In the past, we've had numerous contests and competitions from trailers and skins to fanart, but never have we been able to experience a writers competition.
Books are a challenge to obtain in the third chapter of Thronecraft as we are all aware of, but we'd like to give you a chance to have your works featured around Valoria as IC books to add depth to the world and give players a chance to write a book they might not have the resources to.
We're also looking for other players to help out by selecting submissions to be published and also pasting them into minecraft. Send DM to me via Discord if you're interested! (Fogggy#7790)
Guidelines of participation:
1) Preferably set in Valoria - Try not to include names of prominent characters that were once played or in the old lore. The same goes for prominent events in Karuta or Aoria. 2) Must be your own original work - Don't copy from another writer you've found and appropriate the story to suit the server. This is a chance to be creative after all! 3) Keep it lore-friendly but fiction is always allowed - Check up with the lore team if you have an idea you're not sure could be fictional or a recount of an event in Valoria, eg; A war, plague, other historical events. 4) Please put your entry in a spoiler tab to prevent flooding of the thread - An exception to this is if you've posted your entry to a site and link it in your application. Don't publish it on Wattpad as we can't put it into books as easily! 5) Each player is allowed a single entry of creative writing - Anything from a general story, poem, song(one to play at a tavern, a lullaby or otherwise), A diary(Of your character or another), Handbook(Sword Fighting For Dummies, Hunting Tips or Khazmian Fishing)
Your Entry Template:
Title of your work: Type of writing:(Poetry, Narrative, etc) Author:(What name would be on the book if you found this in a library?) Fiction or nonfiction:(Is this related to lore in Valoria? If so, did you ask staff or lore team about it?) Submission:(Remember to put walls of text in a spoiler tab)
Type of writing: Glyndain Drinking Song Author: Mauri Vertépine, minstrel Fiction or nonfiction:Fiction
Tis the story of a man-knight, galloping over the green vaaaaaale!
Repeat: Tis the story, of a man-knight, galloping over the green vaaaaaale! With armor bright, and sword held tight, travelled to find his Abigaaaaail!
Repeat: With armor bright, and sword held tight, travelled to find his Abigaaaaail! All imperials who had a sight, fainted after telling the taaaaaaaaale!
Repeat: All imperials who had a sight, fainted after telling the taaaaaaaaale! So our dear knight rode straight through night, to claim her for all of Glyndaaaaaaale! Repeat: So our dear knight rode straight through night, to claim her for all of Glyndaaaaaaale!
To claim her for all of Glyndale! To claim her for all of Glyndale!
At Volgrad's wall, without a fright, he struck blade through the guard's camaaaaaail Repeat: At Volgrad's wall, without a fright, he struck blade through the guard's camaaaaaail Walking the street, dreamy delight, he would make all imperials waaaaaaaaaail Repeat: Walking the street, dreamy delight, he would make all imperials waaaaaaaail Guards and fake knights, all tried to fight, and like toddlers they would all faaaaaaail Repeat: Guards and fake knights, all tried to fight, and like toddlers they would all faaaaaaail At the girl's door, knocking with might, to wed her for all of Glyndaaaaaale Repeat: At the girl's door, knocking with might, to wed her for all of Glyndaaaaaale
To wed her for all of Glyndale! To wed her for all of Glyndale!
''Oh my good eyes! Please, snuff the light, your unsightliness, it impaaaaaaales'' Repeat: ''Oh my good eyes! Please, snuff the light, your unsightliness, it impaaaaaaales'' ''Are men here blind? Can't be polite! I'd rather lay down with a whaaaaaaale!'' Repeat: ''Are men here blind? Can't be polite! I'd rather lay down with a whaaaaaaale!'' ''What caused all this? Some cursed birthright? Are you the princess of the paaaaaail?'' Repeat: ''What caused all this? Some cursed birthright? Are you the princess of the paaaaaail?'' ''I'll hide your face, we will unite, but I'll need some pints of strong aaaaaaaale!'' Repeat: ''I'll hide your face, we will unite, I will need some pints of strong aaaaaaaale!''
And this is why, why we good knights, must drink for the knight of Glyndaaaaaaale
We muust drink for the kniiiiiiight of Glyndaaaaaaaaaaaaaaale!
