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So, like, after having a month or so of time, I finally edited and revised my entry for the Short Story Autumn Olympics of yesteryear. Basically took out most of the grammar errors, although I think that the vocabulary still could have used a few edits. If you were planning to read it before but didn't, now is the time. Really glad to finally be getting back on track with writing stuff, nonetheless. Reviews would be appreciated, as usual. The Mansion
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Wow, first story I've posted in... a while? So yeah, been meaning to get something up, and finally got around to keeping my word. It's nothing like I had originally planned on writing, nor is it something I think I'm especially proud of, but I'm glad I was able to write something. The story is an alternate version of S&D taking place after the unwritten end of the story, but it has nothing to do with the actual plotline and contains no story spoilers at all. It'd be really nice to get some reviews on this, because I haven't posted anything in forever and I'd like to know how my writing is doing these days. (read it this time, LK?) Wish You Were Here
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Left out her name for confidentiality's sake. But yeah. -Nuju Metru
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Lightning Strikes Twice -- Forgotten Fragment
Inferna Firesword posted a blog entry in blogs_blog_1558
So I've finally converted the story fragment I recently dug up into a Word doc. To read it, drop down the spoiler tag, but if you're too lazy to do that, here's basically what happens: Ariadne, Stara's right-hand Matoran, talks to her friend and one of the few, non-Xi-Matoran residents of Xi-Koro, Kouki. However, there is much more to be gained by reading it. I'm not sure where this would have gone; probably somewhere in Chapter 11. » Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «Ariadne was quiet as she walked through Xi-Koro’s streets, still turning the story she, Steena, and Turaga Stara had discovered three days prior. Even though they had gained a fairly solid theory about why the Amari Islands was so often plagued by halfling activity, Stara still continued to unleash her spirit so she could spy of Deimos. The Xi-Matoran was the second-in-command of the village overall when Stiaye wasn’t around to assume that role, so the safety of her people often rested on her narrow shoulders. One of her main concerns was of Stara's choice to continue spying on Deimos, despite their theory. Ariadne was worried that she was propelled by her desire to check on Nuju instead of actual spying work. Another concern was that Stara might not be safe as a spirit. Halflings were said to have great power - maybe they could reach through the weave of the spirit realm and harm the Turaga. All of her woes drove the Xi-Matoran to walk up to a friend's front door. She needed someone to talk to, someone to confide in, and Kouki was just that person. Kouki was a newcomer to Xi-Koro, arriving within the last fifty years and liking the climate enough to move in permanently. Despite the fact he wasn’t a Xi-Matoran, it wasn’t unknown for other Matoran to live in the village, so he was welcomed into the community. Some of the more wilder-minded of the tribe believed that his arrival in the Amaris had some connection to Stara’s homecoming, since he had come within months of Stara’s return from exile. Ariadne rapped on the wood door of Kouki’s hut, which lay on the northernmost arm of the village’s formation. It had once been the home of the treacherous Xi-Matoran Sekmet, but even knowing its history had not dissuaded him from living in the place. As usual, the door opened three seconds after the knock, revealing Kouki’s Komau-style mask as his blue eyes peered out to meet her own orbs. Smiling, the Ko-Matoran beckoned her inside: he didn’t get very chatty until he and his host/guest were in the same area together, in this case his home. True to his nature, once the Xi-Matoran had crossed the threshold and the front door had closed, Kouki spoke up. “How is the Turaga doing, Ariadne? Is she spying on the halfling right now?” Ariadne was about to nod “yes”, but the Ko-Matoran had bustled off to brew tea – in Xi-Koro, the signal to make yourself at home – so she had to say so aloud. “Chaka and Scylla are watching over her right now,” she said, sitting down on the Rahi-leather couch in his living room. “They forced me to take some time off; do something for myself instead of hovering.” The scent of herbal tea wafted into the room through the saplings he cared for in his home, serving as a nursery for the young trees until they were planted on the three islands that provided Xi-Koro with fruit and wood. The refreshing smell heralded Kouki, carrying two mugs of the brew into the room, handing one to her as he sat down in a chair opposite of Ariadne. A surprised frown crossed the Xi-Matoran's expression as she watched him sit down, and she added, “You seem taller than you were the last time I talked with you.” The Ko-Matoran examined the Matoran of Lightning, realizing that he was indeed a head taller than her. “Growth spurt, I guess,” he said with a shrug. As Matoran went, he younger than her and didn’t take life as seriously as his kinsmen, preferring the ways of his adopted village than of his tribe. Now that she was paying attention, Ariadne also noticed that he seemed to have more Xi-colors mingling with his