Thaidakar's Creator's Corner

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

gonna copy @Doomslug The Destroyer here  

so let's see. this is an original thing. I'm going to post more but for now you get this one thing.

Scene 1 bank fight.

Spoiler

"Well as if things couldn't get any worse."

"well great."

Roland and Evett stood in the ashes and remains of the fallen building. Warrick and Davies. building and loan had seen better days. It had been only a short ten minutes ago when it had been standing up, the naive customers bustling around, the attendants typing casually while trying not to be bored. how naive they had been.

But what had happened? this deserves telling of course, but when have I been known to give you that amount of detail? anyways, Roland unholstered his handgun and pointed it at the demon. Evett cursed again as Roland unloaded his magazine at the demon. of course the demon wasn't harmed in one bit, it was after all a demon.

Roland cursed, "well heck." he turned to Evett, "is it ready?"

Evett shook her head, "no, Julius said he needed fifteen minutes, its only been five minutes." Roland cursed again.

The tall demon glared at them as it drew its large whip from nowhere seemingly. It was the color of ash, the massive monster glowed with veinlike chasms in his skin which contained what looked like lava. 

The demon lashed out his whip, Roland jumped out of the way and Evett ducked. the whip went over Evett's head thankfully. Roland searched his pockets, looking for something that could help; but he only found a small vial, containing a red and black liquid.

Roland widened his eyes and turned to Evett who was dodging the whip yet again, he held up the vial, "the relendium!" Dr Julius had shown it to them earlier that week, relendium was a new element that Julius had found, it turned elacrastyl (the material the demons were made out of) into ashes. 

Evett smiled. she dodged the demon's ferocious attacks swiftly, "USE IT!"

Roland jumped out of the way of a large sweep of the whip. he threw the vial at the demon who widened its own eyes as it saw it. the demon tried to get away but the vial hit him smack dab in the back. the demon let out an inhuman shriek as the liquid sunk into its demonic skin. it suddenly exploded, letting out a blast of light and wind that pushed Roland and Evett back.

....

later that day Roland and Evett sat in velvet chairs in Dr. Julius' study. Dr. Julius, a tall man with wispy white hair and a stern yet kind expression on his face. 

Dr Julius sighed, "that was very irresponsible of you two. you know you weren't supposed to go attack Rommandus, that demon is... was very dangerous. if you hadn't had that vial of relendium... you would've died and left me with a guilty conciencus. but I would have to ask you Roland to not steal from my lab again!"

Roland nodded, "yes Doctor."

Evett rubbed a scar on her cheek, "yeah, I guess. but what about the other demons? if one escaped Tartarus, what about the others?"

before Dr Julius could respond a loud roar came from the distance. Dr Juluis sighed exasperatedly, "I guess there is your answer."

 

Edited August 2, 2023 by Thaidakar the Ghostblood
added a small tagging

[Medium]

HA YOU COMPLETE COPYCAT LMAO

oooooo. i have some suggestions regarding grammar and structure, but the plot is doooope bro!!

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

sure, I saw some myself whilst writing, eh. 

but yeah I totally did copycat you. lol. the plot was just completely out of the blue for me, I just went off a whim and... yeah. I kind of based it off of reckoners. I also based Dr Julius off of Dr Pym in ant man.

[Morningtide]

That's so cool! I love your writing style. 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

thanks!

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

I've been dying to show you guys this but...

chapter three of They'lair Rises by Thaidakar and (im just gonna give this person a nick name) Napoleon (this isn't their real nick.)

Spoiler

Chapter Three

The Duel

 

 

 

“This is fun.”

“No it’s not!”

Wheaton Berkerkly and Draco Tavis climbed up the steep incline of Mount Olre. Sweat dribbled off of Wheaton’s face as he grasped the rock. Wheaton’s golden hair felt like a burden right then. Draco was several feet behind him on a ledge Wheaton had left three minutes previous. Below them was the elven village of Mololath. The sounds of the village floated up to them in a faint whisper.

Draco shivered, “are you sure we’re safe Wheaton?”

Wheaton smiled, “yes, I am sure. We have our leaf spirits to catch us if we fall.” he gestured to the two floating entities. 

The green leafy bodies of the spirits were the home of many branches which jutted out of the leaves that made up their body. Wheaton’s leaf spirit, Whitemane, flew just below him and had a distinctive pattern of white leaves on its head. 

Draco nodded, “ok Wheat, but if I fall- aah!”

Draco accidentally let go and fell a few feet before his leaf spirit, Ivy, caught him and brought him up next to Wheaton. Draco grabbed on again to the rocks and continued climbing, “I never want to do that again!” said Draco.

Wheaton chuckled as he climbed up the gray stoney wall of the mountain, “you get used to it, I climb one of these mountains every day.”

Draco widened his eyes, “how? We have school.”

Wheaton grinned, “a mischievous elf never tells his secrets.”

Draco rolled his eyes as they climbed higher. It was early in the morning, otherwise they would have to skive off class, something Draco would never do even in his best of dreams. Or maybe his worst of nightmares. 

The sun began to rise as they got higher on the mountain. Wheaton smiled as lay his hand on the top of the mountain’s jagged edge. Wheaton jumped up onto the top with agility enhanced by his elvish training from his grandfather. Wheaton lived with his grandfather as his parents were dead. 

Draco called up, “can you help me up?” 

Wheaton nodded to himself and said back, “sure.” Wheaton reached for Draco’s outstretched arm and pulled him up. Once Draco was on the mountain top, Wheaton said, “Look at the view.” He gestured below and towards the sun. The rising sun illuminated the forest, revealing many villages including their own. The light reflected off a distant lake and showed them a far away Turant, one of a race of big treelike people that roamed the land of Ethalia. 

“Whoah!” said Draco, impressed, “this is amazing!”

Wheaton smiled, “this is why I do one of these climbs every day.”

Draco nodded as he looked at the spectacular view, “this is amazing, why didn’t you bring me on one of these climbs before?”

Wheaton shrugged, “you didn’t want to come.”

Draco sighed, “I regret that now. Besides, should we go down now?”

“Yeah probably,” said Wheaton, “let’s use our leaf spirits, I don’t fancy going down manually.”

Draco nodded, “okay.” he turned to where his leaf spirit, Ivy, was waiting, he hopped on and said, “let’s go! Meet you at school!” 

Wheaton nodded as he called to Whitemane, “Whitemane! Let’s do a trick jump!”

Whitemane telepathically sent Wheaton the words, sure, as long as you don’t break your back. Wheaton chuckled as he backed up a bit and then ran towards the edge. As he neared the edge of the cliff he jumped. Whitemane dived alongside him and then he went directly below Wheaton and stopped in midair. Wheaton landed on Whitemane’s back and they flew towards the village down below.

“Good boy Whitemane,” said Wheaton. Whitemane rolled its eyes. Wheaton smiled. They soared gently towards the village. Wheaton decided in his head he was going to stop by his grandfather’s house to grab his things before class. 

Wheaton smiled as they neared the edge of the village. Wooden platforms adorned the tall green trees that were such a trademark of Ethalia. Mololath was one of the bigger villages in this part of Ethalia. Homes were carved into the trees. Bridges from tree to tree made a good cityscape and defense system, for if they were attacked they could just stay in the trees. 

Wheaton laid his hand on Whitemane’s side as his grandfather’s tree came into view. They landed on the platform softly. Wheaton jumped off of Whitemane. Wheaton scratched Whitemane’s head and said, “you can go to your nest now Whitemane.”

Whitemane whinnied appreciatively and flew up to where his nest was near the top of the tree. Wheaton opened the door and crept into the house, trying to make his steps gentle. 

The house was dark, the gray early morning light illuminated the areas of the house closest to the windows. He crept through the eerily lit hallway towards the kitchen; Wheaton hadn’t had breakfast before he had gone on the climb, so he was famished.