Title of your work: Philosophies on Volgrad and Humanity by Horace Bastillius: Book One Type of writing: Philosophical Insight Author: Horace Cordatus Bastilius Fiction or nonfiction:Nonfiction
Spoiler: Philosophies on Volgrad and Humanity by Horace Bastillius: Book OneShow
The nature of life is a question none can truly answer- a mystery shrouded by the golden light. Some life can have a small candle like flame while others can grow into a massive wildfire, with the ability to change the world as we know it. Some of these lives can have small purposes while others may have an unquenchable thirst, in which no amount of gold and fame can atone for. In life we can either achieve satisfaction at the cost of ambition or ambition at the cost of satisfaction. We can chose to settle down and allow our fervent spirits to age like fine wine, dissolving into nothing more than a sweet dream of years ago, or we may march onwards at the cost of what we have that may not be there tomorrow. At least it is true that the human mind is unpredictable. But in this unpredictability, we are made unique and special. Some have a thirst to sit upon a throne, while others yearn to settle down with a lady and live out their days in peace. Were these kinds of men to switch places, the world would be unhappy, and sadly it happens all too often. Many kings and those of royal blood tend to gruel over their duties to serve a higher cause they do not want, while many peasants and slaves yearn to sit at the pinnacle of Valoria. For many, this world bears them nothing but dissatisfaction and depression because of it. There are leaders who yearn for nothing more than to run deep into the woods with the hand of a fair maiden to live in peace, without the weight of thousands of souls upon their back; There are subordinates who yearn for nothing more than to be seen as a god among mortals with all at their disposal, climbing upon the backs of many people and corpses to achieve it. It is in this that we see the true nature of life. Not to rule, not to serve, and not to own riches, but in the desire to achieve their dreams. Man’s desire to be able to live in a state in which they feel accomplished and will not regret their life is what truly makes a man happy. And it is within the great men who can achieve this that we find the true greatness of mankind - the ability to surpass any challenge that comes between a man and their dream. What makes a man great and powerful is not how many men he has slain or how much coin he has in his coffer; what makes a man great and powerful is to be able to stand tall having achieved their dreams and goals and being able to look back and be satisfied with their life and dream. The fervency of ones dream and will power are what makes mankind truly special; for with enough of them both, a single man can defeat any challenge. What makes a man truly happy is never written in stone or on parchment, it is within your soul. The strength of your spirit and desire should never be suppressed, it should be treasured and used to fight in the name of your dream. What determines your might is not your ability to lift or pull, but the ability to persevere and continue to fight in the name of your dreams. So, to you wayward adventurers and honorable kings, I ask of you to stand up and fight for your dream, no matter how big or small. Live not for the sake of others, and live not by the values of others. Do not follow others because that is what you’re told to do, follow others so you may come closer to your goals and desires and break free from them if they do not lead to them. Break free from the bonds of those who tell you what to live for and what to fight for. Because without a dream or a goal, a man is no better than a walking corpse.
« The life gave me the right to imagine, from this imagination I
created a world, the people in it, the nature around, the culture, and all this
stay quietly in a little part of my head, waiting to be unleashed… »
L.R.
Chapter one: Blood in the West
The sun was rising on the little
village named Mjun. The farmlands were green and full of food for the next two
months, but this morning there was nothing but silence, the beasts themselves
were hiding somewhere else because in this little village, this morning
everyone was dead.
Messages came from the entire West
saying the barbarians from Walach were attacking the west lands of Natar. The
great council was informed and began a long meeting in the White tower, center
of Natar. The three Council men gave an
order; he was simple, too simple to be the best. The people of Nohr had to
protect the big city of Brandh, last shield between the Walachians and the
White-tower. The first letters arrived
from the White-Tower asking any men and women able to fight to get to Brandh’s
fortress and get their equipment, this was years ago… I remember the messenger
giving me the letter and me only seventeen years old going to the fortress,
taking a long sword and going home asking me: “why is this happening?”
This is in Brandh I’m born and
this is where I’m soon going to die.
Chapter 2: My world:
I know this is going to sound
strange but I don’t remember my name, or in fact my old one. But for now I’m
sure you want to know more about me (or in fact that’s what I think) well I’m
born in 645 and dead in 662 when I was seventeen. I’m born in the Fortress
named Brandh but I never knew my parents, my family in law was a group of
merchants selling our specialty, weapons and armor pieces.
Around Brandh there are a lot of
mines where we Nohrdians found the most resistant metal of our time, the
Brandhium. This metal could easily break iron and even steel, but this metal is
rare and so extremely expensive making it our first commercial share and also
our first cause of conflicts.
When I was sixteen my mother gave
me a dagger made from Brandhium, I kept it a long time and trained to be able
to use it in a fight. The first time I trained officially with Brandh’s guards
I was able to use my sword as well as the guards themselves making me proud of
myself and the others a bit jealous. There was only one person who had defeated
me in a duel and this person is the one I was searching for a long time… Her
name was Anna; she grew up in a hunter’s village near the mountains.
Nohrdians’s hunters are well known for their abilities in fight and in
survival. It is say that the young hunter has to survive one month in the
Great-North, where the beasts are rare and the climate freezing as Death
herself.
Anna and I became very good
friends during the few weeks after we met. Time but also the context where we
met brings us to love each other. She said: “I love you” during a cold night on
the walls and for the first time I felt like I really had a family. The next
day I was on the West wall and Anna was helping the people to evacuate. It was
the dawn and in front of us were the thousands of Walachians rushing on the
walls of Brandh. This was the last Dawn I saw as a human.
Chapter 3: Blood on the snow:
The horns blew up; the Walachians
were trying to break through the doors of the city. The bowmen killed or
injured a lot of them, making the evacuation efficient. When the Walachians
broke through the doors and came with ladders on the walls, the citizens were
already gone as the soldiers evacuating them. My dear Anna was safe with them;
it was the only thing I thought about at this right moment. Then it was
apocalypse, the barbarians were a lot, using brutal attacks against the guards
and slashing the recruits one by one. I killed something like ten of them and I
already was exhausted, my arms and legs felt heavy to me and my movements were
slower. Bit by bit my energy leaved me and each attack I ******* was like a
rock falling on my shield. My friends and partners were for the major part lying
on the ground, a large wound across the body and blood tainting their clothes,
armors and blade.
The snow was tainted with red; the
cold air was making me freezing even with the adrenaline of battle. I slashed at
a massive barbarian on the shoulder but my hit was so full of despair that my
sword stayed into the flesh, I was disarmed, and at the moment my enemy was
going to end my days I felt a cold blade entering my back….
