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 Posted: Sat Mar 03, 2007 4:28 pm Post subject: |
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Meh - I'm not a fan of Larson. What I do like is the way you're happy to kill off main characters, and not let the plot die because of it.
I think old Anaxandrias (good name, close to mine) would be best to organise some R&R for the kingdom. They may have won the battle, but their forces were greviously depleted. He has no knowledge of any other gathering armies, or anyone that needs persuing, so just stay and consolidate his position for now.
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| Posted: Tue Mar 06, 2007 3:45 pm Post subject: |
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Ok then. Well, I'll be back in about two months...
Hope to see a bit more on this by then...
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| Posted: Wed May 02, 2007 3:33 pm Post subject: |
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Chapter 23- Damned
He cracked his knuckles and outstretched a long finger at the armies huddled in attendance. His voice thundered, rich in a foreign accent, but nevertheless commanding and powerful.
“How many of you know how we fight?”
Spears and swords, axes and war hammers thrust to the sky with shouts of approval.
“Really, do you?” Anaxandrias asked as he spat and stomped, snarling like a caged bull.
“I don’t think so!” He screamed, hushing their shouts of approval.
He turned his head to his honor guard, and ordered, “Bring him!”
The contempt in his fiery glare burned the scoutmaster to his soul, scorching him like the venom of the most heinous of hell’s denizens.
The captain trembled, humbled by his recent battle and fearing this regent, an unknown factor in his destiny.
Drawing close to the man’s face, and spraying him with spittle, the dark maned mercenary asked, “Do we retreat?”
Stammering, the man lacked a response.
“Do we SURRENDER?”
Gathering his words, the man put together his best argument, but it came out something like, “But, but, we were nearly surrounded upon a hilltop.”
“Nearly surrounded!” Anaxandrias repeated for the benefit of the gathered audience.
“We were cut off. There were thousands of the enemy.”
“Thousands of the enemy! Thousands! And how many did you command?” The regent demanded as he turned to face the coward.
“A mere 80, a scouting party.”
“80! That is enough!” A hush fell over the assembly.
The chained man scoffed at this, forgetting his place and protesting, “To do what? To be butchered like dogs as they descended upon us?”
“Is it not true that this was the fate of most of your men, those who were brave enough to not throw down their arms and be carted off to a prison camp or to execution regardless?”
“Only a dozen of us made it, yes, but that’s more than would’ve if we’d perished atop that mount!”
“You are a coward!” Anaxandrias screamed, finally losing control of his rage as he ripped his falcatta from its sheath and nearly beheaded the man with one smooth chop. Blood spurted and the cavalier’s head lopped backward, still held on by but a fragment of flesh and spinal cord.
“We do not surrender! We do not retreat! Under no means do we give ANYTHING to the enemy! It is better to live forever than to just live for today! I need heroes! Give them to me!” He summarized even as the warm body twitched upon the makeshift stage in its final throes.
He turned to make his exit, and after he leapt from his stand, he seized the arm of a nearby guard and whispered, “This man’s unit is to be beaten to death, publicly. And then I want them beheaded and their bodies crucified.”
……………………….
Valonia, her face hidden by a veil of mourning, shuddered even though it was quite warm within her carriage.
Once again, tears flowed freely and her body shook.
“Brother, what kind of a man have you left us with?” She begged to the heavens.
And then, as her brown eyes worked their way down, she lay a slender hand across her stomach, where deep within, a life grew.
“And Larson, my love, where are you?
………………………..
Their horses smelled something off in the air, and Larson, his senses at least half elf sharp, caught the fragrance as well. He clutched his crimson cloak close to his chest and reached for a hatchet.
Looking over his shoulder, he called to the remaining men, “Halt. There’s something afoot.”
For a few precious seconds, peace reigned in the emerald forest. Birds chirped. Leaves drifted to the ground, insinuating autumn’s approach.
And then a thousand arrows whistled from the treetops, fired from magically concealed hands. Each struck its target, toppling a rider.
Not a man had a chance, except Larson.
No arrow graced him, nor flew even about his person. In fact, it seemed as if they’d been deliberated aimed to avoid this single lone rider, as they struck all others in the eyes, face, neck, and chest.
Still, he was not the one to let such fortune, be it accidental or otherwise, pass his way unmolested.
The bounty killer leapt from his saddle and planted both tomahawks firmly in the wood of a giant oak. Tumbling with the speed and grace afforded by his partially undead status, he scaled the tree.
As he reached the top, he knew that a foe awaited him there. He was not certain of how he knew, but he did.
The rogue spun about a thick branch, and with all his force planted both feet in the chest of a foe who’s magics dissipated as he screamed his way to the forest floor.
Larson spun, twirling his bright cloak to hopefully disorient and deceive his enemies as he turned and let an axe fly to his left, where it embedded in the groin of a particularly unlucky ranger who groaned and slumped against his perch, somehow managing not to fall.
An arrow flew for his face, but the half elf cleaved it cleanly in two with the other hand axe as he leaned back from its reach.
A visible combatant swung upon a rope from another tree and attempted to skewer him with a crooked dagger. The hunter’s heightened senses cued him to this man’s presence and he caught the blade hand and twisted it, wrenching the opponent’s shoulder out of place as he brought his own arm behind him and used it, still clutching the weapon to end his life with a swift thrust to the kidneys.
“CEASE YOUR FIGHTING!” Screamed an ancient voice from a few treetops away.
An old elven man shimmered into existence, and held up his hands to demonstrate that he held no weapon. His green cloak bristled in the calm breeze.
“You must be the son of Laia that I’ve heard so very much about. I’d much like to speak with you, child,” He spoke as he slowly advanced toward the swashbuckler.
