Dinayut

On huge wings the shadow came to cover the moon. Leather wings, with bone-sharp edges and wicked claws. None of the sleeping townsfolk noticed. The dragon landed in the town square, so softly even the sleeping cows were not stirred. Then he was gone. Where he had stood, was a handsome man. The pearly moon sparkled in his black eyes. He leapt the fence with ease, and walked silently up to one of the houses. The window was open, to get the night breeze. He made himself thinner and thinner, so that he could fit under the opening. The only sound he made was a slight dragging of cloth against wood. A woman and her husband slept in the bed, tightly folded in each other’s arms. Draped haphazardly over the footboard, a green dress and a golden veil. He came to the bed, and put his hand over the woman’s mouth. Even still, she let loose a squeak of surprise and fear. Her husband also made a sound, and tightened his grip on her in his sleep. The dragon grinned. I've seen enough. This was what happened to my daughter. Now, how to make people believe me. -from the diary of Ollit Karabeth   "A hero, yes you were that once. The people spoke your name in awed whispers, loving and fearing you in equal measure. Your deeds inspired them, from Kings to street urchins. In every nation, you were known and welcome. Now, where crimson carpets once unrolled at your feet gates slam in your face. You destroyed a shard of a world. You used an artifact, and yes, you did have a reason. People don’t realize it, but worlds are creatures which can die. Just like a dead body, a dead world can harbor diseases and horrors. It’s dust is harmful, causing a blight on whatever it touches. This particular world had become something truly horrifying: a vampiric world. It sucked the life-energy from creatures, and bound their bodies to it’s horrific surface: making a mockery of worlds full with living creatures. Eventually however, the world became bloated with this energy: and cracked into shards. This made it even more dangerous, because the shards sucked the life from other worlds. You destroyed one such, close to your homeworld. Yet the people you saved do not thank you for they yet suffer from the blight. How far will you go hero? How much will you sacrifice for people who hate you?"

Mikbeth the Mage

Magic. It had to be magic. When he dreamt of his mother, her ring had appeared tangled in the sweat-logged sheets. He put the ring on his pinky finger, and then put his head down on his hand. He felt the stone as a cold spot against the center of his forehead. Like one of her kisses. Why did this have to happen now? Now, when the Iron men had cut down noble King Karadek and sacked Brenna. Now when Queen Shira had sacrificed herself to make the magical barrier that would keep them out long enough for Ollin to figure out what to do. King Karadek, Queen Shira, father, mother. Now the fillet that King Karadok had worn to cushion the huge crown was folded around Ollin’s other hand. The crown itself sat waiting on the table beside him, atop it’s embroidered cushion. The goldsmith had worked overnight to resize it, and polish it to a high sheen. When the sun’s rays hit it, it would reflect the light and shine like a fallen star. The gems set in it would scatter the light to the corners of the great hall. Magic, just what Ollin needed to be worried about right now. -Tosuti Fisrenevag, The Dragonrider Chronicles.