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Short Story Contest #3 - Heirloom

Discussion in 'Contest Archive' started by SilverEx, Jan 12, 2010.

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  1. SilverEx

    SilverEx

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    You're right, that I do.
    Wow! This has come a long way in 12 days!
    Sorry for my abscense everybody, I've started a new job and I work 2pm while 12am GMT monday through to thursday so this hasn't even entered my mind.

    I need some judges, and need them fast, so PM me if your wanting to judge.
    As for clarification of rules, most of your questiosn have been answered correctly already.
    After Warcraft 2 means after the second game, so yes that can even be before Warcraft 3.
    Ensure though not to make your story's too "out there" as they won't really be as enjoyable within the genre as others.
    Heirloom is an object passed down between generations, not always limited to family either just as long as there's a reason to it being passed down.
    Any others I will answer also.
     
  2. Coolty44

    Coolty44

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    Cool. I'm starting this weekend, I've been writing an essay for the last week, along with a few warm up stories that arn't related to warcraft. I think I've got my story shape formed, now to add the colors and textures. Fun.
     
  3. CaoSong

    CaoSong

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    so SilverEx... does my 5,501 word story qualify? XD
     
  4. Adiktuz

    Adiktuz

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    okay thanks!
     
  5. idodik

    idodik

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    I edited the sentence you mentioned, it really does look weird o_O
    Aside from that I didn't change anything. You could have made your response more constructive if you pointed out a good thing or two.
    Thanks anyway.
     
  6. Silly Lil Ant

    Silly Lil Ant

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    Thank you for reading! I see what you mean, I shall remove it(unless I don't have enough words)!=]
     
  7. supertoinkz

    supertoinkz

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    Can I still join? :C
    I already had a "plot"
     
  8. Silly Lil Ant

    Silly Lil Ant

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    I think you can, the draft has to be done by the 25th of Feb though (i Think)
     
  9. supertoinkz

    supertoinkz

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    okay, I'll try to write now :)
    I'll post my 1st draft on tuesday afternoon
     
  10. The World Is Flat

    The World Is Flat

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    Tree
    The Green River, The Little Tree, and Quirdly (pronounced: KWURDLEE) 

    Over the green river, which came from the mountains in the east, was to be found a small tree. In the winter of this land, snow was not too prominent, and this tree would stand like a statue, watching the river. Then would come spring and the tree would bloom a thousand pedals of pink. The river would be full of salmon, and the little smooth pebbles at its base would be clearly visible. Bears would often come by, and what gave the little tree a great disgust was when they scratched their rumpuses on his trunk. The tree would reach down with a spindly twig and poke them behind the ears when such happened.
    Summer would come, and the bears would move farther north following the salmon and searching for berries. Near the end of summer the clouds would be out heavily, and their would be storms that bathed the tree, or winds that would bend the tree… but the tree would be okay with all of that, for he wanted to prove to himself that he had the strength to withstand it. One day would come, so often thought the tree, when something really nasty would challenge his strength and courage.
    Fall would be the next season to come, the next time for the little tree. He would sit there by the green river, watching colorful leaves float by; and would fall asleep many a time in the cool breeze blown from the mountains to the east. He loved the fall, the little tree did. He loved to drink from the cold, he loved to bask in the dying heat, the sweet relief of winters approach. This season he preferred to call ‘the unclenching of my leaves’. And it was that action that was the most joyous to him. For then he would rid himself of the rest of the years tarnish, and would stand alone, clean, unburdened, by the green stream.
    Now, the green stream and the little tree were good friends. They would talk long through the days, and in the nights when the moon would send its silver rays of light down and the green river would feel like a river of priceless stone.
    The green stream poured from the mountains in the east, but he zigzagged so far and wide that he seemed to be around every part of the land. As such, he knew a good deal of information. He and the little tree would talk endlessly about the affairs of the big folk, as they called Men. For it was Men that largely decided their fate. Men would chop trees or damn rivers, and other things would too of course, but for some reason Men were the most bothersome. The little tree did indeed fear Men, but he knew from the green river’s stories that Men were also kind. They planted trees, they tended to them, and they helped rivers… and even sailed upon them. To this end the green river and the little tree were very excited. They wanted to meet some big folk and talk to him, to learn of how they performed such great works.
    One day, with a late-summer’s wind sighing in a clump of reeds at a bend in the green river, where a duck family where resting after a long swim, something quite unusual and exciting happened.
    “I think someone is coming,” said the green stream in his sleek, gentle voice. And the two friends waited and listened to the trembles of the earth, which were too gentle to be a big person’s footfalls.
    “A badger, by the feel of him,” said the little tree to the green stream.
    “Aye,” responded the green stream.
    Indeed, a badger was afoot. He was a little bloke, but with a fairly matured coat. Sleek, fluffy, and rightly stripped it was. “Rightly strippt’ed oi am!” sung the badger as he walked through the undergrowth of the forest.
    “Rightly strippt’ed oi am, but don’t start tinkin’ I bisn’t cuddly!” This he said as he came upon the clearing where the little tree and green river awaited.
    “Howdy, blokes!” called the mischievous badger.
    “Quirdly, is that you?” asked the green river.
    “Bet your pebbles oi am, green river ol’ friend! But hush now, don’t get all excitorial, or whatever the word.”
    “Who are you, and what’s going on?” asked the little tree in a not impolite manner.
    “Quirdly’s the name, as I’ve just heard said. But we can do the formalities later, right? Okay, anyway, be quiet.”
    “Why?” asked the green river.
    “Just do this,” and the badger put his furry paw to his mouth.
    The little tree bent a tiny twig around to touch his trunk… not that this did much good, for the little tree could speak from any part of his body, for he possessed neither mouth nor vocal cords. What he possessed was something he called ‘the cuddly’.
    There came presently a gasp, like a stone being flung off a mountain into thin air. Whether one of the creatures present gave the sound, or not, may never be known. The reason for its exclamation is about to be described, mark you, dear reader.

