[Other] Two Potential Stories

Inigo Montoya 03-17-2006 08:57 AM
Well, as part of something I'm doing for English, I have to do an imaginitive piece. But, I have two stories, and no idea which one to develop. As always, criticism of both are appreciated. I have the openers for both stories, and I'll post them here.

Dra'akar: Travels of the Lonely Assassin

I'm a drow in a world of surface-dwellers. Lovers of the sunlight. Of peace, tranquility, friendship. No matter how many times I hear the story I can't believe it. No one warned me of the sun's harsh cruelty. How the renegade Do'urden could bear it, I fail to understand. But what could bring him to abandon all that our society has become, its power and glory? That I comprehend all too well. Our decadence, our... complacency. We were powerful, and we wasted it. Turned it on our own backwards, brutal inner politics.

I know there is no going back. All that would await me there would be death, or worse-- driderhood. I won't let that happen to me. I have to forge my destiny here in the lands where the sun rises to greet the day. I must find a way to survive-- with only small magicks from my homeland, and the skills I learned below.

For a mere three years have I been living on the surface world, but though it is my new residence, it can never be home. Sometimes I miss the towering spires of my home-city enough to take the risks and travel again there, to see it one last time. This I know could never work, but still I dream. I miss my home-- I miss Mayolin. I pray nightly that she escaped that night, too.

For the three years and beyond, since I came of age I have kept a journal, a private log of my deepest feelings and darkest secrets. If any surface dweller should read this, please know-- I am not an evil person. Nor am I good, but merely trying to survive. Please know many of my views on the land above has changed since coming here. There are wonders, beauties I never imagined. To any Drowkin whom this tome may find, know this-- I escaped. The urge reached me alone, but some of you will have it crushed unless you know of this-- one of a few who escaped. Who left the circle of savagery and ruthlessness to become greater, to advance further.

Yutsu ulu uns'aa, Mayolin. Ori'gato udossa tlu 'zil uss 'sohna.

Return to me, Mayolin. Let us be as one again.




Priest of the Fifteen Dragons

Mattheu stood out upon the watchtower, his eyes gazing grimly out to the meadows beyond the temple fortress where he lived. Blood streaked the ground, running in crimson rivulets and pooling together in divots. Gored bodies littered the landscape, and the cry of the vultures greeted the new dawn. The sun had just begun to peek its way out from behind the horizon, and with it fled any illusions held about the battle.

It had been a massacre. Mattheu smiled wickedly, a bare-toothed smirk holding no joy, and having more in common with an animal sneer. His tunic flared in the morning breeze, and at his hip rested a blood-drenched longsword, its hilt gleaming bronze in the orange sky. Blackened chainmail clinked lightly, almost inaudible at his widest movements, and there was a sense of overwhelming power from him. His fists clenched and creaked inside worn leather gloves, and his breath came out hard and heavy, a great wisp of fog escaping his throat and soaring up through the heavens.

Mattheu slowly raised his hood over his head, concealing himself once again as he walked through the morning mist, returning to the temple's holy of holies. It had been a good night. A great battle had been won.

Soon he would begin the war.
Generalissimo D 03-17-2006 08:04 PM
They both sound good, if a bit cliched.

Dra'akar sounds like the better one.
Nine Kuze 03-18-2006 05:46 PM
Good job, Venome Lord! I liked them both and they're both very well descriptive. For school sake and to be a little more safe, I would recommened going with the first one; Dra'akar: Travels of the Lonely Assassin. But I have to admit, I'm feeling the Preist of Fifteen Dragons a lot more. True, like Zaphod said, it maybe a little cliched, but that Mattheu character you came up with sounds like a real badass. Pleased
Peace.
Inigo Montoya 05-28-2007 09:19 AM
Here's an update.

Mattheu stood out upon the watchtower, his eyes gazing grimly out to the meadows beyond the temple fortress where he lived. Blood streaked the ground, running in crimson rivulets and pooling together in divots. Gored bodies littered the landscape, and the cry of the vultures greeted the new dawn. The sun had just begun to peek its way out from behind the horizon, and with it fled any illusions held about the battle.

It had been a massacre. Mattheu smiled wickedly, a bare-toothed smirk holding no joy, and having more in common with an animal sneer. His tunic flared in the morning breeze, and at his hip rested a blood-drenched longsword, its hilt gleaming bronze in the orange sky. Blackened chainmail clinked lightly, almost inaudible at his widest movements, and there was a sense of overwhelming power from him. His fists clenched and creaked inside worn leather gloves, and his breath came out hard and heavy, a great wisp of fog escaping his throat and soaring up through the heavens.

Mattheu slowly raised his hood over his head, concealing himself once again as he walked through the morning mist, returning to the temple's holy of holies. It had been a good night. A great battle had been won.

Soon he would begin the war.

* * * * * * * * * * *

They were two and one, individual yet identical. They walked through a city promenade, their leather armor cracked with age. But the swords they carried were new, custom made, for their father was one of only two weaponsmiths in the city. Robert and Richard were twins, “a blessing from the Lord of Harvest,” their father often said.

