Inspired by Savannah Jezowski's When Ravens Fall. Submitted by Austin L. Winner of the Writing Category and the Grand Prize Winner of the Fellowship of Fantasy Fan Art Contest.
It began with a voice like thunder and without the slightest motion of even a twinkling of an eye. Abraxas respired and rose the mountains from the earth. Like an artist stroking a vast canvas with various colors, there was life in Abraxas’ work of art. The Lord of Light filled the sky with soaring creatures and the depths of the seas with swimming creations.
At last the time came for Abraxas to forge his greatest masterpiece. The orchestrator of life formed the souls of men and women and gave them bodies.
Abraxas stood aside and gazed at the beauty of all that he had fashioned. The sovereign ruler of the universe wiped the sweat from his brow. Mithimoor had been forged and all was marvelous.
With his land’s civilization established, Abraxas returned to his own realm. Dracia welcomed the return of their lord with festivities that lasted for weeks.
All rejoiced. Apart from one of the kings scribes. Lung had ruled in the king’s stead and his longing for the throne consumed him. As the revelries continued, as did Lung’s jealousy.
“Abraxas deserves not the reverence and splendor of the throne. The Dracians cannot see his folly. Through his idiocy he creates a new land and populates it with soft-skinned insects.” Lungs thoughts ran rampant. Not another soul shared his resentment.
“Those rodents, they glorify the Lord of Cowards. Abraxas summons diminutive fire and ice and they bow to him. What mindless aggravations they are!” Lung, although with an abhorrent mind, was incredibly stunning to look upon. Lung took pride in making sure his blue scales surpassed that of Abraxas'. Lung's magnificence was unrivaled in Dracia. No one would turn down his presence, nor refuse his company.
Lung whispered lies into the ears of all those loyal to Abraxas; telling dishonesties about the King. The Deceiver uttered such horrible things; implanting seeds of doubt in the hearts of the Dracians.
The master of Lies had his emerald eyes on one individual in particular: Fafnir, the Captain of the Guard.
Lung slithered to the Captain, prepared to ensnare one more being to his cause. The Serpent brought his mouth to Fafnir’s ear.
“Your loyalty is misguided. Abraxas is feeble and will topple easy. If you place your faith in me, I shall indulge you in the spoils of Abraxas’ treasure room,” Lung spat, as lies gushed out of his mouth like a spring.
The Defector knew that jewels are the key to a Drages allegiance. Anything other than shining things and glistening jewels doesn't matter.
Fafnir’s black eyes lit up. The thought of riches was too tempting to pass by. As a bullock goes to the slaughter, as did Fafnir follow Lung. Fafnir swore loyalty for precious gems, and many more followed.
The time had come for Lung to strike. The Serpent gathered his allies and set the King’s castle ablaze.
Lung demanded the King emerge from his fortress and engage him in combat.
Abraxas accepted the challenge and burst from his castle in an explosion of fire and ice. Abraxas struck down half of Lung’s force with one strike, and the other half he confined in an icy prison.
Abraxas took hold of the Serpent, “Why do you betray me? Why do you infect my land with your scheming tongue? Have I not been fair to you? Have I not given you all the power one could desire? This sedition will not go without punishment.” Abraxas said, his voice like roaring thunder, and his eyes like lightning.
Lung wept false tears, all the while using his silver tongue, in an attempt to soften the king's heart.
Abraxas could peer through Lung’s soul and all that he could see was darkness. Lung had corrupted himself and no one else was to blame.
“As chastisement for your treachery, I hereby banish you and your perpetrators. You will never step foot in Dracia for as long as your pitiful life lasts.”
Abraxas’ sentence was carried out. Lung, Fafnir, and the remaining servants of the Serpent were cast out.
Lung and his disciples took refuge on an island, out of Abraxas’ foresight. The Lord of Light’s recently created realm lied in the distance. Its inhabitants made Lung sick. With his limited far sight, Lung watched the Mithimoorians go about their lives. His disgust toward Abraxas' people grew into an unquenchable hatred.
Lung's twisted mind concocted another scheme. He desired to turn the humans against their creator. “Fafnir, if we wish to cause enmity between Abraxas and his people, we must strike first,” Lung snarled.
Fafnir stood at his masters side and awaited his command.
“The Mithimoorians are unaware of the wroth we caused in Dracia. This will be of use to us. My Wyrm, go forth into that miserable land and make the first move in our game. Kill as many of those vermin as you wish,” Lung commanded.
Fafnir, more afraid of Lung than disappointed in not receiving his riches, did as the Serpent said. Fafnir vanished into the sea and left behind ripples that stretched from one side of the bay to the other.
Lung curled into the sand; like an adder in the grass and watched his slave disappear into the tree line on the opposite side of the bay.