The hallway was decorated with carved pictures that depicted famous scenes in history. Wheaton’s grandfather was a rich fellow. He had been a soldier in one of the last Utharian wars. He had been instrumental in winning the siege of Jallokein in T’ora. Wheaton’s grandfather had been in the second most recent of the Utharian wars. 

Wheaton’s father had been in the most recent, he had died in war a week before Wheaton had been born. His mother had then died in childbirth. Wheaton came to the kitchen door, he opened it. The hallway was bathed in dancing yellowlight. The smell of food came to Wheaton’s nose like a rampaging Turant.

Wheaton rounded the corner and- he saw a food filled table lit by gentle and comforting yellow light. His grandfather was nowhere in sight. A note lay on the table. Wheaton walked forward and picked it up, it said that his grandfather, Talorom, was out on early morning errands. 

“Of course he would be on errands, as if anyone else would be awake at this time,” said Wheaton, a laugh in his voice, “at least he left me some food.” Wheaton sat down at the carved table and smiled at the pile of cornmeal pancakes adorned with fresh maple syrup from the northern bit of Ethalia where the maple trees were most plentiful.

….

Wheaton closed the door behind him and licked the last bit of maple syrup off his lip. It had been delicious. With a bag of school books and other oddments he called Whitemane, “Whiiiiiiiiteeeemaaaaaane!”

Branches and leaves rustled above and Whitemane soared down. Wheaton jumped onto him as he flew around the tree. Wheaton smiled, “nice catch!”

Whitemane snorted as if to say he could do better. Wheaton sighed, “I bet, but we have to get to school buddy.”

They flew underneath the trees and towards the rest of the village. The village was awake now and familiar noises greeted Wheaton’s ears as they flew above the talkative village below. 

Wheaton’s first class of the day, world history, took place on a large tree on the opposite side of the village from where he lived. Wheaton dreaded World History as the teacher was rather beastly. 

He could see a few elves his age getting on their leaf spirits and heading to other classes. Wheaton smiled as the World History class tree drew into sight. It was going to be terrible, but Wheaton knew how to push Reltenan’s, the teacher’s, buttons well enough to get by.

Underneath Wheaton spied two older elves who were muttering to each other quietly. One of them was Eleden Rinwill, a member of the order of the grandmasters of Ethalia. The other was a thick mustached elf who Wheaton faintly recognized as a visitor from another village.

Wheaton smiled mischievously as he summoned some water from the air around him. Water was one of the easiest kinds of magic and Wheaton’s favorite of the six types. Though it was wrong to call it water, Wheaton still favored the name. Its true name was cold, just a concentrated version of it apparently, or so the scholars of Ethalia and foreign scientists from Lenor and Whitehaven thought. The dwarves of Ostein also seemed to have an idea about how magic worked, but elves rarely listened to the dwarves for long periods of time.

Finally after what seemed an eternity there was enough water, or at least enough in Wheaton’s opinion. Wheaton made sure he was in position and then-

A loud splat sounded and the water landed on the now unhappy elves below. Eleden looked up and saw Wheaton, he shouted at him, “WHEATON! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!”

But Wheaton had already zipped away on Whitemane laughing. They headed towards the large world history tree again which was only five trees over from where Wheaton had dropped the water. 

…

Wheaton and Whitemane landed softly on the wooden platform near where World History was to take place. The wooden platform was riddled with splinters, a fact Wheaton was all too aware of. 

He walked towards the class. The class was held on a large circular wooden platform a bridge away from the landing one. 

The teacher had a fiery expression which clashed horribly with his already red hair when Wheaton was inches away from the platform on the bridge, “Wheaton, Wheaton, Wheaton, late as always?”

“Yes Master Reltenan.” said Wheaton dully. The class watched the two as Wheaton sat down next to Draco who had arrived several minutes ago. 

Draco turned and whispered, “What took so long?”

“I had to prank a certain member of the counsel, it took longer than I thought to summon the water.” Draco looked scandalized at this remark.

“We begin where we left off at the Eonic Empire,” said Reltenan, smiling evilly as always, “remember to pay attention, this will be important to the test at the end of spring.

“In the land of Uthar there was an empire called the Eonic empire in the land that is now Uthar, it had just established itself as one of the major powers in the world when their famed leader Emperor Durshan himself died of a stroke.

“Rebels began to flood the country and take control of small sections of the empire, declaring themselves as sovereign rulers of the land.”

As Reltenan rambled on, Wheaton noticed on a platform nearby a girl who seemed several years older than Wheaton watching them. She had dark hair and carried a roll of parchment and a quill.

“As Wheaton seems so focused,” said Reltenan, “how about he answers the question.”

Wheaton turned back and stuttered, “well it was because the rebels were weak in their organization.”

Reltenan stared at him, “Wheaton, I asked whether or not the Eonics had a stable government in place by then.”

Wheaton blushed and the girl on the other platform giggled. Wheaton rolled his eyes and decided to pay attention a bit more. 

“As I was saying,” continued Reltenan, “If it weren’t for Eleran the first the Eonic empire would have collapsed as suddenly as it had began, Eleran, son of Durshan quashed the rebellion if only barely in the battle of Gromar creek which was in the year 1783, got that down?”

The students nodded. As Reltenan continued, Wheaton realized that one of the two resident elvish Grands was standing behind the girl on the other platform. She was probably an apprentice grandmaster then and none of his business.

Reltenan cleared his throat, “Ehem? Wheaton?”

“Hm?” asked Wheaton.

“Wheaton, please pay better attention or I will have to contact your grandfather.”

Wheaton lived with his Grandfather who had taught him loads of magic before he had actually come to school. 

“Fine,” said Wheaton, “but it is quite hard to pay attention when all there is to pay attention to is a large bat pretending to be an elf.”

Reltenan’s eyes widened with fury, “I AM NOT A BAT!” 

A few of the students laughed. Most of them looked either quite scandalized or very disappointed in Wheaton’s behavior. 

Reltenan took a deep breath and said like he was pronouncing someone’s doom, “Detention, after school, down at the mirror.”

The mirror was a sentient creation that had been gifted to the school from a grandmaster from the southern marches of Ethalia. Sentient creation was a closely guarded profession only the high ups were allowed to use. 

Wheaton sighed and then said exaggeratingly, “Yes, I will definitely go do that after school.”

Reltenan narrowed his eyes, he drew his lips into a line and said, “No more trouble, I might have to report you to your grandfather, he will not be pleased.”

Wheaton shrugged it off and said, “yes sir.”

Reltenan nodded and continued the lesson, “Where was I? Yes, that’s right, the Eonic empire…”

Reltenan’s voice seemed to phase out of Wheaton’s head, as he ignored his teacher because he hated history, as Wheaton thought that it was the most boring class ever. Without any kind of way to tell the time, the class dragged on even more than usual. 

Wheaton looked over to his right and he saw Draco paying attention, his eyes completely zoned in on Reltenan, with him writing down some information that he thought was incredibly important.

“How can you pay attention for so long?” asked Wheaton to Draco. 

“And after the Utharian Wars, the government of Uthar is still, presumably under the control of the same dratted emperor as always,” Reltenan finished saying. Draco continued to write down some of the notes about what Reltenan was talking about.

Reltenan then went in front of the board, after waiting for everyone else to finish writing down the notes. “End of class!” then to himself, “thankfully.”

Wheaton jumped up, “excellent!” Wheaton started to follow the crowd of chattering students on the bridge when Reltenan stopped him.

“Come here Wheaton.”

Wheaton cringed and turned around, “what?”

Reltenan had a nasty smile on his face, he held a note, “after school take this to detention.” he held it out for Wheaton.

Wheaton took it and read it aloud, “‘This student needs an hour a day for a week in detention, extra hard.’ what? That’s not allowed, is it?”

“It’s perfectly allowed, now run along.”

Wheaton scowled at his feet as he ran to catch up with the rest of them.

…

The next class was practical magic, it was listed to be in a cave near Mount Olre. Wheaton was excited, he had reason to believe they were going to be dueling. His grandfather had taught him for years before school. Dueling was one of his favorite things to do in school, besides healing. 

