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Come embarrass yourself (It will be fun)

A. E. Lowan

Forum Mom
Leadership
I don't even remember writing this...

The Dragon Slayer


He had found the cave with natural ease, considering his intense training, and delved into the deep warm cave, into the cavern with the dragon’s hoard piled high with the wealth of a small kingdom. He was admiring suits of fine armor, with a mind to his reward, when he spotted her. A hollow had been made in a pile of coins, and on the gold slept the maiden.

They had said that she was beautiful. They had no idea when the dragon had taken her captive, but the blacksmith said she was sometimes seen, near to the mouth of the wyrm’s lair. The young knight thought that if he had been a dragon, he would have never let such a fair creature out of his sight, but the villagers simply shrugged and left him to his opinion. His young mind had conjured images of golden hair like a silken waterfall, blue sky eyes, cast down modestly, and her slim form dressed in damask silk, finery appropriate to her gentle birth. His imaginings had left him unprepared for the woman sleeping before him.

Her hair was not gold, but tumbled about her face and body like a fire caught in the moment of catching. Strings of small pearls and jewels were twined in her tresses, and draped about her long, strong limbs. Her skin was not lily white, but copper, color lent by the fires burning on the walls, the knight was sure. Instead of rich fabrics, she was dressed only in the jeweled strings and baubles from the trove. And when her eyes snapped open and focused on him, they were the same color as new wheat in his noble father’s fields.

Her eyes immediately darted about the cavern, and he tried to follow her eyes, breaking from his rapture with alarm. The dragon! But his eyes found only the empty cavern. When he looked back, she was regarding him with irritation and confusion. “My lady, I have come to rescue you.”

She sat up slowly as a smile of delight spread across her face, and she stroked his embossed breastplate with dark fingers. She seemed to have not heard him. Of course! The dragon had her enchanted. Why else would a virtuous woman be in such an immodest state? He caught her hand and scooped her up in his arms, a startled squeak springing from her. “I beg your pardon my lady…” he trailed off, realizing that only his leather gauntlets separated his fingers from her warm, bare skin. He was suddenly very grateful for the unyielding nature of his armor, because the maiden would not have been able to miss his shame. Wrapping his cloak about her, he carried her from the cavern.

She had not moved in several long moments, and as they emerged from the cave, he swallowed his embarrassment long enough to look at her face. His father had allowed a simpleton to work in the chicken house, and the man was prone to wild imaginings. She looked at him with the same look that mad man would earn, her fiery green eyes fixed on him with tolerant bemusement, but none of the alarm he might have expected. He stopped outside the cave and set her on her feet, unsettled by her steady regard.

Her eyes suddenly broke from his face, and she pointed to the sky. He spun, sword drawn, and faced nothing but a summer day, a green meadow, dotted with distant sheep. Irritation drew his brows together. “Now, my lady…” He heard the heavy sound of his cloak dropping to the grass behind him, and as he turned the bright jingling of jewels. Heat sank into his armor, followed by an elemental growl that reverberated in his bones. Copper scales writhed in the corner of his vision, and he raised his sword in an arc that never completed.
 

A. E. Lowan

Forum Mom
Leadership
My god there's some rubbish here.

My admission is a little different. It looks, at first, as though I'm showing off, but bear with me...

When I was in 6th grade a major assignment was to write and illustrate a story of about 500 words. That was brilliant! I loved writing stories so I threw myself into it with gusto and produced a masterpiece about two fleas. The story duly topped the class, and the best part of 30 years later my niece who was then attending the same school told me that my story was still trotted out every year as a shining example of how to write a short story.

Hooray for me!!!

Except that...the story I produced bore little resemblance to the finished product which had been very heavily edited by my mother (who had been a frustrated novelist herself).

Glad I finally got that off my chest.
I can understand that. My mom was also a novelist, but she believed in the school of hard knocks. If she didn't like something, boy, did I get an earful. But when she did... those were the days I lived for.
 
It was so hard not to edit this at least a little bit. It was my attempt to write the first adventure that I ever played of DnD and I never finished it. It was the earliest piece that I have on my device. I think I have an older one ut I'd have to go and dig for it in a bunch of old papers that I haven't looked at in ages. So you get this one it is short and really bad.
:notworthy: ...I am regretting this post already.

