Edit: The Wanderer's Tavern has been rebooted. To find accurate information, scroll down the thread and you shall have it!
Edit: The Wanderer's Tavern has been rebooted. To find accurate information, scroll down the thread and you shall have it!
Hey Oerath. I figured that since you are so very kind as to spend your time on my humble RPG, I should repay your kindness in any way I can. I shall begin by indulging in you writer's thread. I truly love the idea.
It began back in the dawn of time. Elves and Dwarves had been at war for nearly a century, the reason behind the feud long forgotten. Ginglin Hiklin, the Elvish king had a beautiful daughter named Marianya. Marianya was the most fair of all her people, her long brown hair and eyes captivating to all who saw her. So it was that one day, as she travelled through the forests near her home, she was ambushed by Dwarves. The band sought to capture her and use her as a bargaining chip to end the war but N'Tartan Jeggen, the son of the Dwarf king Hoggok, fell deeply in love with her. He released her and sent word to King Ginglin requesting a truce. Ginglin, unaware of N'Tartan's feelings for his daughter, agreed without question. The two met and N'Tartan begged Ginglin permission to wed his daughter. Ginglin was shocked and hastily said no. N'Tartan offered Ginglin whatever he desired for the hand of his daughter. The Elven king pondered this and told N'Tartan that he desired nothing more than a white Stagg from the northern Reaches. N'Tartan, crestfallen, agreed. He knew he would very likely meet his death on the journey but he also knew that Marianya was worth the risk. Without telling even his father, N'Tartan set out on his quest to capture a white Stagg.
First of all, I am glad that I can participate in your thread. It feels good already.
By the way, good start. I already read the one that you had in journals. Quite a blast to begin a tale. A woman, a quest, a way to prove things. Reminds me of King Thingol's task to Beren.
I hope you like of my character. In fact, Saegron Ithael used to be one of Oerath's many names/identities, but I decided to create a completely new and fresh character for him. (Yup, Oerath Windsoul is also one of my original characters.)
I can't promise constant participating, but I'll try to throw in something as often as I can. One of my new year's promises will be to get more active as a writer.
I've a story that I will bring forth in this thread. Darbeian is the working title and it's a sci-fi/fantasy story with a bit of military stuff mixed in. (Mostly at the start of the story.)
Edit: I've lots of stuff to do during the next few days, but I'll still try to post my things, before the weekend.
Patience is virtue and time is just time.
N'Tartan stared out into the lonely forest he had come to call home. He smelled the scent of birds and distant streams. A haze of mist coated the land as he walked along, his double edged sword slapping his side softly.
He was situated in the Vercanian Forest, an untamed region near the far edge of any map. He stooped and saw a large track, a cloven hoof patern, leading on into the brush ahead. The track was about a day old. His quarry was close.
Good story so far, Durin.
I must apologize for my absence. At the moment, I'm spending some holidays in northern Finland, so that's why I've been off the site.
I think that I'll just let this year go and let the new year come and post my things then.
For now, I've planned to write some kind of poem, celebrating the new year and I'll post it by tomorrow night.
So, until the next time.
I too have been absent my friend. I apologize as well. And i look forward to seeing your poem.
And here comes the reboot of The Wanderer's Tavern. The thread fell down too quickly and was left in a complete silence.
But I am here to put an end to that silence.
So, let's go through the rules once more and keep it simple this time around..
The Wanderer's Tavern is a place, where you can post your 'campfire' tales. So write a tale, post it, throw in some role-playing elements if you want and let us feast on your text. I'll be giving guaranteed feedback to each and every post and their respective owners.
And here are our humble rules:
1. Be friendly and kind towards each taleteller.
2. You can create and design your post in almost any way you like, just keep in mind that you cannot throw in any sexual/adult stuff. It's highly forbidden.
3. You can also post your tale in parts, though I won't deny anyone the right to post a longer tale all at once.
4. Memorize this little piece of text: 'Come, come inside before the night falls, there are many tales to be told inside these stony and silent walls. Come, come inside before it is too late, here you'll find proper shelter, food and lots of ale.'
That will be all.
I shall start writing a tale, so expect it to be ready sometime after the holidays. Also, I want to be true to my style, so a poetic tale it shall be.
- Oerath Windsoul, The Tavernkeeper.
Hey Oerath, this looks like a good idea. I'd love to write something if I can find the time, but I've been busy finishing schoolwork (almost done now). I'll try to write something and look forward to seeing what you are working on.
I might just have the work as ready to be posted, but I won't proceed with too much of a haste. I'll read it through and shape it as much as possible. This one will indeed be a poetry oriented narrative with some exceptions, as always. Little story parts there and there. And I will post the whole thing in two parts.
I'm sorry for being late with it. I just want to do things with patience and care these days.
So, I'll post it either today or tomorrow.
'Till then, cheers and thanks for waiting.
Posting the first part of my short story today. My apologies for all the waiting.
I don't have a pre-story to accompany this poetical work, but this is a part of my long running 'Arcadianth Tales'.
I'll come up with a good setting for the story one of these days, though as I stated in my opening post; you can design your post in any way you like. If you just want to post the tale you've been working on - in it's purest form - you're free to do so.
The Champion of Corrupted Fire (Part I)
The wind is blowing ruthlessly
And the heavy snowfall won't leave him alone
As he continues to tread onward carelessly
At his own peril, for he's already hallucinating and cold to the last bone
His long beard is frozen so is his black hair
His hands are bleeding and his legs are numb
His eyes have gone dark blue and his face is so pale
His body is completely worn out and yet he still carries on
So what kind of power keeps this man going
Though he's already so close to death
Not even the endless blizzard seems to be able to stop him
He's just not ready to surrender his last breath
Coldness is just a dark illusion
A mind's most simple and most dreadful delusion
Yet something that can always be battled against
With sheer power of will and unwavering determination
He defies the touch of coldness, his endurance is beyond imagination
He's the champion of corrupted fire, his burning heart is full of rage
No snowfall can cease him from moving onward
No blizzard can freeze him, no gust of wind can take him down
The undying will of fire drives him ever so forward
Towards his ultimate goal.. To steal the winter's icy crown
And if none dares to oppose his might and stop him
He'll indeed storm through the great gates of coldness
Once he manages to steal the might of winter, the whole world shall go dim
For he'll send forth an all-powerful gust of wind, bringing forth only destruction and darkness
The world trembles..
