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Joined: 10 Jan 2010
Posts: 461
Location: a chair in a cold dark living room

Posted: Sun Aug 26, 2012 5:13 am    Post subject: The Lost  


In the center of the forest, a village burned, and a people were taken. In the trees, a forgotten son watched from the trees as his entire family were led away in shackles. Every elven man, woman, and child were caught, captured and chained. Their attackers were dressed in tight, black leather armor complete with black hoods to hide their faces. The attack seemed to last forever. The monsters responsible wanted it that way. The longer the enslavement lasted, the more fear was felt. The more fear that was present, the more docile the captives were.

The Forgotten Son stood on his branch and simply observed. He clutched his longbow in his hand and watched as tears ran down his face. He was powerless to intervene. He was outnumbered. Trying to stop the attackers would only result in his death. So he did the only thing he could do. He looked.

His eyes landed on his home and he could see what appeared to be an arm sticking out from within. His father most likely. He had probably tried to stand up to them, peacefully as always. As all of the village were. His father though was one of the more stubborn of the clan. Now he was most likely dead. Along with the rest of his immediate family. The thought hurt but not as much as knowing that it had happened while he was gone. Away to practice the art of combat, something that was completely forbidden in the village.

The attack finally ended just after dusk and the Forgotten Son climbed down from his perch. His eyes had long since made themselves dry, yet sorrow still plagued him as he made his way into the village that was still ablaze. His first destination was the orphanage. He found no corpses and quickly praised the gods for the small miracle. Building by building, he searched for survivors. Any glimmer of hope that he was the only one left free. There was nothing but flame and fallen families. Most had been executed with a single stab, others had been made to suffer.

After going door to door with the entire village, he made his way back home. The arm did indeed belong to his father and inside he found his mother lying bleeding on their table, a golden locket that he had received from a traveling merchant and given to her as a gift hung from her hand, the chain was broken. She had died, clinging to a memory of him. As the last bit of fire died in the village, another one rose up in the sole survivor. The once Forgotten Son. Gently he removed the locket from his mothers grasp and swore that the man responsible for the attack was punished.

While one peaceful people was stolen in the forest, a warrior tribe was slaughtered in another. Invaders clad in black armor and hoods marched into a tribal village of minotaurs and in a matter of minutes, started to show superiority. The warriors fought hard against their attackers but the equally large and savage intruders prevailed. As each one fell, one of the men in black stole their horns.

The horns were a trophy, a sign of victory of the conquerors. Yet their was still one to be conquered. A warrior who had been away, hunting for his tribe. Upon his return, he was greeted by the faceless villains. Without uttering a word, The Wayward Warrior pulled his weapon, a massive warhammer. The strangers before him each readied their various hammers and axes. The Wayward Warrior counted the enemies before him and for once was intimidated by the challenge before him. It was twenty to one. He was outnumbered and would most likely die in the ensuing battle. But he was a warrior. A fighter. A minotaur. Death in battle was the highest honor one could achieve. Second only to slaughtering a rival king.

A fierce battle cry was let loose from the lips of the warrior as he charged forward, goring two of his enemies, causing them to fly into the air for a moment before hitting the ground completely deceased. He followed his initial attack by swinging his hammer to the side and catching another in the side. This one moved but was not dropped. Behind him, The Wayward Warrior felt the sting of steel as it slammed into his back. Casting a glance over his shoulder to see, he sent a powerful kick behind him that connected and ensured that his attacker would never have children.

He raised the hammer above his head to slam it down on the bastard he had previously caught with it but was interrupted by a forceful slam to his harm. His arms dropped, his grip slipped for but a moment, and his weapon was lost to him. This did not discourage him though and he responded by punching the offender in the face and stunning him long enough to pick him up and throw him into the wall of one of his tribesman's home. Three more axes found their way into his flesh, two caught him in the back, while the other sunk squarely in his knee. His leg wanted to give under him but he was stronger than that. He would persevere. He was in charge.

Quickly, The Wayward Warrior grabbed another and sunk his teeth into the fiends shoulder, causing him to let out a scream. The sound excited the warrior and he started to think that he may just prevail yet. He held onto that thought for no longer than a moment before two blunt and devastating blows caught him in both his kneecaps, forcing him to the ground. Once to his knees, an array of weapon blows assaulted him and just as he thought and hoped for it to be over. For the wave of sweet death to wash over him, he felt a ring of steel being wrapped around his neck and his wrists.

Taking a quick look down, he saw that he was now in shackles. They were not going to kill him. It was much worse than that. They were going to enslave him. His enemies stared down at him and a couple of them laughed. The Wayward Warrior hung his head, his spirit broken.

A clan was taken while a Forgotten Son watched. A tribe was slaughtered while a Wayward Warrior was enslaved. And while all of this occurred, the figure who ordered it oversaw another venture. He was dressed completely in white, while his two companions were clad in black armor, like the intruders in the forest. Silently they marched through the isolated village. The two companions made sure to stay several steps behind their leader as he marched through this home of a peaceful people. The Githzerai had always been a very calm race. Accepting of others, never wanting trouble. They had rejected conflict since the very beginning of their existence. The Man in White was counting on that. Several of the green-skinned people saw him, yet none approached him.

