I will not stop writing Tho but here is another story I was willing to write. It is about "The Oustcast And The Bloodthirsty" (Unless you RPG here you will have no idea who they are). Also, I just NEED to write a story about a dragon (And not always about a huge silvery beast lol) So I will begin telling, The Outcast and the Bloodthirsty: The Embers Of A Dragon Please post reviews and enjoy, but I warn you this is a very lurid tale, a prologue is only a beginning to the blinding road that lurks ahead.
So please enjoy their dark story...



Prologue; The Obscure Manner

Moonlight was their sunshine.
It was a silvery gush from the pallid moon that sailed silently through the night air. It was a silvery splash that made the vast shadows cower. It was dread to them though. They hated any form of sunlight.
But there was one soul who longed for the moonlight. One who was struggling to pull their wounded body across the jagged and malicious ground, just to feel its embrace one last time. That soul then reached it, half of their head resting in its comforting clasp, their laboured breath piercing the ghastly silence.
It was a dragoness, as beautiful as a sculpture of pure amethyst, even though she was enclosed in pain. Her face was long and fair, thin slits for nostrils that dribbled blood down her small, delicate, purple scales and trickled over her ivory fangs. Her eyes were gentley closed since she lacked the strength to open them. She had two snowy horns that rippled in creases like water and a line of fine spines, one of them being a bloody stump that ran neatly along her neck. That was all that was seen in the moonlight; all that had managed to be dragged into its grasp.
The dragoness stirred as a fresh wave of pain dilated through her body. She snorted out a cloud of steely, roiling smoke along with a splatter of blood. She was in no fit condition. She did not have any clue where she was and she did not care. She just wanted to be free from this endless sum of tortue.
I know grim...
The dragoness winced slightly at the familiar voice that dripped down her spine and into the marrow of her bones. It was familiar though she could not name the speaker.
I know grim...
It repeated the verse that stabbed into her like a rusty, serrated blade. It was horrendous, drilling into her mind and ripping it apart to gory shards.
I know grim...
It said again, causing a weak growl to swell from the dragoness' throat. With sickening pain, she slowly dragged her eyelids open to stare at the gloom with her comely, violet pupils that reflected her soul; that reflected her pain. Even the pain she witnessed.
I know grim...
It hissed as from out of the swirling maw of the gloom plodded the serpintine yet shaded shape of a dragon.
The dragoness, though, still could not identify it. She felt herself being swallowed by pain again so she gave up and allowed her vision to become blurry. Who are you...? she asked in a splutter of tormented thought.
You should remember, the spitting voice replyed.
I... she quivered and coughed up a mouthful of blood that streamed over her lips. The crimson liquid glittered in the moonlight as it speckled the bitter ground beneath her. She felt her muscles tremor as she gasped the last word, don't...
An amused sound emitted from the murky soul of the creature. Then I will remind you. It whispered its next words smoothly, allowing them to slither to her ear. Their were not close to pleasurable though.

I am the core of the cries of the lone dusk sky
I am the craw of the Evenings' shame,
I am the scent of the sordid wishes of mine
And I play the Grim at his game...

The dragoness quaked in both fear and agony as he spoke his accursed verse. She spluttered at the foul taste of blood that rested on her forked tongue but she tried not to show her state, even though it was utterly impossible. W-What do you... want...? she murmured uneasily.
Nothing the opaque essence replyed. I have what I want from you. And then the creature shared with her a nauseating image that made her remember. She remembered the terror that the creature gave her and the cruel deed he did. She remembered the pain he had inflicted on her and even more...
She remembered who he was.
The image was of a small, helpless egg, as black as the sleeping, midnight sky, reflecting burnishing light that streaked it. Silvery cords webbed its surface, as if it were liquid moonlight that had been painted over it ever so precisely. The sight caused emotions to flood over the dragoness but she could do naught about it but utter one single and very weak word.No...
Never will I have an heir. Said the essence as it merged back into the shadows and left her alone in a glacial status.
The dragoness began trembling uncontrollable. She felt blood and pulp ooze down her hide so she called weakly into the emptyness but no one called back. No one was there to help her. This was the toll and the payment for what she had done.
And she closed her eyes, with the soothing silvery moonlight to keep her company. It kept her company until she she was left alone to dwell in an obscure manner. There, she rested with only two words to leak from her lips; only two.
Come back...