Dorwus, the first son of winter stands powerless..
For a very dreadful being graces..
This realm with it's malevolent presence..
Zael'thrim Ethios, The Corrupted Firelord
Has emerged from the depths of the world in his spiritual form
He has returned to grant more power to his own flesh and blood
'Do not surrender.. This coldness cannot claim you, my son.. Gorthum..'
Now Gorthum's eyes are blazing with red
He has been granted more power
The spirit of fire and corruption inside him has awakened
From it's long and patient slumber
So which will prevail, fire or ice
Or will Lord Caen be called forth into the fight
Must fire be fought with fire, eye to eye
Will Dorwus hold his ground or will he be lost into the night
'Dorwus makes the right decision. He quickly gives the wind a message to be delivered to his friend, Caen. Hopefully, he receives the message and answers to the call of the first son of winter.'
But will the fateful child of fire hear his call?
The dragonmaster and a furious warrior, Caen the Firelord
He could very possibly have a chance against Gorthum
On the back on his scarlet dragon he would ride forth
And show to the champion of corrupted fire, what it means to be the wielder of fire and truth
Far in the distant horizon
A high mountain can be seen
On it's edge, stands a mysterious man, so wise and bold
That even the sky listens to him and so do both the animals and the trees
His name is Caen and he was born into this world
By the will of the solar queen, for he's the son of the sun
A true son of fire and the eternal flame in his heart has burned
Ever since the ancient times, when this world was still so young..
'Someone is calling for me, Varthax, I can feel it. The whispers are getting louder and clearer and the wind seems to be guiding those whispers.. Directly to me. Could this be Master Windsoul's doing? Either way, Caen the Firelord never denies a challenge. I shall answer to the call, whoever it is that needs me.'
Caen silences for a moment and kneels down. He opens his mouth to devour the nearby winds. His eyes change from red to green and back. Then he rises up and speaks to his dragon, Varthax.
'The wind has spoken to me for one last time and now our mission is clear. There's a battle going on in the north. Dorwus is losing to some so called 'the champion of corrupted fire'. It seems that he's indeed the son of Zael'thrim Ethios. That corrupted whelp of a god.. Well, Dorwus may be having difficulties fighting against fire, but I shall defeat this champion. He's no match for someone who was born to be the keeper of fire and bringer of elemental balance of the world. Varthax, let's go! We've a fight to win.. Firelord or not, the flame of righteous shall prevail.'
And so Caen decided to ride forth into the battle to face Gorthum. He has a long way to go, so will Dorwus be able to hold his ground. More importantly, will anyone else come to his aid. Surely The Guardians are watching, but do they see the situation dangerous enough to interfere. Their interference might change a lot of things, but so far, they've chosen to remain silent. They surely know about Dorwus and that Caen is on his way to aid him. Mysterious are the ways of The Guardians, but so it was written that should a lesser being oppose the peace of Arcadianth, the demigods, the children of fate and sons of the seasons would be the ones fighting in the front. Only when the danger is grave, The Guardians would join the battle to prevent greater chaos and destruction. But surely, Oerath is ready to interfere at any time of his choosing, for he's the mighties of the four and Dorwus is a former apprentice of his. Surely he wouldn't let one of his apprentice's fall in the hands of the corrupted firelord.
To be continued..
Very cool story so far, I enjoyed reading it and especially liked the way it was organized, with brief mentions of things, making me want to find out more, followed by fuller descriptions. It was also very poetic, and I could tell you put effort into each word. What I liked most of all was a sense I got while reading your story; it was meant to be read slowly, with lots of thought after each stanza. I think the only improvement would be to make it more terse. You are welcome to disregard this, but terseness is in my opinion incredibly awesome and helps to emphasize parts that do matter. That being said, I got a sense of extreme remoteness which I think contributed greatly to the story, and which I think would be nearly impossible to keep in while also reducing your word count.
I am now only 3 days away from having a few hours a day, and I hope to spend some of them working on a story of my own, which I will post in bits as I finish them. For now I can only look forward to reading the next part of your story.
I thank you for reading it, Curufinwe. Also, thanks for the feedback. You couldn't have said it better and you're right, some of my linings would definitely benefit from being a little bit more terse. In my works, there's always bound to be lot of changes; even tempo changes, 'cause to me, writing is like making music. But I guess long watery is present a bit too much in some sense, though it often feels like something I can't change. If I should find doubt in my own words, it would ruin some of the magic I try to pour into my texts.
By the way, the next part will have to wait for a while, since I've got plenty of different things going on at the moment. Different kinds of works. I've been in a very good writing mood since the late November. This year's going to be a blast and these days - I'm going with the flow of subjects again. I don't close anything out, so who knows..
Next, I might write something dreadful and dark or conjure up a love story out of the blue.
Looking forward to your tale with some good ale to read it with on one of these spring evenings.
Sigh, not a bad thing, but I guess tomorrow's going to be devoted to making a fresh lyric for the band and to add something new to my newest one that apparently needs a lot more of linings to work as a song lyric. I came to that conclusion when I got to measure the length of our newest song during our last playing session. (Unfortunately, I can't tell more about that.)
But with all of that said, I've to try to keep the whole weekend off from writing; mainly to re-charge the giant battery called the human mind.
Temporarily edited! Will be back.
Well, Balrog, you said you'd write something. And that's what you did.
I'd say this is the beginning of something good. You went right into some details, and quite descriptively - you showed me a picture, a very good picture about the world your character lives in. I see great promise and this is definitely a fated sign of things to come. This is the beginning and I hope that this thread will prove to be a success, a breakthrough.
