Musings of a Dragon

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This piece was written for a challenge. I’m not sure but I think the dragon is young and the Princess is either insane or morbid. Either way I don’t think she is going anywhere.

The Dragon who Rescued the Princess from the Prince.

Silly princes. They really have no clue. Daily they come with their sharp swords and swift horses to try and win the hand of my princess in her stone castle. They never will though. The Pretty Princess with the fiery hair doesn’t want them. All she wants is to be left to her library of scrolls. Why I don’t know, but what the Pretty Princess wants the Pretty Princess gets. Even if it doesn’t taste all that good to me.

The Dark King and Blonde Queen don’t know that. My fiery haired princess doesn’t want them to know. She said that if her parents find out than they will burn her scrolls. That would make the princess cry. I don’t want to see my flame haired friend cry.

She doesn’t have scales to protect her from the evil Princes or the Sour King and Queen. So I will protect her. My scales are green and gold. They are as hard as a diamond and sharp as razors. I have ripped many a prince to shreds with my talons that dared to try and see the Princess.

I think I saw the Princess laugh at the last Prince. Her bright hair matches the fire I breathe. I wonder what the Princess meant when she asked if I wanted ketchup at the next Prince roasting. Would ketchup make the Princes and their furry ponies taste better?

I don’t know. Maybe the Princess will bring some for me to try out? Sometimes she does bring me treats. Last week the Princess had the rancher down the road bring me a cow. I love beef. Especially when it’s still moving. Although I could do without the fur, it sticks when I roast them.

I admit that the fur is easier to deal with than the metal shirts that the Princes wear. Sometimes it tastes like they are boiled instead of roasted. They taste better roasted. Sadly there isn’t enough meat on the Princes heads, so I usually leave the heads in the river that floats into the other kingdoms.

The Princess saw me drop the head of a prince once while I was flying and she said that it served him right. My fiery Princess said that if they can’t learn their lesson then I can eat as many of them as I want. Since the Princess doesn’t want to meet any of the Princes that means I can eat them all.

I think I hear the hooves of my next dinner. The Princess is smiling from her tower, that means that I can go eat now.

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Working, Working

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At this point I have six books out and am nearing completion on the seventh.

The latest is titled Reincarnated Fate. Suffice to say that the ancient gods are not happy with Moraine Le Fay and Merlin. Apparently the caused a bit of mischief the first time around and have to relive their lives over and over until they learn the lesson. Considering that they are about as stubborn as an overloaded mule it’s been a long sixteen hundred years.

Any way I thought I would share the link to my books on Amazon for you wonderful people to check out. Hope you all have a nice day.

http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00K43MOSO

Peace in the Rain…

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This is a short theme piece, I thought you might enjoy. This was written to relax. Let me know what you think.

PEACE IN THE RAIN.

The earth has a way about it when it is to rain. The air becomes humid and the temperatures drop as nature once again tries to cleanse itself. I see people rushing away from the water as quickly as it can carry them. Others meander slowly through the pre-rain drizzles. Others still shut their windows tight so as to block out the greying clouds, and flashes of lightening. Some even jump at the clang of thunder. But not me.

Personally I walk, run, dance, and spin around in circles as the water pours freely from the sky. I raise my face so that I can catch every drop of water as it falls on my face. I breathe the damp air in as if it will be my last breath. I embrace the chaotic winds of the blowing storm. Because I know what it brings.

You ask why I walk in the rain and the answer is simple. It’s the only place I can think. You ask why I dance in the rain. It’s because the rain is where I am free. I sit in the rain because it washes my troubles away. But most of all I like the rain because I find peace in the rain.

The Bitter Taste of Defeat…

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Here is another rough scene for you guys to hopefully enjoy. Changes will be coming, but tell me what you think.

Seeing that cursed wooden cup with its detailed reliefs floating there, had tears welling up in Morgaine’s eyes. The last time Morgaine had seen the Grail was just before Merlin hid it for the Knights to find, in an attempt to cure Arthur and create a common goal. Looking back Morgaine knew that had been the beginning of the end for Camelot.

With purely good intentions Merlin had destroyed his shining society of equality. Wiping the tears from her eyes Morgaine limped towards the Grail with reluctance. The closer she stepped to the Grail the more the cavern shook. The gods were still protecting this relic from the evils that man could do. Morgaine may have had Excalibur in hand, but magic could not summon this cup.

Of the many protections that the Gods placed on this holy relic, the one protecting it from magic was the trickiest one. The Grail simply wouldn’t move if summoned from across a room. A mortal or immortal had to pick the Grail up by hand – and hope that by touching it they weren’t sealing their doom. Contact with flesh was enough for the powers in the Grail to decide if you meant good or ill.

