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Screensize: 640 x 480 800 x 600 1024 x 768 1280 x 1024 UserName: Password: Format Mode: Basic  Help  Prompt  Format: Font Andale Mono Arial Arial Black Book Antiqua Century Gothic Comic Sans MS Courier New Georgia Impact Lucida Console Script MT Bold Stencil Tahoma Times New Roman Trebuchet MS Verdana   Size 1 2 3 4 5 6   Color Black Red Yellow Pink Green Orange Purple Blue Beige Brown Teal Navy Maroon LimeGreen Message: * HTML is OFF * Forum Code is ON Smilies [quote][i]Originally posted by Horatio[/i] [br]This novel is based on actual events. No, seriously, it is, it's based on events that happened in an exclusive, permadeath hardcore role-playing universe: to be more specific, all these events actually occurred between 2004 Feb - 2004 April, in a Neverwinter Nights server called Haze. I loved this server so much, I decided the novelize and dramatize the event that occurred in this period of time. I will just post here the beginning, if you like it, let me know, and I'll post more. --------------------------------------------------------- PRELUDE Thunder and lightning struck in a reawakening of the past. Waves washed an old shore and the wind howled across ship wreckage on the beach. Grave markers stood cricled as timeworn memorials nearby, many of the names and sentiments ravaged by tide and time. An ancient spirit drifted across the coastal plains of the island. Much was the same. Crabs and lobsters still roamed the shore. There was still life. A lighthouse stood alone, though it hasn't flashed in aeons. Wreckage and flotsams remained as musical instruments to the waves and pine trees dotted the rest of a grass-and-sand blend. It was the iconic beauty of the island. Tombstones marked another desolated shore across the bay to the east, when once hope and glory flourished united under a single banner, now a statue stood defaced upon a hill and all was buried beneath the earth where birds now pecked for worms. Even in the far in the cold northland no beards wagged, only a dog was left barking at the mounting snow and a desolated stronghold. The south still twinkled with the faint sense of magic as the leaves slowly wafted down to the loneliness of the forest floor, though elven feet would grace it no more. The old gnomes prairie to the east was still painted with a quaint beauty of fields and flowers, toned by horses' neighs, though all the borrows were now empty hovels. Even the Orctooth Pass, the old pathway between humans and dwarves, held no more terror, only a hollow bleakness. Green crystals still glittered in its midst as lonely treasures. Drifting from the shore and into woods, the spirit then arrived to Coffinewode, the very heart of the island, the old city of men, now abandoned without a trace of life. It's been years since anyone has washed ashore into the island. The gates creaked at the soft howl of the wind. It proceeded into the old Sphyinx tavern, now a home to rats and mice, and there in its light warmth it lingered. Outside, the rain began pouring heavily, as if washing away the past. An epoch has gone by, an epoch of heroes, poetry, legends and myths. The spirit blew air across the mist, and it was through the mist that the old heroes still walked in the nostalgia of bygones... CHAPTER 1: Coffinewode 1372, Dale Reckoning, 6th day of the Hammer A golden trumpet blew across the citadel, aligning the defense on the hill. Clangs of armoured soldiers ran up the ramps while spiral tip of Coffinewode's round keep gleamed brightly at beaming sun. A yellow lily flag waved at the top. It was Coffinewode, a city of pioneered beauty. A beauty of a beginning, of settlers and civilization. A beauty of hope against the odds. It was a beacon of trade, the very center and heart of the island. Wood and stone, hill and a tower, all manmade, with a tall statue of a proud man with a helmet that was the very monument of law and order. The city gleamed in all its glory, the way the first pioneers imagined it when they laid the first stone. Gazing at the horizon, a grim man with a face given to scars and thinning-out long hair stood upon the hill of keep, sergeant Redorick Thallas, watching as all of Coffinewode rushed towards the northern gates, from militiamen to untrained citizens, all bearing arms, all defending the ideals of freedom, all rallying to defend what history had built, little did they know that today would be more than a page in history, but a defining moment in the time and heritage of the island. It was already then that the seeds of legend were beginning to sprout. . . for evil festered in the deep dark, and the island sought a shift of balance. The scales were overtipped, imbalance ripped through time, and in a careless accident several evil spirits sprang forth. The spirits sought an ambassador, and in Aram Aset, a Red Wizard, they found their wish. He accepted the spirits into his soul, and they breathed all their malice and power into him, mutilating his form, turning him to a vessel of all chaos, stripping him of his humanity. His powers grew to magnitude that trickled uncanny fear in the veins of the island. The Red Wizard had become an overlord of all evil. Time did not go to waste. Chaos was unleashed upon the island in a brutal extravaganza of fire and dark magic, rallying forth all evil. Answers came swiftly. Tribal orcs