The Dragoon Saga

Prologue

                                                            Prologue


Smokey clouds stained with the crimson red fires from below whip through the air one after another, as the night wind blasts by. The dense sound waves from the dragon’s wings could knock over the tallest of towers and the highest of mountains.

Over and over the dragon sweeps its wings up and down harder and faster as it rises up into the clouds above. The air has a pungent smell of burned wood, waterlogged with kerosene; the dragon’s breath was hot, synchronizing rhythm with the stroke of its mighty wings.

The castle of Gar d’Oria burns in a fiery rage as two other dragons tear at each other in the night skies. Scales rained upon the ground from above as the mighty beasts ripped at one another, sinking their teeth deep into armored flesh.

Blazing structures fell lifelessly to the ground, landing upon squads of armored troops and innocent peasants alike. The war raged on through the night with sounds of clashing metal and screams of victory and terror.

In the distance an immense, seemingly endless dark veil rolls in from the east at an alarming pace, carrying with it a great wind, acid-like rain and lightning. The blood thirsty clouds ravaged through the night sky, striking down to the ground below it, consuming everything in its path. This was no ordinary storm cloud; it was the Rift – a nothing, a dark void that would devour one’s very emotion and soul when looked upon. It was a massive moving black-hole-of-a-cloud that demolished mountains, kingdoms, and armies in one fell swoop.

“Make haste, Lucius” the rider exclaimed to his dragon, “We must meet up with the rest of the Dragoons, the Rift approaches!”

Lucius acknowledged with a thunderous roar as he hastened his pace, passing over a large mountainous range. The smoke filled clouds of the nearby battle had quickly passed, only now finding themselves in a display of light wispy tufts. A great lake glistened in the moonlight below, as they passed overhead; the air was sweet from the evergreen vegetation below, near the banks of the lake.

“We’re almost there my friend” The rider assured, “just over that last mountain pass and we can…”

The great scaled head of the winged serpent jutted above the peak of the crag, displaying his large array of razor sharp fangs and claws. Smoke bellowed from within its chest and outward from its armored nostrils. It was Abraxiz, the lord of the dragons; no rider could tame this beast for he was too wild, too feral for any man to steer. The mighty lizard’s golden-yellow eyes reflected the world, but the world was ablaze. Abraxiz cocked his gigantic head back and took a long deep breath.

An inferno was released with such power and such heat; the rider’s shield had melted to a pool of silvery liquid on the saddle of his dragon. The force was too much, as the rider fell lifelessly off his mount, tumbling uncontrollably through the clouds to the jagged rocks below.

The rider’s dragon turned quickly to dart below and sweep up his falling comrade, but Abraxiz’s jaws found itself quickly wrapped around his torso, pinning him to the stony summit of the mountain. The dragon reached out with one last breath in attempt to catch the rider, but all hope was lost.

“I have failed you my friend” the rider whispered. The wind was all the man could hear for a brief moment he could feel a tear roll down his cheek, as his body ended abruptly upon the toothed stones below; at the edge of the lake.

*****

“Donte!” the man exclaimed, “Donnie! Wake up you’re having another nightmare.”

“Huh?” Donte replied, “I…uh…what? Oh its you Uncle Vince, I had that dream again; I was a dragon rider, no a DRAGOON!”

Donte’s uncle laughed, “Come now boy, all men are to become great things, but before they can become anything great, they must come eat breakfast.”