    “Hurrawwl!” The cry came from the woods, and with it charged a figure tall and spindly, who shook the earth as a matador against a bull. The man, for it was a man, came brandished with a heavy club. This he carried in his right hand, which was stretched away from his body. The man was clothed in furs, and wore vast leather boots. He seemed to run, kicking up dirt and stones, but it was a strange run, even in the little tree’s eyes. The man was falling, and he fell with his head right at the base of the little tree. There were sticks in the man’s back, three of them, and from their points of injection bubbled forth a dark red substance.
    The little badger sat curled up, shaking, very near where the man’s club had smashed into the earth. Before the little badger could pull himself together, another sound interrupted the air. Bushes were being thrust aside, trees scrapped against, dirt flung places… and there could be heard the sound of metal clinking, which the little tree had never known before.
    Again from the forest came a man… he towered high like a bear on its rear legs. The little tree looked at him in absolute fear and in awe. Such a stranger… so fast… So thought the little tree. The newcomer looked first at the fallen man in the fur-coat, then to the little badger curled by the club, then to the green river, and finally to the little tree.
    The man whispered “This place is magical…”
    He rolled his right shoulder, which was covered in various plates of metal. He blinked his eyes, shadowed by a raised helmet-visor. He shifted his feet in the dirt, the metal of his boots scraping with the rocks. Then he lowered his left arm, to which was fixed a magnificent piece. A cross-bow, as it is known.
    “Damn fine bastard,” he said, and spit at the fallen man. “You should not have run.”
    Meanwhile the little badger had uncurled from his fit of fear, and scurried over to the little tree, climbed up his trunk, and sat cross-legged on one of the higher branches. The poor little tree was bent under the weight of even such a small creature.
    A rush… a flash, a clang of metal…. Some other man had sprung from the woods, and there he lay near the fur-clothed man, blood sprouting from his severed neck as though flowers were growing there. The man in the armor wiped the blood from his blade on the little tree’s trunk, then sheathed it in the back of the fur-clothed man.
    “Fools!” he roared, “Fools the lot of you to pursue me, you here?! Another one of you lays dead, fallen where I slew him with my neat blade. And know that it will not be so neat the next time it goes hunting. Thus I give my command… stay back!” His voice echoed around the mountains in the east, carried through the earth like a plague, vibrated it, and the little tree with the blood wiped on him felt sick.
    Suddenly the armored man fell to his knees on the corpses, and then he slumped his back against the little tree. His head looked up toward the sky, and his eyes closed peacefully. “I am so sorry, little one,” the man muttered. He wrapped his arms backwards, around the tree, and hugged it with great strength. Suddenly he jerked, the man did, and that was when the blood started coming from his lips. It flew quickly out like a spray from a waterfall, at first… then, as time went by, it became a small trickle. Yet all the while it came out, the man muttered things to the tree, like ‘I am sorry, little one.’ A few times he even yelled out, to that invisible foe that he had called to before. Ah, but when he did this, he seemed to go white and more blood would poor out for a moment. But he kept it up… he kept his insane activity until his time passed, until he lay as a near skeleton in the armor.
    No one came. No sound in the forest could be heard. The green river trickled gently, bathing the fear. A breeze sailed down from the fluffy clouds and rustled leaf and grass blade. The fur on the fallen men swayed to and fro like dark oceans.
    Quirdly found himself clinging by all fours to the white bark of the little tree. Now, he gave a small shudder and his whole body slumped down onto a branch with a thud. “Oof… Oh, oi’m afeerd that t’wasn’t vury pleasant.”
    The green river whispered agreement. His usually soft voice burdened with sadness.
    Quirdly dragged a paw over his brow. “Moi furz gone all puffy-likes as if’n oi was a porcupine!”
    The little tree felt something similar to a porcupine, writhing under his bark. He curled a small twig to stroke Quirdly’s belly. “Quirdly, did you know these big folk were coming?”
    Quirdly nodded his head glumly. “Yes, oi nearly got squashed and flattened under my log by them! I didn’t evers moven moi paws so fast before. Oim never going backs to my log now; stayin’ up here in a nest oi will!”
    “In a nest?” queried the little tree, curiously.
    “Yes, uss’n badgers are good at makin’ nests in gurst trees like you. They make vury good homes they do.”
    The little tree imagined what it would be like to have Quirdly living on him... it would make him feel very good to have another friend to speak to. “How big will your nest be?”
    “Oh, we usually make them four times the size of uss’ns,” he stretched his paws out as far as he could, “’bout this size, see? ‘N layered in moss ‘n leaves ‘n bark and vury cuddly they are! ’N they make awfully gud storage fer morsels (which uss’n badgers are vury fond of, ‘specially ee berries ‘n pinecones). Oiz thinkin’ thos’ons people down there are loaded with good nest stuffs.”
