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| Oath Holder; A fantasy story | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 14 2007, 04:04 AM (439 Views) | |
| Captain Kowle | Oct 14 2007, 04:04 AM Post #1 |
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Brackenwood Member
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Yet another story. This one is set in the Warhammer fantasy world (Google it). I have been creating characters and thinking of scenarios to pit them in for a few years now. This is the first time I have wrtten a story for them, which will hopefully be recognised as the Gaunt's Ghosts (Google it) of fantasy. I hope it's up to the high standards of everyone else's work i've read.
dmmt!! Oath Holder Part of Tales of the Bloody City Part One Winter had come. Yet it offered no blanket of snow to the forest, only grey clouds that overshadowed all the colours of the wild and a chill cold that penetrated even the most guarded of havens. The ground was sprinkled with frost, the trees stood like statues, in the light breeze, saluting the soldiers as they marched by. About fifty soldiers marched along the old dirt road, the light green and yellow of their tunics contrasted with the bleakness of the surrounding world. At the back of the column, men on horses pulled a thick-barrelled cannon, the wheels bumping over the hard ground. About a dozen men, armed with long wooden handguns, marched in the shadow of the beast, clutching their advanced weaponry close to their chest for warmth. A large regiment of about two dozen spearmen formed the centre of the column; the heavy-set veterans balanced their spear on their left shoulder, their right hand clutching the woolly cloak that would usually be used for sleep. The front of the column clattered as an armoured guard of about a dozen swordsmen wrestled with their baggage, their shields hung over their shoulder and their shaking hands clasping sheathed bastard swords, which beat against already battered cuirass’. A figure, undistinguishable as its leader, led the column. The figure was almost full plated in armour, his arms and legs had no protection save for elbow and knee guards. A large sheathed clamour was hung over his shoulder, his hands free to clasp round his bare cloak. Yet he did not, instead he buried himself in an old map of the region, too lost in thought to bother about the cold. His long, black pony-tale was draped over his thick shoulders and his thin moustache twitched in the breeze. A sound from the column caught his attention, he tried to determine its source, like some kind of predator, unflinching, letting instinct control him. “Commander! Commander Mekhno!” A man galloped to the front of the column, some of the men gave weary cheers at his sight. Nestor Mekhno, commander of the Stirland Hope, gave the sign for the column to stop. He turned to his welcome friend, unchanged since the last time they met. His hair was still as blond as barley fields, his beard and moustache framed his never dieing smile, which reflected his very character and why the men loved him. “Captain Fenix, to what do I owe the honour of your presence.” Nestor’s words reeked of sarcastic courtesy. Fenix, though a nobleman and well known by the women of the Empire as a gentleman, was not the ideal role model for nobility. Indeed Nestor could still smell the drink from where he stood. “I’ve come to keep an eye on you boy, wouldn’t want the son of the count cutting his little finger… or losing an arm. Also I thought that we could make a little stop at the nearby village. I hear they do good wine… and good women.” He turned to the column. “Would the good men of Stirland like a little compensation for their troubles?” The men mirrored his grin and answered with cheers and rowdy bustling. Fenix turned to Nestor with a raised eyebrow. Nestor lightly disciplined his army and turned to his friend, who had “kept an eye on him” since he had first become a member of the greatswords. “Why is it, that whenever, wherever, you are present my army turns into a rambling mob?” Nestor said with a reflective chuckle. “It’s because you’re not strict enough.” Even the men allowed themselves a silent snigger. The column began moving again; Fenix rode beside Nestor, who had returned to his map. “Why do keep looking at that thing? You know exactly where we’re going. I mean there was no point looking at that map of your home when we were fighting in Lustria.” “But this time we are going home.” Nestor could not hide his passion; his hands clasped the map tighter. Fenix’s smile faded for a moment, he understood his friend and knew that his once student, now commander, had a heavy burden on his heart. “We’re going home…” Comments and tips appreciated Edit: Please leave a comment so I can add the second part of the story. Anything, please.
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| Idiot | Oct 17 2007, 08:08 AM Post #2 |
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Brackenwood Lightweight
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Ooooh, nice suspense at the end there. What happens next?? By the way, I think if it's your story you can post as many times in a row as you like - that's the rule in the Look At My Stuff bit of of the animation/drawing forum, anyway, and this is basically the same type of thing. Nice work, and don't worry about it being up to standard (even though it definitely is) the whole point of this place is to get better, anyway. Good stuff! |
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| Captain Kowle | Oct 17 2007, 09:20 AM Post #3 |
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Brackenwood Member
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Wow thanks
It seems to me that this story is going to be longer than I had anticipated, so it's good to hear that double posting doesn't apply. Anyway here's the next installement of the world famous, award winning novel by yours truly. dmmt!
