Sneak peek of another original story: Flame and Sword · 12:02am Jul 21st, 2021

Chapter 1- Avalon

“Hurry, Saoirse! She’s coming!”

In the shadows of the dark-wood forest, they could hear the crushing of leaves and twigs beneath their bare feet. With short, quick breaths the little raven-haired one dared a glance behind her, as the silhouette of the creature poked in and out behind the trees. She was closing in on them. The beast’s large scaly body slithered through the trees; rays of the midday sun peeked through the gaps between the leaves above. She was closing in on the children, who neared the edge of the forest.

The two girls burst into an open field near a lake. Snow-white swans trailed along the surface of the water, creating ripples that sparkled like strings of pearls. The youngest of the two tripped and landed on the ground. Her light brown locks, dipped in pale gold hues, fell on her face. Her big green eyes stared back at the beast in terror as she towered over her, blocking the sunlight with her elongated neck. The swans flapped their wings in a frenzy, leaving a trail of feathers in their wake. The beast ignored the noisy pests and curled her large tail around the small child, trapping her in place. She screamed at the top of her lungs just as the mouth came down on her.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! Morgen stop it! That tickles!”

“And… game over,” Isolde smiled, shaking her head. “She caught you.”

Morgen was still tickling Saoirse’s soft, squishy bell with her snout.

“You know the rules, Isolde,” Morgen replied. “I don’t win unless she says it.”

“Never!” Saoirse proclaimed, laughing.

“Say it or be sentenced to death by tickles!”

“Okay! You win! I yield!”

Satisfied, Morgen ceased her tickle attack and backed away from her little sister. Sparks of fire enveloped her body and she transformed from a dragon into her human-like form. Her skin was soft, free of all blemishes, freckles and birthmarks. So smooth as silk to the touch, it could make the most chaste man break his vow. Her green scales rearranged around her shoulders, forehead, cheeks, and a straight line above the bridge of her nose. Her claws shrunk in size, becoming round and crescent-shaped with pinkish hues. Her horns remained, puncturing onwards through shreds of crimson hair with yellow and orange hues at the tips. Her green-yellow dress materialized around her in flecks of flame. Like her sisters, she too was barefoot and wore a simple circlet around her head.

Morgen pulled away from her younger sister, rolling on the grass as she threw her arms in the air.

“Victory, as always, is mine!” Morgen announced proudly.

Her voice slightly deepened to sound like a gruff, menacing dragon. But Saoirse wouldn’t give up easily. She jumped and tackled Morgen, ticking her stomach with her fast, tiny fingers.

“Now you have to say it!” Saoirse demanded.

“Ah! No fair! Revenge isn’t in the rules!”

“All’s fair in love and war, big sister!”

Morgen tried to control herself, keeping her giggles inside, but her strength was weakening. Tongues of fire slipped out her mouth like serpents.

“Okay, okay! I yield to Saoirse! The bravest of the brave, boldest of the bold, and toughest of the tough!”

Morgen sighed in relief, but her laughs kept coming even after Saoirse stopped tickling her stomach.

“Victory!” Saoirse cheered, spinning in a circle.

The ends of her dress flew around her like a hoop. Her human disguise began to fade. Her beautiful scales came out, sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her rounded ears became long and pointed like Morgen’s; her adorable tiny horns grew out of her head. Her scales were the color of the serpentine gemstone.

Isolde also she from her full human appearance. Her amethyst scales returned, her dark horns sprouted from her head, a couple inches longer than Saoirse’s. Her hair was dark as a raven’s feathers with amethyst tips. The front of her head was braided to perfection with a golden lace, tied with a gemstone behind her head. Even at twelve-years-old, she possessed the same ethereal beauty as the rest of her elder sisters.

“Victory tastes like dirt and mud,” Isolde joked.

She dusted off her skirt, which was coded in dried up paint stains. Morgen lounged comfortably along the grass.

“You know what they say,” Morgen said. “’Dirt is nature’s paint’.”

Isolde raised a skeptic eyebrow at her older sister and shook her head. “Nobody says that.”

“I do.”

“Morgen!”

The three sisters froze in place at the familiar ear-curling banshee scream of their older sister, Roisin. She stomped toward them from her gazebo near the lake. She had the unfortunate luck to have been braiding when Morgen burst from the trees and scared off her beautiful swan companions, who were gathering flowers for her mistress.

Roisin was of nineteen years of age, three years older than Morgen, and her scales were the color of rose zircon which complimented her peach-colored human skin. Her horns, which were a darker shade as her scales, curled up in a shape similar to a swan’s craned neck.

Her strawberry blond hair, with light pink tips, went past her hips and was always curled to perfection with flowers complexly woven into her locks. But right now, her looked resembled a family of swans trying to build their nest on her head. Feathers stuck out like spikes, and she blew a tiny one out her mouth. The pupils of her teal colored eyes became cat-like slits, smoke puffed from her nostrils.

Morgen couldn’t keep herself from laughing at the sight.

“Oh, hey Roisin. New look? It suits you. I hear feathers are in this year.”

Roisin growled like a starving lioness and the swans returned. Swans were naturally drawn to Roisin, like a moth to a flame, or bees to honey. Roisin kneeled beside them, the ends of her skirt pooled on the grass as she stroked their feathered heads, and they returned her affection by plucking off the feathers stuck in her hair when they flew off.

Morgen’s pupils almost shifted into slits at the sight of the feathered monstrosities. While most people perceived swans to creatures that inspired awe and wonder, to Morgen they were nothing more than rabid feathered hydrates with only one head… and not nearly as cute.

One swan, seemingly picking up on Morgen’s rising hostility, honked in her direction. Morgen responded by hissing and exposing her fangs.

