Forums / Roleplaying / The Tale of Arenor
| The Tale of Arenor | ||||
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The Tale of Arenor The village of Cropsford slept below the red moon, Larkor, first of the three moons of Erus. Larkor, to the philosophers, was believed to be a massive red desert, and as such, it was named as the realm of Marath, God of Rape, War, and Destruction. Karmor, the second moon of Erus, was believed to be Erus’s little sister, as it was similar to Erus in many ways. Using telescopes, philosophers had found deserts, oceans, grasslands, and mountains on the surface of Karmor, and it was commonly believed that it was home to Mermon, God of Life and Peace, and his wife, Kara, Goddess of Love and Nature. The final moon, Herem, was the white moon, and was believed to be the home of Harulan, God of Order, Honor, and Justice, and his wife, Heremia, Goddess of Marriage and the Hunt. The Gods of the Pamorian Pantheon were powerful, with limitless influence in their realms. However, outside their realms, they were powerless, Marath would destroy, Mermon would create, and the battle would last until one side made a grave mistake. ***
Calia was her name, a young, beautiful human woman of twenty years. Her husband, Armull, had been struck with disease, and his life had fled Erus two weeks before. She was still in mourning, but at the moment she was sleeping, her dreams plagued with images and memories of her dead husband. As she slept, a presence watched from outside, watching her thoughts, analyzing every detail of her mind and body. She was quite beautiful by human standards, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, she was around 5’4", and she was slim in build. Yes, the date was correct; to seed her now would generate a child. The presence generated a red orb, and sent it through her window. The orb was only an inch in circumference, but the magical nature of the orb caused it to generate more light than fifty torches. It was blinding, but the presence would not allow young Calia, or anybody in Cropsford, to wake. The orb landed on her chest and burrowed into her body, leaving no mark on her. Then, the light dimmed and disappeared, and all was as it was. With satisfaction, the presence departed the sleeping village, leaving its seed behind. ***Nine months later*** The process of childbirth had probably been the most painful thing Calia had ever been through, but to her, the result was more than worth the pain. It was a miracle, childbirth, but not in just that way. She hadn’t had sex in two years, since before her husband had gotten the disease. How was it that she had become pregnant? She was afraid to tell anybody, for fear or the reaction. The child was a boy, with black hair and bright blue eyes; he was beautiful to his mother. There was only one other person in the house, and that was the house’s owner: Gall. Normally, most of Cropsford would be packed into the house, but most of Cropsford didn’t know who the father was, and that made them nervous. "What will his name be?" asked the new child’s Uncle, Gall.
Gall had once been a soldier, alongside his brother, Armull, and both had been conscripted to fight in the Red Coast Conflict. Afterwards, both were given a small amount of land in Cropsford. Armull had built a scriptorium on his land, and his wife, Calia, used it to support herself. The Cropsford scriptorium was the only scriptorium for fifty miles, and as such, it drew more intelligent people to Cropsford. Gall built a large house on his land, using his bare hands; Gall was also the local blacksmith. He was tall, strong, and jolly, despite his horrific experiences during the Red Coast Conflict. "Arenor," replied Calia weakly. ***Six years later*** Arenor was six years old now, and he was proving himself to be the toughest child in the village, being near impervious to pain. This was considered strange to all, and some considered that it could be an early sign of leprosy. He was also very serious, having a very limited sense of humor. At the moment, Arenor was sitting on a dirt mound, waiting for the attack. It was often considered unfair, pitting four against one, but the only rule for the game is that the defender was by himself. As Arenor sat, he heard a noise in the bushes. He grabbed the wooden sword at his side and looked around carefully, fear was far from his heart. His careful eyes searched the bushes, and his ears listened for the slightest noise. "ATTACK!" roared Vorgen, who was nine, the oldest child in the village under the age of twelve, and was currently pretending to be Valan the