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  Dornsturm Castle: A Tale from the Northlands
  • Foweller  

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  Part Five: The Investigation Begins I journeyed to the castle in the morning, keen to investigate during the daylight hours as much as possible. I was hesitant about staying a night in the place, I admit. I am not usually one for ghost stories, but then again, I hadn't believed a castle existed here at all only a few days ago. Besides, what wildcat wanted to spend a night in a burned-out building that was also a grave? The hike through the mountain path was treacherous, one wrong step and I could have tumbled off into the abyss like so many others. No wonder the place had few visitors even at the best of times. The directions the vermin had given me were vague, but every so often there was a hint that I was on the right track. Old weathered stones and rubble suggested that once there had been gatehouses and walls defending this meagre path to the castle. The tower I had seen was invisible at first, still shrouded by the morning mist. As I grew nearer though, the tower's form began to take shape, looming dark over my head. I shivered, as I imagined Ameki dressing in his finest cloak and lying on the master bed, waiting to die with a gleeful laugh. Before I knew it, the mist had cleared and I was standing before the main gates of Castle Dornsturm. I was ill-prepared for the sight, to say the least. The castle was built for intimidation, an opulent yet stern design with spiked towers, and gargoyle statues lurking between the pillars. The windows were tall and thin, the glass panes long since destroyed. There were holes in the tiled roofs, and the doors to the entrance hall were gone, leaving a dark, yawning gap. The arched doorways and windows were blackened by soot. The evidence of the fire seemed as stark and obvious as if the place had conflagrated only last night, instead of hundreds of seasons ago. At first it seemed there was little left to examine. The great hall was little more than an empty room with sooty walls and a floor covered in ashes. It was hardly the grand setting for a noble family. Yet on closer inspection there were clues as to its opulence, hidden beneath the ashes and the snow that had blown in. What appeared to be dusty splotches on the floor were actually puddles of melted gold, silver, pewter, and bronze. Decorations, candle-holders, cutlery and even some ceremonial weaponry had obviously once lined the hall and made it a splendid sight. I found the rusty remains of a blade at the far end of the hall, all that was left of an ornamental sword that had hung over the fireplace. Yet my real curiosity was not in the gold the Dornsturms had left behind. I was eager, and admittedly nervous about ascending the stone staircase up the tower. I grew more uneasy as I ventured down the hallway to the stairs. It was darker in here, despite the patches of light that shone through the windows. What was I expecting to find? Ameki's body? Perhaps his spirit even now would appear before me, grinning madly at his uninvited guest. I shuddered, and quickened my pace to the stairs. The stairs twisted up the tower, shafts of dim light coming through the slits in the walls. It was a defensive design, allowing archers to shoot out at a presumed wolverine attack. The castle's defences had never been tested before it was abandoned. I reached the top, and peeked through the doorway to the master bedroom. The room was lit through a gap in the roof, a beam of light revealing the motes of dust as my presence disturbed the air. Though the bed itself had burned, it was easy to see how grand it had been, taking up a good part of the room. In fact, the patches of ash gave me a good idea of where the dressing tables, cupboards and drawers had stood. There was a balcony at the far end of the room, which looked out over the castle grounds. I stepped cautiously as I went to examine the view from the balcony. Perhaps Ameki had not lain on the bed as I had imagined. Maybe at the very end he had stood on the balcony, trying to escape the heat. Perhaps he had been laughing as he watched his slaves fleeing the castle like ants below him. I thought the tower held no more secrets, until I found the tooth. It was bluish-black, and at first I thought it was just a piece of burnt wood. As I looked closer at the object in my paw, I realised with a chill that I was holding one of Ameki's fangs. They had said he smiled sweetly. It almost moved me to tears, holding his tooth. How had such an innocent life turned so dark? By the time my searching was done, a storm was rolling in, and I knew attempting the mountain path back was a sure way to get killed. I was stuck in Castle Dornsturm for the night, on my own. I decided to pitch my tent in the inner family room, which was cosier than the draughty great hall, and had no windows exposing me to the elements. I expected the castle to make night noises, bumps and creaks. Yet as I settled in my furs, the castle became eerily silent. Its silence was enough to keep me awake, listening for any movement. I waited for what seemed hours, but with no ghosts prowling the halls, I eventually drifted off, and began to dream. Part Six: The Dream of the Past _After I had stopped weeping over my father's body, there was silence. I did not speak to the slaves when they brought food, and I left the meals untouched. I would not see my mother, or my brothers. No matter where I went in the castle, I could smell the scent of my father. He was in the great hall, in the library, even in our bedrooms kissing us goodnight. I grew to hate the decor of this miserable place. Just living here reminded me of him every day. I spoke to Redrick after a month. It was a quiet conversation in his chambers, where mother could not spy on me. She had become far too watchful over my movements, many of my slaves reported to her. I told Redrick of this, and how my grief would not leave with my father's memory so pervasive in this place. He embraced me and promised he would do all in his power to let me smile and be merry again. I watched them take down father's portrait, and stored it in the attic. His personal coat of arms, his armour, his sword and his shield were all moved into that dusty, dark space where I would not see them. His bedroom was refurnished, all his old furniture was moved out of the tower. I took up residence there myself; I needed space away from the bustle of the castle below. I was sick of hearing footsteps on the landing outside my room, knowing the slaves would eavesdrop on me. The castle was cleaned, the walls freshly painted, and the last belongings of my father safely secreted away. My life was better for a time, but all too soon I found myself spiralling deep into the pits of my depression. Some days I felt ravenous, other days I could not stomach a single morsel of food. I lost weight, and my mind constantly swirled in confusion. I could not focus on my books, so I left them unread. Music gave me no pleasure, so I did not play upon any of our instruments. Worse still, my apathy towards the joys of life seemed to be contagious; my brothers were often as listless as I was. Fits of emotion brought me to