I took a look on my chest; the
blade had touched my heart. Blood was tainting my clothes, coming out from the
wound but also from my mouth. My own breathe was fool of this liquid, sticky
and warm making each breath a torture. I felt on my knees, then on my side. The
Walachians were leaving the wall, but the man… this hooded man took my own
dagger and went away. I was too weak to say anything… I felt the life leaving me;
it was like I was slowly floating across the sky. The snow was around me but I
felt no cold but also no warm, I was insensible.
A sort of glowing hole opened
itself in the sky, it was a warm light, it was where I was supposed to go and
perhaps rest in peace, away from this world of war and conflicts. But fate is
cruel, and I heard a voice as warm as a mother’s one calling from behind:
“Daeron, my sweet Daeron, come and
see your mother.”
I didn’t hesitate; this voice was
so kind, so warm for my soul. It was a woman but not a normal woman, she looked
like a divinity. Her skin was as white as the snow, her hair, eyes and lips as
dark as the shadows. Her body was perfection, covered by a long cloak with a
hood. This cloak looked like it was made of dark feathers with a bit of purple
reflects. She continued to call me like I was her own child. The feeling of
having a mother was so good, I slowly came to her and she stretched her hand to
me:
“Take it Daeron, quick, we don’t
have time”
I didn’t really care at the moment
but the world around her was… different, darker than normal. I grabbed her hand
and she smiled:
“You are mine now.”
A second after I felt like the
entire world around me was silent, and then I felt like I was cold, cold as ice
or… death.
I felt all the pain of this world,
one by one and it focused on my chest’s wound, where the stab took my life.
When this pain finally stopped I thought I was becoming mad, but slowly the
warm feeling of this woman entered me like sunshine and I slowly opened my
eyes.
Chapter 4: Dawn:
The silence, this is the first
thing I noticed. The war were I was, the chaotic atmosphere, the sounds of
steel hitting shields, blades and flesh, all this disappeared replaced by a
dead silence.
I was looking at the sky; snow was
falling on the world, covering the blood which congealed under the dead bodies
of my companions. Everything around me was dead, allies and enemies were lying
here, slowly getting covered by snow.
I stood up and walked to my house.
The entire city was free from any lives, even rats and ravens weren’t here. The
houses were intact and I supposed the Walachians took nothing from them, they
were only here to pass through the North and head to the capital, looking for
better treasures perhaps.
I entered my house and sat on my
bed thinking about my dear Anna. My only happiness was to imagine her away from
this barbarians and safe.
I looked at me in a mirror; I nearly
felt with what I saw. My skin was as pale as snow, my eyes red as blood with a
taint of orange making it look demonic. I thought I was mad or something but it
was there in front of me, something had changed. Then I took off my clothes, my
body was more muscular than before but it wasn’t the best part, right were my
wound was suppose to be there was a big raven tattoo with his wings spread.
What I thought was a dream became
a hard reality, something happened to me and I’m not sure it is good.
“What to do now?” I asked to the
mirror, looking at what I became while I couldn’t put a name on this. Was it a
curse or a bless? Dark magic or a god’s gift? I was lost in deep thoughts for
hours trying to find a way to know what happened to me. I remembered my uncle
was talking about the First Ones still existing and living under the world and
behind it. This First Ones were perhaps my ticket to find what I became? They
are legends but when I look at what happened to me… I guess legends are to be
considering as truth now. I took a bag putting some food and materials in it,
took new clothes to travel with a long coat, my sword and I left my home and
cities to head for beyond the North were it is say the men never went.
Fiction or nonfiction: Erm, not too sure? I guess nonfiction as its not a teaching factual book..? But these things kinda did happen? Eh, you decide and I'll change this
"Halt!" I paused, looking through the torn edges of my long, black hood, covering my face from both the approaching villagers, and the sand, swirling around me in a miniature storm. My wild grey eyes widened as I realized that I had accidentally stumbled on a village, located on the border of a dune-less desert, and a rocky mountain range.
A huge group of people were standing around the large houses, each one dressed in Khaz'miri like clothing.
For a minute, my heart raced as the thought that I had accidently gone back to Khaz'mir skipped through my mind, but it was gone in an instant.
One look at the kind faces of the inhabitants told me that, and the fact that most of the villagers had pale skin, completely different from my dark brown complexion.
Three of the villagers broke from the group, each one heading towards me.
The first was a big man, with a long, white beard, and a balding head. His precence seemed to radiate authority, and his eyes were that of a killer, yet I could also see compassion.
He wore a long, crimson cloak, made out of some strange material, which draped across his back and shoulders, joined by a dull, bronze-like chain. Other than that, his clothes were like a Khaz'miri, with the scarf and strange coloured clothes.
His two companions were both smaller than him, and wore nothing worth noting, including weapons.
As the man reached me, I placed a shaking hand on the hilt of my first dagger, letting them see it. The man nodded, keeping his distance.
"Who are you?" One of his companions asked, his voice defencive.
"Who cares?" I replied, as a gust of wind blew my hood back, revealing my dark black hair, which was quickly filling with sand. I let go of the hilt of my dagger, in favour of pulling the hood back up.
"Khaz'mirian?" The big man asked, his head tilting slighty.
"Former." I snapped, my hand back on my dagger.
The man nodded, then smiled warmly, "Come, child. We can provide shelter, food and drink if you wish it?"
I froze, unsure of whether I should trust him or not. Before I could formulate a reply however, my mouth had already opened, and words were spilling out.
