Post by danteslover on Jan 14, 2007 21:20:34 GMT -5
Rated T for brief language, violence, and monster violence... and blood. This is chapter one, and yes, I was a very twisted little child.
Tareon
The trees rustled their leaves frequently, complying with the winds’ gentle nudging and prying. Birds skittered from the ground into frenzied flight, reaching the highest branches before resting on branches which did not creak in protest. Everything was alive from the whispering stream to the jittery squirrels. The air itself seemed to breathe, allowing the plants to thrive – lush and green from the pine trees to the ferns. Still as death the forest sat by moonlight. That is, all nights but this one.
Ferocious as a demon it flew, enraged and burning the land. It scales glimmered faintly in pale moonlight, but burned as the flames the creature spouted now. The eyes angry, the claws poised to rip and tear, teeth bared as its wings pounded, shredding needles on trees, uprising the water of the stream into razor thin blades with every beat. The rabbits scuttled away, terrified.
From the sky descended another creature, twice as large with black, scaly skin. It roared deafeningly loudly, and released a burst of flame. Pulling back on its wings like a parasail, it slowed its own descent, then beat its powerful wings and ascended back into the dark sky.
The smaller one, a deep green in shade, pounded above the trees fast as a cheetah. It growled, barely avoiding the flame. Another male had entered its territory, aiming to kill with a few swift breaths of its own spitfire. The green creature, a dragon, turned and worked into the sky, straining to break it steady course.
Atop each creature sat an elf, garbed in battle-gear, holding tight to a sword.
It is a known fact that elves at war are the biggest threat to world destruction. Though peaceful and Earth-loving, elves destroy anything in their paths. Their dragon mates are trained merciless, and my only see other dragons in they are mates or foes. This being common knowledge among all creatures, it is rare for any other beings to become involved in elven warfare. I however do not posses this common intelligence.
It has always been my greatest desire to ride on dragon-back, and the elves agreed to this, of course. There was a catch, however; but I – mesmerized by the promise of my very own dragon – forgot to listen for the catch. I had to join the war to gain a hatchling, and it was not until three days past I learned this. A blood-red dragon hatchling numbed the pain of enlisting in an elven war. But my dragon and I now sit on a cliff, watching two of the worlds’ oldest and most dangerous beasts tear each other apart.
I swallow fear. “We can do this, Tareon. I know we can… Just stare into the eyes of that green B*st*rd and rip his throat out. No regrets, right?”
Tareon swallows hard, maintaining what little pride he has remaining. His claws crumble the edge of the rock cliff as they shift nervously; his curved horns, blacker than obsidian, glare orange in the raging inferno below.
“Firetalon and Forestflare can’t beat you. You’re a red dragon, the fiercest of the fierce.” I encourage him lightly.
“I know I can do this. Firetalon will fall!” Tareon bellows. Without warning, Tareon leaps from the cliff face and unfolds his wings. The fire below forced him to rise quickly, and he ascended with quick, steady wing beats. He was a wyvern, elvish of breed, making him slick and light-weight. Rare in his breed were the ivory spikes adorning his back and curving black horns. Though he was elvish, he was a mutt of a dragon. His mother had flown away and mated with a western Viking breed. Had I not come along, a pesky human, he would have been put to death for this indignity, just like his mother.
His roar was thunderous and he struck with the sting of a scorpion and the silence of an ant. You’d never hear him coming in mid-battle, unless he announced his own arrival. His cries could be heard for miles, but war was no joke. This was our first battle, and we could only pray that we survived…
Tareon
The trees rustled their leaves frequently, complying with the winds’ gentle nudging and prying. Birds skittered from the ground into frenzied flight, reaching the highest branches before resting on branches which did not creak in protest. Everything was alive from the whispering stream to the jittery squirrels. The air itself seemed to breathe, allowing the plants to thrive – lush and green from the pine trees to the ferns. Still as death the forest sat by moonlight. That is, all nights but this one.
Ferocious as a demon it flew, enraged and burning the land. It scales glimmered faintly in pale moonlight, but burned as the flames the creature spouted now. The eyes angry, the claws poised to rip and tear, teeth bared as its wings pounded, shredding needles on trees, uprising the water of the stream into razor thin blades with every beat. The rabbits scuttled away, terrified.
From the sky descended another creature, twice as large with black, scaly skin. It roared deafeningly loudly, and released a burst of flame. Pulling back on its wings like a parasail, it slowed its own descent, then beat its powerful wings and ascended back into the dark sky.
The smaller one, a deep green in shade, pounded above the trees fast as a cheetah. It growled, barely avoiding the flame. Another male had entered its territory, aiming to kill with a few swift breaths of its own spitfire. The green creature, a dragon, turned and worked into the sky, straining to break it steady course.
Atop each creature sat an elf, garbed in battle-gear, holding tight to a sword.
It is a known fact that elves at war are the biggest threat to world destruction. Though peaceful and Earth-loving, elves destroy anything in their paths. Their dragon mates are trained merciless, and my only see other dragons in they are mates or foes. This being common knowledge among all creatures, it is rare for any other beings to become involved in elven warfare. I however do not posses this common intelligence.
It has always been my greatest desire to ride on dragon-back, and the elves agreed to this, of course. There was a catch, however; but I – mesmerized by the promise of my very own dragon – forgot to listen for the catch. I had to join the war to gain a hatchling, and it was not until three days past I learned this. A blood-red dragon hatchling numbed the pain of enlisting in an elven war. But my dragon and I now sit on a cliff, watching two of the worlds’ oldest and most dangerous beasts tear each other apart.
I swallow fear. “We can do this, Tareon. I know we can… Just stare into the eyes of that green B*st*rd and rip his throat out. No regrets, right?”
Tareon swallows hard, maintaining what little pride he has remaining. His claws crumble the edge of the rock cliff as they shift nervously; his curved horns, blacker than obsidian, glare orange in the raging inferno below.
“Firetalon and Forestflare can’t beat you. You’re a red dragon, the fiercest of the fierce.” I encourage him lightly.
“I know I can do this. Firetalon will fall!” Tareon bellows. Without warning, Tareon leaps from the cliff face and unfolds his wings. The fire below forced him to rise quickly, and he ascended with quick, steady wing beats. He was a wyvern, elvish of breed, making him slick and light-weight. Rare in his breed were the ivory spikes adorning his back and curving black horns. Though he was elvish, he was a mutt of a dragon. His mother had flown away and mated with a western Viking breed. Had I not come along, a pesky human, he would have been put to death for this indignity, just like his mother.
His roar was thunderous and he struck with the sting of a scorpion and the silence of an ant. You’d never hear him coming in mid-battle, unless he announced his own arrival. His cries could be heard for miles, but war was no joke. This was our first battle, and we could only pray that we survived…