    Quirdly titled his head up and took a sniff of the air. He suddenly wrinkled his nose and scrunched his face in disgust. “Oh, but the smell t’won’t be comforting to moi gurst nose.”
    “Do the humans make this stench?” asked the little tree.
    “Oi yes, thems certainly do,” said Quirdly. “They musst’n ‘av taken thurr baths… an’ oi thinks thems givin’ off the stench o’ fear too.”
    The little tree didn’t smell. He tasted the air in his bark. The powerful scent tasted foul to him. He felt heat seeping away from the man clad in armor. His blood was splattered about, saturating the ground, and the little tree could taste the peculiar flavor in his roots and bark.
    “I can taste him…” he whispered.
    Now, he felt the very life essence of the man draining straight into him, and he wanted to get away… to lift himself out of the ground… to run on legs as the men had. The thought sent little trembles through his trunk.
    “The big folk return to the earth now,” said the green river. “I shall wash some of the blood away.” The little tree’s friend swelled up until his waters glided over the grassy banks and splashed the ground around the base of the tree. A tongue of water licked the little tree’s bark clean. The water was tinted red as it receded, leaving behind cleansed ground. “The feel of their energy is very strong,” said the green river. “It will pass on to many creatures.”
    “The smell is much better now, it is!” exclaimed Quirdly. He scampered along a branch and leapt nimbly to the ground. “Oiz thinkin’ oi will start makin’ moi nest now.” With that, he began pawing at a piece of heavy dark metal armor. “Gurstedly good floor material this’n iss,” he muttered to himself.
    Overhead, the sun was beginning to travel downward. The sky was a brilliant light blue, filled with massive tumbling clouds. The little tree and the green river knew these clouds meant a storm was coming.
    “Quirdly, a storm will be coming tomorrow afternoon, by the looks of those clouds,” said the little tree. He surveyed the bank of white in the horizon. “It will be a strong one. You should make your nest fast.”
    “Oh, oi certainly wills!” Quirdly replied, and speedily began assorting things that caught his eye: metal, a few leather straps, a chainmail glove, some red feathers, a piece of dark blue fabric, a bunch of reeds from the bank of the green river…
    As he scurried hither and thither, he was jabbering excitedly to himself, talking about the many great plans he had for this and that. “Oi, yess’ns, this will makes on vury gud chimney fer moi nest!” He now held a small ivory horn in both paws. He wobbled around with it precariously, as it was nearly the same size as him. “Gursted, ‘tis nearly as big as oi am. Oi wonders what it is… Oh wells, nests needs chimneys regardless of what’n they are made of, if’n they are to have proper cookin’ pots a’workin’ in thems.”
    “What’s a chimney?” wondered the little tree.
    “Chimneys arrz gurst ventilations fer on steambuleez, or whatever yons are called that come from cookin’ pots. Good badger nests do need them, yes they do.”
    The little tree was curious about what cookin’ pots were, but he decided to postpone his question.
    The green river interjected helpfully, “Your chimney looks like a horn, Quirdly. Big folk once made a camp along my waters far to the west of here, and they had one. They made a great noise with it, like a hundred crashing waterfalls and a thousand crying birds.”
    Quirdly gazed in fresh admiration at his future chimney. His eyes sparkled and he pawed at it with glee.
    “You make the sound by blowing into the small end,” advised the green river.
    Quirdly immediately put his little mouth to the small end, and blew…
    “DEWWW-WOOOO!!” It sang. An echo sang back, “DEW-WOO!”
    A flock of birds from a nearby grove of pine trees was startled and took to the air.
    Quirldy beamed with pride. He performed a little dance on his hind paws. “Gosh, this’uns will do vury noicely!”
    A mischevious look came over him, and he put his mouth to the horn and blew another fierce note. “DEWW-WOOOOO!!” the horn called out. Another echo answered back.
    “Hmm,” Quirdly postulated, “Oi wonders what happens if’n Ois blow likes this…” The little badger puffed out his cheeks and tried making another sound with the horn. “BURRR-OOOOOO!!” the horn sang. “BUR-OO!” came an echo. Quirdly giggled.
    The little tree liked the sound. It felt strong and friendly. He was also curious about the echo, which he had never heard before, because sounds as loud as the horn had not come to this land in his lifetime. “Why did it make two noises?” he asked.
    “Oi thinks it must have a bruthur out thurs,” answered Quirdly. “Mayhaps we best go ‘n search fer him when oiz finish moi nest?”
    The little tree tilted his trunk in a nod. He wanted to go exploring. He could practically feel his roots rising up out of the soil and swiftly propelling him on to an adventure. “I would love to accompany you, Quirdly.”
    “Oi, goodz. Oi will needs moi nest to come with oi, oh yes oi will. When oi foinds ‘is bruthur then oi can have two chimneys!” The small badger looked delighted.
    Now, he had a sizeable pile of nest materials. He began to haul them up the tree in huge armloads. The little tree barely held back a giggle at his comical appearance. He lowered a branch for the badger to climb on.
