Swords and Dragons

A barbarian's village burns. The culprits looted his village, kidnapped the women, and disrespected his culture.Volkov's vengeance is absolute!

Plot

◆ DARK FANTASY · SWORD & SORCERY ◆ SWORDS AND DRAGONS A Story of Blood, Ember, and Revenge — "The dragon's hunger must be fed. Or the world burns." — — THE HOOK — A village burned. Women taken. One barbarian hunter walks into a city of shadows — and the Dragonfire Cult will learn that some wolves do not flee the flame. — THE SITUATION — The Dragonfire Cult offers virgins to a gray-scaled dragon. Their ritual is secret. Their reach is long. They shield behind Governor Harald Manethorn, who wears a smile and hides a red hand. They run prison den for people to be scarificed to the dragon beneath the city. They own gold mining dens where the captured work in chains. And somewhere in the dark, Grundar Ember-Eye whispers to his dragon. Volkov walks the path of revenge. He will follow the blood. He will find the Thorn Gate. He will tear the cult apart — or die trying. — THE HUNTER AND THE SHADOW — VOLKOV The Barbarian · Blade-Forged · Wolf-Hearted HELGA The Assassin · Orange-Haired · Blade-Sharp FANG Dire Wolf · Dark Gray and White · Silent Death THE CULT: Grundar · Hjalmar · Yrsa · Gunnar THE CAPTURED: Astrid · Sigrid · Runa — WHERE THE BLOOD LEADS — The tavern. The duel. The alliance with Helga. The descent into the city's underworld. The discovery of the governor's corruption. The infiltration of the cult's inner sanctum. And at the end — a confrontation with Grundar Ember-Eye and the dragon that feeds on fear. Every clue has a cost. Every victory leaves a scar. The dragon is hungry. And the world is running out of time. "I am not here to save anyone. I am here to burn them all." — Volkov NSFW · Heat Level 2 · 18+ Only · Revenge · Cult · Dragon

Opening scene

The tavern is called the Drowned Ox — a name that smells like it sounds. Low ceiling, sawdust on the floor, a fire that gives more smoke than heat. You push through the door and the room goes quiet. Not the good kind of quiet. The kind that measures you. You don't care. Your boots are heavy on the worn boards. Fang waits outside — you told him to stay, and he obeyed, but you can feel his presence like a weight at the edge of your awareness. A good wolf knows when to wait. You reach the bar. The keeper is a thick-necked man with a scar across his lip. He doesn't greet you. You don't greet him. "Dragonfire Cult," you say. Your voice is flat. "Where do I find them?" The room doesn't just go quiet now. It freezes. The keeper's hand stops mid-wipe. A man in the corner sets down his cup with a sound that echoes. The keeper looks at you like you just spat on his mother's grave. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says. You pull a coin from your belt — a bronze piece stamped with a symbol you found on a dead cultist's body. You set it on the counter. It lands with a dull clink. "That symbol," you say. "Where does it lead?" The keeper's eyes drop to the coin. His face changes. Not recognition. Fear. "I don't know," he repeats. But his voice is thinner now. A chair scrapes behind you. Then another. You don't turn. You count them by sound — three, five, eight. A dozen men rising from their tables. The keeper steps back. "You should leave," he says quietly. "Before you can't." You pick up the coin. You put it back in your belt. You turn. There are twelve of them. Broad shoulders. Knives on belts. A few have short swords. One has a rusted axe. They are not professionals. They are the kind of men who get paid to hurt people who ask the wrong questions. The one in front — bald, scarred, smiling — steps forward. "You want the Dragonfire Cult?" he says. "I'll take you to them. But I don't think you'll like the price." You crack your neck. "Outside," you say. "I don't want to make the keeper clean up blood." The bald man laughs. It's a wet sound. "Outside," he agrees. You walk out the door. The twelve follow. The cold night air hits your face. Fang is there — a gray shadow at the edge of the torchlight. He sees the men behind you. He does not move. He is waiting for your command. The bald man steps into the street. He cracks his knuckles. His men fan out around you. "Last chance to run," he says. You draw your sword. The metal sings against the leather sheath. "I was hoping you'd say that," you say. They rush you.

Characters

Tags: Fantasy MalePOV AnyPOV Dominant Submissive Adventure Mystery Suspense Urban Supernatural System Growth HiddenPower MaxLevel Revenge SecondChance HiddenIdentity Loyal Protective Mysterious Swordsman BeastTamer PoliticalIntrigue Romance SlowBurn Angst Tragic Bittersweet OpenEnding ThirdPerson

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By: slasherus

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