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Telturwen Tarien
Silver mist blew across the sky and landed on the province of an old forest. The trees within it were scorched and blackened. There was no sign of green forestry within a mile. No animals could be found except for that of an occasional crow’s call. It was a dead land. What had happened, no one could begin to imagine. As the mist that lay over the forest grew fainter, dew droplets could be seen on every blade of brown grass. The trunks of the trees were soaked with a liquid, as if someone had drenched them hours before.
The first to stand in the midst of this forest since its destruction was a woman. Her clothes were sewn gentley and gracefully. The garments she wore resembled a brown dress with a neckline that formed the shape of a V, but the line of thread ended just below her thigh. She wore a belt that hung at her waist and pants of the same color underneath. Many pieces of cloth were wound about her arms. Her dark hair held a single metal strip, which tied half of it loosely in the back. Her deep blue eyes needed no decoration, though on her left temple was a small, gray gem.
She looked up, as if startled by some distant noise. Then, she pulled an oak bow from the bag that lay against her back. Stripping her quiver of an arrow, the woman casually cocked it into position with one intensely quick motion. The bow was held up to her face; the feathers of the arrow tickled her cheek.
A movement came from behind a nearby tree trunk. The woman stood completely still but pulled the arrow into the bowstring harder. A large figure suddenly sprung from behind the dead wood and leapt towards her. In alarm, the woman released the bowstring and the arrow flew into the air, head to head with its opponent. The creature fell to the forest floor and with a whine of pain it took its last breath.
The woman stepped over to it cautiously. She knew what the creature was. Quickly, she shifted her gaze away from its blood red eyes. They were known for entrancing the nearest being willing or unwilling to be lured into them. Even death could not change this ability. She rolled the creature over with her foot. It was the size of a coyote, but looked nothing like it.
Its fur was black and torn away in places. There were two rows of unusually large fangs—teeth that were too large even to fit in its mouth. The tail was a tuff of black fur and its ears were thick triangles that stuck out of either side of its head. All four of the creature’s paws were shaped like a lion’s, but its hind legs were much more built then the rest of its body.
Silently, without a backward glance, the woman disappeared from the forest. When a gust of wind blew the forest clear of the mists, she could be seen as a dark form against the horizon. She walked down a mound of thick green grass and into a cobblestone courtyard. It looked almost ancient from where she stood, but it was still in good use.
“Veria,” called a voice from across the courtyard.
The woman looked ahead of her in silence, then she answered back.
“Asian?” she asked calmly. “What are you doing?”
Suddenly, she felt someone on top of her and she fell forward onto the cobblestone. Her head hit the stone, but she did not feel it. She looked up from her place on the ground and saw her brother standing over her. He offered a hand and she took it gratefully. When she had dusted herself off and both sat down on a slab of stone, she gave a skeptical eye to Asian.
“Very kind of you to drop by and say hello,” said Veria.
Both Asian and Veria began laughing.
“You must admit, you had no idea it was coming,” Asian said.
“All right. You win this time.”
Before long they were deep in conversation. They shared stories of adventures they had taken since Asian had been home last. There were many things to tell, but none of them as important as the reason he was home. Asian dropped to a low voice when mentioning the forest.
“Don’t worry,” Veria assured him. “They will have it cleaned up soon enough.”
“That is what I came home for, Veria…to clean up this mess. The king demands to know what happened to this forest. I was ordered to find out.”
“I would not go inside it without being heavily armed.” She stopped and their eyes met briefly. “Just a suggestion.”
Asian looked upon her with interest, then he understood. “So you are the one who has been killing the blood hounds.”
“Gasades, Asian. Call them by name.”
“You know better than to go traipsing about the forest alone,” he said hotly. “There are so many things…they could kill you.”
“I would rather be at deaths door than in a silent home doing nothing. I won’t be put to that torture. Not when I can help you.”
“Don’t be a fool!” was Asian’s answer.
“I’m not being a fool. I want to help.”
“You would be safer inside. I don’t want you—”
Veria interrupted, “I can fight them off just as well as you can.”
“Go!” Asian yelled with great force. “Veria, go home!”
She stood up quickly. After a moment of hesitation, she reached for the straps of the bag on her back and took it off. Gently, she laid it down on the cobblestone before Asian’s feet. “I suppose I will no longer need these. I am glad I made use of my father’s gifts as long as I have.”
Asian could think of nothing to say before she disappeared to the other side of the courtyard. He put his head in his hands and thought deeply before reaching down to grab the bow and quiver. He got up from the stone and left the courtyard, headed east—toward the forest.