Uncertain what to do upon hearing his mother’s name, Larson simply bided his time and waited for the old man to speak more, which he did.
“You’ve come to me to seek a way to stop the death of this age, haven’t you? Do you truly wish to halt the end times, young son of man?”
Larson closed his eyes and in them, he saw Valonia. His reply was obviously, “Yes.”
The elder cackled. “You think of your love. Ironic.”
His voice dripping with menace, Larson turned his eyes on the wrinkled form before him, “How so?”
“You must make a choice, the hardest choice you’ve ever made.”
Preparing to defend himself, a hand flew to the hatchet at his belt. “And what is that?”
“Will you stay here and learn what you must to save the world or will you return to your home and save your love and unborn child from the monster that takes the throne?”
More than a bit confused, Larson countered, “But Forenius wouldn’t…”
Another barking laugh interrupted him, “Not Forenius, son. He lies cold and dead. Now the land bows to will of Anaxandrias.”
He knew not the name, but the implication was enough to make him shudder.
“There’s only time enough for but one. Do you save your world or do you save your love?”
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Last edited by Jack_D.Mented on Thu May 03, 2007 4:51 pm; edited 3 times in total
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| Posted: Wed May 02, 2007 3:34 pm Post subject: |
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Not much of a reply on 22, so I went ahead and did 23.
Hope you all enjoy it, comment, discuss and debate over the juicy DP I've included for you.
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| Posted: Wed May 02, 2007 5:28 pm Post subject: |
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Nice DP Jack! A real humdinger.
I have to say stay. It will add to his angst.
Though surely he could nip back and save them first? 
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| Posted: Wed May 02, 2007 6:47 pm Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | Though surely he could nip back and save them first? |
Aww... But China. That takes all the wicked fun from my delightedly barbed decision point... 
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| Posted: Mon May 07, 2007 10:49 pm Post subject: |
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Poll will be up in a second.
Vote and with it, doom the world or scar Larson.
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| Posted: Wed May 23, 2007 7:38 pm Post subject: |
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Chapter 24- Damnation
Larson licked his lips, chap as they were, and his brow furrowed. It occurred to him that this man could be lying, but somehow, in his heart, he knew that this was truth.
Not only did he discover that his love was with child, but that he could lose that child and the love and that his brother in arms, the mighty Forenius, now walked amongst the dead.
When given the option of the world or what makes the world worth living in, what should a man do?
He ran his fingers through his braided hair and thought deeply of his Valonia. It would be her will that he stay. As painful as it may be, he knew he must stay here in the land of his forefathers and learn that which would bring salvation.
The bounty killer gritted his teeth and, glaring at the elder with grim determination, he muttered, barely audible even in the deathly silence, “I shall stay.”
…………………………
The trolls clambered over the distant hilltop, their warcries echoing out like the screams of some exotic bird, a vulture or carrion beast of some sort.
The men at arms drew closer behind their shields, lowering their pikes, and readied themselves for the charge.
Anaxandrias looked over to the herald, who with horn in hand, awaited with great expectation the orders to relay via his instrument.
With a sideward glance and in complete calm, the regent said, “Ready the ballista.”
One sharp intake of breath and a short blast on the horn followed, bellowing out across the narrow valley.
Artillery was loaded and cranks were turned in preparation for the struggle.
The putrid savages drew closer and the mercenary commanded, “Light the arrows.”
Two long and under the direction of a crusty veteran of a centurion, the longbowmen readied themselves.
Screaming their minds out, the barbarians issued forth, swinging obsidian blades and howling curses in a babbling tongue. They gained momentum as they rushed down the slope, some tumbling only to be trampled beneath the feet of their comrades.
Just when what seemed to be the last of an endless tide of thousands crossed the hill’s hump, Anaxandrias shouted for the first time, “And FIRE!”
Arrows arched high and landed amongst the horde, ending more than a few lives as spear like projectiles hurtled through yet more foes, impaling them and skewering limbs.
Glancing about himself, the commander ordered, “Wait for it… wait,” Even as the enemy bore down upon his soldiers, almost to within fighting range.
“NOW!” He shouted, slapping the herald sternly upon his back and almost toppling the man.
The dazed signalman blasted three sharp notes on his horn and light cavalry, carefully hidden for ambush in the woods adjoining the field charged forth from ambush and slammed into the enemy flank, taking them totally by surprise.
“And again!” He said to the musician at his side.
This time the man sounded one, long mournful note that seemed to stretch across time itself, slowing all things even as the lines clashed and bodies tossed about like children’s toys.
Screams of war, of rage, of death, and of the dying rippled out as man and beast hacked at each other, killing, maiming, and crippling for life.
Blood soaked deep into the ground, as priests, the most powerful remaining after the failed crusade, murmured long forgotten chants dedicated to those long passed and rune stones, planted in advance of the battle began to hum with life and churn up the dirt under which they’d been concealed until, spinning, twirling almost as if they’d a life of their own, they emerged and shot up, straight into the sky.
These stones, each bearing mystical symbols that glowed much as fire and burned hotter than a thousand suns, aligned with one another and, then shot a solid wall of divine energy effectively cut off the trolls from any hope of undead reinforcement.
Far away, sheltered from the sun by her shaded wagon, Lady d’Grorathia cursed her misfortune and slammed a fist into her table.
It seemed that the fate of her army now lay with Jad- Bal- Rhun, whom she’d sent to command the shock troops at the front line.
…………………………
At the first, sheer troll numbers and brute strength threatened to overtake the humans, but Anaxandrias was a wise commander, and using his experience as a mercenary commander, he outmaneuvered the barbarians at every turn, parrying each counter attack with devastating effectiveness.
