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| Thread: Imagine that you are a creature or a hero of the faction you like and write a story |  This thread is pages long: 1 2 3 4 · «PREV |
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted August 05, 2008 08:54 PM |
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The village is small enough that Geshel recognizes every faces he passes by on the street. They are human, they are familiar. Everything about the village is familiar, comfortable. The village is his home, every citizen his family. His home, his Haven.
Burn is all. All around
Chaos and flames envelope his Haven, his twisted and burnt and wrecked and ruined Haven of death.
Burn to the ground. To death
His family - the faces. Some are ashes, charred chunks of burned-out once-flesh. Others the raiders - the deathless walking corpses - have raised anew. They are familiar, comfortable in a twisted way. He knows he should fear them, run from them. But Geshel cannot.
Beyond
He is killed. Cleanly, efficiently, Geshel is made dead. His corpse is brought back with the undead - he is the only prisoner.
The mad lich recieves his prize - the single body. He begins the experimental spell, his untested new spell. Geshel's body is raised. He is a mindless skeleton. The lich continues chanting. The skeleton reclaims a semblance of Geshel's soul - essence - mind. At the spell's conclusion, the deathless Geshel-skeleton is immortal - more immortal than the mad lich knows.
The Deathless is free to wander the vast maze of the Lich's decaying, dilapidated castle.
Who am I? it wonders.
I am... will be... Geshel. Who is Geshel? I... I do not know.. do not remember. I will remember, will know... one day. Someday. Now, I am being... but hollow. I am living... but dead. My mind is full, conscious, yet empty... I have no true self. I must reclaim Geshel.
The Deathless escapes the castle... almost too easily. He returns to the site of his death, the charred reamins of his village. His footprints are still there, the disturbance in the dirt where his body fell remains.
I am now immortal... undead. Yet I have died already, I cannot live forever... or truly live at all.
A horrifying realization dawns on the Deathless:
I can never find Geshel, never reclaim him, make him once more myself, for Geshel was mortal... and I am not. Mortal Geshel can never live within an immortal being, and so he is dead.
The Deathless's face contorts in sorrow. He mourns the eternal loss of Geshel, who can never be brought back to live again
Thus I will always be the empty, dead yet living being I am. I would die, for if I cannot shelter Geshel's life within myself, I have no purpose. But I cannot die. I am truly immortal, moreso than any undead abomination.
I wonder how long before I reach insanity?
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 05, 2008 08:56 PM |
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One of the better Necro-stories I've read in a while 
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JoonasTo
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
What if Elvin was female?
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posted August 05, 2008 09:06 PM |
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted August 06, 2008 05:41 PM |
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Thanks.
The following is based off the lyrics of The Beginning is the End is the Beginning, and excellent Smashing Pumpkins song not to be confused with The End is the Beginning is the End.
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The immortal Deathless saw the world, his world, dying. He felt the souls that cried through the Living being crushed, snuffed out, cruelly extinguished. He felt the void that flowed within him, no life, and knew he could not die - he could not submit to this apocalypse, though he knew he should and would. he would be anathema, antithetical, to whatever new dimension of life developed afterwards. He prayed and cried for someone or something to show him the way back to life so he could die, and felt another presence reach his own.
Who are you? The Deathless implored of the Presence.
Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
The Deathless felt the Presence turn its attention toward Ashan's death, the death of an entire world, infinite yet now so weak.
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
The Presence claimed the still-dying remanats of Ashan as its own, to savor and mourn the last breaths of the world's life.
And I am a master of a nothing place
Of recoil and grace
Now the world was empty save for the two Immortals, and the Presence - the Other - materialized into its natural form. It was a demon and an angel, Biara and Isabel, a contradiction. The Deathless sensed that it was a fellow Immortal, and it had achieved immortality through the fundamental paradox of its own impossible existence, that a demon and a saint should coexist in the same mind, and it was at once united and torn apart by its mutual hatred.
Send a heartbeat to
The void that cries through you
The Demon-Saint blew life, a heartbeat, through the void that cried through the Deathless for death, for eternal night, and he found within himself the missing half, the counterpart to his infinite nothingness - infinite life. He found Geshel, found life enough to die. Faced with his newfound mortality, he held on to his precious last few seconds of existence and turned to view the Apocalypse. There was no more life, no more death, no more, no more, no more...
