loki456
10-05-2010, 05:18 AM
hey guys, this is a story in progress pertaining to a book of short horror stories i'm writing. It's kind of a lovecraftian tribute.
the reason i haven't sent the whole thing in is because:
a) it's not finished
b) i want to get some feedback on what it's like so far - out of all the stories i've done for the book - this one i'm a little iffy about. So any criticism is more than welcome and encouraged.
Flight of the Draknari
Written by Loki456
The desert plain on the southern continent of the lesser kingdom is oddly named. For the plains deity, Neeral, a god of the outer sanctum had seen it fit to bless the land with bountiful rain and skies of pure splendor. So a desert it was not, sand was sparse and the usual wandering traveler marveled at the perplexity of such a name. Three major cities graced this pristine land, Kaylar to the north, Silendefil to the South west which was the greatest of all the cities. Finally Draknar to the polar south.
Draknar is a city of enigma. No door or form of a bridge is evident, four walls and a garrison is all that is seen by the naked eye. Camp fires hear many a story of the buzzing sound that comes from within the walls of Drakanr late at night. Had it been that a Draknari was sighted in the past 1000 years, all speculations maybe laid to earthly rest. But as it was, Draknar was a city unlike any other, no visitor entered and no inhabitant left, having no door made this feat sure.
Like all stories this story has a beginning, a beginning in antiquity. As the continents were forming and the beasts of Kharnea began their evolutionary summons, the Draknari reminisced around their primordial wetland. For they were the oldest of the old, tales liken them to the ageless gods, and no one except the Draknari themselves knew of their age and origin. They were beasts of the earth, four hooves bolted with rock hurling strength and a body with a shell like exterior. Their heads were completely cartilaginous allowing for complete transformation if deemed necessary. As the ages past and society changed so did the Draknari, their city had been the grandest. Being as old as they were led them to revel in delight at their magnificent wisdom. Because of this, many Draknari found professions in the black arts and many from afar would seek their council.
As time progressed the desert plains had seen many feudal tyrants plan domination over this misnomer land on the southern continent. The latest of these was the feudal lord Romicon. His hand was said to be the puppet master behind the Shaman's of the western continents demise. He was a man dedicated to the art of war, blood was a price to be paid and many paid a heavy toll for resisting his rule. Draknar was such a city, the city of plight it had become to be known as.
It was common knowledge that Neeral loved the desert plains, when war ensued on the lush green fields, she would intervene with majestic power. Power was not taken at the edge of a sword, but granted, and it was granted by the hands of this benevolent outer god. The three cities had never seen a single ruler; they each governed their own totality and each made their sacrifices to Neeral. But with the third age, the age of the dreaming, it seemed that this land was in for a change.
Romicon was a Blythian by birth, their ice caped peaks on the far northern continent of Krimmholdt was also home to their war driven divinity. Such proximity to an unfathomable power had caused some to speculate that the Blythians were infact granted supra-physical powers. Romicon was no exception, like all before him, his four arms were muscular and double jointed, his humanoid face was endowed with features such as a wide nose with flaring nostrils. His eyes were whiter than the snow and showed no form of a pupil or iris, his hair gleamed with a silver gold and forced its way down to a mane that flowed over his back. He possessed a keen sense of hearing, as his eyes transmitted various sounds and pulsations via bony conduction to two slits on the side of his head. His skin was rough and covered by a fine fur, which was further coated in an oily lubricant. This made those cold winter nights bearable and provided an advantage in battle. When coming close to an opponent the film would allow for quick deflection of the onslaught of bodies.
the reason i haven't sent the whole thing in is because:
a) it's not finished
b) i want to get some feedback on what it's like so far - out of all the stories i've done for the book - this one i'm a little iffy about. So any criticism is more than welcome and encouraged.
Flight of the Draknari
Written by Loki456
The desert plain on the southern continent of the lesser kingdom is oddly named. For the plains deity, Neeral, a god of the outer sanctum had seen it fit to bless the land with bountiful rain and skies of pure splendor. So a desert it was not, sand was sparse and the usual wandering traveler marveled at the perplexity of such a name. Three major cities graced this pristine land, Kaylar to the north, Silendefil to the South west which was the greatest of all the cities. Finally Draknar to the polar south.
Draknar is a city of enigma. No door or form of a bridge is evident, four walls and a garrison is all that is seen by the naked eye. Camp fires hear many a story of the buzzing sound that comes from within the walls of Drakanr late at night. Had it been that a Draknari was sighted in the past 1000 years, all speculations maybe laid to earthly rest. But as it was, Draknar was a city unlike any other, no visitor entered and no inhabitant left, having no door made this feat sure.
Like all stories this story has a beginning, a beginning in antiquity. As the continents were forming and the beasts of Kharnea began their evolutionary summons, the Draknari reminisced around their primordial wetland. For they were the oldest of the old, tales liken them to the ageless gods, and no one except the Draknari themselves knew of their age and origin. They were beasts of the earth, four hooves bolted with rock hurling strength and a body with a shell like exterior. Their heads were completely cartilaginous allowing for complete transformation if deemed necessary. As the ages past and society changed so did the Draknari, their city had been the grandest. Being as old as they were led them to revel in delight at their magnificent wisdom. Because of this, many Draknari found professions in the black arts and many from afar would seek their council.
As time progressed the desert plains had seen many feudal tyrants plan domination over this misnomer land on the southern continent. The latest of these was the feudal lord Romicon. His hand was said to be the puppet master behind the Shaman's of the western continents demise. He was a man dedicated to the art of war, blood was a price to be paid and many paid a heavy toll for resisting his rule. Draknar was such a city, the city of plight it had become to be known as.
It was common knowledge that Neeral loved the desert plains, when war ensued on the lush green fields, she would intervene with majestic power. Power was not taken at the edge of a sword, but granted, and it was granted by the hands of this benevolent outer god. The three cities had never seen a single ruler; they each governed their own totality and each made their sacrifices to Neeral. But with the third age, the age of the dreaming, it seemed that this land was in for a change.
Romicon was a Blythian by birth, their ice caped peaks on the far northern continent of Krimmholdt was also home to their war driven divinity. Such proximity to an unfathomable power had caused some to speculate that the Blythians were infact granted supra-physical powers. Romicon was no exception, like all before him, his four arms were muscular and double jointed, his humanoid face was endowed with features such as a wide nose with flaring nostrils. His eyes were whiter than the snow and showed no form of a pupil or iris, his hair gleamed with a silver gold and forced its way down to a mane that flowed over his back. He possessed a keen sense of hearing, as his eyes transmitted various sounds and pulsations via bony conduction to two slits on the side of his head. His skin was rough and covered by a fine fur, which was further coated in an oily lubricant. This made those cold winter nights bearable and provided an advantage in battle. When coming close to an opponent the film would allow for quick deflection of the onslaught of bodies.