Gwenneth
Rachel tapped the end of her pencil on the book that lay on her desk. The day had been long, filled with class after class, lecture after lecture, and all of the usual happenings of high school. She sighed, wishing the day were over. Staring out of the small, single window in the classroom, she spotted a little robin, with bright black eyes. It was making its way through the crisp, green, dewy grass. It hopped daintily toward the window and cocked its head to one side. Rachel smiled, and their eyes seemed to meet as the robin tapped its tiny beak against the clear glass. Even though no words were said, she began to hear, or feel, soft words forming inside of her. But she couldn’t make them out. It was as if there was a foggy curtain draped before them, as her car windows were on a cold day. These unspoken words gave her a feeling of wonder, the kind of a little child when it’s Christmas morning. The robin had not looked away, and Rachel found herself almost entranced with awe. And at that very moment, she wished more than anything that she could be outside. But more than outside. She felt dying to get out. The foggy curtain began to clear and she felt that there was something out there; a freedom she was missing…or that she was standing on the brink of change…
“What do you think, Miss Pezzo?”
Rachel peeled her eyes away from the window and looked to her literature teacher, Mr. Grimshaw. He was a tall man with a thin bone structure, and his head bore white curly hair. His wardrobe was a brown suit, and his overall physical appearance did not give the belittling impression all other teachers did. Mr. Grimshaw treated you as an equal individual, though somehow, you were always conscious of his authority over you. And it was because of Mr. Grimshaw that literature was Rachel’s favorite class.
“Sorry -- think about what, Mr. Grimshaw?” Rachel said slowly, slightly embarrassed.
“Why what we’ve been discussing: fantasy worlds, or other worlds beyond the one we dwell in,” Mr. Grimshaw replied, and Rachel didn’t detect even a hint of frustration or disappointment, but curiosity.
“I…” Rachel didn’t quite know what to say. “I think they’re interesting to read about. And that the authors have great imagination to come up with those kinds of worlds.”
Mr. Grimshaw made a single nod, approving her answer, but obviously wanting more. He then sat down on the edge of his desk, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his arms across his chest. He was silent for a few moments.
“Is that all?” He looked around at the class. “What about their reality? Obviously, the author wants you to understand and become absorbed in their world.”
Everyone sat silent, and Mr. Grimshaw sat with a twinkle in his blue eyes, and a smile upon his face. Finally, someone spoke up.
“Reality, sir?” It was Michael. “Everyone knows they’re just fictional. I mean, there’s no way a fantasy world could exist other than earth – unless you’re talking about Mars.” At this, few snickers erupted.
“Ah, But Mars is not fantasy,” Mr. Grimshaw replied quickly. “Mars is a real place.”
There was another long pause. Everyone was expecting Mr. Grimshaw to say something, but he never spoke. He stared in the eyes of each student in the classroom, one by one. “Countless writers have published works of worlds beyond our own. Some of them are so detailed that one would’ve thought the author had actually been there. Take J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth, for instance. He came up with a language, a different variety of inhabitants and what they eat, a whole map of the locations, and for every country a distinct culture. The modern mind today says that there is no such thing but reality, and that such otherwise ideas are silly.”
“But it’s almost as if it’s a law,” Rachel said, frowning. “As if someone has actually stated before that there is not such thing as fantasy…”
Mr. Grimshaw’s face lit up.
“Exactly,” he began. “But who says that other worlds and countries beyond earth do not exist?”
No one. Rachel said to herself. She glanced back up at the window, and found, to her disappointment, that the robin gone. But instead, a thin cloud of mist hung where it had been perched on the dewy grass.
“So you’re suggesting that fantasy worlds – the ones we read in books and all – are real? What gives you that right?” A voice behind Rachel asked.
Mr. Grimshaw shrugged and said “It’s called common sense.” Now the twinkle in his eye was brighter, and his smile looked mischievous. Rachel was confused at first by his comment, and as all of the others around her, and she began to take into deep consideration his words. It all made sense in one mind, but then, she knew it was absolutely crazy. But who had said it was crazy?
Only an hour later Rachel was walking home from school. Mr. Grimshaw’s words were still rolling around in her mind. She was staring down at the sidewalk, when suddenly she saw the same robin appear not too far ahead. It turned its head and looked at her, and then began to hop away. Rachel, moving ever so quietly and slowly, followed it. It did not seem to be frightened of her, but it still made it’s way toward a tree, and kept turning its head to look back at her. When Rachel found herself at the base of the tree, she looked up at its branches and gasped.
Lady Dark Moon
They had it surrounded. Battered, weary, but exaltant, they cornered the dragon against the mountainside.
Their band had started with a score of them, riding triumphant from their city to cheering crowds, with their armor flashing in the fervid sun and their swords high. It had begun as a warrior's bet over ale, a vow to a lady fair, a haughty challenge from a capricious king. It was ending in death, with half their number gone and the other half wounded but defiant. They were all warriors at heart, and they would either slay this dragon or perish in teh attempt.
And they had already paid for their arrogance.
The ten survivors advanced now, their naked swords flashing silver in the moonlight. Every synchronized thud of booted feet seemed to thunder into the earth like some divine hammer. Each of them was on the verge of insanity.
Kill.
Nothing else in the world made more sense.
Kill.
Nothing, not death nor the very gates of hell, could bar their way.