This site would definitely need something like that, and if we can gain some attention, who knows how big this thread might get.
So my hopes are very high, but only time will tell was I right or wrong about this thread.
Sparking into existence, it consumed its host quickly, moving onwards to its second home it lightened up; crackling into a bright orange at its base and a more reddish hue above. It smiled a thousand different ways, before it hissed violently, destroying its second host. After this it struggled to find a new home, dying down to a small ball of glowing red, ever changing its hue; slowly its vibrancy died until it became a dusty grey-whitish colour. Ironically, in its will to advance, it destroyed itself.
I don't know why I wrote this drab, but I find elements of this world are the best learning tools.
Gror, it was short but I liked of it. After reading the text, I could already link it's contents to science fiction and that sort of stuff. Quite strange, but hey, well done.
I hope you'll come up with more of the sort.
For all of you that have not read my rpg. Brego, then here is the prologue . Brego and his chaps in the army of Pelagir stave off a giant Corsair- Haradrim attack. They win but with heavy losses, including Brego's best friend. It is not really written well and it was just a start, it could of been worse. Now my future rpg, after the War in the North trilogy will be named The Further adventures of Brego: ranger of ithilien, and then the final part of the trilogy shall be called, guards of Gondor. Thanks to Windsoul, who i hope gets the moderator job, this forum now helps me say this. No just kidding man, great job and good luck mate.
Sounds good and if you want to post your story here in the future, you're very much welcome to do so. Just remember that this thread's designed for individual tale telling.
Well I don't know if there's much of a tale to be told in mine, since the follow up would pretty much be the Silmarillion! I just had to ease some writer's tension, and so just wrote about an old man reminiscing on stories from Valinor. But we'll see if any new ideas come around...
In the Further Adventures of Brego the Ranger there will be characters like: Frodo, Sam, Gollum, Faramir. Also imrahil, Forlong, Hurin, crusty Denethor, and Beregond and Pippin. Gandalf will be in it during the third part of the trilogy and so will Beregond and Pippin.
The chill passes over your body like a tide of water, softly and suddenly. You look down at the ground, the soft grass moist with the dew of a new dawn. The fiery orb of warmth hides its ray of illumination from your view. You inhale; the crisp air is a reinvigorating drink to your expanded lungs. Your hands touch the bark of an adjacent maple, its skin smooth and silky beneath your clean fingers. As you walk forward you can’t hold back a spontaneous shiver which sends the on your neck rigid. You recover, the peace once again settling its way into your mind. A soft breeze blows over your exposed body, cold in its touch, but warming in its presence. As you blink the light cuts out momentarily, but upon the reopening of your weightless lids the light is even more glorious than before. As you exit the glade surrounding you, the vibrant rays of warm light smile down upon you. You bask in the presence of warmth, spreading your body like a star. Finally, a strong compulsion to smile falls upon you…
Temporarily edited! Will be back!
Very interesting posts, both of you. I wasn't online that often last week, so I've missed a great deal of things and posts. I can't focus on writing a reply post here and now, but I'll do so later during the evening. I've to log off soon, 'cause I've just received instructions for my next job and it's going to take me a while to finish it all. So, I may not have that much time to spend on this site during these up-coming two weeks.
But it's good in a way, to have something to do that is.
The ancient city of Arnhem was burning. After what had supposed to have been a walkover had developed into a horror story. Bitter combat between two foes for days had reduced Arnhem, Oosterbeek, and Wolfheze into a frenzy of death. But still the men at the bridge of Arnhem held, fighting for the piece of ground that would change the fortunes of the war. Col. John Frost of the 2nd battalion was handling his troopers well, for they had inflicted three times as many casualties on the enemy than their opponents had done. But his small force which had started out with 750 was being ground into submission. "No surrendering, for it is a futile and deadly struggle and we must stick it out until Horrock's column arrives," Frost would say to his paras. How did the finest Division in the Allied army come to this, communications were down between most units, and the only ways of sending reports to Browning's command was by a crackling Artillery radio that Maj. Gen. Urquhart's division had, Frost was alone on the bridge, rescue attempts from other Battalions had been bogged down in blood. How did it come to this?
This is something I liked writing. I knew it would start with sand, and wind, and would be about information. I think it's a prologue for something about frozen earth and pine trees and ice, or maybe something about water and lightning and hopelessness instead.
The air was heavy with silence of the sort that comes solely from centuries sleep with no touch of humans. White sand stretched out across the floor for a wide span. Here and there shelves full of books or scrolls rose from the ground to towering heights. Neither walls nor ceiling could be seen, yet there was no breath of wind and no warm kiss of sunlight. At one end was a mighty pair of doors, that seemed to be carved of the bones of the earth. They were open, and a man stood frozen in the entranceway.
Where have I come? Who am I? What is this place? The man opened his mouth and nearly uttered his name, then found he could not. His mouth was open, the words in his throat, but noise was beyond him. He stepped forward, then tried again. He could not remember. He turned about, surveying his surroundings, and found himself in the midst of a vast cavern. He saw nothing other than a floor of white sand and towering shelves that looked as though they had grown from the ground.
The man reached to the floor and grasped a handful of sand. It slipped through his fingers, and a sudden wind drove it to the side. The wind drove upon him with force, and he swayed on his feet, the sands rising and pelting to the side. The wind increased once more, and sheets of paper fell from the shelves and fluttered by him, followed by books, which struck him with great force. He snached one from the air and read. The entire page was filled with various scripts and languages, but they all said the same thing. You Are Not Welcome Here.
Then he fell, and looked up, and saw a towering shelf falling till it smashed with great force to his left. Then all the shelves were as a forest in a storm, and they swayed, and many came crashing to the floor silently. Then one struck him, and he was crushed to the sand, and darkness fell upon him.
