Author Topic: SkyFire's stories (Comments welcome, and I need your help on a few)  (Read 1315 times)

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Offline SkyFire

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Ok, at the moment I only have WIP stories, some of which I am stuck on.

RULES: Comments are welcome on any story, suggestions are nice as well, constructive criticism is borderline at best. I will post stories in quotes so you can see them separate better.

Story No. 1
Fallen Empire
By Alexander
Edited by Microsoft word


“Our packs are no more. Our cities burned. We are few and weak. I am now the head alpha male and the leader of the imperium. I come here to surrender myself to you, the queen of death and destruction, and the one who has killed tens of thousands without even giving any thought to it. I watched as my world was torn asunder and everything I cared for and worked so hard to build was completely and utterly destroyed. BY YOU!!! I SWORE AN OATH TO KILL YOU AND AVENGE MY FAMILY!!!!!!! But now I-I am he-here to surrender m-myself to you. On one condition, you must leave what little is left of the imperium ALONE. FOREVER. You can punish me any way you like, so long as you leave the imperium out of it. I am yours to punish as you see fit.” Tirion, leader of the rebellious Wolven Imperium, says to Rhea, the High Queen of the Alliance.
“Fine I agree to your terms, now you must follow my every command for the rest of your stupid, idiotic life in my palace in Stormwind. TAKE HIM AWAY!”, Rhea replies to Tirion and then calls for her guards to take him away to the transports.
Tirion, a fighter that could easily slay a dozen men with his bare hands, offers no resistance as he is pinned to the ground by a pair of ocelot soldiers and put in chains and a muzzle. He is swiftly taken to the regional military transportation station.
“General, destroy half of the remaining wolves and then send half of the survivors to internment camps. Leave the rest stranded in the mountains. I am leaving for Stormwind, I have a new toy to play with.” Rhea orders her head general as she heads to the regional military transport station to personally see to Tirion`s transportation to her palace.
After a long ride in the back of a military prison truck full of other wolves like him that are bound for Stormwind and the royal palace. They are treated like crap when they get to the depot and a mob tries to break through the line of soldiers protecting the captured rebels. The line holds and the prisoners are escorted into a holding cell to wait for their plane to arrive. As they wait Tirion looks around and sees that while the others all have manacles on their hands and feet he is the only one with a muzzle.
“Hey, look at that dude over in the corner. Why do you have a muzzle on? Did you bite them or something?” one of the wolves asks as he gets up and walks over to where Tirion is sitting in a corner with his head down. Tirion shrugs in reply but doesn`t raise his head.
“HEY! Look at me when I am talking to you!” the male wolf comes over and reaches for Tirion`s head he pulls it up so the he is looking directly down Tirion`s muzzle and into his eyes. In them he sees unspeakable sadness and he sees that he is crying as well.
“What did they do to you? My name is Terrance by the way.” ,the male says as he looks into his eyes. ”Oh sorry, I forgot that you had this on.”  Terrance taps the muzzle and then let’s go of Tirion`s head and sits next to him.
“I have no honor.” Tirion says in a voice that barely qualifies as a sound, which is as loud as he can speak with the muzzle on.
“What do you mean you have no honor? You fought just like the rest of us. Didn`t you?” Terrance asks Tirion.
“Yes and no. Terrance you mustn`t tell anyone but I am the High Alpha of the Imperium. I went before Rhea earlier today and I surrendered myself to her on the condition that she leaves the imperium alone forever. I didn`t stand my ground and die in a heroic sacrifice at the threshold of my castle in Urban, instead I willingly gave her complete and total control of me. I had enough bloodshed after the battle of Dernrost, where I slew the famous Delta Platoon with an energy sword and a SPAS-R12 Mrk III. I love that assault rifle. It had a scope and the rocket attachment as well as the orbital cannon designation laser attachment. I have no honor because of my surrender Terrance. To think that I, Tirion Fordering,  the greatest of the soldiers of the imperium and more stubborn than a horde of donkeys, would willingly surrender is the greatest shame ever.” Tirion replies in a voice that is barely a whisper or sound.
“I will not shun you for what you have done and I can see that your choice is affecting you greatly with guilt. So when we get to the palace I will help you in any way I can milord Fordering when we get to the palace. I am supposed to be the personal servant for a high ranking official there, what are you going to be?” Terrance asks.
But he is interrupted at that moment as the guards burst into the room and take the prisoners to the jet that will take them to Stormwind City and the palace that will be their home for the rest of their lives and their prison. Each Wolven rebel has his own seat and video screen on the airplane. Sounds very cushy right? WRONG! The prisoners are completely immobilized by the seat restraints and it is very uncomfortable on the plane because only the cockpit is air-conditioned and the plane holds 175 passengers. However for poor Tirion here it will be slightly better than it will be for the rest of them because the guards removed his muzzle so now he can talk to Terrance who luckily is in the seat next to him.
“Terrance I am to be the personal slave or whatever of Rhea. That was my great and personal sacrifice to her so that she would spare the imperium from all harm. If she wants me to be her private assassin I will be that, if she wants me as her court fool then a fool I shall be. Terrance I may have no political power now but I will serve Rhea if it will protect my people from further harm.” Tirion says this in reply to Terrance`s question of what he is to be.
