Story & Lore Mini-Contests ~ Reincarnation of a Dead Soldier

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Scrapped!
This is the story of a fallen warrior, seeking only vengeance.
Almost half of the story was around the final fight and there are possibly a few plot holes I need to fill up.
In the world of Lyret, many a war takes place from time to time. Many heroes rose up and died fighting for what they believe.
In the year 701, in the midst of another war, in the kingdom of Syrmes, "To all of you, fight with honor and glory", proclaimed King Geffa to his warriors.
Larde, the Champion of Syrmes, engraved these words to his heart as he went of and prepared himself for war. He wore his bronze battle armor and readied his twin blades. After he was finished with his preparations, he went to meet his fellow warriors.
"Now is the time! My warriors, follow me! To War!" roared Larde as he marched on towards the battlefield. Many warriors followed him, believing he would lead them to victory.
In the battlefield Larde killed anyone who would oppose him. He charged furiously, swinging his swords with both power and agility. No soldier of Edhias could match him. Larde, with his band of soldiers, broke through enemy lines one after another.
"We are being annihilated!" yelled one soldier of Edhias as he tried to run away. "Cowards!" roared with a mighty voice by a bulky soldier wielding a spear.
"Vemdalls, the champion of Edhias?" whispered one soldier. "We are saved!" said another. Vemdalls confronted Larde and his band of warriors.
"So you are the ones breaking through my line of warriors." said calmly by Vemdalls as he prepared his lance.
"I find no reason to answer your question." replied Larde as he took up his twin blades.
The two warriors fought one on one. Larde swiftly attacked Vemdall but his attacks were easily repelled by Vemdall. Vemdall swung his lance and Larde managed to dodge it just in time. Larde sent another barrage of attacks from his twin blades. Vemdall had a hard time repelling his attacks but he managed to block each. Larde's twin blades shined and sent a shockwave of energy unto Vemdall. Vemdall quickly erected a barrier to stop the attack. "So you also possess magic, we can fight equally then." said Vemdall.
"This guy is unbelievable, he manages to fight Larde on equal footing" said one of Larde's companions.
Vemdall summoned a malicious force of energy on his lance. Vemdall then prepared for his next attack.
Larde was intimidated by the dark energy that swirled around Vemdall's lance.
"This strike... will be the last!" said Vemdall in a calm voice. He then swiftly moved his lance and swung it towards Larde. Larde managed to deflect it but Vemdall quickly changed the direction of his lance. After completing a complete circle from his lance, he thrusted his lance towards Larde. Larde, unable to fully block the attack, was pierced in the heart.
Silence emerged from both sides. Silence out of awe and shock.
"It...cannot...end...like...this." said Larde as he fell.
"It's over for you!" Vemdall said as he did the final blow.
Larde's allies made a hasty retreat after seeing their champion fall before the enemy.
"The champion of the enemy has fallen! It is time to strike back my warriors!" roared proudly by Vemdall.
"Is this how it will end? Lying defeated and betrayed. Forever lost in the field of battle, unable to fulfill my duties?" Larde thought to himself as he died.
After Vemdall and his warriors left, two mysterious people came by and saw Larde's dead body.
"He is the Champion of Syrmes, is he not?" asked a mysterious voice.
"Indeed, he is." answered another.
"Then we shall make use of him." said the mysterious voice as shadows of dark energy enveloped Larde's dead body.
"Now rise and serve me!" continued the mysterious voice.
Larde's dead body rose up and he regained his consciousness. "What happened...I...I can't remember anything..." Larde said as he stood up.
"It seems like his memories have forsaken him" whispered the mysterious voice's companion.
"This would make things easier" replied the mysterious voice.
He saw the source of the voices and asked "Who are you?"
"I am Nerudein, your new master" said the source of the voice as he introduced himself.
"And I am his humble servant, Nefas." said the other source as he continued their introduction
"My...master?" Larde whispered to himself, as he wondered what happened.
"I can't remember anything..." Larde continued.
"First, I will tell you who you are, you are Larde, former champion of Syrmes. At least you were before they betrayed you and left you behind after you were defeated." Nerudein told him.
"Betrayed..." Larde murmured to himself. "How about you? what is your purpose for... reincarnating me?" Larde asked Nerudein cautiously.
"I believe I already told you my reason, you are to serve me."
"And if I refuse?" Larde answered
"I believe you don't have much of a choice" replied Nerudein as he glared at the newly risen warrior and raised his staff.
"Fine then, I will serve you, but to what end? What is it that you seek?" Larde replied as he said to what only came to his cornered and dead mind.
"You are to help me build my empire... an empire for the risen dead." Nerudein answered. "You will become the champion of Necros and help me crush the kingdoms of Syrmes and Edhias" the necromancer continued.
"What is it that you seek from them?" Larde asked
"Vengeance. Vengeance for the betrayal they had done to me..." Nerudein answered with a voice filled with hatred as he crushed the rocks near him with his fists.
"My lord, I believe we have wasted too much time here." Nefas said worriedly
"Then let us loose time no more" Nerudein replied "Come, my champion, let us find more dead to serve us." he continued as he faced Larde.
"Yes" Replied Larde
They followed the trail of war and raised the dead, one after another while still remaining concealed in the eyes of the living. The dead rose up but unlike Larde, they were mindless and only followed Nerudein's commands. Upon reaching the borders of Syrmes, they stopped and looked at all the dead following them.

"This should be enough, for now. We must not let ourselves be seen by the living. Let us go back to our fortress for now" Nerudein told his followers.
They traveled towards the barren wasteland, Ankaj. Nerudein raised his staff and the ground shook. A massive fortress rose up, the fortress of Necros. The fortress had tons of living dead guarding the gates of the fortress.
Inside, Larde found many beings like him, risen dead but unlike him, Nerudein and Nefas, they are all mindless. Nerudein had Larde followed him inside and Nefas to prepare the warriors of Necros. Inside the throne chamber, Nerudein showed Larde two swords, both cursed and filled with darkness.
"Take these swords, they are far greater than the swords that you once carried. Anyone who dies by either of these swords shall rise up to fight for you." Nerudein told Larde. Larde took the swords but the moment he took them up, voices filled his mind. He then dropped the swords then the voices disappeared.
"These voices..." Larde murmured to himself in fright.
"Ah... you mean the voices of those that were slain by these swords. Indeed, they naturally haunt its wielder but if you can control them, you can use them in battle." replied the necromancer in a very calm manner. "You will get used to them in time. Its not like they could kill you... again." the necromancer chuckled as if it was his idea of a joke.
Left with no choice, Larde took up the blades and tried to remain sane even with the flooding voices and cries of those that were slain by the sword.
"It seems like you will get used to it in no time, after all you used to kill people during the war." the necromancer said with a grin.
Larde was about to walk away quietly but was stopped when he saw Nefas coming towards them.
"All of the troops are prepared my lord" the young necromancer told his master.
"Excellent! We shall commence the attack now. Now is the right time to for both the forces of Syrmes and Edhias are exhausted from fighting each other." Nerudein commanded. "And Larde, you will lead our forces to victory!" he continued.
"I will do what I must" Larde replied.
He led the mindless undead army towards the borders of Edhias, hoping he would meet his killer but before he could reach it, he went through several outposts and killed the people there. He raised them to serve him but little did he know that someone was able to escape and telepathically communicate with the people of Edhias. King Fenrer, not believing what he had heard, immediately sent scouts to check upon the outposts and reported what they saw. Indeed there were armies of walking dead, marching towards them by the second.
Worrying that this new force will be a force stronger than what they face, sent messengers to Syrmes informing them of what is to come. King Geffa also sent scouts to confirm what they had said. The scouts reaffirmed what they saw. King Geffa thought that after the Kingdom of Edhias has fallen, his will be next. He realized that it would be impossible to defeat the undead forces without the aid of Edhias. They declared a cease fire between their kingdoms and focused on the annihilation of the undead.
They sent warriors to confront the undead but that only made things worse since they were risen the moment they died and were in control of the undead.
Vemdall set up various traps for the undead but that only slowed down their advance. They withdrew to the castle and prepared their last line of defense. They mustered all types of artillery they could prepare, from the trebuchet to the mana cannons. They made it rain blazing rocks and huge balls of mana, in a desperate attempt to defeat the undead army.
This time, they successfully reduced their numbers to hundreds. Feeling defeated, Larde ordered his remaining troops to retreat. Just in time Vemdall charged with his forces. They saw each other and Vemdall was shocked by his transformation.
"You, aren't you the champion of Syrmes?" Vemdall asked as he was horrified.
Larde didn't reply but instead he summoned dark energy to work as fog and escape.
Vemdall and his forces retreated but they sent a scout to follow the retreating undead.
In the court, they discussed about their next line of action. Present was the representative of both kings, counselors and Vemdall.
"This new force that we must fight, they make the dead fight for them" Vemdall stated.
"It would be unwise to sent many of our weakened soldiers to dispatch them." said one of the counselors.
"What should we do?" said another
"We must find the reason of why they still linger in this world, and crush it" Vemdall suggested.
"We would need only the strong to do this, but should they fail, there will be consequences" replied King Geffa's representative.
"Then I believe it would be wise to send small but elite group of warriors to combat them." Vemdall answered.
"Then it is decided, Vemdall, you will pick some of your warriors to strike at the heart of this...filth and put this catastrophe to an end." said the representative of King Fenrer.
"Consider it done" answered Vemdall. "After all, I believe that this is something only I can do." he whispered to himself.
A few days later, he prepared himself to confront the undead but instead of taking people with him, he went alone.
He followed the directions that the scout gave him. He fought undead through the way and followed them. Upon reaching Ankaj, he saw hundreds of undead which immediately charged towards him. He place his hand before him and his palm faced the undead. From his hand came light that shattered the undead as they come to it. He advanced on his own until he reached Necros.
Nefus tried to defend Necros but was obliberated with a single strike. Aware of what was happening, Nerudein plotted to escape and fight another day. Just as he was about to escape and submerge the entire fortress, hoping to kill Vemdall in the process, he was stabbed in the back by the treachorous death knight.
"You will die alongside all of us" the death knight told the misserable necromancer
"I am already dead, you fool" Nerudein replied as he faded away with a grin.
Nerudein's staff floated and followed Larde as if accepting Larde to be his new master.
He then heard Nerudein's voice from the sword "I knew that you would betray me. These swords were meant for the sole purpose of killing and killed me you did. With my soul in here, you will surely be the most powerful of all. And the annihilation Syrmes and Edhias will surely follow"
He ignored the necromancer's chilling voice and prepared to fight incoming enemy. Vemdall walked towards the throne room where he saw Larde waiting for him. Flames sparked and the room was lit by flames coming from human oil scattered around the throne room.
"I know nothing of why you have turned into such but know that whatever it is you are trying to do, I won't let that happened" Vemdall told the champion of the dead.
Larde didn't say anything to him but instead prepared his twin blades.
"He is no longer the person who I fought, he has changed completely from that point on." he tought to himself.
Larde rushed to Vemdall's position. Just as he was 5 meters away, he sent shockwaves from his swords towards Vemall, with only one intention : take the life of his killer. Vemdall quickly reinforced his spear with magic and attempted to block the incoming attack, sacrificing his spear in the process.
Vemdall retreated a few meters backwards just as another spear came to his hand, a spear different from what he previously wielded. A spear that glowed with golden brilliance. Dark wings burst forth from his back.
"To think I will resort to using this..." Vemdall whispered to himself "But such is the reason why I am here" he continued as he prepared his spear and flew.
"A fallen angel...angels that wield both light and dark magic..." fearfully whispered the necromancer's soul. "They were the reason why we failed in our previous invasions... and unlike humans, their souls can't be contained within the blades you wield, death knight" continued the frightened necromancer.
"Angel or not no one stands in my way" the enraged death knight answered as he leaped and charged his blades with dark energy.
The angel prepared his spear, dodged the incoming attack and strike back at the warrior in mid-air. Larde's swords grew an extension made out of dark energy and blocked the incoming spear and managed to regain his composure and land on his feet. He then raised his swords and summoned dark energies extend the reach of his blades. The angel charged towards the champion of death. Larde got out of the way and hoped that the angel would crash to the ground. The angel quickly changed the direction of towards the death knight. The death knight blocked it, leaped and prepared his swords and charged them with more dark energy. The angel blocked both swords with his spear and pushed away the death knight a bit followed up by a roundhouse kick sending the death knight flying. The death knight tried to regain his composure in mid air but the angel already close in and stabbed him in the heart. The death knight falls defeated once more. The angel left the dead body and was about to get out when the death knight shot him with dark energy which was blocked instinctively with one of the angel's wings, mortally wounding the angel in the process.
"You think It's gonna be the same as last time? Well think again" the death knight remarked as he stood up and rushed towards the angel.
"How?" the angel asked himself as he blocked the incoming attack.
The death knight moved sideways and relaunched his barrage of attacks, revealing behind him is the staff of Nerudein, moving on its own.
"So that's how it is..." he murmured as he used his spear and undamaged wing to counter the incoming barrage. This time his wing was also sacrificed in his desperate attempt. "I have to destroy that staff then" he whispered as he leaped backward hoping to distance himself and as he moved back he prepared his hand and summoned rays of destructive light in an attempt to destroy the staff and possibly, vanquish the death knight. Larde dodged it and the staff countered it on its own using black magic.
"This is going to be tougher than I taught it would be..." Vemdall told himself as he prepared himself to deal another blow.
Larde closed the gap between them and the staff cast another dark spell aimed at the angel. Vemdall quickly got out of the way of both attacks and tried to close the gap with the moving staff.
"Don't you dare turn your back to me you coward!" Larde roared as he chased the angel. Vemdall summoned rays of light and bolts of darkness from his wings and aimed for the incoming death knight. Thinking that he had completely disabled the function of the angel's wings, the death knight got hit by the attack but was not yet enough to finish him off as he summersaulted in mid air and continued to chase after the angel.
Vemdall by then closed the gap with the staff but the staff was more than prepared and attacked the incoming angel with a barrage of dark bolts. The angel dodged this as well as the incoming death knight. Larde threw one of his swords towards the angel that just leapt and grabbed the staff that had been casting spells on its own.
"A comendable move my champion" the chilling voice of the necromancer uttered this words just the moment the sword was deflected by the angel's spear.
The death knight then took a new stance. A sword in one hand and a staff in the other. The soul of Nerudein transferred to the staff and was more than ready to be used by the person he once used.
"Its time to end this" the angel said as he summoned another spear like the one he currently wields. The distance between them was around 10 meters. The tension rises between them.
Just a few seconds later, Larde charged in summoning dark bolts of energy aimed towards the angel. Vemdall countered this with a spell of his own and moved in towards the approaching death knight. The death knight and the angel were both ready to give it their all. The angel swung his spears simultaneously. The death knight countered this with his remaining sword which was further reinforced with magic coming from his staff. The angel was desperate and struggled to defeat the death knight. He summoned rays of light at point blank range, damaging both him and the death knight as well as destroying the staff which released all the souls it has previously "captured". The distance between the two warriors was around 10 meters. The death knight's left hand which priviously wielded the staff is now unarmed. The angel's right hand was mortally wounded, causing him to abandon one of his spears. The death knight closed in towards the angel with only one taught : finish this fight once and for all. Larde wielded his remaining sword with both hands and leapt when the distance between him and Vemdall was around 3 meters. Vemdall readied his spear to deflect the incoming attack and possibly damage the incoming death knight. The death knight once more, extended the reach of his blade with dark energies. The sword and the spear clashed. The death knight started with a blow coming from above. The angel blocked it with his spear and kicked death knight, hoping to recreate a distance between them. The death knight tried to dodge the incoming kick but was too late as the angel was fast. The death knight was sent flying and his back crashed with the wall. The angel immediately rushed towards the death knight, hoping to impale him. The death knight quickly got on his feet and assaulted the incoming angel with magic which was countered by the angel's own magic. The gap reduces as quick as the clock ticks. They clash in melee once more. The angel began with a thrust which was deflected by the death knight's sword sidewards. The death knight quickly collected himself and was ready to deliver the next blow as the angel spun from the weight of his lance, moving sidewards. The angel delivered a kick from the most impossible of situations as a last ditch move. The death knight was also cornered. He deflected the incoming kick with his sword, mortally damaging the angel once more but leaving him unable to deflect the incoming strike. This time, he attempted to block the incoming spear with his arm and reinforced it with magic which wasn't meant to be. It successfully blocked the spear but it burst the next second, making it rain blood. Vemdall backed off a bit and readied his spear for another thrust. Larde on the other hand, readied his sword and prepared for his next move. Vemdall moved in and thrust his spear, aiming for only one thing: the heart of the death knight. The death knight, unable to get out of the situation as his entire body was ready to collapse the next second, stabbed the angel in the heart as well, leaving the battle in a stalemate. The angel and death knight both fall. The death knight had the angel's spear right through him. The angel being in the same situation, had the death knight's sword on his chest.
"So this...is how...it really was meant...to end." The death knight said in his struggle as he tried to remove the spear in him to no use. He passed away the next second.
"We are more alike than what you think. We have both been betrayed but unlike you, I still tried to help others... And it was my fault that your soul, along with many others suffered. Forgive me... I hope this world will find peace" Vemdall whispered to himself as his soul faded.
No one ever saw them again... Each kingdom sent people to search for them as the scout Vemdall sent told them where he went. His body was never found.
The two kingdoms decided to work together to prosper rather than fight and conquer.
Together, they worked for a better tomorrow. A better tomorrow without war and conflict, just as what Vemdall wished for.
 