natural white, but since she knew she would get the same response to it, she didn’t bring it up, instead sipping her tea to distract herself: piping hot and without sugar, as most of the village preferred, allowing the sweetness of spearmint to flavor the brew instead. “You are worried,” Kouki stated suddenly, setting down his empty cup (how males managed to drink their drinks so fast was a mystery to Ariadne) and catching her amber eyes in the gaze of his blue ones, holding fast. Unable to deny the truth – and she had planned to speak about this anyway – she nodded. “Why do you fear?” Kouki spoke in a slightly formal voice when conversation turned serious, and was less inclined to use the slang Ariadne did. Why was a mystery to most of the villagers, but no one felt inclined to try and change his habits. Because Stara had bidden Steena and Ariadne to hold their tongues on what they had discovered, the Turaga’s right hand did not speak the whole truth, instead voicing only her fear. “I’m worried about Stara’s errands to spy on our enemy,” she said, looking down into her tea’s scalding depths, a murky, clear-amber color greeting her eyes. There was a second drink common to the Matoran here: a thick, dark, bitter-sweet drink made from the seed-pulp of a native plant here. It was one of their main exports to the wider world, but since this one of the few places you could get it, the outer world tended to save it only for special occasions. The Xi-Matoran tended to follow this policy, even though most of them had those plants growing near their houses and could make the brew practically any time they wanted. “Why?” Leave it to a Ko-Matoran to get straight to the point, Ariadne thought, slightly amused. “Her motives,” she stated simply. “She says she’s spying on him, but is she really doing that? Maybe she’s just watching Nuju, instead of doing what she says she’s doing.” She never would have said this directly to Stara, since her biased trial years before had scarred the memories of many of the Matoran that had participated about motives, Ariadne included. While all of the present evidence had pointed at the erstwhile Lightning Toa at the time, her trial had hardly been fair to her, since no one had thought of pulling out a Noble Rode and checking Stara’s story at the time – and even when they had, they didn’t really care, since most had been fully convinced of Stara’s guilt. “You have to put yourself into Stara’s boots,” Kouki said. “She has to worry about the safety of us all; she doesn’t want to tell Stiaye that one of her friends was killed during her journey home to fight Deimos. She fears for Nuju, yes, but she needs to put the village above her own feelings – even though I’m sure she still wants to protect him.” Ariadne was silent, so the Ko-Matoran reached over the table to clasp her hand. “Stara’s been up again halflings before, and she’s still alive. Trust her abilities.” Kouki was orginally supposed to appear in LST, but he got cut from the final draft. He might show up in Wings, but then again he might not. Also, I put in so many references towards him playing another role in the story, I might as well just stick a sign on the door explaing the whole thing. However, I'll see if you guys can figure it out first. -
I recently dug up a paper draft for LST, containing an unfinished idea for one of the chapters. (Or whatever authors call "deleted scenes" ) I haven't looked at it for a while (hence why it never made it into LST), but it seems pretty interesting now that I'm looking back on it. Anybody want to see it? Or should I just keep it in the vault?
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When our eyes first met, something sparked, Because, as I looked into your irises of deep blue-green, I came to realize that you were special. When you placed your fingers, petite and elegant, onto mine, electricity shocked me to the core, Because, through that contact with your small, delicate digits, I came to realize that there was chemistry. When I looked at your face, I couldn’t look away, Because, as my eyes were graced with your visage, I came to realize that you were adorable. I came to realize that you were beautiful. When we hugged, I never wanted to let go, Because, as we were interlocked, I came to realize that holding you felt wonderful. When you smiled or laughed with me, my heart sang an ode to joy, Because, as we shared in a mirthful moment, I came to realize that you make me laugh. I came to realize that making you laugh was important to me. When I opened myself up to you, I felt like there was nothing I couldn’t tell you, Because, as you learned who I really was, and respected it, I came to realize that you understood. When we chatted for hours, I never wanted to have to say good-bye, Because, as we exchanged unspoken messages, I came to realize that you were the highlight of my day. When I told you I was in love with you, I poured my heart out, Because, as I professed how I felt, as I revealed what you meant to me, I came to realize what you meant to me. I came to realize that you meant everything to me. When you gently rejected me, I was not saddened, Because, as you replied to me, I could tell that you were truly sorry. I came to realize that I was important to you. When you wrote me a poem, I cried in joy, Because, as I read the words you had crafted for my benefit, I came to realize what you thought about me. I came to realize that you loved me. When that happened, I came to realize… more than can be put into words. I love you.