Wheaton and Whitemane touched down next to Draco. The cave was a place where fun memories danced about.

Wheaton jumped off of Whitemane, patted Whitemane and then followed Draco inside the cave.

Inside was a large room with crystals lighting up the surroundings. Chairs and hooks for bags were all lined up neatly at one end. A large desk sat to one side with various oddments on top of it. From a small floating flame to a crystal glowing green, the teacher’s desk had a unique personality to it.

The teacher himself was nowhere to be seen. The students were all fidgeting and talking to each other in their seats. Where was Doran? Doran being the teacher.

Finally after what seemed like eternity a muffled pleasant voice said, “Hello class.”

Everyone jumped. Wheaton blinked, where was the voice coming from.

“I’m a little trapped, it seems i took a nap and someone tucked me in this closet,” the closet in the corner wobbled, “it’s magic proof so i can’t very well get out of it.”

The students gave quiet laughter, even Draco. Wheaton chuckled and walked over to the closet. He opened the mahogany door and a multitude of things toppled out. First, several cushions, second Doran the teacher, third a large moth. 

Doran dusted off his robe and stood up, “Well that was an adventure.” The red haired elf was only about ten years older than the others. “Now, we can start the lesson, Wheaton, you can sit down now.”

Wheaton smiled and went to sit down. Doran was his favorite teacher.

“Now, we will have a quick lecture and then we will move on to a more practical activity.” said Doran, smiling, “I know, I know, you would rather just do the practical activity, but the blasted school rules say I have to cover force fields in a bit of detail once a month, so here we go.” 

The lecture was brief, interesting, full of detail, and caught Wheaton’s attention. Force Fields were fun, Doran showed them a few applications of them.

“Now, there are a few applications of force fields you should know by now, the technical term being energy,” Doran summoned a small bit of water and took a drink, “one is the general force field, Wheaton, can you make a small force field around a ball of fire i make?” 

Wheaton nodded enthusiastically. Doran summoned a fireball and threw it in the air, Wheaton summoned a purple ball of energy around the fireball, Doran smiled, “Thank you Wheaton, you may extinguish it now.” Doran made the flame go out and Wheaton did as asked.

“That is the most common of all forcefields, external forcefields come in different shapes and sizes, but generally with a sphear-ish slight to it,” said Doran, “the next kind of forcefield is weapons.” 

At the words, “Forcefield is also a weapon.” Everyone started paying attention. Doran chuckled, “I will show you my sword, Duskbreaker.” he stretched out his hand and purple sparks started emitting from his palm. The sparks at first seemed to be nothing more than just a pile of completely unorganized sparks with the occasional burst of lightning and then they slowly began to move. The sparks moved into a blade as the bursts of lightning subsided, with a purple sword now inside of Doran’s hand. The students looked in amazement, seeing the skill and prowess of Doran, and all of the students knew that Doran was doing the magic slowly just to show the students on how to make a energy sword and just to simply show a demonstration of the process and the sight of it.

“Put the shield back up,” Doran said to Wheaton. Wheaton, only too eager to follow Doran’s example, whirled his hands in a circle causing purple sparks to form in a circle in front of Wheaton. In an action that was similar to the flex of a muscle for a human being, energy began to concentrate into a half circle energy shield making the purple sparks back into smooth energy.

Doran nodded in approval and to show how impressed he was at Wheaton’s quick and easy adaption to new ideas, as Doran was unaware that Wheaton knew how to make an energy shield, taught to him by his grandfather. “Now, the best way to destroy an energy shield is probably to use an energy weapon to slice right through the thin wall of energy. Now, Wheaton be prepared to have your shield shatter, alright?” asked Doran. Wheaton nodded his head in understanding. Doran gripped the energy sword tighter in his hand and then lunged at Wheaton. The shield that Wheaton had summoned shattered in multiple pieces before they turned into wisps of cloud and then ultimately dissolved into the air. 

Wheaton’s eyes were amazed and they widened in amazement as he watched the energy that used to be his shield go back into the air. He had taken so long to perfect and master the art of concentrating energy that had lingered in air into a solid energy circle. While he could change the shape of his energy into some different objects, he had no idea how to create an object as precise and sharp as the sword that Doran had just used to shatter his shield. 

“Now, while this looks incredibly easy to make, concentrating energy from the air into a somewhat solid object is much more difficult than it might seem or look,” Doran said. He looked at Wheaton, laying his hand on his shoulder, “My friend Wheaton over here has mastered the art of concentrating energy, probably thanks to one of his family members, and maybe he could help tutor some of you into mastering the art. By the end of the class, I want you to at least be able to make an energy shield. Now disperse and prepare to present!” 

As Doran gave the order to disperse and practice, the class began to scatter and clamor. Wheaton tried to navigate his way through the crowd, as fellow classmates trying to practice in their own secluded areas bumped into Wheaton in an effort to go as quickly as possible. 

Doran gestured to Wheaton, Wheaton walked over, “what?”

“Wheaton,” said Doran, “your grandfather is amazing. I would like to talk with him for an hour after school. I want to know how and what he used to teach you so efficiently. This could potentially help us train elves faster.” Doran’s excitement spread like wildfire to Wheaton.

Wheaton smiled widely, “sure! I can tell him.”

“That’s my boy!” said Doran, “now, you can go and rest at the back of the class with the others who already know.” The number was increasingly fluctuating, though several class members were struggling. 

Wheaton walked to the back of the class in a happier mood than before. Doran and Reltenan were as different as night and day. 

In the back of class Draco sat with a forcefield around him. Wheaton smiled, “open sesame!”

Draco rolled his eyes and opened the front of it. “I don’t think a force field is a sesame seed. Also can you help expand it?”

Wheaton shrugged and expanded it so they could have more space. “Well, that seemed easy enough.”

“I wonder what Doran meant by ‘a quick lecture and then something more practical’” pondered Draco.

“I hope it’s dueling or something,” said Wheaton outright.

Draco smiled, “of course you do.”

In the meantime Wheaton started making small force fields appear around the room, hovering and casting bits of light everywhere. The globes were simple enough, if done small. It was natural to Wheaton to hold all of them together, for someone else his age this would be impossible. With being better at magic came an arrogance Wheaton had tried to squash, but it kept coming back up to him. 

“Everyone!” began Doran, “it’s time to present what you’ve managed to do with force fields, I see Wheaton has already shown us what he can do.” he gestured to the spheres.

As students showed their work, Draco fidgeted as he let down the forcefield. Wheaton rubbed Draco’s shoulder, “you’ll do fine, you’re one of the best in the class.”

Draco nodded, “thanks.”

Doran walked over to Wheaton and Draco, he said to Draco, “show me what you can do.”

Draco waved his hands in the air and purple sparks extended from his fingers together stretching into a long weblike stretch. Draco moved his arms out and the purple energy turned into a shield.

“That was more fancy then it had to be, but I like it,” said Doran. Draco turned red. Doran turned to Wheaton, “I think you agree that you needn’t show us anything more.” he winked at Wheaton and Draco and then went to the next group of elves.

Draco let out a breath, “that wasn’t so bad.”

Wheaton smiled, “yeah, why would it be bad anyways? We know Doran! He’s nice, or atleast nicer than Master Reltenan.”

Draco smothered a chuckle, “well I guess that’s true.”

Doran shouted, “attention everyone! Our next activity will be dueling! Not everyone will get to duel of course, I will try to get everyone in it though. The duels will be evenly matched for the most part. First up we have Shor Waton.” Shor was a popular elf with sleek black hair and piercing blue eyes, “and Wheaton Berkerly, I expect a fair fight, no injuries that regrowth can’t fix or otherwise.”

Shor nodded curtly, standing up and walking to the larger part of the room, he flexed his fingers, “this will be fun.”

Wheaton crossed the room as well. Doran summoned a force field blocking the chairs and desk from the large area they would be dueling in.