Demonbane. The children rushed from the bushes from all sides, and as they ran, Arenor ducked down, grabbed a rock, and through it, striking Vorgen in the shoulder. Vorgen stumbled, and Arenor turned around to see Balom, one of the younger, faster kids, climbing up the mound. Arenor kicked him square in the chest, sending him backwards down the mound. Arenor barely felt a wooden sword smash against his head, and turned, punching the attacker in the face. The attacker fell to the side, and Arenor turned to see Vorgen climbing the mound. Vorgen was six inches taller than Arenor, and was a little bit stronger. But that didn’t help him as Arenor jumped off the top of mound, tackled him to the bottom, and began punching his face savagely. Arenor didn’t hear it as he continued punching, the screams having been muffled by a rage that came from nowhere. Two of the other children dragged Arenor off, and Arenor fell unconscious, unaware that he had knocked Vorgen unconscious, broken his nose and jaw, and had caused a large number of cuts to cover his face, injuries well beyond a couple of punches from a six-year old boy. ***Four years later*** Arenor was at his Uncle Gall’s house, his mother was working at her scriptorium. Arenor was one of the few children in the town who could read and write, and he enjoyed doing both. He was currently reading a book describing the adventures of Valan the Demonbane, a legendary hero who had been fighting evil for twenty years. The book was written by Valan himself, and Valan described it as entirely truthful. As he read, however, his Uncle Gall walked into the room and sat down in another chair. His blond hair and beard were showing large streaks of gray, and Arenor could see wrinkles forming around his eyes. ***Two years later*** Cropsford had changed in the twelve years since Calia’s Scriptorium had been built. What had once been a farming community had evolved into the largest town for twenty miles, with a town wall and its very own guard garrison, with Uncle Gall repairing and maintaining their weapons and armor. A large addition had been built to the Scriptorium, and was now a library worthy of a royal. However, these changes were not in Arenor’s mind as he stood in the crowd near the town gates. The greater demon, Jorlehein, was on his mind. Two months before, the miners in the iron mines had dug a little too deep, releasing a terrifying demon that enslaved the miners within. Two weeks before, one had escaped, and told the mayor what had happened. Jorlehein had made them dig up two lesser demons: Nureil and Farsteim. They were now preparing an attack, and the mayor had called out for the one man he knew capable of stopping them: Valan the Demonbane. Suddenly, the crowd cheered, and through the gates, on a bay horse, rode a man with graying brown hair with a longsword at his side and a shield on his arm. His armor was gold, and seemed to glow with an unnatural light.
The Mayor ran forward, and Valan got off his horse. He was around 5’9", and seemed shorter than Arenor had imagined him; however, his respect for him did not wane in the least. Valan held up his arm in a silent gesture for the cheering to stop, and the cheering stopped. "Mayor Barlor, greetings," said Valan with a smile. *** Valan rode up to the mine entrance, and saw his two companions standing near the body of a lesser demon. One of his companions was a mage named Harell, a former mage of the Guild of Mages in fact. He was tall at 6’3", and slim. The other was a ranger named Bomerin, he was 5’10", and was one of the best bowmen Valan had ever met. "They’ve been in hibernation for Harulan knows how long," said Valan as he jumped off his horse, "They need some warming up." Valan then drew his longsword and knelt on the floor, the tip of the longsword resting on the dirt in front of him. "Harulan, guide my blade and steel my heart, let not my courage falter. The demon within these caves I send to you, to punish as you will," muttered Valan before standing up. "Adventurers!" roared a deep voice that seemed to have an unnatural echo, on top of the echo present in the cave, "Halt and run! We will not fight you if you turn back now!" "I give you a final warning! Flee! Now!" yelled the voice. "Harulan," muttered Valan. *** Arenor saw Valan, and two mighty looking companions walk into town, with several emaciated miners resting on their horses. Several wives and children cried out with joy, and several more grew more fearful. "Demonbane!" yelled Arenor. Arenor felt like the luckiest boy alive. ***Three years later*** Arenor and Gall were circling each other, their