"Yes, please." I seemed to say. I cursed my own weakness, but my body seemed to be agreeing with my mouth, as I let go of the dagger, and followed the three men.
It was as I was scanning the group of villagers for threats, that I spotted the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And I was brought up in Khaz.
She had pale skin, a deathly shade, almost as a ghost, and long, hazel brown hair, dropping to her waist. The girl, around the same age as me, fourteen, had a slim figure, and soft features. But what really made her stand out, wasn't her slightly ajar lips, or her concerned expression that she was giving me.
It was her eyes.
One of them was a dull grey, lifeless and empty. But her other...
The only way I can possibly describe it, is an aqua ocean, reaching across the horizon to a setting sun, covered by her black pupil. Contrary to her dead eye, this blue one was bright and full of life, and it was currently looking at me.
I was so taken that I faultered in my stride, my foot slipping on a tiny hill in the sand, and almost tripping me up.
Luckily, I managed to regain my balance, as my mind drifted onto wondering how such a pretty girl could be forced to wear such dull clothes, that only seemed to bring out her dead eye somehow.
I shook my head, noticing that the old man was watching me, smiling gently again. I looked down, thankful that the dark hood covered my slightly red face.
At least, I hoped it did.
The next few days passed quickly, as I mainly stayed in my given room, only ever socializing with people who entered to give me food and water.
During these times, my mind tended to think back on recent events, from my training as an assassin, to my abrupt choice to leave Khaz'mir, and the pursute that followed.
I closed my eyes, leaning back on the sandstone wall behind me, as I sat cross-legged on the hard, straw bed. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
I watched as the slender figure of the blue eyed girl entered. In her hands was a piece of bread, which she placed on the wooden table next to the bed. She flashed a shy smile at me, turning to leave as I finally spoke.
If only I could have done so in a complete sentance.
"H-hey! N-nam, wh- who? -whats." I breathed in, as she giggled, looking at me. "What's your name?" I asked, smiling awkwardly.
"Alessia." She replied, fidigting with her hands.
"Alessia?" I asked, "What a pretty name for a pretty girl." I said, my eyes widening as I spoke. Alessia looked at me, her own multi-coloured eyes widened, before looking away, blushing. "My name's -." I froze, unsure of what to answer, "Complicated.." I said instead.
"Hmm, how about I just call you Anahi?" She said, "Anahikokune?" I winced, knowing the words to be an old launguage, which translates into 'Idiot head'. I looked at her, as she beamed back.
"Sure." I sighed, before her smile became infectious, and I too had to smile. "That old guy, Althalos was it? He's your father, right?" She nodded, then sat down next to me.
"He says you're from Khaz'mir?" She asked, wide-eyed, "What's it like?" I closed my eyes, breathing in slowly, before looking at her again.
"Alessia, can you visit tomorrow too?"
If I knew then, what I know now.
No, I wouldn't have changed anything. She was definitely worth the pain that followed.
((Part 1, as it has to fit a MC book :/ But if you want, I can write more, and you can make it multiple books? Just ask and I can increase it ))
((Hey so, I got no reply on this ^, so i'm just gonna continue writing, despite how many minecraft books it will take :/))
"Hey Anaha."
I sighed, turning to look at Alessia as she walked across the roof to me, and sat down, hanging her legs over the side.
"Hey Less," I replied, smiling as she punched me playfully for using her new nickname.
"Are you here to enjoy the view?" She asked, her head tilting slightly, as it always seemed to do when she asked a question. I shook my head, my smile turning into a grin.
"How can I enjoy a view that doesn't contain you?" I replied, watching with amusement as her face went bright red. Alessia turned away, as I shuffled closer to her, throwing my arm around her shoulder.
She looked at me again, and smiled, nuzzling her head into the side of my chest.
It was hard to explain the events leading up to our growing relationship, as it just seemed like everyday we got closer. It felt like we were slowly turning into a couple, and to be honest.
It felt great.
"Lessy?" I asked, looking over the horizon beyond the golden desert. She nodded, her eyes closed, as she shifted slightly. "You know I can't stay here, right?"
"Too cold up here?" She asked, her voice suddenly as cold as the breeze that flew across the night-sky. "We can go down if you want."
"Less, I can't stay in the village."
She looked at me, and gently pushed me back. I was so surprised that I hit the roof with a thud, blinking at Alessia as she climbed over me, her long brown hair falling around me.
"Lessy, wha-." Before I could speak any further, her lips touched mine.
As the night slowly gave way to the darkness, I remembered feeling an emotion I had never felt before, and no, it wasn't love, although I did love her.
No, the emotion I felt was one that I thought I had gotten rid of forever.
It was pity.
I awoke late the next day, still on the roof, with the sleeping, but fully clothed form of Alessia on top of me. Her head was resting against my chest, as I looked at the sky for any indication of the time.
I sighed, unable to see the sun due to the abundance of clouds blocking it from sight. I slowly sat up, gently moving Lessy so that she could still rest on my lap, while I looked around the village.
In the North was the main housing area, where most people of the little village lived. From the vantage point of the roof, I could just see the glimmering blue river, diving between gaps in the houses and making their way to the East, where the farms were.
Believe it or not, but the little village had the biggest farmland I had ever seen. The size was around the same as Khaz'mir, and working to keep it that way were around fifty or so villagers, each either with a sickle, as they harvested one part of the farms, or with a a water bucket, as they kept the other, not yet grown half hydrated.