Doran, slightly muffled, shouted, “go to either side of the room,” when he complied he said, “3.”

Wheaton smiled, this would be hard.

“2.”

Shor smiled back. Shor was the best magic user in the class, Wheaton was only a hair better than him. This would be really hard.

“3.”

A flurry of motion erupted from both Shor and Wheaton. Wheaton summoned a fireball and launched it at Shor. At the same time Shor made a forcefield and started summoning water. The students were at the edge of their seats, waiting for them to make their moves.

Wheaton’s fireball bounced off Shor’s force field to the stone wall, harming nothing. Wheaton created a barrage of fireballs in a minute and launched it at Shor just as he started summoning another one. Barrage after barrage hit the forcefield, slowly cracking it more and more. Shor gritted his teeth and kept summoning water. 

Wheaton took a deep breath and then launched air out of his fingertips behind him, launching him towards Shor. Shor cursed and released his shield. He sent the large wall of water he had created at Wheaton. 

Wheaton smiled and summoned a forcefield that curbed the water away from him, he then removed the forcefield and used the same air that he had used to launch him to push Shor against the wall. He then summoned a forcefield around Shor before he had time to react. 

Shor swore loudly, “thanks a lot!” 

Wheaton smiled ruefully, “your welcome.”

Shor blinked, then looked at the forcefield. He smiled as he started to summon another forcefield. Wheaton groaned and started summoning another barrage of fireballs, preparing.

Shor pushed his forcefield against Wheaton’s. Wheaton’s and Shor’s cracked against each other. 

Wheaton smiled and let loose his fireballs just as he dismissed the shield. The fireballs destroyed Shor’s shield, sending sparks everywhere. The fire singed Shor’s clothes but not before Shor could summon air to push it away from him.

Wheaton drew moisture and cold out of the air, he expelled it from his hands in a sudden burst, making a large wall of ice in between him and Shor. 

Doran smiled from behind the shield wall. Wheaton smiled back and then started summoning a forcefield in front of him. He pushed the forcefield into the ice. The wall collapsed and Shor jumped back and set free a load of fireballs at Wheaton. Wheaton’s shield crashed against the far wall, purple sparks flying in all directions.

Wheaton summoned another forcefield in the opposite direction in the air so that the fireballs would turn to Shor again. Shor ducked. Wheaton smiled; this gave him enough time to form a forcefield and push it towards Shor, as the forcefield hit Shor, sending him backwards into the rocky side. Small pieces of rocks trailed down to the rocky floor.

Wheaton was happy and surprised with himself. He had no idea that he would be able to defeat Shor, at least as easily as he was winning right now. Wheaton prepared for the last spell that would knock Shor out of the duel, leaving Wheaton the winner.

Shor sighed, he stood up shakily and said, “is that all you got?” 

“Not yet, I think it’s time I repaid you for our last duel.” Last time there had been duels Shor and Wheaton had dueled, Shor had beaten Wheaton soundly.

“Sounds like an offer,” Shor summoned a forcefield just as Wheaton threw a cascade of water at Shor.

Fire coalesced in Wheaton’s fingers easily, feeling familiar to him as breathing. Shor pushed the shield at Wheaton who summoned his own shield, meeting in the middle of the stone room with a loud CRACK!

Sparks flew everywhere as Wheaton and Shor pushed the shields together with all their force. Doran narrowed his eyes, something familiar was going on, there it was! Wheaton’s hand was moving swiftly behind his back, holding a fireball ready to throw it any second.

Suddenly the shields burst, sending purple sparkles everywhere. Wheaton and Shor were both pushed back in the explosion. Wheaton thudded to the floor, “oof!”

Wheaton hopped up as soon as he could, he threw the- what was that? Mist flooded the room, masking Shor in it. It swirled around, hiding everyone and everything in its moisture. 

Wheaton cursed, he summoned a full forcefield around him, dismissing the fireball in a puff of smoke. 

Suddenly Shor burst from the mist, fireballs in hand, he threw them like one would snowballs at the forcefield. A crack began where Shor repeatedly threw the fireballs.

Water began forming in Wheaton’s hands. Water, the easiest of all magic because it flowed so nicely. Wheaton got into river stance and flowed the water throughout his stance. Water had to always be moving, it couldn’t stay in one place like fire could if done right. It was best to have it always moving. 

Finally a hole opened in the forcefield, Wheaton took the moment and launched the water like a needle through and at Shor. Shor hardened his expression and formed a small forcefield, sending the water out to the ground. 

Wheaton dismissed the forcefield and drew back the water. He moved into pebble stance and made a bubble of water appear around himself, he then made another forcefield inside that, trapping Wheaton in while he summoned something more.

Shor bashed against the water with fire. The water slowly evaporated revealing the forcefield. As Shor repeatedly attacked Wheaton’s defenses, Wheaton himself summoned a large amount of air. 

Once Shor had broken Wheaton’s shield, Wheaton sent a large rush of air, blinding Shor for a few seconds. Just long enough to let Wheaton leap aside and rush into the mist that still curled in the air. 

Wheaton didn’t know about Shor but he was getting exhausted from all this fighting. Magical fights were tiring to their “magical muscles” as Draco called them. 

Wheaton started summoning two force fields in front of his hands, like bludgeons. Wheaton created a larger force field in front of him and pushed it at Shor with little force. Shor made another forcefield which shattered Wheaton’s quickly. Wheaton rushed at Shor, wielding the small force fields as bludgeons.

Shor ducked the first attack and created a larger force field above himself. He pushed upward to where Wheaton was holding the bludgeons against the forcefield. Wheaton buffered the push and held his ground. 

Wheaton gritted his teeth. Shor yelled, pushing with all his might at the shield. Suddenly Wheaton and Shor both collapsed in exhaustion.

…

“Wake up!” 

Wheaton groaned, what happened? That’s right. The duel. He had collapsed. “Where am I?”

“In my class,” that was Doran’s voice, “you’ll be alright Wheat, you just need something to eat and drink, here, take this.” 

Someone pushed a bottle in Wheaton’s hands, he took a deep sip, that was better. “Thanks.”

Wheaton blinked at the light. The students were standing around him and Shor. Shor, it seemed, wasn't stirring yet.

“Did I win?” asked Wheaton. Several people laughed.

“Let’s call it a draw,” said Doran, chuckling. 

Wheaton sat up feeling rushing into his legs and arms. “I’m deathly hungry, does anyone got some jerky?”

Doran grinned, “always.” Doran walked over to his desk and came back in a minute with a bag of jerky. 

Wheaton nodded his thanks and had a few bites. Just before he could respond a shout was heard outside. Everyone looked towards the entrance.

Doran cocked his head, “we should go check, Wheaton, Spear, Elsi, come with me.”

Doran and the students he had selected walked outside cautiously. Outside in the sunlight a short creature covered in sweat and blood was barely standing and yelling over and over again, “please! Please help my people! Ostien! Dark elves! Orcs!” the small creature fell unconscious. 

Wheaton widened his eyes. Doran said softly, “a dwarf of Ostein. Here, in Ethalia.”

 

I recently finished writing this. it needs some edits but it's really good. you don't have to read anything else of the book to understand this. thoughts?

[Medium]

Ok before I read this...

I suggest renaming this topic, because these are full on parts of books, not little page-or-less scenes.

Now to read!

ok i made it through most of it but then had to leave.

good imagery, needs some grammar corrections, but other than that, I'm digging this bro

 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

Just now, Doomslug The Destroyer said:

Ok before I read this...

I suggest renaming this topic, because these are full on parts of books, not little page-or-less scenes.

Now to read!

ok i made it through most of it but then had to leave.

good imagery, needs some grammar corrections, but other than that, I'm digging this bro

 

thanks! I took the suggestion and renamed the topic. yeah the grammar and stuff comes in a later draft, but it's gonna be amazing once later drafts come.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

hey guys, its been a while since I've posted on here, here is something I wrote a while back, it is a character test to see how they work together, this is for a partially scrapped (for the moment) book that me and my coauthor were working on.

