Let's give this writing thing a shot

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Sturen
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Let's give this writing thing a shot

#1 Post by Sturen »

It's been a long long time and I feel I should start back into this whole forum and war game thing in a gentle way: with some writing.

I'm not planning to be in any way consistent, I write about whatever character inspires me at that time and then they may remain forgotten forever.

Without further ado, an exploration of awakening dragons.

A dark eye opened. With cold intelligence it surveyed the disturbance. An elf. Tiny, yet with great passion. No words were needed; the dragon inspected the young elf's mind. It was strong and determined, but foolish and arrogant: too young still. The dragon calmly returned to its slumber. It would sleep more deeply this time.

A great shout echoed within his mind. Both eyes opened this time, and fire roared within them. What was this impudence? How dare an elf waken him, Imdaraugir, proud son of the elder Waelnyth's line, against his will? The same elf stood before him. His huge head turned towards the elf, who stood defiantly and did not flinch. This elf would learn respect. He snarled and opened his mouth, allowing his inner fire to flow through his throat; it was invigorating. A gout of flames spread from his mouth. The elf did not move. Even as the flames surrounded the elves frail figure, he stood and let the flames wash over him. At last the fire died, and the dragon returned to glaring. The elf, unharmed, glared back, a slight smile playing across his lips.

Hours passed, neither elf nor dragon moved, refusing to break their eye contact but not willing to acknowledge each other. At last the dragon spoke, "Why, young elf, are you still here?" The elf smiled grimly, "Is it not obvious?" A snarl escaped the dragons throat; did this elf's arrogance know no bounds?
"Answer me."
"I wish to fight alongside a dragon, my name is Prince Elthair, the Brokenwind."
"And I have made it clear that I find no interest in you."
"Is that so?" the elf asked.
"You are arrogant, foolish, naive and headstrong."
"Yet you not only talked to me, but did not kill me when I woke you - are you sure I have not interested you?"
"While stupidity may fascinate me, elf, I do not wish to spend any more time exposed to it than necessary."
The elf smiled wryly, "And you would accuse me of arrogance? I shall not leave this chamber until you will leave with me, for I have no sympathy for the self indulgence of your race. There are more threats converging on Ulthuan than for centuries, even you must sense this, despite your apathy." The dragon roared now, rearing on his hind legs as he drowned the elf in yet more flames. He knew the elf's magic would deflect the flames, but not without tiring and intimidating him. Outstretched as he was now Imdaraugir was magnificent, gleaming scales of ivory hue shone with reflections and his powerful limbs rippled as he lifted his colossal torso upwards and spoke,
"Insulting me was not enough for you, I see. You were not satisfied until you had insulted our entire race. You shall regret that elf. For now, I will come with you, for you speak the truth, but you would do well to be wary, for dragons have long memories and do not forgive easily. When you are long dead we will endure. I speak not only of you but of your race. Do not insult a dragon, for we will hold the legacy of your race within our minds." The elf smiled once again and nodded quickly,
"We will leave at dawn." he spoke in a voice just commanding enough to make Imdaraugir flare in anger,
"And tiny elf, do not make the mistake of believing you are my master. You are at my mercy, and I will stay with you only out of necessity. Remember that." Once more the elf nodded and then left, leaving only a smell of singed clothing. The dragon chuckled to himself, great puffs of smoke emanating from his nostrils.


Edit: in retrospect, "Brokenwind" isn't perhaps the most elegant name, unless this elf has unfortunate bowel issues.
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Sturen
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Re: Let's give this writing thing a shot

#2 Post by Sturen »

No love for the poor dragon... :mrgreen:

Here we have a skaven clan I toyed with, Clan Furnak.

Chieftan Pyrescratch wrinkled his long nose in distaste, "No-no, I said one hundred slaves, then I give flame throwers!" His rival, Skrutgut, sneered and spat into the dirt,
"These slaves strong, fight good. Fifty of my slaves; worth one hundred any others." Pyrescratch grinned,
"If your fifty beat my fifty, you take flame throwers. Mine win, you give hundred slaves free. Yes-yes?" His rival thought for a second, muttering and grumbling quietly then nodded, "Yes-yes!"

Pyrescratch grinned as he swaggered through the dingy tunnels. He knew he would beat Skrutgut's slaves; they were scrawny and of course he didn't plan to play fair. He would need every slave he could find to seize his own tunnels and begin his own clan at last. His allies in Moulder would guarantee his success.