He awoke to find another man looking down on him. He still found that he did not wish to make noise, and the other man was silent as well. The shelf lay still across his breast. His fall had indented the sands beneath him, and they now had formed into a mould of his body. He was trapped. The other man rolled the shelf with a deft and calculated movement, then walked away. There was a long span of time where little happened, then, with absolute finality, like the simultaneous beat of a thousand drums, doors crashed shut.
Alright, I took time to read all of the recent posts here and here I go.
@ Gror and Balrogs: That which is short in text can also be good. I sure enjoyed reading 'em through. Both were quite descriptive right there and the imagery was good.
Reading Gror's text threw me within a single moment and I was held there, until I had finished reading it. Fascinating. And Balrogs, you apparently wanted to take me straight to Valinor. I liked of it!
Great that we've got this thread up and going. I guess I'll post something too in the days to come, perhaps a continuation to my first post.
Amras and Curufinwe: Same goes here, very good work. I mean, you folks have given me short, yet good and rock solid posts. What a promising start for us.
So bullets fly, people fall and the war rages on, Amras? First time I read someone posting something about war. It was new and I liked of it. 'The ancient city of Arnhem'. Not bad.
An ancient and forgotten cavern, sand and bookshelves. Untouched by mortals. I'd sure like to read more of this. Very mysterious.
I hope you folks are going to continue some of these, 'cause I could already see all of these posts expand into a part-by-part series. But that, of course, is yours to decide.
Col. John Frost was doing his duty very well, for after all, coaching a cricket match on a sweltering day in Somerset wasn't the most difficult of this man's undertakings. Action in North Africa, Sicily, Italy, and Bruneval had left this man and what was then a fledgling 1st British Airborne Division tough and very well disciplined. Their opponent for the match was the team led by the stern Col. Dobie's 1st Battalion. Frost thought," Where is Tatham, that blighter should of been here by now." He watched the Battalion's chaplain Father Egan send a soft bloop into the shallow turf. As he just finished saying this, up came, a man of impeccable dress, with his red beret cropped on the side of his balding head. It was Tatham. " Major Digby Tatham Warter this is not the first time have been tarrying to the annual cricket match of the month. You know i can't possibly coach the 2nd battalion with out you," said Frost with a all-knowing smirk about what had happened during their first day of recreation that began on Saturday.
"You know me," said Tatham," always going to the pub with Mackay or one of his chaps." Digby looked out as the Bristol born Father Egan speedily ran off from the base.
"Yes, i do, but you should really keep yourself away from the drink, and why do you always carry that blasted umbrella with you?" Tatham smiled.
"I can never remember the password, you will never see one of the enemy trotting around like a complete dotard in this setup will ye Sir?"
"Just like Warter, you drink till you see the sun during the night, and wind up the morning like a sleeping babe, except you are wearing you dress best," laughed the handsome face of Frost.
"Col," said Digby as he nervously twirled his jet black umbrella in the air," C.F Gough has news from Mackenzie about the drop, and it is vital that you should hear it sir."
Thanks Oerath, I enjoyed writing that short post and will continue to expand on it with more posts of similar length. It took surprisingly long to write though, so don't expect anything from me till next week. Basically what I want to do is write (with no plan) something odd but somewhat meaningful and interesting, then expand on that till I have a complete story.
Though my second post takes place in Middle Earth: Thorondor, singing trees of Yavanna = Ents, second child of Eru = man.
"I think that Montgomery is going to follow through with his plans, Monty always has great ones," said Digby.
"You think the Field Marshall will really go through with his airborne drop, we don't know where and we don't now how, i think the Supreme Commander knows, but still, how our new Divisional Commander take the news, for he must now about it now, Browning is playing aloof, but this is still quite a hole in the yardam." Frost knew that Montgomery, the most brilliant Commander of infantry in the war was a cautious man, but it always came through, but Monty, with airborne troops, this was something completely out of the hat. The game was soon over,the 1st Battalion had utterly routed Frost's team, although Father Egan's heroism in the game almost pushed them over the threshold. But this did not matter, for both units, who were on leave, talked this over with their wives or in the pub. Most talkative of these chaps was Tatham, his wild tales filling the room with the smoke of his hand carved pipe." The Generals now something, but it;s all in Browing's head, he is the finest dressed man in the Royal service, and that is why a fancy to fashion myself into!" One man, Clifford Mervin, from the 1st battalion Company A was especially listening to Tatham.
"I have heard from Col. Dobie That we are supposed to be having a drop off in Holland somewhere, but the rest is secret, for it is to be explained ere the full moon," said the grinning Mervin. Frsot spluttered halfway in his Sherry.
" Explain my good man, for my batman Wicks will right it down,"said Frost, tensing with nerves. Clifford Mervin slightly shuffled up to a salute and then spoke.
"All I know Sir is that we see action by September 17, and in Holland.
I'm liking of your story so far, Amras. Do keep it up.
I'm waiting for the next part and also writing something to post myself too.
PS. 333 posts. Always a wicked thing to behold.
You might also want to correct your post a little. It all made sense, but you know. Spelling mistakes are our worst enemies.
In Britain, hundreds of Waco and Horsa Gliders were being assembled for this "great operation." Day in and dayout, Montgomery had briefed chief of the Airborne Command Gen. Browning about his daring plan, code named: "Operation Market-Garden. Browning then in turn briefed the Maj Gen. Urquhart of the 1st Airborne Battalion, then so on and so forth. Soon, Frost and his 2nd battalion was finally let into the light by Gen. Lathbury, their brigade's Gen. "He Frosty, is that the 82nd American airborne will seize a few bridges near Eindhoven. Then the 101st will take the important bridge of Nijmegen. Finally and most difficult to hold will be the bridges at Arnhem, which our "chaps" will be taking, Yours, Colonel Frost is the most Important, the Arnhem bridge, which connects the Holland and German borders by using the Rhine river. Our objective, is that Horrock's XXX Corps will break it's way out of the Belgium border, and then, our divisions will take the Bridges, which Horrock's, will simply run over a carpet of Paras. Horrock's will then run over the Arnhem bridge, you chaps will hold for two days, and then, into the Ruhr, the industrial land of Germany and then, Berlin.We could win the War by the end of 44.
