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 Post subject: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 6 Part 1/2]
PostPosted: Mon Jul 26, 2010 7:34 pm 
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Hey all, this is a story that I've been toying with in my head for the past few months. It's intended to be a serious tale with moments of comedy.

I will do my best to post once every 7-10 days. I'm a bit of a procrastinator, but I will get it done. Just kidding. No chance of any timely schedule

Please note that this, at times, will contain violence and explicit language

I understand that my writing can be confusing, so if you have a question, comment, or complaint, PM it to me, or find me in the Chatroom. Intelligent criticism is wholeheartedly welcomed.

Without further ado, I bring you chapter one of the Fables of Prophecy
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 1-Set in Motion

The figure hurried down the hallway, feet pattering down the stone floor. In his hands clutched a scroll and a book, the latter being the reason he was in such a gloomy place in the first place. Behind him, coming up the stairs, came the sound of pursuit. He did not have much time. He pushed open a door, and as he closed it, a crossbow bolt thudded against the woodwork. Grasping the chair he knew to be next to the door, he propped it up against the handle in an effort to slow down those who chased him. He continued down a new hallway, shrouded in shadows apart from a single lit torch at the end of the hall. That torch marked his destination. He heard a thud of…the door? No, it was his heart pounding in his ears. The pursuers had not broken through yet, but they would soon.

He was too old for this. Screams of pain echoed through the open window of the ancient library. Lesser Demons, most likely, had joined the fight. Or, more accurately, the slaughter. Factions of whatever evil force was being raised had attacked the library, and Ghisga, the aged head of the order, had fled the scene of the initial assault, guiltily leaving his kinsmen to a horrid fate. In theory, there shouldn’t have been any guilt, as they were all prepared to die to protect the book Ghisga held. However, it was clear in his mind that he betrayed them, sacrificing them for his own selfish getaway. Not like he could get away. He was on the third floor and was almost on the farthest section of the library from the stairway. His chest cramped and the sweat blurred his eyes, but he was almost to his destination. Suddenly, the door in front of him opened and a dark figure stepped out.

Ghisga stopped short, fearing he would be killed right then and there. But the figure just stared at him from the gloom, until Ghisga realized it was one from his own order, Wilhelm, a young member who had been tasked with organizing the third-floor storerooms.

“Wilhelm! Quickly! To the final door! We must get inside there! I require your assistance!”

Wilhelm looked confused for a moment, but complied. At the door, Ghisga grasped the handle, but was unable to turn it. The door was locked.

“The key!” Wilhelm shouted.

Of course the door was locked. It was always locked, and Ghisga had the key. The only key to that room. With trembling hands, he grasped the key from his necklace and attempted to insert it into the lock. A loud smash distracted him, and he turned to glimpse upon the source. His pursuers had broken through the barrier, and the first one through pointed to Ghisga’s location. His dull grey armor and black cloak swished off to the side as he let space for a second to pass through, one with a crossbow. With renewed efforts, he inserted the key, only to find the lock had rusted.

A quiet click cut through the sounds of the flickering torch, because all noises from downstairs had ceased. The bolt buried itself in Ghisga’s side, knocking him off the door. Wilhelm, one of the more physically capable members of the order, recognized what happened and slammed his shoulder against the door. The lock gave away, and as he entered, he dragged Ghisga’s body in behind him.

The torchlight did not enter this room, and Wilhelm could not see the items inside, which he suspected there were none. He moved to inquire the purpose of entering a dead-end, but Ghisga interrupted him.

“Move to the middle of the room. Hurry! We haven’t a moment to waste!”

“But your injuries-”

“Irrelevant. You must carry on now. Find the one the prophecies describe!”

Not wanting to abandon his leader, but too afraid to disobey at this time, he moved right to the middle of the room. Ghisga’s face was all but drained of color. Blood stained the floor and his entire shirt. Every instinct screamed at Wilhelm to help his leader, but he had to trust Ghisga’s judgment.

“My fate,” He croaked, “was always to fall protecting this. Here, take it. Protect it. Use it. Only the one of the prophecies can possibly save the world!”

Wilhelm moved from his spot to gasp the tome. He had to live on now; remember their sacrifice by completing their quest, to the one described in the prophecies and stop the evil that was starting to consume the world. Pounding footsteps of armored bodies pounded down the hallway, and seemed to be right outside. Behind the noise was the sound of Ghisga whispering, chanting the incantation written on the scroll.