The slave horde swarmed down the tunnel, rats crushing and scratching each other as they pushed forwards and onwards towards the agreed location of the fight. Suddenly a shriek echoed through the tunnels, piercing above the cacophony of Pyrescratch's slaves. The shriek was joined by more and more and a dark tide of rates swept down from above. They wore the dark green and mouldy yellow of Skrutgut's clan. His slaves swirled in confusion as they came under attack from every direction. Pyrescratch was not worried and, after a carefully measured pause, twitched his long claw.

A deafening boom ripped through the tunnel and yellow and green clothed slaves flew through the air as the explosives Pyrescratch had planted detonated exactly as planned. The few surviving slaves were easily chased off by his own. If there was one thing he could do well, Pyrescratch thought, it was explosives. It had been simple to "accidentally" allow details of his route to fall into the hands of Skrutgut's incompetent spy and then place explosives at the only ambush location along the route. The other five explosive traps and his two counter ambushes (courtesy of clan Moulder) hadn't even been needed - childs play. Through the clearing smoke he saw Skrutgut staggering, still dazed, and sauntered towards him. As he approached he could not help sniggering at his own brilliance.

Yet before he could begin gloating and of course claim the slaves Skrutgut owed him, he heard the distinctive squeal of scared slaves: his slaves. Snarling, he turned to see three towering rat ogres, attacking
his slaves. That lying Moulder swine had been bought out by Skrutgut! With a screech Pyrescratch ordered his stormvermin guards to attack and drew a copper spark grenade from his belt.

Though his slaves were badly depleted Pyrescratch could see the fight was going his way. With one final shot from his pistol he scampered back down the tunnel, away from the fight. When he reached the next junction he found Charrclaw, his best "trusted" assassin, waiting for his command. With a grunt he ordered the twisted, scab covered rat to put their plan into action. Charrclaw grinned and tossed a handful of powder into the air. With a burst of crimson flames the rat vanished. A few seconds later he reappeared several feet away, coughing and chocking. Pyrescratch snarled at him in disgust and ran back towards the fight.

He arrived just in time to see the last rat ogre dragged to the ground and a swarm of matted fur quickly covered it's convulsing form. Through the turmoil Pyrescratch saw Skrutgut and the last of his rats flee down the tunnel, defeated. But Pyrescratch wasn't satisfied with that; he played higher stakes than just slaves, especially if Skrutgut had influence with Moulder too. And exactly as planned Skrutgut managed only a few steps before a burst of light appeared in front of him. Before he could react Charrclaw, twin fiery blades twirling, killed the fleeing skaven and without even pausing vanished again, leaving only a cloud of smoke. Pyrescratch knew there was a deep crack into the earth in that spot, but he couldn't deny Charrclaw his theatrics.

Grinning, Pyrescratch surveyed the scene. He had lost many slaves but the rewards of killing Skrutgut would more than make up for it. Now all he had to do was deal with this traitor in clan Moulder who sold out his rat ogres...
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tessenjutsu
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Re: Let's give this writing thing a shot

#3 Post by tessenjutsu »

Love it! Keep on writing :)
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Sturen
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Re: Let's give this writing thing a shot

#4 Post by Sturen »

tessenjutsu wrote:Love it! Keep on writing :)
Thank you! I intend to. :mrgreen:

And now continuing the theme of "entirely unrelated and slightly bizarre", the tale of an empire village.

Imperial records indicate that the small village of Grutwend paid no taxes or duties in the years 2518 onwards. When a detachment of troops was sent to investigate they discovered the village deserted. The records indicate the reason for the shortfall as "bandit attack". The village is entirely removed from all records from the year 2520 onwards.

The silence was entirely complete, the soft falling snowflakes dampening everything to create a perfect stillness. Sitting atop the watchtower Utred shivered and rubbed his hands together, he dreaded how cold it would be in a few more hours.

The village behind him was empty now, the bustling business of the daytime and the raucous cheer of the evening all finished with only a few windows still glowing from within. His view south from the village was poorly marked even in summer and the snow was quickly concealing it. The forest itself was dark and foreboding, the trees skeletal and still, and as Utred stared into them it seemed almost as if dark shapes were moving within the depths. Shaking himself, he looked away, it would not do to imagine dangers that were not there.

As the night drew on it got colder still, though the snow stopped falling, leaving only a light coat. The darkness however got deeper and soon Utred could not even see the forest, looking outward was only deep impenetrable darkness. From this darkness came a soft sound, almost like that of a barking dog. Utred sat up abruptly and peered into the dark: he could see nothing. The forest was filled with animals and he settled back against the rough wood. There was no danger tonight.