destructive behaviour. I started seeing my father in every portrait of our ancestors; I tore them from the walls and shredded the canvases with my claws. At other times I thought I was my father; I would dress in my finest silk clothes and bark orders at the slaves. My memory would fail me; I would speak to Redrick on some important matter then forget. I could lie in my bed all night and not fall asleep; I resorted to wandering the halls at night, tired and worn, yet not collapsing into my dreams for days at a time. I pass a mirror now, and I turn to see myself with a shudder. My squinting eyes are red from lack of sleep. The face that looked so handsome before father's death now looks sick and gaunt. I bare my teeth, my fangs are a bluish-black…_ Part Seven: The Descent into the Dungeons I awoke with a gasp, the image of Ameki's hideously blackened teeth still fresh in my mind's eye. My head was throbbing, and I winced, putting my paws up to rub my temples. It was pitch-black in the room, cold and still. I lay there for a while, but it was plain that I could not fall back to sleep. The dream's details did not go hazy as one might expect. The feeling of being inside Ameki's head never left me. I felt as if I had really been dreaming for months, feeling the sickness and decay of Ameki's body well up inside me. I lit the candle in my lantern and packed up my tent. There was one area I had not checked, and that was the dungeons. I had been afraid even in the daylight hours to venture below the castle itself, but now with the darkness all around, there was no stopping me. As I descended down the cold stone steps, I could feel the close atmosphere. There was hardly a sound, merely the padding of my own footpaws. With only the candle for light, silhouetted shapes loomed out at me in the dark. I crept past racks of rusted weapons, chains hanging from the ceiling, and all the old devices of torture. The dungeons were more like caverns, with the weight of the castle pressing down upon them. The fire had not spread down into the deepest recesses of the labyrinthine dungeons. I found my way down to the cells themselves. I dreaded walking past each door, so sure that at any moment some ghostly beast would call at me from behind the bars. Yet no such apparition presented itself, and I made my way through the murky passageway undisturbed. The passage twisted again, and I found myself in a small storage room. As I examined the contents of the crates and barrels of the room, I pondered again the dream. Had it been the product of my imagination, or some kind of vision of the past? If it was, what had brought it to my mind? I myself had never before displayed any sign of the powers of the seer. Yet something told me that it was not the mere fantasies of my mind. I closed my eyes and relived the dream once more in my minds eye. I could feel Redrick carrying Ameki up the mountain path. I recalled his sorrow at seeing his younger brother so distraught, and his determination to make Ameki smile again. What had happened to make Ameki so sick in body and soul? They had removed all the old memories of their father. The furniture and the portraits were taken away, and they had even given the walls a fresh coat of paint. My eyes opened. A fresh coat of paint. Such a curious little detail. As my eyes grew accustomed to seeing in the dark, I saw I had come to a stop before one of the barrels in the corner. Painted on the side was the phrase, Paint - White. I stared at the barrel for a time, a frown on my face as I contemplated the contents of the storage room. They had coated the castle's walls in white paint. Suddenly, the answer came to me, and I recoiled in shock. I was now face-to-face with the real culprit itself! I realised with a sickening lurch that the storage room had held these barrels of lead paint in them for centuries now. It had no doubt deteriorated, and infiltrated every nook and cranny of this place. In my haste to flee the storage room, I dropped my lantern. The candle flickered and went out, and the breaking glass shattered the silence. My nerve broke, and I ran, arms outstretched blindly, scraping against the walls as I belted down the passageway. I felt my way along the walls, trying in desperation to find the way out, and hearing a noise resonating through the hall. It was quiet at first, but it became louder, more insistent, a wretched, sobbing moan of a beast in anguish. I felt my blood going cold, the sweat on my body freezing over and making me shiver. The mournful cries were ringing in my ears, and I fell to my knees, crawling along the stone floor, sure that any moment Ameki's tearful ghost would find me. I crawled from that poisoned, black pit and collapsed on the landing, trying to catch my breath. I knew I had to look behind me, to see if the sobbing creature had followed me. Slowly, trembling, I rolled over and gazed back down into the abyss. The black rectangular gap of the dungeon's entrance was silent and empty. I put my paws to my face, and felt something wet on my cheeks. The sobbing had in fact been coming from me, for I had realised the cause of Ameki's tragic demise, and I wept for him. In his bid to make a fresh start, Ameki had the whole castle repainted. The walls had been coated in a clean, white paint to cover the old burgundy-red hue. At the time, the effects of using white lead as paint were little understood. They had wanted to make Ameki smile again, but instead they had lined the walls with poison, and turned the castle into a grand torture chamber that sapped away the minds and bodies of its inhabitants. And now, it was their tomb. Part Eight: The Castle is Silent Again I waited in the master bedroom tower for the sunrise. I stood on the balcony, breathing the fresh air. It must have happened slowly, the poison invisibly seeping into them. The slaves had lived outside of the main premises, which explained why they had not shared in the insanity of the Dornsturms. I felt a serene calm descend over me, as I felt the mystery was at last put to rest. Yet on this smooth surface of calm, there was one ripple that disturbed my repose. I had dreamed of Ameki's symptoms before knowing the cause of his madness. How then had this vision come to me? With this thought in mind, I felt far less comfortable standing in the same room in which he had perished in flame. I felt I was trespassing, and the castle wanted me gone. I fled the castle at first light, when I could at last see the mountain pathway. The snow had swept clean my footsteps from my journey up here, and I knew that once I had left the castle, my tracks would once again disappear. It would be as if nobeast had visited the ancient castle at all. I did not stop in the village of Anhalt, instead choosing to put as much distance between me and the castle as possible. When I reached the ridge where I had first seen the castle, I turned, and gave it one final glance. I saw the tower's black silhouette lit by the rising sun. The mist was seeping over the jagged rocks and along the mountain slopes. It enveloped the tower, and that was the last time I gazed upon Castle Dornsturm.
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  Wildcats and Feral Cats! Backstory for Felines from the Northlands
  • Foweller  