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_PV

_PV

Level 7
Joined
Aug 28, 2010
Messages
285
wow, Beowulf 4-5 thousand :O The prescribed menagerie of poems I got for my matriculation has Beowulf in it, but only from line 600 - 1500 ... Or something like that :p (Wild Waves is the book's name) ... I like those old epic's :)
 
Level 14
Joined
Oct 6, 2008
Messages
759
I will also enter this contest . My story will be a 'what if the scourge wins' (warcraft world) presenting, an enlisted as soldier, librarian's point of view about his first and last battle and what came after it.

edit:
Here is the first part

Death…
Death was simple.
Oh, how easy it was for me to reach it right now. I was looking at her through the faces of my enemies. And she was looking back. Always hungry for victims, never satisfied . Her countless claws kept grasping the air around me.

No. Those were actually the hands and deformed limbs of the creatures that were once humans. My comrades. My friends. My family. Most of them I lost on the field of battle, others were taken down by the plague and turned into monsters. Only now that I was watching them advance on our lines did I realize… there was no hope for us. I had the feeling this is the one tale that will not end happily. That our children will not live to tell their children about the war. About our victory over the undead.
- Now your sword is your life! – the booming voice of commander Perethos quickly made me forget about the feelings I had right now. There were still cities to fight for… No! My duty was not to fail today.
But still… What chance did I have of surviving. I was a librarian in my village’s library with merely three months of sword practice… against an army of fallen soldiers now turned into monsters. And yes! I was never trained for battle. I practiced my sword skills against an apple tree in my uncle’s garden. Why the hell did I enlist so early to throw my life in the field?

And yet here I am at the first line of defence. Just waiting to be slaughtered, eaten or even worse – turned into one of those nightmarish creatures. I would rather die by my own hand than serve the dread lords that were rumoured to be leading those armies of death.

I guess I signed my death sentence so early because like many others I had nothing and no one left. The last member of my family – my brother , I lost just two months ago. He fell victim of the plague. A few days after the funeral I found out that the priests had seen him walking in the graveyard. They told me he was faster than a starving dire wolf chasing his prey. I knew that he had become one of them… one of the monsters. I wandered the forests looking for him day and night, hoping that he would not rip me apart at the very moment we met. Hoping that he would recognize me.
Was I that foolish? He was dead! Walking around or not he was so damn dead. I …
- Never forget that! … - the commander seemed to have finished his speech and was now mumbling some sort of a spell. As one of the last paladins of the old order of the silver hand, he had learned many techniques and incantations from the empty libraries of the holy ones. I hoped he was going to make some miracles today. Maybe I should stay around him in order to survive a while longer.

Even though the commander was over sixty five years old he was covered in heavy armour and wielding a hammer so big that even the thought of me lifting this massive weapon gave a bitter taste in my mouth. Those paladin weapons were probably heavier than my whole body.

***
Suddenly a spine-chilling feeling took me over. I felt a strange smell. I could not identify it at first. Then I realized that was nothing else than the smell of rotting flesh. The hell fiends were so close I could now see the grass beneath their feet turning black, burning under them. A swarm of insects seems to have joined the undead .They were probably nerubians. I remember a large tome in my library about them, horrible creatures indeed. Trees that were unfortunate to be on their way were consumed by the large beetles. If a bird was ever to make the mistake of flying over the rotten army I was sure it would die instantly.

'' My sword is my life'' I kept repeating to myself. The grip I had over the light blade tightened. The time to face death was now. For the world of humans, for all my fallen friends, for Bethany – the girl I loved but never even talked to, for my family – my father and mother, uncle Brew … my brother. I will not fall today!
- May the Light protect you all! – commander Perethos raised his weapon above his head. – Chaaarge!

The battle has began…
 
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Level 12
Joined
Jan 20, 2011
Messages
1,151
Well, here's my intro

It was a hot summer night during the year 1463 after The Great Emperor Darguen landed on the continent of Mirec'Kath and united the primitive human tribes... Our story begins in the small village of Vardaka, where a young wannabe scientist prepared to become a soldier of the Imperial army and take a part in crushing the rebellion of the savage Dukarei tribes which came from the western islands after a earthquake sunk their old homeland. Our Young hero's name is Kro'Ruin, his name nobody else in the Darguean Empire has. Rumor has it that his father to take control of other people's bodies using specially developed poisons... His mother Adara of Kathuran only worn red since her husband, Kro'Ruins father died in a tragic accident in his secret scholar lounge. Kro'Ruin was unique. When his father died he handled it well... Unlike his mother who wears the red robe of mourning a symbol for those who lost a loved one who died a unnatural death. Kro'Ruin spent a lot of his free time in his father's scholar lounge trying to find out more about his father's work. He put on his leather armor, took his sword and greeted his mother."Mother, goodbye for now, I shall go and and become a part of the Imperial Army"he says, with a sadness in his voice. His mother's start slightly glowing and she starts crying. Kro takes her hand and kisses it "Don't worry dear mother, I will return with loot and finally bring honour to our family!"His mother sobs a little while talking "I-I know you're a man now, but I just can't imagine my life without you, your father was always a very serious man, but I loved him, you and him look the same, yet you were always happy... If you die now-" Kro interrupts her "Don't worry, I won't. I've been training for a year now, and if things become to dangerous I will took my katara's and I don't care if a ordinary soldier need to use swords I will save my life and the lives of my fellow soldiers"His mother replies "Well... But don't try being a hero. Farewell my son." Kro stands up and
leaves the house while saying "I'll be back soon mother." and he starts his journey.
This has some grammatic errors. I will fix everything once the whole story is finished.
 
Level 4
Joined
Jun 17, 2009
Messages
22
Submitting my WIP. I have to work on the names and in organizing some stuff.

BETRAYAL

Screams echoed through the halls and beyond the caves into the Southern Winter's cold air. The Planes of Hazael banished from the men's dead gaze, and their ears tuned to an almost hypnotic chant. The first to rise was Varnt, a former woodcutter dragged into The Purge's hunger of men. His blood was still warm, and his skin still attached to his body. Alas, he understood nothing of what had happened. He couldn't make out the words coming out of the succubus bewitching mouth, or the demon's whispers into his heart.

He felt... alive. Yet, mysteriously so. Hadn't he been slayed by a familiar figure moments ago? An elfish blade had been fed recently, and it lay on the ground. Yes, he thought, it had been her.

Following this, distorted memories came into his mind as his followers rose too. The Purge, the Elves’ arrival, Jeanne – his wife -, their dead daughter – gods save her from undeath -, the evenings in Neïv, Supreme Commander Holg’Ath, Marcus and Gyfja, the orcs, his ten brothers, a blad-

“Rise! Rise! Rise! Come forth, warriors! Let us mark this day as Our arrival… A new planet await us to live and leech!”

