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#Post#: 4725--------------------------------------------------
A side Project
DIR By: Lucan Tyrius
Date: May 19, 2016, 7:33 pm
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I've been working on an original story (unrelated to 40k) and I
was hoping for feedback. This is the first draft and is subject
to change.
Darken shroud, black velvet of eternity, day's dark sister
envelops every thought. Then a voice calls out, parting the
silence.
"Wake up."
He awoke on the cold stone floor, the room was lit by twin
braziers on the far wall, flanking a massive oaken door. Dazed,
he looks about the room, wondering where he was, who he was.
Then he recalled, memories rushing back like a great tide...
His name was Lucarus, his family name was Cendrik. He hailed
from the nation of Pervora, where he followed in his father's
footsteps to become a Guardian, a knight of the faith that
defended the people from dark magic and the Demons that its
practice spawned. All in service to Enoch, Lord of White, the
one true god.
Lucarus struggled to his feet, weary and sore, and absently
checked his belt. His sword was still there, as was his armor.
His pack was missing though, and that worried him, but he
decided to press on. He couldn't remember where he was or how he
got there, his mind still hazy, and only knew he had to find a
way out. He approached the great doors, they were carved with
detailed scrollwork and the handles were shaped like serpents
devouring their own tails, locked in an infinity symbol. He
grasped the right door's handle and pushed lightly,
surprisingly, it gave way with little resistance. He peered out
into the dark corridor that lay beyond, and saw it was empty for
the moment. Torches lined the walls on either side every twenty
meters of so, giving the hall a dark, ominous feeling, like
something could be lurking just beyond the fire light.
He drew his sword, wading cautiously into the sea of black,
alert for any sign of danger. When he arrived at the first torch
he pulled it off the wall, holding it in his left hand. As he
pressed on he felt a tingle go through his being, he was being
watched. He could hear it, following behind him, in synch with
his foot falls, only slightly delayed. When he stopped, so did
the footsteps behind him, and when he moved agian they resumed.
This theme continued for seven more torches, each time Lucarus
would turn when the footsteps reached the stationary torch's
light, only to see nothing.
This began to unnerve him, fraying his already strained nerves.
Eventually he turned to confront the infernal noise, preferring
to face it head on rather than allow it to skulk any further. It
was good that he did, as when he tuned he was met with the
visage of a grinning skull mere inches from his face. Its hollow
sockets starring with eyeless, unblinking sight. Lucarus gasped,
barely reacting as the skeleton brought a rusted greatsword down
with inhuman strength. He deflected it with his sword, barely,
and it was sent clattering to the ground as he was knocked onto
his back by the force of the blow. The skeletal warrior raised
it's blade for a second strike, but Lucarus quickly grasped the
torch in both hads and swung it with all his might at the
creature's legs. Rusted armor crumbled to dust as its legs fell
from under it. Lucarus quickly grabbed his sword, and brought it
down with all his might on the grinning skull. As it fractured,
the bones fell apart, as though the force that animated them had
been dispelled. Then fell to his knees, breathing hard, willing
his beating heart to slow.
Once he had calmed his quick beating heart he picked up the
torch once more. Sheathing his blade, he used his right hand to
turn the skeleton over on its back, revealing the twin hawk
heraldry that was still barely visible beneath the dust and
wear. The same hearaldry that was emblazoned upon his own
chestplate. The symbol of the Guardian Order.
Lucarus pondered this, thinking back to his study of demons and
dark sorcery. Necromancers and demons could reanimate the
remains of the dead and use them as twisted puppets. Is that why
he was here? To purge whatever dark power controlled this
undead? Perhaps. But that did not explain why the ancient
skeleton bore the crest of the Guardians. Try as he might he
could not remember why he was there, and it frustrated him to no
end. How long had he been there? How long had the darkness
enveloped him? It seemed an eternity. He raised himself back to
his feet, knowing he could not stay to ponder this mystery, he
had to forge on and seek a way out... a way back to the light.
The corridor was eventually cut off by a massive hall that
suddenly opened up around him. His lonely torch was the only
somber light, but it allowed him to see up to the rafters. A
dull red glow bled through holes in the roof, not even
illuminating the upper sections of the hall's rafters. Tattered
banner hung lifeless in the still darkness, as if the wind dare
not stir. As he neared the center of the the grand room he
spotted a fractured metal door, barely hanging to its hinges.
Lucarus took one last look around the room, raising his torch to
see what design might lay on the banners. Most were too torn to
make sense of, but one on the far side of the room was mostly
intact. When the light fell upon it, his breath caught in his
throat, the twin hawk heraldry gleamed on faded white and gold.