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I've run into a problem, and I need opinions on something. (I can't explain what this has to do with any of my projects at the time being, so you'll just have to wait.) What you tell me could shape a story I'm writing. Thanks for the help!
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This entry's going to be a bit personal. A lot of the techniques I use here when designing characters' personalities are mostly my own and might not work for everybody, but that's okay. I just wanted to post how I do it. Nobody has to agree with me, and I don't expect them to. Now onto the entry itslf: Whenever I start a story, I need to know who the protagonist(s) are going to be. I have to, even if I only have the bare bones of the plot itself. Really, I don't even need to know how the characters themselves look; so long as I know some of their basic personality traits and quirks I'll be happy and will be able to continue on with the story. Characters are the most important part of any story for me, whether it be a novel, short story, fanfic, script, or anything else. If I don't have the characters, I generally don't have the story since they are what drive it (particularly if it the story in question happens to be in first-person, in which knowing at least who the main viewpoint character is is absolutely essential IMO). When I start, say, a fantasy story, I don't immediately think, "Okay, I'll need the Knight in Shining Armor (or Heroic Mage, whatever you prefer) to figh the Dark Lord in order to retrieve the (insert name of quest object here), which will allow him to save the (princess/kingdom/world/universe/whatever)." I don't do this because it doesn't really allow me to write unique and interesting characters and it is just plain uncreative, too, since I don't like using cliches of any kind unless absolutely necessary. Perhaps you could sum up a story of mine like that (though I haven't ever written a story even remotely similar to that before), but I don't simply make a character a knight (or we could say "Toa" here, if you want) and leave him at that. Back in my old day I probably did that, but not anymore. I like to find out as much as I can about a character before writing him or her, generally during the writing process itself. You see, if all I did was think of my characters in terms of archtypes (like the Wise Old Mentor, for example) then they will never grow and become their own independent entities. They would become uninteresting cardboard cut-outs solely there to drive the plot, and I hate writing like that. It is disrespectful to the characters and makes it harder for me to write, since I never work well with outlines of any kind. Forcing my characters to do what I want, rather than what they want, is unnatural for me and just doesn't work. But back to the main point: When I start a story, I think of characters in what the story needs, not what I need. If I make a Wise Old Mentor, is it because I actually need him for the story or because I think that all stories I write should have a character like him with little-to-no variation, even though he has little purpose to the plot itself? It isn't so much the archetype itself that bothers me but the fact that if I wrote a Wise Old Mentor character and kept him like that forever that the story would probably be a lot less interesting than if I let him naturally change in his own way during the course of the story. True, I may create a character based off an archetype sometimes, but they rarely ever stay that way. They will usually evolve and grow, during both the planning and writing process. That is very good, because if your character manages to actually change and become his or her own character during the course of the story it means you've written a well-devleoped character, at least in my opinion. Part of the reason outlines never work with me is because I have little control over my characters' actions and I hate having to change what they would do in order for what the plot should be. Outlines may work for some people, but they don't for me. I prefer having my characters tell me the story, rather than me telling them the story. Just feels phony if I have to force them to go here or do this when they really want to go here or do this instead, and they are often far more right than I am. Doesn't mean I simply let them do anything they want, though. Sometimes, if I think they are deviating too far from the main plot or are in a pointless subplot that doesn't compliment the main plot in some way I will steer them back onto the main plot. This has happened to me a few times, where my characters have gone and done something that is so boring or pointless to the plot that I have to go and rewrite it into a more interesting, worthwhile scene instead. Still, I think following my characters and letting them do their own things is generally for the best. In closing, when I make characters, I start off with a few simply traits and build from there, while allowing the characters to grow and change beyond whatever traits I may have given them. I never let them stay archetypes (if I have based them off archtypes in the first place) and always allow them to grow and become who they want to be. Sometimes, if they are in a boring subplot, I may have to gently point them back in the right direction, but generally they do a pretty good job of their own figuring out where they want to go, plotwise. I find that way works best, at least for me. -TNTOS-
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First of all, Nuju Metru is friggin' awesome. Second, I'm getting Mata Nui for Christmas. I would have gotten Ackar, but MN has yellow parts, something that I don't have much of. I might even be able to use him for a self-MoC. Third, I never really realized how fun it is writing fiction. I think my work-in-progress SS will turn out good. I'll just say this: it's about the Tuyetverse. So, anyway, I need some name ideas, just to get me thinking. What do you think are good names for a Matoran, a Toa of Air and a Toa of Stone?