After they arrive at Stormwind Terrance and Tirion are separated and Terrance is trained in all the functions he will be expected to perform as well as the layout of the palace grounds and other basic details such as mealtimes and the like.
Tirion on the other hand receives a briefing of the castle`s defense protocols and it`s layout as well as an rundown of political relations and stations. Immediately following that briefing he is put through rigorous tests of his mental and physical state and his skills in combat. He passes all tests and receives their highest honors. He is given an alias so that people do not question him and was then escorted to his quarters. The servant that escorted him notifies him that his personal aide and he will be sharing a 16-room apartment and then leaves for the night. Tirion gathers himself before he goes inside his apartment, he throws open the titanium double doors revealing a very modernly furnished apartment and a very startled Terrance in a very clean and nice looking suit.
“Hello sir, my name is Terrance Moonfire and I am your new aide. I took the bedroom upstairs on the left because it is the smaller of the two. Is that okay by you Mr. Derion?” Terrance quickly introduces himself to Tirion obviously not realizing that it is Tirion in the uniform of a general-lord of the Alliance instead of the alias he was given.
“Terrence there is no need for this. It is me Tirion Fordering, not lord Derion or whatever the name they gave you is. Here let me prove it to you.”
Tirion takes off the silver-lined black and white armor and white cape with the symbol of the alliance on in silver that marked him as a general-lord of the alliance and pulls off his shirt revealing the letters DPS branded onto his right upper arm.
“If I were an imposter how would I get these? And on the plane I told you I was to be rhea`s personal anything guy.”
“Heh, they know how to disguise people really well. I would’ve never guessed that you were Tirion Fordering, High Alpha of the Wolven Imperium, from the way looked. I believed that you were General-Lord Derion of the Alliance there for a moment.” Terrence said, looking greatly relieved. He walked over and shut the doors behind Tirion, which were only open a crack. “Do you like Tasmanian Steak? I prepared some for you and its waiting in the dining room.”
Terrence informed Tirion as he went into the very nicely and modernly furnished dining room. The dining room had, at its center, an oval table of polished and fine-grained mahogany that shined in the light from the floor-to-ceiling window that took up a whole wall with an excellent view of the lake and island within the palace grounds. Tirion re-donned the luxuriant armor and cape and followed Terrence into the dining room. With a sigh, he sat down and began to eat; it was the first time he had sat down all day, besides the plane ride to Stormwind. As he ate the delicious and succulent steak that Terrence prepared for him, Tirion thought about what all had happened since the fall of Urban, the capital of the Wolven imperium and his former home. He remembered the state he left the proud capital in, all the buildings in it were damaged and the wall wasn’t going to hold up much longer to the shelling, but the proud and bold banners of the Imperium in their red, gold, and dark blue stood out all along the main avenue to capital hall, and they still flew over every tower and building of worth. There may not be much left, but the imperium still could be saved. After he and Terrence finished eating, they retired to the main room and talked for a long while before finally going to bed that night. A thousand miles away, on the slopes of Valadon Hill, in the shadow of Mount Demuth, in a ruined city still decorated with the imperium’s flags and banners…
“HE LEFT US!!! HE FRACKIN LEFT US TO DIE!!!! HE SAID THAT HE WOULD SAVE THE IMPERIUM!!!! YET THE ALLIANCE TROOPS STILL CLOSE IN ALL AROUND US!!!” Avon Fordering shouted in despair as the thundering booms and resulting quakes of artillery fire were heard and felt inside the war room of Mardenholde, Crown Citidel of the Wolven Imperium, and the last stronghold of the remnants of its once formidable and proud armies. Avon and the three others gazed at the tactical display on one wall that depicted the Alliance Armies closing in all around them.
“We’re doomed.” Furion Falstad, leader of the Imperial Army, said in a resigned voice and drew his sword as the display showed a break in the line of defense on the grand avenue to the Citidel. “It has been an honor, my friends, to serve you and the imperium. I will go and hold the avenue as long as I can, when they break through, it will be because they killed me. Goodbye, until we meet again, in this world or the next.” He said and dashed off, energy sword in one hand, glowing  purple, and heavy pistol in the other.
Versi (Ver-sigh) sighed and looked at Furion’s back as he dashed off to his death. “There goes perhaps the greatest hero of the imperium besides Tirion, and the man who never despaired.” He rose and picked up his energy rifle. “I too shall hold the avenue. May the light guide your paths, for now and forever. Goodbye, until we meet again.” Versi dashed off after Furion, followed by three platoons of heavy guardians. (Heavily armored infantry equipped for close-up and medium distance combat)
Avon and the sole remaining leader, Grand Council Leader Sy-Huvan (Sigh-who-van), looked at each other. “Perhaps we should make a break for it through the tunnels beneath the city?” the council leader suggested. “We could start a resistance and live on to eventually resurrect the imperium and topple the alliance.” He added on in his melodic voice. Avon paused and considered this, “Yes, let’s take the special forces with us, the Black Guard should prove useful in the resistance.” He said, calling the black guard commander and alerting him to his

