Discussion in 'Community Fictions' started by Silver Snake, Jan 12, 2021.
Yes yes waiting
Alright, took me a little longer than I thought, but here you go.
Spoiler: Dragon Heart Ch. 1 Pt 5
With his head down, he saw one of the cures to his ails. Fafnir threw aside his spear, took off his helmet, and threw that aside as well. He then crouched beside the boar and bit into its side.
Hm, with teeth still gnawing, he thought, harder than I thought it would be.
After a couple more moments of this, he realized it would not work, so he ceased and began brainstorming. After a glint of realization flashed in his eyes, Fafnir grabbed his spear and sliced the boar open, releasing a copious amount of steam.
Seeing some meat, he bit once more, though no difference was made from before; his teeth could still not rend anything.
Fafnir pulled back, took off his gauntlets and gloves, and began feeling around his teeth.
“Useless things, only a couple sharp ones, and even those aren’t all that sharp. How are humans supposed to eat? What do they eat?”
What the once dragon knew of human living was few and sparse. Most all of what he knew of them came from tales of his Green brother, Orthir; the sort that wandered among them. But stories rarely specified what they ate, and when they did, even fewer told of how that food came to be. It simply appeared.
“Fire! They cook food with fire! Yes, the band of heroes are always gathered around those for stew… what’s stew? Meat! I can still cook meat.” Fafnir recalled how he had often seen goblins and others of their ilk roasting things over a fire. “Hm…”
When he realized he didn’t know how to make a fire, the once dragon gathered his things and continued on his way.
Fruits. Fruits grow on trees and bushes. I can eat those. Alighted with the concept of food that literally grew on trees, Fafnir’s steps became much lighter. And with one thought gone, came space for another, why am I so soggy?
Begrudgingly, he took off his clothes and armor and examined them, noticing concentrated wet spots on the clothes. He touched himself where the spots were. Looking at his armpit, he thought, Is that stuff coming out of me?
The once dragon decided to lay out his clothes for a time to allow them to dry off, and in doing so, dozed off for half an hour.
When he awoke, he stood up to get his stuff, but once he put weight on his right foot, soreness assailed his entire leg.
“Agh!” Shocked by the pain, he jumped to the other foot, only for a far greater pain to meet him, causing him to fall on his bottom. “What the hell is this!?”
Fafnir darted his eyes around his legs for any visible wound, but there was none. “Wait.” And then he saw a red area on his left leg, right where the boar had tackled him, early signs of a bruise. His eyes squinted in focus, and like a fool, he touched it, and of course the pain he received was multiplied 10 fold compared to earlier. “Ahhh!”
Slower this time, in complete bafflement, he said, “What the hell is this?”
Feeling that whatever it was was far beyond him, and pretty sure he wasn’t dying, he clothed and armored himself and continued on his way, eyes searching for any colorful fruit or berries.
And he did find some - nice blue ones. The once dragon grabbed a good handful and shoved them into his mouth, munching ravenously.
Feeling refreshed from the moisture of the berries, and his filled stomach, he had a broad grin as he sauntered further.
Though it did not last long, soon his head began spinning, or to him, the world, and his stomach ached with a different kind of pain than hunger; he was learning many new pains today.
Clutching his stomach, he fell through a couple of bushes, into a gravel clearing, and in front of it, a flowing river.
Fafnir knelt to the ground, raised up his helmet, and puked out all of the berries. Now excessively dehydrated, confused, hungry, and physically exhausted, it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to say that he was in fact dying.
Water. Water. Water, was the thought that repeated. The once dragon ambled on knees and hands toward the river. But just as he was about to drink from it, he fainted on the bank.
Across the river, a young woman doing laundry saw all of this, her mouth agape.
And it took me even longer to reply ( coz I went to study then slept ) and I met a cliffhanger ..it wouldn't be too much to ask you for a ch-2 part 2 is it ?
Your story is great I'm lovin it ...
Thank you very very much. *claps hands together twice*
My current daily limit is about one part of a chapter, then I get a little mentally exhausted/drained. But I'll try to get a chapter out tomorrow. No promises.
Yep take care of yourself
Thank you. I hope for your continued good health as well.
OH MY GOODNESS THIS IS AMAZING
I LOVE YOUR STORIES THEY ARE SO WELL WRITTEN
LOVE YOUR WORK MR AMAZING AUTHOR
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK
Yes your health is top priority.
Take care of your yourself
YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A BIG HEAD WITH ALL THAT PRAISE
BUT THANK YOU
Yes, you take care of yourself too.
Man, there are so many emotes.
Spoiler: Chapter 2 part 1
Susannah sat at the bedside of a sleeping young man with raven black hair and a permanent scowl on his face. She thought he seemed handsome, but also dangerous, imagining a thug, no, a leader of thieves to look much the same, smiling sinisterly on a rickety throne in some sewer of some city as his men reported to him on their daily finds.
That was the sort of atmosphere Fafnir gave to Susan, the young woman who found him earlier in the day. Now it was night, and in the neighboring room, the locals were deciding what to do. Susan was told to not tell another soul about what she had seen, and to look after him for the time being. She didn’t like being talked down to, even if indirectly. Though that’s not to say she was surprised. She wasn’t one of the elders, but still a child in their eyes, not important or reliable enough to way in on such matters.
But that didn’t keep her from being curious. What good will it do, watching someone who’s asleep? she reasoned to herself. And so she crept close to the door and listened in.
“What do we do about him?”
“What can we do?”
“Throw him out or take him in.”
“Well obviously we’ll take care of him. He’s practically still a boy. Imagine how much his mother is worrying.”
