Birth of the Dragon

[Thunder]

The road was narrow and wound over and around the shallow, grassy hills; hills that rolled smoothly into one another, never growing too steep and nearly flattened at the tops. Along the small valleys and depressions splashes of disconnected forest stood in the half-shadow. A distant streak of brilliantly violet lightning lit up the landscape. A crack of thunder seemed to split open the clouds causing the false twilight. The still air brimmed with passive energy, common before a storm. The sky and earth were like titanic warriors squaring up for battle, each taunting one another to make the first move. In fearful anticipation, nothing moved across the grass or flew through the air. No living thing dared to come between the two titans when the fight finally began.
Suddenly, a wide slashing wind cut across the grass, whipping it into a frenzy. The sky released its full fury: fat, cold raindrops falling in stinging sheets with the wind. The winding grey strip of earth that was the road quailed against the onslaught, throwing up tiny puffs of dust as its only defence. Without the armour of grass the falling missiles pierced deeply into the surface. Another brash swipe of wind tore more away from the road, seemingly celebrating its enemy’s weakness as it threw the dirt into a brief whirlwind. So busy were the two that they barely noticed the lone figure slinking hurriedly down into a cluster of trees. He vanished under the closely packed branches where it was dark as night. However the second figure to come up the road was a great deal less fortunate. He moved quite differently; purposefully and not shying from the weather. The sky pelted him with harsh raindrops and his feet slipped in the mud as he ran on. A flick of lightning seemed to strike at his feet and thunder crashed directly overhead.
Illidan couldn’t help but feel as if the rain fell only on him. The brutal dance between sky and earth was one he had witnessed countless times before. All the violence mustered by the storm would barely matter in the end. The earth, with its mastery of temperance, would weather all assaults until the end. He, however, could not. Every flash of lightning seemed to strike closer and closer and the thunder continued its relentless assault on his ears. His instincts cried for shelter and so did his good sense, but his true reason for being out here was much more pressing. He searched carefully for subtle signs left carelessly behind. He squinted through the rain and up the empty, featureless road. It now looked like a mud-coloured river bordered on either side by clumps of grass beating themselves to death in the wind. The hills vanished into a haze in the distance and the trees were nothing more than standing shadows. It then occurred to him that those very trees would be shelter enough; not for him but for whom he was tracking. Surely enough, there was a telltale furrow in the grass leading to the clump of trees. It was the only shape marking the turbulent sea of grass and so remained visible in the poor light. Turning off the road he could see the remainder of the track disappearing into the spiny curtain of branches and trunks which blotted out the light. He pushed on through the storm, pulling his cloak closer in an effort to keep dry.
Illidan descended into the forest cautiously. In the subdued light shadow and shape seemed one and the same. The rain beat out an endless din punctuated by blasts of thunder. Tiny streams of water ran down the trunks of trees and connected into larger ones on the forest floor. The ground sloped evenly downwards halting unexpectedly in narrow terraces where the rainwater flowed into and pooled before running down again. Along the steps of earth damp-grey stones were exposed, washed clean by the water. Illidan felt a sense of growing dread. The trail was growing colder every moment he hesitated and the weather was only making things worse. He paused, head cocked, and sifted through the encompassing noise. Fattened raindrops slid off the trees and fell heavily around him. Branches swayed and scraped past one another and a deep resounding groan sounded as some mighty growth yielded to the wind. Silently he drew his bow from his shoulder and fitted an arrow into the notch. A crunch. Somewhere off to the left. He turned to face it suddenly, pulling the string taut. The bushes erupted into frantic scrabbling and rustling as a terrified man stumbled out of hiding and broke into a run. Illidan rejoiced silently as he pursued. His bluff had worked perfectly. He had no idea what had made the noise but threatened it nonetheless. He could have probably walked past the mass of gnarled stems and leaves without ever knowing what hid there. The arrow however, was meant for threat only. It had only taken the lives of birds and small beasts, albeit a pitifully small number for a hunter. Only if forced he would turn it into a weapon. Stowing it over his shoulder he hurried to follow the rapidly fading figure. Harder and harder he ran, careful to keep the man visible, avoiding thickets and the jutting buttress roots of trees.
His right foot landed and locked under a root hidden in the fallen leaves. The ground was wrenched away and he flew forward and up. A cry of anguish and fear escaped him as he vanished down a viciously steep slope, tumbling and gaining speed. The forest became a spiralling blur. His body struck a hunk of mossy dirt, painfully forcing the air out of his lungs. Momentarily stunned, a primal instinct flared. His mind closed abruptly and sharp gasp pulled revitalising air back into him. Marshalling his thoughts into order, a vivid image of being impaled on sharp rocks arose and he pushed it away. Now sliding fast, his fingers met something solid and tightened into an iron grip. Stopping with a jerk, he swooned a little with dizziness. Beneath the soft moss and leaves there were small pebbles that dug into his back. A small cascade of dirt and debris skittered down and gathered, smelling strongly of decaying brush.