This story currently is a major WIP, I am still determining what the time period and tech level are.

Story No. 2

“I`m nearly there”. Chance thought as he gazed into the morning mist from the top of the hill he stood on.  Sighing he shouldered his pack and adjusted the massive two-handed broadsword on his back and trudged on into the mist.  As he walked through the fog his thoughts drifted back to the past and the long journey he made to get this far.
   It all started shortly after his original clan, Clan arbiter, fell to the forces of the 7th legion of Foramen. It was the final battle in a lost cause. The survivors of an all-out assault on the legion`s regional base, all 678 of them out of a force of 4,500, manned the walls of the clan city and castle against the full might of the legion

This is a teaser that is a look-see into an actual book I will publish.\

Story No. 3

"Circumstances change, what's here today is gone tomorrow. Nothing is for certian, every second destinies unfold and are changed. we can only react to what is going on around us at this moment, no one knows what the next moment brings. The future is the most uncertain thing in all of life, It is constantly shifting and changing, always altering its course."
"so it really is the end." the champion thinks as he watched the approach of The dark one.
 "arthas was alive all these years. Who am i to talk, i was presumed dead after arthas ran me through with my own blade, only recently have i rejoined the world. I wear the colors of a long-forgotten citidel, my friends and family are all dead. They all were killed either in the wars leading up to the citidel's fall or during it's fall. I have NO ONE left, there is NO HOME OR HEARTH for me to return to. The urgent crusade took me in only for my fighting prowess, to aid them against the undead now before me." the champion thinks as his archrival draws near. " So you managed to survive even after I ran you through with the Dawn-Fire, your own sword. You have overcome almost every obstacle i have placed in your path, and so here we are. It would be fitting, that you will die by the blade that was your salvation. It hungers for your soul, and it shall feed upon it today. PREPARE TO DIE ALEXANDROS, BY THE VERY WEAPON YOU ADORE!!!!!" Arthas shouts as he charges
"SO BE IT, ARTHAS!!!! FACE THE LIGHT'S JUSTICE!!!!!" Alexandros yelled back at Arthas as he also charged toward his opponent." Light, grant me one last blessing, return my blade and restore my armor. Allow me to end Arthas Menthil, to bring an end to his tyrannical reign of terror, to rid the world of the undead scourge and halt the plague." Alexandros quickly prayed as he crossed blades with Arthas, the lich king. The lich king's blade, Dawn-Fire, shattered the sword that Alexandros wielded in the first blow. Arthas followed up by kicking him down and planting a heavy armored boot on Alexandros's chest to pin the paladin down and keep him helpless. "You were not worth my time." The Lich King said as he ground his steel boot into Alexandros’s chest while preparing to run him through. "I had thought that the great paladin-lord Alexandros Mograine would offer more resistance before he succumbed to the might of the scourge. It is of little importance, as you will soon be my champion, and commander of the undead scourge." The Lich King laughed and raised his blade high with both hands, preparing for a finishing blow that none could withstand. But suddenly, Alexandros was bathed in a holy light, and  the lich king was forced to drop the sword and retreat several steps back whilst shielding his eyes from the holy brilliance engulfing Alexandros. Alexanderos stood and holy brilliance radiated from his being, he was restored by the light's blessing to his greatest might. Now he is clad in the blessed and perfect heavy armor he wore when he led high ridge citidel to glory. His cape is no longer tattered colored rags, but its full length and its bold blue and gold colors shine under the sun. Alexanderos reached back to where his sword was kept slung underneath his cape with the hilt sticking out behind his neck. He felt a familar pommel and grip there, and drew the blade. The two handed scarlet red hilt, ornately decorated, a blade that shimmered with holy energy, and a crystal of the pure holy light embedded in the blade. This sword can only be the Ashbringer, the most holy weapon every wielded.
