Chronicles of Klindaron

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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Ruski on Fri Oct 01, 2010 5:11 pm

You used a lot of details and are setting a backstory which will become very needed. All in all, I think you should expand in the sense of race details, as not everyone might know what an Elf or Brownie, or Harpie is.

The land of Klindaron was done pretty good. I think it should be noted that why is it that the North is, at least what I got from the last chapter, more evil-like and stronger than the evil? I'd like to know this and also why the Creator chose to leave so many times and why he is not as powerful as I would think he is. Other than that, pretty damn good.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Offensive Bias on Fri Oct 01, 2010 5:23 pm

It's not known how powerful the East is, that was just a hint at their martial nature.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Offensive Bias on Fri Oct 29, 2010 5:47 am

Welcome the prologue!

She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Across the muddy ground, her bare feet squelching as she went. She risked a quick glance back, at the fires dancing across the night. The cruel, twisted shadows of her pursuers loomed behind her, yet she could not make them out against the flames. She heard a peircing scream and a sound like laughter, gleeful and beautiful. But at the same time evil. And chilling. She spied the barn ahead. She ran inside through the open door. She strained to shut the heavy oak against the monsters. She thought she could hear their heavy boots clomping through the mud. The door slid shut. She toppled the bar across the length of the door. She huddled back in the corner, staring with wide frightened eyes at the door. A sheep bleated nearby, but she ignored it.

She heard soft, delicate rapping at the oak door. A voice, sweet and soft called to her. "Child, why do you run? We mean you no harm." She shivered, the voice made her tingle with disgust. How could something so evil speak so soft? Images of the past ten minutes flooded through her mind. She had been returning home from working in the fields. She ran, the stories of the dark creatures sped her along. She suddenly heard a whistling sound. She stopped running, and looked around the almost deserted street. She saw two drunken men swaying together, and a sleeping man against the wall of the inn. Her eyes widened when she saw. He wasn't asleep. A large arrow jutted from his throat, then she heard more. The two drunken men dropped silently. Arrows in their faces. She screamed, as loud as her lungs would allow her, and then she turned and ran. The ensuing slaughter was a blur of red, brown and the blue feathers on the slender arrows.

Hideous monsters, their breath steaming in front of their pig-like faces. Small tusks accompanied by unintelligible roars. Everywhere she ran, she found herself hemmed in by the pig beasts. A wild thought ran through her head. "Home!" She bolted for her small hut, only to find it aflame, pig beasts stabbing and slashing at the old and young attempting to escape. "The barn!" She turned, and that's when she met her pursuers. She slipped in the mud and fell straight on her back. She heard the sweet, calming voice that made her shiver with fright. "The young one has lost her way. We should help her." Delighted laughter followed the voice. She was on her feet immediately, running for the barn. The things didn't even run after her. They were always close behind her, though. She wished they would go away.

Now she was cold, wet and araid. Huddled in the corner of the barn. There was another rap at the door. "Why do you hide? You can trust us." She sobbed, the voices... They played tricks on her. She heard footsteps receeding. And for what seemed like hours, she sat there. She shed tears for her father, her mother and her brother. For the drunks outside of the inn, for the animals surrounding her, who would soon perish. But all the time, the words of her tormentors tore at her. It was all so wrong. She felt a small breeze touch at her wet cheek. She gasped at the tall, handsome man standing before her. "No..." She realised. "No man." His hair shone white, his ears were slightly pointed and long. And the eyes were deep red, the colour of blood. She stared into those eyes, and it seemed as though pure hate stared back at her. He towered above her, and as he continued to stare, the animal's became frenzied. The bleating and braying reached a fever pitch.

It was encased all in black, metal. Spikes stuck out from the shoulders and hips. It had a quiver on its belt, almost empty. A dark bow was across its back. And with a single, fluid movement it drew the longsword from its scabbard. She trembled as it slowly moved the point towards her chest. She couldn't move, nowhere to hide. The point touched her thin tunic. It passed through the fabric, and then it was on her skin. She whimpered and let out a shuddering gasp as the blade slowly parted her skin and moved slowly towards her heart. The last thing she saw was a sad smile on its face, its eyes alive with red flame. Then, she died.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Offensive Bias on Fri Oct 29, 2010 10:29 am