Mailed feet kicked down the door. Wilhelm, in the middle of the room, was the first target for the crossbowman. The bolt launched at his face, and he instinctively raised the ancient book to defend himself. The metal sliced through pages, but stopped partway through. Wilhelm then realized in horror as the book was in flames, the enchanted bolt bursting into a fireball. Hungry flames licked at the crinkly pages. Within moments, the entire book was consumed and gone.

“Entromitus, Polymyvyto, SENTOMITRIUM!”

Before Wilhelm or anyone else reacted to the destruction of the book, a ring of magic awakened on the floor. Golden tendrils wrapped around Wilhelm’s body, ancient runes on the floor were aglow with magic.
Ghisga had activated the teleportation ring, to allow the only member of the order who could escape do so. The ancient one-of-a-kind magic lit the room. Ghisga allowed himself a smile, for he had set forth the beginning of salvation from the jaws of death. He did not care if he took its place. Even without the book, Ghisga knew Wilhelm would succeed, for it was written that the one to find the prophesized one would do so without assistance from the past.

Funny how Ghisga had just realized it then. He had no regrets. The second man to enter the room drew a broadsword from an ornate, yet laughably evil-looking scabbard, and swung it at Wilhelm. Sparks flew as the blade clashed against the magics of the circle, and as the light flashes died down, Wilhelm stood there unharmed. At that point, the man caught sight of Ghisga. With a snarl, the soldier drove the point through Ghisga’s body.

The swirling magic intensified, and, with a flash, Wilhelm disappeared.

------------

The boy scampered over the gate into the grounds of the old Cathedral. With seemingly endless energy, he was always the first of his town’s historical society to reach the creaky building. In fact, much of the rest of the town wasn’t even awake at this time. The massive wooden doors creaked open to the tunes of various songbirds. Yet as he looked inside, attempting to do a daily check on the condition of the construction. Yet something was quite out of place. A man in his early 20s lay down unconscious in the middle of the Cathedral, and the boy had no idea how the crap he had gotten there without leaving a single sign of entry.

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Last edited by plasticmanticor on Tue May 24, 2011 7:51 pm, edited 10 times in total.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy
PostPosted: Mon Aug 02, 2010 9:13 pm 
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Apologies for the delay. Here it is!


Chapter 2-A Long Time Ago

“Ho ho! Is everyone comfortable and ready?” The old storyteller inquired of his audience. “Why, this must be my greatest story yet!.”

“Yes,” many of the children replied. The rest simply sat there eagerly awaiting the forthcoming tale.

Every 7th night was a story night, as Old Man Sumter told fabulous tales. Some were comedic, some were of great and heroic occurrences, and all were worth listening to. One week, he had told the story of a man who wanted to climb the highest mountain in the world, for the purpose of sledding down it. Another week, it was his rendition of the great hero Heracles.

“Listen closely, children, for every word I speak today doth be absolutely true. This is not just another tale or fable. This story may just effect all of your lives. Or perhaps none, for my tale may be 100 years too early.”

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Claire, one of the more curious group members.

“Because history happens again and again. Time is cyclical. Of course, that is why clocks are round,” replied Sumter, which brought some chuckles from his audience. “But without my jokes, you must pay close attention. History begins anew; a new hero will rise soon. Tell me Claire, what do you do during the day?”

“Well,” responded Claire, “I help me mum in the restaurant…”

“But do you not dream of an adventure?”

“Meaning?”

“Do you not wish for an adventure? Something exciting to happen? Something different from your daily routine?”

“I do, but-”

“Good enough!” interrupted the storyteller. “Trust your dreams, believe them, and never betray them, for you dreams may be all you have one day.”

“Sumter-san, what does this have to do with the story?” asked one of the quieter kids, a young lad by the name Ghisga.

“Because,” responded the old man, “the story I am about to tell you may be the centerpiece of your own lives. I do not wish to force this upon you, but fate might. Evil rises in the lands once again, and it will take a hero of legend to vanquish it, such as the one I am about to tell you of.”

Sumter took this off moment for a long draught of ale.

“Nobody knows why fate chooses who she does. Many suspect it is quite random, others suspect it is the blood of a hero. I can tell you, from personal experience, it is not the second, and I highly doubt the first. But this is the story of a simple person who strode forth and stopped evil, seizing the opportunity. Of course, had he failed in his quest, then I wouldn’t be telling you this right now.”