    “Thank ee. Oi will make moi nest right here, if yons don’t moind,” he said, and plopped a bundle down in the crook of two branches at the little trees midrift.
    “I don’t mind. That’s a very good place,” said the little tree happily. Quirdly’s little paws felt good on his bark.
    “Alrighty, oi’ll be strappin’ this here right on loiks this.” He set to work setting up the floor for his nest.
    Suddenly, a sound carried across the air from the north… “DWOOOO-DEW-WOOO!!”
    Quirdly froze, his fur standing on end. Fear and wonder coursed through him. What was that? He scrutinized his horn suspiciously. “Did you…?” he hesitated, realizing his chimney hadn’t made the noise. He gazed out over the north woodlands where the sound had come from.
    “Oh, that must be yons bruthur a callin’ fer yons.”
    The green river hummed in a thoughtful manner. “Quirdly, I think one of the big folk made that sound with another horn. He probably believes your chimney was being blown by the big one you took it from. I heard that the Big Folk use chimn- I mean, horns, to send messages…”
    The three friends wondered what messages had been sent back and forth. Had they unwillingly sent some kind of a message to men? If so, what was it? Would men come here, looking for the three men that now were returning their energies to the earth? Then, what would they do?
    The green river was a very long and winding river, his waters stretching far. Some of his stretches flowed as swift as a gale wind, and others trickled peacefully. There was not much that escaped his notice… and presently, down one of his many streams, he noticed activity. He shared his findings. “Friends, I can sense big folk. They are to the north of here, where the sound came from. There are five of them and they ride on the backs of strange four-legged creatures.”
    “Four-legged? Them’s sound loik mighty gurst large badgers, if’n they support ee on big folks!” exclaimed Quirdly.
    “If they are badgers, they are very strange,” replied the green river. “They have no fur except on their tails and necks and they have long and thin legs.”
    “Hmm… thems don’t sound loiks badgers. Mayhaps thems be dog beasts?”
    “Perhaps, but they are much taller...”
    The green river focused his energies on the little stream. He knew many things, but he was puzzled by these creatures that were now splashing through his waters with hooves clad in metal. One of the men called out a word and gave a pull on some straps that led to the creatures head, and the creature stopped. The man stroked its side, and whispered something inaudible; the creature lowered its head and began to drink from the green river. The other men bid their creatures to do the same. Some of the green river’s essence faded with every sip. The feel of the creature was very foreign, but pleasant. “The creatures are friendly.”
    “How do you know?” asked the little tree.
    “I can feel their essence. They are gentle.”
    Suddenly, the green river noticed that one man held an ivory horn. “Quirdly, your chimney’s brother is with the big folk, and they are bringing him towards us.”
    Quirdly scurried to the top of the little tree. He raised a paw to shade his eyes from the sun, and gazed out over the rolling landscape. “Oi can’t sees them. Where arz they?”
    The green river responded, “Do you see the hill with the large oak on it? They are to the right of it.”
    “Oi do sees the hill with ee oaker, but oi don’t sees them… moi gurst badger eye’s bees good., but ee gurst too fars off. Shall I send them a message with my chimney?”
    The little tree did not see why not. “Go for it, Quirdly.”
    The young badger scampered down to his nest and retrieved his chimney. He gave a powerful blast with it. “BERRRRR!!!”
    The strange sound startled Quirdly. “Oi, that was ee peculiar sound.”
    It was followed by a distant echo. “His bruthur!” Quirdly exclaimed, and gave another blow. “BERR-OOOOOOO!!”
    The sound carried off over the treetops, and the echo rang back. The green river sensed that the big folk had heard the sound. They appeared very alert. Suddenly, they began yelling and slapping their mounts. The creatures hastened into action, charging forward as fast as a flying bird, leaving the green river’s waters behind. “They come swiftly!” said the green river.
    As they faded from his senses, he saw one of the men raise his horn to his mouth. He blew, and the sound careened across the land. “DOOOOOOOO!!”
    An echo answered it. Quirdly was puzzled by the echo. “Ee must have anuther bruthur,” he decided.
    The little tree thought back on what the armor-clad man had said before life left him. He seemed to have been daring other big folk to come. He had told the little tree that he was sorry. Why did he say that? The little tree wondered. Had he done something terribly wrong? “What do you know of this big one,” the little tree asked the green river, gesturing with a twig to the man clad in armor.
    “I have not seen his face before,” responded the green river gently. “But, the symbol on his chest plate is familiar.”
    Indeed, there was a symbol on the man’s chest plate. It was a gold engraving that depicted three overlapping swords. They were each different; one had a straight double blade, another had a single curved blade, and the other was like the first but it had a three-pronged tip. The swords were encircled by a golden halo.
     