It looks good I like it.

Thanx you two, and yeah, the heir is the egg. Remember his words though because I might be in the mood to riddle this story with plots Ok now we really kick off!

Winter Night


The brook babbled and chattered as it splashed and gushed its way through through the ancient forest. It laced between the towering trees, lapping at the soft pepples that littered its small beach. Tongues of sheeny mist twined between knobbly roots, like baffled spirits dawdling out of their own santuary. Where that was, no one knew.
It was the first winter night in Du Weldenvarden. Winter was eerie here, it cast its bitter fingers throughout every corner of the forest and gained the abbilty to toss about awful, icy winds; even though it was only the first day. Those winds were most haunting; howling and whining as they slithered between and through nooks and hollows. They tore like blades through the frosty air, slicing the silence and replacing it with their screams of pleasure.
In the inky shadows, on the thick, ridged limb of an elderly oak, sat a young elf maiden, hidden so that none but the eyes of gloom could see her. This elf maiden was propped up against the tough hide of the tree, forlorn to listen to the tongues of the night. Her hair was as black as twilights' fondle and rippled in waves that framed her face. She was dressed in an emerald gown, like that for noble folk if not for the tears that spoiled the hem. The fabric shimmered and gleamed if even the smallest strand of light managed to collide on its surface.
The elf maiden peered out into the chilly forest, unmoving and with a stone-hard expression marked upon her face. Her eyes were jade green but grave to the world around her.
She frowned and hugged her knees as a cruel gust of voracious wind flooded past her. It clawed at her skin, scraping and ripping it of any warmth or comfort. She still did not move though from that position, apart from gripping onto her gown tighter.
The wailing wind weaved throughout Du Weldanvarden, skimming any last remains of comfortness from the trees, the plants and whatever else existing in its borders. But the only thing that didn't seem affected was the brook as it surged along its own inscibed path, while murmuring its own watery language.
The elf kept her piercing gaze on a spot of the pepply beach that was reflected under dim moonlight. There she watched under long eyelashes, only traces of thought in her mind.
When the wind was reduced to a ghostly whine, there was an abnormal sound that occured under those circumstances. Like a soft bump of something hard that had rested upon flat shards of rock. Something had been washed up onto the bank of the brook and now lay on its beach. Something blunt and oval, trickling lines of water covering its shady surface.
The elf blinked, as if awakening from a trace. Her expression didn't change though, as she scrutinized the object in perplexity. The moonlight was not strong enough though so she shifted from her frozen pose, first with a slight jerk, and then began to crawl silently and cautiously along the branch of the tree.
The object lay motionless on the smooth, delicate bed of pepples. The elf hesitated before lithely slipping off the branch and lightly landing on the fleecy moss. She slowly walked towards it, curiousity flushing in her for what felt like the first time. Vines stroked her bare feet and the blades of grass bowed as she approached the object and knelt beside it.
She squinted as another gust of wind caught her, hauling her hair over to one side and exposing her pointed, left ear. Once it died away, she leaned forward and examined it under her jade green stare.
It was oval in shape and glittered in every lick of light, even though it was tremondously black in colour except for glittering, silvery, wire-thin lines that netted its surface. It was oddly polished, as if it had came into the contact of some kind of experianced person. It was ice-cold and very smooth, reminding the elf strangely of hardened silk once she ran its surface under her slender fingers.
The elf then backed away slightly, pondering on what this object was. A stone perhaps? Or maybe something more.
A stone... the words echoed in her mind as she coiled her fingers around it and lifted it in the icy, winter air. Or more probable... A dragon egg.

I really tried to describe this as a proper Alagaesian dragon egg, just thought I'd say. Also, to anyone wondering, this elf is NOT Arya, though she does resemble her for a reason (They are not doubles in looks though, I'll see to that!) And this story does involve what is most likely going to happen in Brisingr and book 4 of the Inheritance Cycle. Please comment!

No need to worry, we all write in different ways. Thanx for the comment!