Oath Holder Part two “Commander Mekhno!” A scout ran out off the forest; bow in hand. He ran to meet Nestor, saluting out of respect more than obedience. “What is it Pale? What have your eagle eyes spotted today?” Nestor did not joke, Cooper Pale, or Pale Cooper as the men called him, had the keenest eyes, officially, in Stirland, winning the River Patrol Gauntlet three years running. “I spotted a village, just round the next bend.” Cooper looked especially pale in the winter cold, but his mind, though young, was always clear. “What did I tell you Nestor?” Fenix’s grin warmed the air. “Men, one last fight before home. Just remember to pay her for her troubles!” The soldiers grinned, slapping each other’s backs and relishing the road ahead. The column continued marching, a little bit more enthusiastically, up the road. Fenix looked down, from his black stallion, at the one man who did not have a dirty big grin on his face. “Hey, chin up, you’ll be home soon enough…” Fenix’s words trailed off, as he and the column came to a stop. The column stood in disbelief, looking down at the scene that had welcomed them round the corner. The road led them down a small hill, along through deserted fields, to a small village built in a small basin. The village had no walls, it consisted of a collection of humble huts, a small church and a town hall that dwarfed all others Nestor had seen. It boasted wooden pillars carved into the shape of armoured guards and flags depicting a coat of arms that Nestor had never seen before, a golden chalice, topped by a wreath, on a scarlet background. The village was small; it also seemed completely deserted, as if the winter had claimed its very life force. “Where do I hang my belt?” Nestor said, directing his words at Fenix, whose smile had turned into a dropped jaw. The force marched, uneasily down the road, looking round for any sign of life. “There’s not even any cattle… nothing.” Fenix said, still trying to make sense of things. “Maybe the inhabitants have left for the winter…” A swordsman said hesitantly. “No… They wouldn’t leave, not without harvesting the crops. Whatever happened, happened before they would have had a chance to leave.” Pale said thoughtfully. The restless army marched through the “gates” of the village. Nestor gave his spearmen the sign and a hand full fanned out, looking for any clues as to the villagers’ fate. “I don’t understand…” Fenix said, scratching his head. He dismounted and followed Nestor, who was leading his swordsmen bodyguard to the village hall. “I’m sure if there is any explanation to be found, it’ll be here.” Nestor said, unable to keep his eye off the strange coat-of-arms. “Sure is a fancy looking place. They must have won a hell of a lot of rural festivals to afford that.” Nestor gave Fenix a quick look of confusion. “I’m just saying… those guards look mighty fancy to me.” The wooden guards did look fancy, Nestor thought to himself. Even royal. Nestor walked up to the large wooden doors and pushed with both hands. The door was barded from the other side. He took a few steps back, he shouted at the wooden guards, hoping that they would pass on his words to those inside. “My name is Nestor Mekhno, commander of The Stirland Hope and son of Alberich Haupt-Anderssen, Grand Count of Stirland! Open up your doors if you still draw breath and I would much like to hear what words you have to say and will do what I can to help!” His words echoed, steaming, in the still air. He looked at his feet, waiting for a reply. The doors creaked open. A man, pale as death, stared at them with eyes wide with fear. “Have you come to save us?” he asked in a timid voice. “Aye, we were sent by bloody Sigmar, now let us in!” Fenix said pushing his way in impatiently. The man stood aside, letting Nestor and his bodyguard in. The rest of the army tried to make themselves at home as best they could. The man led the group down a torch lit corridor. “My lord will be happy to see you. We have been praying for someone to come for some time now.” Nestor and Fenix looked at each other uneasily. The man led them into the main chamber. What first hit the group was not its size, but its contents. Tapestries lined the walls, beside more silent guards, depicting scenes of battle and heroism, as well as the strange coat-of-arms. The village chief sat on a throne, lavishly carved with patterns, creating the impression of a mighty lion. Before the throne lay not a banquet, nor a jester or entertainer, but the entire population of the village, a huddled mass of frightened filthy peasants. Nestor gazed upon this scene with horror and disbelief. “They look so frightened… ” Fenix whispered. The mass looked at the strangers with looks of desperation. The chief spotted them and leapt up with excitement. Nestor noticed that he seemed healthy, unlike his people. “My