Three travelers stood on a grassy hill overlooking the forest beneath. To the North, in the distance, a great column of smoke was rising. One of the travelers gestured towards it. He was an elf, as were both of his companions, but unlike either of them. His skin was a pale blue and his white hair was sharply contrasted against it.

“We should check that out,” he said. His companions merely nodded. Together they made their way downhill.

“Might as well stealth” one of his companions said.

She looked normal at a glance with long brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin. But upon closer observance, she had pointed canines similarly to a wolf's fangs, and her pupils slitted like a cats. These were a result of her frequent shapeshifting, and she had several silver scars from past fights. She was frowning as she usually did for no other reason than to be grumpy. She carried a long thick staff in one hand and rested her other hand on the hilt of a well-used scimitar. Despite these limitations, she ghosted through the trees and took the lead.

“Just don't go too far ahead Ravenger, if only so that I can keep up with you.” said the traveler who had spoken first half-joking, his name was Fenrill. Ravenger rolled her eyes and made no reply. The third traveler whose name was Argan, stealthed through the trees with almost equal ease. Unfortunately for Fenrill, stealthing was not one of his areas of expertise. As they traveled on, Ravenger noticed something odd. All sorts of animals were constantly scurrying by in obvious haste. The strangest part was not the fact that they were all running to the Northeast; but that a large Gray Squirrel had stopped in their path and was looking meaningfully at them. Once it saw that it had their attention however it ran away, like the rest to the Northeast. “What was that about?” Ravenger said.

Fenrill looked bemused, “Why are you asking us? You’re the druid, aren't you supposed to know about stuff like that?” he said.

Ravenger glared at Fenrill as he continued, “ You could shapeshift and find out”

“ Nitwit” Ravenger said, “ You know that I can only shapeshift twice a day, and I’m not going to waste it on finding out why the animals have all gone mad.”

At that comment, Argon said mildly, “ That was a little exaggerated, they have hardly gone mad. But it may be a good idea to continue on our way.”

Ravenger fumed for a moment then turned in her heel and stalked away. Not really caring whether or not they followed. The rest of their trip passed uneventfully not counting the occasional passing animal heading northeast. Finally, Ravenger began to smell smoke, and hear the faint sounds of panicked voices up ahead. Motioning the others to follow her lead, Ravenger began to stealth again. At long last, they reached a clearing in the trees in which stood a small village, with a couple of the wooden houses on fire. The villagers were running frantically in all different directions. Not actually doing anything of any use.

“We should go and help them,” Fenrill said. Argon agreed readily.

Ravenger snorted, “ YOU can help them, I’ll watch you fail”

Fenrill looked aghast. “ you won’t help? He asked incredulously.

“ No I won’t,” Ravenger said shortly.

Argon shrugged “Let’s go, she isn’t going to change her mind.”

Fenrill gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine”

And they jogged off together. Ravenger tossed her staff on the ground and sat down, resting her arm on her knee and leaning back against a tree. Good luck she thought to herself not that it will make a difference those humans are so panicked that it will take a miracle to get them to do anything useful. As she watched, she saw Fenrill talk to a tall bearded man who looked as if he was shouting into his face. Argon was trying to make a bucket line and needless to say, was being unsuccessful. The villagers just ignored him for the most part but some of them did grab a bucket with him. When Ravenger glanced back at Fenrill she raised an eyebrow in surprise, he was running straight into one of the burning buildings. That was the dumbest thing that I have ever seen anybody ever do. She thought to herself but she picked up her staff and walked over to Argon and the panicking villagers. As she drew near she could hear some of the things that the villagers were saying:

“...The elf ….. did you see him….?”

“...he’s going to save the boy….. So brave”

“...he’s going to die too…!”

Ravenger rolled her eyes, typical of him, then she heard voices saying:

“ what do we do?!”

“How do we help!?’

“What do we do?”

Ravenger growled to herself then she shouted over the panic,

“Be Quiet! All of you!”

The villagers quieted looking shocked as if they couldn’t comprehend why someone would stop them from being useless
 
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