Morgaine knew of two mortals who had died agonizingly painful deaths by laying a hand for ill on the Grail. She had no intention to become the third. Morgaine stumbled over fallen icicles, and tripped in crevices that opened under her feet. Looking back Morgaine could see a trail of blood leading to where she was.

With a frustrated sigh Morgaine made a leap over a large crevice, only to be caught by a geyser the gurgled up from the earth. Steaming water coated Morgaine from head to toe as she landed on the only solid piece of ice in the vicinity. Crying out in pain as the hot water cauterized her bleeding knee, Morgaine looked around to find herself standing on an island of ice.

The crevices around her filled with roiling water that hissed and popped. The reanimated raven cawed gently as it landed on her shoulder. Taking strength from the calming presence, Morgaine took one last leap to land on her knees in front of the cube that had held the Grail for centuries.

Wincing from the force of the landing Morgaine stood and reached for the intricately carved wooden Grail. When her gloved finger touched the ancient relic a silver light filled the room. With Excalibur in one hand and the other clasping the base of the Grail Morgaine raised both arms high in the air.

Crossing the sword in front of the Grail saw flakes of silver fall from the air as gently as a light snow. As the silver flakes hit the ground water cooled and crevices sealed. Where the altar stood was now a sapling, and the block that had contained the Grail was now a pond.

As Morgaine stared around her in stunned amazement she noticed that first one thing and then another had changed since her anticlimactic battle with Loki. The carvings on the walls had faded and the statues were now vague shapes. It appeared that the Gods and the Saxons had underestimated her.

The Gods should have known that Morgaine would always be more stubborn than the average mortal. Cinnamon eyes closed as Morgaine sagged in relief to finally be alone amongst the fallen stalactites.

With shoulders slumped and her cheek bleeding Morgaine let out a breath. As the air cleared around her head Morgaine heard, “For a valiant effort, may eternal peace find you in your youth.”

There was no malice in the voice of Danu. But the finality in her tone formed a crevice in Morgaine’s soul. Morgaine sank to her knees as glistening tears of heartache fell down her cheeks. Morgaine never felt the touch of magic that changed Excalibur into a wooden staff made of apple wood.

Clutched in her hands were the Grail and a long wooden staff with a bone handle.

Things an Immortal Sorceress Wouldn’t Do

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Morgaine Le Fay has been around for centuries. But there are some things she won’t resort to. Take the following scene for instance. Keep in mind this scene is in rough form so it is susceptible to change by the final draft. Tell me what you think.

Her Gods were often blood thirsty and vengeful but they never resorted to this. In the past her people had often practiced magic, but the blood on the altar before her had nothing to do with the beliefs that her people had once held. The blood of ravens would never be used in a sacrifice. Morgaine’s cinnamon eyes raged in anger. Someone had tainted this room and defiled a creature that they all held sacred.

Anger coursed through her veins at this vile act. Morgaine knew of only one person that would commit this depraved act. Loki. And she had agreed to help his wife in order to save her people. Bitter with the choices she was left with, Morgaine’s scowl turned as dark as the feather on the altar.

By any standards this was unacceptable. Morgaine knew the Gods would never forgive her actions. She did hope that they would one day understand. Pushing aside anger and sadness Morgaine tried to concentrate but the malevolence in the air made it an impossible feat.

Sighing in defeat Morgaine approached the altar. Before she could get within two feet of the altar a malicious force sent her flying towards the depression in in the cavern. Morgaine landed head first on the icy floor. As she tried to sit up Morgaine saw stars in her vision and felt blood dripping into her long hair.

Carefully stretching her hands out Morgaine brushed the bone handle that was sticking out of the floor. Morgaine could feel the magic pooling into the gold that was inlaid in the handle. Instinctively Morgaine felt her magic connect with what was in the sword.

Unable to stop herself Morgaine grasped the sword and pulled for all she was worth. Excalibur pulled as smoothly out of the ice as ever it had from its sheath. As she pulled the sword from its icy bed Morgaine felt the momentum of the sword pull her to her feet.

Looking at the sword above her head Morgaine saw that it was glowing a fiery red. Feeling no heat from the bone handle of the sword Morgaine held the sword tighter. Looking at the altar Morgaine saw a malevolent black energy surrounding this blessed cave.