This alone, however, was not enough to save morale, as Jad, the greatly enhanced lackey of the villainess hacked a bloody swath through his lines, inflicting massive casualties that were too numerous to believe.
Anaxandrias observed this, and knew what weapon would be most effective in putting down such a monster. He motioned and courtiers brought him the hammer Thunderer. He reached into the ornate pine box carved for the weapon and grasped tightly the hilt and lifted…
But to his shock, he discovered that the war hammer would not move. No matter the strength he applied the mystical weapon would not budge.
Shrugging in indifference, he donned his crested helm, mounted his horse, and with a broad sweep of his sword, lead his elite bodyguard into the fray.
He bore down upon the troll berserker with reckless speed, galloping hard and fast, until, a few feet behind the distracted abomination, he leapt from the back of his mount, and plunged his sword deep into the midsection of the champion.
Jad- Bal- Rhun gasped and halted for a second, pausing in what seemed to be sheer disbelief as the armored man clambered up his massive back like a mountain climber.
Shaking, the troll threw him off flying, tumbling, until he landed amongst a crowd of his own men, who gladly pushed their leader to his feet. Looking about, he realized that his sword was still lodged securely in the monster’s back.
A spear was shoved into his hand from an infantryman.
Anaxandrias smiled. A hoplite by his birth and training, he was now truly at home, on his own two feet with a spear in hand.
He pulled his shield from his back and slung it across his left arm, wielding the spear over it as he braced himself whilst the angered leviathan snorted like a bull and stomped his feet, preparing to charge.
He screamed and the regent roared.
The obsidian axe clashed against the bronze shield as the spearman slid down between the beast’s legs in the blood slicked mud.
Angling his spear upwards, he planted it deep in the soft groin of his foe and rammed as hard as his muscles would allow until the weapon protruded from his wart covered abdomen.
Incredulous, the giant looked down to his belly, and touched the open wound with his hand, then raised it to his hooked nose to sniff before sinking to his knees with a slosh in the wet soil.
The warrior, who by this time had shifted behind him, removed his sword from the fiend’s back and, in great swoop, beheaded Jad- Bal- Rhun, and with that one action, removed any chance that the trolls had ever had for freedom.
Heartbroken, the trolls, one by one, laid down their weapons, and a truly strange sight blessed the field.
These mighty savages, proud warriors, wept for their fallen comrade. They cried tears of bitterest anguish and bemoaned his fate for to them, he was a hero.
Then, one by one, they fell upon their swords, each ending his life in turn, until but one was left.
Anaxandrias, puzzled by these actions, screamed at him to halt and then inquired, “Why do you do this?”
The troll, his heart heavy and acidic tears streaking his hideous face replied in the broken tongue of man, “A world without Jad, a world not worth life.”
And having spake thusly, he impaled himself as well.
In shock, the regent removed his helm and let it fall to the ground. He ran a bloodstained hand through his long, raven hair and ordered to those nearest, “Bury them. Bury them all. Full honors. I demand it.”
As he stumbled his way back to his tent, a man asked, “But sire, what of us?”
With a waving motion, he said, “Tonight we shall rest, but there shall be no songs, no ale. Just a moment of silence and prayer for the noble foes that we have slain this day.”
………………………….
In his tent, which was made no better than that of his troops, Anaxandrias brooded upon the day’s events, of the past, and of things to come.
He knew, that at best, his station as regent was temporary, unless he could find some way to solidify his power base.
And the key to that was Valonia, the dear, beautiful sister of the fallen Emperor, gods rest his soul.
Now, Anaxandrias faced a crossroads, a decision. He must make up his mind what to do with this outspoken girl, last of the royal blood that she was, and at that moment only two options came to mind…
Would he marry her for his own, claim this woman as his bride and take his place as king?
Or, as distasteful as it seemed, have her seemingly “vanish” in the night?
Both options had their advantages and drawbacks, and he knew that upon this, he must think carefully, as the future not only himself, but of the land as a whole depended upon the course he took.
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| Posted: Wed May 23, 2007 7:41 pm Post subject: |
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Well, there's a new chapter.
The Dp is kind of cut and dry, but if you guys think of any more ideas, then feel free to submit them and discuss as you wish.
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| Posted: Wed May 23, 2007 8:09 pm Post subject: |
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Well, marry her I guess.
A couple of slight typos here and there that need seeing to, but a nice chapter there Jack. Great battle scene!
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| Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 2:49 am Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | Angling his spear upwards, he planted it deep in the soft groin of his foe |
Ummm, descriptive, i guess... 
Only just caught up with the 2 new chappies, and, like almost all others, are much more then satisfactory. 
Poor, poor forenius. 
I guess larson deserves sum sympathy as well... 
I say kill her. Who cares what Anax-wateva thinks? I just wanna see what Larsons reation would be if he finds out that anax-thingy killed her. Methinks it will involve blind anger and blood, 1 way or another. 
Another possible idea would be both. Marry to take the throne, then silently, in the middle of the night, slit her throat.
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| Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 7:20 am Post subject: |
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Marry and then kill?
That works too... Hmm.
I think we may have another poll option.
Thanks for the praise, Meany. Glad to see you guys still enjoy the story. I intended, when I first started writing it, for it to evolve into a full blown epic. I think that I'm kind of getting there, at least.
Anything else, folks?
Any input, Lordy?
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| Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 3:45 pm Post subject: |
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Marry and then kill? Well, I suppose it works, though I'd be more inclined to take and then kill - and just not bother going through the motions of marriage.
What type of fool leaves the surviving members of the royal family alive? And what type of fool kills the beautiful woman before sampling her 'favours'.