The demon spoke in a thunderous voice, surely it was heard even in Tadir’s home, deep in the woo-

“What have you done!? Tell me! This… this isn’t what I wished!

This is… a curse!”

Without a trace of thought, the company limply grabbed their swords and approached the succubus. She kept screaming and flailing her arms, as night elf’s tattoos on her body began to shine with the light of a Full Moon. As her words became incomprehensible, his strength and craving for the kill overcame him, until it compelled him to attack.

“Stop, fool! This is not your enemy!”

Enemy? Who was his enemy? The tainted orcs, and their lesser troll brothers? The civilized elves and their night elf 'pet', who upon their arrival to the oldest continent sided with such fowl creatures? The undead, forever banished from this lands 349 years ago? The demons of myth and legend, gods’ mistakes and men’s burden? Who?

“Who?”

His followers repeated, echo-like: “Who? Who? Who? Who? Who?”
 
Level 3
Joined
Jun 14, 2012
Messages
9
Do orc grunts count?
Anyway I'll enter.

Note: Far from done. This is going to be a short story, but not that short.

The cold embrace of winter. That is what I have felt and lived with in the past few months. At least, what I should have felt. You see, I don’t have a nervous system anymore. It rotted out long ago. In fact, all that’s left of me are a few decaying bones.

Northrend. The frozen cap of the world. The harsh winters have left the continent devoid of creatures save the most hardy, or those who cannot feel the chill anymore. Once the bastion of the Scourge, now merely a dead wasteland. Since I was reanimated I have been wandering here without purpose, without desire. I had lost everything I cared about long ago. On that day.

That day was a glorious one. A fight between us orcs and our bitter enemies, the humans. Our armies met in an open plain, the weather clear. There were no preparations, no taunts. We saw each other and charged. The commanding general, Grosh Two-Axe, did not even bother with discipline. I felt the usual bloodlust right before a battle, and I leapt into the fray. I swung until my war axe was stained with blood and my biceps were sore. Many a human fell before us, as many of my comrades fell before them.

A dark figure appeared out of the chaos. Clad in black iron and wielding a claymore of immense proportions, he would have shamed a tauren. I recognized him as the commander of the human army. His name was Karthas the Dark, or was it Karthanel? It didn’t matter. With one sweep I was gone. Probably due to shock and blood loss, but dead nonetheless.

Darkness. Oblivion. So this is what being dead is like, I thought. Shrouded in eternal nothingness. But I was deeply satisfied. I had died a hero, and had slain countless humans.

But then I heard a voice that startled me in the darkness. An old voice, either roughened by age or experience. The words I could not grasp, but it seemed to be a chant. I opened my eyes and beheld the man who doomed me.
 
Level 3
Joined
Jul 18, 2012
Messages
22
So I'll scrap my former entry (Betrayal) and possibly continue in the contest with this.
It was raining...raining heavily in the summer. I was worried. I was worried not because it was raining in the summer but I knew that this was a bad omen for me.
I never knew that this day would come. The day that I would loose everyone I cared for... I lost my friends, family and loved ones. I thought it was all over the day I left the path of a mercenary. The day I stopped needless bloodshed. How come I am here? Why does my past haunt me? Is it for revenge? Long have I forgiven everyone, long have I stopped killing... but now... why? Why does fate torment me? What sought to reincarnate the beast within me? The beast that sought only blood. The beast that never knew the value of life. Long have I thought to have killed it within me...but now... There is only one thing left for me, vengeance.
 

Deleted member 212788

D

Deleted member 212788

I read a WiP which was a poem and decided to try and make one myself, I am joining, so here's what I've done so far. Please give me your opinions.


Dark Prophecy

A time will come,
When we prevail or succumb.
The troll warlord will give his commands,
and the stench of death shall cover the lands.

The trolls are hungry for power,
come has the long awaited hour.
In an attempt to end the sages' order,
they will bring him through the dimensional border.

Stop him, the sages will try,
but one by one, they will all die.
Only one shall remain,
among the bodies of the slain.

Alexander, the most powerful and wise,
even he cannot stop the dark arbiter's rise.
To trick him, the mage tries,
but fails and meets his demise.

His burnt body falls to the ground,
the shadow minions then move to surround.
Suddenly, out of the dark skies,
A bolt of lightning hits the dead sage's blue eyes.

He is back from the dead,
with new powers but no thought's in his head.
A second chance he was given,
but he will not be forgiven.

Everything, even death, has it's toll.
Now he is nothing more than a mere tool. . .


This will be some back-story for the campaign I am currently working on.

EDIT: are mages considered soldiers btw ? :D
 
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Level 3
Joined
Jun 14, 2012
Messages
9
Well here's my entry.
I didn't take a lot of time working on it, but I'm sorta feeling lazy these days.
Anyway I'm making a map that continues the story.

The cold embrace of winter. That is what I have felt and lived with in the past few months. At least, what I should have felt. You see, I don’t have a nervous system anymore. It rotted out long ago. In fact, all that’s left of me are a few decaying bones.

Northrend. The frozen cap of the world. The harsh winters have left the continent devoid of creatures save the most hardy, or those who cannot feel the chill anymore. Once the bastion of the Scourge, now merely a dead wasteland. Since I was reanimated I have been wandering here without purpose, without desire. I had lost everything I cared about long ago. On that day.

That day was a glorious one. A fight between us orcs and our bitter enemies, the humans. Our armies met in an open plain, and the icy atmosphere excited us. There were no preparations, no taunts. We saw each other and charged. The commanding general, Grosh Two-Axe, did not even bother with discipline. I felt the usual bloodlust right before a battle, and I leapt into the fray. I swung until my war axe was stained with blood and my biceps were sore. Many a human fell before us, as many of my comrades fell before them.

A dark figure appeared out of the chaos. Clad in black iron and wielding a maul of immense proportions, he would have shamed a tauren. I recognized him as the commander of the human army. His name was Karthas the Dark, or was it Karthanel? It didn’t matter. With one sweep I was gone. Probably due to shock and blood loss, but dead nonetheless.

Oblivion. So this is what being dead is like, I thought. Shrouded in eternal nothingness. But I was deeply satisfied. I had died a hero, and had slain countless humans.

But then I heard a voice that startled me in the darkness. An old voice, either roughened by age or experience. The words I could not grasp, but it seemed to be a chant. I opened my eyes and beheld the man who doomed me.

He seemed to be cloaked in darkness. A long black cape trailed behind him, and a hood covered his features. But the thing that unsettled me most was the evil emanating off of him. I felt for my axe.

Something was wrong. There was a hand holding my axe. The flesh was falling away from it, and it was a grotesque sight. Then with a start I realized the hand was mine.

I was undead. I don’t know how I could think on my own, seeing how undead are mindless and all, but I threw myself at the necromancer.

That was when he disappeared.

And ever since, I’ve been trudging in this land of death trying to find him. For countless days I walked without finding any trace of him. Then something happened.

I met a banshee. A pretty one too. Her name was Nara Deathstrider. She said she was an agent of the Forsaken, trying to liberate any undead still left in Northrend, and organizing attacks on the remnants of the Scourge. We spent days together. When the time came when we had to go on our separate paths, I watched her disappear into the fog. Then I heard a scream. And I saw the dark cloak once again.

With new energy I set upon the hunt again. But I never saw him again, nor did I see Nara. After a couple months of fruitless searching I gave up. But a dull pain in my chest persists and follows me wherever I go.

Today I still roam this frigid wilderness. Nothing has stopped me. My axe had somehow been imbued with dark powers the day I was reanimated, and I do not hesitate to use them on any who bar my way.

A footstep in the cold. Scarlet Crusaders. As they draw closer, I feel the old bloodlust take over again.
 
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Level 3
Joined
Jul 18, 2012
Messages
22
Well good luck to all and this seems to be one of the most active contests.

Good luck to the judge, there are plenty of stuff to read by the time this contest is at its end :thumbs_up:
 

Deleted member 212788

D

Deleted member 212788

I almost feel sorry for the judge :D. But please tell me, are mages considered soldiers or I should rethink It?

EDIT: Here's WiP #2
Dark Prophecy
A time will come,
When we prevail or succumb.
Bloodthirsty cries will echo in the sands,
The stench of death shall cover the lands.

The trolls are hungry for power,
come has the long awaited hour.
In an attempt to end the sages' order,
they will bring him through the dimensional border.

Stop him, the sages will try,
but one by one, they will all die.
Only one shall remain,
amongst the bodies of the slain.

Alexander, the most powerful and wise,
yet even he cannot stop the dark arbiter's rise.
To trick him, the mage hopes,
but smarten than he looks, the titan proves.

Now, powerless before the Shadowlord he is,
the last of the mighty order brought to his knees.
Unleashing his full wrath,
The monstrous being engulfs him in a fiery bath.

His burnt body falls to the ground,
the shadow minions then move to surround.
Suddenly, out of the dark and cloudy skies,
A bolt of lightning hits the dead sage's blue eyes.

He is back from the dead,
with new powers but no memories in his head.
A second chance he was given,
to fight the evil which has arisen.

Not a moment too soon,
he summons forth a monsoon.
Lightning strikes, thunder roars.
Dust and rocks are flying and landing on the floors.



Amongst all the chaos and destruction,
only Alexander and the demon remain.
Neither of them thinking of running,
both are equally cunning.

Without giving it much though,
they charge at each other, preparing for a last shot.
Then out of nowhere,
a spell is weaved for the first time.

New energies are being channeled,
and dangerous magics are being handled.
The rest will remain untold,
as the future is yet to unfold. . .
 
Level 3
Joined
Jun 14, 2012
Messages
9
I almost feel sorry for the judge :D. But please tell me, are mages considered soldiers or I should rethink It?

EDIT: Here's WiP #2
Dark Prophecy
A time will come,
When we prevail or succumb.
Bloodthirsty cries will echo in the sands,
The stench of death shall cover the lands.

The trolls are hungry for power,
come has the long awaited hour.
In an attempt to end the sages' order,
they will bring him through the dimensional border.

Stop him, the sages will try,
but one by one, they will all die.
Only one shall remain,
amongst the bodies of the slain.

Alexander, the most powerful and wise,
yet even he cannot stop the dark arbiter's rise.
To trick him, the mage hopes,
but smarten than he looks, the titan proves.

Now, powerless before the Shadowlord he is,
the last of the mighty order brought to his knees.
Unleashing his full wrath,
The monstrous being engulfs him in a fiery bath.

His burnt body falls to the ground,
the shadow minions then move to surround.
Suddenly, out of the dark and cloudy skies,
A bolt of lightning hits the dead sage's blue eyes.

He is back from the dead,
with new powers but no memories in his head.
A second chance he was given,
to fight the evil which has arisen.

Not a moment too soon,
he summons forth a monsoon.
Lightning strikes, thunder roars.
Dust and rocks are flying and landing on the floors.



Amongst all the chaos and destruction,
only Alexander and the demon remain.
Neither of them thinking of running,
both are equally cunning.

Without giving it much though,
they charge at each other, preparing for a last shot.
Then out of nowhere,
a spell is weaved for the first time.

New energies are being channeled,
and dangerous magics are being handled.
The rest will remain untold,
as the future is yet to unfold. . .

Liked the first one better lol
not bad though
 

Deleted member 212788

D

Deleted member 212788

Thanks, I'm still making a lot of changes, removing strofes and adding new ones. In the end, it will be around 12-15 strofes. :)

EDIT: Here's my final entry. Hope you like it

Dark Prophecy
A time has come,
When we prevail or succumb.
Bloodthirsty cries echo in the sands,
The stench of death covers the lands.

The trolls are hungry for power,
come has the long awaited hour.
In an attempt to end the sages' order,
they brought him through the dimensional border.

Poor trolls, little do they know,
that he would destroy them all.
Power is the only thing demons seek,
for reasons to us mystique

To stop him, the sages tried,
but one by one, they all died.
Only one remains, amongst the bodies of the slain,
leading the human army on the plains.