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  Backstory: Kyra (Memories Left Behind)
  • Belarus  

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  Kierrana shivered as she sifted around the tailoring room looked for something to wear. Most of the clothes were new guard uniforms or clothes for her family, nothing for the slaves and that was what she needed if she DIDN’T want to be a target. She heard steps in the hallway outside again and began panicking as she looked for a place to hide. She ducked on the other side of a loom which didn’t do much to hide her giant now blue form but it would be enough to keep her from being noticed with a brief glance. She watched as four rats went racing through the hallway talking to each other “What do we do everyone else is dead!” “They’re here for one thing and one thing only, the slaves! We hold some of ‘em hostage and make a run fer it!” “What if the slaves resist?” “If they don’t wanna ‘elp us then we kill them until some of ‘em change their minds. The fewer we leave alive the greater the value of the ones we take with us.” “But won’t they follow us?” “We could take one of der ships an’ keep da slaves to ourselves!” “Four of us command a ship, what kind of fool are you?” “Dat’s whut the slave are ferr!” “Fine, we’ll take some of da slaves an’ head ferr da docks!” Kierrana listened as the voices faded into the distance and sighed as she looked around. She’d have to use the clothes she had on that had been dyed blue with her fur as everything else either made her look like a guard or was too small. She stood up with a cringe and stuffed her wound with a piece of cloth from a new infirmary worker’s shirt before following the rats. When she got down near the gate leading into the slave pen she hugged the wall and looked around the corner at the rats. Two of them were menacing the slaves with their blades as the other two tried to open the gate, that was when she noticed the four otters slain on the ground around them. She shivered slightly even if she told them who she was and blew her chance of sneaking away as a slave they were probably so worked up now they’d kill her anyways. She snorted in resignation to herself at the three options, kill, be killed, or let be killed. She shook her head slightly for a moment and decided to act before thinking, stepping around the corner and openly approaching the rats. One of the rats trying to operate the gate crank noticed her and drew his sword “Wha, who in the name of Maldicar are you? Hey, I asked you a question.” Kierrana felt her mind twisting and pulling in ten different directions as she answered the rat with a stutter “S, st, stop what you’re doing and be from this place right now.” The rest of the rats turned to her as the one that initially confronted her snarled “I asked who you are. And why should we listen to you?” The blue dyed vixen growled half fake half for real at the rat “The longer you ask questions and the longer you take trying to get slaves to hold hostage the longer the invaders have to get back down here and burn your hide that’s why! Now get!” The rat spat at Kierrana’s footpaws and stepped towards her “I don’t like yurr attitude, an’ we aren’t just leavin ‘ere empty pawed we’re takin us a ship!” The four rats dashed at the unarmed vixen unaware of what they were dealing with. Kierrana stood to her full height a kicked one of the rats in the face shattering his snout as the other three stopped in their tracks. One of the surviving rats began to try and stutter her name as she picked up the slain ones sword which she then used to silence him with using a quick spearing to the throat. She grabbed the other blade and had what seemed like a dagger in each paw as she jumped at the two remaining rats opening her previous wound. The two rats turned and ran however their considerably shorter legs caused them to lose the distance battle due to Kierrana’s enormous stride. She dropped the daggers and grabbed the two rats by the scruffs of their necks as she caught them just outside the cliff gate. She lifted the up so they were level with her and growled “You should have done that when I told you too.” She tossed them over the cliff parapets then turned around and headed back towards the slave pens. She stopped at the gate crank and looked down at the reddened cloth that was stuffed into her wound, it was starting to make her dizzy and she was a tad worried that opening the gate could make it worse. She looked back up and almost jumped out of her skin when she saw the lumbering form of Strongaxe standing with his head against the gate. He gave a slight growl as he gripped the gate “What are you doing here fox?” Kierrana stood stiff for a moment uncertain as to just how tall she was standing, fortunately at least in her mind it was, the pain and dizziness were making her slouch slightly so that she was shorter than she actually was. She blinked to clear her mind and grabbed the gate crank “Getting you out of there, there are ships down at the dock belonging to the beasts that raided the castle. It might be best if we head for them now in case anymore guards try to take advantage of your presence.” Strongaxe backed away from the gate as the blue vixen painfully turned the crank, her voice sounded familiar to him but fortunately for Kierrana her difference in tone and emotion was effecting how her voice sounded. Kierrana groaned and rested herself against the crank as she looked at Strongaxe “I, I can’t do this anymore, ugh.” Strongaxe looked at the narrow gap between the ground and the bottom of the gate, it was just enough for him to crawl under but what if the vixen was trying to trick him and she let the gate fall on him as he tried to get out. He watched for a moment as the blue vixen touched the wound in her abdomen and looked at the crimson soaked into her paw. At that point he felt that whether it was meant to be a trick or not this was his best chance to get out now and he dropped down to the ground and began crawling along the ground and under the gate. He kept his eyes bolted to the vixen as she cringed and coughed then he felt the gate shift and lower slightly onto the back of his legs. Urthgar gave a slight growl as he found himself stuck “You better raise that gate back up or you’ll find that I can be very unpleasant to be around when I’m cross.” He blinked in surprise when the vixen barely even registered his growl though he was even more surprised by her response “I already know that.” She twisted around and held the crank as she stood on her footpaws so that she could continue operating the device. The vixen gave a blood curling scream as she pulled the crank raising the gate slightly. Strongaxe bent his legs and rolled away from the gate before it slammed to the ground as the vixen fell down shuddering in pain. Shorereaker came rushing down from the castle and slid to a halt by the vixen and the crank as Strongaxe stood up leaving the otter captain looking between his fallen guards, the vixen, and Urthgar “What ‘appened here!” Strongaxe ran over to the gate crank as he nodded to the vixen “Rats jumped your guards and were talking about taking some of us and stealing a ship. Then that one shows up out of nowhere and slaughters them, looks like something’s hurt her though. I’ll get the gate, you tend to her.” Shorebreaker surveyed the blue Kierrana and the crimson that was spreading across the ground “She’s a giant and I’m not doing so good either! You take her and we’ll get the gate, our mates down at the docks should be able ta help!” Strongaxe looked at Shorbreaker and his shoulder wounds then the vixen and snorted in frustration “Fine, just don’t knock yourself out.” Shorebreaker took hold of the gate crank as Strongaxe scooped the vixen up and ran towards the cliff gate while the rest of the invading force came barreling down from the castle having heard the scream.
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  Resource: List of Ironies
  • Seth  