This time there was no denying it, there was something in the forest and it did not sound natural to him. The howl sounded like a wolf but filled with an anger that made Utred shiver. Shaking slightly he clutched his axe and stood, preparing to signal the alarm, but not until he saws certain there was a threat. There was still no reason to awaken the village, he reasoned, if all he'd heard was a few sounds. It was probably just animals hunting. He just hoped he wasn't the prey.

Suddenly there was the bellow of a horn, which was echoed by a host of wails and shrieks. Utred instantly sounded the alarm, shouting and ringing the large bell within his tower and the guards in the other towers joined him. Even as he looked back towards the forest he spotted orange lights moving and realised whatever he had heard was many in numbers and coming, fast. In the darkness he stumbled towards the stairs to join the town militia who would be assembling to defend the village.

He found them at the base of the guard tower. Captain Fredrik stood barking orders and attempting to give the men confidence. As Utred looked over them he only felt his fear deepen. There were around forty men of fighting age, though many were young and untested, while the few veterans were now becoming old. The youngest would have looked almost comical, in their ill fitting armour and wielding axes they'd never used for anything but chopping wood, were it not for the mixture of determination and terror in their poorly shaven faces.

Fredrik, the captain and their leader, made an intimidating figure, a veteran of the imperial army he knew well how to wield the expensive sword he carried and he was a brave man, Utred knew. But even he was showing his age with his hair greyed and a belly that seemed slightly too large for his breast plate. This didm'\t stop him from shouting at his men with his usual fierceness and conviction. His militia was his pride and joy. Utred trusted Fredrik as both a leader and a friend.

Hefting the weight of his axe in his hand he joined his fellows and fell into line beside Halned, his brother, and nodded grimly, "There are many," he said quietly, "and they do not sound like any bandits I have heard." Halned seemed unconcerned and smiled back at his brother,
"Bandits or no bandits, they all fall to my hammer, I don't fear them." utred could only nod, he wished he had his brother's confidence. Fredrik was ordering them to move and he quickly followed to form up into defensive lines. He couldn't help but be relieved that he wasn't on the very front lines.

From his lower vantage point and with the nervous breath and rustling of armour around him he could no longer hear or see the approaching enemy so he could only stand in wait. The minutes passed and still there was nothing; the village seemed to be almost calmer than it was before he called the alarm and he waited with his breath held in this throat. The quiet seemed to settle further until it was entirely, terrifyingly, silent.

Then it was not. Shapes materialised in the dark and almost instantly they were upon them, snarling, roaring, screeching, thundering and clashing, breaking and slicing. The men at the front were swept aside by the onslaught and their screams and wails only added to the terror. Before Utred could even react he was met with a towering figure, obscure in the darkness but looking like no human he'd ever seen. Raising his axe he knocked aside a blow that would have removed his arm and felt the shock deaden his axe arm. Utred desperately retreated from his enemy and it disappeared almost as quickly as it'd appeared.

He glanced around as he saw men dying at every side. He saw Fredrik and another man fighting together, holding off two of the creatures between them but he could see Fredrik was bleeding and even as he watched a third creature approached them. His brother a short distance away was no longer smiling, his jaw set as he fought one of the creatures, his hammer finding it's mark several times as he watched but hardly seeming to have an effect. There were at least 10 men dead on the ground, or screaming and moaning in pain from their injuries. He seemed to have a respite from the fighting and resolved to help his brother. Running across the road he lifted his axe and swung it at the back of the creature his brother was locked in battle against. It let out an unearthly moan in pain as he struck it and it fell backwards, nearly knocking Utred with it. Running panting to his brother he spoke quickly with him, "These creatures are slaughtering us, we don't stand a chance like this." His brother for once agreed, "I dealt that thing blows that would have killed a man and it fought on, they are unnatural. Fredrik must order a retreat."

Even as he spoke their predicament got worse still. With a sharp whistle a cloud of arrows flew through the air and impaled several men who staggered and fell. The arrows were quickly followed by many more and Fredrik's rough voice broke out over the din, "Retreat to the church, with me!" Utred looked towards Fredrik and the small group who had managed to gather and saw with horror there were at least three creatures between them and relative safety; they were cut off. With a glance at each other they hefted their weapons and with a roar born of fear and blind courage he and his brother charged towards their foes.

Fredrik stood amid the small host of his militia who remained. He watched as two men he could not identify charged out in a desperate attempt to join them and felt a stirring of despair as he watched one hit by an arrow in the neck and the other knocked to the floor by one of the strange beasts. His head was bleeding heavily and his sword felt heavy in his tired arm. He judged around fifteen of his men were alive and they were making a steady retreat towards the church, keeping the sturdy stone wall and a house between themselves and the arrows. Yet the church was still distant and each step was exhausting his men. The attackers never seemed to slow or falter, they moved with terrifying speed and screeched and roared as they slaughtered his fighters.

