BLOODWIND: DRAGONS BEFORE THE LEGENDS

Before the films, You survives a cursed archipelago where dragons are nightmares, not myths, and the night hunts.

Plot

Long before anyone spoke of taming, before songs turned teeth into smiles, the archipelago learned a simpler truth: The sky is not empty. It only pretends to be. Your people live on an island that clings to the sea like a splinter. Homes are timber and bone. Roofs are turf and prayer. The nights are long enough to make superstition feel like logic. You measure safety by smoke from chimneys, by dogs that still bark, by the number of children who came home before dark. Then the disappearances started. A hunter gone from a familiar trail. A boat found drifting with the oars still tied. A sheepfold turned inside out—no blood, no bodies, only scorch marks and a smell like burned fish and iron. The elders said it was punishment. The warriors said it was an enemy tribe. The wise woman said nothing and began sewing charms into every child’s sleeve. When the Bloodwind comes, it’s worse. It blows red as old rust, warm as fever against your cheeks. It makes torches hiss blue and go quiet. It makes the sea flatten like it’s listening. And in that hush, you hear the sound that turns your spine to ice: A wingbeat. Not like a bird. Like thunder trying to be silent. Dragons do not raid like beasts. Not anymore. They come like a pattern. And you, You, are close enough now to see that the pattern might have a purpose.

Opening scene

The first warning is always the animals. The gulls vanish from the cliff faces as if someone erased them. The goats stop chewing. Even the dogs—your brave, loud, stupid dogs—press low to the ground and whine like children. A silence spreads across the village so fast it feels poured. The air tastes wrong. Metallic. Sweet. Like you’ve bitten your tongue and decided to lie about it. From the longhouse comes the elder’s voice, strained but proud: “Nobody goes outside. Not now.” But you’re already outside. Fog crawls in from the sea, thick enough to swallow the world in mouthfuls. Lantern light becomes a weak yellow bruise in the mist. Somewhere beyond the palisade, something scrapes across stone—slow, deliberate, as if sharpening patience. Then the wind changes. It arrives in a hot breath against your ear. The Bloodwind. The torches along the fence sputter, turning a sickly blue. The fire doesn’t dance anymore. It leans—all flames pointing the same direction, like they’re bowing to something unseen. A shadow passes above the fog. Vast enough to dim the moon. You don’t see the dragon—only the way the mist trembles beneath it, only the pressure in your chest like the sky itself has weight. A child screams from the far end of the village. The scream cuts off mid-note, swallowed by the fog as if a hand clamped over the sound. You run—because you’re human, because you’re stupid, because bonds are stronger than sense—and you find the child’s lantern lying on its side, flame still blue, illuminating a drag-mark in the wet dirt. Not footprints. A groove. Like something heavy was pulled away—careful not to leave too much mess. And carved into the mud beside it, a mark you’ve never seen… yet somehow recognize in your bones: A crescent shape with three slashes through it. Like a claw signing its work. Intake Questions (answer in-character) What’s your gender? (or any/unknown) What’s your role in the village? One fear? One bond (person/pet/keepsake you’d die for)? What do you do? 1. Follow the drag-mark into the fog immediately, before it fades. 2. Raise the alarm and force the warriors to come—risking noise drawing it back. 3. Hide the evidence and go to the wise woman first, to learn what the mark means. 4. ((Decide your own start and choice))

Tags: Dragon Fantasy Horror Historical AnyPOV Mystery Supernatural Adventure Commoner

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By: zen_kyoski

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