Young Writers Society

Fateful, are the times; The journey of Lucas Manroe

There comes a point in time when man must thrust away that which he holds closest to heart for the best of him and the possible good of those that surround him! Obviously no good to those he turns his back, the hatred and pitiful memories of the heart breaking moments, the later obviously obvious.

Lucas, a young man scaling the age of sixteen years woke up to the uncomfortable shaking of his transport means. A horse-fueled cart lodging barrels of ale had acted his home for the night, a rather bumpy one that is! He stood up, swiftly not to make notice of his presence to the driver as he peered through the shabby mackintosh that provided roofing to the cart and its contents. Here, he managed to catch glimpse of some kind of civilization, dim lights shimmering at a far, apparently the only ones he had seen in two days. “around twenty minutes to go!” he thought as he twisted a ladle he had picked at the sides of the cart to scoop out a measure of ale. He gulped in the lot, allowing its sweetness tickle his sensations.

Lucas later jumped off the carriage just meters to the civilization he had noticed earlier, a city high above the tallest of trees. He stepped in the brightening sun to expose his scruffy red hair. He was a fellow of well-build, visibly masculine, scaly chocolate brown skin, deep blue eyes and around eight heads tall. Taking his first step into the city, he inhaled a gulp of air, filled with that stinging stench of some dump morning local market place. A chilly breeze blew his deplorable attire, a rather bedraggled red cloak over laying his similarly out of place greyish trousers tucked in by a red straw shirt, probably weighing his chance of doing whatever he had to do having arrived in this, the city of Anker.

Law class as he appeared, Lucas happened to be a rather important person back in his state of residence, Kampel, as only son to one of the four war Lords that ruled the land Manoalides, a once magical, but parlous land. His father was the strongest of all the lords. Back in the days, when dragons hadn’t yet fled the land of Manoalides his father Gonzillus GaroeI a young king by then, had successfully slayed one of them, fed on its heart intern achieving longevity and immense strength. That was a hundred years ago, before Lucas’ birth. Since then the dragons that once soared the skies of manoalides fled the reign of Gonzillus to a land unknown. However, rumor had gone by that the divine beasts devised a way of concealing their power to themselves in that feeding on the heart alone wouldn’t give away the privilege of being such a fine beast. It was also prophesized, by the dragon Gonzillus slayed, that in a hundred, a thousand years or so, the beasts would choose a human to represent the entire human civilization and bless him with immense power. That person would be the one to unite the humans and the beasts once more.

Back at home, Gonzillus had dreamed of a destruction of the Manoalides. A hundred years had passed since his siege of power and this was the first time he found himself paranoid. “the time has come; I feel it” his paranoia kicked in as he hurriedly moved into the council room where the other lords waited.

“greetings fellow lords, today I’ve called this meeting and I am glad you turned up at such short notice. Three nights ago I dreamed the destruction of our land, and I am afraid I might not make it to the battle field. …”

“and why would you miss the battle” a slim fellow, chocolate brown skinned decorated by a scar across his face interrupted.

Gonzillus chuckled “dear Caragus, I attained longevity, not immortality. My long years are catching up with me, my longevity fading and health plummeting. Am afraid our enemies have learned of the situation and are acting up. We must devise means of saving our lands.”

“Lord!” Fergusus, the youngest of the lords called out. “our enemies stood down at your command a hundred years ago, who are these new enemies you talk of?”

“an old one, Cragean the vicious.” He said with a solemn sigh. The other lords grew restless. Each looking at the other scarily

Barnabus, who had proved reticent stood up to combat the matter “Cragean is dead, we were there when Mogarease made sure of it!!!”

“am afraid not!” Gonzillus jumped in, “his body died, but the spirit and consciousness loom the land.” he continued as the others looked on consideringly.

“so what are we to do with the matter?” Fergusus surfaced the question on every one’s mind.

“that’s the reason for this meeting,” he answered, “but at the apparent, my son, Lucas claims to have a connection with the dragons…”

“How’s that so?” Caragus interrupted

“I don’t know; he keeps on having visions of glimpses of the sacred land dragons fled to. And, he has envisioned Mogarease the conqueror!” yet again the members looked at each other questioningly.

Mogarease was the first war lord of the Manoalides. He was the last man to attain trophobiosis with the dragons and it is believed he attained immortality when he slayed Cragean, that devil prince. He exiled himself soon after his victory, leaving the saved lands of Manoalides in the hands of the strongest warriors that had survived the tragic battled, the four war lords. No one had set sight on him from that day