Prophecies of Sorren

Overview
Prophecies of Sorren is an unfinished book by the creator and co-creator of Macrocosellia, Lily Schwartz and Paul "Phillip" Buckner. It is about a hydra that settles in the humble dragon village of Sorrenclan.

Characters (So far)
Ra'Xoroth, a burly magma dragon who isolates himself from all but his friends.

Chorsord, a small frost wyvern who struggles to fly, but tries his best.

Hailendine, a copper dragon and the strict yet caring flight director of the clan.

Bryrgin, a feathered dragon and a bright, cheery hoarder who loves to help anyone she can.

Ambryline, Brygin's half-blind, feathery, brother who loves riddles and the like.

Avourel, a draconic postboy who loves to fly with Bryrgin

Aro, a small and jumpy cockatrice, coated in purple scales.

Vavnytlh, the voiceless, stoic dragon who helps Aro on his adventures.

Story (Thus Far)
CHAPTER ONE

Prophecy of Hydra

 

Ra’Xoroth lifted his stoic, draconic head and looked over the horizon of Sorren. He sat atop Abbonite Mountain, waiting. Ra’Xoroth was a toned, muscular magma dragon indeed. Four sturdy legs, two gargantuan wings, and a set of bright, shimmering orange eyes. His scales were primarily a stony gray, like the ash after a volcano has just recently burst. Veiny patterns of lava red were beautifully marked on top, giving the illusion he was crackling, molten rock toiling underneath. He waited patiently for around an hour, and slowly got antsy. The dragon preened his scales, impassively wasting his time. He had gotten up early, and now, they were late. Ra’Xoroth was waiting for the daily flight of the hatchlings, as they needed to learn to fly correctly. They were entertaining, and one was like a son to him. As stone-cold of a heart Ra’Xoroth had, one hatchling had warmed him. Chorsord.

Chorsord was a wyvern, young, small, but hardy. His eyes were as blue as the sky on a sparkling, sunny day and his scales were as white as snow atop the tallest mountain. He had strong back legs and a pair of fluttering wings, as all wyverns do. Chorsord was cheery but lacked in self-esteem. No matter what, Chorsord would believe in others, but never himself. The young wyvern always tried to improve, though.

Now Chorsord and his fellow hatchlings took off, the small dragons floundering about in the sky as Hailendine, their instructor taught them to lift their snouts and spread their wings. Ra’Xoroth watched from the top of Abbonite Mountain as Chorsord flew. He wasn’t the best flier. Mediocre, at best. Ra’Xoroth would sometimes go with Chorsord to do a couple of wing exercises, for even a juvenile dragon like Ra’Xoroth could understand Chorsord’s posture was less than satisfactory.

Chorsord flapped his wings hard, and he flopped about in the air like a fish out of water. Distraught, he tried flapping his wings slower, more gracefully, and this worked to his liking. He was more balanced, but he still struggled.

“Keep your head high, Chorsord!” Hailendine called to him. Ra’Xoroth cringed but continued to watch.

The group flew together, a few hatchlings, including Chorsord, lagging behind, but they all caught up as Hailendine slowed down. After about an hour of circling Ra’Xoroth’s watching spot on Abbonite, they landed in the valley of Sorrenclan. Ra’Xoroth spread his wings and began to fly down to Chorsord to greet him.

“I’ll never get it right,” Chorsord mumbled to the instructor and his peers. “I’m a screw-up, I can’t even do the basics.”

“I’m sure, with time, you’ll become better,” Hailendine replied.

“I’m the second to oldest hatchling, and I’m still awful. I’ve been practicing for a full tempo and I’m still just as bad as ever. Bryrgin was the best flier in just a couple of moons!” Chorsord replied, almost weeping. “I’m not good enough to be a Soarer.”

“Soarism isn’t for everyone. Having a soul to protect is a great responsibility.” Hailendine said, lifting his head to the skies. He detected the scent of smoke in the air. “Anyways, I believe Ra’Xoroth is here to see you. Maybe he will take you flying today.”

Sure enough, Ra’Xoroth came landing. His wings spread wide as they caught the air to help his descent.

“Chorsord!” Ra’Xoroth called, excitedly. “You have improved!”

“Barely,” Chorsord replied. “I’m really not doing all that well. I still suck.”