Conclusion to 'The Champion of Corrupted Fire' incoming. I'm starting to write it as soon as I can.
'The Corrupted Shall Be Vanquished' (It will be a shorter work, but a good conclusion, I hope.)
After I'm done with that, I'll start to work on an actual story that I'll keep posting in parts, just like some of you guys have been doing.
Conceptually, it's going to be something between strange fiction and dark fantasy.
It just might be a continuation to 'One Last Sane Thought (The Mask of Death)'
I'll edit it and then upload it here beforehand the new work. To read it in it's current state, go to journals and search for it from my list of works.
He felt a change in the air. Power of a sort not seen on the world since the fall of the Firstborn. Souls resumed their flow as a frozen spring in winter. They would go to the agreed upon spot, and they would join once more, and they would bring the Firstborn to his knees as they had before. He manifested before her, taking in for the first time in many years his own world. Souls winked out and were replaced by bodies, his Ten. Humans, five male, five female, and each with mighty souls. He tested his other senses. Pines on the air, wind in his face, the noises of the soulless animals and the taste of blood in his mouth, his teeth shattering and his jaw clenching. New ones were grown before the old were spat from his mouth, and by the time they struck the ground he spoke.
"Secondborn, do you feel it?"
"Indeed, Thirdborn, the souls are flowing, and the hearts of many of yours are becoming mine. Your lock has been broken; the Firstborn has returned."
"Will you strengthen me as before?"
"If I do, then my destruction is complete. You should never have tried to destroy me."
"You would have made my domain perilous. Better for you to be destroyed than me."
"I wished always for it to be another way."
"Your soul will fuel the death of me, and your body will become my servant, but before the Firstborn destroys me you will die."
Amras, could you post that map somewhere else or shorten it's overall width. It doesn't fit to the intended space of an ordinary post/message. Else, it's a good looking map.
Most interesting, Curufinwe. Again, quite short, but interesting. Somehow, these shorties of yours.. To me, it feels like strange/curiosity arising fiction or something of the sort.
Much of it reminds me of H.P Lovecraft, but I don't know why. Am I getting anywhere close?
A Preview of 'Rise of Saerloth Reidell Melrethis II'
Part IV: Discoveries In The Dim Of Night
Two meetings with the king and some other important business followed later that day, but once again, my duties ended at approximately six o'clock in the evening. I grabbed my things, wished everyone a pleasant evening and started to walk towards my own quarters. It was so misty outside. The sky was so cloudy that no stars could be seen and the atmosphere was quite eerie. And after walking a little further, I suddenly arrived to an unfamiliar turn, from which there were three directions to take. Three different passages to choose from. Had I accidentally taken a different path, for I had not been in this part of the castle before.. I was sure of it. No candles were lit, there was none else around besides me. How could it be?
No.. I was certain I had taken the right turns, yet there I stood, unable to identify my location inside the castle. Then suddenly, like it was intended to be so, I remembered father's words: 'When you face the pathway dividing to three, the most right path will guide thee.'
Without a doubt, this is what he was talking about. I noticed an old candelabrum lying on a table nearby, so I grabbed it and well, even luck seemed to be on my side, since I found a box of matches from my jacket's left pocket. After I had lit all candles of the candelabrum, I drew in some breath and then I made my decision. I decided to venture forth into the most right passage. And more I kept walking, more the darkness increased. it was so dark.. if it wasn't for the candelabrum, I wouldn't have seen my own feet further in that darkness. The passage seemed so strange. For one, there were no guards and no servants. There was basically none around except for me.
And for second, the decorations and statues started to differ from the usual. As if this passage didn't even belong to the castle itself. A little further, stood a long line of bookshelves, filled with different kind of history books. At that moment, I realized that this was it. I could suddenly hear my father's voice very loudly, as if he was standing next to me, saying: 'And make sure that you read a book called: Melrethis Family History...'
Without hesitation, I started to go through the books on the shelves and then one book on the third shelf caught my attention. It bore the crest of our family. I quickly removed it from it's place and read out the title: 'Melrethis Family History', then I noticed that there was something behind that book's resting place.. A wooden lever. Once again, I drew in some breath and then.. I pulled it. And suddenly, the bookshelf made a clicking sound and started to open sideways, leaving an open passage in front of me. This without a doubt, was the entrance to the secret room. I entered on the other side and found another lever that I could pull, and by doing so, the bookshelf closed behind me. Leaning the candelabrum further, its light revealed a sight that made me take a few steps back. Such hellish and evil paintings, malevolent looking statues, stony gargoyle heads on the walls and a long black carpet that looked like to cover the entire floor of the passage. And against the walls, more bookshelves were standing in line, but this time, books on the shelves were totally something out of this world. Books bearing titles such as: 'Arts of Necromancy', 'Life Is A Dream' and 'Ancient Gods and Demons'.
I stopped for a moment to notice that my forehead was sweaty and my hands were shaking from fear. I could feel the room's touch of pure evil deep in my heart and my soul. And I could almost hear a demonic choir singing on the background, their dark singing becoming louder with each step I took. Silently, I thought: 'What on earth.. Is this place?'
I was close to turn back and return the way I had come, but something inside me.. Some strange force.. It felt like I was being ordered to continue treading along the passage. My legs didn't answer to any of my commands. All I could do, was to turn my gaze from one wall to another and witness the horror of the things in the passage.. Over and over again..
'So this is why father said to me about getting frightened and going insane, well he sure was right.' I thought, as I carefully continued to tread forth in the passage. Now there were bookshelves on both sides, very much like in a library. Then yet another flashback brought the following words to my attention: 'There's a library..' - That was part of a sentence father said to me, just before he passed away. Something else changed too as I walked on. The paintings.. They had changed from their already evil nature to something even more sinister. Now each painting displayed a demon with each demon's name written under the picture. Names such as: 'Ygmael, 'Lythox', 'Asprah', 'Xilian' and 'Bergul'.
