PDA

View Full Version : The Lamentations of Arimaus | The Last Dragon



Apex Predator
September 25th, 2015, 02:22 AM
My name is Arimaus, and I am the last of my kind. To whomsoever readeth this, let it be understood that I am not a human. I am a Dragon. My kind was hunted to extinction by the very humans whom we promised to guide and protect - over seven thousand years ago. I live a life of solitude upon an island far across Tethyra - of the the map, far away from most any living thing. I am unhappy, I want to die; but for the sake of my soul I will not take my own life. I think that at times I am both the wisest yet loneliest of creatures in the world. During my twelve thousand two-hundred and fifty years of life, I have never seen the world in such a dire situation.


The creatures known as humans have failed both themselves and their fellow dwellers in the world. Despite their advancement in science and machinery, the realm of mankind is but a vague and shattered shell of its former glory. There are no more heroes, only men and women who care about themselves. No longer do they work hard. No longer do they seek to better their minds. No longer do they seek a greater understanding of their own morality. They care only for the material things and that which is superficial and mundane. That which was seen as good is now taunted as old and irrelevant, whilst the perversion that they once hated is now beloved as beautiful. They are corrupted in all ways.



Not since the time of Suntark have the humans been oblivious to the ever growing sin and chaos throughout the world. Never before has a race such as them been so able to repose such tribulation, yet be so unwilling to address its existence. Never before have they been so unwilling to help their fellow man. In the Confederated Provinces, civil unrest is rife. The law and order that the humans of these realms once prided themselves in has now deteriorated

In the more southern seas, their brethren suffer greatly at the hands of reptilian raiders and the expansion of Naiqa - the Muharic Queen.



Spat forth from the bowels of the nether-realm, a Lisis has returned. Foul creatures of the ancient times - The Children of the Fallen One as we once called them. She is scourge, a plague, a living catastrophe upon the creatures and kingdoms of Tethyra. In the forsaken land of the Muharob, in a region called the Morah-Ukob, she has established a new nation. Upon the backs of slaves it has been wrought; and through their sweat and blood does the kingdom of witch-queen who calls herself Naiqa grow in wealth and power. Kidnapped from their homes; humans of all ages enter her kingdom to be worked to death in the mines of gold, steel, and diamonds. In the Morah-Ukob, there is no escape - not even through death. Through the most arcane magic she has enslaved legions upon legions of the living-dead onto her every whim. Mindless, soulless beings they are; the tales of what they do to the innocent are too harrowing for me to even ponder.



Meanwhile, amongst the countless cays and island chains, the Kithilyan seafarers have reignited their raids. Scaly, cold-blooded, carnivorous beast they are. Like locust, their long boats spread throughout the Tethyran seas. They are lovers of death and destruction, worshippers of flame and steel, and eaters of lives. The tales of their brute savagery are what nightmares are made from. Attacking seaside villages without bias, like animals they swarm in the most berserk fashion, burning homes for joy, devouring children alive, torturing men out of spite, and raping women until they die. Fathers and mothers would smother their own children just they would not suffer.



Alas the Aeveryn – the Feathered Maidens. There was a time when they were revered for their love of science and philosophy. Kings, queens, chiefs, artist, and scholars used to travel from abroad to consult with them. As the world of man drowned within his own ignorance and sin, contact with the Aeveryn dwindled; now they dwell isolated on their island home. With each year their numbers become less and less, their passion for knowledge and wisdom fades away. They shadows of a lost and forgotten age. They live a world of fantasy, they dwell within an undying past. They refuse to accept the bleak and dismal reality of what our world has become.

jbishop15
September 28th, 2015, 06:21 AM
There is a lot of backstory here, for a variety of places, people, and things; that alone gives it depth. That icebergian depth is the strength of this piece, as it speaks to broader conflicts that we don't have the whole picture for.

The issue here is that it's not really telling a story; it reads like an internal monologue at the beginning of a movie or novel, to help set up future events. It's, as you say, a lamentation. If that was your goal, great; you've hit the mark. If not:

The old adage of show, not tell, is the best advice I can give here. Instead of giving backstory through exposition, weave it through a scene or two. But like I said: if the goal was simply a lamentation and not a short story, then you've accomplished that goal.

I like your writing, and your imagination.