Memories came rushing back. A grand hall, with countless
banners fluttering in the breeze, dozens of proud knights, clad
in shining silver armor, saluting a man clad in glittering
golden plate mail. He was in the fortress keep of the Guardian
Order, Silvermoon Castle. In desperation he flung the torch to
the ground and rushed to the doors, flinging them open, causing
them to fall from their moorings, but he didn't care. He gazed
out over the landscape before him. Once rolling green hills were
replaced with flat grey dead lands, once verdant forests reduced
to blackened skeletons and twisted vines. Lake Valmount, once
glimmering, was now black and foreboding. Above it all a
red-lit, featureless moon looked out, uncaring, over the
devastated landscape.
Lucarus fell to his knees, looking down at his armor. It was
scratched and dented, rusting in some places. His once flowing
cloak was frayed and tattered. His flesh, surprisingly, was
undamaged, but his hair was long, reaching past his shoulder,
and his beard was wild and unkempt. He turned his green-blue
eyes to the harsh, scarlet heavens, and let out of cry that
would unnerve even the dead. His world was broken, and it was
his fault...
Filled now with grim purpose he rushed back into the grand hall
and looked about. Now bathed in crimson light he could see the
lifeless piles of bones littering the floor, tattered white
robes and rusted, battered armor lay in heaps with the bones. He
turned to his left, and saw the door to the armory. He
approached and noted that it was as solid as it was before.
Time, it seems, hadn't caught up with it yet. He searched to
nearby remains and found a key on the bones of what used to be
the quartermaster. The doors creaked open, and he entered the
dust filled room. After a quick search he found what he sought.
A large black wood trunk, inscribed with warding sigils. He cast
off the bolts and viewed the contents briefly: A silvery chest
plate, with matching gauntlets and shin guard/boots, a black
overcoat with a hood, and a grey dress uniform with black
gloves. He slipped his old armor off and replaced it with his
new attire.
Once outfitted with his new clothing he turned his gaze to a
nearby weapons chest. He opened it to find a several silver
twinblades, basically two straight swords connected at the
handle for two-handed holding. He selected one, and placed it
the table in the center of the room. Next he found a leather
sash with holsters for throwing knives, and some knives to go in
them. He threw his hood up, and used his twinblade as a walking
stick, as it was enspelled for unsurpassed durability, as well
as being made from Silverite, a remarkably sturdy metal. Then he
exited the keep once more, looking out at the dead land, and
picking a direction at random he set out on a journey to see
what this dark new world holds for him.
#Post#: 4727--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: Apothecary Meros
Date: May 20, 2016, 1:35 am
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Impressive, a worthwhile read.
#Post#: 4729--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: The Big Boy
Date: May 20, 2016, 5:52 am
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I'd only complain of verb-tense issue but this is a story so
that is okay.
#Post#: 4732--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: senera2000
Date: May 20, 2016, 6:09 am
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I like it. Well done.
#Post#: 4734--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: zornuzkull
Date: May 20, 2016, 6:12 am
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Meh...
#Post#: 4745--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: Lucan Tyrius
Date: May 20, 2016, 7:33 pm
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Thanks.
What, not enoygh action an dick jokes for you Zorn?
#Post#: 4749--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: muffin-heretic
Date: May 21, 2016, 8:44 am
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Sorta sounds like Dark Souls maybe, though since I've never
played it, all I think is that this would be a cool start of a
Elder scrolls game.
Well written and I find nothing wrong with it at all, good job
Falco Lucan :D
#Post#: 4751--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: Apothecary Meros
Date: May 21, 2016, 9:01 am
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--- Quote from: muffin-heretic link ---
>
> Well written and I find nothing wrong with it at all, good job
Falco :D
>
--- End Quote ---
Falco didn't write it...
#Post#: 4752--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: muffin-heretic
Date: May 21, 2016, 9:14 am
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Whoops, you are right, I tots thought it was Falco, honest.
This does not make Lucan any less of a great writer, I just
didn't read the name, sorry.
Fixed now.
#Post#: 4790--------------------------------------------------
Re: A side Project
DIR By: zornuzkull
Date: May 22, 2016, 8:16 am
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--- Quote from: Lucan Tyrius link ---
>
> Thanks.
>
> What, not enoygh action an dick jokes for you Zorn?
>
--- End Quote ---
Far to little action... The lack of dick jokes is
inconsequential...
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