my story

[pre] In a land before time, where mountains are still young, in three different times, heroes will meet. They will cross vast expanses of time and space, and almost nothing will be impossible. They are the ones who let go of loved ones, and everything they held close. They were the ones who made the ultimate sacrifice. The question is; was it?

Books. Treasures not many people got to cherish. Shelves and shelves of them. People would pay a huge price for even one of them. But it was hard to remember that when there were so many. Books on the floor, on the many tables, on the chairs, on the overflowing shelves. Books written in every language under the sun, on every subject imaginable, and then some. The fiery language of the dragons, where the characters were made out of something similar to fire. The slippery and smooth elvish script with it's letters made from a silvery substance, that could only be read by the light of the moon. The boxy, stone-like lettering of the dwarves, made by a spell which forms like stone, abut is thin and flexible enough to put on parchment. The secret languages that only a few could read, and even fewer wanted to. The writings of the spell casters, or mages, who could read all languages, but only wrote in one. It is spidery, and weaves its self like one of their spells. The writings of those so evil that no one knows what they are called, and who's language is so filled with curses that they alone are safe to read it. And lastly, the writings of man, although hard to read at best, the human writings were written in many different dialects, by many different hands.

And in the midst of all these books, a human figure sat, in the light of a candle, busily at work copying passages. One from this book, two from that. As he opened one of the thick volumes, a design caught the light, and burned through the semi-darkness like fire. The picture was of a dragon, on it's hind feet, balanced by it's tail, wings upraised, breathing fire.

The man was dressed simply, with out ornament, He wore a dark green cloak over a similarly colored tunic, and dark leggings. They were belted at his waist, along with a sword, a dagger, and a rams horn with an animal skin capping the large end. On his feet were a pair of dark brown leather boots. On the floor next to his chair was an unstrung bow, and a quiver, full, almost, with arrows. His cloak, which must have been a deep and radiant green, was covered in dirt and grime, as if he had just traveled a long way on horse-back. In fact his whole appearance was one of a traveller who had just reached his destination. But the strangest part of his appearance was not the dirt, or that he was armed. It was a headband around his forehead with a copper plate with the word H'rafa on it, which meant recoil. The head band was tied under his hair, and partially covered by the hood of his cloak. He looked up suddenly. He glanced at the door and the windows, but they were bolted and locked. Then he looked toward the far end of the room, where the candlelight didn't reach, and where the shadows made it almost completely dark. As his gaze grew stronger, a figure was illuminated in a circle of light. The figure was also a man, similarly dressed, but with much less dirt and grime, and quite a bit more ornamentation. He wore thick bracelets of gold. He also wore a cloak, and was also hooded, although his was a deep, rich, midnight blue. His whole appearance was one of royalty or high rank, with out too much decoration. He also wore a headband, although his plate was made of gold, and said the word Mannviroing on it, which meant credit, or honor. He walked slowly toward the other, and as he moved, a dull clank of metal was audible. The man was wearing armor. Because of the hoods, it was impossible to see their faces, or tell what their expressions were. The one in green sat at ease. The other stood, tense and foreboding.

“We need you out there, Adar!” The one in blue said. “Our people are getting slaughtered, and all you can think of is a bunch of old books?” “Caysey,” Adar said, “Haven't you read the signs? We will win, so why worry about it, and get yourself killed? It is over.” He said the last three words slowly and clearly. Caysey still stood, tense. He spoke the next few words with a vehemence that he hadn't used yet. “Does that mean, then, that our people have to die?” “Die?” Adar asked. “No, but--” “But nothing! Our people are being killed! We have to do something!” Then Caysey grabbed Adar's upper arm, and dragged him to one of the window, upsetting a stack of books pile precariously on the edge of the table. He unbolted the window, and threw it open. They could hear the sounds of a battle that Adar had been ignoring for the past three hours. The lights from the battle gave everything a reddish tint. “Look.” Caysey said. Adar looked. He saw death and destruction everywhere. He saw figures being cut down one by one. He saw fire devouring one of the buildings. He saw red light flash on peoples headband plates. He saw the wind carry the flames to other buildings, and whipping the ragged flags. He decided that it was time to act. He reached out his hand, and a dark shape began to form. The particles becan to turn, and twist themselves into a shape that could only be “A dragon?” Caysey wondered to himself. Dark greenish brown, with a pale blue stomach, it blended in. if you looked at it from the top, it looked like a part of the ground. If you looked at it from the bottom, it looked like a part of the sky. As Caysey opened his mouth to ask questions, the dragon exploded into about a dozen smaller, faster, and much more flexible dragons, all with the same coloring as the first one. Caysey had to force himself to breathe. “Dragons.” he whispered with an air of finality. As he said that, they all roared as one, and in unison, they flew down to the battle like an arrow, speeding toward the target, causing mayhem on the battlefield. They were suddenly the only force that was functioning on the battlefield. Mostly, this was because dragons were supposed to have become extinct hundreds of years ago, and that they had come out of nowhere.

If you had been there, you would have seen people dying for no apparent reason. You would have seen friends being attacked by something you could hardly see, let alone understand. As the shapes drew near, you would have only noticed their eyes, hypnotically glittering, and you wouldn't have been able to look away, or stop what you know they are going to do to you. Still, you would try to fight, and everything would be in slow motion, and you would realise that you just... can't... do... anything.... And you let go, and a wind sweeps around you, and you become one with them.

Going back to the astonished Caysey. His first reaction was one of shock. He thought, “What is the world coming to, if Adar is actually conjuring dragons out of thin air? No one should have that kind of power. What is he hiding from us?” He backed up slowly, searching the room for a possible exit. There was a noise out side, and Caysey looked back to the window just in time to see the most amazing thing. The dragons, and not just them, but more, were fading in and out, making a crackling sound like you would hear if you were to close to lightning. They were flying up and over, toward the still-open window. Caysey backed up a little more, until he reached the door, with the door knob digging into his back, slightly. He reached behind him, and found it with his hand, ready to throw open the door if something were to happen.

As Caysey watched, Adar reached out his hand, and each dragon lighted on it briefly before seeming to dissolve into a mist. As each one dissipated, the mist grew stronger, until, with the last dragon, it completely obscured Adar from Caysey's view. Then the mist, and Adar with it, began to rise, slowly revolving. A wind blew up and through the window, circled around the room with the books, and then, again, out the window, taking the mist with it. Adar slowly dropped back to the floor. When he reached it, he collapsed in a small, green pile of cloth. He stirred, and tried to rise, using the back of a near-by chair to pull himself up to a standing position. He finally stood, and with great effort, he turned the chair around, and sat, exhausted and trembling. Caysey looked at him, stunned. “How did you do it?” He asked. “Dragons? Honestly Adar, don't you realise what this means? The tragedies of the past will repeat themselves! Do you really want a full-scale war?” Adar sat there, in something like a stupor. He was fighting to stay concious and catch his breath, not really listening to what Caysey was saying. Caysey shook his head, and then turned, unbolted and opened the door, and walked out to get someone to take Adar down to a healer. [/pre]