Chapter One - Village of Kelocia

Janac walked amongst the ruins with the other Watchmen. There were only bones left of the inhabitants, blackened from the flames. The nearest Watchfort from Kelocia had been a good five miles away, and the smoke from the fires had alerted them to an attack. Though there hadn't been an attack in hundreds of years. There were many tales of the dark creatures that once threatened the world, and the destruction they would wreak on anything they stumbled on in their hatred of all things not as dark as they were. The destruction facing the 70 men was just like the tales Janac heard at his bedtimes safe at home in Imicia Citadel, the capital of the Kingdom. Since Janac was sixteen, he had served with the Watchmen half of every year, returning home for the winter, and going back for Summer. He had served four of his six months, and he thought this would be the same as hus other garrisons. Eat, drink, fuck and be home in time to keep warm for the Winter.

Old Red sidled up to him, the toothless man of 60, who had been serving with the Watchmen since he was fourteen. "Looks like the work of them Janar to me." Janac suppressed a shudder, even the mention of them was evil enough. "I trust you know 'bout the Janar, eh? Must've been told about 'em. You and them sound quite the same." Janac took a step away from his wrinkled features.

"Yeah, I 'eard of 'em. What of it?"

"This was them young 'un, it's just like what they say it looks like." Janac swalled his discomfort.

"Go tell it to Veal, you sour old bat." Old Red shuffled off, his eyes darting between the ruins. Janac didn't think Janar existed. They couldn't, nothing that bad could breath the Creator's air. He heard a yell coming from his right. He turned his head towards the sound. Belly and Catfish were running from the barn, the only building not torched to the ground. "Oi! What's all the shouting about you cretins?!" As he strode towards them, Catfish looked towards the barn with a grimace, and Belly threw up his lunch all over the hard mud. Janac looked to the barn again. He went towards it slowly, placing a hand against the chipped paint of the door, he heard Catfish behind him.

"Don't go in there Summer! You won't like what you see..." Janac ignored him, he pushed the door in with the flat of his hand. The scene unfolded slowly. At first he didn't see anything. The smell, of course. Rotting flesh and animal shit. He could only see a picture painted across the back wall of the barn. It was a red sunset, bathing across a map of the world. But as he stared, he realised something was wrong. The landmass that was the world. It was made of skin. And the sun was smeared huge in blood. He turned to leave, and saw the head. A girl no older than ten, a line of blood ran down her face like a gory tear. The stump of her neck was roughly shoved on a planted spear.

"By the Creator..." It was true... This was the work of Janar. He paled and ran from the barn. He didn't look back. Catfish was helping Belly to his feet. They met eyes for a brief second, and horror was all they found.

It was later that night, back at the Watchfort that they saw Sir Cevad again to make their report. He was sat by the fire in the highest tower of the Watchfort, drinking a small glass of Lake Wine. Janac seated himself in the spacious room, along with Catfish and Old Red. The second in command, another knight named Sir Gonefe was sat with them. Gonefe was the only one who could read or write among the Watchmen at this fort. "Catfish... What did you see?" Catfish swallowed, and closed his eyes as he recounted every detail.

"We came to the village, as you commanded Sir. We found nothing but bones and blackened wood. Like they'd been eaten. Nothing but bones... All the buildings burnt. Except for that barn. So, we went around the ruins. Looking for survivors and the like." Sir Cevad knew they were most likely looking for bronze coins, maybe even a silver or two. But he knew better than to accuse them. The pay was shit anyway. "After we'd got close to the barn, we could smell the dead in there. The shit, too. Belly were with me, and he wanted to look inside. I followed and... We went in. We saw a painting on the back wall. You see it straight as you go in." He stopped, hanging his head low.

Sir Cevad looked a little startled at the sudden pause. "Go on." He urged.

Catfish swallowed, and continued. "The painting weren't a painting at all, Sir. It was skin and bood. Smeared and nailed across the wall. Animal skin, and... Human... Skin. And we turned to leave and... There was a girls head. On a spear. She was only young, like Belly's own daughter. He went wretched. I didn't feel all that well either, Sir. We got out of there quick. Then, Summer went in."

Sir Cevad looked to Janac then. "Did you see the same, Summer?" Janac nodded stifly.

"I did, Sir. I put a guard on the barn. No one was to go in." Cevad nodded slowly.