Now empowered by the holy light and its rightious blessing, Highlord Alexandros Mograine, The Light's Chosen Champion, stands defiantly before the lich king and his undead scourge. "ARTHAS!!! YOUR DAY OF RECKONING HAS COME, IT IS OVER!!! NOW FACE THE FULL MIGHT OF THE LIGHT, AND THE FURY OF THE THOUSANDS OF SOULS YOU HAVE TORURED AND SLAIN!!!!! RISE UP, THE LICH KING MUST FALL!!!!!!" as the champion of the light finished the decree of the holy light, he raised the Ashbringer with both hands and stabbed it deep within the earth. As he did so, the ground shook and the field of battle was obscured by a blinding flash of the light. When it cleared, the Champion of The Light stood with the greatest heroes of all time, brought from the past and the present and at the peak of their powers. He stood before Arthas Menthil, The Last King of Loredaron, the First of The Death Knights, the Champion of Darkness, the Ruler of Icecrown Citidel, The Creator of the Undead Plague, The Master of the Ebon Blade, THE OMNISCENT, ALL-POWERFUL, GODLESS, UNHOLY, LICH KING!!!!! The army of the lights justice, each hero in his/her best armor and favorite/personal weapons, and clad in the lights holy tabbards and cloaks, stands before the scourge army arrayed against them. The Lich King draws the blade that started it all, Frostmourne, and plunges it deep within the earth. A wave of unholy power passes through all as he does that, and a beam of green unholy light shoots into the heavens. The previously cloudless skies now fill with dark stormclouds. With an ear-shattering boom of dark powers, the FULL ARMY OF THE UNDEAD SCOURGE bursts into being on the side of The Lich King and his army. Along with all the horrors of the ground forces of the dead, every single scourge necrpolis appearsabove the battlefield. The Knights of the Ebon Blade also are summoned; every single ally of the scourge is summoned. Now with all the forces he commands, Arthas The Lich King stands before the army of champions and speaks, "THIS IS ONLY THE BEGINING, AFTER YOU ALL HAVE INEVETIBLY SECCUMBED TO MY UNRIVILED MIGHT, I WILL RAISE YOU UP AS MASTERS OF THE SCOURGE. YOU SHALL USHER IN AN ERA OF DARKNESS LIKE THE WORLD HAS NEVER SEEN, AN ERA OF THE UNDEAD!!!! NOW FACE THE FULL MIGHT AND THE UNHOLY WRATH OF THE SCOURGE, FOR NOW YOU STAND ON THE SACRED GROUND OF THE DAMNED!!!!"
after he finished his decree, The Lich King led the charge against the heroes of the light. With a roar, the undead horde surged towards the ranks of the champions of the light. Every hero on the side of the holy light was blessed by the light, but none more so than Highlord Alexandros Mograine. His body literally shined with holy light, and his weapons and armor crackled with holy energy. Alexandros Morgraine, The Chosen Champion of The Light, raised the Ashesbringer above his head and cried out, “FOR THE LIGHT!!!!! FORWARD UNTO DAWN!!!!! FORWARD FOR THE LIGHT!!!!!!" Alexandros leveled the Ashbringer at the scourge armies charging towards the champions of the light and charged to meet them.
With an ear-shattering boom, the two sides collide in a battle that will be remembered for all time. both sides use all the vast powers they command to try and tip the scales in their favor. The scourge and their allies number over a million strong While the forces of the light barely number one thousand. The champions are blessed however, and all are heroes and veterans of the greatest battles of history. Alexandros takes out whole phalenxes of the undead single-handedly and cuts through the scourge armies towards the Lich King's command. The other champions are also formidable opponents, Uther The Lightbringer takes out  a score of the undead with every swing of his hammer, Paladin- lord Tuarylon devestates whole platoons with a swing of his blessed claymore, and many others also cut through the undead ranks with similer skill. Then Arthas himself joins the fray while the necropoli send reinforcements and begin to bombard the heroes with full arrays of devestion. Weilding frostmourne to its full potential, Arthas shreds the lines of champions.