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  You drive around town for hours, looking for your favorite restaurant, Taco Shack. You finally give up and go to Rito's Chicken. When leaving, you go out the other entrance than the one you came in, and there stands Taco Shack.
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  Luminous
  • Penblade the bard  

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  Backstory: Avalon (Shadow of Death)
  • Belarus  

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  (Sifting Through the Ashes) The sound of a hammer striking hot metal echoed through the armory as Korem and Willowbank worked the forge. Avalon stood in the doorway looking out into the courtyard still dwelling on what she had done and wondering why she had done it. ‘Sure it was her duty as a member of the guard but why had she joined the guard?’ As if to answer her thought the young otter Willowbank gripped one of her paws and she turned her head to look down at him. He was looking up at her with a smile, warm and comforting. Avalon blinked a tear from her eye and smiled back ‘that was why she had joined, for those that were good, for those that deserved to live.’ Korem lifted the midnight steel scout cuirass and dipped it in his special quenching fluid creating a cloud of steam as it cooled with a hiss. Korem waited a moment then put the cuirass on a table where a line of twelve throwing daggers lied next to a new short sword and boots. Most smiths wouldn’t be able to craft such weapons however having been in the presence of one of the Ambassador’s smiths and then a badger Master Smith Korem had learn more than just a few things about the art of shaping metal. He turned his eyes up to look at Avalon as steam continued to rise from the newly forged equipment “Hmph, all your gear’s finished though you might want to wait a little while before you try it on.” Avalon walked over to the table and looked over the newly made midnight steel equipment thoughtfully. Korem looked Avalon in the eye as the black vixen touched the flat of the short sword’s blade “I think I’d prefer to keep the one I have. It’s the exact same except… it keep ‘him’ with me.” Korem gave a slight nod and removed the short sword from the table “I thought you might say that, I’ll put this one on the wall then.” Avalon gave a small nod to Korem “Thank you for everything you’ve done Korem, I don’t know where I’d be without you… you too Willowbank.” Willowbank hugged her and the black vixen hugged back softly “Your welcome Avy, I’m glad we could ‘elp.” Korem gave a small grin; glad the vixen had something to be happy for “Anytime mam, anytime.”
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  Backstory: Belarus (Binding Ring)
  • Belarus  

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  Bloodwrath had started to take ahold of the middle age Belarus as he dreamed only the mouse maid’s poke on his shoulder brought him back to the realm of the present. He opened his eyes as the orange faded to amber which strangely stood out more than it had since he last suffered blood wrath as if the ailment had given back a little of that which it had taken. The mouse maid looking him in the eyes with concern as well as awe to what she had witnessed “Are you alright, you’ve been standing still for good bit.” Belarus frowned for a moment then took in a deep breath and regained a bit of his determined posture “I’ll be fine, just delving into the past to remind me of my purpose.” He blinked as a rain drop splashed against his snout causing him to grin slightly “I think it’s time to head back to the abbey. Mind giving me a paw?” He took his claw off the burial stone allowing the mouse maid to take hold if it “I think you’re right. Sure I’ll give you a paw, let’s go.” The two half strolled half wobbled off back towards the abbey as the sun lowered itself onto the horizon closing in on the time of dusk.
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  The Last Words.
  • Fallo Swordsferret  

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  The Game of Crowns: A Saga
  • Penblade the bard  