"I would have done the same. I trust you saw to the bones?"

"We did, Sir. We buried them and then we burnt the barn ourselves. That place was evil. I'd swear it by anything." Old Red spoke suddenly.

"It's Janar, Sir. It's jus' like the tales. They'll paint the prettiest picture you've ever seen. But it'll be made from the skin of them they've killed. It's them, Sir." Old Red leaned closer towards Ser Cevad. Ser Gonefe placed a restraining hand on Old Red, pushing him gently back into his seat. His chainmail jingled slightly as he relaxed.

"Ser Gonefe? Pen a letter to the King. He needs to know about Kelocia. Tell him everything you heard here today, and urge that he sends a war party. The creatures of the East are stirring again. The tales were true."

**********

The black horde poured through the breach in the walls. Imicia Citadel couldn't be allowed to fall. The Great Torment had finally ended, only for these vile creatures to spill forth and try to finish The Evil's work for him. A handful of Knights and their Men At Arms were fighting their way back to the Keep, their swords flashing out and felling any of the ugly monsters that dared get too close. The King placed the Helm of Imicia on his head. And dragged his sword from its scabbard. He lifted his shield in his left hand, and took a step forward. His bodyguard followed him instantly. He ran past abandoned buildings, stepped over the body of an archer, a slender arrow sprouting from his throat, and charged into the battle to help the survivors from the wall.

He slammed his shield into the face of an Orc, and beheaded the monster with a single swing of his longsword. Foul smelling blood sprayed across the handful of men. His bodyguard were suddenly adding their swords to the fray, a handful of Orcs were felled brutally. "Back to the Keep!" The King yelled, swiping his sword at the leg of a charging Orc. He sliced it off under the knee and plunged the sword through its squealing mouth, cutting off its disgusting moan. "Back to the Keep, damn you!" He retreated, keeping the shield wall intact. An Orc fell on top of one of the Men At Arms, smashing a warhammer spike through his eye. It could barely savour the kill before a sword repaid it in kind.

The King risked a glance back towards the Keep, seeing it still far off. But his archers were in range of the Orc horde bashing at them. Arrows pelted the Orcs, thudding through their tarnished and rusted chainmail. The King heard the voice of a Knight beside him. "Franece, Jith, rearguard!" Sir Dekar leapt forward and felled an Orc, while his two Men At Arms took down two more. The archers at the Keep took down five more. "Run my King!" Sir Dekar's last words. A Janar jumped through the gap in the Orc rabble, its yellow eyes alive with malice. It held no shield, and instead favoured a long, thin blade. It struck at Sir Dekar. He parried, and they commenced their battle. The result would not be known to The King, as he was dragged away.

He reached the white steps that led into the Keep. His glorious city was beginning to burn. He scanned the sea of black rushing towards him. He saw small specks of white, red and blue where his own men were still holding out. But they were doomed. The Keep was the only option... The Keep. If they could just hold out until Lord Sezec Lalanoc arrived with the Dwarves and his own levies, the Horde would be wiped out. He was sure of it. The King wouldn't go down in history as the man who lost it all. He wouldn't.

*********

Janac awoke in a cold sweat. He stood uncertainly, he walked over his sleeping comrades, going to the cloakroom to don his red tunic and slip on his chainmail. It's what he always did when he encountered dreams like those. They came often. Always the same thing. He was the Great King Tolegil Teyon, the man who held Imicia Citadel against The Horde. The Horde swept down from the East immediately after The Great Torment. They almost ruined the Kingdom, but King Tolegil held them long enough for reinforcements to arrive. For his help, King Tolegil named Sezec his heir. And all the Royal Houses agreed. And so the Lalanoc House became Royal upon his death 24 years after the Great Siege. Janac knew his history well, it was taught in tales of Knightly valour and chivalry.

He grabbed his tunic, throwing it over his head and roughly putting his arms through the holes. He picked up his sword belt. He buckled it tight, and then picked up his chain mail. He frowned at a spot of rust. He was one for keeping his armour clean. He heard stirring behind him. "Summer? What're ya doing up?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep, Hundred." The lad pulled the thin cloak tighter around his body and fell back to sleep in an instant. Janac returned to his chainmail, wriggling it over his tunic. It came to rest just above his belt. He picked up his dagger and let his sword. He wouldn't need it. The raiders, whatever they were, wouldn't dare attack a Watchfort defended by a hundred men with good equipment. Even so... He snatched his sword up from the straw all over the stone floor, and hooked the scabbard to his belt. He came out of the cloakroom, and took care not to step on any of them. He went barefoot, as he normally did on nights like these.