For now we stand alone
The world is lost and blown
And we are flesh and blood disintegrate
With no more to hate
And in the absolute finality, the perfect order in emptiness of the world around it, the Demon-Saint saw that within itself there was no inherent contradiction at all, only perfect order - perfect flatness, mirroring the landscape it saw. The Demon-Saint, with nothing within itself to hate and despise, had found mortality. It became true flesh and blood, and began its long, slow disintegration into death. It spoke to Geshel, once-Deathless, the immortal void-filled Shadow lost and replaced by the mortal man, near death:
Time has stopped before us
The sky cannot ignore us
No one can separate us
For we are all that is left
The echo bounces off me
The shadow lost beside me
And then Ashan was gone forever, and replaced with a new world, one anathemic to Geshel and the Demon-Saint, for they should not have survived the cleansing of the old at all. Time itself functioned in new ways here, in this new place, and the last two Oldworlders percieved it differently: countless eons blinked by in an instant, and Geshel saw the rise and fall of life and death, new dimensions of beings that looked abstract and vague to his primitive Oldworld eyes.
There's no more need to pretend
Cause now I can begin again
The Demon-Saint collapsed into metaphysical flames of rebirth, like some otherworldy phoenix. The new being that emerged from the Demon-Saint's ashes became a part of the New World, and was lost forever to Geshel. Only a shard of his fellow immortal's consciousness remained with him.
Geshel could not see the New World clearly, but he was certain it was a better, more righteous place, without conflict and disease, an improvement on Ashan. He even fancied himself reaching out to its people, guiding them, teaching them of the world that had come before theirs. The subtle anger of the Demon-Saint's Shard brushed against him at this thought:
Is it bright where you are?
Have the people changed?
Does it make you happy you're so strange?
No. Geshel realized that the New World was just like the old: it would have just as much destruction and devastation, just as much pain and evil, and just as many poisoned thoughts, and when it ended it would be just as cruel to its inhabitants. And with this final sad thought, Geshel died a final death, removing himself from the world that rejected him, ending a life never lived.
Is it bright where you are?
Have the people changed?
Does it make you happy you're so strange?
And in your darkest hour,
I hold secrets flame,
We can watch the world devoured in it's pain.
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted August 10, 2008 09:23 PM |
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Where is everybody? Why did you all disappear?
Keep this thread alive!
And while you're at it, read my story!
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 10, 2008 11:30 PM |
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Edited by Adrius at 02:21, 11 Aug 2008.
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Oh sorry, you know, there isn't really that much activity in the bard's glade at all...
Anyway, did anyone even notice that I posted a short story on the previous page?
I'd like some feedback on that one, I'm thinking of making a longer story about that character.
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted August 11, 2008 01:45 PM |
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I read your naga story, Evelan is a great character, definitely write more about him.
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 11, 2008 07:45 PM |
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Edited by Adrius at 19:46, 11 Aug 2008.
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Thanks
He's not actually a Naga, he was only trained by Naga... Maybe I should have specified that...
(In the text it says that "he's walking towards the village", not "slithering towards..." )
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enamelity
Known Hero
You Misunderestimated Me
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posted August 11, 2008 08:01 PM |
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Oh... when I read 'Silksword,' I assumed he was a naga.
But if he's not naga, what is he?
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 11, 2008 08:04 PM |
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Just an Elf gone bad
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Darkshadow
Legendary Hero
Cerise Princess
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posted August 11, 2008 08:55 PM |
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I could write lichy story here, tommorow.Great stories you got there Enam
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DagothGares
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
No gods or kings
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posted August 19, 2008 09:47 PM |
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"Strap him to the wall." Chief Inquisitor Herman said. The executioner nodded and hanged the prisoner to the wall by his palms. "Good day, mister Mark." Herman said. The prisoner cringed. "Could you please tell us what you do and where you live for our good cleric?" Herman enquired. "My name is Mark... I'm a carpenter... I live in a small village in Herlai... Please... I have a wife and three kids..." He studdered. Herman smiled. It's always amusing to hear the commoners plead. "Now, Mark, can you tell us what you were doing in that basement. Do not lie to us." Herman asked slowly, giving the cleric enough time to write down the questions and his testimony. "I was visiting a friend... He... Said there was some... something important fo.. for me to see..." he studdered, shivering. He definitely was afraid. "Take a nice, deep, relaxing breath, please. Now..." Herman nodded to the assistant. the executioner punished him for his lies as he should. The big man stepped forward and hit him in the face... hard... His nose was broken.