Alexander, the most vigorous and wise,
yet even he cannot stop the dark arbiter's rise.
To entice him, the mage hopes,
but smarter than he looks, the titan proves.

Now, powerless before the Shadowlord he is,
the last of the mighty order brought to his knees.
Unleashing his full wrath,
The monstrous being engulfs him in a fiery bath.

His burnt body falls to the ground,
the shadow minions then move to surround.
The Noble armies are screaming-“NO”,
as they stare with fear at their terrifying foe.

Suddenly, out of the dark and cloudy skies,
A bolt of lightning hits the dead sage's blue eyes.
A second chance he was given,
to fight the evil which has arisen.

Not a moment too soon,
the mage summons forth a monsoon.
Lightning strikes, thunder roars.
Dust and rocks are flying and landing on the floors.

The human legions are cheering,
as the demon spawns are disappearing.
“Help the Thunder-caller”-They are screaming,
but alas, more fiends are appearing.

Amongst all the chaos and destruction,
only Alexander and the demon remain.
Neither of them thinking of running,
both are equally cunning.

Without giving it much though,
they charge at one another, preparing for a last shot.
To the peaks of mount Vorigon they climb,
a spell is weaved for the first time.

New energies are being channeled,
dangerous magics are being handled.
Into a great archon Alexander transforms,
four pillars of light he then forms.

The demon is trapped, he cannot escape,
He can only watch as he loses his shape.
Destroy the titan, the sage cannot,
to imprison him in the mountain is his plot.

The spell he finishes,
and the dark army diminishes.
he then falls to the ground,
drained of power but still to this world bound.

His flesh is gone,
the damage has been dealt.
The price of power has proven too high,
Now he can never die,

Everything, even death has it's toll,
he is nothing more than a mere tool.
Doomed to wander without a goal,
until the world is left without a single soul.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
Level 11
Joined
Apr 7, 2012
Messages
742
My Story isn't as poetic as all of you guys's but I hope it is good for you guys.

Edit:
Okay here is my entry.
Blood gushed out of the creature’s open wound, it let out a piercing screech that battered the man’s ear-drum, he stood tall above the creature; his sword impaled hilt deep into the beasts abdomen.
The creature clawed at the man for a few moments and then the weight of its limp body slid itself off the blade onto the ground. The creature twitched its leg before laying motionless in its own fluids.
The man sheathed his weapon and took in his surroundings. He was in a small cave the exit a few metres in front of him, and the ever darkening path leading to who knows where.
Also occupying the cavern were the bodies of more of the fowl beasts.
The man exited through the mouth-of-the cave, the sun shone bright and it temporally blinded the man, he held up his arm to cover his eyes.
As his vision recovered he looked around him for signs of danger, none were found.
He stood on a patch of rough dirt in front of a mountain, a hole that was the cave and a forest at it’s sides and front, ‘where on earth did my horse go’ he thought but he already knew the answer: Bandits!
The man walked into the forest and was quickly swallowed by the dense trees, leaving the cave and the creatures inside.
The man had walked for a good three hours and the forest density seemed to lighten,
the trees spread father apart every hundred meters or so.
The man came to a halt at a abnormally large tree, he sat down with his back against the tree trunk and thought ‘this better be worth it’ he sat there for a few moments and stood up with a groan and kept walking.
His leather boots crushed the grass beneath him as he walked and soft crunch and then another, he looked down at his muddy boots they have been in his possession for almost five-years, he shook his head dismissing his thoughts of shoes.
It was around four that he stumbled across a dirt road it stretched for as far as he could see with all sorts of twists and turns.
The road was built one-hundred metres up, the dirt road was four metres in width, at the edge of the cliff it ran down and down until it came to a halt at thick-wild grass.
Trees stretched as far as halfway up the cliff, almost covering the lake that lay beneath the lush vegetation.
Next to the road lay a tree stump, it was almost hypnotizing to just sit there with his back against it and eyes closed, not that the man was lazy or not fit it was that he had just walked five-to-six hours straight without resting, so he did just that.
As he sat there he decided to stand up and take the dirt road left in twenty minutes.
The left path was a short-cut to his objective and also provided less turns and twists.
Twenty minutes late he stood up stretched, he cracked his knuckles and took the road left.
The man walked on the road for at least an hour before he came upon a corner where the mountain turned a sharp edge, he took it.
Around the mountain corner continued the road as far as he could see, but the was a side-path that led to the objective; a village..
He took the path, it was a downhill path with trees at either sides and at the bottom it levelled.
He stepped onto the levelled ground, he looked straight ahead, trees on ether side and an archway only meters away.
He walked through the arch moss and vines hanging from it, he stopped at the other-side,
a village laid there at the side of the mountain most of the village wouldn’t have been visible from the mountain-road due to the lush vegetation.
He walked towards the village, most of the houses were made out of straw and wood, smoke rising from all around the village, cooking fires.
The man approached the centre of the village, it was a round circle made out of cobbled path and a giant bonfire in the middle which would be lit at night.
He stopped at and leaned on a well, minutes passed until a old man with a grey beard appeared and walked towards the man.
“Hello” the old man began holding out one-hand the younger man took it “I am the elder of the village you may call me Ejin” said Ejin smiling.
“Hello elder, I have slain the Skifers as you requested” said the man bowing.
“Do not bow to us we should bow to you young slayer”
The slayer bowed once more.
There was a whooshing sound and then the next moment a flaming ball crashed through a wooden house it caught fire immediately, then another ball and another.
‘What the’ thought the slayer as a giant flaming boulder crashed through the house opposite him, the elder was thrown off his feet onto the ground but it was clear that he did not survive.
The slayer ran through-out the city gathering up as much villagers as possible to help then flee, dodging flaming boulders and arrows.
The remaining villagers gathered at the mountain side of town, the slayer found them and led them through a secret bunker built there as protection from the bandits.
There was only one room but it was huge, there was stone tables and chairs for the men, woman and children, the bunker’s maximum capacity was ninety, which was the town’s population but was reduced to thirty-four in a matter of ten-minutes.
The families huddled together at the tables while others got food, water and candles,
the slayer made his way through the tables looking to help those who need it he.
He came across a table with a wounded seven-year-old, he bent down and picked the child up and laid him out on his table, the boy’s family knew the slayer and followed closely behind.
The slayer examined the boy’s wounds, he had fifteen centimetre in length splinter of wood wedged into his arm “not deadly but painful to a boy” he thought.
“Okay, this is going to hurt but only for a few seconds” said the slayer reassuring the boy.
The boy gave a quick nod.
“Okay on three
one...
two...
three” and on three he pulled out the splinter, the boy yelled out in pain.
The boy’s blood on the splinter, and blood dripped from the boy’s arm, the slayer gently picked up the boy and handed him to his mother with an apologetic look.
“Thank you, slayer” said the mother tears in her eyes.
“I am sorry your’ son had to endure pain especially at such a young age” said the slayer.
“And at least it wasn’t life threatening” he added.
“Yes at least it wasn’t life threatening” said the mother happy that her son was not in mortal danger.
He returned looking for injuries but found only minor scrapes and burses so he went to the secret door that led out and stood there leaning against it.
Finally he decided to go outside and check on what is what.
“Hey everybody” his voice echoing through the room, all head’s turned his way “as you all know bandits has attacked...again.
So I will go outside and check out the damages and take out the remaining bandits” he said clearing his throat.
The people was cheering but moments later stopped, the slayer opened the door and went outside closing the door behind him.
The slayer crouched behind a bush as two bandits wearing leather and axe walked by,
he crouched behind them as they walked.
“The boss wants to keep the villagers alive” said bandit #1.
“Well, that’s if he can find them” said bandit #2 with a smug smile.
Bandit #1 grunted.
The slayer unsheathed his sword, he stood and tapped #1 on the shoulder he turned and impaled himself hilt deep into the slayers sword, he coughed blood.
#2 turned around to see his friend die, the slayer tipped #1 over his force sliding him off the sword, the slayer spun around his sword outstretched decapitating #2 before he could call for help or even reach his sword.
The slayer dragged the two bodies into the bushes, he walked towards a still standing house and entered, ‘I think the residence won’t mind’ he thought a grin making an appearance on his face.
It was quickly washed away and replaced by a neutral expression as a bandit entered the hut, the slayer hid behind a bookshelf, the bandit didn’t appear to have seen him.
The bandit looked at a open book sitting on a table, “let’s make the quick and silent’ thought the slayer, he slipped his dagger out of it’s sheath and approached the man from behind.
He grabbed the bandit from behind putting his hand over the bandit’s mouth and stabbing the dagger into his throat, he struggled for a few moments and then simply slouched, the slayer lowered the bandit gently to the floor not wanting to make a noise.
The slayer approached the door that the bandit entered from he quickly dashed to the right-side of the door and peeked around the door.
He found himself gazing at the centre of the village, the bonfire was lit though it was day, five bandits gathered around it. He turned his attention towards the forest, sitting atop a tree-covered-hill was a catapult ‘ah a plan’ thought the slayer.
He saw to access that catapult he will have to go through a few houses and they might have bandits occupying them.
He made a choice well it wasn’t actually a choice but he went with it anyway.
The slayer entered the next house which luckily did not have bandits, from there he had to cross the cobbled path, he made it but only with the luck that a huge boulder was a hiding place .
The next house was empty except for a sleeping bandit sitting in a wooden chair, ‘better not take any chances’ thought the slayer and made his way over to the chair dagger in hand.
The bandit died in his sleep and it was fast, a slit throat, he was but only one house away from the siege weapon.
He entered the next house to find three bandits, one sitting in a chair another standing and the last one reading a book, ‘hmm how to take these bandits out without raising the alarm’ he thought.
He waited until the bandits didn’t look at each other, he crouched to the man sitting in the chair he took the man’s head and snapped the neck in one swift motion, the man standing looked around to see the slayer’s face and then felt a jolt of pain rushing from his throat.
The bandit tried to scream but there was a hand covering his mouth, the slayer pulled out the dagger, the bandit slid to the floor with a thud, the bandit reading was also sitting in a chair.
He looked up from his book to see the other bandits dead he gulped before he died, the slayer turned his dagger by flipping it in the air he caught it a the blade’s tip and threw it at the bandit’s forehead.
The bandit immediately slumped over in his chair, the slayer approached the dead bandit and plucked his dagger from his forehead, he walked out the back door and into the forest.
He made it into the tree-line he crouched towards the catapult aware that there is undoubtedly more bandits.
He was right as he approached the catapult there were two bandits working on it they were loading new boulders into it, ‘are they really going to destroy the village further’ thought the slayer.
But as it seems they are firing for fun, he crouched until he was close enough to kill the first bandit but he went and crouched behind some crates.
A bandit walked past the crates, the slayer crouched behind the bandit following in his footsteps he waited until the bandit entered a makeshift tent and then made his move.
The slayer jumped up and threw himself onto the bandit dagger in hand’ the bandit was caught by surprise and as he fell down he broke his nose, there was a whistling of the dagger being thrust through the air.
Blood spurted out of the wound.
The bandit let out a moan of despair before he died, the slayer stood up rising tall above the dead bandit.
The slayer exited the tent, the other bandit still stood in the same spot with a grin of pleasure on his face, ‘little did he know’ thought the slayer with little grin of his own.
He approached the bandit making sure he didn’t step on a twig or dried leaf, he came from behind like a shadow he grabbed the man around the neck but making sure his dagger was on carotid artery.
“Hello”
“Umm hello”
“What is a bandit doing with a fine siege weapon”
“W...we stole it” he stammered.
“Yeah I knew that, who’s you boss” said the slayer.
“I...I can’t tell you, he will kill me”
“Yeah so will I if you don’t tell me”
“Bu...but...”
“Painfully” he added.
1...
2...
3...
The bandit spilled his guts.
“It was Ranosh okay, Ranosh”
The slayer growled almost killing the bandit but he wouldn’t lie not even to a bandit, so he knocked him out with the butt of his dagger.
Ranosh ‘I will kill him’ thought the slayer, he turned his attention towards the catapult, it just stood there taunting the slayer to use it, ‘well okay then’ he thought.
He walked over to the catapult, luckily for him there was already a new boulder loaded,
‘now why would a bandit go through all that trouble just to steal a siege weapon, unless he was planning a siege but on what town or city’.
He shook off that thought and focused on the task at hand, ‘do I really want to kill five bandits...yes’ he pulled a lever that activated the spring mechanism, a moment later a one-thousand-kilogram-boulder was whistling its way towards the bonfire.
There was a thunk and the lit bonfire was destroyed, pieces of splintered wood flew through the air impaling themselves into the bodies of the bandits.
The slayer made his way downhill, he arrived upon the scene of something really horrible, one of the unlucky bandits had a piece of wood nailing him to the floor in the stomach, he looked half-alive!
Another was riddled with wooden splinters, another just laid sprawled out on the cobbled path on fire, he burning flesh stinging the slayer’s nostrils.
Another one of the least lucky had his arm torn from his socket and bled to death, but the most horrible death was a man, well more accurate pieces of a man.
There was a pool of blood and within the pool lay an eye and many other body parts, the boulder!
‘The boulder must have fell on this poor man’ he thought as he forced his gaze from the scene ‘what have I done’.
He turned around to see a face, a scar ran down across his face, his hair was light brown and his eyes was dark brown, he had a wolfish smile on his face and then it all went black for the slayer.