“We can’t just house every rogue soldier that shows up on our doorstep. We have to think about the town. We don’t want it getting caught up in the war. Think of what the Duke would do he found out we were offering succor to an enemy.”
“We don’t even know if he’s a soldier. Was he wearing any colors or banners? No, only plain black armor.”
“And that’s another thing - I don’t like that armor. It looks sinister, and so does his face.”
“Listen to yourself! You don’t like his armor and face! What kind of reason is that to leave someone for dead?”
“He’s got a point, that armor and weaponry. It certainly isn’t… standard issue. But custom made. Where did he come from? Who is he? Why is he here? We don’t know anything about him! He could be a murdering madman for all we know.”
“Bah, you men know nothing. He’s a good egg. I can tell.”
He scoffed, "You just think he’s a handsome lad and think he'd be a good fit for your granddaughter.”
“So what if I do?! She’s not getting any younger. And besides, I’ve always been a good judge of character, and I tell you, he’s a good egg.”
“This is going nowhere. We can’t make a decision until he wakes up and explains himself.” The man looked at everyone else, as if asking for an objection. There was none. “Alright then. Let’s adjourn for now and see if he’s awake in the morning.”
As the councilmen spread apart from their huddle and approached the door, Susan leapt up from her hunched position and dashed for the bedside chair, causing loud thuds and a screech as the legs of the chair slid against the wood floor.
Fafnir’s upper body bolted up as the councilmen entered the room. His head darted left and right, taking in his surroundings. Everyone was taken aback by his wild eyes and manner. It felt as if he would jump up and attack any one of them at any moment.
Though, of course, he did not, for once he realized where he was, not from experience, but through logic, he calmed considerably, back straightening, face serious, and completely still. His baring was prideful, they noticed, as if he had just recalled who he was and realized there was a correct way for him to act.
He spoke slow, breathing still not yet fully under his control, “Thank you for aiding me in my time of need. If it were not for your assistance, I know not what would have become of me.” He did a light bow. I have to make them trust me. “What is this place, where am I?” So they’ll give me what I want.
For a moment, all were silent, processing the presence before them. There was something in his eyes and the way he spoke, a great conviction that would not allow anything to get in his way. Though his words were kind, his face and eyes showed none of it. They were unsure if they wanted to answer, if they should.
The old woman was the first to speak, “This is the town called Estwin in the Coren duchy of the Ulfes kingdom. And who, may I ask, are you?”
Fafnir’s eyes narrowed at the question. “What concern of it is yours, who I am?”
One of the men beside the old woman piped up, “Who you are is a big concern! If you’re trouble, we won’t be having any of it!”
Instinctively, Fafnir backed off, sensing he would be defeated if he did not comply, “I am called Siegfried. I fought the black dragon Fafnir. Before I slayed it,” gasps of surprise and widened eyes showed from many in the room, “it cursed me, taking away all of my past except for my name.” Scoffs and remarks of disbelief were thrown around the room. “I care not if you believe me. But know this. I have no quarrel with any of you or your countrymen. I seek only a cure. The dragon, upon its death, mentioned its sister, the blue dragon, Celadon (sell - a - dawn) of the north as being the only one who could undo it. Once you return to me that which is mine, I will be on my way.”
The old woman spoke, “Now there’s no need to be in a rush,” deflating the tension in the room, “how about we get you some more water and something to eat?”
More water? Siegfried looked around and beside the bed, on top of a nightstand, was a wooden cup. The once dragon looked inside it, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He grabbed the cup and slammed back the water in unending gulps, until all that was left inside of it was air. Siegfried breathed heavy as he held the cup outward and said, “Yes, please, more water.”
Author, do you need useful comments or support?
Oh, do you mean one or the other?
Looks like your dragon stories are autobiographical.
Criticism is useful but it kills the mood.
Support gives motivation but encourages to write poorly.
What is your choice?
How about both? But if I must choose one, I suppose I'll go with criticism.
You can't have both.
Oh, but OK... you know many words. I'm done with support. (Seriously! You know them!)
------ I must choose one --------- No, you don't have to actually. You can just tell the incredible me to *** off. )
The 1st chapter is basically a variant of Disney's Reluctant Dragon - talk instead of fight. The dark side is that we've all seen the Rel. Dr. - so nothing new. The only change is the death and the curse - but before that the reader has to struggle through the most familiar scene, with no good cookies (because conversations like 'Why do you burn people - I like fire' don't get people excited/ Or a dragon rolling from one side to another.)
Fiction is something wrapped in a nice form, but the chapter doesn't give this twist of the Rel. Dr. a nice form. So the whole deal with the curse is just informative.
You really work the geometry of events through (where everybody turns, which leg he lifts etc), but this geometry doesn't have a catch.
I am sure readers who are turned on with words 'dragon', 'sword' and such would be happy anyway.
You are absolutely correct. But I liked everything you disliked.
The conversation was meaningless - he didn't really have a reason for doing it, and that's why the knight was so angry.
The curse is informative - It is just telling instead of showing, but I tell it really well.
The geometry doesn't have a catch - not everything I write has a future importance, sometimes it's only to add texture or realism to the scene.
I kind of hate explaining things. I feel like it takes away the magic. And you obviously don't like the story. So it's like, why even defend it. I mean, I can't make you like it. It all feels so pointless, and a little childish. But thank you for reading as far as you did. And thank you for saying it was autobiographical. Like, I put a lot of myself into those roles to make them feel as real as they can.
You changed the prefix from oneshot to novel?
You could also have said perbe
This is true.
Separate names with a comma.