  11. The Panda

    The Panda

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    Update

    It was six in the morning, the sky had just began to sprout its wings. As Arthas and his troops have already started there journey towards enemy bases. Each of Arthas's soliders are very well trained and ready for anything that comes there way. As they advance through the wilderness towards there destination they encounter a band of creeps awaiting a fight. Running towards the enemy creeps, a archer unleashes his arrow and fires it towards a solider. The solider got his shield and protected himself from the firing arrow. Shortly after that, Arthas's army too over the band of creeps as they destroy them with every swing.
    Cleaning the blood off there swords, Arthas thinks were to hit next on his journey. As he thinks, a traveler in the mist arrives with a note. He gives the not too Arthas. It reads “Dear Arthas, this is your father speaking. I need you to come back home to take care of your mother, she is very il and I cant be there for her. Sincerely, Garoth.”
    At this time Arthas doesn't know what to do, go on his journey or help his mother. As he decides, his soldiers say “My lord, go to see your mother, well take care of the enemy bases” Arthas is shocked of what he is hearing, he says “My soldiers you are quite strong and ready for anything, but im not sure if your ready for what beholds in front of you.”
    As the soldiers say “As that may be true my lord, we are yours to serve and yours to control.” We shall move on with our journey as I will contact my mother when I hit a town hall near by. The soliders say “Right away my lord” Arthas's troops and himself restart there journey towards enemy bases. Each solider thinking about whats going to happen ahead, they see a undead ghoul in the distance. After awhile it disappears in the forest, As Arthas says “Stand high troops, dont let them scare you.”
    As the soldiers say “We will obey my lord.” The army moves on with there journey. Using there strength to get up the hill, each solider helps one another gain up the steep hill. Soon later, they have gotten on top of the hill. Continuing there journey towards the enemy bases, Arthas begins finding the location of the Town Hall to contact his mother. They see the Town Hall behind some trees ahead. Arthas says “My soldiers, wait here. I will return shortly.” The soldiers say “Right my lord.”
    As the soliders wait patiently, The king makes his way towards the headquarters in the Town Hall. He finds his buddy “La'krea” they both introduce themselves, as they sit and talk, Arthas says “Sir id love to chat but I have to call my mother as she is very il.” La'krea says “Right my friend I understand I will see you some time.” After that, Arthas had called his mother. He found out she is doing fine and she is resting at home.
    He was very happy to hear such words. Shortly after he rushed outside to find his soliders awaiting him. As Arthas says “Soldiers stand high! I found out my mother is doing fine and she is resting, also I got word from my friend “La'krea” that the enemy bases we were going too where already overrun by the orc forces. So now we shall head towards the runic highlands an hour away too ambush the orcs.” The soldiers say “Right away my lord.” Arthas and his army advances towards the runic highlands for the ambush. Each solider is ready and armored for battle.
    15 minutes away from where they are headed, in the distance they see an orc warrior chanting “Victory!” “Victory!” A soldier throws a throwing knife at the orc, missing him by an inch. That one knife had just started the War of Nazareth. Arthas's army charges upward toward the orc warrior. The orc warrior rushes away towards his army behind the forest. Both forces look at each other, willing to do anything to survive. Everyone is still, no one is moving. Awaiting the right time for that one attack. Each side staring deeply at each other, after that short dilemma the orc leader “Malak” stared walking towards the human forces. Malak says “So you humans think you can walk on our grounds? No no I dont think so.” Arthas says “You little orcs have no land of yours, this land is ours and will not be overrun by you dumb orcs.” Malak says “Haha, your funny human. We orcs have much more power than you, we will take over anything we please.” Arthas says “Lets watch and see, shall we?” Arthas returns to his troops, as Malak returns to his. After a split second each of the forces rush towards each other in raging hate. “Charge!” says Arthas and Malak. As the skys fill with blood the ground trembles with agony. Swords flying, bodys falling. This day is coming to an end as each team is tiring down as we speak. As the battle still goes on, a creature of the name “Furion” appears in the distance. Furion says “Stop this mindless violence, this isn't anyones land but mother nature itself, you will accomplish nothing by killing people.” The battle stops tremendously. Arthas says “Now how do you know that? This land is anyones for the taking.” Furion says “As you may not know I am the dweller of the land you stand on now, and as this battle goes on this land is being hurt by your little swords and blood spilled bodys.” Arthas says “This may be true my friend, as this is your land now but it is ours in battle.” Furion says “As you wish my human friend.” Shortly after the speech, the battle starts again. Each side losing soliders at an enormous rate. The humans are pushing there way through the orcs with tremendous force. As the orcs fall, the humans are one step closer to victory. The battle is almost at the end, as the humans are overpowering the orcs. Arthas finishes off Malak as the humans begin to win. Malak says his last words “You humans will never take over this land.. uhh.” Arthas says “We shall and we will, be gone with you!” Arthas slices Malak's throat. Minutes after the human forces gather there wounded, to bring too the nearest town for medicine and proper resting. On there way towards the nearest town they encountered Arthas's friend “La'krea” again. La'krea says “Arthas come quick! I got word that more undead bases have been spotted upon Autumn Hills just by the Kuric River!” Arthas says “Right, soliders! Gather up, we have got a battle on our hands.” Follow me Arthas, says La'krea. Arthas, La'krea, and there soliders head towards the undead bases for the final battle between good and evil. Traveling through the forest, making there way towards there destination, when a mysterious creature appeared. As the creature says “My name is Illidan, you may not pass through this forest.” Arthas says “We will pass, but we have to go through you frist.” Illidan says “Do you think you will defeat me that easy? Haha.” Suddenly, Illidan summons four demons then disappears into the wind. Arthas commands his soliders to fight the four furious demons that stand in front of him.
    As the soliders continue to find the demons, Arthas looks for traces of the Illidan creature they once saw. Finishing off the demons, Arthas calls his soliders over. Lets go, we dont have time to sit here and wait, Arthas says. Arthas and La'krea continue to the undead bases, as they watch there surroundings.


    I wish there was something else we could put our submissions in, because this is quite a little space.
     
    Last edited: Feb 13, 2010
  12. CaoSong

    CaoSong

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    yea... I'm still wondering if I can snake by with my 5,501 words >.<; want to know now if I have to re-write it somewhat to make it shorter
     
  13. Traxamillion

    Traxamillion

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    Since its a rough draft your fine but, for the final your probably going to have to stay within the limit.
     
  14. idodik

    idodik

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    I noticed several mistakes in your story:
    Nothing says what happened as they started their journey.
    I would recommend writing "The soldier, which had his shield, blocked the arrow which was fired at him".
    Wut. Perhaps it's took over? And perhaps you should change "destroyed them with every swing" to "weakened them with every swing", and also, with every swing of what?

    Sadly, this is just about the first paragraph.
    Please don't get me wrong, your impressions in the story are very interesting, but the grammar here and there lower their level.
     
  15. Phoonix

    Phoonix

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    Shoot... i totally forgot about this oO. well I'll have to drop out :/ no inspiration anymore and I'm just way to busy...
     
  16. TwistedImage

    TwistedImage

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    That'd be the soldier who had his shield. If you're gonna use which, you have to use its as well, which looks quite silly in that context.
     