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...on my story! Yes, after nearly three months of not being able to get anything done concerning the plot, concepts, characters, outline, etcetera, I've actually found inspiration! And comes from many sources: My sister, who's first story ever written was only twenty pages long and at the time I deemed her the best author ever, (she's second best now, Dekker aside.) the fact that my hometown has spawned at least six or seven published authors, the fact that the guy who wrote Eragon was only fifteen at the time, and the fact that my writing outright sucks. The pacing is terrible, the characters generic, the antagonist unmotivated... On the bright side, it's around sixteen pages long after cutting more than half the text for being pointless, irrelevant chatting and tedium. And I haven't even begun to expand sections to put the pacing at a proper level. So... =3
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I have the hiccups. In other news, I completed the first draft of a short story today. (No, not the one mentioned earlier.) I'll probably have at least two more drafts before I post it, but yeah. Expect it before New Year's.
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As of tonight I have finished my NaNoWriMo novel, Two Worlds. Though I did reach the 50k mark last month, the novel itself hadn't actually been finished, but I did finish it tonight at 90,591 words. Hooray! However, I am putting it aside for now to begin work on An Unlike Alliance's third (and hopefully final) draft. With TW out of the way I can put all of my energy on AUA. I expect it'll be up by summer 2010 at the latest, possibly spring at the earliest depending on how fast I get through the editing. Time to celebrate and stuff . -TNTOS-
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So, you've all heard about the new serial coming up, right? No? Well, here you go. Cool, eh? Yeah, I can't wait for that. In this topic, I voted Lightning, Magnetism, The Green, and Psionics (FTW). But let's get to the point. I kinda had an idea, inspired by this, to write a short story about a Toa team of my creation. Maybe even a series, if it comes out good. So, watch'a think? Should I attempt such a feat? Republished, 'cause I want responses.
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My last one before I head to Hawaii. =P So yeah, I finally wrapped up that BZProvince sub-plot, involving my character, Kagha's, Rockhound's, Xomeron's, and goodness knows how many other people. Hopefully I won't get shot for this.
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Check this website out. Found a link to it on another website yesterday. It tells you how many words you can type in a minute, though the disclaimer at the bottom says that it is not perfect and will only give you a clue as to where you are, speedwise. Still fun and slightly addicting to do, though. Almost like a game, really. My personal best is 87 a minute without missing a single word. Of course, that doesn't mean I always write 87 words minute, since I don't usually type that fast during any other typing activities. Still, it's nice to know how fast I can go when I'm aiming for quantity over quality, though. -TNTOS-
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I just learned (literally five minutes ago) that there's a new female element: everything that has to do with the mind (telekinesis, telepathy, mind control, mental attacks . . . the list is endless). This wound up changing my plans for the LST sequel (yes, I said sequel. Rejoice, H&H fans) a bit, but just a bit. Also, due to a lack of writer's block, the Epilogue for LST should arrive fashionably early.
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Boom-de-ya-da, Boom-de-ya-da . . .
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I did it! I finished NaNoWriMo a few minutes ago, reaching 51k as of tonight. Yay and stuff . However, the story itself is far from finished and I will likely be working on it well into December, which means I won't be working on AUA for a while longer. Personally I felt that NaNoWriMo was a fresh change from having to work on my fanfics, though I eagerly look forward to getting back to working with the Toa Shika and related characters again . -TNTOS-
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Chapter 20 -- done and posted. Just the epilogue, and then LST will be finished.
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So if you're one of the elite few (marketing ftw ) that still has any interest in my only epic, Search and Destroy, it might be of your remote concern that after two and a half months since revising the first chapter, I've finally posted the revised version of the second chapter. If you haven't read the epic yet, I'd obviously encourage you to do so. I've put a lot of effort into the two revisions I've done so far, and I do want to finish the story at some point. If I'm ever going to do that, though, it'd be nice to have some encouragement. If you guys don't see another revision up before this weekend, please send me hate-PM's telling me to work on it so I'll have it up before Sunday night, okay?
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CHAPTER 19 OF LST -- POSTED!
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I'm just about done with the nineteenth chapter of Lightning Strikes Twice. If I actually concentrate, I might actually post it this weekend!