Robert’s blade sat on his back, a steel bastard sword gleaming from fresh polish. His focus had always been sword-and-shield, and his technique had developed personally around that concept. However, practice was not often at hand, as Dethkatla was a rather boring city with a somewhat boring populace in the middle of a very boring peace time.

Richard had to agree. His sword, resting on his left hip, was a long, curved, thin blade. It had one sharpened side, and Richard had focused its use in fast slashing and two handed swings. For added flexibility, he had removed the sleeves on his leather tunic and armor. Contrary to Robert’s somewhat more conservative hairstyle, Richard’s hair had grown out wildly, and a black headband was tied around his forehead.

“I wonder where in the world he can be,” Robert said disapprovingly. His eyes scanned the busy promenade, lingering longingly at some of the booths from other city-states, especially the armor booths. He scratched his arm absent-mindedly, and looked over at Richard. Richard smiled and shrugged.

“Father said he’d be here,” he stated. Looking around, he also noticed the armor booths and stared a while. Abruptly shaking the booth from his mind, he looked around the promenade some more. “It’s not like he’s exactly inconspicuous. Isn’t he dressed like one of those woodland warriors? You know, all green and earth tones.” Robert was ready to respond when he was cut short by a raucous cry.

“Robert! Richard! I thought you two would be waiting for me,” the voice shouted. The twins turned behind them, smiled, and warmly returned the sudden bear hug offered them. Paul smiled. It was nice to come home and see his little brothers again. And he was glad that no one noticed the notches in his sword.

That evening was wonderful. The twins’ father had rarely had so happy an occasion as having all three sons at home at once. They celebrated that night with a large stew, a fresh-baked loaf of bread and several new bottles of tavern wine. After everyone had been knocked sufficiently loopy by the strong wine, Paul began to talk about where he’d been and what he’d seen.

Robert and Richard found themselves fascinated by the tales of dragons, brigands, gnomes and the like. His father saw the look in their eyes and smiled. They, too, would be gone soon on their own quests, and it would be up to him to make sure their blades were sufficient for when they left. After all, as their father, he took it as personal responsibility to make sure they could be all their potential promised, without his stifling.

Later in the night, when the sun was gone behind the horizons and the stars glowed like fire in the night; Paul was walking the almost empty streets with his brothers. “So, Robert, Richard, what’ve you two been doing?” he asked with interest. Robert shrugged in response.

“Not much,” Richard replied, “it’s been quiet.” Paul looked at them for a moment, and suddenly realized that telling them what he was about to would be dangerous, not just for them, but for everyone in Dethkatla. He grabbed Robert and Richard both by the shoulders.

“Can I tell you both something?” Paul said conspiratorially. Robert and Richard looked at each other, confused, then looked at their brother.

“What is it?” they asked simultaneously. Paul looked at them for a moment. True, they would have to grow up fast, but in then end, Paul hoped it would be worth it.

Paul sighed. He shouldn't be telling them this, so why was he? “Dethkatla is in danger. I came back here because I and mine can’t fight alone. We'll need your help as well.” Robert and Richard stared blankly for a while. Then their lips trembled, two wide grins spread over their faces, and they both jumped up and cheered.

“Of course we’ll help, Paul,” Robert cried. He and Richard continued leaping around. Paul smiled. He could tell them about the true danger tomorrow. For the moment, however, he let them celebrate.

It might be awhile before they had reason to celebrate again.

* * * * * * * * * * *

That night Mattheu left the wilderness temple for the city state of Analor, only to be greeted at the gates a small armada of groveling sycophants. Analor had long fallen to the Armies of the Dragon, back when Mattheu’s mentor, Jared, ruled as the Red Dragon Lord. His scowl deepened as the robed advisers continued their groveling and unpleasant memories made their way into the front of his mind. His fists clenched and his cloak wrapped tightly about him, as if to prevent him from drawing his blade and hacking them all limb from limb.

Not yet, my love, purred a voice in his head. You need them still, and besides, your code of honor won’t let you strike down an unarmed foe. There was a smirk in the voice. No matter how annoying they may be. Mattheu calmed visibly. His advisers smiled and continued their ceaseless chatter, each one arguing as to why his problem was most urgent.

The cleric nodded his head slowly, contemplating each of the old robed men. His tunic was covered in dirt and grime, and more than a few bloodstains. He frowned a bit, his mood darkening as he faced the fact that he would be bothered repeatedly until he walked into the temple, where he would be washed (waited on hand and foot by slaves, something he abhorred for the sheer decadence of it), placed into large, itchy, hot, and generally uncomfortable ceremonial robes, then bothered some more with trivia and unimportant political matters until he retired to his bedchambers somewhere around early next morning. Then he would sleep for an hour, awaken, and repeat the entire damned process…

At the temple, however, waited a surprise. He stared at the surprise a moment, taking in all her beauty, made even greater (in his mind) by the practical chain armor and sword that adorned her. The armor curved slightly with her, accentuating her body’s movements while at the same time not hindering it in the slightest. Her violet hair was cropped down to just below her chin, and on her face was a smug look.