Slice Of The Shell


The elven maid scrutinized the dragon egg once more, its glossy surface glistening in even this dull moonlight. The silvery veins winked and twinkled in her jade green eyes.
Shall I or shall I not bequeth this to the elves...? she thought with slight distaste. She shunned the other elves unless robbing from them things like clothes and tools.
She clasped her fingers around the egg and lifted it into the air, tracing the trails of the water droplets that snaked off it with her eyes. It was quite astounding to find a dragon egg of all things. It made her plunge into a strange trance that stole her thoughts away. She barely noticed the prattling of the gushing brook or the pecks of the blades of grass as they bowed to and fro. She barely noticed the tongues of wind that combed through her hair and wavered her emerald gown. And she barely noticed as the clouds sailed away in their slumber to expose the insipid moon that cast its light over her and the glimmering, ebony egg in her hands.
Perhaps I should decide in the morn... She then cradled it firmly in her arms and strode across the beds of moss towards her ancient oak. There, she fell into her own, unique sleep, petting the egg with gentle twitches of her fingertips.

~~*~~

The elven maid tremored as sweat beaded her brow. Pain bolted up her hand as if someone had hacked at the skin between her fingers, over her palm and ending in the centre of her wrist.
She opened her eyes and cuffed her sore wrist with her left hand as something wet and warm dribbled over her knuckles.
What an earth...? Assideously, she wedged the dragon egg in a small crest of the trunk above her and rose her good hand as the other trembled slightly. "Brisingr," she murmured in her strange, wispy accent as a crack of untainted, green flame hovered over her palm, lapping at the air choked with the nights' eerie breath.
In slight appal, she witnessed a long, wire-thin cut that started from between her two first finger, stretched along her palm and of course ended on her wrist; all of it splaying crimson blood over her hand and leaking down her forearm.
The elf frowned. What caused this?
Suddenly, there was a very high pitched and ear-splitting squeak! The sound made the elven maid wince slightly as dread overspilled into her in a mass.
Slowly, she turned around and peeped over into the crest of the tree, her jade green light cleansing the bark and specks of the leaves. There sat the murky black dragon egg, a long thin and gory crack in its shell.
Oh no! The elf cried in her head, her jaw trembling slightly, Its hatching...!

Very good. I like it.

Thanx dark dragon and for everyone else; pleez reply people!

Little One


The elven maid was taken aback slightly as she watched the slit in the egg spread into many smaller cracks like a virus spreading over one half of the shell. She squeezed the bark of the oak under her nails until her knuckles went pale as she gaped at the hatching egg.
There was then another series of high-pitched squeaks as the egg began rocking and rattling against the trunk. There was a blinding burst of silver and the elf shut her eyes and cringed slightly as there was a sound of something crumbling and shattering whilst the elf ducked away.
All was quiet.
The elf blinked and very slowly and fretfully rose back up to peer in the crest lit by the cowering, green flame in her delicate palm. Her jaw dropped and she rose on of her painted eyebrows. Her face glowed strangely white.
The creature was covered in sleek, midnight black scales. It seemed about as long as the elf's forearm, its wings possessing a span as long as half her body. It had a deadly row of silvery-white spines running along its backbone, its neck and all the way to the tip of its long, whip-like tail. It head was slightly narrow and trianglar with two, small, horse-like nostrils and a barbed snout. Two curved fangs grew from under its top lip and its claws were quite long; also a silver-white.
The dragon was standing in a pool of its own egg sheels, quivering as if cold as it licked the membrane that enveloped on of its back feet. Its white lapped away at it from between its miniscule fangs. Its body was oddly thin and sightly hunched as it witnessed its own wings folding back up again like crumpled, wet parchment. Dimunitive ribs rippled beneath its hide of black scales. The elf frowned at the sight. Black like the thoughts of a gore-craving murderer, she thought with tension.
She leaned forward gently, the bark compressing slightly. The hatchling whipped its head up at her and glared with silvery eyes like two polished pearls in a splay of moonlight. They were cruel though, as if hoping for misforturne to befall upon her.
The elf pursed her lips as the dragon took a shakey step towards her, hissing throatily. She reached her bloodied hand out slightly, the scarlett liquid begining to drip off her palm, but the dragon snapped at her just before she hauled it back.
Sooth yourself... she said in her mind and the shadowy dragonlet gently uncurled its top lip but did not lower its gaurd. Its tiny shoulders were hunched slightly and its tail was risen awkwardly of the ground. After a period of hesitation, the elven maid tried stretching out her hand again. The dragonlet flared the small pits of its nostrils as it sniffed the wound on her hand, tracing the trails of the blood with cat-like pupils.
The elven maid did not smile as the dragon snaked out its long, forked tongue and licked her wound.
She shot back her hand as a pure bolt of sickening energy surged up her arm, smoldering her bones and flesh with pain. The elf cringed as sweat trickled down her brow. Her legs trembled and she sagged against the tree trunk, frozen until the pain drifted away.
Her fire had went out but it mattered not as the flakes of cloud in the distance glowed cherry red with a tinge of pink; enough to let her see since she was an elf. Looking down, her palm itched as a silvery mark like a quivering oval appeared over the cut in her hand.
The elf rose slowly and examined the crest in the tree again. The dragonlet was shivering oddly, twitching its right eye. The elven maid lightly touched its flank while bracing herself for pain but it never came. She was very much relieved.
The elf then stroked the sharp barbs along the baby dragon's chin, very softly turning it so she could see its eye.
Unfortunatly, the baby dragon seemed to have injured it while hatching, though only on its eyelid and there wasn't too much blood.
As the elf stroked its rough barbs and soft, velvety throat, she noticed the brush of the petite dragon's thought against her own; so gentle and cautious that it made a her lips tug into a slight smile. The dragonlet was quite content apart from the blood that trickled down its cheek. No pain did the little creature feel only slight irritation.
The elven maid sighed. Let us rest our weary selves from this aching night. She anxiously curled her fingers around the little dragon's belly and lifted it up into her lap. There they rested, the dragonlet humming quietly like the lullaby of a hummingbird.