He woke up in a tent his head screaming at him, the tent was brown, there a table with a candle and a iron rod on top and a chair which he is currently tied to.
A man poked his head into the tent, though it was not the man that knocked him out, this one appeared to be very-short and hairy “he’s awake boss” spreading the boss out as was as possible.
A man entered the room this is the man that knocked him out, ‘wait a minute I know you your Ranosh’ thought the slayer.
As if reading the slayer’s mind Ranosh said “yes it’s me, in the flesh” with a smug smile.
The slayer spat at the man that had caused so much pain in his life and said “you if I weren’t...”
“...tied to a chair I would kill you right now” finished Ranosh “come on, we have heard that threat once to many times’
“I only said it once in the past” said the slayer growling.
“My point exactly”
The two men stared each other in the eye until Ranosh pulled his gaze away from the slayer’s and focused again on the situation.
“I am sorry to not have the pleasure to torture you myself but, duty calls” he turned to his commander—the short man “he is all yours commander.”
At that sentence the commander smiled, Ranosh left the tent to who know where, the commander looked at the slayer and made his way to the table.
He lifted the iron rod and lifted it to the candle, ‘man this is going to take forever’ thought the slayer.
He looked at his restraints, they were not thick rope, he shot a glance at the candle then shifted his gaze to the now-red-iron-rod, an idea began to form.
The fury man had finally gotten the rod hot-enough, he turned his body around to face his captive the rod outstretched, he stooped until he was in front of the slayer and slowly began to move the burning rod towards his captive’s mouth.
The slayer was still able to move his feet, he kicked the commander in his right leg, he fell to his right knee the rod touching the ropes, surprisingly the rope burned easily.
The slayer quickly moved his arm but not before he stopped himself from burning, he punched the man in the face, he stumbled back and dropped the weapon of torture, the slayer took it and burned through his other restraint.
He lunched to his picked the short man up by the neck and muttered “tell me how does it feel” and pushed the iron rod into his mouth.
The short-hairy man screamed but was silenced when the rod went straight through his mouth, the other bandits were alert, two came rushing into the tent.
A bandit stood outside when he heard the scream but two of his friend were already in the tent, five second later there was a struggle and the sound of a human cry, the bandit had a smile ‘ah my friends killed that prisoner’ he thought.
His smile lasted until his two friend were thrown out of the tent dead, he looked at the man coming out of the tent, he on the other hand had a smile that could scare the devil, a missile of red was being thrown at the bandit, thunk.
The slayer moves fast he stole a dagger and a sword from the dead bandits and took a horse ‘time for my revenge’ he thought as he rode through the pitch black forest.

He horse stopped dead in his tracks, ‘I wonder’ he though and was then dived off of the stolen horse.
The shadowy figure drew his sword and thrust it towards the slayer’s abdomen, but he was quick, he rolled onto his stomach pushed himself up by his arms and had his sword unsheathed by the time Ranosh looked up.
Ranosh and the slayer clashed sword against sword, each of them pushing with there swords, the slayer lost his grip on his sword it slid all the way down the length of Ranosh’s sword.
The slayer released his grip on the sword and pulled out his dagger, he held it out in front of him, Ranosh dashed forward his sword waiting to impale the slayer, but he dodged to onside by dashing to his left side and slashed Ranosh in the process.
It was a deep slash and already his upper arm was covered in scarlet, he took one step back trying to focus and find a weak spot in his enemy, he found only one.
“You know what I felt when I killed your family, not guilt, nothing except joy” said Ranosh taunting the slayer.
‘He is playing me, but what if he did feel that way when he butchered my family’ thought the slayer.
The slayer did not attack but he found himself and his enemy going in one big circle, still Ranosh pressed harder.
“Ha! I remember like it was yesterday. I snuck into you mother and father’s bedroom and slit there throat...”
“Shut up!” shouted the slayer.
“Oh, and your little sister, do you want to hear what happened to her...” mocked Ranosh. The slayer charged Ranosh, but that’s exactly what he wanted and the slayer knew it but it was already to late then.
The dagger was inches away from Ranosh’s face when the slayer realized that he was buried hilt deep into Ranosh’s sword, he released the grip from the sword and the slayer went tumbling backwards onto the hard dirt.
Ranosh stood over the slayer’s body smiling his wolfish smile he spoke “I knew it would end like this me standing over you body as the life was slowly draining from you” and the he walked away.
The slayer blacked out and dreamed about that horrible night what happened.
He was laying in his bed when he heard his sister scream then he voice was cut of by something, he sprung up from underneath his covers and ran to the front of the house a man still young in his twenties or so stood there with his sister his hand around her mouth as she kicked and tried to scream.
He dragged her away, even twenty years later he could still recognize his family’s killer.
But still twenty years later they have never found his little sister’s body is it possible that she escaped and made a new home for herself, that was all that the slayer could wish for his younger sister.
The slayer Died.


There was no tunnel with a light at the end, no life flashing before his eyes, he just went somewhere anywhere he wanted, but then it all melted away as he was reincarnated.
He sat up and looked around to find himself in a little camp, there were two tents, a fire, and an old man sitting by it staring into the flames as they danced.
“I died didn’t I” said the slayer his groggily.
“Lay down Alirg” said the man not moving his gaze.
“What...how...how did you know my real name’ said Alirg shocked.
“There are many things that I know about you and that’s one of the reasons I reincarnated you” said the old man.
“Reincarnated? You are a Necromancer” said Alirg still a little shaken by what he is hearing.
“Yes indeed I am” he said with a voice full of pride.
“So what do you want me to do master” said Alirg mockingly.
“I raised you not because of I want you as a servant I raised you because you have a fiery passion in you, and you want revenge” said the old man, finally turning to face Alirg.
“An why would you care if I had my revenge”
“Ah, now to the serious questions, the raised corpses by me the more I control this world, it is quite simple actually.”
“Well I see the point and logic in that”
“Indeed child, indeed. Now if you will excuse me I have places to be and corpses to reanimate” said the necromancer as he stood up and walked away.
Alirg sat there staring into the darkness of the forest, a few minutes later he stood up and gathered all his stuff that lay there neatly packed.
He walked into the forest, and so the journey began.
‘He will die, painfully’
‘I am unstoppable’
‘I am Undead.’


Edit for coolness:
I made sure that the total words are 3,999
 
Last edited:

The Panda

Icon Reviewer
Level 58
Joined
Jun 2, 2008
Messages
8,292
The Black Heart

One stormy night in Saqqara, death flows through the air as it suffocates the weak. The undead crawl out of the ground and begin to prepare for battle upon the enemy. Karnak, the king of the undead arises as he sets power towards the black heart. Ghouls rushing throughout the dead trees scavenging bodies for food. Karnak spots an Human ahead. He then spawns a fierce array of skeletons too do his bidding. The skeletons then rush right at the Human unit with there swords held high. As the skeletons get closer to the Human, Karnak spots an ambush. Karnak try's to call off the attack but is too late, the humans have called in reinforcements. Karnak then retreats with his ghouls back to his city, Saqqara. The humans also head back too there castle, Nuragoa. There king, Seran calls in scout helicopters to scout out the areas around there castle. Taking flight, the helicopters travel in different directions in order to gain more vision.


Work In Progress
 
Last edited:
Level 4
Joined
Jun 17, 2009
Messages
22
Continued WIP. Changed some things. I have to work on old English speak. Also, you guys have some really good poems. I thought I may try doing one, but, for the moment, they are far beyond me.

Screams echoed through the halls and beyond the caves into the Southern Winter's cold air. The Planes of Hazael banished from the men's dead gaze, and their ears tuned to an almost hypnotic chant. The first to rise was Varnt, a former woodcutter dragged into The Purge's hunger of men. His blood was still warm, and his skin still attached to his body. An eerie aura of blight surrounded him.

Alas, he understood nothing of what had happened. He couldn't make out the words coming out of the female demon’s bewitching mouth, or the demon's whispers into his heart.

He felt... alive. Yet, mysteriously so. Hadn't he been slayed by a familiar figure moments ago? With his hand he felt a wound reaching deep inside, which then sliced clean through his shoulder. He spotted an elfish blade that had been fed recently, and it lay on the ground. Yes, he thought, it had been her.

Following this, distorted memories came into his mind as his followers among the darkness rose too. The Purge, the Elves’ arrival, Jeanne – his wife -, their dead daughter – gods save her from undeath -, the evenings in Neïv, Supreme Commander Holg’Ath, Marcus and Gyfja, the orcs, his ten brothers, a blad-

“Rise! Rise! Cometh forth, my champions! By my wilt I bring ye back to this plane!”

From nowhere spoke this thunderous voice; surely it was heard even in Tadir’s home, deep in the woo-

“What have you done!? Tell me! This… this isn’t what I wished…! This is… a curse!”

Without a trace of thought, the company limply grabbed their swords and approached the female demon. She kept screaming and flailing her arms, as night elf’s tattoos on her body began to shine with the light of a Full Moon, dimly illuminating the halls they were in. As her words became incomprehensible, Varnt’s strength and craving for the kill overcame him, until it compelled him to attack.

“Stop, fool!” Six swords came to a halt, ready to spill the tainted blood. “She is not thy enemy!”

Enemy? Who was his enemy? The tainted orcs, and their lesser troll brothers? The civilized elves and their night elf ‘pet’, who upon their arrival to the oldest continent sided with such fowl creatures? The undead, forever banished from these lands 349 years ago? The demons of myth and legend, gods’ mistakes and man’s burden? Who? Who?

“Who?”

His followers repeated him, echo-like. “Who? Who? Who? Who? Who?”

****
“Our enemy is unknown”, spoke General Fathar through the hastened winds, “but if reports are correct, we are to face demons.”

Murmurs quickly arose. Demons! Everyone questioned, cursed, and prayed. Fathar added something about the elves, but no one listened. Despite their experience - having faced the fiercest of orcs, trolls and ogres - just a single demon would bring far more dread into their hearts than any other creature. Varnt, who stood close to Gyfja's brother, tried to stay at ease, but his mind was troubled with the memories of his hometown. Having survived the slaughter at the Gods' Valley, he longed to return home with his wife. He longed to cut wood again, just like he had done for almost 40 years. He longed to sit by the riverbed. He longed to sit by the warmth of fire. He longed, indeed...

A push to his shoulder brought Varnt back to winter. Rothar, clad in battered iron armor, muttered something, and advanced with reluctance towards Fathar's silhouette. Baltan, Gyfja's brother and a visibly older Laurus followed him. Varnt followed, too, as the six veterans set to cross the whitewashed gorges.