I sighed, and looked to the West, knowing there to be nothing of importance to the South of me. Suddenly, Alessia stirred, her eyes fluttering open for a second, before closing instantly against the bright light of a desert sun. I smiled, shaking my head, as I noticed a blur of black on the horizon.
The blood in me turned cold, as the blur of black slowly formed into five distinct shapes. The shape of a man riding a horse.
My time was up. I was about to jump up, when I realized Lessy was still half-asleep on my lap. I shook her, as her eyes attempted to open again, this time succeeding in my shadow. She looked at me, confused, until she spotted the figures.
Almost instantly Alessia stood, with me right behind her. I tore my eyes away from the riders, and jumped off the roof, landing gracefully on the ground below, before sprinting to Althalos. The thought of Alessia made me slow my pace, but the thought that the village would be fine if I had already moved on counteracted it, sending me to sprint faster.
I was going so fast in fact, that when I did reach Althalos, I almost ran into him.
"Woah there," He said, smiling at me, "Where's Alessia?" Suddenly, he stopped, dropping the three logs he had been carrying. "It's time isn't it?"
I nodded, pointing to the West as I tried to get my breath back.
"They're.. Almost here.." I managed, as Alessia came around the corner. "If I leave.. They shouldn't attack." Althalos narrowed his eyes, looking to the West, despite there being the sandstone wall of a building almost directly in front of him.
"Why are they after you?" He asked, glancing at me.
"Doesn't matter." I replied, "I need my daggers." Without asking, I ran into the house I had been staying at, and went to my rectangular room.
Leaning against the wall next to the door, were two, black daggers. Each had curved blade and a set of wings acting as the hilt's guard, with worn brown leather tightly wrapped around the handles themselves.
I grabbed them, not bothering to put them in their respected sheaths as I left the sandstone house for good.
When I got outside, both Alessia and Althalos were looking at me, each one with a fire in their eyes.
"Anaha, we don't know why these people are after you, or what you did, but we will fight them if you want us to." Alessia started.
"That's not my name!" I snapped, then regretted it, shaking my head, "Sorry," I muttered, "You can't hope to fight them and win, your village would be decimated.
"What is your name?" Althalos asked, ignoring my warning as several villagers suddenly arrived, each with a makeshift weapon.
"Not important, the less you know about me, the better." I said, carefully observing the growing crowd.
"You're very.. hard to talk to, you know that?" Lessy said, smiling thinly. I looked at her, wincing as I remembered someone else saying those exact words.
"Please," I replied, "Don't try to attack them. Just say I came here, and left."
"What did you do for these people to chase you to the border? Are they Khaz'miri officials?" Althalos asked.
"No, they are highly skilled warriors trained to kill from childhood." I replied, "If there were just two or three I might have agreed, as I could probably take them down, but not five."
"Probably? And what makes you better than them?" Lessy asked, her smile gone.
"They were trained since childhood," I repeated, "I, was trained since birth. I am an ex-assassin, a runaway, who's master wants him dead, so please, let me leave, and don't fight them."
It had been almost an hour after Anaha left. He had been given a horse and a few provisions, as well as luck on his journey.
Yet I had been nowhere to be found. Instead, I was at the Western border, with several villagers, awaiting the arrival of the highly skilled assassins.
I jumped as my father placed a hand on my shoulder, nodding to me, while looking at the figures, who were becoming more and more clearer with every passing second.
I allowed myself a few seconds to look around, and saw that the entire village was here, every single one of them with a weapon in hand, ready to face off the assassins.
432 vs 5. And Anahakikokun still thought we would lose. It annoyed me. And that annoyance was almost enough to blind me to the pain I felt, as Anaha rode further and further away, probably not even looking back.
I looked back at the assassins, and froze. Each one seemed to fade into darkness, until none were left. The gathered villagers muttered in confusion, as my father stepped up.
"First row!" He yelled, "It's teleportation magic, get ready!" Sure enough, three seconds later, the assassins reappeared, cutting down several of the villagers with one strike, before we could even begin to realize what was happening.
I suddenly began to see why Anaha was so scared of them, and why he had told us not to fight, as the horsemen charged deep into our rabble, their horses letting out no sound as pitchforks and rust swords plunged into them.
My father growled, and ran at the nearest horseman, the villagers making way for him, and cheering. I felt a touch of fear, and watched as the assassin swung his longsword at my father.
Father caught the blade with his left hand, which was covered by a dark black gauntlet. The assassin's eyes widened through the black cloak and scarf he wore, as Fathers blade separated the mans head from his body.
The rest of the battle was just as bloody, as countless friends were struck down. I used the magic Father had taught me to cast tiny balls of flame at the enemy, blinding or distracting them long enough for a someone to attempt to get close.
As the final horseman fell to seven pitchforks, most of us sat down, and everyone of us let our weapons fall.
All, except my father.
He was staring at the East, his eyes narrowed as he gripped the handle of his blade.
"Bastards.." He muttered, as I walked over to him.
"Father?" I asked, confused.
"The five here were just a distraction, made to force our friend into a trap." He said. I froze, looking East.
"Anaha?" I whispered. "How do you know?" I asked, in a louder voice.
"I can smell blood in the air. And despite our loses here, its so much more thicker towards the East."
"W-what are you!" A Khaz'mirian assassin yelled, tears flowing freely down his face as I - He - slowly walked over to him.
"Isn't that simple?" I - He - replied, His head tilting. "I am a monster." He laughed, causing thunder to crackle into the ground, killing a soldier who hadn't yet died.