practice stretched out before them. Gall stabbed at Arenor, and Arenor parried the attack, delivering a counter-stab to Gall which Gall batted out of the way with the quick return of his practice sword. He then delivered a punch to Arenor’s face, causing Arenor to stumble. It wasn’t due to the pain, Arenor didn’t feel much pain, it was due to the force. Gall took that advantage to simulate a run-through with his practice sword. Arenor swallowed some blood and spit and walked over to a wooden table in Gall’s backyard, where he put down his practice sword and put back on his silver ring. The silver ring had instantly become his prized possession. The adventure in Cropsford had been Valan’s last major adventure, he had retired a year after and was now living in Aloroll, capitol of Aloran, a Kingdom of legendary heroes and epic adventures. The King in that land was not chosen by blood, but by their heroic feats. The Council of Aloran would pick a new King when the old King died, and would factor in a great many things. Many believed without a doubt that Valan would be the next King of Aloran. "Arenor, how’s your mother doing? She alright?" asked Gall as he walked up beside Arenor. Arenor was getting taller; he was now around 5’6" to Gall’s 5’10". Arenor’s black hair had lightened slightly, and could now be considered a very dark brown. His bright blue eyes, however, were unchanged.. "She’s fine, her arm isn’t as quick as it used to be," said Arenor, referring to his mother’s skill at writing quickly and neatly. "Ah, arthritis?" asked Gall. "No, why?" asked Arenor. "What does that have to do with my mother?" asked Arenor, confused. Arenor questioned the sanity of his Uncle sometimes, but Gall was Gall. He slid the ring onto his finger and walked into the front yard through the gate at the side of the house. He would visit with his friend, Ignis, he had finished his weekly swordfighting lessons with Gall, his reading and writing lessons with his mother had been two days before, and his bowman training with the guard’s bowmaster, Nurell, had been two days before. He had the rest of the day to himself, and as usual he wished to use it to his fullest. He ran through the streets of Cropsford, which had evolved into quite a large town in the time he had known it. It was always expanding, things were always being built, it was probably the fastest growing place on the continent. He reached Ignis’s house, and found his brothers and sister playing out the front, Ignis’s home was big, even compared to Gall’s, and Ignis’s parents owned several farms and plantations outside the Cropsford walls. Ignis was the oldest, and he didn’t enjoy playing with his siblings for whatever reason. Valan wouldn’t continue...Valan would help the innocent. That was enough for Arenor, he ran into the alleyway and saw three thugs and Borem, a blacksmith. "No!" said Arenor, overcome by a strange courage, "You will leave Borem alone!"
Calia was at the guard Captain’s office, as was Borem, Arenor, and the surviving thug, whose name was Verdok. Captain Urem was behind his desk, examining the people in his office. Calia was looking at Arenor with a mixed look of sadness and love. "I won’t, Uncle Gall," promised Arenor, sensing a tone of regret coming from his Uncle. | ||||
Very nice, glad I am privy to insider info because I am awesome ^^ | ||||
It is a very good story. Greatly enjoyed it. | ||||
Nice Septim! Is this the fantasy we have cameo's in, or is that a different one? | ||||
This is it, you'll see Ignis mentioned there! XD | ||||
I am still of teh waiting of mah charikterz to be of teh showin up in teh drunkenly orders. *explodes in an... explosion? Oh well, of sporks* | ||||
This looks to be an interesting tale. I can't wait for the next part. | ||||
Well I can wait but that doesn't stop me from saying discreetly that I might probably be thinking of possibly wondering as to if I should think of perhaps starting a process that might prompt me to say what Demonsul said. | ||||
... | ||||
*Gets up rubbing his temple* | ||||
*hits Himanil with a sporkstun gun* "And stay down!" | ||||
*Decides to stay down with a grunt for the sake of not starting a spam flame war in a thread that is not meant for it* | ||||