“Remember, though, you have a strong breath weapon. Your frost could cause the average man’s heart to stop!”

“Yes, but I want to be a Soarer! I want to not only protect my rider with my frost, but I need to fly! What’s a Soarer without the ability to fly?” Chorsord whined, distraught.

“You will fly well in time, Chorsord,” Ra’Xoroth mumbled, a little fed up with the small, white, wyvern’s pessimism.

Chorsord slouched. “Will you at least take me flying today?” The little wyvern questioned. “Of course, follow me to my den, first. I must retrieve something for Bryrgin“

Ra’Xoroth, being around a story tall, allowed Chorsord to ride on his back, for he was only the size of a labrador. They flew out of the valley and into the mountains, Chorsord was still amazed by the view so far up in the mountains, for the hatchlings were to stay primarily in the valley. Ra’Xoroth, while feared, was trusted amongst the Sorrenclan, and thus he was permitted to take him to the mountains of Sorren.

“How much loot do you keep in your den?” Chorsord asked, curious.

“I think you mean, “what is the value of loot in your den?” It’s not much in quantity, but the quality is more than you can imagine.”

Chorsord didn’t ask any more questions the rest of the flight.

 

After a twenty minute flight, they arrived at the cave. It was small, only meant to fit one dragon. Humble in the ways that loot was not scattered everywhere. It was kept quite tidy, no skull and bone trophies, instead, his trophies were books, person books, that lay on a large shelf in the back. The shelf was like one you would find in a library, but divided into two parts. One part was larger and held books with glowing covers, and one part was smaller, holding regular, not-glowing books.

As Ra’Xoroth searched his den for something, Chorsord investigated.

“Don’t touch anything!” Ra’Xoroth called, as he stuck his snout into a pile of coins, searching.

“Of course!” Chorsord replied, slowly approaching the bookshelf.

An old book laid out on the ground with its pages up. Chorsord looked at the two pages that were facing him. They were old, curling at the edges. In big, bold, calligraphy letters wrote,

“A three-headed beast, strong and brave, A distraught soul hydra will save. The wings are weak, the jaws are strong, The Hydra tells it, “come along.” This pure soul saved, its title gained, Will live to fly with heart again.”

 

“Chorsord!” Ra’Xoroth called angrily. Chorsord slammed the book shut. “I told you not to touch anything, Chorsord!” “It was on the ground when I came over here!” Ra’Xoroth mumbled to himself. “You didn’t have to slam it closed, at least.” “Sorry...” They sat there in silence for a moment, and then Ra’Xoroth spoke. “That is a very special book.” He snapped. “If you were to harm it, not only would you dishonor the entirety of this planet, you would be dishonoring the Dragon God himself.” “Froimrudunth?” “Indeed.” Chorsord shrunk. He didn’t know this was a special book. The poor little wyvern only was curious.

“What does it mean?” Chorsord questioned. “I’m not sure yet. It is yet to come true.” Ra’Xoroth carefully took the book in his claws, it was so very small compared to him, so he took his time and was extremely cautious. “It is a prophecy. I’m not sure what it will foretell yet, but my best guess is that a dragon who has given up will regain strength thanks to a three-headed beast. A hydra.” “A hydra? Don’t those only come around once in a million tempos?” Chorsord tilted his head. “The occurrence of a hydra is random. They are very rare, though. Hydras are malformations, you see. A hydra is not it’s own bloodline, but a messed up child. A hydra does not lay eggs with hydras inside.”

“I understand… Does this mean a hydra will come here soon, though?”

“Eventually, yes,” Ra’Xoroth spoke, looking away. “I fear them. The last few hydras have wreaked chaos on our humble planet. Being mutations, they are not at ease with themselves, and take their fear and confusion out on the rest of us.”

Chorsord was silent. He barely understood the prophecies and the hydras, and now he was being lectured on them as if he should’ve known every little thing about them from the day he hatched.

 

“I apologize for being so blunt earlier,” Ra’Xoroth muttered, on the way back to Sorren. A small, golden framed mirror was in his talons. “If one those books were to be destroyed, not only would the one who caused it to die, the prophecy wouldn’t even come true.”

“What about the bad prophecies?” Chorsord asked, preening his wings.

“Some decide to sacrifice themselves to keep said prophecies from coming true. Have you heard the tale of Prymral?”

“No, who’s that?”