"Now... That's not what your friend said. Maybe your memory is a bit slow." Herman said. Herman turned to the executioner and whispered something in his ear. The executioner pulled out a heavy slate and tied it to his right wrist. He pinned the left shoulder to the wall and loosened his wrist. The added weight snapped the arm right out of it's joint. The man screamed, tears running across his face. "Do you remember what happened, now?" Herman said slowly. The prisoner screamed and hissed: "I honestly don't know what those idols were doing there!" Herman nodded and smiled. "As you wish..." the executioner took a candle and shoved it under his feet. The man howled in terror and agony. His feet scrorched and blistered. They turned black as the outer layers of skin turned inwards. The man threatened to faint. Herman nodded and the executioner removed the candles. "Now... You were saying?" Herman said, after they threw ice cold water in his face to keep him awake. The man shivered and writhed, trying to get out. The executioner threw another bucket of water, calming him... Or at least cooling him down.
"You know of the demonic idols lying around." Herman continued. "I have nothing to do with those!" The prisoner shouted desperately. Herman nodded and thought for a moment. "Well... Bring out the nail removers." He concluded. The executioner walked away, entering the storage room. Many screams of agony and shouts filled with despair were heard that day.
Two days later, Herman stood on a platform, in front of a cathedral. He read out a scroll. "Today we witness the execution of Mark. A demon cultist, going to be purged by the cleansing flames of justice. He has been found guilty of witch craft, demon worshipping, heresy, murder, contempt towards the empire and it's servants.he folded the scroll back. He nodded towards the executioner. the executioner lit a huge pile of hay on fire. Inside the stack, there was a man tied to a pole, A bag pulled over his head. He struggled against his ropes and let out muffled cries. His throat was too sore and hoarse. His body was too weak by blood loss and agony, caused by dislocated limbs and his removed right arm.
To be continued...
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 19, 2008 09:54 PM |
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When I read "Strap him to the wall" I immediately thought "S/M"...?
Very well written Dagoth, a lot of feelings involved, mostly pain but anyway, the dislocated arm gave me chills... which is good 
Nice to see a story that shows the Griffin Empire's bad side (If it was based on H5)
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DagothGares
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
No gods or kings
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posted August 19, 2008 09:56 PM |
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Thanks for the comment... I wanted to go for SM... But I realised that I'm not that good at it, so I gave it a twist and thought about Alaric's madness. In that time, he had to have had some followers.
Like Herman...
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 19, 2008 09:59 PM |
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Edited by Adrius at 22:00, 19 Aug 2008.
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Quote:
I wanted to go for SM... But I realised that I'm not that good at it
Umm... Ok? Speaking from personal experience? I'd rather not see a Fanfic sexstory you know...
Or perhaps with SM you thought I meant Space Marines...? 
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DagothGares
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
No gods or kings
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posted August 19, 2008 09:59 PM |
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You weren't?
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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Adrius
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Stand and fight!
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posted August 19, 2008 10:03 PM |
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Edited by Adrius at 22:04, 19 Aug 2008.
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S/M... as in sadomasochism... Oh god... look what I'm doing to this thread...
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DagothGares
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
No gods or kings
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posted August 25, 2008 10:40 AM |
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Herman stood on the outskirts of the city of Herlai. He looked over at the marvel of the griffin empire at the brilliant cathedrals, at the radiant power of it's troops, the strong fervor and piety of it's people. Herman decided to go to his elite fighting unit. The inquisition shall not rest, lest it's enemies gain an advantage on it. Hermann looked up in the sky and saw a ferocious blood griffin. They were truly a creature of marvel, a mighty and noble beast, perfectionised by the alchemists thanks to Saint Isabel's rule and her alchemists. These beasts were strong as an ox and had a good sense of smell. It seemed to carry a message. It landed near the aviary, where the griffin tamer, a big man, bearing great scars, showing his dedication towards the empire's effort to cleanse the world of evil. The griffin already flew away with shining speed and finesse. The tamer signaled Herman to come.