Spoiler

“Duck!” 

Endrik swore as beads of perspiration swept across his face and arms. His padded armor felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as gunshots rang in his ears. Suffice it to say this is not a desirable position to be in. Kaboom! An explosion bursted in the distance sending a cloudy mushroom of smog into the air. The scents of sweaty, dying men swept through the air as Endrik put his armored back against a cargo box that had somehow made it out here on the battlefield. 

Garin turned his helmet off, his hair plastered by perspiration to his forehead, his eyes dazed. He said, “when Gonan hired us I did not think it would entail this much warfare.”

Endrik nodded, “Gonan should have realized we are more specialized.” he poked his head and power rifle above the cargo box and fired a shot at an oncoming soldier.

Garin loaded his power rifle and missed an infantry man he was aiming at. “Cream and crackers!”

Endrik turned, confused, “that’s a new one. What happened to the classics?”

“They got old.” Garin shrugged as he fired at another soldier.

Endrik rolled his eyes and fired again, “we should move from this position.” He pulled a water bottle from his side and took a short drink, he handed it to Garin who did the same and handed it back.

“Thankyou Endrik,” responded Garin, “we probably should move, maybe to that hill?”

Endrik nodded. They held their rifles high and dashed out of their hiding place towards a nearby hill. They had been hired to assassinate a low ranking general, little had they realized they would have to go through the skirmish. They had originally had a squad to work with that Gonan had provided to help them but they had swiftly died in the first hour of the fight. 

A laser fire grazed Garin’s cheek and he swore, “Burned bird brain!” Garin wiped it with the back of his hand and put his helmet back on. 

“Again with the strange swear words?” asked Endrik exasperated as they rushed up the hill, firing enemy soldiers who were adorned with green uniforms and holding military standard weapons. 

Garin nodded silently as he shot someone in the back. Endrik wasn’t bothered by how much he and Garin were killing, he had been surrounded by death his whole life. Of course it had mainly been his fault most of them were dead but he didn’t think about that. 

They found a small building that had two guards at the door. They seemed to not see them and they held what seemed to be modified assault rifles with power lasers. 

Garin nodded towards them and Endrik made the appropriate hand gesture that meant yes. They had formulated a system of silent communication over the last three years of working together. Endrik loaded silently, he and Garin had very sufficient suppressors on their guns that a friend of theirs had designed. Endrik tightly held the textured grip and fired the guard on the left as Garin did the same to the one on the right. 

As they moved toward the corpses and the door Garin said, “almost too easy, eh?”

Endrik nodded solemnly, “let's just get moving.” He kicked open the door, rifle at the ready. Three green adorned soldiers stood there in position with handguns raised and ready. “Eternal oblivion!” 

Endrik picked up the door with speed and used it as a shield against the bullets. It wouldn’t last that long so he threw it at the soldiers as Garin bursted in with his rifle ready. Garin and Endrik sent two shots at the soldiers as they sent a few back. A laser grazed Endrik’s shoulder and another his thigh but he was fine. 

Garin received a shot to the elbow and grimaced in pain, luckily most of the damage was done to his armor. The armor had been designed by Endrik back ten years ago and it tended to be able to receive a beating.

Endrik shot one of them in the head and they dropped to the floor on top of the remnants of the door Endrik had thrown. Garin shot one of them in the leg which resulted in them crumpling as Garin shot him in the arm as well. 

The last one tried to run but Endrik shot him in the back and he skidded to a halt, crashing onto the ground numbly. 

“You are right Garin, this is too easy.” said Endrik with a half smile on his lips as they opened another door which resulted in a seemingly empty room. They walked in. It was featureless except for the slate gray color that covered it, two cabinets bordered a window and a round table sat in the middle that had ammunition seemingly spilled on it with a big machine gun on top of it. 

Garin grabbed the gun and observed it, turning it around in his hands, “nice, whoever used this had good tastes.” he looked at the ammunition, “is this carbon fiber power shockers? Blood and ashes, this gun is nice!”

Endrik rolled his eyes as he looked through the cabinets. He pulled out a few common power cells and tossed them to Garin who shoved them into his pack. There were three handguns which Endrik replaced in the cabinet except one which he shoved into his empty holster, he had lost his other gun last mission and had been intending to get another. He also found an empty canister of alcohol, an old rusty nail, a small pack of tech freezing grenades which Endrik tied to his belt, a knife which he handed to Garin to inspect and a stack of cards that seemed to be army standard.

“This knife,” started Garin, “has a name carved into it.”

“Really?” asked Endrik moving over.

“Yeah,” he showed Endrik and sure enough the name Shimon Del Ula was engraved into it.

“Interesting.” remarked Endrik. 

“What?” asked Garin.

“Shimon Ula is a bounty hunter who died several years back, this knife has killed countless people,” said Endrik, turing the dagger around in his hand.

Garin looked up from a grenade he was holding and looked at the dagger, “holy crap.”

 

 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

here's an awesome thing I wrote a few minutes ago.

it's called: The Fallen Lover.

Spoiler

Veralia smiled at the mirror as she applied her makeup. It had been a long time since she had been a spy all those years ago. It seemed so much had happened since that night two years ago.

And now she was getting married. 

The room was peach pink with white accents, it would have been unatractive to Veralia back then, but now it looked handsome with her pure white dress. The ceremony was to be in three hours.

The love of her life was waiting a floor down. She breathed in a breath, Veralia couldn’t believe it was happening already!

Engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t notice the first time he knocked. She smiled, thinking of her early years as a- the knock sounded again, louder this time.

“Coming!” shouted Veralia, it was probably a maid again, trying to get at Veralia. Veralia walked up to the door and opened it a crack.

The sallow face of Renar peaked through, smiling, “suprise!”

She nearly shrieked, “Renar! You’re back from the south! I thought you were gonna be there for another month!” she pulled him into the room and hugged him. Her and Renar had been best friends since their spy days. They were as close as a brother and sister.

He grinned, “yes, i couldn’t miss the event,” his face darkened for the fraction of a second.

Veralia blinked, she hadn’t missed the dour expression on her old friend’s face, “what is it Ren?”

“Does Erard really understand you?” asked Renar, not hearing the question.

“What?” said Veralia, she cocked her head, “what are you talking about Ren? You know Erard loves me, and i love him.”

His head was bowed, “then perhaps i am too late to change your mind.”

“Ren? What do you mean?”

“I mean that there is another who knows you and loves you more intimately than Erard ever could,” as he spoke it became clear he meant himself.

“Oh Ren, you don’t mean…” Veralia gasped.

“Yes,” Ren said grimly, “I have been in love with you for the past eight years, yet you failed to notice. Falling for Erard the moment you met him, yet i still loved you.”

A tear appeared on Veralia’s cheek, “Ren, I’m so sorry. I always thought your love was like an older brother to his kid sister…”

Ren put his hand behind her head and said, “I-I am very sorry that you only heard it now. If only i had been more clear. Is it too late to make amends?”

She nodded, wiping tears, “I'm afraid it is Ren.”

He bowed his head, “farewell, sister.” He walked to the window, he looked out at the darkened street, beggars and pedestrians were scant. He opened it, the wind blew his long hair backwards, he took in a deep breath.

“You aren’t going to…” she widened her eyes, “why?”

“I only had one reason left to live, I am sorry,” said Ren grimly, “I give you my blessing and my curse.”

He jumped out of the window before she could stop him.

Someone fell down the building, the body didn’t hit the ground however. There was no corpse. 

Even a year later, Veralia knew that Ren was alive. She knew it from the bottom of her heart as she lay in her bed, Erard was out on an errand. 

Suddenly she heard a noise, a window was open. SHe stood up and walked over to it, there was a scrap of paper on the sill. She cocked her head and grabbed it, unfolding it. A familiar handwriting was scrawled on it.