***Two years later*** Arenor enjoyed riding horses, he wasn’t as good at it as Ignis was, but he enjoyed it, and as the two rode through the forests and grasslands around Cropsford, Arenor took in the surroundings. Cropsford was beautiful in the spring; there was no doubt of that. As they rode, however, Arenor heard voices and the sound of twigs breaking. His friends had often commented on how sharp his hearing was, and he doubted Ignis could hear it, but it was there. Normally, it wouldn’t have bothered him, but they were attempting to be far too quiet, and there was no game in this part of the forest. *** Arenor was in Captain Urem’s office for the second time in his life, this time for entirely different reasons and with Ignis. *** Uncle Gall, now Colonel Gall of the Cropsford Militia, inspected his troops. He was very nervous, but he did a good job hiding it. He was wearing a suit of chainmail, and had his longsword at his side. He didn’t say a word, he simply stared, and Arenor doubted that he was actually inspecting the troops. He was probably thinking deeply while pretending to, for he needed a battle plan that would result in around two hundred guards defeating an invasion army of around a thousand soldiers. Arenor and several others who had been trained in combat were also amongst the guards, outfitted in leather armor and given low quality iron longswords from the armory. Gall soon ordered assignments, and Arenor was assigned to the southern gate, Ignis was assigned to the northern gate (he was skilled somewhat with a bow). As Arenor walked through the streets on his way to the southern gate, somebody approached from one of the shops. It was Borem the smith. “Arenor, take this,” said Borem, throwing Arenor a steel longsword inside of a metal sheath. *** The walls around Cropsford were mostly made of wood, with the gates being made of stone. As such, only the gates and towers could hold archers. Due to the fortification of the gates, there was a chance that the enemies would attempt to batter down the wall in other locations. However, King Caril had decided to lead the army himself, and in his stupidity and pride, refused the advice of his officers and soldiers, he decided to assault the most fortified position for reasons unknown. He was a fool, and as the army approached the south gate, Arenor began to gain hope that they would win the battle. The archers on the gate fired their arrows, and the arrows zoomed down on the approaching army, the battering ram reached the gate and began smashing it, with Arenor and the gate defenders attempting to keep it pushed shut. Hot oil was poured down on the men guarding the ram, causing their faces and bodies to burn with fierce intensity, screams echoed out that would pierce the heart, and the battering ram broke through the gates. Enemies began pouring through the gates, and Arenor began fighting. Men on both sides fell, with the guards falling faster than the numerically superior and better trained soldiers. However, Arenor did not fall, and as the battle lengthened, as did his strength and courage. He was in a wild bloodlust, his sword parrying and slashing with inhuman speed, in his heart was a feeling of great joy, joy at battle. He reveled in it, he loved it, he felt at home, and as he cleaved off limbs and pierced the organs of enemies, he could not help but let out a fearsome battlecry. The soldiers began running, falling back through the gate, and Arenor began slashing once again, this time with great ease, his sword slicing through each soldier like butter, and then, a series of fiery waves came from his body, and he fell to the floor as the fleeing soldiers were burnt to ash. *** “It’s awake,” said a voice. “I remember…waiting for the gates to open…that’s all,” said Arenor. Your majesty!? Calia turned her head to Gall and Arenor. “Hmmm…well, I rode out and met with King Caril this morning. He was clearly afraid that we had some sort of demon under our control, and I began making demands. First, we are recognized as the Gall then turned his head to look at Arenor’s leather armor. “I think I’ve ignored that long enough…the bodies were burnt, Arenor, and there was no way the burning oil we poured did all of it.” “I have no idea how it happened…I really don’t…” “I think there’s somebody here who does. I’d like to introduce somebody.” The door opened, and a man of average height in blue robes entered the room. Arenor quickly noticed the pointed ears, and came to a realization. “What kind of sword is that?” asked Arenor out of curiosity. “No, I mean…why does the Venifician Order want to tutor me?” asked Arenor. “Well…in that case, I accept,” said Arenor. With that, Erunion left the room, and Calia stepped in. “Yes, he did.” Arenor was sitting in the Scriptorium, a book on the history of the Venifician Order opened on the table in front of him. He had been released from the infirmary the morning before, even though he had no real physical injuries from the