Most interesting. Now there was absolutely no doubt about it. Our family had something to do with these demons, 'cause I could somehow recognize each of them in the paintings. I was sure I had read about them, but I just didn't recall when. 'Could it be that this is part of the secret; that we serve demons? No, that can't be it, but there sure must be some kind of connection.' I thought. Then suddenly, I could see the end of the passage, it's end expanding into a circle shaped opening; like a room of it's own. There were more bookshelves standing against the walls, everything aligned in a circle shape. And above the bookshelves, there were four large portraits on the wall. I stepped a little further, so that I could see them more clearly with the light of my candelabrum.
And I wasn't even surprised to realize that they were portraits of my father, Sebastian; my grandfather, Sevallon; my grand grandfather Sorennos; and my grand grand grandfather Severos. They all looked so young and mighty in the portraits. And it was only then, when my eyes caught a black pedestal standing alone in the middle of the area. The carpet beneath it was also circle shaped and its pattern formed a burning pentagram. The pedestal looked very, very old. No.. Not old, but more like ancient. It had long claws on top of it, claws that held a black book in their demonic clutches. The book was more than just black, its color was blacker than night itself. And as I stepped closer to the book, I could suddenly hear a terrifying voice speaking inside my head, saying:
'Young Saerloth Reidell Melrethis II, Son of Sebastian Reidell Melrethis II.. So.. You've finally entered into my lair of madness.. How bold of you considering your age.. Do you not feel the insanity starting to take a firm hold of you.. If not, then proceed.. Open the book and realize the TRUTH!'
I decided that since I haven't got to write anything longer, fit to be posted unto this thread, I could very well give you a little preview of my longest novella (on-going) to date.
She was right. His doom had come at last, but a few days before his victory might have taken place. He knew that total defeat would never come, yet his strength would be shattered by nightfall.
"You are wrong. I shall not die, and you shall not be destroyed. I require only one you to defeat the world stealer, and you are before me."
"Do as you wish, you are finished."
He shouted, unraveling his Ten's souls and strengthening his body. She was beginning to glow a bright green when his ten let loose their power. Gouts of flame burst from cracks in the world, and though she sprung back with the speed of the wind she could not avoid them all. Then he let forth his own soul in a furious blast of lightning stemming from the air beside her. Yet she was now moving at her full speed, and avoided his blast as no other could. Then her Ten erupted from her fingers, and with the wrath of the Godborn they let loose howls of unbound fury. She had chosen for them a form not unlike the human form which his had, yet they were larger, nearly ten feet tall. They had four limbs only, but eyes at each shoulder. Their fingers ended in sharp claws as a spear ends in steel. Their feet were broad, yet sunk deep into the earth with each stride. Each limb bent as it would, yet the torso remained steady and looked as though one might shatter an oak tree across it with little effect.
His Ten each brought their souls into the world. Their bodies wracked with pain. Some fell to their knees, others stood with faces that showed an utter lack of attachment to themselves. Then they each mastered themselves, allowing but a moment of weakness as they forced their souls to become physical. Her Ten needed but a moment, each leaping to one of his before they could bear the pain. Yet none of hers could strike, for faster than any of them was his Ten's souls, which stopped Her onslaught. She lept toward him; he barely moved aside, but his counterattack crushed her into the earth. He prepared to dismember her when his soul was seized by the Firstborn.
"Hello at last, brother-"
"-I have a contingency. You each have a world of your own, yet I do not. Did not."
Then he stuck his soul to the Firstborn, sending the Secondborn into the air. Before she could fly away he had grabbed her foot. Then all three of them vanished.
September 17th appeared closer now than it had been a half a month ago. Eisenhower had given it yes and the officers of Shaef we busy setting together the oil, gases, munitions, and gliders for the Operation. The Ist British Airborne Division led by the 40 year old Roy Urquhart, who was not a airborne trooper ever, but was still ready for the task and was both admired and loved by his peers. operations was undertaken by LT. Col. Charles Mackenzie, Urquharts aide. The Gso for Air was Major David Madden. Intelligence and Radio Operations was undertaken by Maj. Hugh Maguire. The 1st Parachute Brigade was led by the great Brigadier Lathbury. The 1st Parachute Battalion was led by tough- as -nails Col. Dobie, grim and stern, Dobie was a man the enemy feared. The 2nd Battalion was of course John Frost, mainly, the brave man was a jovial, but smart and avid commander. His Battalion was to undertake the "Lion" route to take the Arnhem highway bridge. "Cf" Gough's Recon radio jeeps would rush ahead of the paras and take the Arnhem highway Bridge in lightning speed. The much loved Roman Catholic Chaplain was Father Egan. Major Digby Tatham Warter was the sole commander of A Company, Umbrella and all. The 3rd Parachute Battalion was under Col. Fitch, a peppery, but as always, tough under fire. The 1st parachute squadron was led by Captain Eric Mackay. 4th Parachute was commanded by the Brig. Hackett, a fiery man but a great leader of men. The 1st Airlanding Brigade was a glider borne Brigade was headed off by Brig. Philip "pip" Hicks. The rest was the divisional units under Sheriff Thompson and so forth, Already the Division was set for their first terrible conflict, and their last. John Frost busied himself with Golf during off times. ( Not all the Units from the different Brigades are here, just the ones in this tiny adventure of mine) Feel free to comment!
The old man sat at the door of his home; the warmth of low temperature light gleamed through the windows into the darkness of night like a rich sunrise over a cold land. The man awkwardly fiddled with a block of wood and a knife. Snow fell before his feet like a loyal dog before its masters command, the purity of its bleakness was a contrast to the warmth and imperfect light streaming out of the glass. The man looked up at the sky: black, filled with sharp sparkles of light. He chuckled, the cold, the vastness of the space above him, the clumsiness of his work before the perfection of the snow at his feet. An appreciation for is inadequacy in the gigantic universe surrounding him like a storm shrouded his mind with doubt. Smiling he though on in question... To look at life like a vast storm was useless... How he weathered the storm and the challenges hidden within it was the importance of his being amongst that above and around him. Merrily he chuckled a second time, the wood before his hand looked fine...
