Once in a while, the beginning of a story takes us further back than we could ever imagine.  Sometimes, the beginning really is just that, the dawn of everything.

            The Earth was very new, perfectly beautiful, and magical.  There were creatures roaming the lands and swimming the seas that have been discounted now as mere legend.  Of course they really existed.  Wherever would the idea for them have come from in the first place?

            There was peace and beauty as far and further than the eye could see on this fresh new Earth.  With that came the utter conviction of the completely new that this would never change.

            But just beyond the horizon, buried in the fathomless depths of the ocean there was a great upheaval on the sea floor.  In the space of a few months a great volcanic island was violently birthed from the sea.  Dark, barren and forbidding it stood sullenly on the brilliantly blue ocean, constant streams of molten rock issuing from it's three volcano mouths, that lava creeping back into the water making the sea around the dark island bubble and hiss as it boiled in the intense heat.

            The first of the Black Dragons appeared some days later.  It crawled from the gaping mouth of one of the three volcanoes that made up that desolate island and spread itself limply on a rocky ledge to dry its wings, glistening in the sun from its egg waters.

            At the end of another month there were twenty of them, crawling around in and over the volcanoes, drying their leathery wings in the sun.  Their claws, the colour of rusty old iron, gouged deep scars in the rock, and white smoke issued gently from their bronze coloured nostrils.  Black armour plating covered all of them but their bellies which were soft and vulnerable and as red as blood.  They viewed the New World through evil slanting eyes that gleamed like dull silver coins.

            So they grew, and as they grew their wings gained strength and they were able to fly from their rocky, barren home.  They spread far and wide, wrecking unsuspecting ships to feed on the drowning sailors, crunching up lumps of lava to feed their fires.

            And as they grew they became powerful and cunning, filled with a magic that in their hands was dark magic.  The last trick they learned was the shape change and that was when they finally flew away from the dark, brooding island for good, spreading out into the world like an evil plague.

            They took on the shape of men and walked amongst human and creature alike, corrupting the freshness and goodness of this New World, circulating horror and darkness.

            And for a long time it seemed that nothing could stop them.

            Then came the Great Flood, when God punished the world and Noah took onto his Ark two of every kind of living thing.  The Black Dragons, however, he did not save.  God wanted to clean evil from the world, not preserve it.

            But the Devil looks after its own.  Deep in a volcano hidden under the sea he had saved the last of the Black Dragon eggs and when the flood waters receded, that volcano erupted, sending a steady stream of lava upwards until another barren, volcanic island was created.  Here the egg hatched and Gideon came into the world. 

            Like his brothers and sisters before him, he grew in strength and power and he bided his time.  The day finally came when he was ready leave his island and live amongst men, where he spread a little unrest and ill will wherever he went.

            Evil draws evil to it, and Gideon soon had a network of spies and servants who were ready to do his bidding.  He messages were carried by a great black wolf he named Radolf, his house kept by a succession of faceless servants who would do anything for their lord and master.  He lived wherever he pleased, wherever he could best do his dark and sinister work.

            But he was still the last, and he looked for ways to prevent his dying and for endless years he searched for a mate, in the hope that one day he would find a way of preventing the Black Dragons from dying out.

            He searched in vain.

            Once he realised the futility of his hope, he searched for all those who practised good magic, who used power for goodness rather than gain, and destroyed them.  Soon, there were hardly any left who could challenge the awesome and terrible powers of the raddled and ancient thing that he had become.

            The last of the Black Dragons.


A/N – This is the beginning of the tale of Farrell the last unicorn on Earth, the very last of the Elvish race on Earth and the battle against Gideon, the last of the evil black dragons.  It all takes place in the last magic Kingdom, the final bastion of magic in our mundane world.

Let me know what you think.  If I get enough reviews I shall carry on with it.