that multi-author fantasy

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AradaŽl BŻrax
ok, so how about this: a land that is ruled by dragons, peacefully not tyrannically. the dragons are bound to and rule one land only, set down as a rule from the Greater Beings, yet one dragon is powerful and arrogant enough to make it from the land and, settles in another, where he tyrannically assumes control, becoming more powerful every day. It is then up to the other dragons to take action against this and convince their people to raise up against the single dragon in the other land.

AradaŽl BŻrax
well, perhaps scrap that idea, perhaps not. I'll start it anyway, whoever wants to continue for a bit, your welcome to do so. i think i might scrap the above idea and just write whatever comes to me.

They ran on, never stopping for an instant as with a deadly certainty it followed, breathing in the scent of its victims with a hunger. This creature of pain and most assuredly death had risen from the pits of despair; it's maker one of pure and utter corruption not surprisingly named Dread. Once this world had been of beauty, an escape from the stark reality of other civilisations yet when Dread's armies had come, pillaging and murdering as they went, it had descended into darkness, the sky forever now tinged an omnious red in recognition of it's loss of innocence. Whole generations disappeared including the dynasty of the royal family. What little of the population remained were the slaves of the demonic armies, or were hidden in the deserts. The army itself was one of unknown terror as creatures not man, elf or even beast roamed in packs governed by yet worse creatures, the Madrawn. These leaders hunted down the rebel inhabitants feeding in horrendous ways upon the remains after its poison was injected, and now it hunted this group. Its cry filled the air, a shriek like that of a dying wolf yet the Madrawn resembled no creature alive, the skin clasped like a web across its spine. It raised its face, no longer smelling the ground as with a primal growl it loped onwards, sensing now the prey's reluctance to continue. The Madrawn smiled, if a sickly tongue licking dark red lips can indeed be called that, and cried out again... it was getting closer.\

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