Whatever had dared to attach itself to this cave didn’t know the forces it was dealing with. With horror etched on her face Morgaine slowly advanced on the stone altar. Forcing her mind to closely pay attention to the sinister energy Morgaine began to see bands of silver and green wrap around the black glow of the altar.

The cold silence in the room was broken by a brittle cackle that caused shivers to run down Morgaine’s spine. Morgaine’s cold skin went paper white as a cruel voice sneered, “How quaint. You choose to champion those that would forsake you.”

Seeing no living person in the room with her Morgaine boldly proclaimed, “Lord Loki, you have tainted a place sacred to my people.”

“Well played, child. Honestly though if this place were sacred to your gods, they would have detected me sooner,” Loki sneered at her.

“My Gods are often busy,” Morgaine replied confidently.

“Really? Doing what? Watching over you and that useless drunk? Surely they have more important things to do,” Loki taunted cruelly.

Morgaine’s nose flared and her cinnamon eyes raged at the insult. How dare this foreign God insult her culture? What gave him the right to degrade her era’s long enemy? “At least my Gods will step into the light,” Morgaine snapped.

Loki nodded his dark head before taunting, “I don’t see then here now.” This whole time a small sneer never left his lips.

Morgaine pulled herself erect before assuring Loki, “They never leave.”

For the first time in this conversation anger colored Loki’s pale face. “Your Gods are antiquated, you childish barbarian,” Loki yelled in anger.

At this statement the raven that never left Morgaine’s shoulder cawed angrily, ushering a freezing wind into the ice cavern.

Morgaine had felt such an inclement wind on only one occasion. With the memories of the Night of Banishment solidly in the forefront of her mind Morgaine closed her eyes and calmed her temper. Taking a deep breath Morgaine calmly asked, “While it is true that my people were around well before yours, we are still relevant. Can you say the same?”

Loki’s once pale face was now an angry red. His black eyes glowed like dark brimstone. Baring his teeth in a parody of a smile Loki sniped, “Whelp, even you have felt my brand of chaos. Perhaps you should rest.” As he finish Loki sent a pulse of dark energy at Morgaine that sent her flying back into the carved walls of the cavern.

Morgaine’s head hit the ice hard enough for a loud crunch to be heard around the room. Loki stared at the unmoving form of Morgaine with a sadistic smirk on his face. With loathing dripping off of his tongue Loki asked, “Still here, are they? Than why are you on the ground, at my mercy?”

With blood running down the back of her head Morgaine struggled into a sitting position. As Morgaine was trying to clear her mind she heard Loki hiss as he sent another wave of energy away from her. Carefully Morgaine had raised her head to see what the bitter God had done.

When her cinnamon eyes landed on the slowly animated corpse of Merlin, Morgaine’s pallor went from paper white to ash grey. Morgaine could never have imagined this atrocity. As her vision grayed, Morgaine shouted in horror, “You call my people barbaric and you’re the resorting to blood rituals and necromancy?! My Gods may be imperious but they would never stoop to such a level!” The revulsion in Morgaine’s eyes matched her tone perfectly.

Blood rituals never turned out well. The Gods had banished the use of them because of the sheer carnage that was wreaked on the earth and the people. They had even gone so far as to damn any who practiced such an art to the eternal nights of Annwn. The despairs of the netherworld was a place no mortal ever wanted to end up. The tortures that could be thought up their by the various Gods were infinite.

Morgaine tried to think of what she could do. When the Gods had banned blood rituals and necromancy they had also hidden the ways to fight off such demons.

No matter how fast Morgaine’s mind rushed Loki seemed to be faster. The blood matting the back of her head didn’t help matters either. Drawing herself to stand erect Morgaine faced the glowing eyes of the corpse.

Morgaine was unable to hide her revulsion as this specter of the past seemed to give her a parody of a smile. As shivers race down her spine Morgaine obnoxiously bellowed, “Rather than fight a mortal witch you would resort to the blackest of arts? How much cowardice will you stoop to?”

With a disdainful sneer firmly in place, Loki scornfully returned, “One mortal witch is not worth blowing the planet up over.”

Morgaine carefully watched the animated form of Merlin as Loki spoke. Lifetimes of practice had made Morgaine an expert when it came to watching people. Morgaine silently thanked the gods for this gift, because she noticed that when the God spoke, his animated minion seemed to falter in its step.

This one slip lit a fire of hope in Morgaine’s soul. If distraction was what it took to defeat this age old god and his detestable ways, than that is what Morgaine would do. Morgaine had always been able to think on her feet and it was time that this crazed God realized that.

Before Morgaine could open her mouth once more the sword in her hand began to vibrate.