Ra’Xoroth sighed and spoke. “Prymral was a golden dragon, such as our elder, Odrioth. They are very rare, and very powerful, even without the use of a breath weapon, which most of them lack. One day, a fellow golden dragon named Gadhenith arrived. He is said to have been born from the God of Discord himself, and he wreaked havoc on the lands. Gadhenith had the ability to transform from draconian to feral dragon whenever he pleased and used this power to take over many small villages until he found the one with the Great Scribes-”

“Great Scribes, God of Discord, golden dragons?” All of these odd things were hurting Chorsords head. He buried his face in his wings. “I’m too stupid for this.”

“No, you are simply young. I will tell you when you gain your title.”

They flew on without a word.

 CHAPTER TWO

Prophecy of Warmheart

 

Bryrgin preened her feathered wings as she waited for Ra’Xoroth. He was supposed to bring her a golden mirror she could offer to the human village in return for some other sparkly thing that she didn’t already have. Bryrgin was a young feathered dragon. Instead of talon-like claws, she has small paws. Her body was covered with a thin layer of pale fur covering her scales. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight as she rested her head on her front paws, laying down. Her back leg bounced with anticipation.

“You are restless, what troubles you?” Ambrilyne, Bryrgin’s half-blind brother questioned, following Bryrgin’s lead and laying down. “Does The Warmheart wish for something?”

“Yes, for the love of all things on this planet, Ra’Xoroth is taking ages!”

“He will return, in time.” Bryrgin did not reply, then Ambrilyne spoke again. “There he is, over the horizon.”

Bryrgin raised her head. That was not Ra’Xoroth. Ambrilyne’s bad eye must be acting up again. Bryrgin squinted and could make out slight details of this mystery dragon. It was… Three-headed?

“That’s not Ra’Xoroth. I think I’m going crazy, I swear I can see three heads on that thing.”

“You’re mad,” Ambrilyne replied. “I have a bad eye and even I can see it’s your average dragon.”

“Maybe your bad eye is the reason you can’t” Bryrgin snapped back. She looked up again, realizing that it was gone, and in its place was Ra’Xoroth’s figure, swooping down with Chorsord on his back. Bryrgin shook her head and focused her attention on the magma dragon. “No wonder you took so long, you brought Chorsord too.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Ra’Xoroth mumbled, handing her the mirror. Chorsord went ahead and flopped off the back of the magma dragon.

“I’ll see you later, Ra’Xoroth, Bryrgin, Ambrilyne!” The frozen wyvern called to them.

Ambrilyne laughed. “He is quite cute. If he could learn to fly, he’d be an excellent addition to any Soarer’s Group.”

“Indeed.” Ra’Xoroth chuckled, smiling a bit.

“Anyways, I must be off!” Ambrilyne opened his wings and began to take off. “I must hunt today since Bryrgin will be busy with the townsfolk.” With that, he flew up and disappeared into the horizon.

Bryrgin and Ra’Xoroth sat in silence for a moment as the little, feathered dragon examined the gold framed mirror. Her reflection shone, and she was in awe, infatuated by her own reflection, not of a narcissistic beauty, but of simple curiosity.

“I love these, it’s a shame I can’t have two. My collection must grow in its variety, though. Avourel of the village Brickledale has a wonderfully shiny silver locket with a ruby inside that I just have to have!”

“Then go on, you must be excited. I will not keep you here any longer, there may be newcomers. We want a good impression.” Ra’Xoroth joked.

“Oh, you’re so funny.” Bryrgin snickered. “Anywho, you’re right, and I should be going.” She stood and opened her large, feathery wings. “I’ll see you when I return. And watch out for a three-headed beast, I saw one before you arrived”

 

Bryrgin loved to fly. It was her passion, her favorite pastime. To say she loved it more than her hoard may come as a shock to even her, but the Warmheart would have to admit that such is true. Almost as much as she enjoyed flying, she loved to help the village of Brickledale. She would do odd jobs, dragging a plow through the fields (She was only about the size of a buffalo), scaring off foxes, telling stories to the ones that spoke draconic, and other things. Her title was not “The Warmheart” for no reason. Bryrgin was sweeter than a blackberry pie to the townsfolk, and in return, they gave her trinkets and jewels for her hoard. Everything about the village was simply special to her. Always she had been infatuated by the ones that were not as strong as her, and her bravery and honor told her to protect them with her life. Brickledale was her safe place, and they even had a statue, about her size, erected in her honor.