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  Chapter Four: New Player Narvis bustled down the corridor with a tray held perfectly flat in front of him. He scrunched up his face and wriggled in his clothes as he walked, wishing he could stop and scratch at all the itches the dark green servant’s outfit created, but Lord Arnor was very irritable when it came to messages being delivered quickly. Today marked a week and three days since Narvis had been sealed in the palace, and further inclined to stay by the bard's, Penblade’s, veiled warnings whenever the two passed in the halls. After being led safely from the Queen’s chambers to a hallway in the tower of House Arnor, the bard and beggar had parted ways, Penblade to go entertain the court at lunch, and Narvis to pilfer some serving clothes in the colors of House Arnor. Once he’d been properly attired and trimmed his facial hair a bit with a dagger he found, he’d found the door to Lord Arnor’s study, the largest room in the tower, and waited outside for the Lord to return from lunch at court. Not a minute later the elderly nobleman, tailed by a half dozen much younger nobles, had hobbled up the winding staircase at the end of the hall and entered his study, gruffly telling Narvis to follow him without even looking him in the face. Narvis had obeyed, nodding and staying silent as he’s spotted other servants doing, and had soon been on his first assignment; delivering a letter to a nobleman in another tower, the Lord of House Mazrim. From that point on, Narvis had done almost everything for the constantly yelling, angry old man, from fetching the man’s children and relaying messages, to stealing him snacks from the royal pantry, food meant only for the Queen and her daughter. That had been the first time Narvis had gotten more than a grunt from the Lord. Lord Arnor had told him to bring him food, nothing specific, but Narvis had seen the man’s temper, so he’d snuck into the kitchens and stolen a small mountain of everything, hiding it expertly up sleeves and pants legs, even in the fold of his coat collar. The old man had laughed approvingly, marveling at the pile of delicacies on his study’s desk. From there, Narvis had been given more and more important duties, culminating in the message he was now bringing Lord Arnor. He hurried along hallways and up stairs, hurrying both because he needed to be valuable to Lord Arnor, and because the message he had sent a thrill through him every time he thought of it. He knew this was temporary, that with luck he’d be out of this insane place by the end of the month with his skin still on his body, but the things he’d learned as a servant, the secrets and conspiracies he’d gleaned, they were like a drug to him. Just by standing quietly in corners or by doorways, waiting for his Lord’s orders, he could now confirm or deny almost every rumor he’d ever heard on the streets. The countess Delief was in an affair with Lord Sedrey. Gold was being hidden by both House Durwin and House Laurel in order to lower the royal taxes they had to pay. Even little secrets like how the head cook collected rats’ tails excited him. Speaking even a word of any of it could easily make him the target of assassins, but that only added to the heady thrill, and it terrified Narvis. I need to get out of here, He thought feverishly, approaching Lord Arnor’s study. Before I’m in so deep I can’t get out. Before one of the nobles decides I know too much. Before Penblade or Alabaster or Mouse tries to kill me! Before… He pushed open the door to the study, “My Lord?” “Enough!” Lord Arnor rose from his seat behind his desk at the opposite end of the study and shouted at a man and woman, both nobles, standing before his desk. One was Gunther, Lord Arnor’s eldest son, and the other was Maliah, his eldest daughter. “Out you vultures, OUT!” He roared, the sheer volume of his voice making the pair step back, “I refuse to speak to either of you on this matter again, until I say so, do you understand!?” He broke down in a fit of coughing, leaning heavily on the desk, but the two nobles, brother and sister, bowed and retreated nonetheless, both perfectly composed. Narvis stepped back from the door after opening it wide for them; he was not fooled by their poise and carefully blank faces. Beneath their façade was a seething mass of rage and impatience. Lord Arnor was old, very old, and did not have long to live. More and more Narvis had walked in on the Lord’s children trying to make him give them the title of Lord or Lady of the House once he passed. The Lord sighed and sank back into his chair. He grunted, “Enter.” Narvis entered the study at a calm walk, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room to stand in front of the desk and took a deep breath, “My Lord, I delivered your message to Lord Jaquelle, and he sends you one in return.” Arnor leaned forward despite his obvious weariness, “Red cranes have been circling the wheat fields.” Arnor squinted and nodded thoughtfully. A red crane soaring on a silver background was the seal of House Xander, and they’d been trying to steal dominance of the wheat trade from House Arnor for months now, always working in the shadows though. Now they were openly moving against House Arnor’s monopoly. Narvis blinked and shook his head slightly. Too deep, too deep. Lord Arnor suddenly laughed and Narvis jumped. “Ha! Well, at least I’ll see this loose end tied before I’m in the ground.” Narvis shook his head, playing the concerned servant card, “No my lord, you will be well again soon. You will-“ Arnor spoke over him, “You’re my servant, not a fool boy, so don’t act the fool. I am going to be dead within the month, and everyone knows it. Why do you think they were here?” He gestured contemptuously at the door, after his children. He was quiet for a few minutes, slumped in his chair and thinking, slowly drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. He stared through Narvis' stomach at the opposite side of the study, his eyes glossing over slightly. Narvis stood in front of the desk, awaiting instructions impatiently. At length, Arnor spoke, "Do you know how the prince regent died boy?" Narvis blinked, caught off guard, "Um, no, my lord. What