“Hello, Ashura,” Mattheu said. The woman's smile just grew wider.


I hope people like it, but as before it needs much tuning. Maybe someone wants to lend their talents and aid this poor overwhelmed artist?
War.
paul1290 05-31-2007 12:27 PM
I kind of like the Dra'akar story a bit better, but they're both very good.
Inigo Montoya 06-07-2007 02:08 AM
Dra'akar: Travels of the Lonely Assassin

I'm a drow in a world of surface-dwellers. Lovers of the sunlight. Of peace, tranquility, friendship. No matter how many times I hear the story I can't believe it. No one warned me of the sun's harsh cruelty. How the renegade Do'urden could bear it, I fail to understand. But what could bring him to abandon all that our society has become, its power and glory? That I comprehend all too well. Our decadence, our... complacency. We were powerful, and we wasted it. Turned it on our own backwards, brutal inner politics.

I know there is no going back. All that would await me there would be death, or worse-- driderhood. I won't let that happen to me. I have to forge my destiny here in the lands where the sun rises to greet the day. I must find a way to survive-- with only small magicks from my homeland, and the skills I learned below.

For a mere three years have I been living on the surface world, but though it is my new residence, it can never be home. Sometimes I miss the towering spires of my home-city enough to take the risks and travel again there, to see it one last time. This I know could never work, but still I dream. I miss my home-- I miss Mayolin. I pray nightly that she escaped that night, too.

For the three years and beyond, since I came of age I have kept a journal, a private log of my deepest feelings and darkest secrets. If any surface dweller should read this, please know-- I am not an evil person. Nor am I good, but merely trying to survive. Please know many of my views on the land above has changed since coming here. There are wonders, beauties I never imagined. To any Drowkin whom this tome may find, know this-- I escaped. The urge reached me alone, but some of you will have it crushed unless you know of this-- one of a few who escaped. Who left the circle of savagery and ruthlessness to become greater, to advance further.

Yutsu ulu uns'aa, Mayolin. Ori'gato udossa tlu 'zil uss 'sohna.

Return to me, Mayolin. Let us be as one again.



Dra'akar had fallen asleep at his journal again. A common occurrence as even after three years had past, he was still unable to fully deal with the sunlight. His whispered snores kept up a rhythmic time with the beating of his heart. His reverie, however, was sharply interrupted by a sudden rapping at the flimsy wooden door that led into his quarters.

"Hey, drow, get yer bony arse up, ye got a job offer," said a somewhat taciturn sounding voice on the other side. Dra'akar's eyes opened immediately and he stood up from his desk, hastily wiping the drool from his chin.

"Tell them I'll be right there, and if they're that desperate, they can wait a few moments." Dra'akar turned back to the pages of his journal. There's still no reason to leave this out for anyone to find, he mentally reasoned, and so he closed the book, slipping it back into its hidden niche in the desk. A few moments later and his sword and dirk were strapped to his belt and he was on his way downstairs, tightening straps on his elf-made chainsuit.

The client was a murky looking fellow, Dra'akar had to give him that. What he could see of the old man was covered in age spots, hair, and horrific sores, while the rest of him was enveloped in black satin robes.

Magic user. Great. Dra'akar made a mental note to raise his price at least twenty percent for this man. He entered the room silently, his feet making no noise as they stepped over the worn wooden floors. Without so much as a proper greeting (certainly not a handshake, that much was sure), Dra'akar grabbed a chair, swung it towards himself, and plopped backwards in it, rather unceremoniously.

"You have a job for me." It wasn't a question.

"One of the utmost urgency," the old man rasped, clutching his robes tighter about him. "Your... gopher... assured me you were of the highest caliber." His eyes darted nervously about, and he seemed to be making an effort to avoid twitching.

"For high caliber jobs, yes. What's the mark," Dra'akar asked, in no mood for banter. That was for amateurs. Professionals got the job, did the job, got paid for the job. However, he felt that perhaps he should have bantered a bit more when he heard his "job."

"My organization requires that you kill the King," the old man murmured.

Dra'akar, for his part, simply stared incredulously. After a moment of surreal thoughts (and vague mental images of the pain he'd put the magic user through), Dra'akar suddenly smiled. "A job like that costs quite a bit," he mused.

The old man smiled. Dra'akar immediately wished he hadn't. The stench of rot and decay was bad enough, but the image of only three teeth still attached to black looking gums was a bit much. "We'll pay whatever you demand, Elf of darkness."

It was Dra'akar's time to grin. Anything?

Maybe things were on an upward climb.

"You have yourself an assassin," the drow said with a smirk. The old man's grin grew wider.

Dra'akar really wished he would stop that.


I hope you guys like this little addition to the story.
War.
knives 06-28-2007 05:36 PM
they are both good but go for the dragon one