  17. idodik

    idodik

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    Example? I want to be sure of what you mean.
     
  18. TwistedImage

    TwistedImage

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    "The soldier, which had his shield, blocked the arrow which was fired at him".

    Now, since you're using the word "which," using the word "his" along with it is wrong seeing as our dear subject is a human(oid). If you use "which," you have to use "its" instead of "his" afterwards. Regardless, using "which" and "its" about a human(oid) isn't correct.

    Now, you don't have to overcomplicate your language either. A simple way to avoid any errors is to simply type "The soldier blocked the arrow with his (insert adjective here) shield."
     
  19. RoleplayingKing

    RoleplayingKing

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    Aw..I would enter but I don't want to have to do something based on lore D:
     
  20. idodik

    idodik

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    Ahh, here we go. I went over the story and corrected some mistakes or things that weren't clear. I might go over it again or change something due to feedback, but if I don't this would be my final version of the story.
    Battle of the Two Hills

    Battle of the Two Hills
    By idodik
    The battle was at its peak, and Garthul Shadowblade swung his mighty blade and split three human footmen in half. They were pathetic for him, after all those years of training that he excelled in, and because of something else. Garthul nearly began to ponder how fortunate he was when more footmen came striding to attack. He used an old blademaster trick: he merely split his image and let them lunge at his copies while he attacked them from the back. It wasn't difficult; he was vengeful after what their leader, Silthar, did to the orcs after the death of his precious Admiral Proudmoore. Garthul spilled more human blood: His entire family went out to fight them but that human slaughtered them one by one… But he's not going to fail, not with what Thrall himself has given him.
    More footsteps at his back, and he turned to greet three knights charging at him, but this time he heard some friendly calls from the opposite direction, and Moojis, a Far Seer, smote them down with his chain lightning. He had been fighting for hours now and had already adapted to the changing tide of battle. He jumped on Moojis's wolf and they rushed down the battlefield, joining tens of orcs that were fighting against the human treachery. As they rode Garthul smote down four footmen that jumped at them, and then he felt as if his hand was burning. He did not drop his blade but suddenly felt weakness, and swayed on the wolf. His hand rose in the air, uncontrollable, shaking and surrounded by strange red energy, and fired a bolt of scarlet: at first at nothing, but soon a mage appeared out of nowhere, screaming with pain, dropped to the ground, and was soon trampled to his end.
    Garthul regained control but was still shocked. He did not pay much attention to the awkward sensation that he had gone through, but thought: invisibility? He did not believe that Silthar allowed this; after all Silthar was known as a jealous warrior that never used magic and believed only in the blade. Few orcs had rumored that he called mages to serve him, but Garthul denied their words and claimed they were deceived. Now it turns out he was the one being deceived… He himself had participated in the assault on Proudmoore's castle so he remembered Silthar's face, but the foolish human general had escaped and claimed Theramore Isle as his, despite his cowardice in battle.
    It had been only a week, and Garthul forgot how unexpected Silthar was.
    Moojis stopped his wolf and called back to Garthul, "Who was it?"
    "Mages", Garthul grunted, still shocked from the incident.
    Moojis fell from his wolf, and shouted at Garthul, "Don't you say that word for nothing!" Moojis had been burned by one in his childhood, in the earlier battles for Durotar. It was the only thing he spoke unkindly of.
    Garthul stumbled and landed shaken on the ground. "I'm not joking, Moojis. I think that mage was about to kill us".
    Moojis stopped rumbling for a moment, and stared at him. Garthul could read the deep anxiety on his face, and asked, "Do you think he knows about Garkarath?"
    Moojis returned to earth and said, "No, that's unlikely, but it's still dangerous – he probably just fears those fighting skills of yours and wants you killed to complete the series".
    Garthul looked thankfully at Garkath, the small scarlet-black ring that just saved his life. "If so, let him come forth. I'll crush him."
    "Don't let yourself fly into his arms; he may have an ambush waiting for you. He might not know about your ring but he probably has some scam waiting anyway".
    Garthul nodded. Sometimes bloodlust needs to make way for thinking ahead.
    "Let's split up: you help the troops and I'll follow deep behind. That way when the time comes I'll be able to show up and kill that stupid human".
    Moojis smiled and said, "Acceptable. Take care".
    "Go! I'll be waiting".

    He watched as the far seer mounted his wolf, encouraged it to charge and moved away from sight. He saved Garthul from killing himself in various opportunities: suicidal operations, helpless situations, each in another way. Moojis's wisdom was a one to behold, and even Thrall called him often to his throne to hear his advice. As he stood there alone he thought to himself, you bet you can leave him alone to do his job well. And so, when he waited for the right time to charge, he looked down at his left hand.

    It was covered by blood-red tattoos and marks, some of them actually carved into his flesh. He had never understood the runes that were marked upon them, but he knew what they meant: demonic embrace. Garkarath, Shard of Darkness, was an orcish myth from the long gone days in which orcs marched into Azeroth through the Dark Portal, and was rumored to be an heirloom from orcs that became demons themselves, their power granted from this sacred artifact. The everlasting chain of owners that killed each other to gain its trust would have lasted until today, if Archimonde, that couldn’t put the ring on but feared its power, destroyed the orc that wielded it and caused it to fling through the dark portal into Azeroth, passing out of any knowledge for centuries. Now that the orcs had grown independent, they have mysteriously found the ring lying at the exact location that they planned to build the Orgrimmar fortress, and the first one that put it on was killed in bloody screams of pain. It was thought at first to be cursed, and the situation wouldn't have been changed if Drek'thar hadn't noticed the demonic symbols on it. He took to studying it in private, and when he understood what it was Thrall was quickly informed. Everyone thought that Thrall would wield it, but Drek'thar discovered soon enough that the initial physical strength and endurance requirements (the bloody tattoos and marks), which were made to be very powerful, are shamefully too demanding for Thrall and that he would not survive them. Thrall said that he couldn't risk the price since he has to lead his nation, and so the searches for a fitting wielder begun, ending with him, Garthul Shadowblade. He was meant to be the secret weapon of the Horde, and none but Moojis and the orcs in high command truly knew what his tattooed arm meant.

