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Cursed By Moon

🇬🇧Amarn_James
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Synopsis
Hidden away in Capital Eleven, in the land of Varian, the three factions, Time, Mind and Space, pray to the goddess Harmonia to maintain balance, rejecting all forms of magic, for magic, in its essence, is Chaos. However, this sacred land has kept a hidden secret for generations, a fourth faction. These dragon shifters, called Draven, are hunted by the Valsari, hunters forged from shadow and nightmares. The Draven's origin may be unknown but they have always existed in this land, and now, their very existence is in danger. Roan only has two goals, to survive and escape this horrid place. It was never simple seeing the murder and the violence but it was easier keeping everything inside. That was before his werewolf roommate moved in and everything he had tried to keep inside started spilling out, thick like a mixture of lava and ash. Werewolves, we let them get away with their carnal instincts and behaviour because they are cursed by the moon but do we every take a moment to differentiate the beast from the person? When Roan is attacked by Zarion, his life crumbles to pieces, but he begins to wonder if the big bad wolf is really to blame, or if Zarion is a victim to his own instincts. Can Roan forgive the monster cursed by the moon or, is the love of his mate too deadly?
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Chapter 1 - 1 | Before They Collide

Thousands of Elf students kneel in front of the giant stone statue of their patron goddess Harmonia. Keeping their heads low, they pray, chanting the Rites of Order, asking for her to keep the balance in Varian and in their own lives. Their collective whispers sing together, vibrating in the air and amplifying one another.

They say you will hear the guidance of the goddess herself within this haunting melody, but Roan has never been touched with her grace nor does he feel the effects of her protection.

In the third row at the back, Roan stares into the empty eyes of the statue, not blinking, a perfect reflection of the goddesses' stone like expression. He will never pray to this goddess, not when chaos stalks him around every corner, and she remains an idle statue.

Time. Mind. Space.

The Elves have a different concept of these forces. They can access these energies and use the power of each in whatever ways they express themselves. The three factions live in constant harmony on the floating cities that are Above.

The only other place where you can find Elves is in Below, a wasteland where only the unfortunate find themselves. These energies and the miracles that they perform are not Magic, for magic is the embodiment of Chaos and only the innocent remain balanced. There is, however, a fourth type of elf, that disrupts the false Harmony.

The Drake, a small wingless kind of Dragon with four clawed paws and a long tail, runs through the crowd away from the people chasing after it. The Valsari, dark assassins, forged from shadows, corner the Drake at the feet of Harmonia's statue. The small Drake backs away slowly, snapping at any of the Valsari that come near.

When a Valsari warrior bursts into an evaporating cloud of shadow, the creature looks around frantically but does not see the enemy approaching. The warrior reappears some seconds later in the sky above, falling gracefully like an avenging angel, and plunges its dark sword into the skull of the Drake.

Roan flinches at the cracking sound of the Drake's head as it connects with the floor and at the serval other sounds that the blade makes as the Valsari warrior pulls it out. The Blood of the creature clings to the weapon, dying it an even deeper shade of black.

Roan can see the bits of brain that the sword dragged up when being pulled out and he shudders. A small diamond tear slowly rolls down his face as he shakes violently with fear. If he could cry out, he would, but he cannot.

As the Valsari start to lock down the area, throwing a black blanket over the corpse as it starts to transform, Roan looks up at the statue of Harmonia. She stands still, as another of Roan's kind is brutally murdered in front of him.

This makes fourteen Draven, but each death feels like another stab wound into exposed flesh. The black cover does not hide the foot of the Draven as it turns from Drake to elf, so Roan sees the red scales of the Draven turn into soft, dark, skin and a front paw twist into a hand. It reaches out to him for help, but help is not something Roan is capable of. He is frozen with blood at his feet, just like the statue.