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| Posted: Sat May 26, 2007 4:53 pm Post subject: |
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ANd you know ALL about that, don't you, Lordy? 
When is the poll going up?
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| Posted: Sun May 27, 2007 12:39 pm Post subject: |
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Ok, here's the poll.
Have fun with the voting and I'll have fun with the writing.
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| Posted: Wed Jun 06, 2007 6:00 am Post subject: |
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Ok... then. Well, we have a tie. Either I can break it or perhaps someone else will. (That would be nice.)
Or... wait... I may have a way to do both...
Hmm...
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| Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2007 12:39 am Post subject: |
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| Quote: | | Or... wait... I may have a way to do both... |
What do you mean? Like having him marry her then kill her then marry her corpse? Or marry her then divorce and then re-marry and THEN kill her?
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| Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 11:40 am Post subject: |
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Broke the tie, I voted for marry and kill her, seems most logical, he should do it after their resting from their...activities in the bed.
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| Posted: Thu Jul 12, 2007 8:18 pm Post subject: |
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Thanks, POF. That's just what I was needing. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter done soon. I've been so busy with work, it's been rough lately. I think this shouldn't be too much longer, though.
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| Posted: Tue Jul 17, 2007 3:51 pm Post subject: |
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Then I guess I wait in utter eagerness. Hm....should work on Heavy Metal while I wat. Make sure there is extra carnage going around in the upcoming chapter.
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| Posted: Wed Jul 18, 2007 7:22 pm Post subject: |
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Chapter 25- Degression
Anaxandrias mused over the coming future. He had offered his hand to the beautiful Valonia, but for some reason which he could not discern, she had actually accepted with almost no argument.
Was she perhaps attracted to him?
More than likely not. He was a handsome man, considered quite dashing by the ladies of his distant homeland, but the scar that dragged its lazy way across the right side of his face from his temple down to his throat would be considered homely by any standards but those of the long distant maidens that once cried his name.
The mercenary grunted and surged to his feet. He quickly shrugged his aching shoulders in an attempt to loosen his aching body that protested so mightily to the meager amounts of sleep he’d allowed himself.
In two nights, he would be a married man for the first time since he’d been banished from his homeland…
………………………
Lady d’Grorathia stood high atop her moonlit castle spire, alone, now without even so much as her devoted bodyguard, as he had perished, along with his entire race, in the last battle.
The tides had turned against her and she was in danger being engulfed in the coming tsunami.
This Anaxandrias was no Forenius, she knew this for sure. He was no paladin, no paramour of truth and justice. He was a soldier, pure and simple, and a good one at that. He cared naught for the price nor the method of victory, as long as it was achieved.
Forenius was a lion, noble and proud. This Anaxandrias… this rebel prince from the Far Lands… He was a jackal.
A slight tingle ran up her spine and she turned, her exquisite silk robes twirling about in the wake of her sudden movement. She caught her brother midstride, before he even had a full chance to fade into existence from the shadowy realm of spirits.
And before a word of his could slip, she spake, “How is it, brother, that our father is the god of murder, mayhem, chaos, and war… yet I am losing this war?”
“Well, sister…” A slight snarling look of apprehension was tacked onto this word almost as if merely to mutter it brought him the pain of a thousand fire ants swarming about in his trousers.
She considered this for a second. It was rude. She would not tolerate rudeness in her very own citadel, the seat of her power.
“I think that he simply requires more sacrifice,” She hissed.
His shining eyes widened for a second, and then, with a dagger like thrust, she rammed her hand deep into his midsection and wrapped it around his heart.
Smiling, she squeezed and twisted, turning the organ about as he whimpered, crumbling.
Quickly, before he could recover from the pain, she bared her fangs and ripped deep into his throat, draining him of his immortal blood.
When she was finished, she tossed the limp husk of a body from the parapiece and let it smash upon the sharp rocks below with a snap of bones and splatter of organs.
The power she felt now was amazing. It was something incredible. Not since she’d initially drained Damek, had she felt something like this. Her brother had not been quite a god, nearly, but not quite. Through magics, elixirs, and ancient rituals, he’d become much as one, but not quite. It was incredible how much raw energy had coursed through his veins.
……………………….
Larson awoke from a terrible nightmare. He was frigid, yet covered in sweat and his mouth was dry as the eastern deserts.
It took all his resolve to not scream in horror, but he knew that this futile act would do nothing. Valonia was dead.
He had seen it was so. She had been walking, alone, quite sad, trapped within her own thoughts, when, from nowhere, an assassin’s arrow had cut her down upon the high balcony. She’d tumbled forward and fell, face first, onto the courtyard below, her brains scattered across the roses she once so lovingly tended.
The half elf bit his lip. He would not cry and he would not lose control. He was a man, dammit. This was the fate he had chosen.
His love, his child, his one chance at true happiness, for the world.
He only hoped that these lessons that he’d received at the hands of arcane masters of the ancient elves would be enough to warrant the sacrifice, as he was hating himself for it already.
…………………………
Anaxandrias was still attired in robes of mourning, wrapped in a cloak of the blackest attire, when he was approached by a messenger.
The messenger, panting with the exertion of finding his liege, the newly crowned King Anaxandrias, fell to a knee.
“My master, emissaries from the far north appeal to you for an audience,” He gasped.
“They can wait,” He dismissed with a wave of his hand.
“But, sire… They know of the hammer,” The peon whined in protest.
Making an abrupt about face and consequently betraying to any who had delusions of his refinement with such a military gesture, the monarch strode halfway across the room.
“What?” He whispered, wondering how any but the few closest to him would know of the mysterious hammer that Forenius had carried. The story believed amongst the common folk was that it had been buried alongside the great emperor in a tomb so secret that even the servants who constructed it were put to death.
