DRACO ALCHEMICUS

The Dragon Common Room (DCR) is currently working on a modern fantasy/horror story written in the spirit of Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene and Francis Bacon's New Atlantis.

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The temptation of infinite knowledge saw mankind "bite the apple" and till the land by the sweat of his brow. Man has since been busy baking bricks and building utopias, as most infamously constructed in the story of the Tower of Babel. Draco Alchemicus is a story about building another city: the great electric City of Light.

 

This City never sleeps. It is a world of ecstatic visions, apparitions, and alchemy; its citizens drown in the intoxicating spells of the tyrant Dragon, who rules with the promise of utopia and unfettered freedom. 

 

And spices.

 

Every citizen has succumbed to draconian poison, potions and spells. Inside the walls of the metropolis, a strange traveller arrives to taste the vapours of the Dragon’s spices for the first time. When everybody needs spices just to survive civilization, is civilization itself merely one big rave?

 

Draco Alchemicus is a journey to the boundaries of mankind’s utopias. The Drakes are currently tripping the light fantastic through the City of Men. The Lord willing, they are working to publish the first Act of their five-act adventure by the end of 2022.

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A band of crystal lit with heaven’s fire

burst o’er the earth and flashed across the plain,

reverberating through the raining pyre

of stories sung in cities built by Cain.

A pinioned cloud danced rings around the flame,

its cooing harmonized with chords of grace.

A deep base note encoded love reclaimed

from kingdom’s fall of mankind’s ancient race.

The resonating wings revealed a clouded face.

 

The pigeon ether undulated free,

an orchestra of feathers white as frost.

The wingéd loom descended on the sea;

from light it spun a subatomic cross.

Bright feathers knit atomic Helios,

while oscillating sparks set fire to quills.

Reverberating wings turned light to dust.

The looming man from loom that seemed to trill

emerged in flesh from cloud of sapphire-blue beryl.

 

The chorus swelled; the man stepped onto land,

from clouds delivered to the darkened shore.

He stood there naked, looking at the sand;

his face shone bright like heated iron ore.

White strands of hair presaged the coming war,

while from his lips came songs in ancient tongue

not heard since towers fell to angels’ lore.

He took a breath like snakes soak up the sun;

his voice like thunder rolling o’r the waves, he sung:

 

“I loved you from the first glance of your eye;

your garden was a paradise of doves.

I came into my kingdom from the sky

because you left me languishing with love.

I called you to my wrist, my falcon’s glove,

and promised I would warm you at my breast

with aromatic spices from above.

The winter now has gone, the rain has passed;

arise, make haste, my love, my dove, my one most blessed.”

Deep Magic from the Dawn of Empire