This is heavily based off of WoW and its lore, and is open to interpretation. Comments welcome, and remember these ALL are WIP works. This above story was written by me sending texts to a relative and them e-mailing those texts to me. I wrote this to and from Hutchinson ks. and Salina ks.
« Last Edit: March 09, 2013, 08:16:39 am by SkyFire »
Every great hero has walked the fine line between darkness and the light. Every legendary hero has set foot in both.
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Offline Amducious

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Re: SkyFire's stories (Comments welcome, and I need your help on a few)
« Reply #1 on: April 04, 2013, 12:22:48 pm »
HOLY CRAP THATS A LONG STORY but i have a longer book 578 pages "Over the edge: death in Grand Canyon" (TRUE STORYS)
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Offline SkyFire

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Re: SkyFire's stories (Comments welcome, and I need your help on a few)
« Reply #2 on: April 04, 2013, 02:31:08 pm »
thank you, detail and longevity are my goals.
Every great hero has walked the fine line between darkness and the light. Every legendary hero has set foot in both.
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Offline SkyFire

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Re: SkyFire's stories (Comments welcome, and I need your help on a few)
« Reply #3 on: April 19, 2013, 07:46:12 pm »
The First Light
   “I’m nearly there.” Cledwin thought as he gazed into the morning mist from the top of the hill he stood on. Sighing, he shouldered his pack and adjusted the massive two-handed great sword on his back and trudged on into the mist. As he walked through the fog his thoughts drifted back to the past and the long journey he made to get this far.
   It all started shortly after his original clan, clan Arbiter, fell to the forces of the 7th legion of Foramen. It was the final battle in a lost cause. The survivors of an all-out assault on the legion’s regional base, all 678 of them out of a force of 4,500, manned the walls of the clan city and castle against the full might of the legion. Needless to say, they were overwhelmed. The legion had gotten reinforcements; they were 10,000 strong instead of 6,500. Cledwin had fled the moment the outer ward of the castle had fallen; he was the sole survivor of that assault, so he was convinced.
   He had set out for the distant High Ridge Citadel, where he could hope for a new life at least. The image of his sister, ran through with a gladius by the legion’s praetor, was seared deep into his mind. Cledwin trudged on through the morning mist, remembering the disastrous assault against the legion, and eventually stopped beneath a great oak for breakfast.
   He took off his burlap haversack, filled with his meager provisions, and set out a meal for himself on a flat rock. He eyed the dried biscuit and salted meat with distaste, but they were all he had. Cledwin took his water skin and drank from it, feeling its lightening weight, another sign the he needed to get more provisions soon, and directions.  He had heard that the citadel was to the north, through the great woods and plains, so he had set out in that general direction.
   There was a rustling noise behind him, and he rose quickly, drawing his great sword and holding it ready for combat.
“Who are ye?” he called in his Scottish accent, turning around slowly, trying to pinpoint the precise location of the noise.
   Bubbling laughter filled the air, and a beautiful female vixen stepped out from behind the oak. Wait, this was no ordinary she-fox, she stood erect on two legs, and was the size of a human, her fur nice golden hues, and she had eyes of a rich brown, and wore a leather chest piece and bracers, nicely tanned and decorated. She wore a kilt, and leather breeches that presumably ran up to her thighs. A short sword hung loosely from a sword belt at her waist
   “Ach, don’ ye be worrying noo, a’m not gonna’ hurt ye.” She said, stepping closer to him and giving him a wide smile. She drew her sword, not that he noticed. Cledwin’s sword point waivered and then fell to the ground, he couldn’t fight her.
    “Who are ye?” he asked, voice quavering. Mixed emotions ran through him, he had never seen or heard of people like her, but she was so beautiful, he didn’t anything about her, but she seemed charming enough.