    He suddenly stirred from his trance, and looked around him. Orcish troops were still passing by the masses to the main battlefield, which had advanced forwards, and he watched them go and let a last wonder about Garkarath loose in his head: the ring gave him tremendous strength and agility but made him somehow lighter, which explains him riding on Moojis's wolf without making it collapse or slow down, not to mention the capability of firing bolts of scarlet, like the one that recently saved his life. Still, Garthul remembered Drekthar's words to him telling him that the full effects of the ring will only reveal themselves in time. He did not want to think what they would be, and what power and responsibility they brought with them. He focused only on the thought of his enemy waiting for him.
    Lightning flashed in his eyes, and he groped his blade. The nearby troops paused and looked at him, and he cried: "For Durotar!" and charged with them following him. He was yet again prepared to battle.

    Garthul advanced through the battlefield with the troops behind him, and as he approached the heat of battle he roared and leapt into the mass of soldiers. A blood-red flash and two were killed; five were knocked back and crashed to the ground. None of those stood to face him, and he turned to attack the other humans. He slashed them with growing fury inside him, and felt his left hand fill with sudden warmth. With a sudden determination inside him he stopped slashing for a moment, and stuck the ring in his opponent's eye hole in bloodlust. The footman screamed and shouted, tortured, but soon caught fire from the blazing hot fury of Garkarath. Garthul was beginning to enjoy this newfound way of killing when a fireball burned its way above his ear. With a fury that he hasn't experienced before Garthul withdrew his left hand from the burning human's eye, not caring if he will die or not, and punched with it in the air towards the origin of the fireball, which appeared as another human mage that fell screaming to his knees. This time, he thought surprised, he controlled his movements, but in great speed. Garthul was beginning to grow impatient with Silthar and tired of his mages when a bright armored knight appeared at the top of the hill ahead, a noble horse carrying him.

    His armor was brandished as if he never fought a battle with it, although Garthul recognized it from the assault on Theramore immediately; golden shoulder pads and belt, blue boots and gauntlets and a banner on his cape. His helmet had golden edges and wings as a symbol of the Alliance. His sword shone in the sun as he pulled it out of its sheath and lifted it up, and all of the humans gave a sudden cry and gained their courage.

    He had forgotten how pathetic Silthar was.

    Garthul slashed five times and four footmen came falling down before him, one wounded twice; he wanted to end Silthar's life before his friends began to exhaust themselves fighting. He charged to the small gap created by the death of the humans, and that's when Silthar noticed him.
    "Have at him!" He cried, "Let not this beast see another day!"
    Garthul raised his blade with caution as the humans caught sight of him and started advancing in his direction, and suddenly felt the bloodlust in his mind grow to a peak. His skull seemed to pulse with abnormal power and his body shivered but seemed to be more aware of its might than possible. His eyes grew bloodshot with fury as the images of his family returned to his eyes, screaming, fearful and tortured, and Moojis words, "Don’t fall into his hands", were suddenly meaningless.
    Today, my brothers, he thought, you will be avenged.

    (...)
    Silthar Sacredmane saw the one enemy he truly feared before him. Thrall was no threat for now, and even if he came it would be an honored death, but this creature would surely torture him as revenge to what he himself did to its family. The creature had just killed three of his soldiers without a blink and now seemed to advance forward. This vermin cannot threaten us anymore, he thought. His raised blade seemed to be shimmering instead of glowing.
    "Have at him!" He cried, "Let not this beast see another day!"
    He saw his forces closing in on the orc and was pleased to see that many of the creature's allies withdrew at this sight, afraid that they might be also killed. He began to ponder in what way that creature will die when its eyes and left arm began to glow blood-scarlet, and its figure was blurred by a blood-red flash. He did not see its movement clearly but it was clear that his people were struck dead one by one. The closest row to the creature backed away fearfully but they were too late- soon their heads were thrown from the immense impact of the blade on their bodies. Silthar went pale and called for his mages, but soon he discovered the corpse of the mage that shot the fireball at Garthul previously, and was filled with fear. Whatever this was, he thought, it was not orc anymore.
    (...)

    Garthul did not notice his allies and his enemies alike staring at him open mouthed and was not aware of the changes happening in his enemy until he heard him cry "Retreat! Spare your lives – we will fight them near the camp!" and headed down the other side of the hill. In a blink he seemed to fly there, and found Silthar on his horse, which was galloping in fright to the camp located near the faraway shore. He was alone, armed with but a blade and a ring, he thought. Nothing could make the death of this human more humiliating.