battle. As soon as he was released, he began reading everything he could find on magic and the Venifician Order. He had already finished five books, and he was working on his sixth. The door opened, and Calia walked in with Erunion. “For what?” asked Calia. Calia turned and left the room, and Erunion gestured towards an empty chair. “May I sit down,” asked Erunion. “Just Erunion…and that can be unwise permission to give, my home is a very dangerous place to be,” he said with a smile, “I’ll just take the liberties I usually take in the houses of friends.” Erunion sat down, and pulled several pieces of equipment from his robes. Only one of which Arenor recognized, and that was a wand. A magical being, no matter what the class, requires a type of magical concentration device to keep control of his or her magic. The most common types are wands and staffs. Wands were concealable, and more favored for city mages who wanted to keep their identity secret. Staffs, however, were far more powerful, and could be used with far more ease. “What is all of that?” asked Arenor. “None, neither does my mother,” said Arenor. “Strange that she wouldn’t know….” “Oh! Don’t take it wrong, I believe you…it’s still stran-” Erunion suddenly looked very surprised, and looked at his equipment closer. “What is it?” “Hang on just a moment.” “Erunion…” “Be quiet, please.” After a few seconds, he sat back, bewildered. “Arenor of Cropsford…your magical potential rivals that of Victon Primoris, it might be even higher,” said Erunion. “That can’t be right…” “The equipment has never lied, Arenor, I can assure you. I am going to summon the Victon.” “Why?” “There is a spell that can be performed that will…” “Yes? It will what?” “It’ll allow us to find out who your father is. But I can’t perform it, it’s a very difficult spell.” “Then do so, please!” “Be patient…he is already on his way.” “How lo-” A flash of energy occurred in the room, and a man in a red hooded robe with a long goatee appeared. His build was rather thin, and he was average in height, however, he appeared to be far taller than he actually was.
“Victon,” greeted Erunion, bowing his head. “Erunion,” said Victon Primoris, “This must be Arenor, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Arenor attempted to say something, but he couldn’t. Meeting a legendary mage wasn’t something he had expected to do that day. “Arenor,” said Primoris as he reached his hand out. A staff instantly appeared in his outstretched hand, “If you don’t mind, we should begin.” “Go ahead,” blurted out Arenor. “Stay still and calm, the more you deviate from my instruction, the more this spell will hurt.” “It’ll be alright, Arenor,” said Erunion. Arenor relaxed his body and let out a breath, but his mind could not be tamed. He felt an invading tendril enter his body, and yelled out in pain. Images floated through his brain, images of his mother, images of his Uncle, and a final image of a man he did not know.
And the last thing he heard before fading away was a single word muttered from Primoris’s mouth. “Marath…” | ||||
Great story, cant wait for the next part : D | ||||
Is Septim's computer working again? | ||||
I don't think so. He's using his crappy desktop. | ||||
Arenor woke to a room empty except for one man: a town guard. “Prince Arenor!” “What’s happening?” asked Arenor. “Where is everybody?” asked Arenor. “Get me a sword,” said Arenor. “…no, keep yours,” said Arenor as he got up, then he remembered Primoris and Erunion, “Where are the mages?” “What mages?” “The Venifician mages!” “I don’t remember any being here, but their order declared itself neutral long ago in political affairs, they probably left.” “Dammit! I must get to my mother!” Arenor walked out the door and into a large room filled with beds, and those beds were full of wounded guards being taken care of by three doctors and several nurses, Arenor noticed no guards. Arenor looked around on the floor and saw a pile of bloody leather armor with the girdle still attacked, and attached to the girdle was a longsword in a scabbard. He grabbed the girdle and buckled it on. “Stay with the wounded, Valtrem.” “Yes, sir.” Arenor walked outside the infirmary and listened. There was fighting from all directions, but there was the most in the East of the city. Arenor ran through the city, seeing nobody in the streets. People were being smart, at least. After five minutes of running, he reached the fighting he heard. Fifty guards were currently fighting against almost seventy of the foreign soldiers. Arenor recognized the painting on their shields. *** As the gates were being pounded, Arenor