“They hail from the frozen north… warriors of golden mane and icy eye. They are clad in furs and bear upon themselves similar weapons, though none so fine as yours. They claim that they have come to retrieve the Thunderer,” The lackey spake.
“They even know of its name…” The soldier pondered.
He coughed, shrugged his cape more firmly upon his shoulders, adjusted the awkward crown upon his brow and ordered, “Show them in.”
As the rodent like diplomat scurried down the hall like a rat chasing a wheel of cheese, the emperor slumped heavily into his newly acquired throne and closed his weary eyes.
What was he to do?
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| Posted: Wed Jul 18, 2007 7:23 pm Post subject: |
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Ok. New chapter (at last, I know, I know).
But here it is.
Give me some ideas, argue on it a bit.
And then, we'll get a poll up.
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| Posted: Thu Jul 19, 2007 9:07 pm Post subject: |
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Nicely done once again, Jack!
I thinks he should agree to give them back Thunderer *coughs* lie *coughs* as long as they agree to aid him in the war 
What d'ya think? Could you cook something longer up with that? This last one was a bit short...
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| Posted: Fri Jul 20, 2007 6:50 am Post subject: |
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He should get them to perform a task for him, in return he would consider giving them back the hammer.
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| Posted: Sat Jul 21, 2007 9:41 pm Post subject: |
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It's not like he's guaranteed that they won't just come in and beat his head into a bloody bony pulp. So, uh, I don't like Anaxandrias so I vote a mysterious hammer splatters his pink brains all over the throne...
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| Posted: Sun Jul 22, 2007 11:48 pm Post subject: |
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| Player of Fates wrote: | | It's not like he's guaranteed that they won't just come in and beat his head into a bloody bony pulp. So, uh, I don't like Anaxandrias so I vote a mysterious hammer splatters his pink brains all over the throne... |
As much as I hate the guy, I'd have to disagree with this option. It is FAR too early to bump him off, at least give him another few chapters to live before killing him. Then Lady Whats-her-facce could claim the kingdom, and Larson'll come back and bash her face in.
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| Posted: Sat Aug 11, 2007 6:11 am Post subject: |
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| Posted: Thu Aug 23, 2007 12:44 pm Post subject: |
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Well, I finally got the poll up.
I've been so busy with work that I've not had time for much of anything.
Well, anyhow...
I think I got all your wonderful suggestions in there. Thanks for the good feedback, keep it up and enjoy voting.
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| Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2007 2:48 am Post subject: |
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Chapter 26- Disillusion
His head rested for but a bit upon folded hands and Anaxandrias answered, “I shall see them presently.”
The courtier bowed and made his way to the heavy oaken doors, but before he had but a moment’s chance to touch them, the flung open, almost of their own accord.
Behind stood three powerfully built men from the far reaches of ice and legend. Their weather beaten faces were more leather than flesh, having spent many cold nights upon the deck of longboats, their pale eyes showed no inclination for levity, and their mouths were little more than harsh slits barely perceivable beneath their thick beards. They were cloaked in the skins of ferocious animals, one in that of a bear, another in that of an ice wolf, and finally, the last covered himself with the hide of the elusive snow tiger. Armor that flashed occasionally from beneath the heavy furs clinked and clanked as they marched their solemn way to the throne.
“I see you and hope that you come as friends,” Anaxandrias said as he stood from his throne, shuffling about a bit as he spread his arms wide as if to embrace all three as he eyed the weapons that hung across the backs of the warriors.
One bore a great axe, bronzed and stained from the sheer quantity of blood it had drank, but sharp and vicious none the less. Another had a spear which seemed to shiver and shimmer before the eyes. Truly, a marvel of iron and magics wedded. The third had across his shoulders a quiver, loaded with plentiful arrows, each punctuated by a bright blue feather and a withered bow, recurved and carved with runes of most mysterious nature that glowed slightly violet.
The one in center, the tallest, he who was swaddled in wolf’s skin and armed with spear, spake, “And that we do but only insofar as your own inclinations remainst the same, or at least similar to ours.”
Rather than give an inch, the dictator asked, “And what be your intentions?”
He who carried the axe and was dressed in the bear, shrugged, adjusting his heavy armaments, chain mail rattling in protest and replied, “We seeketh that which had belonged to mine clansman and cousin, Cynyr the Devout in life, but now rests in thine hands, we art lead to believe.”
“You speak of the hammer?” The mercenary autocrat inquired.
The last, his tiger cloak stirring a bit, spoke his turn thusly, “Aye, the Thunderer, an ancient weapon sacred to our people and revered as an artifact most holy, for in it, lies the souls of all those valiant warriors who’ve wielded it, making it stronger with each successive owner and by this point, granting it a level of sentience.”
Puzzled, his mouth agape, Anaxandrias ran fingers through his raven locks, asking, “So you imply that Forenius himself dwells within this weapon?”
The first of the berserkers nodded and grunted in affirmation. “Hmm. Suppose ‘t so. And also that of many of our bravest of conquerors, our clerics, our warriors and soldiers. ‘Tis a living bloodline of our people and only right that we’ve it where it belongs so that it can be passed on.”
“But this would also mean that our people have a great hero that resides within,” Anaxandrias countered, not wishing to surrender the weapon even though it proved beyond him to make use of it.
The three growled, much as a beast, the guttural utterance of an angry wolf who’s had the carcass of his prey dragged away by another predator.
Anaxandrias raised his hands, seeing this. “I’ll tell you that tonight, we shall sort all of this out, at a banquet to your honor. Surely you’re tired from your journey and a bit of respite would do you well.”