Throughout the journey no one spoke, and the only sounds heard were that of the wind and the men's armor clashing. After a few hours of walking, the weather worsened into a blizzard; snow felt like shrapnel against their nude faces, and a piercing frost crept through their armor just as their hands and feet began to falter. Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately for them, they found an entrance to a cave while the sinking sun still struggled to pierce the clouds. Judging by the footsteps outside, and an unnatural fire coming from inside, they understood it was the place they were looking for. Without a single word, the six masked their heads with helmets, adjusted their armor, armed themselves with sword and shield, embraced death, and went into their grave.

****

“Who?”

Their weak voices failed to get their attention. The female demon cursed the face on the wall, until she was silenced by a deafening roar and an incredible weight overcame her, forcing her to kneel. Then, the carved cave wall spoke again, and, unlike the female’s, Varnt understood his words clearly.

“I have granted thee thy greatest desire, the immortality you foolishly sought for. In seeking it thou forsaketh thy brothers and betrayeth thy forefathers. Thou gave me thy soul and theirs; thy vessel twisted at thy wilt, not mine. But thou gave a soul to a soulless one; thou freed a caged being and rescueth me from oblivion. For that I stand thankful. Serve me, and thou shalt find path to eternal elfdom once again. Else, thou shalt carry that curse unto thy grave. I bequeath thee these champions. What say you?”

The elf – Varnt rembered she was an elf – stayed silent for a very long time. The six grew impatient, until a fierce voice broke the dead air. Varnt, again, hardly understood anything, but it seemed she accepted his lord’s offer. After a while, silence fell one more time over the black galleries.
 
Level 9
Joined
Dec 21, 2011
Messages
332
Here's Da Fist's WiP:

The Incarnated Soldier of Thanatos

What is this feeling? I feel, something. This is not right.

I woke up and got my gear. It is a special day. For it is a feast where we give offering to the gods. Yet, I am still uncomfortable, for I feel a strange presence? What could it be?

I went out and took a look at the sun. If Apollo, god of sun and prophecies is up there, can he tell me what I feel?

I took a couple of minutes to get to the temple, which was newly painted by gold. You can see fire stroking the air and smoke filling the sky. I went up and raised my sword to the gate, it is a tradition to Greeks to do this.

It was a ceremony, each one of the citizens gave offerings. Livestock, Crops and even their own money, just to please the gods.

I guarded the temple and scanned the forest and south of the forest was a lake snaking towards the rice fields, which was uprooted by the terrible storm last week.

I took my attention to the town, a town looks like dots on the top of the temple, small houses scattered among the land, most of them with jugs of water outside, but some have red flags saying the Greek god they worship in Greek.

My attention was diverted by a scent , and curiously smelled the air. Wait. This air, smells different. It smells like, fresh blood. I begin to think if I will alarm the guards. But when I made up my mind to say my findings, I saw bodies. My system seems not pleased with the scene.

When I averted my attention to the clouds, I saw the arrows raining from the sky.

"RUN!" I yelled to the townsfolk, "Go for the hills!"

Total Pandemonium scattered like fire towards the citizens, they fled and covered themselves from the line of sight of the enemy soldiers. Children started screaming for their parents, but the arrows struck the children too. A few lucky persons managed to escape to the hills, but was blocked by a few sentries, and stabbed.

Great. Bodies began to pile up everywhere.

I had reversed my train of thought and glanced at the enemy soldiers, I saw a battalion of warriors of another tribe, coming out of the forest. Some where carrying flags and all of them in full gear. About 500 of them, including the cavalries and archers.

Then I had scanned my surroundings and saw that our men went down from 200 to 75. Woah. The Bodies, the scent of blood. This is a well planned attack.

A horseman reared his reins and screamed " SURRENDER, WE OUT NUMBER YOU! JOIN US, OR PERISH "

My mind raced. I felt something stirring within me, but I ignored it and started to hold my breath " FOR GREECE! " I roared. All of my fellow soldiers followed the cry and went to battle.

The battle had started and adrenaline injected battle frenzy to my brain. My legs jolted to battle and I have killed, 30? 40? Or even more. May the gods forgive me. While I was down checking a body of a enemy, to check if there is any useful items like, poison, throwing knives or maybe some coins, I felt a new presence of a soldier behind me and smashed his head with the hammer of a corpse.

Screaming, laughter and slaughter everywhere. The once town of a peaceful tribe was burnt to the ground, painted with fresh blood. " RESISTANCE IS FUTILE! " Bellowed the leader horseman.

"Romans! We should have known!" a fellow Greek soldier whimpered while he snapped two arrows from his arm.

"Now is not the time Oppio! Lord Ares, give me strength!"

After this small prayer, I charged once more to the battle, and I slaughtered more enemies, and I felt a arrow piercing my foot. Painful, yes, but it did not stop me. For I will fight until the end of my life.

A few minutes later, bodies were littered everywhere, fire went wild with the houses, buildings were thrashed and looted and the sky went dark, the battle sank badly on our side. I was the only soldier standing.

"Surrender! You have no match for Rome!" A horseman steered before me. He uttered some words and a couple of sentries came and tied me up.

"Well? I am waiting." the horseman smiled. " You are worthy to become a lieutenant of mine. " Raindrops fall lightly on his helmet.

I refused and spat blood on him, which was mixed with rain water, but for one, I do not care. His face became a sneer and he readied his spear.

Lord Hades. If you hear this prayer, give me the power to defeat this dirty scums. I will be your loyal slave for eternity.

Then I felt the spear tip on my chest. I felt something mixed with my blood. This, I have felt this before. Poison. His stupid spear is poisoned. I screamed but no sound left my mouth. Blood splashed from my breastplate and I was slowly dying.

I heard the laughter of the Romans. I can see but my eyesight is very red and dark.

Elysium. No, maybe Asphodel. I will accept my defeat. I thought.

I died. But the horseman saw something stirring on my chest. He saw, a dark spiny claw.

No, it cannot be. Pluto cannot resurrect people from the dead without reason. No. He will not resurrect. the horseman mind raced while he watched the spike became a claw, and a claw appearing to be a, crown?

I felt a surge of energy to my mind. New found power runs through my veins. My eyesight went berserk, my brain feels faster and sharper. No. This power is not new! This. I have felt this stirring upon me. It feels the presence of ... death. Though I did not speak, another voice came out of my mouth and yelled " I AM THANATOS, SERVANT OF HADES. KNEEL OR FACE MY WRATH !"

Rome's soldiers ran away from me. No it is not me. I feel another soul controlling me. I am an Incarnated spirit. Born to destroy those who oppose Greece. I turned and swung my sword, which turned into a pitch black scythe, and brought the enemies to their knees.

The leader cavalier, stunned, saw me and attacked with his poison spear. I saw his attack coming and swung the crook of my scythe to his neck and sliced it open. His blood scattered on his horse. A few seconds, the war is over, Greece has won once more.

I pushed my palm downwards, and the bodies sank to feed Cerberus. My scythe reaped the souls, so that I can summon them at will. The fallen Roman soldiers that fell in my hand lies in the edge of my scythe. They are very powerful and loyal soldiers, except for that particular cavalier, which he will experience eternal poison in Fields of Punishment. The few remaining Greek people started to kneel upon us. Yes, us.

Together with Thanatos, We will rebuild this city once more. We will bless those who worship us. And destroy those who oppose our will. We saw the new city of Greece. From ashes we fought, we raised the banners once more. And it will not burn down again.

Now we sit on our throne during this day, maybe watching you right now. We are the Incarnation of Thanatos, the death knight, servant of Hades. We shall protect Greece for my eternal lifetime.


Thanatos.jpg


------------
See. This is about a story of a young soldier, and then died during the invasion of Rome, but the tide changed when he prayed to Hades, and he was given a part of the soul of Thanatos, the Keeper of the Dead.

------
- Da Fist -
-----------
DS Gamer - Hmm. Yeah. Can't see typos though. My computer states, that I do not have typos, except the red line on Thanatos.
 
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Deleted member 212788

D

Deleted member 212788

I noticed a few typos and you repeat the word soldiers one too many times. I'd suggest using synonyms such as warriors, infantry/cavalry, archers, spear-men, swordsmen, etc.
Also, describe the surroundings a bit and lastly, you start in past tense but then change to present and to past again. It doesn't sound right to me but you should ask others too.
 

The Panda

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Level 58
Joined
Jun 2, 2008
Messages
8,292
Update.

The Black Heart

One stormy night in Saqqara, death flows through the air as it suffocates the weak. The undead crawl out of the ground and begin to prepare for battle upon the enemy. Karnak, the king of the undead arises as he sets power towards the black heart. Ghouls rushing throughout the dead trees scavenging bodies for food. Karnak spots an Human ahead. He then spawns a fierce array of skeletons too do his bidding. The skeletons then rush right at the Human unit with there swords held high. As the skeletons get closer to the Human, Karnak spots an ambush. Karnak try's to call off the attack but is too late, the humans have called in reinforcements. Karnak then retreats with his ghouls back to his city, Saqqara. The humans also head back too there castle, Edinburgh. There king, Alexander calls in scout helicopters to scout the areas around there castle.
Taking flight, the helicopters travel in different directions in order to gain more vision. One of the helicopters spots a broken down, blight invested tower close too the castle. Heading back to the castle to tell the king, the helicopters group together for a safe journey back. Each pilot exit there helicopter and report too the king. As they walk back to the king, a horrific sound occurs. Silencing each villager in the castle too the ground. After a few seconds it vanishes. What was that? A pilot screamed. The king answered. The black heart is resurrecting.


Work In Progress
 

Deleted member 212788

D

Deleted member 212788

I know this sounds dumb but, i can fix typos in my final entry BEFORE the deadline right?
 
Level 9
Joined
Dec 21, 2011
Messages
332
The Panda. I noticed some spelling , grammar Errors. I respect your concept, but I hope you can handle my negative review.

The Panda said:
.... An Human ....
The Panda said:
.... fierce array of skeletons too do ....
The Panda said:
.... head back too there castle ....
The Panda said:
.... Edinburgh. there king ....
The Panda said:
.... blight invested close too ....
The Panda said:
.... report too the ....
The Panda said:
.... in the castle too ....
----
Yeah. I know it is still WiP. But I hope my review helps.
 
Level 17
Joined
Apr 3, 2010
Messages
1,101
Final now :D


There was one a great warrior, long ago. In a time of strife where war had been raged for countless years. The nation of Ashitar was on its final legs; the tyrant ruler had nearly ended the resistance entirely, and the peoples freedom and hope was gone.
The great warrior was the savior of this time.

It was rumored that he had been given life by the wolves in the arctic tundra that is the bro' keb 'ack mountains. He was a cub lone with his pack into the wild outlands, in the struggle for life. He grew up with the characteristics in mind and appearance of a Wolf. As he grew older he began to lead his pack, exploring alien lands within the mountains in a desperate search for food; which was now a scarce commodity. His life was like this for many years; until the day he discovered an old temple hidden in the core, the heart of the mountains.

The moon was high and the wind was strong when he entered the caves that led to Ashala (The temple of light). However he did not know what this place was, nor did he understand the strange inscriptions that seemed to be scattered on the walls that surrounded him. An eery silence drifted into him as a slight breeze blew outside. He stepped further into the abyss, that waited for him, the abyss that followed him everyday like a shadow. He wrapped himself round it and crawled further down the cold stone slabs.
It is said that on this night his life changed, and so did history. It was said that as he took his first step into the temple, at that exact moment that a storm brewed in the Cileth oceans. A storm that would later flood through the center of the Tyrant king's land. The flood that would forge a gap between nations; and although he quickly forged bridges to cross the new river, the divide had already been set. The resistance began to reorganize now that it could focus itself upon a whole area without any real interference as travel across the river was difficult, because the river would usually whip up at passers by drowning them with its icy clasp. Little did he know that his entrance upon this scene, would change everything and yet nothing. The future was now holding hope and happiness for the people of Ashitar.