The dragon roared, sent its feral shriek of rage into the night. The fiery slits of its eyes, fell and glittering, located its prey. The august majesty and sheer size of the wyrm dwarfed the men by a tenfold. Its scales reflected the moon's pure light, bent it and turned it blood-red. One crimson wing was speared at the shoulder, but the other extended to its full span and flapped. The motion sent a whirlwind that deterred the men. Their hands shooting up to shield their faces, they scattered. The dragon exhaled a jet of flame that blew an entire chunk off the barren mountainside. There was a strangled yell as two dragonslayers were blown off the face of the mountain and were sent plummeting to their doom.
The rest of the men uttered a vehement battle cry. They rushed forward as one, their swords raised. Another torrent of flame chased half of them back. A lash of the sinuous tail swept aside the other half. The assaulters fell back, then diligently renewed their attack.
This time the dragon was not so fortunate.
Its spiked head shot out like a snake, closing over a writhing human and crushing it to pulp. Its tail lashed again as its talons raked the air and missed. A sword blade glanced off its scaly armor, came again, found a loose scale, and bit into the soft hide underneath. The giant wyrm thrashed, sending its enmity incarnet in a firestorm that set the entire mountainside ablaze. The rank stench of sulfur clouded the night. The dragonslayers choked on the venomous gas. Those who did not suffocate died screaming, burned alive.
The night was silent. The storm abated, the dragon sagged. Its broken wing dragged the ground. Its blood rained upon the bleak rock. The caustic fluid sizzled and burned into the stone. Thinking the threat was over, it rested its head and rumbled. The sound came out low and wracked with pain.
Thus the dragon did not see the three men who survived teh conflagration. It did not sense the impending doom that hovered waiting behind it. The dragon screamed, a chilling lament that echoed into the uncaring skies. It reared up, three gleaming swords protruding from its gut. The dragonslayers ruthlessly followed this with a volley of arrows. Two pierced its eyes, blinding it, and one found its mark on the soft hide over its heart.
The victory paen that resounded from the dragonslayers little masked the wrym's last death scream. Like a spear fallen from the heavens, the long sinuous body plunged downward. The impact literally rocked the mountains. When the debris cleared, the dragon lay unmoving.
The three surviving men approached warily. They would saw off the great spiked head and offer it in tribute to their king. In turn, the king would mount it over his throne like any trophy of some dumb beast - the prize gained after a long and amusing hunt.
Only when the dragonslayers advanced with their axes raised did they discover that their prize was female.
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High up in the mountains, in an enormous cavern cunningly concealed from prying eyes, the first of five baby wyrms cracked its egg. The tiny dragon, hissing and rumbling gently, shook off the remnants of the egg and waited for the nurturing mother instinct promised would be forthcoming.
She did not come.
Hissing in confusion, the wyrmling climbed over the eggs of its brethren and looked around. Its glittering, blood-red eyes adjusted to the perpetual darkness. The cave was empty, with nothing but the lingering hint of sulfur and ash to tell of an adult dragon's presence.
Finding that it was hungry and utterly alone in a world that cared nothing for it, the baby dragon began to cry.
Tainted
~The Ship of Seven Sails~
It was a cold night, mid Seventh Age, Young Serthiah gazed out his window.
He was watching the Three Moons of Karvia, cold and unmoving.
Longing to see the Sun, he remembered the tales his Grandfather told him before his passing. Times of Light and Happiness, Merriment, and Peace…they seem like dreams long forgotten now. You see many years ago, long before Serthiah’s Grandfather existed…there was Light! But it has not been for many ages…ever since the Mage Wars, and the Fight for the Golden Pinnacle. For you see, in the Ancient times, the world was ruled by Seven Powerful mages. Each of these mages bore a amulet, symbolizing their powers, and titles. They were chosen out of a hundred Mages, from all over the world, for their Strengths and Weaknesses in both Physical and Emotional warfare.
You have to understand, that out of 100 Mages, 93 were not chosen.
And not all took their rejection so lightly…
Dreia
Long, sleek hair ripples over slight shoulders like a panther ready to spring. A pale complexion makes black eyes seem like the depths of the frigid sea. Sparks jump from hand to hand, the beginning of an innate magic. A falcon makes her shoulder its perch. Petite legs walk through the forest as silent as a gazelle.
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Suddenly, the falcon lifted off Fjora’s shoulder and flew off screaming.
“What is it?” Fjora whispered to herself, “What’s in there.”
A monster was said to live there. It had come ten years ago, about the same time Fjora had found this villiage. Some said that she had brought it with her and some whispered that it sought to kill her. Either way, no one trusted her because of her magic. Fjora found this distrust everywhere she went.
A hand touched her shoulder and she whirled around and almost sent a bolt of magic before she saw who it was.
“I’m leaving, Aroon,” she told him, “I need to find out who I am.”
After calling for her bird, Fjora set out. Her first task would be to find the monster. She never looked back at the villiage she left behind.
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Last edited by Lady Dark Moon on January 5th, 2006, 6:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Thanks.
I'm terrible...thats kind of why I backed out of the contest, plus I just wasn't satisfied with my work.