does that have to do with-" "It isn't your place to ask questions!" Arnor barked, making Narvis jump, then he continued in a softer voice, "Now then, you know at least that prince regent Dusk, the late king's brother, assassinated the king, don't you?" "Yes, my lord," Narvis said stiffly. He hated being bellowed at. "Good, do you know how?" "My lord?" "How, boy! How Dusk did it! Oh very well then… It was quite simple really. Dusk snuck into the kitchen one night and poisoned some of the ingredients for the king's supper, a few potatoes I believe. So when the king had dinner that night, URK!" Lord Arnor clutched his chest and yelped, making Narvis jump again. Arnor chuckled and continued, "King died and Dusk thought he'd won himself the crown, being oh so clever as he was, but it was only as he lay on the ground, frothing at the mouth with his eyes filling with blood turned black on the same night as the assassination, that he remembered he'd been having his servants steal food from the royal pantry to fix his meals. He was killed by his own schemes, stuck in his own web, and the web dragged him to the grave." Arnor finished and stared at Narvis. The beggar's skin crawled as he put all his effort into not cringing and shuddering. He was fully reminded now of why he needed to get out of this place as soon as possible. Like cold water in the face of a drunkard, Lord Arnor's story had doused the giddy thrill of keeping secrets, sobering him thoroughly. "Why-" He gulped involuntarily, "Why are you telling me this... my lord?" “Because my boy,” The old man barked, “you want to play the same game!” Narvis’s jaw fell open, “I... I... What!? What would ever make you think that!?” “Your eyes,” Lord Arnor replied, “I can see the lust of the game in your eyes, the way they’re always so attentive or excited around other noble’s conversations; the way you know to keep them on the ground but your ears alert when those nobles are around. Why do you think I send you on assignments to all my House’s greatest enemies? You have the head to get things out of what you hear that none of my other servants do.” The Lord shook his head sadly, “I may use your skills to play the game but I warn you, never try to play it yourself. It would destroy you in minutes if you were fool enough to get yourself sucked in.” A week and a half and counting old man, Narvis thought rather smugly, to his dismay. “You’re right my Lord,” He said, more to himself than anyone, “I’m safe were I am.” “There’s a good lad,” The old man rasped, slumping in his chair, “Now, go wait outside the door. If anyone comes looking for me tell them to go jump in the river.” Narvis bowed quickly, walking backwards before he was even upright again, “Yes my Lord. Right away my Lord.” He spun around and crossed the room quickly, eager to be away from here. He opened the door to the study and nearly did two things. He nearly screamed at the sight of Alabaster walking down the hall, and he nearly slammed the door shut when he saw the recognition on the guard’s face when he spotted Narvis. Numbly Narvis turned back around to face Lord Arnor. His only hope, a frail old man. I am going to die today, Narvis thought for certain, “Master Alabaster is right outside my Lord,” He said without a hint of emotion, “May I please jump out that window behind you?” If Lord Arnor was surprised by the request, he was shocked when Alabaster and three other guards practically kicked his door in. He wasn’t shocked for long though. “Alabaster you will explain yourself this instant and then you will get out of my tower!” The old man roared, rising to his feet with his knuckles on the desktop. Alabaster smiled at Narvis as the guards surrounded him, but he spoke to the Lord, “Don’t worry my Lord, we’ll be gone before you know it without troubling you a bit.” “Like Hell you will! That’s my manservant you’re arresting there!” “I have every right to arrest this beggar my Lor-“ Lord Arnor cut Alabaster off sharply, “Beggar!? Are you blind? Look at him! Does he look even remotely like a beggar to you!? Well? Answer me boy!” He didn’t wait for an answer, “Besides, what proof do you have that my servant has done anything illegal?” Alabaster frowned, looking at Lord Arnor this time, “You of all people should know that begging is outlawed.” Narvis was sweating to fill buckets. Two powerful men wrestling for control, with him between them. “Aye, that I do know,” Lord Arnor replied, “So naturally, if you can prove to me, as I already said, that this man is a beggar, then, you can have him. To hang or to boil I couldn’t care less, but I will not let one of my most prized servants leave my employ without reason,” His voice took on a hard edge, “Nor tolerate his unjust murder.” Alabaster’s mouth worked furiously, but he couldn’t come up with any proof that couldn’t be easily refuted. This beggar was clever, to put himself in such company. “As I thought,” The old man said with satisfaction, slumping back into his chair, “You have no reason to be here Alabaster. Get out before I send for Guardmaster Vladek.” Alabaster bowed slowly and stiffly, the other guards copying him without spoken question. Narvis could see the rage in the guard’s eyes and almost hear his teeth grind as he and his minions exited the room, closing the door behind them. Narvis waited almost a whole minute before turning sharply to Lord Arnor. To give his thanks or beg for his life he hadn’t quite decided. Before he could talk though, Lord Arnor held up a hand to stop him, “I don’t want to know, I don’t need to know, and it’s in both our interests that I never find out, am I clear?” Narvis blinked, then shut his mouth, gulped, and nodded. “We are not friends boy, despite what you just saw. That was not to protect you, I did that to protect a tool. That is all you are to me. Now I believe I sent you to keep watch before your petty personal problems got in the way. Out!” Narvis jumped and quickly went through the door to wait outside the study, the lump of cold fear in his stomach refusing to melt. (OOC: Sorry this chapter's so late, to you especially my queen. I should have gotten it done sooner.)
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  Writer's Blog
  • Seth  