 

When she arrived at the village, Avourel immediately approached her.

“Bryrgin! A pleasure to see you!”

Avoruel was a young draconian man who worked as a postboy. He had scales of pale grey and ashen horns that spiraled about as they pointed to the skies. His messy, curly, black hair was a mop atop his head, and his smile was as white as pearl. Avourel had the most average build of any draconian Bryrgin had ever seen, not too large, not too small. Sturdy enough to do work but not strong enough to be known for it. His height was above average, but other than that, he was perfectly plain.

“A pleasure to see you too, Avvy,” Bryrgin replied with a smile. She set the golden mirror down in front of the grey draconian. “I sadly come bearing news, not only trades.”

“Bad news or good news?” Avorel pondered aloud. “I’ll take either and tell everyone right away.”

“It could be a new friend, or, most likely, foe. I believe there is a hydra in our lands.”

“Oh my…” Avoruel had a curious look of confusion and shock on his face. “I will warn the village.”

“Keep safe,” Bryrgin said, affectionately. “May I have my locket now?”

“Of course!” Avorel perked up as if he hadn’t heard the frightening news. The draconian held out the locket, and Bryrgin gently brought her paw to take it from him.

“It’s quite beautiful. I love it already.” Bryrgin investigated it, carefully opening it with her dexterous paws. Her wings began to open, and she gently brought up her snout to poke Avorel in a gesture of affection. “I will hopefully see you tomorrow. I’m planning on helping herd the loose sheep. Hopefully, Mr. Helenoran will have gotten them back by then, I don’t want wolves to wreak havoc on the poor creatures.” Avorel put his hand against her warm, fluffy face.

“Yes, it’d be a shame if they were killed. I’ll see you then!”

“Farewell, and take care, Avvy!” Bryrgin called out, taking off into the falling twilight with her new treasure.

 

CHAPTER THREE

Prophecy of Outset

Aro held his small head high as he scanned over the horizon. His aqua eyes sparkling as the late twilight moonlight reflected off his mulberry scales. His tiny build was puny, diminutive, due to the fact that he was a cockatrice. Feathered wings, no frontal legs (Like a wyvern), and small, bird-like feet, while the rest of him was draconic. His yellow underbelly was bright in comparison to his blue and violet scales, and his bright eyes were large with wonder.

His wyvern friend, Vavnylth, on the other hand, was large, crimson red with massive teeth that protruded from her lips. Her orange eyes glowed with a fiery soul and her wings, like massive tarps, flapped in the wind. She was elegant, robust, and formidable, but she never spoke a word.

“Fly faster!” Aro squealed, looking behind himself nervously. “It could be on us!” His companion simply nodded to acknowledge his cries. Aro sighed, shivering. “We’re fresh meat if he finds us, we’re dead! We’re dead!” He pretended to faint and die for dramatic effect. Vavnylth snorted, amused. Her wings beat against the wind, and the fog began to drop.

“Oh, Froimrudunth-” Aro swore, getting up and dusting off his wings. “Can you see, Vav?” Vavnylth shook her head, the fog grew thicker around them. Aro swore again. “We’ll have to settle for the night. We’ll at least be hidden in the mist and fog.”

Vavnylth angled her wings to catch the air as she began her descent. Her sturdy back legs stretched out to grip the grass below her. Aro hopped off and laughed.

“I doubt even a hydra could see in this fog,” He chortled, merrily. “We’ll be perfectly safe, that is, if we can find a cave.”

Vavnylth nodded in approval, but there was no cave they could see. She began to curl up, resting on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Aro cried. “We need to find a cave! We’re dragon stew when the fog settles, we’re dead!” The mulberry cockatrice went into a panic, huddling against Vavnylth. She brought a wing over him in an attempt to comfort him, and it seemed to work. “We’re dead…” He went silent, then, and cuddled up with his wyvern companion. The night went on as they rested, Aro shivering with fear.

 

“You need something.”

A voice whispered, air brushing against Aros ear.

“You need a home.”

Aros eyes snapped open and he went rigid. Something was speaking to him, couldn’t be Vavnylth, she’s voiceless. Hasn’t spoken a word since her hatching day.

“Do not fear, follow me.”