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As the title suggests, I have two conflicting impulses regarding my fanfiction that just won't settle their differences and become friends: On one hand, whenever I post a new fanfic I almost always crave reviews. Good reviews, bad reviews, constructive criticism . . . whatever anyone has to offer. So I advertize it in my sig, in my blog, doing whatever I can to make sure that everyone and their dog knows about it. Well, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but I do expect people to read my stuff and reply, though I never ask or force anyone to make any reviews unless they state in their sig that they take requests. Yet on the other hand, I am frightend of what other people will say about my work. While I am reasonably confident that my fics are fairly well-written, I can't say for sure unless someone tell me so, and I'm probably not a very good judge of my own quality as a writer is often blinded by his own biased eye and will therefore be unable to find much problems with his work unless he's editing/revising. Sure, most of the replies that I do get are usually quite positive, but I still get this paranoia going on and my mind starts to ask questions like, "What if this character is too bland or annoying or underdeveloped?" Or "What if I wrote something that will offend people?" And "What if the plot doesn't make sense?" Among the many many other things that also frighten me, though those tend to be the most prominant. Generally these fears and worries are unfounded and most people tend to like what I've wrote with few complaints or questions regarding the plot, characters, etc, but I still worry that someone, some day may just write me a review ripping my works apart. What do I do if that happens? Well, as it so turns out, I have also thought of what to do if that were to happen. I'll do as I always do: Just reply as best as I can to the reviewer's points, complaints, and criticisms. That's really all I can do, and I don't think I can do any better. I'm sure many writers have these conflicting impulses whenever they decide to show their work to others for the first time, even if they have been doing it for years. But I suppose my desire to become a better writer and get a lot of replies (not that I am saying that the two are always interconnected, but I feel that I could become better with a few more constructive reviews) outweighs my fear of getting critized harshly, which also seems to be the case of most writers that I've read about. And anyway, if I plan to get published someday I will need to learn to take rejection and criticism, although I think that I take it reasonably well, as I rarely ever shout or yell at harsh reviews. But I suppose my fear of harsh criticsm isn't an entirely bad thing. After all, it usually encourages me to write even better so they won't have anything to critize. Not sure how many times that actually works, though. -TNTOS-
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...but none will answer the door! (If you know what that's from, then you're immediately awesome. ) So yeah, managed to get my SSAO P3 entry in just literally seconds over the time limit. Not sure if I'm officially into the contest yet, but I'd rather have readers after the contest so I can make edits. Because of time, I was forced to publish the entry without doing any proofreading or editing whatsoever, so I can only cross my fingers and pray that everything is in order. Anyway, good luck to everyone else who entered, and may the best writer (probably not me ) win! The Mansion
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If you'd read and give feedback on this, I'd be very happy. … The benevolent sun sank below the horizon as twilight came, Its dying amber rays illuminating a canyon, with cliffs of Sharp crags to define its sides. Mighty mountains were these, Impossible to scale or pass, except by the road through the valley. This narrow breach was blocked, however, by an impregnable Fortress, a wall of stone harder than steel, with huge doors of oak and A wrought-iron portcullis to defend its single entryway. This castle blockade was The Gauntlet, and it had never Been taken, nor had its single wall been broken Since its creation. It was a solid giant of man’s forging, with the purpose Of keeping out those sinister and hostile forces, the warriors of a thousand years past; The armies of the undying. Rallied into service by dark sorcerers, These grim reincarnations existed for only the purpose of war And bringing suffering and pain to those who yet lived in full. Of late, strength had been gathering in the lands claimed by the Forces of death; For a new leader, he who was most powerful of all Necromancers, Scallow of Uthras, Scythe-Wielder, had taken control. He used his unrivalled prowess in Dark magic to confer with the Greater Dead, Gods of the underworld, even bartering with Xethrinn the All-Powerful, King of Death, and from this forbidden conference Gained a force of undead warriors the scale of which had never appeared before. It was this army which was now marching through the narrow canyon Towards the Gauntlet. Hundreds of thousands of skinless, rotting feet trod In unnatural unison, a marching horde of the dead bent upon breaking the great barrier. Rusting armor and wicked blades clanged and rattled as Scallow’s troops moved Their muscles and skin and tendons all greyed in death, ravaged organs