Sinthe
05-11-2006, 03:43 PM
((OOC: I'm writing this in several parts, I'm not sure how many it will take, but I'm hoping to have at least 100 pages. So far I have 6 or so, and here is the first "chapter." This explains how Skyze can to die. Critique on the story is great, the grammar, or even the lore, though this is pretty much independant of lore.))
Fallen Hero: Part One-
The Fallen Hero
Rain poured down, flooding the ground of the gold and red forest, illuminated by the bright moonlight. All around lay splintered tree limbs, and charred remains of once majestic tree trunks. Scattered among the burnt boughs were several blood-stained corpses, once standing proud and tall. Blood from the fallen was slowly turning the emerald grassy floor into a deep crimson red.
In the center of this chaos an injured, burned elf knelt. He gasped lightly for breath, wincing with even the slightest movement. His fair, ageless face was riddled with fresh cuts and burns, battle scars that would never fade. His long golden hair fell matted over his face, caked with dry blood. Even in this desperate moment, his eyes still shown with a certain radiance, and his cracked lips curved into a proud, grim smile. He was severely injured, but was satisfied. He had at least been able to defeat those who had destroyed his homeland, and attempted to take him as well.
He slowly raised his head, and looked around at his fallen comrades. Sorrow crossed his wise brow, while he said a silent prayer for his deceased kinsmen.
He turned and looked behind him, just as a tall cloaked figure strode out of the trees. The figure gave off a gruesome aura of shadow energy, and his black cloak had clearly visible silver runes embroidered on it, which looked to be a variation of Demonic. The front the black cloak was clasped by a small shadowy stone. Slowly the figure moved forward, until he was directly in front of the elf.
“Archmage Val'Thoxis, you've put up quite a fight, I see. You must have destroyed at least a dozen of my undead servants on your own,” he looked around at the corpses, noticing the fallen elves. “Perhaps not entirely alone. But it is no matter, it gives me the pleasure of taking care of you personally” he went on. “But don't think I'm cruel. I'm not going to torment your helpless soul too much. I promise you, your time is almost up.”
He talked in a slow, raspy, chilling voice which would strike fear into the hearts of the bravest of men. The injured Archmage was scared, but not of death. He was scared of what would happen before his death. The Scourge would not be merciful; he would suffer, and he knew it.
The elf kept a steadfast look upon his face, and so the figure went on. “Yes, I think that very soon you'll be joining your fallen comrades here,” as he kicked one of the nearby elven corpses.
The elf let out a small growl of anger, unable to contain his emotions. Immediately the cloaked figure turned around, a ball of fire glowing fiercely in his hand. “What was that?” he asked menacingly.
The elf hesitated, and replied “You may kill me, but there are far worse fates than death that could await me.”
This evoked a laugh from the cloaked man, if such an evil creature could be a man. “Indeed, Archmage, just as you shall see.”
The elf's eyes opened wide, showing obvious fear, as the figure turned north. “Quel'Thalas has fallen, the flames are visible in this distance. But you knew that, did you not? Could you not feel your connection to the Sunwell sever?” he laughed again, and threw back his hood to reveal his hideous face. His eyes were deep black with glowing red centers. His sharp teeth were visible behind his cracked lips, and his face scared with healed wounds and arcane tattoos. His jet black hair was tied back, revealing his pointy, ears, which resembled those of the elves, but not as long. Two small black horns protruded from his temples.
The elf bowed his head, partly in fear, partly for shame that he was unable to fulfill his duty to protect his homeland, if the unknown Scourge spoke the truth about Quel'Thalas. The figure raised his hands over his head, chanting in a harsh, guttural language unknown to the elf. “Skyze Val'Thoxis, your life as an Archmage of Quel'Thalas ends here tonight,” he proclaimed tauntingly in the same chilling tone. With that, the ball of fire began to grow in size, and brightness.
Skyze, the elf, stood up and grabbed his broken staff. “No...” he gasped, as he started to run at the figure. He managed two steps before the flaming sphere was flung at him, engulfing him in a raging inferno.