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  Ordova was very talented at very bad writing. Lets just say that, lol. I actually know the guy personally. It's been… what, three years? lol, I think I can spill the beans: Basically it was a highly experienced writer with loads of RPing experience under his belt. We were begging him to join up on the site, so he showed up long enough to make just one really classic post, hahaha
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  Dragonblood
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  Behind the Bathroom Door (It's not how it sounds)
  • Penblade the bard  

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  • Kai the Mad  

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  Chapter: "Conscience"
  • Seth  

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  Thanks :) And edited :) I think it's little better now. A more active voice, less superficially described, more detailed and a stronger feel to the diologue. I have to admit I made a really big mistake, however: I posted the second chapter, not the first. The following includes; The Prologue and Chapter 1. lol     This is a couple weeks old, so I'll have to make edits. Just understand that, please.  :wubs: @Kaden: You might recognize the opening lines to the first chapter, actually. lol Prologue: Bridge Jake, Ryre and a young soldier stopped at the end of the tunnel, somewhere near the other end of the hill. They came to a halt in the dark, breathing heavily, hearts thumping and sweat pouring. Ryre’s torch sputtered angrily, casting an eerie orange glow on their surroundings. Jake’s face was dark with dirt and sweat when he came to a stumbling halt, lungs burning from exertion. He fell to his knees, partly in grief, partly in relief. They were so close, though they had lost so much. An intricately-carved set of wooden doors stood on broken hinges, shattered wide open and beckoning them on. To one side, another door led to another room, but it was bolted and wrapped in chains. Jake heard the whispers. Through his chokes and his gasps, he began to sob. He wanted to block out the terrible sound. The cacophony of hissing voices penetrated his mind, drowning him with their desperate calls. Jake knew what they were. He knew they were gone, all of them. He and he friends were the last survivors. He felt the air around him grow cold. His breath froze into white mist and his tears turned to ice. “They’re coming.” He choked through his tears. “Hold on, Jake.” Ryre encouraged. “We’re almost there.” The chained door shook suddenly. Something screamed from the other side, painfully loud. The soldier hefted Jake to his feet and helped him forward. “I’m not leaving you behind as well.” They stumbled through the door, using what little energy they had left. Fifty pases through the doorway, a sheer cliff face that dropped straight down into nothingness. The far wall was not visible because it was much too far away. The ceiling rose above them in a gentle curve, rising forward to meet the far wall. It too, reached too far away to see. It was hard to believe that such a cavern could even fit under the hill. It seemed that a small fortress might have once fit inside. Centered on the cliff's edge, a narrow stone platform reached out into the dark, guarded by the statues of two white dragons, rearing up on either side. The bridge had no supports and seemed to fade away even before the dark did, simply vanishing into nothing. Kienen was there. He was standing between the two statues, wrapped in heavy black robes, waiting for them. “Cross,” he stood aside and pointed out into the dark with his gnarled black fingers. Behind them, in the tunnel, they could hear the grinding of talons on stone. A hulking beast crawled after them and they felt the rumbling of its advance. And yet they hesitated. “Cross,” Kienen calmly repeated. “Very soon it will be too late. You know what the Wraiths will do to our magic.” Obediently, the three of them stepped out onto the platform and started across the bridge. The stones beneath them came awake, stirring to life for the first time in hundreds of years. They could not see it, hear it or feel it. They just knew it, like a hum of energy traveling up their spine as they stepped over each stone. Jake knew this was the first time they had been used for this purpose. Kienen's cloaked figure led the way, Ryre and Jake stepping quietly along behind. The soldier stood in back, sword drawn and ready for a fight, as usual. He didn't want this to go wrong in the last moments before victory. Behind them the rumbling grew louder and the air grew colder. Jake began to feel worried that they might not reach the other side before the enemies arrived. He wanted to run, but his legs would not respond. His fatigue was too great. His friends were the same. Not even the whisper of approaching death was enough to drive them to call on the strength to run. “Wait!” A desperate voice called from behind. An old soldier limped into the room, his armor was damaged and bloodstained. “Help me!” He cried, hurrying to catch up, but it was impossible with his injuries. He knew that he was dying, bleeding to death from a dozen places. “Kent!” Jake whispered in disbelief. He was alive. Behind Kent, the goliath creature reached the tunnel's end and entered the room. Its lobster-like mass of black and red limbs dragged it into the room. The two foremost legs poised to strike at him, twice as large and deadly-looking as the others. The many eyes hunted for a victim to satisfy the burning rage. Shield-like plates of armor back begin to rattle on its back and a terrible hiss emanated from the seething monster. Behind it, the dim light of the tunnel was smothered and ice began to coat the stone walls as the other terrifying enemies approached. The whispers grew louder in Jake’s ears. His breathing grew ragged as he felt death steal in, but he could not tear his eyes from the dying old man. Kent turned as the black eyes of the enemy found him. It screamed with both rage and cruel anticipation. “Run you fool! Run!” Kienen shouted in rage. Then Ryre reached into his belt and tore out a slim golden dagger. “Kent! Catch!” The tiny blade whipped through the air, a metallic flash in the cold black. Kent caught it deftly and rolled out of the way as the monster drove a pair of black talons into the bridge. Jake opened his mouth to scream his friend’s name, but nothing came out. He felt a shock of cold energy jolt through his body and he felt to his knees. Ryre and the soldier grabbed him and pulled him forward. As they reached the end of the bridge, the end of it extended forward, materializing into view. The tunnel began to fade from view, but Kent and the monster were still visible. Behind them, tall, dark figures began to appear. Kent scrambled backward on his hands and knees, daging to either side as the beast slashed out at him. Beneath him, the bridge grew thinner underneath and narrowed at the sides. He glanced quickly over is shoulder. His friends were out of his harm’s way. He could see them, but they were ghostlike now. The spell had taken hold of them. They were going home. He rolled to the side one last time and got up onto one knee, grasping the dagger with both hands. He’d make sure that nothing followed them home. He raised the dagger over his head, then drove