looked at the sword he had taken from Barunar. It was black with red veins running through it. Arenor did not understand the sword, but he knew it was unbreakable, and that would give him an advantage if he was to fight Barunar again. BOOM! BOOM! CRACK! The gate began cracking open as the battering ram continued crashing into it, despite the burning hot oil and the rain of arrows. After around a minute, the gate cracked open, and the soldiers of Calion began fighting at the bottleneck the gates formed. As Arenor fought, he spotted the man in red and black armor, his great helmet on once again, fighting as well.How the hell? The man turned his head to look straight at Arenor, and he began walking towards him behind his own lines. Arenor walked backwards, hoping that the Calionic soldiers would get a few blows in to softed him up. However, when Barunar arrived, he raised his hands and released a shockwave, causing the soldiers to fall to their backs. “You have Firengard and your life, I want both!” yelled Barunar as he raised his blade and charged before sidestepping to his left and slashing at Arenor’s right side. Arenor turned and struck Barunar with the sword’s pommel, and Barunar stumbled before turning around and holding his sword at the ready. “Let’s make this a proper duel, shall we?” asked Barunar. Arenor responded by striking at Barunar, the strike was parried, and Barunar countered with a stab. Arenor sidestepped the stab and chopped at Barunar’s hip while Barunar brought his stab sideways and cleaved into Arenor’s left side. Both fell to the floor. Arenor put his left hand forward and pulled off Barunar’s helmet in order to create a weak spot in his impenetrable armor. He threw the helmet as Barunar ran him through with his sword, and Arenor replied with a chop into Barunar’s neck. Both men fell to the floor, Arenor coughing, and Barunar struggling to remain alive. Arenor then noticed that Barunar’s men had broken through the gates, and Urem had been killed with a stab to his chest. He pulled Barunar’s sword from his chest and threw it before looking at Barunar, who wasn’t moving. Barunar’s soldiers surrounded Arenor, and Arenor raised Barunar’s black sword, Firengard, in defiance as a white flash of light occurred. A man in white robes appeared, grabbed Arenor tightly, and all went white. | ||||
[[OOC: FIRENGARD MAKES A RETURN!? :G]] | ||||
[[OOC: Nice! Firengard does make a return... I await Icengard with baited breath. Of course, I don' t know how I feel about this, when danger reared it's ugly head I bravely turned my tail and fled... Stupid "Don'tinteferewithlocalpoliticsmageoath"]] | ||||
[[OOC: Thanks for the comments! =D]]
“Welcome back, Prince Arenor,” said a voice. Arenor’s vision was clearing up now, and he was able to get a decent look at Varumar. He had white hair, and was wearing white robes. His staff was also white. He had a shortsword buckled at his side.
“Wait! My mother! Uncle Gall! Cropsford! What happened!? You must get me back there immediately!” yelled Arenor. “He is under the Venifician Oath, I know,” muttered Arenor. “Is Barunar still in Cropsford?” asked Arenor. “No, he left not long after I rescued you. He left the civilians and the remaining guards alive. They are currently burying the dead and repairing damage done during the attack,” said Varumar.“But he was leading Carilonic troops, they were going back on their truce.” “Barunar wanted to frame Carilon, it didn’t quite work, but those troops were under his sole command,” clarified Varumar. “Then can we return? Barunar and his men are gone.” “That wouldn’t be wise. Barunar probably left the guards and civilians alive so that you would return to reclaim Cropsford. Then he will attack again, and if you escape then, he would probably kill the people and put their heads on pikes” said Varumar. “Then we should at least let them know I’m alive…and go gather help.” “From where?” asked Varumar. “I don’t know…we didn’t have many allies.” Arenor looked down at the dirt and began thinking, and after only a few seconds, he spotted the ring on his finger, it had a streak of blood across it, but the words were as clear as they were when Valan had saved Cropsford: Honor, Order, Justice. “Valan the Demonbane is the King of Aloran, wouldn’t he help us?” “Aloran? That’s hundreds of miles away.” “You can teleport, can’t you?” “Arenor, magic is complicated. Teleporting by yourself is easy if you’re strong enough, teleporting with others takes a lot out of you,” explained Varumar, “When I saved you, I only teleported a mile out of the city, and that was enough to make