Just trying something out here. I got an idea while driving home, and this is what it blossomed into. Not quite sure how far it will go, but I think it is interesting.
THE NEW WORLD- Prologue Pt. 1 (Ayr)
It was a magnificent creature. Its thin tails flowed behind its long body. It- or rather he- had scales speckled in deep blue and burnt orange. His wings were at least that of its full length, which was impressive, considering that from head to tails, he was at least 75 meters. Sleek spikes sprouted from his back and neck. His intelligent peach-colored eyes swept the battle-torn ground beneath him. His name was Ayr, and he was a dragon.
Ayr spotted a siege tower ahead. Its canons were blasting fire into the ranks of approaching Vel. With a mighty roar, he dove down towards the ground. At the last moment, he pulled up, and a blast of air scattered those under him. Ayr whipped his barb-tipped tails at the siege tower. They ripped through the metal frame-work and destroyed the inner workings of the tower. With a leap, he returned to the relative safety of the sky.
The Vel gave a war-cry at the sight of the toppled-over tower. Ayr shook his head in disgust. The Vel had him on contract for five years, and now that he was in the fifth year, he couldn’t wait to take his leave. It had been eight years since he had been home in the mountain-villages of his ancestors. The more he saw of the ground-world, the more he disliked it. Whether in the Kingdoms of Men, Vel or Tjin, there was always some politically-fuelled war.
Ayr took notice of the Vel commander flagging him. He swept down and leaned his head forward, to catch what he was shouting through his horn. But before he could hear his orders, something slammed into his side. Ayr fell to the ground, killing the commander and his guard. He quickly jumped back up, and now could see what attacked him: another dragon.
It was smaller than him, only about 60 meters, but it was stocky and strong. Its pearly-white and washed-out blue scales had provided it camouflage in the air. Ayr noted its smooth body and flat head; it had to be a water-spitter.
“I’m sorry brother, I didn’t know the Vel could afford such an observant creature!” it spat sarcastically.
“Don’t worry, if anyone, I’m sure your human generals can teach you how the monetary system works.”
Ayr climbed to higher clouds, while the water-spitter growled in frustration behind him. They were not known for their keen minds. Banter aside, he needed to stay above his adversary. Water-spitters were unable to aim above them, and Ayr was ready to exploit that flaw.
When he reached a suitable altitude, the blue-and-orange dragon pulled his wings in close, and plummeted onto the water-spitter. The spikes on Ayr’s armored underbelly dug through his scales. With a scream of pain, he was forced onto the ground. Ayr hovered upwards, and coiled his tails back.
The water-spitter was struggling to its four feet when Ayr struck out with his tails. They tore through the earth and the other dragon. Water started to froth from its mouth, and the Vel soldiers took the chance to hop onto its back and kill it.
Ayr flew back up above the battle to see the men retreating. The battle was over, for today. Without looking back, he turned and gracefully soared back to camp, where his dinner awaited him.
. . .
OH MY GOSH! King Ghidorah’s here!
Although the story did not, in fact, contain King G, it was, nevertheless, a great work of art.
I would put in that video of 12 Hours of standing ovation, but I’ve used that before.
So here’s this:
Sol had never felt so out of place.
He was the average Vel height, at just over 2 meters. His six small black eyes matched the deep color of his robe and cape, protecting his pale white skin. His slim body easily passed through the crowds. Being from a village near the border, he had never seen so many people. But the City of Ages contained more than just people, within its walls was what he was looking for.
Sol stopped by a directional sign, trying to find a shop called Nul’s Shade. At length, he located it near the Eastern Wall. It was his mother’s dying wish that he go find his uncle, and after a year of travelling, he was finally here. He had left their farm in the able hands of his younger brother and his wife. Although Sol was the elder child and heir, he was yet to marry.
Soon he had reached his destination, and exited from the busy street into the shadows of the shop. He pulled off his hood, revealing his short black hair, and nervously looked around. The walls were lined with wood shelves stocked with exotic spices and herbs. In the center of the room was a display case showing off the head of some wild beast. Vel roamed the store, and in the far corner was the owner.
Sol walked over to him, and quietly asked, “Ar-are you Nul?”
He looked up, and in a rough voice, said, “Speak up. Unless you’re just wasting my time, eh?”
“No, no, I just… Are you Nul?” he asked with more energy.
“Yes. Now, what do you want? You buying something?”
“No. My… my mother sent me. I’m Sol.”
Nul perked up at his name. “Your mother is Rir?”
“Yes.”
“Stay here for a moment.” Nul stood up, and shouted, “Hey! All of you! Get out! We’re closed now.”
Seeing that none of the Vel started for the door, Nul slammed his hand on the wall. “I said, get the hell out!”
Once the customers had left, Nul threw off his outer cape, revealing his sturdy, muscular frame. His skin was unnaturally dark, and a scar ran through two of his eyes. He strode to the doors, which he locked. He turned and walked over to a door in the back wall.
He pulled open the wooden door. “We’ll have more privacy here.”
Nul closed the door and pulled two chairs from a desk in his small room. Sol seated himself across from his uncle, who asked, “So Rir is dead, eh?”
Sol nodded somberly.
“I’m sorry, son. Did she tell why you needed to find me?”
“No.”
Nul ran a hand through his dark brown hair. “Where to start, then… oh!”
He jumped up and started rummaging around in a chest, before pulling out a sheathed sword. He slowly pulled it out, and the light reflected off of the ornate silver blade. The hilt was in the likeness of a dragon, with orange jewels for eyes.
“Do you know what this is?”
Sol leaned forward, looking over the blade. “It is a sword.”
“It is more than that. It is your father’s sword.”
. . .
Thomak put his fork down, and chewed slowly on a piece of beef. He was fairly handsome, his rugged features framed by his short light brown hair. He was about a meter and a half tall. Across the table sat his wife, Ilyra. She was feeding mushed carrots to their one-year-old son. She noticed him staring, and asked, “What?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Ilyra sighed. “You know my answer. No.”
Thomak stood up and clasped his rough hands together. “I can hire Wiel to look after our farm.”
“No! I will not let you go to war!”
“I have a duty to our homeland!”
“You want to fight for the people who made us leave Karalheim?”
Karalheim was the capital of the Kingdom of Men. Seven years earlier, Thomak had been unrightfully blamed for the murder of his father. He and Ilyra had fled to a small agricultural village. But now, the Men and Vel were at war again.
Thomak looked into his wife’s hazel eyes. “They will be here within the next few days, looking for recruits. Even if they still think me responsible, they will hardly stop an able man willing to fight.”
Ilyra stood up and reached out for his hands. She shook a loose blonde hair back behind her ear, and said, “I just don’t want to lose you.”
They sat back down, and awkwardly continued eating. Several minutes later, their son began to cry. His mother picked him up, and rocked him back-and-forth. She started humming, and he soon fell asleep. Suddenly, something thumped into their home from outside, startling Ilyra. She asked, “Are you expecting someone?”
Her husband slowly arose, reaching for the cleaver hanging on the wall near him. “No. And it’s too late for it to-”
The door blew inwards, showering them in splinters. Outside, someone started yelling, and others were trying to force their way through the rubble of the entryway. Ilyra was shrieking, and Thomak shouted, “Get out to the back! Run!”
It was too late. Part of the roof collapsed, burying his only family. Three armed men shoved their way through, and Thomak screamed in agony. He held the knife above his head, and leapt into the fray of attackers.
. . .