This is a sweet story, Silverwolf, keep it up! I LOVE dragon stories, and yours is cool!

Thanx heaps you two and drocoaestas I really love dragon stories too (Well obviously lol) This part is a little sad though but keep posting please guys!

Bleeding Brook


Mornings' haze awoke the elven maiden.
She shruddered slighty from the pain of her palm as she opened her eyes. The breath of dawn breathed over her, its gentle colours splodged the sky with oranges and pale blues; the clouds were peppered with pink under their woolly bellies. There was a light sheet of haze that drifted over the forest floor and swamped the ankles of the trees. Globules of dew stippled over their bark and trickled of their leaves.
The elf shifted slightly, feeling something odd in her lap. She snapped her head downwards to see the dragonlet curled up like a kitten with its small barbed chin bolstered on the tip of its long, whip-like tail tip. Its shadowy black scales each had a bead of pale silver light winking inside of them, like a tiny, lonely star on pitch black night.
The elf scanned the small creature, its bony shoulders rising and falling as it breathed in and out. Its pressence was thoughtless as it slumbered on.
The elf gentley nudged one of its inky, black wings. The hatchling snuffled slightly before raising and twisting its head around to face her, its eyelids hovering halfway in a tired manner. It lapped its silvery tongue in and out between its tiny, needle-like teeth as the elf stroked its rough cheek with her smallest finger.
I am shifting from this tree, she said in her mind though she doubted the baby dragon fully understood her.Do you want to come?
She watched with a raised eyebrow as the hatchling began to lick its spiny snout. The tip of its tail twitched as it did so whilst spilling out long serpintine clouds of thick, black smoke from its nostrils.
The elf bit her bottom lip. Her mind seemed to be clogged with the same smoke, confusing her greatly. She a dragonrider? It was not right. Of all the mere elves, why her?
Desperately I need to refresh myself... She lifted the dragon carefully onto her shoulder. It squeaked quietly and hooked its claws into her emerald gown, scratching her back. She waited patiently for it to gain its balence by opening its wings slightly and coiling its tail around her sleeve. Once she was certain it had seated itself properly, she began climbing down the wet oak.
It did not take long, with her dexterity, until she felt the icy bed of moss of the soles of her bare feet. She swept over it to the pebbly beach of the blathering brook where she seated the dragonlet down in the bobbling reeds.
The elven maid splashed the icy water over her fair face and washed the dry blood from the wound in her palm. Streams of crimson reflected in her eyes as it snaked through the water.
This was wrong. She could not keep the dragon, she had to do something to get rid of it. Someone like her should not be a Rider, she didn't have the dignity to face any other elves. How was she meant to face a dragon and worse still, how was she meant to face herself?
A cold feeling wrapped itself around her as she turned and peered at the baby dragon. The hatchling rustled its wings, as black as the kiss of murder and hostile gloom. Yet its beauty was undeniable to her, even if its scales reminded her of those sickening times when her blood stained the opaque bed in which she pursuited refuge from the choking cry of pain. It was a very odd and alien feeling that she dreaded but at the same time admired.
With something that she might of adressed as fear, she watched the dragon. Its sharp eyes had caught sight of what seemed to be a kingfisher skipping on a mottled rock and bowing at the grass blades. The hatchling flared its nostrils to remember the scent of the bird before crouching low to the ground, muscles twitching in its limbs displaying its eagerness. As silent as the whisper of a rose petal, it lurked in the reeds and the haze until it was right by the mossy stone.