me very tired. And besides, teleporting that distance is something only Primoris could do, even by himself.” “Then we’ll ride to Aloran.” “Is that what you really want?” “Yes.” “Then we’ll ride to Aloran, but first we’ll need to get you a horse.” “Wait,” said Arenor as he drew the sword called Firengard, “Can you tell me anything about this sword?” “Barunar had this?” asked Varumar. “Yes.” “Whitesteel, high quality, probably forged by dwarves or girens, it was linked with Barunar. Only he could use its full potential. For you, this is a regular, unbreakable sword. For him, it was light as air, unbreakable, alive, and could tap on the power of his bloodline and link with his soul,” said Varumar, “This sword is alive, and has a very dark soul and mind.” “If it’s called whitesteel, why is the blade black and red?” asked Arenor. “Whitesteel is white and glossy when raw, refined, and forged. My guess is that the blade’s link with Barunar’s soul turned it into what it is now,” said Varumar sadly. “Is it dangerous to use?” “No, it has about as much influence on you as any other person would. So if you are strong enough to resist it, then you may use it without worry.” “I will use it only if I have to then,” said Arenor. “A wise decision.” | ||||
Arenor and Varumar had been travelling for nearly three hours, and they were only a mile from Cropsford's gates. “Arenor, if we are to go into Cropsford, I believe it would be best if we did so discreetly, who do you trust in the city?” asked Varumar. *** Varumar took the lead disguised as an old farmer coming to inquire about the recent battle, and Arenor was his son. Using a bit of magic, Varumar grew Arenor a short beard and changed his hair color. The changes were temporary, but they would last the few hours they needed. Upon riding through the open town gates, they saw that many of the houses were boarded and barricaded, and men carried weapons wherever they went. They first rode to Ignis’s house, and Varumar knocked on the door. One of Ignis’s younger twin brothers answered the door. *** Horus’s inn was quite full of people wanting to drown their sorrows, and Varumar had a very tough time catching Horus’s attention. When he did, Horus had a man relieve him and walked outside into the alleyway. Arenor approached him and pulled back his hood. *** Horus was waiting in one of his four rooms with the three men he had promised Arenor. Harmon was around 6’1” with black hair and hazel eyes. He was athletic in build, and carried a bow and a longsword with him into battle. He also had a strange affection for cats. Lanoc was shorter at around 6’0”, but was larger in build, and carried a longsword and a shield with him into battle, and could also use a spear. Archion was a gifted tracker and hunter, and was quite gifted with a bow, but also carried a shortsword with him, just in case. Arenor and his friend were quite late, and Horus was wondering what was taking them so long. *** Over the previous night, Arenor and Varumar had stayed at another end as a precaution against an unlikely betrayal by Horus. Arenor's arcane induced beard and hair color had gone away, but Varumar had done the same again in the morning. They were now on their way to Horus's inn. As Arenor and Varumar rode through the streets, Arenor saw a familiar figure walking out of a nearby shop. *** After nearly half an hour of waiting, Arenor, his friend, and Ignis walked into the room. Ignis and Varumar sat down, Arenor decided to stand. | ||||
How long before the next one? | ||||
When it is done. | ||||
Feared that that'd be the answer. | ||||
An hour later, Arenor, Varumar, Ignis, Harmon, Lanoc, and Archion rode out of Cropsford through three separate gates and regrouped outside the town. They continued southeast, in the direction of Aloran. “So, Ignis, what’d you tell your father?” asked Arenor. “We’re only eighteen, Ignis, not many our age wants to go out of the fortified cities. Have you heard the stories?” asked Arenor. “Not many of them are true on the peninsula here, however, on the mainland and on the old Cidellian peninsula, they are worse than the stories,” said Varumar. *** They had been travelling for nearly a week, living off the results of Archion’s hunting trips. Few people were on the path, only the occasional merchant. According to a map that Harmon had brought from his house, they were nearing the large town of *** Over the next two weeks, they came across many small villages, but the land between Aloran and Renlor was largely uncivilized. There were many groups of raiders as well, but the group was able to avoid them. They were