She read it aloud, “‘Veralia, the last year has been amazing. The fact that I am alive is one thing. The other is that I found a new purpose, I will be keeping an eye on you.

- Ren.’”

 

 

[Medium]

well thats...

dark.

I love it.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

33 minutes ago, CalanoCorvus said:

well thats...

dark.

I love it.

thanks bro, I made it after listening to a version of a Beethoven song. I dunno.

[Morningtide]

Oooooooooohh!!!!! I love it. So cool. 

[Szeth's Facepalm]

On 6/8/2022 at 10:47 PM, Thaidakar the Ghostblood said:

here's an awesome thing I wrote a few minutes ago.

it's called: The Fallen Lover.

  Hide contents

Veralia smiled at the mirror as she applied her makeup. It had been a long time since she had been a spy all those years ago. It seemed so much had happened since that night two years ago.

And now she was getting married. 

The room was peach pink with white accents, it would have been unatractive to Veralia back then, but now it looked handsome with her pure white dress. The ceremony was to be in three hours.

The love of her life was waiting a floor down. She breathed in a breath, Veralia couldn’t believe it was happening already!

Engrossed in her thoughts she didn’t notice the first time he knocked. She smiled, thinking of her early years as a- the knock sounded again, louder this time.

“Coming!” shouted Veralia, it was probably a maid again, trying to get at Veralia. Veralia walked up to the door and opened it a crack.

The sallow face of Renar peaked through, smiling, “suprise!”

She nearly shrieked, “Renar! You’re back from the south! I thought you were gonna be there for another month!” she pulled him into the room and hugged him. Her and Renar had been best friends since their spy days. They were as close as a brother and sister.

He grinned, “yes, i couldn’t miss the event,” his face darkened for the fraction of a second.

Veralia blinked, she hadn’t missed the dour expression on her old friend’s face, “what is it Ren?”

“Does Erard really understand you?” asked Renar, not hearing the question.

“What?” said Veralia, she cocked her head, “what are you talking about Ren? You know Erard loves me, and i love him.”

His head was bowed, “then perhaps i am too late to change your mind.”

“Ren? What do you mean?”

“I mean that there is another who knows you and loves you more intimately than Erard ever could,” as he spoke it became clear he meant himself.

“Oh Ren, you don’t mean…” Veralia gasped.

“Yes,” Ren said grimly, “I have been in love with you for the past eight years, yet you failed to notice. Falling for Erard the moment you met him, yet i still loved you.”

A tear appeared on Veralia’s cheek, “Ren, I’m so sorry. I always thought your love was like an older brother to his kid sister…”

Ren put his hand behind her head and said, “I-I am very sorry that you only heard it now. If only i had been more clear. Is it too late to make amends?”

She nodded, wiping tears, “I'm afraid it is Ren.”

He bowed his head, “farewell, sister.” He walked to the window, he looked out at the darkened street, beggars and pedestrians were scant. He opened it, the wind blew his long hair backwards, he took in a deep breath.

“You aren’t going to…” she widened her eyes, “why?”

“I only had one reason left to live, I am sorry,” said Ren grimly, “I give you my blessing and my curse.”

He jumped out of the window before she could stop him.

Someone fell down the building, the body didn’t hit the ground however. There was no corpse. 

Even a year later, Veralia knew that Ren was alive. She knew it from the bottom of her heart as she lay in her bed, Erard was out on an errand. 

Suddenly she heard a noise, a window was open. SHe stood up and walked over to it, there was a scrap of paper on the sill. She cocked her head and grabbed it, unfolding it. A familiar handwriting was scrawled on it.

She read it aloud, “‘Veralia, the last year has been amazing. The fact that I am alive is one thing. The other is that I found a new purpose, I will be keeping an eye on you.

- Ren.’”

 

 

Oooooo crëpè

Can i make my own version of this? If i do anything with it (which i probably won't, it'll just be a writing exercise) i'll credit you as the inspo :3

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

45 minutes ago, Szeth's Facepalm said:

Oooooo crëpè

Can i make my own version of this? If i do anything with it (which i probably won't, it'll just be a writing exercise) i'll credit you as the inspo :3

sure! 

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

hey, here's something I recently made on a tangent. it's kind of rough around the edges, but I love the concept so much. 

Spoiler

“You do know it’s pointless, right?”

“Probably.”

Red snow blanketed the ground as far as the eye could see, bodies littered the surroundings as Ross knelt in the ground, cold biting into him. His leg was mutilated beyond healing, his arm was nearly gone.

The tall figure smiled, he wore fierce black armor and an arrogant look on his unhelmed face. His name was the Commander of the Dark, the Captain of the Shadows, the Lord of Doom. Xerin Salis. 

He had slain many of Ross’s brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers. His people were now broken because of the Lord of Doom. Xerin crouched down and put a hand on Ross’s shoulder.

The touch made Ross cringe. Xerin nodded absently, then smiled again, “you will die in failure, but not yet. First you must see the last of your people be crushed, see them destroyed to the last man, the way they will scream…”

Ross widened his eyes, “no… you will never kill us. We will rise again, Captain of Fallen Shade.”

The commander stood up, clearly affronted, “I have not heard that title in a long while, you know the history of that name?”

“Yes,” nodded Ross, “it is the title used to regard the greatest villains in history, Veleon Strong Arm, Reshal Tirion, Toravion and more.”

“I see you have read much, prisoner,” said the Captain of Shadows, “now, stand up, we have work to do.”

Ross stood up, thoughts swirled in his head of what he should do next. He could not, would not, watch his people be slaughtered. Maybe he could hinder it somehow. A warmth rushed into his hands and feet as he stood up.

He eyed the large sheath in Xerin’s belt carefully, then jerked his eyes away. Two burly soldiers in black and red outfits chained him up and led him behind Xerin, who walked with a pace of one who was arrogant enough to walk slowly in a scene of blood and battle.

Four people in various colored uniforms similar to Xerin’s, walked over to the Captain of Fallen shade. They talked in hushed voices. 

Ross raised an eyebrow as he was held a few feet away from them, muffled talk floated over to him. Strength welled up in his arms and he punched the two guards in the face as he swung his arms swiftly, jerking the chains out of their hands. He broke the chain on a fallen spear nearby. They hardly knew what hit them, he stole one of their knives and swiftly cut their throats.

Unfortunately, a noise came from one of the men as they died and Xerin turned. Xerin widened his eyes as Ross jumped forward, knife outstretched towards Xerin’s throat.

Xerin drew his sword immediately and blocked the knife. The four other men in uniforms turned, drawing their broadswords. Ross swung at Xerin in swift strikes, dancing about and dodging his blows with surprising agility and grace.

Xerin swung furiously, “what are you doing?”

Ross smiled as he aimed a strike at Xerin’s arm, Xerin blocked just in time, “well, captain, I think it’s time someone felled your foul head!”

Xerin blocked three strikes from Ross then said through gritted teeth, “you are a stubborn one.”

“You’ve only now noticed?” Ross kicked Xerin in the chest, sending him to the ground. The four men, who ross assumed were generals, charged at Ross. Ross swung his knife in a wide arc, pushing them back a bit, but they swung at him all the same.

They hit his arm and chest, drawing some blood, but not a lot. Ross screamed as one stabbed him in his hurt leg again. With the sword still in his leg he stabbed one of them in the heart, leaving them to die as the other three regrouped.

Suddenly Ross felt a blow hit the back of his head and he tumbled to the ground, breathing heavily. Xerin grunted, “you are a fool if you think you can destroy me.”

“Maybe not me,” said Ross, he sat himself up slowly, “but someone will. Every time you beat down people like me you create another martyr to ignite the fires of hope in some other person.”

Xerin kicked him down again, “I will never be defeated.”

Ross laughed, “things people thought were immortal have fallen many times before, empires, people, kingdoms. Nothing is ever truly immortal.”

He laughed cruelly, “but I am no human anymore.”

“That was clear,” said Ross dryly, “clear by the way you kill people without thought. You hardly feel emotion anymore. The highest mark of being human is feeling guilt, happiness, fear, confidence.”