He leaned back in his creaky chair, matched only by his creaky joints. His hairless forehead glistened in the candlelight and a droplet of beer dripped down from his pure white mustache.

“I see the possibility of a hero of every person I look at. Yet, not all are capable of utilizing that potential. The spirit of a hero chooses one of an adventurous heart and soul; one of courage. The hero’s spirit will only be born into one of a hero’s heart, and that is not by blood,” Sumter continued.

By this time, all the outside work had finished. His pauses were only filled by the sound of crickets and night birds, cooking ranges, and Owanderis’ occasional snoring from across the road. All in all, Sumter’s was the only real thing worth listening to at the time.

“Of course, its not like there can’t be multiple heroes. The one of tale had many allies to assist him in his journey. The spirit of a hero may reside in many, and this is where Fate comes in, when she somehow chooses who will be the one to stop the final evil.”

“Sumter-san, you mention a lot about heroes,” ventured Claire once more, “but what exactly is your tale about? We’ve heard plenty of tales about heroes before. What makes this one different?”

“Because, as I mentioned earlier, this one is true. Now, I suppose my tale isn’t as glamorous as I made it out to be, but it is still the most important one of my weekly installments. See, some one hundred, probably 200 years ago, a cult committed an, unfortunately, all-too-frequent mistake. Blinded by their greed and lust for power, these cults attempt to summon some unholy power. Foolish men. Somehow, they never learn, despite all these tales of death and destruction. Delusional, I must say. I suspect they believe the summon will make them powerful, grant them the ability to rule over the world. Bah! That…Thing…that they summon, always means their own doom.”

Sumter took another draught from his tankard, as his throat had started to get scratchy towards the end of his rant. Coughing once, he continued his tale.

“The evils vary as much as the cults do, because the cults are always different in motives. Yet their desires and end results are always the same. An evil rises to terror the land and a hero will rise as well to destroy the evil.”

Another pause, and another swig from the tankard.

“And, to varying extents, is the success of the evils and cults that summon them. I recall once a cult was caught by city guards before they could complete the summoning process, and the evil was never unleashed. Now, another question. What do you know of the Bonfire Flats?”

“Uhh,” started Ghisga, “Isn’t that the dead place in the middle of the Aberli forest?”

“Yea!” added Claire, “it’s just south of the Crowned Peaks!”

“Good, good, you know the where. But do you know the why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the name, and why it is like that?”

“I-I-don’t know…”

“And I am about to tell you!” roared Sumter. “While not all evils are successful in their terror, the one of my tale was. But I shall start with the cult. This particular cult was formed by an angry man, a resentful man, one who was cast out of the refined city of Alberain. Resentful of his punishment, he started and successfully summoned a demon, and the hero, while stopping the monster, failed to do so in a timely fashion. The creature destroyed the city, burned it too the ground, scorched the surrounding woodlands. Complete and utter annihilation. The Bonfire Flats are all that remains of, from what I heard, a very fine place to live. Now, ‘tis but a barren wasteland, and has been for more than 100 years. That also is the birth of the name for it, a testament to the dangers of the evils that have been summoned time and time again.”

He leaned forwards from his comfortable position to finish his tale. He didn’t both with another sip of ale, having all but forgotten about it.

“How is it that you know of that tale?” asked another child from the group.

“Because, the same way I know there is no such thing as a hero’s blood. My great-grandfather was Kaston Powvit, the one who defeated the demon of the Bonfire Flats.”

This piece of information brought a hushed gasp from the audience. Sumter clasped his hands together upon his lap, closed his eyes, and leaned on them. Without looking up, he put the lid on his revealing story, the reason he spoke such words.

“I did my research. And the findings scare me. Your parents may scorn me for giving you nightmares, but I fear the real crime is letting people be ignorant of what I found out. See, just like a heroic spirit, and evil spirit can be born into a being with a heart filled of malice. And this is one factor into why the cults continue to form and summon the real evils. And I fear that the next evil to be summoned is the most dangerous of them all. Many of you are familiar with the tale of thy Lady’s Quest, no? The being known as Legion in that fable is but a puddle compared to the tsunami that is coming. Do you know of the fabled land of Tyquatil? Well, it is no fable. It existed, many many years ago. It was destroyed the last time this being was summoned. Completely wiped off the map 3000 years ago.”

Off in his corner, Ghisga contemplated that information. What could he do to prevent the destruction of his favorite climbing tree? He didn’t want to see that go. The answer came to him quickly: he would find a way to stop the demon before it could do any harm, to find the hero amidst the possible end of the world.


