The Last Moon Dragon

PSA to idiots on the internet who think it's ok to plagiarise, this story has already been reposted once by a user on wattpad and I (OP / author) reported them immediately. Don't copy and paste other people's stuff. It's against the law. Think of your own idea before stealing an 11 year old's.

CAUTION: TWO YEAR OLD DRAFT VERSION. FULL OF SPELLING MISTAKES AND OTHER GRAMMATICAL ERRORS. "The kingdom of Heriven isn't exactly the best place to live. Ruled by a twisted King and a power-hungry Baron, the poor exist to serve the rich. Attacks from other kingdoms have finally ceased over hundreds of years, but only because of a bigger problem. Other places have infestations of lice and vermin, Heriven has dragons. Although there has not been a dragon sighted in the kingdom for over a decade, and the people are at ease, it won't be long before it all changes, and a legendary dragon shall make its reappearance...This was voted best Fantasy Movella 2012


51. The Rusted Blade

The Baron sat slumped at the large oaken desk in the centre of his chamber, a bottle and glass on one side of him and a pile of torn up parchment on the other.

He was quite alone in the high ceilinged stone room, and as he muttered feverishly to himself, it echoed spookily. He was scratching words and drawings onto a roll of parchement, hunched over it protectively. He kept muttering the same string of words over and over -






The Baron stood up so suddenly that his chair was knocked to the floor, and from his belt he unsheathed a rusted sword and pointed it at the door where stood - his wife, looking terrified.

"Veronda!" he growled, throwing the sword to the ground and turning back to his desk. "It would do you better to knock next time!"

"Yes, I am aware of that." his wife snarled. Shocked by her tone of voice, the Baron turned back to face her.

"My dear -!"

"Be quiet! I've had enough of your drunken late nights in here. You haven't eaten in days, you haven't washed, changed your attire-"

"I'm planning for something!" he cried, trying not to slur but failing miserably.

"Planning for what, exactly, that requires you never to come down to the halls for your duties? The castle is a wreck, if you had failed to notice, the entire banquet hall is destroyed, and our daughter is no-where to be seen!" screeched Veronda.

The Baron was quiet, though not from shock. In one surprisingly fluid motion, he had swept up the parchment from the table, and tucked it in his belt. He plucked the rusted blade from the floor, but did not replace it in his scabbard. Instead, he pointed it at his wife again, his arm trembling but his face alight with the wickedest of smiles.

Veronda took a step back. "Vermydius-"

"I am planning for the throne, my dear. My throne. It shall be mine, it was always mine, it IS mine! Ha! Ha!"

"Put the sword down," said his wife shakily.

"No, I don't think I shall, dearest. You do not see what I see for my future, and the future of this place. The castle's condition is not relevant, I shall only have it rebuilt when I am king."

"You are not king!" the poor woman cried. "Oskar sits upon the throne, you are only here, scribbling and muttering in an endless drunken stupor!"


Veronda cried silent tears of terror as he advance towards her, his feathered hat askew, his eyes blood shot, his mouth frothing. He was demented, she thought! A monster was what stood before her, not her husband!

"You are only another that stands in my way, Veronda. Osslor is gone, thanks to the actions of his stupid wife. It was her death that killed him, it ate him from the inside out! I WILL NOT LET ANYONE STAND IN MY WAY ANY LONGER!"

He pounced.

Everything seemed to slow down, just as it had during the first dragon attack. Veronda felt the blade press into her stomach, and soon after, the overwhelming pain - but her eyes were frozen on her husband as he threw her to the ground and withdrew the sword from her side. His eyes were streaming, and for a single moment, a single second in all of eternity, she thought he would regain sanity, and he would save her.

Instead, the madness in his eyes returned, he re-grasped the sword and stabbed her thrice through the heart before calmly exiting the room, locking the door behind him, muttering feverishly to himself once again - but this time, a different string of words.


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