to unlatch, his wings extending out to the leaves around him, and his tail extending to the tree trunk far behind him. The black and gray dragon took a long, deep breath and then slowly exhaled. He watched in satisfaction as a mild plume of smoke escaped his mouth and nostrils. “Finally,” he thought, as the sun’s rays began to pierce the thick leaves of the Asip trees. As the light began to assist in bringing Aldes’s awakening process to a finish, his stomach began to rumble very loudly, so he started to walk through the forest with the hopes of finding something tasty to eat.
By A. Alexis Kreiser3 years ago in Fiction
The Mother
The mother dragged her weary tail through the forest floor, her golden scales tinkled over the dry autumn leaves and scraped the sides of the pine trees. The scent of the cindering dwellings and charred bodies of their kind billowed in the smoky air. Brittle bones dried from dragon’s fire cracked and splintered under her talons. Her wolf-like head hung low as her black winged arms followed the footstep of grief and delirious exhaustion. Her sides heaved as she panted while the thought of her nest pulled her home. The familiarity to return still lingered in her spine as reality cruelly reminded her of the unbelievable truth.
By Rebekah M Montiel 3 years ago in Fiction
Qapkas. Second Place in Christopher Paolini's Fantasy Fiction Challenge. Top Story - November 2022.
Everything was orange, starting with the trees that ringed the clearing: aspen, birch, cottonwood, maple, and the larches whose needles paled to gold in the Fall.
By Jennifer A. G.3 years ago in Fiction
Nasitrlan Day
The fourth rounded moon after the third cycle of winter, a signal etched against the black of night surrounded by the gleam of speckled twinkles. A signal that would pronounce the day of holy celebration. The day the first dragon entered the earthly universe: Nasitrlan Day.
By James U. Rizzi3 years ago in Fiction
Dragon's Child
As a dragon, time is meaningless. Mountains rise and fall to me like the changing of the leaves. I have had to find new homes over time because the landscape around me has changed so much. However time still means nothing to me. I have never understood the fascination of the creatures who lived and died with how much they accomplish in their time. Perhaps it was being removed from the cycle of time and life that kept me from this fascination but it was not something I often thought of. However, something that I had spent much of my time on was medicine. I couldn't tell you why but I did. I knew the anatomy of every being that had ever lived as well as how to cure every plague or illness that had ever been.
By Josephine Mason3 years ago in Fiction
Dagolin's Destiny
The cliff village was a rough and rugged place, where the winds howled through the crags and the rain beat against the rocky cliffs. The sky was always overcast, and the sun struggled to peek through the thick clouds that loomed overhead. The villagers lived in huddled wooden huts along the cliff edge, looking out over the tumultuous sea that beat against the shore far below.
By Arthur Impostore3 years ago in Fiction
Fairytale Ends
Once upon a time, there was a knight because there is always a knight. I don’t think I have to describe that guy to you because, honestly, they all look the same. They have blinding shiny armor that they make some poor esquire polish daily. They carry long swords that they sharpen every night like their masculinity depended on it. With every step they make, there is an annoying clinking sound, and every time they speak, there is nothing intelligent to be heard.
By Amanda Fernandes3 years ago in Fiction