   “A’m Inwyn Nic Cinfar.” She replied, pushing his sword away and stepping close to him, the scent of her fur filling his nostrils, a rich homey scent, like that of the woods and the scent of a loving canine. She went behind him, and wrapped one arm around his waist.
   “A’m Cledwin Andras Arbiter.” He replied, staring off into the woods, lost in her charm. She nudged his hand, and his claymore fell to the ground. She grabbed him roughly and spun him around, her sword at his throat.
   “Ach, not anymore, ye’re mine.” She snarled, pushing him up against the oak tree and resting her sword point at his throat. He snapped out of it, realizing what she just said.
“Aye, right! What’re ye doin’ tae me?” he cried, for she had begun chanting in a language he was unfamiliar with. Bark grew to cover his chest, calves, and forearms.  He cried out, and bark grew to cover his mouth. He watched with fear in his eyes as she stopped chanting for a moment.
   “Noo a’m thinkin’ that ye’d make a good fox…” she said, and her chanting took on a darker tone as his world faded into blackness.
   When he awoke, he couldn’t see. The room he was in was pitch black, and his body felt different, he reached up to his face, and felt a muzzle, with growing dread he felt every part of his body. Fur covered it all, soft silky fur, and he felt a bushy tail. His hands were no longer hands, but paws with a thumb, all fingers had claws. He felt his legs, their muscles were leaner, stronger, his feet were paws as well. Cledwin gave a moan and slumped down against the wall, which was made of hard-packed earth. He tried to dig through the wall, but it was as hard as rock, even his claws had no purchase. Tears ran down his cheeks, “What have I become? What did she do to me?” he thought to himself as he cried himself to sleep.
    Cledwin awoke to feeling something soft brush around his neck, and then pull tight. There was light coming from a door in the far wall that he had noticed before, and he made out Inwyn’s form as she stood over him, having finished fastening the collar around his neck.
   “Get up.” She said firmly, her hands on her hips. Cledwin did as he was told, and fingered the soft leather collar around his neck. He glared at her, his anger clear in his eyes.  
   “What have ye don’ tae me?” he asked, his voice quavering with mixed emotions. He resisted the urge to attack her, it was not honorable in any way to strike a women, regardless of the circumstances, unless she was attempting to take your life.
   “Ye’re like me now. Ye’ve become a walshazir, a half-one. Enjoy your new life, you ken nae be turned back.” She said, grabbing his arm and pulling him along with her. She dragged him out into a dimly lit hallway that progressively got brighter so his new eyes could adapt easier to the light. They stopped in front of a mirror, and she let him get a good look at himself. His hair resembled what you and I would call a Mohawk, and was white. His lower jaw was covered in white fur, as was the inside of his ears, and his shoulders. The tip of his bushy tail and his side were white as well, with a design on his back in white fur also. Everywhere else was covered in fur as black as midnight.
   Cledwin gasped at his appearance and turned to look at her, pulling away from her, “Ye’re saying I ken nae go back? Ye’re sayin’ a’m stuck like this?” he asked, his eyes reflecting the horror within him.
   Inwyn gave a smile, one that said that there more to this but she wasn’t telling. “Aye.” She said simply, before grabbing him and pulling him along again. The tunnel opened out into a room with a large fireplace on one side, a large rectangular table on the other, with two comfortable chairs and a sofa near the fireplace. The floor near the table was bare, hard packed dirt, and the floor near the fireplace was covered with a warm rug. There were two other hallways branching off this room, one that appeared to be a spiral ramp up, and the other went on for a ways with doors leading off of it. The table had enough chairs for 21 one people, one at the head, and ten on each side. It was a banquet-sized table, unusual in a burrow like this. The table was set with a meal of various woodland fruit, and roasted rabbit.