    He charged at the fleeing humans, striking every piece of flesh that he caught in range and left their owners dead or alive, only to maintain eye contact with that coward. Silthar's followers soon noticed him and fled to different directions, just not to let that monstrosity get any closer to them. Silthar was left alone at last, and the chase continued: through narrow passes between trees, down slopes and ledges they jumped, Garthul splitting every human that got in reach. Garthul pursued him without mercy and did not lose much distance; he knew only the horse in front of him. As they approached another ledge Silthar looked back at him, and something told him that Silthar was not a doomed man yet, but he did not know why. Silthar hurried to jump the ledge, and just then Garthul heard somehow the small sound of a bow's string being stretched to its breaking point, and he had enough time to let the word "Ambush" echo in his mind before he jumped off himself.

    Garthul rose in the air and saw the arrows being launched at him, and as time slowed down he swung his sword and hit two off their course. Suddenly he felt a stab in his lower body, and realized that one of the arrows had pierced him just when he thought he was invincible. Slowly time returned to normal and Garthul landed heavily on the ground and collapsed.

    Silthar stopped his horse and dismounted it, and turned towards Garthul in a tormenting gesture. Garthul attempted to swing his blade but his arm shook in pain and he seemed to shrink somehow. Silthar seemed marveled at his victory, or perhaps his cheat, thought Garthul, and was filled with desire to rip his face off his head, but was once again struck with pain.
    "So comes your end, filthy being," Silthar said, "You have ended many brave lives with your lust of slaying, but you shall wield a blade no more".

    He stepped forward and the archers gathered around him. Garthul felt lonely for an odd reason, like a part of him that had stormed earlier was now resting, and understood that the rampage that he had awakened earlier could not last forever. As Silthar neared with his archers ready to fire him if he resisted, he realized how much weaker and more vulnerable he was without the effects of Garkarath, his ring, but despite that decided that he would not give up without a fight. He saw his family before his eyes again. Silthar was now at three arms' length from him, and Garthul desperately gathered the remainder of his own strength in order to die as a hero, and then several things happened at once.

    Silthar was already beside Garthul, and as he rose his blade to smite the final strike Garthul focused all the energies in his hand and pulled out the arrow that pierced his waist, and stood up, completely ignoring the tremendous pain searing in his body. As he raised his eyes to look at his killer he heard the sound of lightning behind him, and in a flash every human collapsed dead to the floor. It took Garthul a moment to absorb this, and then he grunted and said, "looks like I owe you another one, Moojis," and felt his strength waver, but what caused him to black out was the deep voice, much deeper than Moojis's, that said, "Come, Garthul, we need to talk".

    (...)
    Garthul was now sitting in the hall of Thrall, which was now pacing back and forth in the room, and which saved him from the wrath of Silthar, being a far seer himself. He felt very thankful and slightly confused, and also a little guilty. Moojis was also there, sitting in the corner and smoking his pipe thoughtfully. Garthul wanted to review the last events of the day again.
    "I wish to understand again… Moojis, you say you were the one that alerted the Warchief, but why?"
    "As I saw you burst in fury and striking every ounce of flesh in sight I thought perhaps it would be safer if we kept you a secret. You don't know to control your power yet and you are a danger to yourself as well as to others, as we have seen."
    Moojis stopped smoking for a moment and looked at Garthul thoughtfully, then returned to his smoking.
    Thrall said, "I have no offense for bloodlust to be our main motive to destroy our enemies, but your case was exceptional. Would you have released some greater demonic spell that lies in that ring, the security of Durotar would have been risked: perhaps you would've summoned some fiend that you couldn't have controlled, or perhaps even summoned demons."
    Garthul felt the guilt in his veins again. It was a sensation which he nearly and didn't meet, and better so, he thought. "I only did what I was instructed," he attempted to justify.
    Moojis smiled. "As the Warchief said, you are an exception. Whoever has to take the blame is not important right now, as he intend to keep you active… But in different ways."
    Garthul raised his look enthusiastically to confirm with Thrall the thrilling news, and Thrall nodded. He nearly feared a death penalty or that his ring will be taken from him, so the news was very relieving.
    Garthul asked, "How will I be serving you, Warchief?"
    Thrall turned towards him, and said: "As you know the battle has been covered in complete secrecy: The Alliance, that has claimed Theramore after Silthar's death, asked me to hide this shameful battle from history, and I agreed, since it would both ensure our Non Aggression Pact with the Alliance and hide the presence of you from history. Now that the fight with the Humans is over I have time to try and deal with the many other enemies we have, for example the centaurs, remaining scourge etc., and in this you will be very useful".
    Garthul looked both at his friend and his leader. They both were confident in his secrecy and in its usefulness, so I should play along, he thought. The life that expected him now could possibly erase the shame of the murder of his family, and be, so he thought, a new beginning.

    (...)
    Garthul Shadowblade's existence was wiped off the map, as was the entire battle's: the history books were to say that the alliance claimed Theramore immediately after Proudmoore's death, and many were to believe it. In order to maintain the secrecy of Garthul's existence, all of the soldiers that saw him outrage in battle were executed or banished to their death. In the ten years that followed Moojis was mysteriously killed, some say by Garthul's vengeful hunger, and the constant contact that Orgrimmar had with Garthul had been lost. His story is counted as a legend to be told by storytellers, as is his destiny – perhaps he has devoted himself to his new purpose, and will stand against the cataclysm of Azeroth, or has been given a new one, like secretly bodyguarding the Warchief, or perhaps he has been called by the demonic voice of Garkarath to its roots of Outland. Only time will tell.

    EDIT:
    RoleplayingKing, I'm telling my own story and it's barely affected by the lore, only limited by it. ^^ If you really want to write a story of your own, you could just invent some way it's connected to the lore.

    And TwistedImage, thanks for explaining! I understand now.
     
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