The Dragons of Almora

The Death Sea

The Death Sea moved with its usual anger and recklessness. Waves of black that pushed with a ferocious intensity, and tides that had already brought doom upon many human souls. From the vantage point of Dragon Island, the sea extended around in all directions, the blackness encompassing the sandy shores.

For most, at least for humans, their vision would only allow for them to see the sea at the horizon, anything beyond was nothing but a haze and blur. But not for dragons. Their bold purple or piercing gold eyes could make out miles beyond the horizon, even some ships could be spotted with their incredible vision.

But no ship dared venture to far into the depths of The Death Sea, for within a few moments their ships would crumble and falter at the cruel waves . Not even the gods above could control the wrath of the sea, not even they could guide ships safely. So who would save the foolish humans that dared to try and enter the dark sea?

"Well, a dragon could save them," Corain thought. He flapped his wings, their royal purple color resembling that of the sky, forcing himself a little higher into the air. He looked out at the horizon scanning for any life forms or human flesh. What good did it do though? Even, if there was a human ship an imminent danger no dragon, not even Corain, could save it. It was forbidden, a rule that if were broken would lead to years in exile. The Rules of Dragons were deemed only by their ruler, Darco the Great, who had kept dragons safe and secluded for years. But the constant years of rule had taken its toll on him, for his horns and wings had strands of silver on them, a sign of aging. Darco had once been a mighty sight for the dragons to behold, his golden color glinted with the brightness of the sun and the power of fire which ran through his veins used to be the strongest of dragons. Some dragons even rumored that he had been blessed prominently and heavily by the sun god, explaining his large sum of power.

Like all dragons, Draco had been blessed with a certain trait or power, his being fire. But normal dragons didn't have the same capacities as him, for his fire was hot and menacing as a thousand suns. He could obliterate most anything in his way, even a dragon's flesh, with his hot, lava, breath. As is the way of dragons, with power comes a stronger title. Draco's vast power, stronger than many, led to his taking of the throne. 

Corain wished for such power, to be blessed with a strength worthy enough of a title, but alas he had not been giving much.  Most dragons were either capable of fire, flames pouring out from their snout and mouth's, or they were capable of water, their tails whipping through water at lightning speed and they were strong enough to even began a hurricane, water swirling around their might presence.

But Corain wasn't capable of much. Dragons who were not of fire or water, had other traits which were less meaningful but still something. Corain had no such power, nothing special, other than being a dragon. He was an outcast. Many fellow dragons looked at him with cruel gazes, looking down on him with entitlement and fake pity. 

Pyer, a dragon that carried a bag of hatred and jousts in his heart, was the worst to Corain. Fake pity pouring out of the dragon with a cold sarcasm, and Corain vowed that one day he would get revenge on Pyer but for now he would bear the insults with a clench of his teeth.

"Corain, the elders want to see you," a small voice said. Corain snapped his head around, away from the glistening horizon, and towards the young voice. It came from a young dragon, still growing into true dragon form. His skin was charcoal black with purple spikes jutting down from his upper back all the way to his tail. The spikes almost looked like stalagmites, made sharp and true, penetrating the air with ease. 

Elders. Why did the Elder Dragons want to speak with him, they rarely spoke with any other dragons and instead spoke amongst themselves. The young dragon flapped his black wings forward, a little push but heavy exertion for such a young one, and turned once to see if Corain was coming. The Island of Dragons, also known as Almora, was long and wide. Sandy shores built upon a rocky sea, enclosed in the water completely. But the island could not hold the many dragons, despite the width, so a home was made underground. 

The first dragons that had ventured out to Almora had worked long and hard, claws slashing into the sand, until finally a home was built. Underground, within the rocks, the first dragons had built an intricate paradise. Over time Rulers like Draco and many more, gave the cave more life and warmth. They built feeding grounds for mother dragons to nurse the young, long corridors that led to dome-shaped rooms, and nests for the dragon eggs. The Elder dragons, aged and brittle, moved into one of the dome-shaped rooms. All they truly did was lie against the mossy cave floor, listening for sounds of the Earth and life, but they still had their share of importance. With their age came a wisdom, long and true, that not many possessed. Their mind's held the keys into the ancient world of humans and dragons, having been alive for so many generations. 

Corain followed the young dragon as they made their way to the center of the island. At the heart of the sandy shores, lay a huge pit, going down and down for depths that no human could ever live through. This was Almora, the underground home of the dragons.