“Weaknesses.”

“No!” shouted Ross, “they are our greatest strengths, strengths you have discarded, Fallen Shade.”

“You are in the wrong, hopeful fool. It is, as always, futile. Emotions are the greatest weaknesses of all, they distract from what needs to be done.”

“Feeling emotions is what needs to be done. Hope being the strongest of them.”

“Hope is futile against me,” declared Xerin proudly.

“Hope is what brought many armies against you, wearing down your forces,” said Ross, “one day someone will kill you, that day will be glorious. Even if that day isn’t soon, people like me will still come to destroy you.”

“Enough!” shouted Xerin, “I will not be spoken to in that way!” Xerin kicked him again. Ross groaned.

Ross shuddered, he tried to get up again, but Xerin kicked him down once more. Xerin smiled, “noone will ever defeat me.”

“You’re wrong, captain of fallen shade!” Ross used the last of his strength and threw a knife forward towards Xerin.

Right before the knife struck, Ross died as one of Xerin’s guards stabbed him in the chest. Two men died then, one hardly human, the other a hero. As for Xerin’s army, many things happened. But those happen in another story.

For now, be content to know that Ross won. Hope won. Evil was defeated as it always must, its body broken and charred on top of fallen legions.

Hope everlasting had won the day, even if people had forgotten it.

 

 

[Medium]

oh my gosh.

Thaidakar-

You're writing is SPECTACULAR. That was BEAUTIFUL. I'm invested way too much bro sheeeeeesh.

[Ookla of Colors]

...

...

...

Wow.

[Morningtide]

That's so good! The characters, setting, and conflict are all perfectly set up even though it's short! So so so so so so good

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

6 hours ago, Morningtide said:

That's so good! The characters, setting, and conflict are all perfectly set up even though it's short! So so so so so so good

7 hours ago, Tani said:

...

...

...

Wow.

22 hours ago, CalanoCorvus said:

oh my gosh.

Thaidakar-

You're writing is SPECTACULAR. That was BEAUTIFUL. I'm invested way too much bro sheeeeeesh.

thanks guys! I'm really trying to apply theme and feeling into my writing more. the subtle blending of different ideas into the story is something I love so much about writing (and about dune lel)

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

scrap I don't intend to finish, but want to show you guys.

Spoiler

Duke Wesrin of Elkran Fief crept along the moonlit hallway in silence. The usually chatter filled castle was eerily quiet as a far off owl hooted. Why do I feel like I’m in a vein, thought Wesrin, and I’m the blood.

He had wished it wouldn’t come to this. But for the good of the kingdom of Delkora he had to do it. It was the only way. He had tried the other ways, he had tried to get it over peacefully, but that stubborn King Illiaandor had buffeted his political advances. 

Wesrin shook his head with silent laughter, the king was a man to admire. He had wished politics hadn’t separated them into enemies; but Wesrin knew he had to do it to the king, he couldn’t let his feeble feelings stop him from saving the next generation, even the generation after that from King Illiaandor’s foolish scheming.

When he had announced to his private circle he was going to do it they had all said that they could do it, or that surely anyone would be willing to do the job for Wesrin; but Wesrin had refused, he had to do it himself, it had to be him. There was a strange sense of poetry in the situation. A Duke sneaking down the hallways he was allowed to go in, to kill a man he had once loved. A strange sense of poetry indeed.

…

Illiaandor, king of all Delkora and heir of a dynasty that had lasted centuries, sat on a chair at his balcony. He hummed an old tune that his father had taught him as he gazed at the full moon above, it was late at night and early in the morning, the time right before the city woke up. The silence was strange, but it always seemed to excite him. It was only a matter of time before he and his people would be able to channel the powers of gods.

Illiaandor’s wife slept in the bed beyond the glass doors and silk curtains that lay behind Illiaandor himself. As Illiandor gazed upon the sleeping city he had the sudden urge to draw his sword. He stood up carefully and opened the door slowly so as not to wake his wife or startle the guards that waited outside. 

The room was tailored to perfection with gifts and fineries from across the kingdom and beyond. He walked over to the chinkawood dresser from Renovir in the south. On it were many organized knick knacks and mathoms. In the very center of the dresser top was a carved sword stand made from heart stone that had been a gift from the Malpin in the far west reaches by the coast.

On the sword stand was the sheath that held Illiaandor’s blade. Illiaandor grabbed the sheath and blade with respect for the weapon; it had served him well for the past many years. Bookreader was its name, a name Illiaandor had chosen long ago. 

Illiandor went back to the balcony and closed the door softly behind him. He sighed with relief as he watched a far away ship drifting away from the harbor. He drew the sword out of its sheath. The familiar weight of the blade in his hand brought back memories. He swung it in a sword kata that he had learned from his master long ago. Strength filled his body as he waved it around.

Suddenly a knock echoed to Illiaandor’s ears from the balcony, it was coming from the door to the bedroom. Illiaandor sheathed the sword and rushed through the balcony door and hastily set the sword down on the stand. Dalia sat up in her bed and yawned, “what is it?” she said tiredly.

Illiaandor smiled softly, “I’ll answer it my dear, someone’s at the door.” He opened the door. It was Duke Wesrin himself.

 

horror type thing I did not end well, the first two thirds are mwah! but it falls apart.

Spoiler

“The silence was as palpable as the hand of one beloved. The cobbled streets that were usually filled with people at this hour were empty. Something was wrong, and even the very stones knew it.

“A few rats dashed across the road into the sewer, giving scant sound. All the doors were locked in the vacant scene, seeming to be waiting for something. Waiting and holding their breaths, hoping it would be over soon.

“The windows were empty and lightless. The houses themselves seemed to be huddling together and muttering under their breaths. All waiting for something to come.

“Or someone.

“A loud creak echoed around the vacant streets as a wagon made its way through the streets, seemingly going nowhere. A black horse with beetle eyes was strapped to it, its master being light with the whip.

“The master himself, or should I say, itself was cloaked in a brown and tattered thing that had more patches now than the original fabric. It muttered to itself now and again, nonsensical words and songs without lyrics. 

“He would always come riding down into the village every few months, sometimes sooner than expected. No matter what they did. The first time he came, everyone had not thought anything of it. But then he did something no one would forget.

“It had been a gray morning, the beggars and peddlers were getting an early start. The man had driven his horse into town, muttering about, “old white teeth”. A young pickpocket had heard jingling in the old beast’s pocket and had rushed over.

“The dirty thief, about thirteen, jumped up and stuck his hand in the pocket. Expecting to find coins, he was utterly disappointed. Instead he found something much, much, much worse. When he drew out his hand there was no hand, instead there was just a charred stump.

“Now, this was only the beginning, after the boy screamed everyone had ignored it until he had shown his hand and pointed at the old man. The butcher, being the curious man he was, went up to the old man to clear it all up. 

“When approached, the old beast had said gruffly, ‘he’s a thief.’ the butcher hardened his expression, ‘well, this is a town of law, and we have our own ways of dealing with theives besides burning their hands. Now, come with me and we’ll clear this all up.’ the old man turned and said, ‘let me show you my face.’ the butcher, being a very curious man as i have said before, nodded, ‘yes, let’s see your face.’

“The old beast of a person laughed and looked right at him through his long hood and said, ‘have fun.’ before the butcher could say anything, the best pulled up his hood a part of the way and the butcher went stone cold. 

“Noone ever knew what happened to the butcher, but ever since they stayed inside whenever they spotted the man.

“The law enforcement that they had, had tried to clear it up, but they were not skilled in the supernatural.

“Every encounter they had with the old beast just brought more trouble, they said. But finally word came that there was a sorcerer at the castle, a good one of the likes of Merlin. This brought the people’s hopes up magnificently. 

“So it came down to the priest and goodman Crowley to go up to the castle and fetch the sorcerer to come sort out their mess. That had been nearly a month ago.