This was accepted and they turned to leave, exiting the way they came as the doors slammed shut behind them.
Anaxandrias wrapped an arm around his nearest aide and spoke softly into the man’s ear, “I’ve a plan, but should that fail, have prepared an elixir, a toxin so vile and venomous that not all the good graces beneath the sun could hope to save a man once he insomuch as is pricked with it, even more if he drinks of it.”
“Yes, my master.”
………………………
The tome thudded shut, spreading dust in a slight cloud that cloaked the room for a second in a hoary fog.
The ancient elf, piercing eyes and wrinkled face, yet unable to grow a beard, leaned forth and looked closely at the grim features of Larson the half breed.
“Young one, you now know all that you need know of the ending of this world, of the death of this age.”
In quiet comprehension, Larson nodded, his eyes becoming dark and hollow seeming as those of some decayed skull for a second in the dim lights.
Without so much as a word, he made his journey up to his lodging and packed his haversack. As he affixed the tomahawks to his belt, a figure clouded in shadow entered his room.
Not even turning, as he sensed the elf long before due to his heightened vampiric senses, Larson asked, “What is it you wish of me, teacher?”
Emerging from the shade as a drowning man does the water, the high elf inhaled slowly and a slight smile crept upon his cracked features.
“I am greatly satisfied by your progress, my pupil. I know that if any man may bring an end to this tale of woe, it shall be you.”
His features darkened and the smile vanished as if it itself were but a magician’s illusion, the harsh creases leaving no evidence of its passing.
“But this melancholy of which your soul has been devoured as of late… In it I find much to be worried about.”
One fierce glance was enough to forestall the lecture for a second, but not of forceful enough nature to silence him completely.
The elder carried on, “As much pain as I know you feel, you must know that you made the right choice. The one that she would’ve had you make.”
“And how do you know that, you aged bastard? I’d sooner think that your thoughts were clouded by cobwebs than to think you understand my pain,” Larson snapped.
The elf wet his chapped lips and sat upon a stool in the corner.
“You may be surprised by this, but I knew your mother. I knew her better than any other.”
This gave the brash young man pause as he ceased stowing his daggers within their many hidden places throughout his costume and turned to face the old one once again.
“ I was her first husband and she was my third wife, my chosen and favored. It was with she that I sought to produce child, but we were met with failure.
Of course, it was assumed that the failure to reproduce, to fuel the state with fresh soldiers was none other than her own fault, especially when she was discovered to be experimenting with magics beyond our understanding. They charged her with heresy, saying that one as young as her could never hope to understand perfection after less than a century of life.
Although I made my best defense of her, she was cast from her place as high priestess and exiled, left for dead as a heretic in the outlands…”
As he finished his unfortunate tale, the elf sniffled a bit and visibly struggled to hold back the tears that threatened his stoic composure that was so expected of his station.
“For the love of the gods, I so wish that I could’ve seen her again… No. I should’ve left with her, cast my lot in the desert as she did.”
He now wept openly, breaking down into open sobs and heaving as heartbreak decades old finally broke the floodgates.
After some time, the old one finished his tears, and wiping them off upon his sleeve, stood. He fished in his pocket for a few seconds and retrieved a small pendant.
It was a viridian stone carved into a locket that hung from a clasp on a golden chain. It swayed in the air, seeming to move upon its own accord rather than obeying gravity or any known law of motion.
“She was truly a wise woman and she gave this to me the day before her trial, knowing that she’d likely never return to our home. She hung it around my neck thusly,” He undid the clasp and fastened it around Larson’s neck, then continuing, “And she whispered… And I’ll never forget it…”
In the moment, as Larson closed his eyes, it was almost as if his mother were there in the room with him, living, breathing again, as the metal hooks met and two voices, far apart in time, but linked eternally, sighed into his ear…
“Our salvation comes upon the moment that time stands still…”
He opened his eyes and in a flash, he was alone, but more surprisingly, only a few hundred feet outside the gates of the royal palace in the capital city, a recently erected statue of his departed friend Forenius staring down at him forebodingly, thick grey clouds lining his larger than life brow like some celestial halo.
A chill wind blew, an eagle soared overhead and snow began to fall.
……………………
Anaxandrias sipped at his water. He never touched liquors. A man of his status could not afford to lose control for any reason.
He watched as the barbarians indulged in their ale and after a couple of hours of watching them hoot and shout, pinching the maid’s behinds, he felt confident to approach them.
The regent coughed and, once he had the attention of the men before him, he began, “Good sirs, I cannot in good faith allow the hammer to be removed from these lands as long as it remains so useful to my people.”
A pin dropping would have seemed a deafening noise in the hall at that point.
Before interruption could commence, he resumed his oratory.
“But if, say, the reason that such a weapon were required were itself, removed, I’d more than gladly grant you possession of the weapon.”
“Absurd!” Spat the gruff veteran with the bear cloak, as he tugged at his eye patch, for a moment displaying the grotesque empty socket that lie beneath.
Several shuddered, but not the king, as he’d been present in the surgeon’s tent after many battles, attending to the morale of his wounded as a mercenary captain in the years before he was hired to the bodyguard.
“And why is it so? Are you not all brave and capable?” He asked loudly, and then, pretending almost to mutter to himself in soliloquy, but loud enough for all to hear, “What nation sends men who so fear the temper of a single woman?”
A grunt from the slumping spearman as he shrugged beneath his wolf cloak.
The last of the three warriors, who’d remained silent to this point, turned to his comrades and nodded. They did the same.
He walked forward, spat into his gargantuan palm and extended the limb.