   “Eat, ye’re hungry, ye’ve been out for three days. Ye need food.” Inwyn said every word true. Cledwin sat down and started eating, feeling his hunger pains slowly dissipate. He still could not get over the fact he was no longer human, it was causing him massive emotional turmoil. He collected his thoughts as he ate and looked up at her when he was done.
   “What do ye wan’ with me? A’m a good fighter, do ye wan’ mah blade?” he asked, wondering why she had taken him and turned him.  She smiled, and said nothing.
   “Ye might fin’ taht ye’re fightn’ skills ‘ave lessened a wee bit. Ye’re nae used ta ye’re new form yet.” Inwyn said, her hand resting comfortably on her sword. He noticed that and bolted upright, hands out to his sides. His hackles were raised; Cledwin was not taking any more chances with this vixen. She noticed his change in behavior, and said one word in that language. He howled as pain enveloped his mind, and collapsed to the floor. It only lasted a second or so, but that was enough to bring the highly durable Scotsman down. He lay on the floor, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.
   “Noo, don’ ye be thinkin’ taht ye ken use every move I make as an excuse ta’ get defensive. I must hurt ye if ye don’ seem like ye gonna hurt me, and a’m nae likin’ it. Mah mission is not tae hurt ye’ but help ye’re adaption ta ye’re new form.” She said in a firm, sincere voice. “noo, are ye gonna le’ me help ye up?”
   Cledwin looked at her, and considered it. “Aye.” He said softly, and she extended her hand towards him. He took it and pulled himself up; she patted him on his back, and stroked his fur, calming him.
 “after this, why don’ we start w’th honing ye’re fight’n skills?” she asked, as he relaxed in her arms.
   “Aye, that’d be nice.” He said softly, closing his eyes, his breathing slowing.  She smiled, and took his hand and led him down that other hallway, stopping in front of a solid oak door with a lock. Inwyn pulled out a key, and opened the door. Cledwin stepped inside, and shook his head in amazement. Along two walls of the large square room were weapons ranging from a longbow and pole arms to swords and daggers, and everything in between. The far wall had shelves of helmets ranging from full face metal helms to leather skull caps, and all kinds of armor, ranging from the extremely rare chainmail to thick woolen shirts, and everything in between. There was a forge that occupied the center of the room, and was set in a four foot pit with steps leading down on all sides.
   “Take ye’re pick.” Inwyn said, feeling pleasure at making him happy.
   “Any of it?” he asked, gratitude and amazement in his voice.
   “Aye, some armor for ye’self, and a weapon.” She replied, her tone softening.
   “Thank ye very much so inwyn.” He replied, in that same tone. Cledwin walked around the room, wishing he could take it all, but settling for a large claymore, leather bracers and chest piece with boots, worn over chainmail. He sheathed his sword, perfectly balanced, behind his back and looked at her, the barest hint of affection in his eyes.
   “Thank ye very much.” He repeated humbly, and she smiled again. There really was no other reason she had taken him besides companionship. Inwyn had lived alone in this forest for years; her only want had been for a companion. She had seen him from afar, and stalked him once he entered the woods. After many times of almost approaching him and aborting at the last moment, she had finally worked up the nerve to. Inwyn had been smitten with him at first sight, and she really didn’t want to harm him, but she couldn’t take the chance that he might hurt her.
“Aye, twas nothing.” She said, dismissing it with a wave of a paw. “Come along Cledwin, or do ye nae wan’ ta be beat by a wee bonnie lass?” she taunted, before giving a laugh and dashing out of the room, a smile on her face.
     “Aye, right!” he replied sarcastically, in good humor, before giving chase. She ran up that spiral ramp, which opened to the surface deep in the exposed roots of a massive tree in heart of the forest, and he lost her in the hollow formed by the tree’s roots. He stopped, and listened, and heard nothing. “Inwyn, where ye’ve gone?” he called, concern in his voice. He heard laughter form above and then gave an “umph!” as she landed atop him and knocked him to the sandy ground.
     “Above ye.” She said, staying atop him and pinning him to the ground. He mumbled something under his breath and she thwacked him with her paw in the face. “Aye, I heard that, ye’re ears are just as good as mine noo.” She said, a playful frown on her face.