----45 years later----

With his last breath, Ghisga saw Wilhelm vanish from the room. The book may have been an ancient tome of great knowledge, but he knew it contained nothing to assist the rise of the hero. In fact, Ghisga was glad it was destroyed, for now his enemies could not get their hands on the information inside. The prophecies he thought about earlier had been scrawled in in the back, but it was a stretch call them that, they were just what he knew from the old storyteller Sumter.

With his dying breath, Ghisga was at ease.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 2 is Up!]
PostPosted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 11:47 am 
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Chapter 3- In a Galaxy Far Away

The young man locked the heavy wooden door. His thick wavy hair was tossed off to the side of his head, and his blue-green eyes were obscured by the gloom of the large room. He extinguished the two lanterns by the door, and systematically put out the candles of each table. As he de-flamed the last candle, the room was dancing shadows as the large fireplace died down to its last embers. He opened a door at the far end, locked it behind him, and silently crept up the stairway. In moments, he entered his room and flopped down on the bed.

It might have been the finish of a day of any restaurant worker, except that he wasn’t exactly a restaurant worker. Sure, he worked there, and has worked in the Frostfire Inn for nearly 2 years, but it wasn’t like he had much choice. He reached over for a leather-bound book on his desk and flipped through the worn pages. Most of them had been filled up, and although there was space for new writing, he didn’t feel like continuing the journal.

Entry 3 (May 5th?)

Second day of the job. Its simple enough. But I still am horribly confused. I’ve decided to write down as much as I can remember, so that I won’t forget any of it. From what I know, I’m in a sizable northerly town dubbed Agal-Ack’sie. Its kinda how this Inn got its name, because during the winter, it gets pretty dang cold here, or so I have heard. I haven’t actually experienced it yet. But this Inn, especially during those cold winter months, is always warm and a great stop for travelers.


He paused there, and flipped ahead to the one he meant to read. His 6th entry, the one he read every single day, so that he would never forget.

Entry 6 (Date unknown)

My watch says its May 12th. But it definitely isn’t. It was a bit chilly today, just had a nip of that fall breeze. And I saw a patch of colored leaves. If I had to guess, I would say late August, maybe early September.

These last few posts, I have been writing down every detail of my good ol’ home. But I forgot one important thing. Me. This entry is the best I can describe myself.

My name is Thomas Andrew Stephenson. I am 17 years old. I live in Vermont, near lake Champlain. I play trombone in my high school band. I also enjoy various video games, such as Final Fantasy, Halo, Guild Wars, Warcraft, League of Legends, etc. Math is my strong point, I dislike English, and I just took my AP Chem exam. I am a junior at my high school…

I like to think of myself as cheerful, quiet, friendly, clever, and always right. I might be a bit egotistic.


He yawned and placed the book back on the dresser. He knew it by heart. In fact, that is how he wanted it. He then rolled over and propped up the pillow for extra comfort.

He then added to himself, “I love watching sci-fi shows on TV, like Doctor Who, Stargate, Eureka, Warehouse, as well as other shows like NCIS, Top Gear, Wipeout, Mythbusters, and others. I am a fan of many animes. I also read books of a similar feel, particularly books from the MtG series, Forgotten Realms, Valdemar, and also those by Eoin Colfer and Anthony Horowitz.”

It was the remaining part of his entry, of which he had recited as opposed to reading. Then he thought about another entry, his 12th.

“After more than 2 weeks, I decided that the closest parallel to this is probably the world depicted in the Forgotten Realms series, although I have yet to see a dwarf, elf, Halfling, etc.”

He flicked the wick of his bedside lantern, plunging the room into darkness. Within moments, his eyelids closed and he fell asleep.

His unconscious mind drifted from land to land. Murky clouds obscured nearly everything, and then…a bolt of light cut through the gloom and wrapped around his arm. Similar beams tied up his feet and other arm, and then the four merged and enveloped his body. It was exactly like the night he had first arrived in this land, only this wasn’t quite real.

The intensity of the light grew to near-blinding levels. He couldn’t move. Struggle as he might, the bonds would not release.

He awoke with a start, sweat in his wavy brown hair. Through his easterly window, the rays of dawn gave way to the sun, having fully established itself above the horizon. He brushed a few strands of hair out from his eyes and sat out of his bed. He climbed down the stairs and entered the large kitchen. There, he set up a large pot of water to boil and gathered the spices he required for the simple, yet tasty breakfast porridge. Following that, he entered the actual restaurant section and unlocked both the main door and opened all of the windows. A chill breeze flowed in, washing out the musty feel from the previous evening. As the tavern area freshened out, he returned to the kitchen to continue preparations for the porridge.