He handed over the message. Herman barely noticed the missing fingers of one of the few men in the empire who actually understtod it's symbol of the holy griffin. Herman unfolded the dry, leather scroll. He read it's content diligently. It appeared a message from Andreas, one of High Priest Alaric's finest commanders. It asked to reinforce the line towards Flammschrein. Herman delighted in the knowledge that no enemy could defeat an empire so solid and cooperative as his. He nodded to the griffin trainer and went to his own troops. Herman demanded a carriage and some extra troops from his own reserve. It was going to be a long journey and they needed the extra troops and resources. The city council was glad to help Herman. They kept repeating it, until he was gone under the horizon.
Herman sat in his carriage. He was comfortable, reminding him of his sloth, his prime sin that wouldn't go away. Herman, would flog himslef later that day to repent for that sin, but, now, he enjoyed the view and talk to the priests in the carriage about the graces of Elrath. They talked about how he aided the broken, just as Herman did. His servant, a mute monstrosity, was saved at birth by Herman. The child was hideous and it's parents were cultists, so the child should've been purified by holy fire and righteous pain, but Herman had an other, different idea of what should happen to the child. Herman now used the child as his bodyguard, manservant and, if need be, executioner of holy decree. He was the perfect executioner, unable to give any emotional feedback to the prisoners and unble to tell the tales of horror that pass in the dungeons. Herman did not have this purpose in mind. To him, everyone was a servant of Elrath, aiding in the fight against demons and sin.
Knight Bertrand rode by the carriage and removed his helmet. Herman nodded towards him. Bertrand spoke hastily, as if he feared something. "We should be careful, your honor, there are goblins sighted along the road. Our skille marksmen dispatched them easily-" "As they should. Thank Saint Isabel for her effort put in the advancement for our troops." Herman interrupted. Bertrand continued: "There could be orcs near here. I suggest we would till daybreak, lest we be ambushed." Herman sighed and agreed more or less: "Well, if you think we must, we shall wait and rest. We must fast, if orcs are indeed near, though. Elrath will fill us with his strength." Bertrand nodded and went off to see the troops.
To be continued
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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DagothGares
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
No gods or kings
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posted August 29, 2008 09:25 PM |
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The troops were uneasy in the night, afraid of the rumors of orcs in the bushes, despite the constant vigilance of the marksmen and crossbowmen. Herman worried little that night and spent it mainly on prayer and doing penance for his sins by the whip. Hermann held the morning prayer himself for th inquisitionary forces, so that their morale shalt not falter. The chariot and the men marched forward, while making their way to the neigbouring cities who would lead to Flammschrein. Truly, the lord was kind in giving them easy ways to tread upon and giving them the courage and stamina needed to fulfill their duty towards him an his people and, off course, Saint Isabel.
Knight Bertrand was a bit too edgy for most people's comfort. Suddenly, a scout sprinted towards the caravan on horseback. He shouted something barely comprehensible. Something about orcs and hills. He was almost nearing desperation, but Bertrand spoke words of courage into him. The scout, a strapping young lad who probably only witnessed 16 winters, calmed down and was sent down with the new cavalry recruits who were given bows and training in running tactics.
Bertrand ordered the soldier to spread out into formations. He was a true commander, judging from his way of acting before battle. The vindicator troops stood ready in the flanks to reinforce the bulk of footmen and conscript brutes. The crossbowmen stood ready behind them with their black helmets and scarlet outfits. Herman loved the scarlet. It was the colour of the seraphs, the cleansing flame and, off course, our beloved angel, Isabel, the queen we would serve into death for Elrath, glory and the empire. The priests got out of the chariots and started praying, along with the zealous preachers and witch-hunting inquisitors who went along with them. Herman's mute servant grasped his battleaxe and stood near his master. Bertrand shouted orders to maximise the protective ranks and led his fellow brothers-in-arms to the flanks to deal most damage possible.
When Bertrand paused for a moment and looked like he was going to give an affirmative nod, the fell demon half-breeds stormed up around the corner. They were a savage lot, they were. The only way we could bring calm, peace and order unto them was through steel and holy ligt. Bertrand shouted an order and on that order a cage was opened behind the carriage, releasing the guardians of the griffin empire, the blood griffins themselves. They flew high in the sky and threw themselves on our foes in all their grace, eating and hurting them. The orcish armoured troops weren't as hindered by this as the savage half-naked monsters with flails, but there was no time for respite. the crossbowmen launched their deadly projectiles in fatal volleys into the enemies, causing dissent and chaos. Herman smiled and shouted prayers and inspiring chants. Th griffin empire could not be stopped. It was almost enough to make Herman cry of joy.
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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