The Master of Darkness waited for the return of the Wyrm. The sun rose and set countless times. Summer gave way to autumn. Soon the bay was frozen over and winter had taken its hold on the land.
Lung began to grow weary. His perseverance had been exhausted. Lung turned to one of his five followers.
“Zulock, find my lost weapon. Report to me his progress,” Lung commanded, vexed that Fafnir may have abandoned him.
The brawny Black scaled Drage ascended into the sky with one beat of his bat-like wings.
Lung waited another month before Zulock’s return. Zulock landed in front of the Evil One, presenting him with the skull of the Wyrm.
“What man has the power to vanquish my craftiest instrument? Tell me, did Fafnir bring about the demise of any of the humans?” Lung asked, scrutinizing the skull of the failure.
Zulock hesitated at his answer, aware that it would enrage Lung greatly.
“The Mithimoorians proved to be too strong. A great warrior vanquished him, my lord. A man with the strength of a bear and the courage of a lion. The only fatality was that of a flying creature; an insignificant thing, with feathers in place of scales,” Zulock stated, envious that Fafnir had the chance to taste man flesh, something that Zulock's belly always longed for.
Lung took Fafnir’s skull into his hands and turned it to dust. “Fafnir, what a contemptible maggot. A raven fell? That was the greatest he could muster? Perhaps we must change our approach. The humans are far too in love with their creator to turn from him. What they need is someone grander, wiser, and more powerful than Abraxas,” Lung said. His mind ever changing to the turning tide of his war.
The Serpent used his sorcery. The dark antithesis to what Abraxas wielded. Lung, through his enchantment, changed the forms of him and his followers. Their scales were replaced with skin, and their wings vanished into their shoulders.
Zulock grabbed a hand full of his dark skin and yelped in pain. “How do the soft-skins live? They are easily broken,” Zulock remarked. His human voice low and gruff as his personality.
Lung gazed at his new hands. His ivory skin was as flawless as his scales were before. “Now that we are attired in the raiment’s of the enemy we can begin our deception,” Lung snarled. His human voice still having the over pronounced S’s.
They came from the sea. No one knew where they resided before. The Liberator, they called him. They worshipped him as the ‘god from the sea’.
With his soft speech and poisonous words he deceived them into serving him.
“All that you know is vain, but if you abide by me, this nation will be as magnificent as Dracia,” He claimed. They believed. With his flattering lips they followed him. With his enticing speech they swore allegiance to the Evil One.
The entire nation had been misled. All had turned from Abraxas. Even Fafnir's bane, the warrior, and all his allies were tricked by Lung's ruse.
Abraxas saw what had been taking place and wept for his children. His mourning caused a great storm in the world. The sky opened up and it rained fire and brimstone.
The people turned to Lung for help but he could do nothing. He could only watch as the heavens rained desolation.
On the third day of the firestorm, Abraxas descended from the sky. His white scales reflecting the flames. While the wind from his wings, like those of an eagle, caused the pines to fold and crack.
“Why do you turn from me children? Why do you listen to the words of the Enemy?” Abraxas cried. His voice causing mighty earthquakes.
Abraxas spoke to Lung, despite the Serpent being miles away. “Master of Darkness, you have committed an offense that will never be forgotten. You will wear the hideousness of your calamities,” Abraxas condemned.
Lung was torn from his disguise and back to his old form. The deceiver's scales lost their luster and his wings, a Drage's pride, withered. Lung, once the most fair of all of his kind was now resorted to a wingless worm.
“You will taste the dust. You will never be loved. Only feared. Be gone, schemer of death!” Abraxas bellowed.
Lung crawled into the deepest pit Mithimoor had to offer and wallowed in his shame.
Lung's servants were cursed to wander Mithimoor as beasts. The humans would forever try to strike them and they would never know peace. The Evil Drages would have an insatiable desire for riches. One that burned brighter than Fafnir's. One that would drive them mad.
As for the humans, their sentence was equally as terrible.
“My children, as recompense for your disloyalty, you shall be stricken with the works of the one you trusted. You shall feel death.”
The humans now had to feel death’s sting and were vulnerable to illnesses. They tried to make amends and Abraxas forgave them, but his curse remained.
Abraxas severed the ties between Dracia and Mithimoor and vanished into the sky in an eruption of ice and flame.
The master of darkness has not been spotted since the Grand Deception. Nor has the Lord of Light been seen in the clouds. Lung's Drages travel the Wilds of Mithimoor, consumed with an intense longing for gold.
The master of creation still cares for his children but their iniquities are too filthy for him to bear. Abraxas still speaks to all. To those who are willing to place their trust and faith in him and those who are also willing to listen to the still small voice.
Fan created writing based on books and authors featured on FellowshipofFantasy.com