Although he towered over the ruler by over a foot and exceeded him in girth by some large measure, Anaxandrias, spat in his hand as well, and never removing his cold eyes dark eyes from the ice blue of the north man’s.
“You’d best keep your word, mercenary king,” The juggernaut growled.
“You’d best not worry about that. Get some rest,” The emperor replied, a slightly smug smile creeping across his lips.
………………………
Larson lost not even a step as he landed softly on the other side of the wall. He ran, quick and low, hiding amongst the shadows.
He climbed yet another wall and hopped among the rafters, silent as a falling leaf and sure footed as a feline.
The half elf closed his eyes and whispered, “The king will fall, the king will rise, they will be led by the sell sword’s lies. He has his use, do not be overly quick to pull the noose.”
As anxious as he was for revenge, he pondered the true meanings of the rhyme and, more importantly, when Anaxandrias could be dispatched with no true treat to the prophecy.
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| Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2007 2:49 am Post subject: |
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Well, the way work was going it took me forever to get this chapter out there. I really am quite sorry about that.
I hope you all enjoy it, vote, and discuss, and that I hopefully won't be as late with the next.
The Dp is simple... Does Larson think it's time to kill Anaxandrias or no?
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| Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2007 4:03 am Post subject: |
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Finally! I swear, if you had been able to write more quickly, this would have been an SGotM!
Yes, he thinks it is time. And he also takes that hammer.
Exellent chapter overall, mr. Demented! I detected no faults, but I am not good on doing that either 
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| Posted: Thu Nov 01, 2007 7:46 pm Post subject: |
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No - why kill him? It's not as if he's done anything wrong, or there's even a good successor waiting.
A marginally evil king is still better than the woman (whose name I can't remember) ruling, or than complete anarchy, which the king's assassination would lead to. Assuming Larson even manages to do it that is.
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| Posted: Sat Nov 10, 2007 3:19 pm Post subject: |
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Well, the new poll is in. I'd love to see some quick action on it and maybe I can put out a new chapter soon.
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| Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 3:27 am Post subject: |
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Chapter 27- Denouement
He skirted through the shadows, hidden safe from sight, as he snaked his way to the chambers of Anaxandrias.
Larson’s heart filled with rage, and he focused more and more upon the image of his beloved Valonia, steeling himself with the power of hate. This man had stolen his woman, betrayed her, and, in the end, killed her, and unknowingly, with her… the half elf’s child.
The bounty hunter leapt through an open window, landed with a slight thud, and rolled to recover, axes in hand.
This slight noise was enough to awake the sleeping warrior, who tumbled through his sheets, a sword seeming to leap to his fist quicker than the eye could see.
Larson smiled, laughed a brief chuckle.
Anaxandrias cracked his neck and spat upon the floor.
Their eyes met.
Battle was joined.
The mercenary, screaming, swung his blade high. The smaller foe tumbled, span, and hacked at exposed thigh with cold steel.
The blade of his foe intercepted and sparks flew and he was rebuked with a kick to the face.
The assassin bounced from the wall with supernatural speed and rained down upon his enemy with a flurry of tomahawk blows, but, to his amazement, the sell sword kept his pace, not allowing a single breach of his defenses.
Larson leapt back, panting at the exertion. “How?”
Anaxandrias shook his head and plucked a candle from a wall sconce, holding it close to his face.
The red cloaked fighter stammered as recognition dawned with the new light.
Smiling, the emperor whispered, “I knew you would come. After all… on some level, at least…”
Horror gripped the lighter warrior by his spine, running cold fingers up his back as he knew the next words before they were even muttered.
“We share a father.”
It was plain for any who had but seen that grin before, a jagged tear across a bloodied face, crooked and uneven, yet somehow disarming, charming, and chilling all at once. The resemblance was more so obvious what with the bigger man’s normally flowing locks tied back and his beard shaven.
This man was the son of Damek, the immortal vampire, slayer of cities.
Larson roared, flinging himself headlong at his foe, tearing at him with his twin axes. Every time, in spite of his heroic efforts, steel met naught more but steel, never finding a home in the flesh of either warrior.
A clang bounded off the walls as Larson sought to block a particularly vicious downward strike of the king with one axe. He was knocked to the ground with the force of the blow, stumbling.
Anaxandrias made ready for the killing blow, poising himself above this would be murderer when Larson kicked a leg out from beneath the bigger man, throwing him off balance.
The merchant of death leapt at the opportunity, throwing himself atop the regent and sending them both to the floor. For a brief bit, they rolled about, landing blows upon one another, fighting as savages.
The best that Larson could do was to block the knocks and gouges to this face with forearms raised. He was out of his element and this he knew well. He tried to back away, but realized instead that the way to victory lie ahead as the ferocity of the punches increased.
He leaned forward, braving the fury briefly until he saw his opening, and then, with a feral cry, bore his vampiric fangs and buried them deep into the neck of the foreigner. The bite dug deep and he felt the hot blood run across his chapped lips, squirting liquid hot like magma across his palate.
Larson tried his best to resist the urge, but failed in this as he lost control, biting not once, but twice, but tearing into his enemy much more like a wolf than anything remotely resembling a man. He drank deep and he buried his head in gore, rooting almost like a boar, grunting as the life faded from the flailing dictator.
……………………………….....
The three northern warriors panted, their breath short after having cut a bloody swath through the mighty army of the Lady d’Grorathia. These hacking wheezes seemed to crystallize as a fine mist as soon as it passed their mighty lips, hanging in the air with the coppery scent of blood spilled.
One member of the party, the man wrapped in the snow tiger cloak, ventured forth to the heavy oaken doors at the forefront of the lady’s great hall and, with a grunt and a kick, slammed the doors open wide.