“The people were starting to lose hope, until that day.

“As the old man rattled down the street, muttering to himself. There came a loud voice that made the very earth quake, ‘who are you?’

“The old man turned, his hood long and dark as usual, ‘I am who I am.’ A tall man in a blue cloak walked forward, he had a short beard and wasn’t nice to look at, but anyone who saw him knew he had some kind of goodness about him.

“It had to be the sorcerer, the sorcerer smiled at the beast and said louder, ‘it has been brought to my attention that you have terrorized this town long enough, my friend.’ the sorcerer brandished his ashen staff like a sword towards the creature.

“The old man laughed, it was just like the sound you might hear coming from a cow as it dies, ‘fool, I only ever did to people what they first deserved.’

“It was the sorcerer’s turn to laugh, ‘then you are truly the fool, I am mercy’s advocate. You will be brought to mercy, mercy in death.’ The sorcerer pointed his staff at the creature and the staff started glowing.

“The creature smiled and started lifting his hood. What happened next is told in many songs and tales across the land. But i will only tell you a shortened version.

“As the sorcerer has told us, the creature’s head was as hideous as someone could imagine. His eyes burning like heck, his mouth full of fire and rot, his face turned to pieces and rotting. Suffice it to say, he looked like a demon.

“A jet of white fire came from the staff like lightning hitting the creature square in the face. The creature withstood the blast, grinning, ‘that all you got?’

“There is more to the fight to tell, much much much more to tell. But I am getting tired, so I’ll be quick.

“The sorcerer and the creature engaged in a long and tedious battle. Both sides were well met, it was said the town square smelled like magic for years to come. The sorcerer truly won the fight when the demon made a fatal mistake. And it was all thanks to our very own priest.

“You see, Priest Famon had been hiding nearby, listening to the back and forth when he had an idea. A sudden inspiration to let loose a nearby pig which was in a pen. He jumped over and let out the pin, setting it free. He slapped it towards the fight. 

“The pig squealed, rushing forward. The demon turned and saw it running, which gave the sorcerer just enough time to blast the demon with a blast that sent the foul creature into a building, smashing a few stones.

“For a silent few minutes that could have been eternity, the sorcerer knelt across the street from the demon, breathing heavily. Then he stood up, he started at the body then started laughing. 

“But as he laughed, a smokelike spirit rose from the demon and looked down. It started screaming as it swirled down into the ground and was never heard or seen from again.

“The demon had been vanquished forever more, but so had the sorcerer. It took a few weeks, but the sorcerer had been poisoned by the chaos magic. Though he is dead, he will be remembered for ever.”

The father smiled at his sleeping son. The story had been a good one, almost as good as the next one he was preparing. The lamp on the wall burned softly as the father turned and left the room, his thoughts swirling in his heads.

Now he had to find an even better story to top that one.

 

 

hope you guys like these! the first one I wrote a few months ago, the second I wrote a week or two ago before FSY. I'm trying to jack up my skill level so a book im preparing for is the best I could ever do.

[Morningtide]

Really good. Love the pig in the second one lol

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

Spoiler

Pain.

Battle.

Desolation.

Death. So much death.

It had been five years since Sah Lor had been one of the death commandos in General Anorai’s legion. Five years. It felt like those years had been a blur. A question had reverberated through his head, why him? Why was it that only he, only he had survived that horrible mission? Why was he left scarred so he could never avenge the deaths he had witnessed of his friends and almost family. 

These questions and memories reverberated within him as he took a deep breath in his own paradise. He couldn’t move as well as he used to, they had told him everything would be ok when nothing would be ever again. Not without his leg, not without his companions who he had fought with for fifteen years in service of his country. No, in service of an ideal, an ideal that evil could be fought and sent back to the netherrealm where it deserved to stay and burn.

That fatal mission’s foul memories still burned on his consciousness through the years. Was there anything he could have done to at least save one of them? Had he done anything to deserve to be left alive while so many others suffered a worse fate? Or was it a better fate than being forced to watch all your friends die and being halfway paralyzed and confined to a paradise like prison? 

Sah Lor sighed. He lifted the porcelain teacup up off of the coaster. The place was nice enough, he guessed, it was nothing like the barracks. They were small, but had housed so many memories and so many friends. In the first two and a half years he had ten servants and maids to help him about and get him settled. In the next two years he had four. Now he had two.

Perhaps they would leave him to die eventually, he had given up hope. So why hadn’t they? 

A sword hung on the wall in a sheath. That sword had been Sah’s third arm during the battle days. It had saved his life more times than he could count. Perhaps someday he would use it again. That day was not-

There was a noise outside. He turned in his couch, battle instincts kicking in. Outside of the glass window was a tall figure. A figure he almost recognized.

He started to laugh, he kept on laughing as he yelled for a servant to open the door and let the man in. He kept on laughing as he embraced the man and started to weep. 

He hadn’t lost all his friends after all.

 

yee. I wrote this one because I had just watched the animated mulan and was like, "hey, should I make a war related story?" then my mind was like, "hey, how about we do an exercise where a family member gives me a sentence to use as a writing exercise" then it happened and it was, "he looked out the window and was startled." then it turned into this. well... this is far more than looking out the window. 

I call this, "Memory."

[Medium]

The title goes well with the story, making it seem like a memory can do more than just be a memory. Love it, your writing is awesome.

[Thaidakar the Ghostblood]

ok, here's something I kind of want to maybe turn into a short story. Tell me if you think I should.

I call it, A Different Kind of Miracle

Quote

He tried to focus on his work. He gritted his teeth as the ticking of the clock seemed to penetrate his mind like a bullet. He couldn’t focus, he wouldn’t focus on anything else. The picture on his desk brought pain whenever he looked at it.

A picture of his family. Or what had been his family.

It had been a year since the crash, but he still couldn’t focus. He was surprised they hadn't fired him yet, he wasn’t getting them much money in marketing. Nor anywhere else they had moved him. 

His life was in shambles. Going home to an empty house was a nightmare for him. His friends tried to help him, but he kept pushing him away. What he needed was a miracle. A miracle where he had his family back. There was no one left. His parents had died a few years before the crash. His siblings lived too far away, one in Europe, the other two at the other side of the country. 

He had wished again and again that it had been a bad dream, that when he woke up his wife would be making breakfast and scold him for sleeping in too late, his kids would eat messily and talk loudly. He would take each in his arms and hug them until he felt he could stop. 

But, of course, that wouldn’t ever happen. He knew it, he had known it since day one. But he couldn’t stop hoping, could stop thinking that it would be alright. Others moved forward and found they could get past their pain. But not him. He could never do it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to do it.

He heard the sound of footsteps and turned, a frown on his face. Who was coming to see him at… he paled as he realized it was 4:30. His boss opened the door, an expression of false sympathy on his face. 

“David… Are you alright?” asked Mr Canahagn, a look of worry plastered on his features, “you don’t seem to have done any of your work. I’m starting to think you need a vacation.”

“Maybe I do,” he said glumly, “it’s just ever since… ever since the crash I’ve been stuck in a bad mood.”

“For a year, a year and two months,” said Canahagn, “you really need to get out of this slump and be who you’re meant to be, or I’ll be forced to fire you. I like you, David, we’ve been friends for eight years. I’ve been holding off this talk, but I really want you to be the stellar employee you were those first eight years here.”

David nodded, “I guess… but, is there anything I have left to live for?”

“Yourself,” said Canahagn, “your friends. Perhaps you could start dating again…”

David gave Canahagn a sour look, “really, Can, you gonna start spouting out dating advice to an old sock?” a trace of a smile was on his lips.

“Depends, you gonna start smiling again?” he laughed, “Dave, take a break, spend time with your friends. I can maybe talk Richard into letting you use his yacht over a weekend. I’ll give you two weeks off to get out of the slump. After that, I want you back here and working like the guy who saw the cup as half full.”

He nodded, “alright, Can, you can be quite the convincing man.”

“It’s my good looks, isn’t it?”