As he neared the bottom he came across another tunnel that led to a tomb. The strange signs lit up bright as he entered. It is said, that on that night a mad desire overcame him, a wild lust and he seized the light in his palm, with hunger in his eyes. The globes aura fluctuated, reverberating tremendous shock waves through the mountain. The temple suddenly went ablaze with fire. The walls oozed with a twilight of orange and red, as molten rock began to pour into the chambers of the one holy temple. A strange force pushed him into the air and opened up his mind to an array of knowledge. Rocks cascaded down to him from, creating a cacophonous symphony. A boom hit forte as everything drove into the ultimatum. More fire swirled and more energy was released outwards into the lands. Till one tremendous crescendo finally, before a sudden blackness enticingly re-entered the scene. The curious vanish of the chaos that had previously acted upon this place, left an ominous ghost that would foreshadow the temple as coming events unwrapped themselves from the book of time.

This was the legend of Cli ché

300 years later and the Tyrant king was overthrown, and peace was restored within the nation of Ashitar and all of its provinces. The temple of Ashala in the mountains has never been visited since, and any records of Cli ché faded into the story books. The people of Ashitar spent there time in decadence and prosperity. Art thrived in this new era, while new innovative inventions were constantly being discovered. Now the people of Ashitar had sewage systems and pencils. The most famed and loved king Sanal spent his time creating a huge library in the Imperial city. The rest of his life and many other scholars was dedicated to this library as they transcribed papyrus and rag script onto paper. While the son of Sanal was also a kind loving king who created the observatory and for the first time the people of Ashala could see the stars close up.

However despite this prosperity there were threats on the outskirts of Ashala, lurking in the darkness waiting to strike at Ashala's jugular. Exactly 392 years after the disappearance of the great hero Cli ché a atrocity happened. The much respected Yan was now the throne holder, he is cultured and brave and fitting to be a king. He should continue Ashala strengths. Yan was blessed with 2 children and a beautiful wife, his military career was illustrious, and he successfully kept the walls of Ashala protected. Yan was also a trusting man, and although he would trust anyone, it was rare for him to be betrayed. However Yan's right hand man Tray Toor, was to end this peaceful dynasty, and create a tragedy out of this tale. Spoiled by coin and promises that would never be fulfilled. Tray Toor helped smuggle in foreign assassins into the imperial city and into Yan's 21st birthday party. Yan was to become a man on his death day. The foreign assassins were quick to kill Yan and the Royal family. Resistance was weak and although many gave there lives for their king, but he was unable to be saved. Not one royal member was left alive that day. It was a slaughter a massacre. With the death of the king and his family, leadership was broken. The nation entered into turmoil and alien forces were quick to invade.


Once more the hopes of many
Were not left for any
As Ashala's life
Was once again in Strife

A hero is needed once more
A hero is needed once more
To save the hearts of all
Before he has yet another fall

From the distance grave he rose
Standing tall in his might
Now he shall Vanquish our foes
And end our turmoil and plight

We ask you great lord of light
To bless us once more with your sight
Let us see the truth behind this Veil
Instead of the hard cold steal of the Mail
That bashes on our chests as we resist

We will fight for you great warrior great hero
For you are our hope my liege
Although our losses will not be zero
We will always do as you please

For you are our true king our warrior our heart
You represent the beastly chivalry of our nation
We shall be there standing for you waiting
Waiting in the cold dust that hath its fury
Wipping us for our sins

We have forgotten about you warrior
However we never forgot your story
We need you once more great warrior
However this time the enemy is alien

You are our king
Warrior revive Warrior revive
You are our king

Ashitar rejoice we have our king
Our spirits our not broken
The remnants of life
Is yet still life

We will live forever more
For we are the people
For we are the people

Cli ché Our hero return to us

The kings blood burst from his throat in scarlet speckles. Time seemed to slow, and the chaos stopped. Peace overwhelmed as he fell mid air. His vision dark as he saw soldiers around him quivering at the sight of his death, Then with a great flourish them continuing to try and protect his body. The speckles flew into the air like a bird flying into the sky. Flying over the river of blood, left from the mangled corpses that scattered the flaw. The tables broken, screams awoken. Ember glows of torches, Ember glows. Burning pyres, putrid smell. Yet still these speckles hanged in the air, soaring above the rest. He felt weightless as he saw his life "Flash before his eyes" and then a vision. He saw the warrior Cli ché in a temple; submerged under water in his famous, dark cloak that was decorated with wolf like scripture. The life began to empty from him as he saw Cli ché face suddenly awaken from his deep sleep.
His body regaining life. What looked like dust seeping through his cloak into him, as a frightening pace. He felt his head whack against the cold stone floor, before all went black.

The dark ember glow lit up once more in the lost temple of Ashala. The scriptures furiously a light with determination. Cli ché looked around as he felt his body renewing itself. Power began surging through his veins once more and his claws began to sharpen. Once ready he pushed his powerful legs into the water kicking himself into the air. He smashed through the layer of rock that sealed him in his tomb and emerged from the citadels underbelly. Quickly scurrying through the tunnels he ran into the midst of Lower Asbrath. With this he quickly hid in the hustling bustle of the city people and began his life again once more.

This was the second tale of the great hero Cli ché
Warrior of Ahala
Beast of the mountains


 
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Level 4
Joined
May 3, 2012
Messages
92
The Pride of a Soldier


Souls who are restless will return and seek vengeance to those who has killed them or who is trying to finish his goals in life before they died the souls are on a relentless march to their goal......
Raven a soldier who has pride of a lion. he seeks revenge on the killers of his family he was recuted at his own birthday he was left alone even by his grandparents.he was living with his friend named darril he proteced him even though he was not yet a soldier.

He was 18 when he joined now as a soldier.....his mentor was only his friend in the camp when he was given a choice to pick his weapon he picked the gun which the bullets are infinte and have no element on its own. but if the bullets killed a mage with a certain element it will have its element and become its permanent element.

as time go on the war ever lasting will stop with a very shallow end said raven very poetic raven said the general
Boom went the core that made the building have its power what was that said raven raven rushed to see it was there enemy the anti-group who wanted there company to stop doing missions because of the risks
Raven who wanted to kill the enemies he sucede but he was wounded in the action raven also killed a mage with the power of fire now his bullets enchanced with the power of the mage. Days past raven who now has a mark of his wound. raven recived an official mission from the director now he departs to set on his mission the mission was assigned to countless men to succed but alas failure so raven now assigned he will try to achieve this mission that was assigned to him
After arriving the area of responsibility of ravens mission he saw countless enemies approaching him
He killed them but at the cost he died and his soul longing vengeance he reawaken and hearing the screams of those who died under his famed sword

The Story of the soldier is an inventiable end
 
Level 19
Joined
Mar 16, 2009
Messages
3,682
I'm not really sure if it fits the theme exactly. He did get reincarnated, but only to relive his last day among the living and be offered a second chance. In any case, it's not wholly done yet, have to add slight adjustments, but besides that, this is my story, so any criticisms before I submit the final entry, besides not clarifying who the silver-haired woman is?

‘’Charge! For King and Country!” he cried out in rage and fury as he spurred his men onwards, into the enemy ranks. He held his spear into the air and rode forward on his stallion, digging his feet into the flanks of the horse. He looked backwards and saw that they followed him, each of them in a crazy frenzy. He was not fooled, however. They were all afraid. He could see it in their eyes. The eyes always betrayed someone and he could see the sparkle of fear in everyone’s eyes. Nonetheless they rode with him, into almost certain doom for most of them. True bravery was not the absence of fear, but ignoring those fears, he realized proud as he looked over his shoulder at them. These were brave men, truly, and he had been blessed to lead them into war, into battle. And now they charged, not for glory nor pride, but for duty, preferable to the earlier two. He grinned like a maniac as he fastened the pace, staring at the enemy ranks, disorganized, but great warriors and with many. This was what the stories spoke of so highly and now he was going to be one of those stories, as he had hoped for in his younger days. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so pessimistic, the rider thought to himself as they came closer and closer. Most of them had seen their charge but a lot of them were still gawking at his lord, his king, who was fighting a lonely battle, surrounded and trapped. They were close now. He felt the wind softly stroke his skin and play with his hair. The skin of his horse was soft, too, he noticed for the first time as his legs rested against its flanks. He smelt the woods, truly, perhaps for the first time. It was as if he actually felt the world for the first time, in these small moments, ironically.
And then came the crashing of spears and horses. One moment he had been on a horse, the other moment he was on the ground with an arrow in his eye. Gods, it hurt so terribly, he thought to himself as he cried out in pain and anguish, the pain paralyzing him. What cruel gods had thought of pain!? His vision was now clouded with darkness on one side. He saw men fighting, making their way to his lord, while pain consumed him. It became the centre of every thought and in his mind he cursed gods, kings and men, perhaps in a way to cope with the pain, until he felt himself weakening. He found himself spitting blood out on the ground with every passing second. The vision of his left-eye, his working eye, was diminishing as time passed. He fought vigorously against it, but as he weakened, he was eventually forced to admit defeat. He had hoped for more than this, his final bitter thought. He had dreamt of it. Darkness overtook him.

‘’Elis! Elis! Wake up, you bum!’’ a low voice said, yelling angrily. He tried to ignore the damn voice as he was comfortably in his tent, but suddenly he felt a kick in his stomach and he growled in pain, before he opened his eyes. He slowly stood up, stumbling a bit around and almost losing his balance. Gods, he felt like shit, honestly, he thought to himself as he turned to the man that had kicked him to wake him, a rather tall and muscled man. ‘’My name is not Elis, you fool. Get out.’’ He replied, his voice cold and commanding, a tone he had practiced for. And now he could pull it off perfectly, he thought with a grin on his face as the man quickly scurried off, suddenly cowering. Hmpf. He walked, now having regained his balance a bit, to the bowl, which stood on a table along with some food, and dipped his hands in the water that was contained by it. He washed his face slowly and as he lowered his hands he stared into the water. He was glad to see that there wasn’t an arrow sticking through his eye. Gods, that dream had been horrendous and terrifying, he thought to himself. It had been a nightmare, a painful one at that, somehow. A cold thought crawled up his spine; what if it was prophetic? No, dreams were not prophetic, were they? He quickly reassured himself as he grabbed a piece of bread from the table and walked over to the rack on the other side. No dreams were prophetic, he thought as he grabbed the chainmail from the rack and wiggled his arms into it. It had seemed life-like, though, he realized as he grabbed his lance from the rack, too, as well as his sword and helmet. It had… nonetheless, it was a dream, he thought, cutting himself off. He was still here, right? And such a thing as happened in the dream was ridiculous. That was so, and somewhat reassured he left his tent, only to be greeted by an all-too-familiar face.
‘’Nearchos.’’ he spoke, nodding as he put his helmet on. It was a bronze one, designed to fit perfectly to the head, The front of his face was somewhat unprotected, though a bronze piece of metal protected his nose. Nearchos, meanwhile, followed him and had started speaking, but admittedly, he hadn’t really listened to what the man had said.
‘’… and the battle is going to be today, at noon.’’ Nearchos told him, finally finishing. At noon? Had it been noon in his dream? No, it had been.. dusk, he could remember that, at least. Dusk. ‘’Very well.. how many?’’
‘’Twenty-thousand or so. The king will crush them with ease.’’ Nearchos told him, his voice cold and impersonal as usual, though somewhat confident. It’s what he thought what professionalism was. Well, that or he was completely dead on the inside, he thought to himself. He surely hoped for the former.
‘’And how late is it now?’’
‘’Morning, sir. We march now.’’
‘’Well, let us get to our horses, then.’’ he said in a calm voice, a tone that would not betray how he truly felt.

A few moments later he found himself on his trusted steed. He quickly rubbed its manes, his men looking at him with frowns. They didn’t understand, he thought to himself as he turned his horse to face them all. Men similiarly armoured as him, armoured in chainmail, with lance in the hand and sword sheathed, along with stallions, perhaps the best. He gazed at them all. Nearchos, Illios, Askador, Azkaed, Dorean, Zamalso. The list of names didn’t go further than that and he turned to face every one of them, looking into their eyes to see if they were afraid. They all were, somewhat, and that was a good thing. Fear kept people alive. Inspecting for fear wasn’t the only reason he looked at each of them individually, strong, armoured men on great stallions – men you would not suspect of fear. He looked at them to memorize their faces. He didn’t want to forget, after all. At dusk these men might be dead, he thought to himself, a bitter realization he had tried to forget many times, but he had never succeeded. And so he always gazed at his men, memorizing their faces. He forgot them all eventually and then, then they were truly dead for him. Strangely, as he looked upon his men, they were somewhat different. More perfect? He couldn’t exactly describe it, but anyway, perhaps remembering them was his way of trying to keep them alive, even though it only in memory. Even though he had failed in his duties as commander to protect them. Even though. He had seen enough and pushed one foot in the flank of the horse, turning it around.