It was all too perfect. Without a word, The Man in White marched with his henchmen into the home of a young woman. She was facing a mirror but turned toward him as he entered. Under his hood he smiled. The woman's eyes narrowed, she knew who he was and what he was there for. He was there for her. She was alone in her home, her fiance gone to meditate, a practice that would guarantee he was absent until well after dark. He was the only one in the village that would fight for her and he was gone.

The henchmen started to raise their weapons but were stopped as The Man in White raised a hand. She would come willingly. He knew it. Her village's safety relied on her complete compliance. She glared at him and then marched from her home ahead of him. Without words, The Man of White followed with his followers. At the gate, his smile grew wider before spinning his captive around and placing one hand on her forehead. Instantaneously, she seized up and dropped to the ground.

Slowly he turned to his minions. After gesturing to the girl, one of the henchman quickly moved to her and lifted her up and started to carry her away. The Man in White looked to his other minion and strolled up to him. Placing one hand on his shoulder he leaned in close and issued one order. Whispered one single command. An issue that would devastate the Missing Monk to his core once he returned.

“Kill them all.”

And so he did.

The Man in White returned to his domain with his captive. Soon after, a group of his soldiers returned with a shackled minotaur to serve as the guardian to his dwelling. By the next morning, his fortress was filled the a couple dozen enslaved elves. His plans were starting to come together. Yet, there were forces that he had no accounted for. Forces that were already starting to come together and threaten his reign.

A Once-Forgotten Son crafted a suit of armor where a golden locket sat in the center. A reminder of what was stolen. A Wayward Warrior stood guard for his captor, struggling to keep ahold of a shattered soul. And a Missing Monk, returned home to find it in ruin and set off to find answers and the woman who was not amongst the dead.

All at once, though unknowing, these three looked to the heavens and said the exact same thing. A solitary sentence that held the entire meaning of the forces that would propel them forward. Four words that posed the greatest threat to the Man in White.

“I'm coming for you.”
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Joined: 18 Apr 2011
Posts: 852
Location: sitting barefoot in a tree in the beautiful land of Ardara, writing my tales...

Posted: Sun Aug 26, 2012 2:24 pm    Post subject:  

This looks REALLY awesome, Biz! I have to say! I love that we don't know the names of any of our heroes. I'm sure we'll learn them later, but I love that, for now, we only have descriptors to identify them. Very poetic and powerful. Looking forward to more!
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Tikanni Corazon

Joined: 25 Oct 2009
Posts: 1286
Location: Running through the plains of my mind, my wolf spirit at my side (but doing so in the UK!).

Posted: Fri Aug 31, 2012 4:30 am    Post subject:  

Hey Biz!

This looks to be a very promising start indeed. Agreeing with Andi that the fact that we don't know the names of our protagonists at this moment in time is a nice touch, though I assume that we'll learn their names later on as their journey/s progress. :)

I also enjoyed the edition of a race of Minotaur Warriors being included in the story. Sounds very interesting, and I look forward to learning more about them in future chapters. :) I also want to know more about this bastard setting all of this butchery in motion, the Man in White. You have me very much intrigued as to why these three tribes/races in particular have been chosen, and what part they will play in whatever his plans turn out to be. Why does he only want one Minotaur Warrior out of a whole tribe? And what is so special about the young woman that he took? And many questions that I hope will be answered!

Found a few things as I was reading along...

Quote: In the trees, a forgotten son watched from the trees as his entire family were led away in shackles.

One of the parts marked in red can go. I would advise that the first one stay put, and the other be removed, as this would allow for a slight description of this forgotten son's feelings. Maybe he's watching with horror or confusion etc.

Quote: Any glimmer of hope that he was the only one left free.

Wasn't ?

Quote: The Wayward Warrior counted the enemies before him and for once was intimidated by the challenge before him.

The double usage of the parts marked in red is jarring to the flow. One can either be simply removed, or replaced with something else. Perhaps the latter could be changed to 'he now faced'.

Quote: He raised the hammer above his head to slam it down on the bastard he had previously caught with it but was interrupted by a forceful slam to his harm.


Nice to see you venturing further out of the Horror genre, Biz! Keep up the good work! :)
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Joined: 21 Jul 2012
Posts: 34

Posted: Sun Sep 23, 2012 3:01 pm    Post subject:  

I like the mystery of this, especially at the very start. The seeming senselessness throws the reader into what is happening, and creates immediate sympathy for the characters. The fact that they aren't named also works, because it underscores how unthinkable this situation is for them, and how, no matter how mush we sympathize, no one could truly understand what it is like for them. Excellent start.
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Joined: 25 Oct 2012
Posts: 503
Location: Penna, having a hot cup of tea

Posted: Fri Nov 09, 2012 10:18 am    Post subject: Re: The Lost  

So. Very. Awesome. I do believe I am becoming a fan of yours, misterbiz. ;)

I like how we don't know the names of the characters yet, but we still feel with them - their loss, their anger, their determination. I'm also loving the flow. We get a sense of the kind of world we're in, and yet there's still so much mystery and suspense to keep us hooked.

I ran into one thing...

misterbiz wrote: The Forgotten Son stood on his branch and simply observed. He clutched his longbow in his hand and watched as tears ran down his face.

I would suggest changing the second sentence to something like: "He clutched his longbow in his hand, tears running down his face." To me the "and watched" part was already established by the previous sentence, and the repetition of it takes away from the emotion of the scene.

Other than that (very minor) snag, fantastic job. Super excited for what comes next! :D
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