Curufinwe, Amras and Gror. Yep, the usual happy tale-posting-fellas.
I should've known. Anyway, good to see you all once again. I've returned safely from my holidays, and I'm very much ready to write something and post something too.
I shall get to it after the weekend.
'Till then, I'll go through your posts and let you know what I think of 'em, though I know that they'll be good.
Good posts, all of you. I read them through and nothing's changed. I like of what you folks do and I hope you all will keep going on.
Once again, I've let this thread to fall into oblivion, but this time, it was only to be so for a short period of time.
I've been slowly working on that continuation part, but I've had some other stuff to work on too.
So, let's see when I get to post it. I'll probably end up conjuring something entirely new before that happens.
I've still a third Lovecraft inspired work to write, and this particular quote has been of service to me during my explorations in the realms of madness.
'We shall dive through black abysses, and in that realm of the Old Ones, we will dwell amidst wonder and glory forever.'
I'd very much love to follow the instructions of that quote and go there.
'Till the next time.
Well, here's something a little darker, since such requests were made.
And so I met the Messenger of Death
Last night I awoke to a haunting nightmare
I was sweating and I couldn't stop shaking
It wasn't just a mere nightmare and I knew that I wouldn't ever dare
To speak about it to anyone.. 'Cause it would change everything..
For in that strange and disturbing dream, I was walking in a nearby forest
And like always, birds were singing to me and the weather was most beautiful
But good dreams can change instantly and all of sudden, I started to feel immense pain in my chest
And then I saw him, a hooded man behind the trees.. A man with an aura so dark and dreadful
And at that moment, the sky went dim, the clouds darkened and the wind became very cold
And then I realized that I had seen him before.. In another dream.. In the forgotten days of old..
The past echoes with power..
Truths are being revealed..
He, who dares to walk in the forest until the late hour..
Shall now be granted a meeting with the deceased..
'I found myself too scared to move. My body wouldn't listen to me, it wouldn't obey any of my commands. I could only stand there and watch, as the hooded man neared me, one step by step. Then.. He just stopped. And at that moment, something strange caught my attention. His left hand, it was.. rotten and showed signs of decaying. Then he placed that hand against a pinetree, scratching it's wood with his long and bloody nails. And then.. from the cover of his black robe, he took out a very long scythe, one of which marks and engravings I had seen before. I just couldn't remember where.. Or when. But the most disturbing thing occurred, when the man suddenly glanced at me, lifting his hood a little, revealing his gruesome face. Those faces, I still can't shake the imprinted image of them that the event itself left lingering inside my weak human mind. The right half of his face was wholly skeletal, nothing but bone. But the left half.. Just like his hand, it had flesh on it, but that half of his face was rotten, with worms and other disgusting insects crawling in and out off his eyesocket. That vile sight made me so sick that I was close to vomit, but instead, I closed my eyes, shook my head and tried to tell myself that none of this was even real. Well, little it mattered, little it helped, for when I opened my eyes again, he was suddenly standing right.. in front of.. me. I took a few careless steps behind, staggering, falling on my back unto dirty and rainy ground. And at that moment of pure fear, I realized that there was no escape. This was it. But then something truly unexpected happened. The man himself took a few steps back, switching into a most strange stance. He hit the scythe deep unto soil and stretched his other hand towards me, pointing me with it.. And then he spoke out the words that have been lurking inside my head ever since. His voice was full of malevolence, death and all that is unholy. And each time he spoke, I felt same agonizing pain in my chest I had felt earlier. And it felt like someone was trying to pull my heart out with bare hands. And this is the conversation that followed..'
'Do you know the meaning of life and death, mortal one?'
'I don't unders-'
'DO YOU KNOW THE MEANING OF LIFE AND DEATH.. death.. death...'
'Ye, yes. I do.'
'You say that you know the meaning of life and death, yet your words are few and they fail you. For I can see it from your face, sense it from your way of speech and feel it in your empty words. You, mortal one, lack it all. Confidence, certainty and truth. Fear has taken a firm hold of you and it won't let you go. And fear is what makes you to say yes.'
'Do not speak another word, or you'll face a death beyond your imagining. But then again, death is a good option compared to life, for life is short, easily gained and easily lost. But death.. Death is eternal. With no second chances, no turning back, death is something we all should embrace. Death is a calling, death is a virtue, death is a sinful comfort of both the sane and the insane. Death weights much more than life. So it is and so it shall forever be. And you seem to know it too. Yes, I've looked inside your mind and I've seen death in it's purest form. You don't even think about life, for life is too simple and weak to you. But death, it has caught you in a web from which you can't no longer free yourself.. There's no denying that. Death is your true calling.'
'I.. Yes.. How can you know that?'
'I know everything about you, mortal one. I hold three magical cards in my hands. The first one of them represents your past, present and future. The second one of them represents your acts and deeds. And the third one of them represents your interests and life both as a person and as a human being.'
'So.. You know.. Who on earth are you? I am sure that I've seen you before in one of my dreams, but all of my memories seem so hazy, so distant. So who.. Who are yo-'
'I am none, I'm a man without a name! But in the realm of the dead and the damned, they call me the messenger of Death. And if I deem your existence worthy enough, you shall come with me and then, mortal one, you too will live the rest of your life without a name.'
'Death? Without a name? I do not underst..'
'You don't need to understand, but let it be known. Death is only a mere alias to she, whom no mirror can see, no light can find and no holy power can weaken. You know her, don't you? No, you've seen her in your dreams.. No.. Not just in one.. But.. In.. all.. of.. them.'
'Yes.. I've seen her.. She.. fascinates.. me.. I-'
'Be silent! Good.. Now.. I must ask you one more time. Do you know the meaning of life and death?