clinging and hanging From cracked, moldy bones. Upon sharp, tall pikes within the mass fluttered Black banners, emblazoned with the emblem of a white skeletal hand, the seal of Scallow of Uthras. But it was behind the legions of infantry that true beasts of war stood. Gigantic, heavy war-machines had been built for this assault, wooden menaces Which cast long shadows in the dying sun’s radiance. The huge weapons included Trebuchets loaded with boulders the size of cattle, Mortars with powerful metal shots, Repeating guns which spewed forth fire from inside armored wagons, Giant crossbows with arrows the size of spears, Tall siege towers and ladders, and chariots pulled by half-eroded horses, Equipped with rotating bronze axes which chopped and spun as the wheels rolled. Above all the land-locked equipment swooped gliders, The bat-like wings of which beat up and down In a frenzied struggle to remain airborne. They were laden with incendiaries and bombs Designated to tear the Gauntlet apart. Upon the parapets of the Gauntlet, high above these amassed armies of evil, Stood Charon, the elderly conjurer, his raven hair and silver mantle caught in the chill breeze. Charon was first of the land’s wizards to become aware of Scallow’s lust for power And of the creation of his armies. The raven-haired Wizard was quick to alert the kings and rulers of the lands, Who, upon realizing the threat that the scythe-wielder and his armies posed, had created An alliance of three races, those of dwarves, the skilled engineers and miners, Of the lithe and skilled elves, masters of magic and archery, And of men, the populous and militaristic race of ambition. The side of life had, upon the founding of its unity, began to produce War-weapons and fortresses of their own. Charon devised a certain potion from His tower laboratory, An acid, which, when it came into contact With those who were dead, would melt and corrode their bodies, Leaving only spirits which were free to return to quiet death and to rest in peace. Dwarvish inventors took this acid, and created a special bolt which contained it until impact, whereupon The magical compound would splatter over whatever object had shattered its vial. Armed with these special projectiles, the rapid-fire guns commissioned By the men-kings were customized for compatibility, and Would prove to be devastating against any warrior of the dead. Charon stood on the battlements close to one of these aptly named “Deadkiller Guns” which was mounted on the wall. He stared down with hard eyes into the sea of troops and siege engines The first line of which had halted perhaps five-score feet from the base of the wall. “Why have they stopped, sir?” A voice asked from behind Charon. The raven-haired wizard turned, To find himself facing his apprentice, Orion, A youthful elf of prodigal magical potential, who Charon had taken on As an apprentice, to hone and refine the growing creature’s gifts. The raven-haired wizard gave reply to his pupil, voice contemplative. “I know not, Orion. Perhaps the armies of Death Await a signal or a command to commence in their attack. For, you do know, as I have taught you, that reincarnated servants Do not operate without the command of a master. However, this falls into question; We have not seen Scallow of Uthras commanding in person at a battle For some time. I know only of one other way he could give orders To his soldiers; if one of the Gods of the Dead had sent him a very rare And very dangerous form of aid. If Scallow has the Men Who Are Not Men under his command, If his ranks include those most grievous of undead demons, The Wraithra, then all is explained. As is doom spelled out for each and every one of us.” Just as the wise wizard finished speaking, there was a visible stirring of the mindless dead below. The hordes parted, forming an aisle down their middle. What rode through that passageway confirmed their worst fears. A figure, roughly humanoid, composed entirely of shadows, Which seemed to form a cloak of darkness about its body, Rode at a canter through the parted ranks of warriors below upon a skeletal black steed. Where its head should have been, there was naught but void, upon which sat An ornate, wicked-looking open-faced helm, with spikes arranged around the top Forming a crown. For this was indeed a prince, one of the princes of darkness, A Wraithra. When the Man Who Was Not A Man reached the wall of the Gauntlet, it reached inside its Cloak of deepest shadow, and from the billowing, gaseous folds, pulled a blade An alien blade, forged of some unearthly substance, a transparent, green sword That glowed and shone with an unholy corpse-light. The Wraithra let loose an ear-piercing shriek, part war-cry, part laugh, And thrust its strange, deadly weapon into the air Upon which both the dark sword and dark being exploded into verdant fire, Tendrils of supernatural flame licking in and out of the sinister helm. The thousands of fallen warriors before it followed this example, Jeering, shouting, and groaning, they rose their own rusted weapons Creating a horrifying racket Sending fear to the hearts of every man, elf and dwarf Atop the wall of the impregnable Gauntlet. Orion swore beneath his breath, and Charon mumbled An ancient protective spell, hoping to ward off some of the evil of the Wraithra. In the same moment, the Man Who Was Not A Man turned his steed To face the fortress before it, and brought its alien weapon Down, describing a