The rain had stopped, leaving only beams of sunlight visible through the treetops. Illidan sat up precariously. He looked around at his path down the slope and sighed. It was steep and mud-slicked from the rain---impossible to climb. His heart thumping hard, he stood up and limped forward. Besides a sore back and ankle nothing seemed badly wounded or bleeding. He walked slowly not putting too much strain on his ankle and to catch his breath. The trees were taller here, with branches that spread high up. Their rich auburn bark was gently ridged and pitted but had a smooth, polished texture. Beads of water ran down the trunks, glittering in the sunlight. A dense, earthy smell rose up out of the ground and flowed across his face as he walked. He was flanked on either side by trees that shaded his sun-dappled path. A slight wind rippled across his cloak and shook water from the leaves. Bruised and shaken, Illidan followed the path until it sloped gently downwards, to where the earth cradled ancient moss-covered stone steps. Some were slanted and spilt with age and penetrated by roots and tiny leafy plants. As he made his way down the sound of falling water grew ever louder. The steps now descended alongside a vertical wall of stone dotted with climbing vines and ferns. As the trees cleared he came upon a small pool glimmering in the sunlight like green glass. It was fed by twin slivers of icy white water coming over the precipice. A small stream led the water off into the forest. A myriad of glossy black stones cropped up around the banks and Illidan was forced to leap onto one as the steps continued downwards under a calm, watery veil.
Above the waterfall, a magnificent tree spread its branches in a wide, high circle leaving half the pool in light and half in sun-streaked shade. Its trunk twisted in a thick arc like a mighty serpent writhing toward the heavens. Its roots were as massive as the trunk itself, making other trees seem like twigs. Their endless gnarled extensions travelled down the precipice and into the pool. One enterprising root even crossed the stream above in a natural arched bridge. Through the tapestry of roots and rocky outcroppings, a small spot halfway between the pool’s surface and the base of the tree caught Illidan’s eye. Fascinated, he stripped to the waist and waded into the cool water. Only a few feet away from wall of rock was something partially obscured by the mist thrown up by the falling water.
The cool water pounded his back and shoulders momentarily as he passed under the waterfall. He scrambled onto a nearby rock and held onto a tough, woody root for stability. Again it was hidden. Now by jutting stone held in place by muscular looking roots. He climbed carefully using the odd composition of earth and root as a natural ladder. It had taken only a few reaches to come upon what he was looking for. Between two plate-sized chunks of mossy stone, held together by roots diminished to the thickness of fingers, was a rod. Or at least a rod is what it looked like. It was the colour of decaying wood and as long as his arm. Upon closer inspection he realised it was not absolutely straight but had a gentle curve. He reached for it and almost fell. Steadying himself he succeeded in grabbing it and felt its damp, spongy texture. Fears nearing confirmation that it was just an old piece of wood, he tightened his grip and rocked it in place to be sure. To his astonishment the soft surface crumbled in his palm to reveal a spotless metallic shine. His spirit suddenly blazed anew with intrigue. Its anonymity was intoxicating. The suspense began to eat away at his patience and he fought it. Calmly he worked it free putting its suspected value out of his mind. The roots’ reluctance to let go began to ebb and the stones’ jealous grip weakened. It slid free with a jerk and Illidan’s balance was shoved away. Hitting the churning, bubbling water was not as bad as he thought until he realised he could not resurface.
Neither could he breathe and in his shock, swallowed the dense, cold water without thinking. Horrible as he felt he began to see that he was not alone down here. Dark, sinuous shapes hovered out of his range of vision. Some were fuzzy and indistinct while other, more massive forms loomed behind them. Something brushed against his back and he turned, still holding his breath. A multi-tentacled creature the colour of mud shot away into the shadows. Soon he felt others, bumping into his arms, legs and shoulders from every imaginable direction. His legs were being pulled and shoulders depressed into the soft mud. Part enraged and part desperate he flailed wildly with his arms. A creature swimming directly into his arms fell apart in pieces, blood staining the water like a gruesome dark bloom. He stared at his hands which were made of knives. His fingers were each a blade, sharp as any he had ever seen and bringing them into a fist made a crisp metallic clicking. Even his elbows and knees held viciously curved blades which seemed to sprout from his very bones. Never wasting a moment of breath he slashed savagely at his attackers, dismembering them and impaling them as they fled. His legs lifted off the mud and he floated towards the surface, still fighting them off by the dozens. He kept swinging until he rose out of a cloud of their murky blood. A towering shadow reached down to grab him, to force him back down to where he knew hundreds more were clamouring to have him. As the hand closed over him he lashed out with both arms and severed two of the three fingers which sank like fallen trees. Rising faster now his breath wrung in his chest and his arms could stroke no more. Another dark appendage twisted its way toward him and with muscles on fire and lungs ready to explode he exhaled violently and slashed with all his might. Stale air blasted out of his mouth and nostrils with impossible force and quantity. Soon the water all around him was agitated with rising bubbles. As Illidan’s eyelids slid shut his face broke the surface, with the endless pounding of the waterfall in his ears. Revived and groggy he was surprised to feel the ground beneath his feet and even more so to discover his find still in his grasp. Holding it to the light, his arm trembled a little as the edge of a curve-bladed sword shone through its encasement of wet, rotted wood.

[Timaeus]

UH........... wow. That's long!!!! Gonna take my time and read...

[Thunder]

take your time, its only chapter one from my first book. im writing it to fill my bored and lonely hours...

[Dark WotS]

Hmm...is it just me, or is the title of this particular thread highly suspect? I direct you to this for reference. Seems to me there's a slight similarity, there...wouldn't you agree? <<

Either way, not a bad piece. The use of description is pretty good, though the absence of dialogue does leave a bit to be desired. (Dialogue can be inner, rather than spoken.)

[Chozo]

It will look more appealing to read in you separate the paragraphs with a blank line, like this.

^That line spaces out the story, and makes it less lengthy. Some people don't like reading long things, then they don't read it, then you get less reviews, and then you loose money (if it's published).

[Thunder]

i just copied it straigtht from my word file, somehow the format got lost

and wielder, you gotta admit that 'Birth of the Dragon' is a pretty common name.