'Yes.. Life is short, easily gained and easily lost, but death is eternal. With no second chances, no turning back, death is something we all should embrace. Death is a calling, death is a virtue, death is a sinful comfort of both the sane and the insane. Death weights much more than life. So it is and so it shall forever be.'
'Your answer is.. correct. Now, come with me. She is already waiting for you.'
'And so the messenger covered his face with the hood once more, and then opened a shadowy, otherworldly portal that would lead us to the place, where only the dead are free to roam. To the home of all that is dark and evil. To the home of.. Death.'
'And once we were on the other side, the messenger muttered a few words in a language I couldn't grasp and hence, a hidden stairway began to form, revealing itself step by step. The stairs seemed to lead way below the ground. We then descended the stairs without hesitation and soon found ourselves standing behind a black door. A door unlike anything I had ever seen. It had strange inscription on it's surface and it seemed very.. living. To say the least. And once we had entered through it, the messenger showed me something I had only believed to be a myth. He urged me to take a look at the black door behind us and somehow, I could see into my former life right through it. I had once read about a door that's called 'The door that stands between life and death'; but I never imagined it to be real. My accomplishments, failures and memories, I could see them all.. Tens of thousands of images flashing before my eyes.. It was like an endless cinematic and it felt disturbing. But when my curiosity told me to reach for the door, the messenger ordered me to stay away from it. A part of me wanted to go back, but then I obeyed and so we continued our long walk towards the castle of Death.'
'From that moment on, we would encounter countless of graveyards, unholy tombs and most haunting and dark forests. But finally, we got there.. And once I saw her castle, only word that came into my mind was glorious. The building was simply glorious. The castle was so high that I couldn't even see some of the rooftops of it's many towers. They reached well above the sky, no.. Wrong.. What I first believed to be the sky, proved to be pure void itself. And why? Well, such is the underworld. A realm of shadow and pure void.'
'And standing near the castle and it's great gates, was a woman, whose beauty made us both kneel down in shame. I couldn't even look into her eyes. Her eyes were so mesmerizing, so black and lifeless, yet so beautiful. But then she approached me, holding a grim and long scythe firmly and gently in right hand. Giving me a pleasant smile, she took a hold of my cheek, raised my head and whispered to my left ear: 'Welcome to my realm, dear..' - And that said, she thrust her scythe's sharp blade right through my stomach, starting to drain my soul out.. I screamed in pain and agony, but then she touched my face with her left hand, saying: 'Hush, hush, it's alright.. You've nothing to fear.´.'
But then something in that hand's palm moved.. Something living.. I could only see sewings at first, but as those sewings broke, they revealed a monster's mouth. And sooner than I could even realize, she had opened my mouth and was already forcing her left hand down my throat and I felt as the monstrous mouth in her hand began to devour on my spirit. Then only moments later, she pulled the scythe off along with her hand that had just eaten every bit of my human spirit. And as her final act of cruelty, she dropped the scythe to ground, and as quickly as a sword pierces a human body, she ripped my heart off and took it as her own. Without a soul, a spirit and a heart, I now truly belonged to her. In a blink of an eye, I had been rendered off all the things that had made me human. And now, I only knew of obeyance and servitude.. From that point onward, I would be hers forever. Willing to obey her every command.. And.. Her.. Every.. Desire.'
There he now sits on filthy ground, man without a spirit, a heart and a soul
Turned into a servant of eternity, he's now bound to become one of Death's pet human ghouls.
And that's what happened in the dream. I chose death instead of life. I know that I could've just fled from the messenger and cling to my precious life, but no, I think I chose death on a purpose. Maybe it's my true calling after all. Maybe I'm destined to follow the path of death. Perhaps she knows.. She who no mirror can see.. No light can find.. And no holy.. power.. can.. weaken..
Written by: Otto 'Oerath Windsoul' Timonen
Well, Amras. I'm not that interested in writing an actual long-term book. I don't think that's even on my list at the moment. I enjoy writing these short tales though and poetry very much alike.
Anyway, I'm glad you liked of it. It's a bit shady work, but then again, am I not the nightshade of dark purity and deadly dread?
The great malice of the world is seen. Now the Doom is set, mightier than death it is, looming in the clouds. The once fair voices of the winds are poisoned. Tirelessly the men, women, and children, the beings of Earth, thoughtlessly exist. They are burdened by grief under the shadow of corruption. They choose to wallow in the cold desolation. Enthralled by the machinations of their [masters], they become idle; only acting in deeds of reward, pride and fear form misshapen perceptions. Feeling domesticated, their actions are influenced by the decisions of those keeping them under surveillance. Each day of life is more hurtful than the last, and naturally become subject to psychological manipulation. Terror drives their actions; their free will is directed by the desires of others. It feels like drowning and the racism is paralyzing. They remain silent about the experience, fearing judgment; and evidence of psychological abuse is cloaked covering all traces of abuse. They become trapped and some adapt. I have observed and discovered; the voices that haunt, howsoever they sound, are altered by devices - to the will and desires of the controller. Few endure this method of torment, appearing unaffected, with minor noticeable symptoms. This creates a mechanism that manifests in consciousness, a slavery that is invisible - a torture so simple yet destructive, nearly impossible to prove; entertaining and addictive; societies become enamored doing it.
Inwithiel, a very warm welcome to Planet Tolkien. Oh, such detailing. I've been waiting for such an arrival for so long. You're likely to bring some new life in form of writing to this site, I can already see that. I just wanted to let you know that what you just wrote felt good in every possible way. I read it aloud in my mind, and I definitely liked of what I heard.
Please do introduce yourself in the new member's thread or something. I'm looking forward to hear about your deeds.
- Oerath Windsoul, A Fellow Writer.
Oerath Windsoul thanks for the welcome. This is one of my favorite threads. I thought to share something seeing as the posts have slowed. I enjoy your stories very much and I hope to see the writing continue!