“Oh, I know, my darlings,” Roisin cooed. She stroked the back of the swan’s head then turned back toward Morgen with unhinged fury. “What were you doing frightening my beauties like that?”

Morgen threw her hands up in her typical ‘don’t care’ motion.

“Sorry, Roisin,” Saoirse apologized. “We were just playing Humans and Dragons. You should have seen how fast Morgen caught us.”

She jumped in place, the curls of her brown hair bouncing on her shoulders as she tugged on Morgen’s arm. The young one’s wholesome playfulness never failed to brighten Morgen’s mood.

“But next time I get to be the knight and you be the ugly human.”

“Then I better bring my brown pants,” Morgen said. “You know how weak human bladders are.”

Saoirse crinkled her nose in disgust.

“Alright, that’s enough nonsense,” Roisin declared.

Elegantly, she moved her hands silently commanding the swans to step aside.

“It’s getting late, we should be heading back to the monastery.”

“I hate to say it, but she’s right,” Morgen shrugged, squatting to Saoirse’s level. “The only thing scarier than a human’s business is Mum when we’re late for supper.”

Saoirse was a fearless little dragonet; rarely anything frightened her. The first time she saw a scorpion, her first instinct was to grab it for her bug collection. While poisonous bugs and snakes were never an issue for dragons, their stings and bites itch something fierce. The one thing on Earth that could ever get Saoirse to flinch was the thought of their mother’s fury. Isolde grabbed Saoirse’s hand, sprouting her wings.

“Come on Saoirse, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Saoirse’s wings also appeared and the two flew back home.

“Morgen, you shouldn’t be filling her head with such nonsense,” Roisin said sternly.

Like always, Morgen could not control the urge to roll her eyes whenever she spoke. “Don’t get your scales in a bunch, it was just a game.”

“You know mother doesn’t like those kind of games. Now hold still, you’ve got enough filth on you to make an army of Golems.”

Roisin grabbed Morgen’s face, licked her thumb, and rubbed it against her cheek. Morgen squirmed and pulled herself away.

“Quit it! If I wanted to set slobbered on I’d have gotten a dog.”

“Stop being such a hatchling!”

“Stop being such a priss!”

“Watch your tongue!”

“I’ll wash mine when you wash yours first!”

“You little--!”

Roisin’s pupils became slits again, her claws already starting to grow out. She would have shifted into her dragon form had it not been for the sound of wingbeats flapping above their heads.

Their elder sister, Mairead, swooped down and landed before them. Her wings formed tiny gusts of wind that spun up random leaves and flower petals as her bare feet graced the grass. The swans immediately started swarming around her.

Roisin prided herself as one of the most beautiful of her eight sisters, but even she knew her beauty and elegance pale in comparison to Mairead. Her raven hair rivaled that of a starless night, added with the pearls that were delicately woven into her curly locks. Her eyes were of the deepest blue with subtle hues of green. Staring into them was like staring into the ocean itself. Her scales were a deep blue as well, her horns decorated with strings of pearls.

Mairead’s wings were longer than both Morgen and Roisin’s which, in contrast to her welcoming and serene demeanor, inspired attention and respect from both of them.

“Put the claws away, Roisin. Wouldn’t want you chipping a nail again.”

Roisin looked down at her claws, quickly hiding them behind her back. Morgen sucked in her lips to try, in vain, to fight back the snicker. Roisin hissed at her younger sister’s face.

“Sorry, Mairead. We were just on our way back.”

“Good. For a moment I was worried you two had forgotten you’re on dish duty tonight.”

Roisin and Morgen shared a groan. While Morgen did not object to the workload of chores she and her eight sisters did throughout the week at the monastery, she wished she didn’t have to endure Roisin’ constant whining and complaining. One would think after nine full years she would grow accustomed to getting her ‘delicate’ hands dirty.

“Can’t the twins do it?” Roisin begged. Her words earned another eye roll from Morgen. Watching her beg and squirm used to be amusing, now it was just pathetic. Dramatically, Roisin placed the back of her hand to her forehead.

“I… I don’t feel so good,” She said, fake coughing. “I think I’m—I think I’m coming down with something.” She wheezed and coughed again, as Mairead raised a thin brow.

“Oh well, then I’m sure I can ask Sister Vivian to brew something for that nasty tickle,” Mairead suggested.

Roisin’s eyes snapped open. Sister Vivian was a very, very intimidating troll nun who didn’t take likely to sluggish, lazy behavior from any of them.

“You know what? I think it was just… hot air. I’m fine now.”

“Ha! Who’s the hatchling now?!” Morgen taunted.

Roisin gave another hiss in response.

“Enough,” Mairead warned. “Let’s go before I really lose my patience.”

Roisin and Morgen were wise not to poke on that nerve with a hundred-foot pole. Roisin shot Morgen another glare before sprouting her wings and flew off behind Mairead.

The angry swan from before waddled towards Morgen, honking and flapping his wings to try and intimidate the dragon. Morgen scoffed and hissed, espousing her predatory teeth, claws and wings that cast a shadow over the field. The swan honked in fright and waddled away as though it were trying to run with a lump in its pants. Morgen huffed boastfully then leapt into the air, spiraling a couple times to breathe in the cool wind.

***

This story is a retelling of the Arthurian legend. It’s a story I’ve had in my head for a while and only a few years ago did I decide to write it. It’s still developing, but luckily I have Arthurian lore to work off of. Let’s just say, all of the traditional elements you know about King Arthur, Morgen Le Fey, Guinevere, Lancelot and Excalibur… is about to get turned on it’s head!

You can read the rest of the first chapter on Quotev. https://www.quotev.com/story/14027890/Flame-and-SwordAnd-Arthurian-Retelling