The elf winced as the dragon leapt at the bird without hesitation for a heartbeat and mercilessly began torturing it to death with its bloodthirsty fangs.
The elven maid felt disgusted but supposed it was only the nature of things. Was it natural to kill something in such a gruesome way though? She had tried to avoid watching but even the little work that she saw made her ponder.
Eventually the dragonlet had proudly setted itself in a nest of bloodied feathered, some which it licked clean until its tongue was glossy scarlet. Satisfaction was smeared over its mind but something was bothering it intolerably, causing the little creature to jerk its head ever now and then.
The elf discovered that it was its eye which had not healed at all during the night and had began bleeding again. The baby dragon squeaked weakly as it tried to lick away the blood.
Infection would most likely be cast over it if the elf did not heal it. But she was unsure if magic would be available.
She glanced down at her palm; the deep cut diagonally sliced open her skin and the silvery oval. She knew well enough that her magic would be exspelled from the silvery dragon-mark. She had heard enough before but she was unsure if it would function properly through a cut. It had never happened before.
She tested it by uttering in her wispy voice, "Brisingr." A flash of emerald and black fire errupted from her palm but she shrieked as if someone had sliced open her hand again.
Fresh blood oozed from her wound as her hand quaked uncontrollably. She ignored it, I cannot allow... she hesitated for a long moment until she could even think the word. My... dragon to suffer.
She clutched the dragonlet's heaving chest as it let out a sting of strange yelps. She wheeled it around and placed it on the smooth stones by the waters' edge, its claws clicking as it dropped unsteadily.
The ancient oaks creaked and swayed above her as she held her blood-soaked hand over the small creatures head. I plead that I am not to muddled to do this. The hatchling squeaked in pain again. May this work little one...
And then the elf whispered, "Waise heill."
And blood cleansed the pebbly beach.
Whilst the baby dragon screamed it haunting lament.
Something had went horrendously wrong. The elven maid open her eyes and a weak cry tore from her lips as she felt horrible pain in her wrist and more greatly in her mind from the dragon. It lay twisted by the waters' edge, its jaw open awkwardly as blood leaked from under the closed eyelid of its wounded eye. The scratch had disappeared but the elf could not understand why it was bleeding so terribly, especially from the inside.
She crawled in a rush to the dragons sprawled out body as flaccid as a long dead rabbit. She slipped slight on blood that choked the pebbles on her way, their blood to be precise. It was awfully gory and nauseating.
Guilt and saddness ripped her apart as she stared at her little dragon that lay out infront of her. Its bony shoulders were hunched and its black could not glimmer under the thick layer of blood. Its tail twitched with a tremor.
The elf bit back tears as she washed her gaze over it . Slowly she hugged the little and defensless creature against her as their blood strangled the once chattering brook. She hummed to it but the only song heard was the chorus of mournful cries that echoed through Du weldenvarden and the ears of the Rider.

Poor dragon, Keep up the good work Silverwolf!

nice Job! when are you making the next part?

DUDE, AWESOMENESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hey, no problamo!!!! lol. It's not really a name, but the initials of my pen name, because I'm a writer, too. But, dude, how do you do it, man??? I write, but not that good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm not good at describing things or the idle chit chat that gives books flavor. I just jump from scene to scene in a kind of quickish manner. But what I do write most people think is good. Pretty funny, too.

I don't do good intricate, weaving plots either. Oh, well. We all have our special things.

Keep writing, please.

where do you want me to post them?