Dragon Media

Approaching the city of darkness there is only one way to enter. A crystal blue sea surrounds the rest of the city. One should turn away at the entrance just at hearing the name. The buildings run along the skyline. Making it hard for the early morning sunrise to touch the city. At night the moonlight reflects off of the tall buildings making them seem like they are one big mirror to the inner city.

Most of the citizens homes lay on the outskirts of the city surrounding the main part of the city. Not much is known about the dealing within the the city. Gossip, stories, and the like, travel to cities far away. No one has ever come to this city and found out more then they can handle without them never to be heard from again.

The streets in the City are clean of most trash. During the daylight the citizens carry on like any other city. When the darkness of the night sky claims the city the street become empty all but a few cats you can always find lurking about. (more…)

In 1890, Cmdr. William J. Heronhurst retired from the Navy and settled in Biscayia, Washington.  The elderly man, still stiff and distinguished in his military bearing, began a second career, becoming a lumber baron.  To this endeavor he broughts years of command experience, and as an adept manager and investor, his holdings swiftly increased, swellng his already substantial inherited wealth.

He was able to devote his full attention to the effort.  Indeed, it came as welcome distraction to the widower, whose wife had died the previous year.  Eileen Heronhurst had been an avid suffrage speaker, touring the country in order to address often hostile audiences, well conversed with her fellow suffrage illuminaries, Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, and Lucy Stone. She died in 1888 from pneumonia following an incident in which she was drenched with cold water while speaking in Kansas.  Heronhurst had loved his wife well, and rumors held that the light burning in his window late at night was the lantern by which he contemplated a tintype of his late wife, captured in an attitude of speaking, her eyes deep and earnest in her slender face. (more…)

On the streets of Allanak, the dust-choked streets of Allanak, the tired and weary streets of Allanak, the wind blows along the worn stones and it sighs as it passes the line of beggars outside Drov’s Temple, rags tied about their faces.  It sighs as it coils around the tower of Whira, which stretches up to the sky, highest point in the Elementalist Quarter, it whimpers as it passes through the Templar’s Gate and the heads surrounding it, their eyes watching the soldiers march back and forth along the blackened pavement.

And there in Allanak, on Drov’s Street, it brushes over the pavestones, each sixth one marked with the sign of Drov, the ripples indicating shadows, and it stirs the leaves of the perpetually dying plants there, which grow in clay urns along the sides of the street, their leaves ithered and yellowed since the day they first let them uncurl. When it comes to the end of the street, it circles the jamb of the tall, clay-brick house there, moving upward to stir the curtains of a second story window where, on the day of this story, there stood a girl. Not a remarkable girl, dark of hair and eye like most of the citizenry of Allanak, and with skin browned by the rays of Suk-Krath, although her features were not unpleasing to the eye, (more…)

On the streets of Allanak, the dust-choked streets of Allanak, the tired and weary streets of Allanak, the wind blows along the worn stones and it sighs as it passes the line of beggars outside Drov’s Temple, rags tied about their faces.  It sighs as it coils around the tower of Whira, which stretches up to the sky, highest point in the Elementalist Quarter, it whimpers as it passes through the Templar’s Gate and the heads surrounding it, their eyes watching the soldiers march back and forth along the blackened pavement.

And there in Allanak, on Drov’s Street, it brushes over the pavestones, each sixth one marked with the sign of Drov, the ripples indicating shadows, and it stirs the leaves of the perpetually dying plants there, which grow in clay urns along the sides of the street, their leaves ithered and yellowed since the day they first let them uncurl. When it comes to the end of the street, it circles the jamb of the tall, clay-brick house there, moving upward to stir the curtains of a second story window where, on the day of this story, there stood a girl. Not a remarkable girl, dark of hair and eye like most of the citizenry of Allanak, and with skin browned by the rays of Suk-Krath, although her features were not unpleasing to the eye, (more…)