He followed the spiral staircase down the West Tower, coming out into the Prayer Garden. He stroked his stubble as he made his way over to the single candle mounted on a stone pedestal. He stared at the flickering light, which was required to be lit all day, every day. That was the strange thing about the Holy Candle. It couldn't be extinguished until the candle had melted fully. The Priests claim it to be the aura the Creator gives off, and Janac chose to believe them.

He felt the cool grass between his toes, savouring the feeling, before he knelt. He prostrated himself before the candle. He couldn't talk while praying. The Creator could only hear you if you were silent. Janac had his prayer ready in his head. "Allow me peace from the dreams, my Lord. King above all, maker of all things good in the world. Creator Above, see fit to take away the nightmares, I beseech you my Lord and King. May The Creator reign supreme." He stood slowly, and made for the stable area of the Watchfort. He went back to the West Tower and climbed down the steps, his bare feet making barely any noise.

He arrived out in the courtyard. He nodded to the men on sentry on the portcullis. One saluted him, the other made a rude gesture with his hand. Janac laughed at the man. He knew Cloak and Dagger well. They were both brothers who lived with the Watchmen. They volunteered for life, and had been manning the night sentry for two years now. Cloak was the skinnier of the two, some would say he looked frail, but you would know how quick he was watching him spar. Dagger was the biggest. He was covered with muscle, but he moved quicker than he looked. He had beaten many a man in sparring. Even Janac lost to him a few times, and nobody beats Janac very often.

He went to the stable, fed the horses and watered them. Then he went up to have a talk with Cloak and Dagger. He climbed the small staircase to the top of the wall. Dagger clapped him on the back. "Welcome to our wall, Summer. Make yourself at home." Janac smiled warmly at the big brute.

"I think I shall. I'll take a warm cup of your piss, if you please?" Dagger chuckled at the joke.

"That's all we get to drink for doing this shit near every night. Ain't that right, Sevir?" Cloak grunted in reply, and shook Janac's hand.

"Them dreams again, Summer? You should just say if you want me to sort them out."

"Having my head caved in is not going to help." Janac laughed.

Cloak shrugged and said, "Dead men don't dream, Summer. And if they do, it don't matter. They can't complain about them like you do."

Dagger piped in his own tune. "I don't think being in King Tolegil's shoes is so bad. Better than dreaming you're being killed or eaten, or something."

"They aren't bad... I just don't like them, is all." Janac shrugged away their words. "Anyway, seen anything?"

Cloak gave a small laugh. "Just the usual. Dogs fucking, a few owls. I'm due for a sleep soon anywho. This poor bastard's gonna have to stand up here another three hours alone." Cloak jerked his thumb back at his brother. "You should think of getting some sleep. You've done your ritual, right? Dress, pray, feed the horses, talk to the poor bastards on Night Watch. Now you go back to bed, right?"

Janac sighed. "Yes, I suppose. Unless you want to spar?"

"Sorry Summer, we're on duty." Dagger shrugged and began picking his noise. Cloak patted him on the shoulder. "Best you get some sleep. I think tomorrow's gonna be eventful."

"Why d'ya think that?" Janac asked him.

"Just a feeling is all..." He mumbled back. Cloak turned his back on Janac then. And he knew that meant they were done talking. He made his way back to bed. He took of his chainmail, but kept it under his hard pillow. He kept his tunic and belt on, but unclipped the sword, laying it by the thin bed. He yawned, lay his head on the pillow, and fell fast asleep.


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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Offensive Bias on Fri Oct 29, 2010 10:30 am

New chapter.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Offensive Bias on Sun Oct 31, 2010 1:21 pm

Could I please have some feedback?
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by Ruski on Sun Oct 31, 2010 3:19 pm

I saw a few errors in spelling and grammer, but otherwise was pretty good.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

Post by PiEdude on Sun Oct 31, 2010 4:20 pm

I think good, is it, also, as well, too.

Also.
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Re: Chronicles of Klindaron

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