good friends, welcome guests, come forth so that I can kiss you.” The chief dodged round his people to welcome his friends. “To what do I owe the honour of your presence?” “Well you can start by explaining why your people are all huddled in here like starved animals!” Fenix said, skipping introductions. The chief looked surprised at Fenix’s informality. “Tell me, what happened?” Nestor asked trying to keep his eyes off the people. The chief’s smile faded; with his mask gone Nestor could see the weariness in the old man’s face. “I am Baron Verrat. I owned lands in Sylvania, but those lands have become too dangerous.” He turned to Fenix. “They say that Sylvania has not seen a vampire since the death of Manfred Von Carstein, ha! What I saw could not have existed without the will of a vampire. And so I was given this small land as compensation.” He looked at the floor, he sighed. “Whether it be a curse or not, I am blighted once more. Monsters, from the woods, came in the night slaughtering all our cattle. We hear them at night, when the mist falls from the hills. It’s not safe out there and being the kind man that I am I let my loyal subjects reside in my home.” “Could you not spare a bed?” Fenix said bluntly. Baron Verrat’s face turned slightly grim. “They are a strong people, but I do regret times have been hard.” He spread his arms, his mask back in place. “But please, don’t let your mind worry about them, make yourselves at home.” “I’m afraid we have other business.” Fenix said, taking a step back. Nestor raised his hand to stop him. “We’ll camp outside. If what you say is true, then they will come. I am afraid though that we cannot stay long. Me and my men are returning from a long campaign, and are eager to get home.” Nestor sighed, turned and left the way he came without another word. It seemed that home would have to wait. Nestor stepped outside, his troops stood to attention, awaiting their leaders orders. “Make camp and expect a sleepless night. Home will have to wait.” There was a general moan as the troops set up camp. Fenix put his hand on Nestor’s shoulder. “Home will have to wait? I never thought I’d hear you say that, especially now we’re so close.” Nestor looked at his friend plainly, then gave a smile. “My father always said “To never sacrifice honour for what our hearts desire, but to instead keep what we desire close to our heart.” I will never forget…” Fenix took over. “… his wise words and that is why, Fenix, we must stay, for honour.” Nestor smiled as Fenix mocked him. “Well the old man’s right for as long as he is count, and when you finally become count, maybe you’ll be right for once.” The two laughed, this had not been the first time they had had this conversation. Fenix coughed and sighed. “What do you think, about this?” He looked around at the odd situation they found themselves. Nestor smiled, removing his sword from his back. He drew the fearsome weapon; its shimmering surface twinkled in his eye. “I think you better get as much sleep as you can.” He impaled the blade in the ground. “Cause it’s gonna be a rough night.” Any ideas or tips you got I'd be happy to know.
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| LoboDiabloLoneWolf | Nov 3 2007, 10:24 AM Post #4 |
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The SHE-Wolf of the Crop-Circles
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Magnificent, a delightful read. I myself am a Warhammer fan (though a 40K one) but you have such an easy, flowing style that even someone new to the Warhammer universe would have no problems enjoying it. Captivating work and I'm eager to know what happens. I hope you don't mind if I point out a few tiny critques, but you did as for tips. ^^ Part 1 - Where you say 'wooden handguns', I can't help but think 'pistols' might be more appropriate, this is purely a personal view though. ^^ - A couple of typos that I noticed, 'indistinguishable', not 'undistinguishable' and 'ponytail' not 'pony-tale'. (I tend to use 'horsetail' when refering to a man, but that's just me. ^^) - When you put 'at his sight', I can't help thinking 'at the sight of him' or 'at his sighting' would flow better. - Just a small typo, 'dying' instead of 'dieing'. Part 2 - Instead of 'up the road', maybe 'along the road' would flow better. (Once again this is up to your personal tastes. ^^) - Last typo that I could see, 'barred', not 'barded'. I sincerely hope you don't think I'm being harsh, but writing of this caliber really derserves to be everything it can be, you have some real talent here matie, keep at it. ^^ (In your comment on A Brackenwood Story, you said that you hoped to write a story as good as mine and you were not worthy? Trust me, it's the other way around mate. I am in awe of your skills. ^^) |
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6:42 PM Jul 11