He walked over the the assassin who had been talking, and crushed his throat, slamming his foot into the mans windpipe.
Suddenly, He turned, watching as around fifty peasants holding toys gathered at the edge of His killing playground, otherwise known as a massacre.
An army of five hundred assassins had attempted to ambush me, - Him -, us. And now, they all lay dead or dying around Him.
Two peasants stepped onto His playground, wading through rivers of crimson blood and burned, lightning struck bodies, until they stood before Him.
He looked at them, His once brown skin now a deathly shade of white, and His once grey eyes now bright red.
"More toys?" He croaked, gripping the two daggers with so much force one of them broke in His hands, dropping to the floor.
"Anaha?" One of them asked, a young girl, about the same age as Him.
He glared at her, as lighting crackled through the sky, the sound of thunder following soon after.
Suddenly, He grinned, as He extended his playground. Lightning came soaring through the sky, obliterating the peasants who had been watching at the end of the His playground.
Annoyingly, a few of them lived, and ran at Him, toys raised violently. The two peasants before him were watching as lighting obliterated the attackers one by one, so that when they got to Him, there was only five left.
He killed two with a little spark out of His hand, and silenced the third with a dagger across the throat, watching as the remaining two stood next to the first two.
"Boy," A big man with grey hair said. "Stop this." He hesitated, as the man was radiating danger and fear, and that made Him worried.
Suddenly, the girl whispered in his ear, as the other two ran at Him. He was taken back for a second, a graze across His leg being His reward for underestimating the peasants, but as He regained his bearing, one of the humans stepped too far, and realized it as He grabbed the pitchfork, yanking it out of the mans hands and sending a jolt of lightning through the peasants body, flinging the lifeless corpse away.
The other one tried to attack, but He was more than able to deflect the spear with his own, ramming His dagger into the mans throat.
Before He could turn on the others however, the girl was in front of him. She had a hand full of blueish magic, poised to attack Him.
He grinned, and sent the broken blade of his first dagger, which he had managed to pickup whilst dodging the spears, directly into her heart.
The girl stumbled, but the blue magic only grew brighter, as she slammed her hand against His left eye.
I don't know much of what happened next. Save for the sight of Alessia's body dropping to the ground, and the hatred and anger within me eradicated.
I had no idea what she had just done, but I knew that whatever it was had just changed the way I saw life. I placed a hand over my left eye, finding a scar, and closed my right, stunned with how better I could see.
I know that I didn't move from her side for three days, and that in the first day, Althalos gave me his crimson cloak and black gauntlet, then killed himself with his blade, dying alongside his daughter.
A part of me wanted to bury her, but as thoughts like this started to come to mind, three days later, I knew I didn't have to strength.
Instead, I closed her eyes, and stood.
Slowly, I walked away from the bloodbath, stumbling along until I found another city.
Title of Work:Shield Wall; Through the eyes of a Raider Type of writing:Narrative Author:Torsten Hvalson. Fiction or Nonfiction: Nonfiction, the events are not significant enough to contradict any lore
Submission
Spoiler: Shield Wall; Through the Eyes of a RaiderShow
This story takes place on the northern shores of Glyndale, in the beginning stages of the Human-Elven war.
It’s the water that gets you the most.
A proper sailor can tell much about a region from it’s waters. Is it fresh or brine? Is it clear as glass? Or as dark as blood-soaked earth? They all told a different story. This water told quite an interesting one indeed. It was clear, I could see all the way to the bottom. And yet, it’s clearness was not welcoming. It was almost challenging, as if the ocean was saying“You can see what I have to offer… now come get it.”From what I could tell from this water, it was going to be a hard fight.
“Talking to the waves again, Torsten?”
My thoughts were broken apart by a sharp elbow digging into my ribs. I looked to my left and sneered at my Shield-Brother, Halvor. “Just shut up and row.”
Halvor snickered and, gripping his oar tight, shouted down the line of benches in front of us.“Alright lads, double time! Let’s make landfall before we grow old eh?”
“But I am old,”Rasped a voice from somewhere on the other end of the ship. Simultaneously, a chorus of voices rose to meet it.
“Shut up Knut.”
The voice did not respond.
I looked around, taking it all in. The longship, shrouded with mist, was packed full of sixty men. Thirty of them with oars in their hands, the other thirty packed shoulder to shoulder alongside them. The other three boats behind them held similar numbers. A fleet of four ships, over two hundred and forty seasoned raiders. A small army… and yet one of the largest forces assembled by Fjoldran standards. Halvor must have been thinking the same thing, and his elbow dug into my ribs again.
“Population needs to go up… Your wife eating for two yet?”
I thought back to when I last saw Ama. I tried to convince her to come this time, but she refused… Again. “I am not a shield-maiden, and I am not young enough to start a new way of life.”She would always say. She was clever enough to walk away before I could remind her she was only twenty-seven.
I shook my head at Halvor.“Nah, no luck so far. You?”
Halvor gave his signature heavy sigh.“Sigrid hasn’t been too keen on having another go after we lost the last one… Keeps saying, “I’ll start making babies when you start making money” and shit like that.”
“Well I suppose this’ll need to be a good haul eh?”
“If we don’t hit it big on this one I may just sell my own teeth. I hear they’re in big demand these days.”
Our conversation was cut off when a bellowing trumpet of a voice rose above the soft murmuring of the men around us. The words rumbled forwards like distant thunder.
“We’re about to make landfall boys! Stow the oars and make ready!”