large arc, and giving the order to its army To commence in the attack. With a whoosh, the trebuchets’ long arms swung up, their counterweights dropped, Slinging their boulders at the Gauntlet’s high wall with massive strength. The first rock to hit took with it a fair chunk of masonry, to be sure, But the wall held firm and strong. More projectiles from the mortars and catapults Had similarly little effect, merely denting the impregnable fortress. But the barrage was steady, and it was clear to those assembled That after a time, even if a long time, The wall could perhaps fall. At another point on the wall, close to where the raven-haired Charon stood, One of the tall siege towers rolled on studded wheels towards its destination, Pushed by hundreds of the dead, intended to gain the attacking army access to the parapets. As Charon looked on, Orion behind him sprang into the control seat Of the mounted Deadkiller Gun. The young elf stared intently through the crosshairs, targeting Those of Scallow’s troops who were moving the lofty wooden machine far below. Then he turned the operation crank. With a roaring sound, the weapon began to discharge its Acid-filled projectiles, the gravity-reloading magazine rhythmically falling as shots flew forth into the Mass of warriors moving the siege tower with a stunning efficiency and speed. Deadkiller arrows peppered the horde heavily Upon striking a target, their glass chambers shattered Releasing the potent substance held there with a splatter. Wherever the clear acid Made contact with a being of death, it sizzled and burned, corroding And melting away bone, rotted skin, and shredded muscle, until nothing remained of the Summoned spirit’s body. It was in this manner that Orion banished a large portion of the siege tower’s pushers. But as one dead soldier fell, another replaced him, So numerous were they. Soon, the elf had run out of ammunition, and was unable to further prevent the tower from approaching. It got within ten feet of the Gauntlet’s huge wall, but then, Seemingly from nowhere, A bundle of dynamite, fuse lit, sailed through The air, landing on the top of the wooden tower’s archer platform. With a bang, the grenade combusted, blasting a fist of flame Into the air. The tower’s top exploded apart, splintered wood and warped metal flying in every direction. Charon and Orion both turned back to see from where this aid had come, and their eyes Were met with the sight of the human engineer Derringer, a bandolier draped Over his grease-stained apron and armor. From it dangled more dynamite, engineer’s tools, and a Shining sword. Atop his head sat a battered leather helmet, and a pair of welding goggles. Derringer smiled cockily at his two allies, and spoke with a similar attitude. “It’s a good thing I came when I did, That tower was awful close. I daresay you two Would not have fared nearly so well Had my devices not been there to solve the problem.” Neither the young elf nor elderly conjurer had any time to reply, however, For above their heads in that moment the enemy’s gliders soared Bat-like wings fluttering and beating to keep the vehicles airborne. A trio of these mechanical birds it was, that flew above the top of the Gauntlet’s high battlements And, upon reaching the part of parapet Which had been constantly battered down by the Trebuchets and cannon of Scallow’s forces, dropped their loads. The gliders let go the bombs they had been carrying And then it was that all chaos broke loose. The bricks of the Gauntlet’s wall, before so adamant and solid Crumbled and broke when the bombs exploded, sending huge chunks of masonry Falling down to the ground, crushing hundreds of the dead who were close to the wall Under an avalanche of stone. Once the formerly proud structure had finished with its dying throes, And the dust had cleared, there was left a rent in the previously impenetrable barrier that The Gauntlet had been. With a great and terrible cheer, the mass of deathly soldiers outside of the Gauntlet swarmed Towards the newly-created breach, a mass of movement so vast that it appeared an ocean. But they were met by a line of men with large shields, and with axe-wielding dwarves A formidable melee force, which easily defended the narrow rift And cut and slashed and stabbed at the oncoming sea of skeletons. Elvish archers stood atop the wall on either side of the breach, and skillfully fired Arrow after arrow into the fray. The side of life held its ground even against their numerical disadvantage For a time. But the tilting of favor changed When, galloping agilely through the swarm of dead on its bony steed Rode the nightmarish Wraithra, corpse-blade raised And whole form covered in dancing green fire. Time seemed to slow As the demon flew forward, evil radiating from it as its stallion carried it towards the small force Of living beings who had held off Scallow’s armies. Directing one shadowy hand at the wall of Dwarves and Men, the Man Who Was Not A Man Spurted forth a long tendril of sickly flame from its palm. With the chain of glowing fire, the Wraithra targeted one of the strongest-looking men in the crowd And threw its energy at that man, using the green flame to lift him off the ground. The man screamed as his attacker lazily flicked its wrist back, directing with it The string of fire, and flinging the man hundreds of feet into the air, sending him Sailing backward into the army of corpses behind, whereupon he was devoured. Charon, Orion, and Derringer Watched this spectacle in horror. The Wraithra mercilessly killed several more Using its sword, the ominous blade shrieking through the air as it took life after life. Orion started forward in anger, his crossbow primed, but Charon held him From dashing down into the battle below. The Raven-Haired wizard chided his apprentice. “Orion, patience! Your crossbow stands no chance In the face of a Wraithra. No mortal weapon, in fact Can defeat it; were you to try, it would be suicidal. No, the only method possible to destroy one of them Would be by using magic, and no mean magic at that. Tell me, apprentice, have you still that azure crystal Which I gave you in the beginning? Remember, I said, ‘Keep this crystal well, Orion, for you may well need it.’ Yes, now you recall! Fetch me this crystal, boy For it is a very powerful magical object; its natural substance is Most abhorrent to the dead, and, if I remember correctly, to Wraithra as well. “ Orion silently rifled through his bag, searching it for the blue stone Charon had given him. Upon finding it, the prodigious elf handed the crystal A stone no bigger than his palm, and unrefined To Charon. The wizard then fixed this small but powerful item Atop his oaken staff, then wordlessly motioning for his two comrades to follow him down to the breach. By the time the trio of heroes had reached the area of conflict, Their archenemy had already slain almost the entirety of troops who had blocked the Wall-breach. Only enough yet survived to desperately pen in the eager tide Of undead. Orion leapt like a deer onto the slanting side of the broken wall, Crouched there, and let fly a quiver-full of arrows from his crossbow, Felling a fair number of his adversaries. Derringer joined the thinning line of Defenders, using his shining blade to parry and hold back Scallow’s armies. Charon targeted the Wraithra, his staff emitting bursts of bright light from its knobbed end, The flashes of magical energy magnetically drawn to the demon. However, each one of the raven-haired wizard’s assaults was in turn devoured by The dancing green flame which engulfed the Man Who Was Not A Man. But when the elderly conjurer swung his staff, crystal-embedded end forward, at his foe Its skeletal mount reared backward in fear and alarm as the blue stone Came close, its internal phosphorescence glowing brighter as it swooshed past. The Wraithra shrieked in shock, pain, and fury, and swung its verdant, wicked sword Down at Charon’s staff, severing the thick wood shortly below where the crystal was affixed Cleaving it entirely with a single strike. The enchanted rock fell to the ground with a dull thud. Orion watched from his perch on the crumbled bricks of the huge wall as His mentor’s long staff was severed and its effective tip was lost. The nimble elf sprang from his perch and down towards the place where it had fallen, Landing on a number of the dead as he made it to earth. The prodigious apprentice quickly stood, and pushed aside Those in his path as he made his way towards the crystal’s place in the dirt, About which the Man Who Was Not A Man’s steed tread nervously. Orion wasted no time in making his move. He darted forward, and quickly snatched the powerful blue stone, Only barely avoiding the dark stamping hooves of The bony black horse as he slid on the ground head-first, crystal clutched in his outstretched hands. Orion heard flame crackle behind him as the Wraithra’s hand Sprung into animated green fire, and it launched a ball of the otherworldly energy. But its projectile never reached its intended target. An invisible shield, created by Charon, Now stood between Orion and his enemy; the orb of flame dissipated With a hiss as it met the force-field. The Wraithra turned to the aging wizard with another wrathful, spine-tingling cry, And directed its streaming attack at him instead. It was now that Orion saw his chance. He took the blue crystal in his hand, and Threw it at the shadowy form of the Man Who Was Not A Man. The little chunk of stone shed its light Brighter and brighter as it came closer to the Wraithra, and beaming a finalistic halo of azure When it collided with the shadow-formed and cloaked figure. A sound that could by no reasoning could ever be defined as earthly Left the Wraithra as the crystal hit and stuck onto its body. Desperately, The dark demon tried to claw and burn the stone off of its chest, but could not; For the magical little rock had begun to work its power. The previously Human-shaped body of solid shadow seemed to melt And liquefy, turning more vapory and insubstantial as the crystal sucked in its Dark material and green flame. There was soon but a small cloud of Wispy remnants, but they vanished quickly. Only the entity’s sinister helm, alien blade, and the stone which had consumed it remained, All three of which fell into the dust as one. The Man Who Was Not A Man was no more. … The benevolent sun sank below the horizon as twilight came, Its dying amber rays illuminating a canyon, with cliffs of Sharp crags to define its sides. Mighty mountains were these, Impossible to scale or pass, except by the road through the valley. This narrow breach was once blocked by an impregnable Fortress, a wall of stone harder than steel, with huge doors of oak and A wrought-iron portcullis to defend its single entryway. This castle blockade had been The Gauntlet, and it had only once Been taken since its creation. But that once was enough.