that bred in the Orctooth Path were ready for war, their will bent to that of their new master. Gnolls streamed down from the mountain tops. And there were lesser-known forces at work, too. Evil unspoken that longed for Coffinewode's death. Thus all rallied under the guide and ill-will of the Red Wizard. The armies of doom have set up their march. They were coming, darkness was foretold. And so, in the mid-northlands, a grunt echoed from the Orctooth Path. It was so close, that the nearest guard by the wall of the 'Wode could hear it faintly. War was coming. * * * Cadence sped up the mountain, the brightness of day still held as behind her trekked two elves. Both historian and loremistress, she was the very muse of the island, a ranger of the wild, with a voice of a thousand angels channeled into a single half-elven woman. Her deeds and melodies reverberated across the land, stretching through to the north and south. She was one of the very few ever allowed in the dwarven stronghold and once she held office in the council of Coffinewode. Once living with the gnomes in the prairies of Karanorn and now spending her serenity shrounded by the magical leaves of the elven forest of Laeru'thas. The island had a touch of her in everything. It nurtured her with love and care, and she returned the favour. Now, Coffinewode throbbed with danger and her legs lend her speed. Speed uncanny. Though she would not forget that the yet uncrowned elven queen denied sending any aide to the humans, underestimating the brewing storm in the heartlands, but Cadence would remember the goodness too, for two elves, Thelanduin Mistleaf and Corion Avathonion, close friends to her, wanted to miss no action and answered the call. It was a long and dangerous way, but they made great length at a short time, going through the Southerly March, a stretch of foggy small hills and valleys dressed with greeneries, shrubberies and oak trees. No danger stood in their path, though, danger was elsewhere, joining forces with other dangers. They stopped short when when they reached the final hill where the southern view of the round keep could be seen from the horizon. It's been months since she's visited the city, she nearly smiled in memories of human goodness. Nearly. Though in Laeru'thas they are not highly-spoken of to say the least, Cadence would never forget their goodness and hospitality, and their unity in troublous times. The two elves behind her eyed the citadel rather suspiciously, their long oaken bows at the ready. They were there for one reason alone, to take down evil and cease it from spreading. She ran down from the hill and itno the citadel. Silently, the elves followed suit. * * * A faint beam of light introduced a small narrow chapel at the back of the keep, with four pews and short candles lined up in two rows where two men knelt praying. One was lord Aeric, a righteous paladin of Helm, his long red hair falling gracefully beyond his shoulders, and the stately Beren DeValgo, Lord Knight, Captain of the armed forces and Lord of Coffinewode and the Freelands. Priestess Fey guided the prayers. The gods did not abandon the island, they knew, but far from it. Many who've felt the island closely, clerics especially, recognized a strong force was at work there. As though divine spirits vie for control of it, as though there was some hidden significance to this strange island. It was not godsforsaken. And yet, Lord Aeric and Beren were knights in an island that rarely afforded glamour. They were knights in an island that sought the death of the heroic. This was not a fairytale island. The Coffin's Keep was home to clerics, knights and magic-weavers. The few who possessed magical abilities would be allowed in the research chamber in the top floor. A chamber filled with all books and lore that's been gathered over time, through washers who were able to save their belongings, through rewriting knowledge, through research and wisdom. Some had tried to solve the mystery of the island, the reason why ship crash, why it doesn't let you leave. No one has ever succeeded yet. Today, besides three praying faithfuls, the keep was empty. Outside in the daylight, Coffinewode stirred. There was a rush of day like never before. A sense of curiosity tinged with palpable fear. Fear that the militia dissuaded with confident speech and loyal attitude. "Watch the horizon, I want as many eyes as possible there," said Roald Vanderfall to passing guards, the militia strategist and defense coordinator. Redorick rubbed his chin, his tightened jaw showing what he did not speak for a moment. "This is a bad day to fall under attack, the death of the last patrolmen still haven't left our hearts and metal has been scarce. Let this devilry be done away with swiftly." "We have armed the guards to best as our abilities, sergeant, even crude bronze and blunt gear has been dealt," said corporal Baden, who, having finished blowing the horn stood solemnly with his white hair and shady eyes belying his age and good heart. "And all the arrows were allocated," added Jervis, head of the scouts. Brown and a neck length hair graced his Luskan face. "There were not many to give." "A bad day to fall under attack indeed," said Roald, "may the wall stand." "It stood for decades before us," said Jervis. The double-door of the keep went open, and all eyes went to it as Beren DeValgo