"This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and any incidents in this book are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual event, is purely coincidental."
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There was once a legend; a legend about mystical creatures that ruled the skies and roamed the earth. They were lizard like creatures who could grow up to great heights and held special abilities which could allow them to breath fire or ice. Some legends were told that these creatures held a strange bond with mankind, a bond which was so powerful that if their human died, so would they. These were but myths, myths that had tormented the King's mind for more than a century of new bloodlines. The myths state that each creature held their own significant power and if the bond between a rider and a creature was unbreakable, the human would be graced with it too. Able to speak through mind, and battle like there was no tomorrow; these creatures were known as, Dragols Uvisc.
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A big, boastful laugh escaped from the Middle aged mans lips, his plump stomach shaking violently from the movement. "Keep your eyes peeled boy, don't ever turn your back on your attacker, or you might as well become a squire!"
Cheeks igniting in a deep heat, he turns away, a scowl projected on his face. "Who knows Evie, you might just be as smart as your brother." The little girl looks up, her dark lashes glowing in the rays of the sun. A smile takes its place on her lips; her crooked, not-fully grown baby teeth, shine brightly back at him. "I said might; don't get your head full with any ideas now, it's not a good look when being presented to an acquanted man." Nodding her head, the smile slowly falling she looks down to the the luminescent tone of her hands; the transparency creating a soft glow.
"Yes father," she obeys, her hair falling around her face and framing it like a curtain in embarrassment. "Good, now run along and go find your mother, she must be needing a spare pair of hands eventually." Nodding to her fathers command, she spares one last glance to her brother. He was currently rolling across the gravelly ground to collect the sword he had so clumsily dropped, and left down the narrow pathway which was situated alongside a dusty road. Humming a soothing tune to herself, she skipped towards the blacksmith who was currently welding together a sword with intricate designs and patters.
"Good evening Mr Glenn Smit, do you know where Rogan is?" The little girl asks, trying to look around his rather large frame, his muscles tensing with each clench of his fist or turn of his head. "Well, hello there little 'lady," the man greets, his hand's releasing its hold on the sword to wipe the sweat dripping from the top of his greasy, bald head. "You shouldn't be comin' 'round her 'ya know," he mutters, his large hands casting a dark shadow across her face. "It's dangerous... If these folk, or the Kings men caught you conversing with a... They would have me hung and you sent away."
His eyebrows furrowed in thought for a moment, almost picturing the event that could occur before his very eyes.
"That boy would be shot on the spot;" guilt riddled her body like the Black Plague, her eyes shining with the beginnings of unshed tears. It was unfair; the law, the world, the way of life. Sudden weakness and helplessness overtook her body like a pathetic slap. He was being gentle, Glenn that is, his words were soft and sympathetic, almost betraying the reputation he had built for himself. She new the persona he placed on, the facade he showed to people he didn't trust was fake. The kindness he was showing was generous; it forced a wheeze of nausea to pass through her stomach and rise up her throat.
"Please, I don't care what the townspeople think, or what will happen to me, he doesn't deserve to be a slave, nor do others based on their birth rights." He seemed to contemplate this for a few moments, trying to register it in his mind. He was about to decline when the gruff voice of a negro appeared in the background. "Please Glenn," he begs; voice accentuated by an accent. "I don't care if I'm shot or hung to be frank, I... I just wanted to say goodbye, you know to Evelyn that is; before I leave."
YOU ARE READING
Struck
Romance(First of all, this is my FIRST book so please go easy and NO judgemental comments. Secondly, I actually encourage constructional ideas. Thirdly, my chapters won't be uploaded every SINGLE day, remember I still have assessments and NEED to study (So...