in down into the stone. The stones split with a crack like thunder and the glow of lighting spidered over the surface. The stones hummed louder for an instant, then began to crumble. “No.” Ryre whispered. “Kent…” The monster hesitated as the brudge shifted and cracked. Then it wailed. It slithered backward, trying to get away, but it was too no avail. Blinding blue light seeped through the cracks and the dark figures shied away. Then everything fell into the blackness. The old soldier opened his eyes. It was dark, but a dim light shown somewhere nearby. He tried to sit up, but he had no strength. He was greatedful that he could not feel the gruesome injuries he must have had. Then a face appeared above him, hazy, yet somehow familiar. It with wreathed by the orange glow of firelight. Ryre? Kent felt a surge of hope. Home. He could smell it. He could faintly hear it, the chirrup of crickets and the rustle of leaves. They were green leaves, the emerald canopy of a living wood. In the sky above, he thought that he could see stars. They were a sight for sore eyes. The man leaning over him spoke, but Kent could not understand. His senses were muddled. He knew that he was injured and dying. He also knew that he must have been nearly crushed by the falling debris. “Ryre.” He mumbled. “Ryre, is that you?” The man took his hand and squeezed. He was trying to speak, but Kent still couldn’t understand. “I won’t make it to Madrona. The monsters are coming. They will come from the east and take the Lost City. Find Jerle. Warn him…” Kent began to cough. He thought he tasted the faintest trace of blood in his mouth. “…tell him to find Ayden or all is lost. Forget the battle for the Pass. Take the King’s sword to Ayden! He will know what to do.” The man sat still over Kent, listening intently. Kent felt the shrouds of death begin to creep in and he fought to sit up. As he spoke, his voice faded to barely a whisper. “Remember, Ryre. We must be ready. The Dread Lord is coming.” 1. "Execute Him" Of all the pains or tortures devised by fate, perhaps the most miserable is to have once been happy. The brokenhearted see the world the most poetically, but through the deadest eyes. Theirs is the pain of seeing the most and having the least, having only recognized their fortune in the moment it was ripped from their fingertips. The mercifully ignorant stumbled through the empty courtyard, walking corpses in rags. Their faces were covered in soot and blank expressions, tearless, resigned, familiar with nothing but the drudgery of their labors and the pain of the whip. They wielded their shovels and picks weakly, wishing they could fall to the earth and pass into sleep, but fearing the soldiers on all sides. The soldiers bore whips for the insolent and swords for the disobedient. Their light skirmish armor glittered in the sunlight and weapons glistened on their belts. Archers stood on the wall tops surrounding them. The slaves did not dare to run because their lives would not end painlessly if they did, but they envied those that often died in their sleep. The slave drivers observed the scene with faces of stone and pitiless eyes. They drove the slaves endlessly from one pit to another, one slag pile to the other. They forced their charges to mine and toil, brake bones, work themselves ill or to die. And they looked the other way. For many months since the start of the war, it was all they ever did. They took dozens on men, women and children and worked them to their deaths, all the time looking the other way. Then there came word of spies. The one hundred and forty-eight captives were forced to stand in formation, straight rows and columns as the patrol arrived. Everyone was silent. Even the wind was dead today, but the sun glared down at them, as if in fascination. Jerle felt the warm steel between his fingers, the stinging grit between his fingers and the cold in his heart. He watched his victim through expressionless eyes. “Execute him.” Jerle felt the weigh of the blade as it raked through the air. He watched as the body fell to the windswept sand and the muffled sound of its fall. The death was instant, the kill was clean. And yet, Jerle thought he remembered the stain of crimson on his hands. “You have done much for me, Jerle.” The vague outline of a man shifted in the shadows of the trees. His knife glinted white in the moonlight, glittering like clear water. “You have my thanks. And you will have your reward.” Jerle shuddered in pain as he lay in the dark soil, pressing his hands to the wound he had been dealt. His drugged mind was beginning to slow and the black around him was beginning to swallow him in its cloak. “Why are you doing this?” He gasped. The man turned to go. “You are a spy and a murderer now. They will not listen to your account of what has happened, but they will be quite satisfied with your capture, I think. They only need one of us, after all.” “I risked my life for you.” Jerle whispered. The other halted. “And why, exactly? You thought you could trust me?” He laughed loudly. “I trusted you once. I trusted my family. Then I found betrayal was the undercurrent of every reality, the lifeblood of self-preservation. Nothing that breathes can be trusted. It is so easy to slip. Everyone does.” “Not everyone.” “No?” The other asked in mock surprise. “I’m disappointed. I thought that I had proven my point so perfectly.” He stepped forward, into the starlight. “If you could never have trusted another being alive, Jerle, you would have trusted me. And yet I hurt you. I used you. I destroyed your future. And you killed your friend. You lied to your friends. You lied to the person you loved more than anyone in the world.” He turned, leaving Jerle sweating in agony. He stepped through the trees and was gone. “No one in our world can be trusted. Not even me. Not even you.”
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  I'm having problems submitting my fanfiction
  • Avelrak the Insidious  

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  I do know that things submitted need to be approved.  Sadly, I've had no luck in getting in myself.  Just like with editing bans, it errors out on me. Seth would likely be able to help more, if he'd check in from time to time.  As it stands, I cannot promote anyone else because of my issue editing other accounts.
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  Need a place to start
  • Entius the Mole  

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  @Creigon: This is perfect guys! Thanks! :D Avel, do you mind if your suggestion is put up as kind of an area that members view when they register? Sure thing. Anything to help. Go ahead and put my message up if you want.
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  Jerle
  • Seth  

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  Something I've always noticed is the tendency for truly Elven names to have a musical nature. Lots of soft syllables (N, M, L, S, E/A for vowels)…
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  Redwall Encyclopedia
  • Namaste  

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  Hmm…I never thought of it that way. So the characters were certain animals based on their personality. That makes sense.
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  Thread Intros
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