‘’Come, we’ve wasted enough time. We need to carry on.’’ he spoke before he pressed both his feet into the flanks of the horse and rode away, followed. The camp had already been emptied for the most part. Most soldiers were marching already and the camp was like a ghost town, except for the occasional camp whore walking through. A few men were posted at the outskirts to guard over the tents and such, but they were such a meager force he doubted they actually could protect it if something happened. He rode on, abandoning the camp and riding past the columns of soldiers, pikemen and swordsmen, marching through the small path which they were forced to take, in perfect order. They were in a wood, after all. He looked around – great trees cast a great shadow upon them, making it so that almost no sun really came through the leafs of the tree. These were ancient trees, one could feel it, smell it, see it. How old were they? Hundreds of years, perhaps? Thousands? One could suspect so, since these were thick and tall trees, thicker than any tree he had ever seen before. It was, unnerving, almost. Truly, he had not wished to be here, but alas, he had been obligated by his liege to be here, and so he had come here, in a foreign land, surrounded by foreign trees and foreign people. This was not their land, after all, and they had come here only due to his liege’s quest of conquest. He rode on, closely followed by his soldiers, trying to reach the head of the column, as he had been ordered to.

The cool wind started blowing hard and he felt it stroke his hair, even underneath his helmet. Strange. Leafs danced on the wind, guided by the wind, as if it was the dance partner. They danced and they danced, strangely, and more leafs joined the dance. It was.. quite beautiful, really. For a moment he forgot where he was, for a moment he just stared at the leafs with a smile on his face. And then, the cries came and the crashing of the spears, the same sound he had heard in his dream, came oncemore upon him and separated him from his trance, alas. And as his serenity, his tranquility, his peace, was gone, he looked around and saw what caused it. Hordes of men were descending from the trees, from the dense forest, each armoured and armed. Steel plates protected their bodies, decorated by symbols of beasts and battles, quite nicely, too. However, besides the chest and stomach, not much else was protected and they only wore mail on the places they did protect from stabs and blows. Despite the armour, he saw them attacking with a fairly great speed. Light armour, though well protecting, a secret these people had had for quite a long time. Their helmets, o, were perhaps even more decorated, though ugly in shape, twisted, leaving a lot of space open, truly, for these people did not, strangely, care much for helmets. Time seemed to slow as they came closer, until he saw leafs, without movement, in the air, and all was frozen. He looked around. Panic spread over the faces of his men. Nearchos seemed calm enough, though he was a master in hiding his true feelings, in making masks for himself. Illios and Askador were looking around with shock, Azkaed merely stared at him, Dorean was reaching for his lance, and Zamalso was still looking at the trees, a dreamer who did not know that it was about to become a nightmare. And himself? He felt fear. He felt panic, but.. he felt somewhat at peace, strangely, despite all that he might lose the coming seconds, hours, days. He thought of his silver-haired woman. Such a beautiful creature, and now he was here, alas, separated from her embrace, her warm body. Such was war, alas. The gods were twisted for the creation of such a terror, such a horror.

And then time seemed to unfroze. All the actions he had seen, frozen, were now suddenly happening in seconds and he stared startled as all panicked and turned to face the charging warriors. Gods.. what was he supposed to do now? Fight for his life, yes, but.. what about his orders? Where would he need to go? The formations of soldiers before him broke up and officers screamed at each other, perhaps only seconds away from death. Cries filled the air. He had these cries before in his dream. A cold shiver crawled up his spine he quickly hardened himself, shielded himself from strange and illogical thoughts. The dream had merely been a dream, not anything else. And the cries of men and the clashing of weapons and armour deafened him for anything else. He saw Nearchos open his mouth and try to say something, but his words were drowned in a sea, no, an ocean of sound, of terrifying sounds. He had barely any time left to do anything, he realized, as the men out of the trees were charging at him and his group, and at the whole column. Officers were ignored and men counter-charging in random directions, furious at this cowardly ambush. Though scared, they did not have anywhere to go at the moment, for they trapped in a forest that not their domain, but the enemy’s. ‘’Charge! Attack! Drive them back!’’, these words, for a moment, could be heard before they were once more drowned. And now, he had to move. He could not speak, for his commands would not be heard by his men, so he quickly raised his lance and pushed his feet into the flank of the horse, riding off as thousands charged and the two armies began to clash, with the trees and the leafs as the only witnesses to the battle. Horsemen without speed were useless, a lesson he had learned early, so he rode on, with more and more speed, though he had nowhere really to go. And then, he saw a group of enemy warriors engage his fellow comrades, so he turned his horse and only barely avoided a spear to the throat, a spear that flew by with great speed and hit another soldier besides him, though he could not look upon him, for he was past the fallen soldier within a few seconds. He fastened the pace and then, the enemy coming closer and closer, he charged into them, his horse ramming an enemy warrior and his lance finding flesh to bury itself in, blood sprouting from the wound as if it were a fountain. He did not see where exactly he had hit, he only saw blood and enemies. Cries of the enemy group filled the air, and it was with that he knew his men had followed him. He looked right and saw Askador, he looked left and he saw Nearchos. Askador, though still scared, had entered somewhat of a blood frenzy, stabbing with his spear left and right, without aim, very concentrated. He followed his example and started stabbing the enemy soldiers, who were fighting others, now flanked by him and his horsemen. He felt his strength increase with every stab, his vision getting clearer as more men fell before his spear. Hyper concentration, somebody had called it once. Suddenly, a warrior charged at him, making a path through the dead bodies. The man had the same armour as most enemies, though he did not share their determination, seemingly, not their passion, perhaps only their fear. The man charged forward, a spear in his hand and buried it in the neck of his horse before he had a chance to hit the man. The horse cried out and fell to the ground, him going along with it, his rather heavy armour making the fall quite painful. Now he did not see the deaths of men, only the blue sky, and for a moment, serenity overtook him once more, until he saw the man trying to shove his spear into his face. Before the man had chance to do so, he stabbed the man with his lance in the stomach. The enemy soldier fell over towards him and only with great effort was he able to kick him away before he was buried by the body. He got up and looked at the mass of enemies before him, attacked by both his men and other soldiers on his side, but nonetheless, they kept standing. He dropped his lance and unsheathed his sword, hacking and stabbing into the flesh of the enemy, though greatly armoured, not without weak spots. He kept hacking into the enemy, but they did not flee, no, they fought back with great fury, holding him and his men while driving the other soldiers they were engaged with back. The whole column started to disintegrate, he realized, under the fury and strength of the enemy assault, men fighting back to back as they were driven into each other, eventually. How many of these soldiers were? Tens of thousands? So many? He did not know, exactly, but he kept hacking on. He had to stay alive.

And then a horn sounded. He knew the sound of it, booming and powerful, echoing throughout the part of the forests that were unoccupied. He froze for a moment, for that horn was no bringer of good news, no, it was the bringer of bad news. It was he signal for retreat, admitting defeat. But where could they run? He quickly climbed up the horse of Nearchos, his faithful companion, that had been with him all this time and took over control. He looked around and saw the column deintegrating, fleeing for their lives as the horn had signaled that all hope for victory was lost. Gaps had been created in the enemy formation and the men streamed through them, hacked down by axes, spears and swords and struck from afar by arrows and javelins. Truly, it was a massacre as the army routed into the woods and back to camp. All fled, none stayed to fight, for all knew the hopelessness of the battle. Terror was the best word for describing the atmosphere. And now, they all fled before the enemy, who they had previously thought to be savages. They ran and they ran. He raised his sword, instead of his lance, as he had dropped that and kicked with his flanks into the horse, quickly joining the crowd of fleeing soldiers, of dying soldiers, too. He looked around and saw Nearchos sitting on the same horse, and four others, still with horse, following him. Four? He slowed his pace to have a better look at them. Azkador, Azkaed, Illios and Dorean. Where was Zamalso? Where was he!? ‘’WHERE IS ZAMALSAN!?’’ he screamed out to Nearchos as he halted in the crowd of fleeing soldiers. His scream was not drowned in the orgy of sound, but nobody responded. Nearchos shook his head and the others didn’t say anything, or do anything, besides staring at him, their faces covered with blood and wounds. Blood and wounds. This.. gods. Zamalsan. He still remembered his face from in the morning. Clean, well-shaven, along with a pointy nose. Zamalsan.. damn. He cursed the trees and the forest, the gods and the heavens, the enemy and their leaders, in words vulgar beyond words, blasphemous and desecrating, in great rage and fury, unmatched. Why? Why!? He would not flee with these cowards, he would avenge the man, he would sacrifice a dozen, a hundred, in revenge. He had his horse turn around and in great anger he charged once more into the crowd of enemy warriors. He slashed at them and swung his sword, and he killed many, many more than he had before. His men followed him, fearful of receiving the same fate their comrade had, but nonetheless not paralysed by that fear of death, of oblivion. They charged.. and cut their way through the mass of enemy soldiers. Personally, he just kept driving through the crowd, a frenzy, a lust for blood taking him over, along with his soldiers. He was, perhaps, at that moment the greatest warrior among all, as he was unstoppable and despite being outnumbered, the enemy fled before him. And then, he was once more along with his men, having cut his way through the enemy.

In the distance, he saw a banner, flying high and proud, covered by blood. A stag was upon it, a black stag on a golden field. It was the king’s banner. In the distance he also saw another mass of enemy warriors, surrounding the banner. The king was always with that banner. He.. he was trapped by the mass of barbarian warriors, most of them merely staring at the banner, gawking.

Gods. He.. he had been here before. He had.. been in this situation before. He froze, his bloodfrenzy ending, his passion cooling, a cold shiver crawling up his spine at the assessment of the situation, at the memory of that dream he had had. Gods. The dream had been no mere dream, it had been prophetic. And now he was here, once more upon the same path as he had been before, a path that would lead to death and oblivion, for sure. He had to avenge his comrade. His king was in danger, and he had been sworn to serve him. He knew, however, what was down that path. Death, only.. he did not want to die. He wanted to see his silver-haired woman again, make love to her a thousand more times with the passion of the gods and watch the years pass by, perhaps watch children grow up.. He was not old, he still had many years to live, many more years to enjoy life, see the world, many more years to be. He had everything to lose, but nothing to gain. But.. he was sworn to his king, to his lord and liege. He would reap no glory as he had thought in the dream, gain no riches. He would only do his duty. And he would do his duty with pride, where all other men had failed. His resolve hardened, steeled, all doubt was banished out of his mind and he lead his men once more forward, once more. ‘’For King and Country!’’ he cried out again as he spurred his horse forward, charging with great speed and only a few companions. And once more he felt the wind softly stroke his skin and play with his hair. The skin of his horse was soft, too, he noticed for the first time as his legs rested against its flanks. He smelt the woods, truly, perhaps for the first time. It was as if he actually felt the world for the first time, in these small moments, ironically. And the enemy came closer and closer, and the second before the clashing of spears and shields would begin, the hacking of swords into the flesh of the enemy, the world disappeared. Darkness overtook him once more, but he was able to drive the darkness away by opening his eyes.

And there he was. Wounded, woken up from his dream, which he thought to have been reality, and now in what he had thought to be a dream in his dream. He had relived it all. But.. it had too real to be a dream. Too.. real. It had been reality in it’s own way. Had he been offered a second chance by those above? The immense pain almost made it impossible to think, as he laid there, dying, his vision getting blurrier with the second. Gods. He had given up a second chance for almost the same reasons as before. He was bleeding out. He cursed all that existed, in a few seconds, before he finally accepted his fate. He shouldn’t have charged into the crowd of enemies. But, as darkness overtook him once more, for the third time, he could see in his last moments a man with a crown mount a horse and ride away. And with a smile on his face, the fire of life within him was extinguished.
 
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