big and loud, and were easily spotted early. Eventually, the group reached Aloroll. The city was not as Arenor expected, for he had expected a city of white marble, gold, and greatness, but what he saw was a stone wall surrounding what appeared to be a city of shacks with a rather small stone castle in the center of town. There was a circular stone building as well. They rode towards the gates, and upon getting close, the gates opened and a familiar figure in gold armor walked through. Arenor recognized him as Valan the Demonbane, his beard and hair had a little more gray, but it was him. Behind him were two men in similar armor. *** As Arenor and his group walked through town, looking for an inn, Harmon stopped him. “You won’t stab us by accident, I hope,” said Lanoc. Over the next two months, Arenor and his group stayed in the Ierbrod Inn. The inn was named after King Ierbrod, son of King Grefdow, first King of Aloran. Both were great heroes, as were almost all Kings of Aloran. Arenor also learned that the inhabitants of the city did not care for beauty and riches, which explained the lack of proper houses throughout the city. The only reason that they had a stone wall and a castle was to accommodate for defense. Nine weeks after Arenor had arrived; he heard that Hrov the Lion had challenged Valan the Demonbane to a fight to the death in the pit. The prize: the Throne of Aloran. *** “The Pit” was one of the few stone structures in town, and it was there that the heroes of Aloran proved their skill. It was rare to see a fight to the death, even rarer to see a fight to the death involving a King, and unprecedented to see a fight to the death between the King and a powerful hero. Valan entered the arena dressed in his gold armor, with his longsword sheathed at his side, and his shield, Bane’s Aegis, in his left hand. Hrov was dressed in gray chainmail, and he held a one-handed axe in his right hand, a round shield in his left. He was a tough looking man with long red hair and a long beard. Valan remained in a defensive position as Hrov advanced. Hrov looked to be a fierce warrior, and Arenor had no doubt that he was. Hrov was also young, and Valan would probably have a tough time keeping up with the younger warrior. Hrov lunged forward and delivered a blow, which Valan amazingly sidestepped. Valan swiped his longsword into Hrov’s unprotected right side, which Hrov ducked under. He did a slash to Valan’s stomach as he ducked that Valan blocked with Bane’s Aegis. The two warriors backed away from each other. The crowd was silent as the two heroes stared into each other’s eyes. Not a breath was released. Hrov then charged forward and bashed at Valan with his shield. Valan raised his own shield to hold it off before pushing off of it and stepping to the side. Valan slashed at Hrov’s legs, and Hrov let out a yell as Valan’s sword cut through his flesh. He stumbled a bit, and then lunged at Valan, his axe swinging down at Valan’s head. Valan raised his shield, blocking forceful attack, his legs shook. Valan then charged forward and stabbed his blade through Hrov’s stomach and out through his back. Hrov let out a rapid series of gasps, and Valan pulled the blade from Hrov’s stomach. Hrov fell to the dirt, and Valan drew a dagger from his boot. He bent over, and with a single motion he sliced through Hrov’s throat, ending his suffering. | ||||
Feedback? =D | ||||
A little abrupt in style, but I like it. | ||||
Feedback, eh? Well you're not getting any till we get more. *Raises a crowd of Roman vandals to constantly keep guard over Septim's home* (More of a pressurising group than a guard really) | ||||
*Delete this post after answering to it* Just what are you doing of late Septim? | ||||
Breathing and blinking! =D | ||||
Something more complexly creative than that, perhaps. | ||||
Breathing, blinking, and thinking! ;-) I've got most of the main storyline figured out, what's hard is figuring out what happens in between. | ||||
Hmmm...would anybody be interested in this if I continued? Is anybody left TO be interested? | ||||
it looks good Septim, been a long time since i saw some good stories. and yours is pretty good | ||||
Thank you, Senturu. It's been a while since I've seen you around here! I'm going to PM you my contact information, in case you want to get in touch. | ||||
Senturu lies! He shall only disappear like I have! Except you can text me and bug me at any time! <.<; | ||||
now now, i dont lie, i just tell my version of the truth, whether or not you believe it is none of my concern | ||||
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