She awaited them upon her throne, more beautiful than most anything they’d ever seen. The three berserkers shuffled forward, mesmerized for a second by her entrancing green eyes and fiery crimson hair.
Then with a loud roar that nearly deafened his fellows, the bear clad warrior twirled the Thunderer about his wrist and let the mighty hammer fly.
His aim was true and his force unspeakable, the mallet bearing upon its target with force enough to crush her delicate skull once and for all.
Her perfectly formed lips parted for a second as she gasped what she was almost certain was one final breath.
But the hammer was not to strike her.
At the last possible second, a gigantic titan of a figure materialized and interposed himself between the weapon and the helpless demigoddess.
He shrugged off the blow, shaking his head a bit as the legendary weapon clanked to the ground from his dark armor, which glistened black as night.
“My daughter’s work is not yet done!” The shadow screamed, his eyes alight with the fire of the abyss. The god of war, death, pestilence, and murder then swooped down upon the foreigners with wings of fire, ripping their limbs asunder as his daughter watched the blood spilt, her voracious appetite displayed plainly through an almost feline licking of her lips.
Unnoticed, the hammer shook in the corner, moving almost of its own volition, an eerie blue light emanating from the shattered stone head of the maul.
As the last of the emissaries fell to the ground cold, lifeless, and limp with his head twisted backwards and his arms detached, the seizure reached its climax, exploding in an array of dazzling white lights that blinded even the death god.
When the flash rescinded, in the smoke stood Forenius, naked as a newborn, caring himself with the grace and composure of a god himself.
Screaming in rage, the dark one charged the resurrected paladin, but his bloodied fists were caught in those of the warrior who looked into his void with eyes that glowed of lightning. The two were of matched strength.
Forenius, his voice now louder than the warcries of an entire host, than all the foghorns upon the entire stretch of Imperial coast blown at once, growled, “I am the thunder god!”
With a swift kick, he planted his arch foe through three walls and outside the fortress, to tumble in the garden as he tried to regain his balance.
The knight was upon him before he had a chance to find his bearings and made with several vicious kicks to the head, knocking off his great horned helmet.
He picked up the helmet, and using it as a curmudgeon, bludgeoned his enemy with it until he laid senseless, heaving with hematic coughs of teeth and blood.
Reaching down, the former king unsheathed the murder god’s long sword.
The weapon seemed to gather the very shadows unto it, and sent an unnatural chill even up his recently deified spine.
With a long backstroke and a bestial glint in his eye, he beheaded the unholy one with one sound blow.
He reached down and scooped up the gory head of the daemon king and bore it back within the fortress, casting it at the feet of the blanched vampiress.
She was speechless but for a second, but her silvery tongue slipped into action soon enough.
“Lord, if but you’d allow me to live…”
One quick stroke of her father’s blade cut the sentence short and spattered Forenius’s face with the tainted blood. He wiped it from his countenance.
“Your terror is over,” Claimed the thunder god as faded from the palace and dropped the chaotic weapon to the stone floor with a hollow clanking, the only noise within the emptied hall as the carrion birds soared high overhead.
A few seconds later erupted in an explosion of brimstone and sulfur, the purifying flame serving as the funeral pyre for an age.
……………………………
EPILOGUE
Larson mulled alone through the high gardens, the crown weighing heavy on his brow. It’d been a great many months since he’d heard but anything of the Lady’s menace, the north men sent to dispatch her.
He’d accepted the relic hammer as lost, but found the silence as troubling.
The half elf sat upon a bench and gazed about at atrium. It, like the rest of the kingdom, had taken damage, but was recovering slowly, rebuilt and returned to a calmer, more tranquil antebellum state. His eyes traveled up the castle wall, climbing up as they always did, to Valonia’s chambers. He’d ordered it left untouched and the servants had been obedient thus far.
The bounty hunter buried his head in his hands and sighed heavily.
Then, a familiar voice whispered from behind him, “You truly did love her, didn’t you, my brother of blood?”
The hair on his neck stood on end and he twirled about to look behind.
“Forenius?” He asked, uncertain, although he doubted he’d gone mad nor that his eyes and ears were conspiring against him.
But there he was, his old friend, the departed emperor, Forenius, in armor that shined bright as the sun and a cloak blue as the sky on a clear day. A silver crown sat upon his brow, pushing up his hair, still kept cropped short as he’d remembered in life. A claymore that crackled with the energy of the storm was slung across his back and his eyes glowed a pure white.
The friends embraced and then the questions began.
“But how? Your body? I saw it cremated…”
Laughing, the holy warrior silenced his companion. “Never you worry. Yes I did pass from this world, but I’ve become something much bigger than I was before.”
“But..”
“I am glad to see that you rule, as I would’ve had it.”
“And…”
Another laugh as Forenius shook his head. “Just be quiet before you talk me out of your gift.”
“What?” Now the half-breed was most sternly puzzled.
Forenius seized his shoulders and turned him to face the window that had once belonged to his sister.
He whispered, “Just go. She’s waiting…”
Larson turned, confused, but found himself alone. Suddenly, he heard the words in his head again.
He bounded up the stairs two at a time, dashing up them at dizzying speeds that would’ve sickened a man any motivation less than that of true love.
After all, she was waiting….
THE END
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Last edited by Jack_D.Mented on Sun Dec 02, 2007 7:23 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Jack_D.Mented
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Joined: 22 Jan 2006
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Location: Hiding out in the woods of Washington
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| Posted: Sun Dec 02, 2007 3:31 am Post subject: |
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Well, that's the end, guys. I hope you liked it.
Hopefully work will slow down enough for me to churn out something new.
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Chinaren
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