The flame slowly faded away, and as it passed Skyze fell to his knees and slumped over. The dark figured laughed maniacally at the fallen elven hero, before turning around and walking slowly off into the woods. The time of Archmage Skyze Val'Thoxis was finally over.
Fallen Hero: Part One-
The Fallen Hero
Rain poured down, flooding the ground of the gold and red forest, illuminated by the bright moonlight. All around lay splintered tree limbs, and charred remains of once majestic tree trunks. Scattered among the burnt boughs were several blood-stained corpses, once standing proud and tall. Blood from the fallen was slowly turning the emerald grassy floor into a deep crimson red.
In the center of this chaos an injured, burned elf knelt. He gasped lightly for breath, wincing with even the slightest movement. His fair, ageless face was riddled with fresh cuts and burns, battle scars that would never fade. His long golden hair fell matted over his face, caked with dry blood. Even in this desperate moment, his eyes still shown with a certain radiance, and his cracked lips curved into a proud, grim smile. He was severely injured, but was satisfied. He had at least been able to defeat those who had destroyed his homeland, and attempted to take him as well.
He slowly raised his head, and looked around at his fallen comrades. Sorrow crossed his wise brow, while he said a silent prayer for his deceased kinsmen.
He turned and looked behind him, just as a tall cloaked figure strode out of the trees. The figure gave off a gruesome aura of shadow energy, and his black cloak had clearly visible silver runes embroidered on it, which looked to be a variation of Demonic. The front the black cloak was clasped by a small shadowy stone. Slowly the figure moved forward, until he was directly in front of the elf.
“Archmage Val'Thoxis, you've put up quite a fight, I see. You must have destroyed at least a dozen of my undead servants on your own,” he looked around at the corpses, noticing the fallen elves. “Perhaps not entirely alone. But it is no matter, it gives me the pleasure of taking care of you personally” he went on. “But don't think I'm cruel. I'm not going to torment your helpless soul too much. I promise you, your time is almost up.”
He talked in a slow, raspy, chilling voice which would strike fear into the hearts of the bravest of men. The injured Archmage was scared, but not of death. He was scared of what would happen before his death. The Scourge would not be merciful; he would suffer, and he knew it.
The elf kept a steadfast look upon his face, and so the figure went on. “Yes, I think that very soon you'll be joining your fallen comrades here,” as he kicked one of the nearby elven corpses.
The elf let out a small growl of anger, unable to contain his emotions. Immediately the cloaked figure turned around, a ball of fire glowing fiercely in his hand. “What was that?” he asked menacingly.
The elf hesitated, and replied “You may kill me, but there are far worse fates than death that could await me.”
This evoked a laugh from the cloaked man, if such an evil creature could be a man. “Indeed, Archmage, just as you shall see.”
The elf's eyes opened wide, showing obvious fear, as the figure turned north. “Quel'Thalas has fallen, the flames are visible in this distance. But you knew that, did you not? Could you not feel your connection to the Sunwell sever?” he laughed again, and threw back his hood to reveal his hideous face. His eyes were deep black with glowing red centers. His sharp teeth were visible behind his cracked lips, and his face scared with healed wounds and arcane tattoos. His jet black hair was tied back, revealing his pointy, ears, which resembled those of the elves, but not as long. Two small black horns protruded from his temples.
The elf bowed his head, partly in fear, partly for shame that he was unable to fulfill his duty to protect his homeland, if the unknown Scourge spoke the truth about Quel'Thalas. The figure raised his hands over his head, chanting in a harsh, guttural language unknown to the elf. “Skyze Val'Thoxis, your life as an Archmage of Quel'Thalas ends here tonight,” he proclaimed tauntingly in the same chilling tone. With that, the ball of fire began to grow in size, and brightness.
Skyze, the elf, stood up and grabbed his broken staff. “No...” he gasped, as he started to run at the figure. He managed two steps before the flaming sphere was flung at him, engulfing him in a raging inferno.
The flame slowly faded away, and as it passed Skyze fell to his knees and slumped over. The dark figured laughed maniacally at the fallen elven hero, before turning around and walking slowly off into the woods. The time of Archmage Skyze Val'Thoxis was finally over.