   “tehn get off me, ye bally lump o’ fur covered laziness!” he said playfully, throwing her off. She landed on her feet, after flipping through the air, and drew her sword.
   “Tehn how about ye put ye’re blade where ye’re mouth is?” she challenged.
     ‘Aye, a’m of a mind ta do so!” he said, drawing his claymore and adopting an offensive stance. She was right, he realized, he wasn’t used to this new form, and the claymore, though perfectly balanced and the weapon he had trained with all his life, felt clumsy in his paws. He gave and experimental swing and nearly lost his grip, but managed to hold on somehow. He immediately noticed his disadvantage and changed into a defensive stance.
      “Havin’ trouble?” Inwyn taunted, seeing his difficulty and deciding to press her advantage and make the first move. She swiftly shifted into an offensive stance and advanced upon him. Cledwin backed up a few steps and watched her every move. She smiled, and the snarled as she swung her short sword in a left down stroke at his neck, he barely blocked that and she unleashed a flurry of blows upon him, each one swifter then the last. He tried his best, but he was reminded many times of his clumsiness as he felt the sting of the flat of her blade as he failed to block a blow. Inwyn laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound, and seemingly casually, slapped his paws with the flat of her blade, forcing him to drop his claymore.
   “I yield!” he cried, before she could fairly beat him, and thus injure his pride, for every Scotsman never gets fairly beaten by a girl, regardless of circumstances. Cledwin was down on his palms and knees, panting from the sudden exercise. She sheathed her blade, and went over and helped him up, smiling all the while
   “Noo how do ya feel? Ye’ve been beaten by a wee bonnie lass, ‘ow does taht feel?” she taunted, rubbing in how easily she had beaten the proud warrior. He muttered and shook his head, and picked up his claymore.
   “I ken nae keep a’old of ma claymore, ‘ow was that fair? Ah never was beaten by yah, ye won only a’cause ah forfeited.” He retorted, dusting himself off and experimenting with different grips on his sword. “A’m nae gonna admit it, but ‘ow ken ye help me learn tae hold mah sword?”
   “ye must ‘old ye’re hands like tihs,” Inwyn said, adjusting his paws into different positions on the sword, “And ye ken nae hold it any other way, else ye lose ye’re grip.” Cledwin ran through a complex routine with the claymore, with the grip Inwyn showed him, he was actually twice as fast as before she turned him. “See? Noo ye’re faster tahn afore even.”
   “Aye, ye know ye’re stuff.” He admitted, his tone one of grudging gratitude. She showed him some new forms of sword play, barely even touching them, each one unique and graceful, but extremely effective for the purpose it served. The forms she showed him could only be done with their walshazirian forms, and had different goals and fighting stances. Silsan, the incapacitating form, required a narrow stance and a quick hand, relying mainly upon precise strikes that would not kill and enemy, but disable him in different ways, ideal for a capture mission or a fight where no blood need be shed. Fas-sarian, the assassin’s form, focused upon lightning-fast moves from all angles, and attacking from odd positions, such as while leaping through the air or while hanging upside down from a tree. Myservan, the defender’s form, was oriented entirely upon blocks and blows that would wear a greater enemy down, allowing you to move in when he was exhausted and slay him. Fel-san, the berserker form, was entirely about dealing with as many opponents as possible, with as many blows as possible in a small period of time. Varsin-salune, the retribution, or attacker’s, form, dealt with strikes and odd attacks that could counter any block, moves that were both deadly and graceful, seeming to be slow, but in reality, very fast, and very deadly, able to bring down almost any opponent.
   Inwyn merely went over the most basic parts of the five forms of walshazarian combat, telling him about them, and giving a quick demonstration of each.
« Last Edit: May 08, 2013, 02:18:36 am by SkyFire »
Every great hero has walked the fine line between darkness and the light. Every legendary hero has set foot in both.
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