“You heard the Jarl!”,Shouted Halvor. “Stow oars and pick up your sticks!”
With strangely synchronized movements, the men went to work. At first the motion was accompanied by the wooden clatter of oars being dropped on the deck of the ship. Than, those noises were replaced by the familiar rasp of blade being pulled free from scabbard. Soon, the crowd of leather, wet hair, and dull chain mail was dotted with the glimmering metal of axe, spear, and sword. Now came the hardest part, the calm before the storm.
As was the custom before battle, the men began to toss light-hearted insults at one another. Somewhere behind me I heard a snide remark about my armor being a size to big. I responded by saying at least my manhood wasn’t a size too small, which earned me a flurry of comebacks and jeering. As the familiar shape of a beach began to materialize through the mist, the men switched from banter to chants and war songs. Halvor and I didn’t have the best voices, so we contributed by stamping our feet to the rhythm. The spontaneous music was cut short when the ship lurched beneath us. With a long, drawn out groan, the boat suddenly lost momentum, and came to a jarring halt. We had made landfall.
After a tense moment of silent realization, the Jarl’s voice boomed out what we were all thinking. “Alright boys, time to die! Get your sorry asses off my ship!”
With a burst of adrenaline, the sore, tired legs of the raiders burst into action. I rushed forward towards the bow of a ship, and all but flung myself overboard. My enthusiasm was greeted by a freezing splash as I landed waist-deep in the sea. All around me bodies collided with the waves as the men leapt from the ship. Not wanting to waste any time, I surged forward with the others, trudging my way out of the water, and onto the beach in front of us.
There was no time to spare now, every second counted. Somewhere ahead of me the Jarl marched back and forth along the beach, organizing the raiders into a battle line. Soon the sixty men were doubled, and than tripled, as the rest of the fleet crept onto the beach alongside our ship. I felt a firm, calloused hand on my shoulder as Halvor tugged me into the battle line. After some jostling, I found myself in the front of the line. Halvor was pressed against my right, and to my left was old man Knut. As the remaining stragglers found their place in the formation, the Jarl shoved his way out of the line, and walked along the length of the formation. His two-foot long beard flying wildly in the breeze, he looked each and every one of us in the eye. His tongue like a whip, he snapped out words in a crisp, stoic tone.
“Some of you know the drill well. For others, this is your first time. Most of you know how to swing an axe, a rare few don’t know one end of a blade from the other. However, there is one thing that we all know.”
He paused, rooting himself in the sand as his voice resounded throughout the line.
“We all know why we are here. You may think you have personal reasons. But it doesn’t matter if you’re here to plunder riches, spill blood, or just because you felt like it. We are all here because it is who we are meant to be. We aren’t fishermen, we aren’t drunkards-”
“I’m a drunkard!”Yelped old man Knut.
“Shut up Knut.”The line replied. The Jarl gritted his teeth for a moment, than continued.
“We. Are. Killers. That is who we were born to be, and who are fathers were born to be. And this is what our grandchildren will be born to be. So I want to see each and every one of you acting that way you hear?” The Jarl stuck a beefy finger out towards the misty treeline before us, his voice growing more intense by the moment. “Just beyond our sight, there is a village of dagger-ears preparing for our assault. Undoubtedly right now the local garrison is preparing the initial defense, and reinforcements from neighboring settlements are bound to be on their way. If I keep spewing inspiration to you pansies any longer, we will find ourselves outnumbered.”
This caused a flourish of murmuring throughout the line as the Jarl continued.
“In a few moments most of you will fall to arrow volleys. A fair number may suffer at the hands of elvish magic. And a rare number may just have the humiliation of being bested in melee.”
The murmuring grew louder, but was jumped upon and cut short by the Jarl’s iron tongue.
“But do not fear, lads. Fear is for sheep. But you men are wolves. And us wolves have two things that those pointy-faced sheep will never have. We have our shields, and we have our brothers. When we stand shoulder to shoulder we are not an army. We are not men either. Fate dares to whisper in our ears that we cannot withstand the coming storm. Well to that I say, I am the fucking storm!”
The murmuring changed to whoops and chants as the Jarl continued on, his voice thundering over the downpour of war cries.
“Keep your shield-brothers close men, hold your blades tight. And remember, either you come home carrying your shield, or being carried on it! Fight for your families! Fight for your clan. Fight FOR FJOLDR!”
As the battle line exploded into a frenzy of cheers and howls, the Jarl stepped into the formation, and took his place at the front and center. From beyond the veil of mist I could here the footfalls of the enemy, advancing towards us through the gloom. Just as the elven silhouettes began to materialize, I heard a cry echo throughout the battle line. A cry that called for death to sing it’s glorious song.
“SHIELD. WALL.”
I barely caught a glimpse of the razor-tipped projectiles arching towards us, before my eyes were concealed by an interlocking barrier of iron and wood.
Title: Rest not, Roirr Type of Writing: Poem / Ballad / Extract from an Epic Author: An unknown Skald. The poem would initially be found in an old diary of a wanderer who probably heard the poem from an unknown skald As he passed through Fjoldr.
Fiction / Non-fiction: It's a Skald's recount of Roirr's death. So could be either to be honest.
Nothing that will contradict existing lore though.
((HA Teased ya!, Will have this editted in by june 30th, till then - consider this a sneak peak , since I also need to get some info from staff before I write it.))