He saw another man fall, his neck snapped by a creature, and stepped forward to fill the gap, swinging his sword with a well practised motion to remove it's arm. He barked orders even as he duelled, ensuring his men kept their nerve and didn't split up to face certain death alone. He knew their chances of reaching the church were small but he knew almost every one of these men by name, some he had even trained as young boys, and he would do anything to give them hope until the very end.

The men around him were thinning ever further as the survivors were injured or fell; they could not afford to stop for the injured. The man to his left fell with an arrow protruding from his chest and Fredrik found himself surrounded by three creatures. Glancing around him he realised that his militia had been broken into five or six men who were being drawn further apart by the enemies. He felt fear tighten in his chest but refused to let it change the tone of his orders as he bellowed for his men to gather to him. The men could now see how desperate the situation was but they did not falter, trying to back against the wall and gradually pull back together.

But it was hopeless. The few who were still fighting were all injured and badly outnumbered. Even as Fredrik felled the last creature near him he saw the last of his men fall also, dragged to the ground by three of the beasts as he screamed in agony. The creatures were advancing on him and he could now see them more clearly. They were slim and spiked, seeming to drift in and out of his vision as their lithe forms became near indistinguishable from forest. They seemed to whisper and hiss as they advanced, far slower now, clearly sending he had no escape. Any fear in Fredrik solidified into rage as he saw the devestation, bodies of his fellows littered the ground. Gritting his teeth he picked a shield from the ground and raised his sword. "Let them come." he snarled.

Upon further research a member of the detachment sent to the village revealed to me that the only sign of any disturbance in the village was a sword and shield, placed in the centre of the southern road, which had been arranged above a single finely crafted arrow he thought looked elven. He whispered to me in speculation that the elves had witnessed the honour of their foe and left this as a sign of their respect. He further said (though insisted I do not record it) that he believed the man who earned this sign may have been taken by the elves. This should, of course, be taken as merely wild speculation.


I had a chuckle at using 666666 as the hex value of that pale grey, the colour of the beast. :twisted:

I experimented a little with a "historian" persona to create a little prologue and epilogue. I thought starting out knowing that everyone would die would probably add to the foreboding! I actually started off with beastmen as the attackers but there's something terrifying about wild wood elves and they seemed to fit well. Anyway let me know what you think! And also perhaps request a character for me to write a little more on? Or just post a picture of an amusing cat, it's really up to you. :mrgreen:
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Sturen
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Re: Let's give this writing thing a shot

#5 Post by Sturen »

Krohan-kis reflected on his life choices so far. In retrospect the entire chaos thing was probably a mistake: his skin now closely resembled a rotten tomato and whilst horns sound awesome they quickly became a real issue when trying to sleep comfortably. And that’s before even considering how having an axe fused to your hand complicates using the bathroom.

Every cloud has a silver lining and he did feel rather pleased with how his new armour looked, though it was a shame he couldn’t take it off. In the knee deep snow that was all well and good but he didn’t fancy taking a trip south any time soon, and the chafing got pretty unpleasant. Of course it’s hard to argue with perks like inhuman strength, tireless rage and endless slaughter.

But it did tend to get old. As he dismembered his three thousandth, four hundredth and ninety sixth skull (for the skull god) he barely even got a kick out of the gushing blood or screams of terror. Really, he felt a bit desensitised and it was taking the thrill out of the whole massacre thing. In all honesty, Slaanesh with his (or her, he didn’t want to check) promise of debauchery and, quite possibly, a solution to the fangs (which were now beginning to obscure his vision) was sounding like a really solid offer. Those daemonettes did always give him flirty looks too…

He occasionally even considered Nurgle; sure, he’d end up looking pretty disgusting but looks aren’t everything and they ran around like they had by far the most fun. And he knew for a fact their food was much better; why else would they always be so fat? Eating raw baby with only blood to wash it down wasn’t his idea of fine cuisine.

But when he was honest with himself he decided Khorne wasn’t bad after all. As he felt blood pour over him and eviscerated yet another non specific (though probably dwarven, or from Nuln) enemy he realised that endless sex or diseased ecstasy could never really compete with this sort of mindless slaughter.

Now to figure out what Gad-mok did to get given those badass wings.


Mostly just had fun writing this one, enjoy. :mrgreen:
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Elessehta of Yvresse
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Re: Let's give this writing thing a shot

#6 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Best not let Khorne hear those brief thoughts about other gods ^_^
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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