stepped ouside, shining bronze armour with blue padding, signifying his paladin heritage and alleigance to Tyr, standing as a glorified statue of himself with a stern look at the horizon. A look that nicknamed him Sternhelm. The rock and foundation of the citadel, the lasting heritage of the founders of Coffinewode. Aeric walked beside him. "The men hearts brave any numbers," said Beren in a regal, booming voice, stepping out of the chapel, "and their faith. Let us proceed to the wall now, and let no men harbour fear! Hold to your faith! Be it strong with you, the gods are with us!" He assured all the spectators, and with that all the guards crossed the northern gate of Coffinewode and went into a narrow space of walls and ramps that was stationed a few yards beyond it. It was the first line of the defense. Nearly all the guards drew their bows, though there were not too many arrows to spare. There never were. Only those proficient, about half the guards, held their bows at the ready, including Redorick, as well as Cadence and the two elves who stood at a back ramp at the small barricade. Most stood with drawn swords, most of their swords had seen better days. Mist began gathering on the horizon, little by little it was getting thicker and thicker. Strides of evil echoed by crudely-strapped sandals. Grunts were heard in echoes, the sounds of war were upon them. Coffinewode had very little time to prepare as Orcs swept suddenly through the unnatural mist, charging forth with curved-pointed scimitars and painted wooden shields. Arrows were sprayed taking down the first line of the orcs, though a few got away and now dealt with the first line of defense. Grik Galf, the only half-orc militiaman, stood in their way and dispatched two without being hurt while several other guards swarmed over another one. By then more had come, more arrows were sprayed, the elves managed to aim true, as well as Cadence. The human militia fared less well, most of their arrows had gone astray, but it seemed to matter less and less as a big swarm of orcs ran at full speed, enraged with fury, enhanced by evil, swords clanged and shields shattered, even then the hardy legion held its ground. The island has never been so cruel before. Something was not right. Would this be the end? Many wondered even as they fought. The end nearly came with the form of another fireball, this time the imagery of the invoker could dimly be seen through the mist. The fireballs exploded in the middle, and when it cleared a horrific image was unveiled. Lord Aeric lied in a pool of blood, his knee cut open in a bleed, his swords unheld beside him. "Back to the citadel!" Cried Beren when he realized all the ramps have begun to burn. There was no where left to stand. Beren picked Aeric up and the defenses withdrew to the citadel. The gates were quickly shut. Orcs ran through the fire left by the fireball as though it was water, grunting maniacally. The human and elven archers now ran to the hill. Even the citizens were prepared for battle, or at least they thought, but they weren't truly prepared of what's to come. Nearly all the militia stood blostering the gate. Beren ran to the Keep, and laid Aeric's body at the chapel therein. The only knight he'd ever nourished was now lying with his last breaths. "By Torm! Stay alive Aeric, I shall have those orcs and their master rotting in hellfire oblivion from whence they came! Stay alive!" The gates woods cracked again and again, the militia could hold no longer as it was breached by a full host of orcs. The terror was uncontrollable. Fireball after fireball came through the gate, and one after one the humans fell, and some humans were beginning to see the lines blur between bravery and fear. Beren would not see his city fall. Sizeable as the orcs were he run down from the keep, through the firey remains of the fireballs and into the host of orcs, charging through them with prowess that anyone who saw it would be proud to tell their grandchildren, he fought on far into the gates and into the mist, his sword dealing death along the way. If it would be his last stand he would make glory bow to his name, and thus it was that Beren DeValgo, searching for the Red-Wizard, had met him. He saw him in the whirling shapes of the mist, which soon evaporated to reveal a circle of forty orcs. He would go on and kill twenty, with all the blessings of the gods and all bloodied glory he could wish. Lord Knight Beren DeValgo had his moment, and his death, as he was overswarmed by a circle of bloodthirsty orcs, and a sword reached his heart. Aeric died at the same time, at the Keep, in the hands of a gentle priestess with her tears upon his forehead. The true number of the minions was soon revealed. It overwhelmed Coffinewode. Fireballs kept blazing, most of Coffinewode's legion had been burned alive. The orcs trampled them with numbers, swords and arrows whiffing about. Cadence and the elves managed to retreat while firing their last arrows that flew true. Coffinewode was overwhelmed, overrun, and defeated for the first time... [[To be continued... ]] [b]Mod edit:[/b] shifted to the Adventuring section. Most chronicled adventures go in there, and the Novels section is for discussing officially released novels and fiction. [:)] [/quote]   Check here to include your profile signature. Check here to subscribe to this topic.