Title of your work:Ballads of the North Type of writing:Poetry/Song Author: The Taletreader (In all reality, it is written by my character Asmund) Fiction or nonfiction:Nonfiction Submission:
Warning: Disclaimer
Some of these are taken out of popular games such as skyrim, or other popular songs re-imagined. But I attempted to do most of the writing myself.
Ragnar the Red Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,
Who came riding to Fjoldr from his old homestead
And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
As he told of bold battles and gold he had made.
But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,
When he met the shield-maiden Matilda, who said;
"Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead,
Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!"
And so then came clashing and slashing of steel,
As the brave lass Matilda charged in, full of zeal.
And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more-
When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor
A Song of Other Times and Places
I’m a traveling troubadour,
Selling my songs from door to door,
As I journey down the long, dusty roads.
I sing in the bars,
And sleep beneath the stars,
And please the ostlers when their wives are asleep.
In exchange for food,
I give them my youth,
And a song to remember me by.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.
For the food I can’t pay,
And I really can’t stay
Because your wife will be waking up soon.
But before I go,
I really must show
How much I appreciate your kindness.
So I’ll make love to you,
And when we’re through,
You can lay back and I’ll sing you a song.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.
But before I can go,
I really must show
How much I appreciate all you’ve done.
And for the food I will pay
If you’ll only come lay,
If you’ll come lay down with me.
And I’ll make love to you,
And when we’re through
I’ll sing you a traveling song.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.
A Skald's Farewell
You soon will be out facing danger and strife,
You soon will be fighting and risking your life.
I know there is use for my saber and knife;
Alas, I will not be along.
We all have my limits, and I'm nearing mine;
And so, with your pardon, I'll have to decline,
For I've an appointment with women and wine,
And gaming and music and song.
It's been far too long since I've gambled and drank,
Too long in that dungeon, disgusting and dank,
Too long amidst refuse, repulsive and rank,
Too long without love and romance.
Before I embark on some hazardous quest,
Before once again I am put to the test,
If I don't take time to recover and rest,
My sanity hasn't a chance.
It's not that your company isn't a thrill,
I'm truly impressed with your courage and skill,
And happy to journey beside you; but still,
I need to be free for a time.
When we meet again, we'll have stories to share,
So fair maidens and fair men too; good luck, and take care.
May travel be pleasant, and fortune be fair,
And may you find meter and rhyme.
Subtle Lies
Our subtle lies,
Our hidden shame;
A somber pit
Of bleak remorse.
Can we admit
We are to blame;
Could we give rise
To such a force?
We make our choice,
We shed our tears;
How great our thirst,
How great our goals.
The best and worst
Of hopes and fears;
A nameless voice
Which drinks our souls.
Be not dismayed
Be not dismayed by those who mock,
And all endeavors noble scorn.
Abandon not thy honor's flock;
From lofty virtue be not torn.
Seek grains of truth in every voice;
Be not thou fain to these eschew.
But when tumultuous thy choice,
To thine own heart, thou must be true.
The Glory of Adventure
When the enemy's surrounding,
and we think our nerves will fail,
when we hear the trumpets sounding,
and they make us quake and quail,
grab your mug and we'll be pounding
down another round of ale!
And we'll drink,
to the glory of adventure!
If there ever comes the day
when we think that we are lost,
when we think that we must pay
that most dear and final cost,
we'll just pass around the tray,
and feel better when we're sauced!
And we'll drink,
to the glory of adventure!
When we're angry and upset,
'cause we ain't been getting paid,
when we're tired, cold and wet,
and a little bit afraid,
we'll keep drinking and forget
that we ever were dismayed!
And we'll drink,
to the glory of adventure!
When the boredom makes us jumpy,
and the motion makes us ill,
when the food is cold and lumpy,
a disgusting, slimy swill,
there's no reason to be grumpy;
tap the keg, and drink your fill!
And we'll drink,
to the glory of adventure!
When the captain's really sore,
'cause he thinks he's being mocked,
when he's pounding on our door,
and we're certain to get socked,
have a drink, and tease him more;
we'll feel nothing if we're crocked!
And we'll drink,
to the glory of adventure!
Local Fjoldr Skald
I'm a local Fjoldr Skald
Another local Fjoldr Skald
Another local f-cking Fjoldr f-cking Skald
And I'm here to sell more beer
I'm here to fill this room
I'm here to make you party all night long...
...and so on.
The Lusty Young Smith
A lusty young smith at his vice stood a-filing.
His hammer laid by but his forge still aglow.
When to him a buxom young damsel came smiling,
And asked if to work in her forge he would go.
Rum, rum, rum. Rum, rum, rum. In and out. In and out. Ho!
"I will," said the smith, and they went off together,
Along to the young damsel's forge they did go.
They stripped to go to it, 'twas hot work and hot weather.
They kindled a fire and she soon made him blow.
Her husband, she said, no good work could afford her.
His strength and his tools were worn out long ago.
The smith said "Well mine are in very good order,
And I am now ready my skill for to show."
Red hot grew his iron, as both did desire,
And he was too wise not to strike while 'twas so.
Said she, "What I get I get out of the fire,
So prithee, strike home and redouble the blow."
Six times did his iron, by vigorous heating,
Grow soft in her forge in a minute or so,
But as often was hardened, still beating and beating,
But the more it was softened, it hardened more slow.
When the smith rose to go, quoth the dame full of sorrow:
"Oh, what would I give could my husband do so.
Good lad with your hammer come hither tomorrow,
But pray could you use it once more ere you go!"
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