A sound disrupted him from his word, and he identified it as Claire, the current owner of the Inn.

“Morning, Ms. Claire,” the young man greeted.

Claire was around 50 years old and had owned the Inn for around 15 years. She had been the one to give him a place to sleep when he was found, supposedly unconscious, on the corner between the Inn and the trader’s shack.

“Good morning, Thomas,” replied the owner, “I need you to purchase two marks of the Freshwater salmon, preferably from Waruln, and also a regular restock of vegetables. The usual there.”

“Certainly, Ms Claire.”

He finished up the porridge and set it so simmer, and left to the washroom. It was just another day in his new life.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 4 started]
PostPosted: Wed Aug 18, 2010 9:20 pm 
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Chapter 4- Deep Shadows

“Good evening, milord.”

“Good evening. Is the mansion prepared for the events?”

“Of course milord, down to the very letter.”

“Good. You are to open the games in exactly 14 minutes. Confirm each guest with the list as they arrive.”

“Very good milord, I shall inform Arkeus of that immediately.”

The servant bowed her head and quickly departed. She exited the foyer into the cool evening air and strolled. The low lying sun glared at her from the west, casting a shadow nearly to the hedge maze on the far side. 13 minutes to go. She arrived at the bottom of the long pathway at the gatehouse, where Arkeus Rolfe sat reading a book next to the gate controls. Two carriages were already waiting outside, but neither had been permitted entry yet.

“Hey Ark. Here’s the list for sundown.”

“Aight. It’ll be done.”

Just outside of the mansion walls, hidden in the brush near the wall, a figure sat, perfectly hidden in the shadows. If someone could see her, they would have noticed that she looks awfully similar to the servant that just walked down the path to the gate. And for good reason, too. She was the younger sister of that servant. There was no family love between the two, they rarely saw each other and scorned each other’s choice of professions. Robin Steelthi was a thief, and a good one at that. Her older sister, Swanne, had worked for the lord Meskh, who resided in the mansion. It was Robin’s most ambitious goal yet; her final goal was a fabulous pendant that had belonged to the lord’s wife, now deceased.

She checked the sun’s position. 8 minutes until sundown. She planned to make her move right as the party started, as everyone would be caught up in the arrivals, particularly Meskh, who, on a normal day would notice the theft, had to greet the guests and thus would be preoccupied.

Robin checked and rechecked her tools, which weren’t much, really. 2 lock picks, a knotted rope, and a sharp knife. Another 5 minutes until the sun would disappear over the horizon and the guests would enter. Meskh was remarkably punctual, and she took this perfect opportunity to get one back on the aristocracy.

With one minute to go, and the guards and guests all focusing on the area by the gate, she made her move. Scampering over the wall without a sound, she snuck through the shadows of the wall and large plants, approaching the mansion. Torches flickered near the pathway, but did not cast a perceptible iota of light on the thief. With great stealth, she reached the mansion walls and flattened herself against the wall near a back window.

The last flicker of light faded over the horizon; she made her move.

Ideally, Meskh and most servants would be near the entrance, greeting and relieving burdens of the guests. The other servants of the household would be in the kitchen. That only left the guards, who were more likely to be watching the party than paying attention to any intruders.

She eased the knife into the gap between the 2 window halves, and opened it up. She slipped inside and closed the portal behind her. She then took off her mottled cloak and folded it up, revealing an intricately festive outfit, yet one that blended successfully as well. Looking around, she found herself in an unused room, although it looked like it had been used earlier today.

The first guests arrived from the pathway, and spilled into the entrance.

It was time to steal some jewels.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 4 started]
PostPosted: Sun Sep 05, 2010 8:51 pm 
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Chapter 4: Deep Shadows part 2

She cracked open the door, saw that the coast was clear. She was in a long corridor, lined with various statues. A thick red carpet muffled her footsteps as she scampered quietly along, to where light from the ballroom illuminated the hallway. The hallway itself was lit by torches set at 10 pace intervals, but the light did not provide more than a means of not crashing into the statues. As she approached the open doorway, she peeked around see the ballroom. It was more of a foyer, but a large, lavish room ringed with columns that supported the upper balcony. The smell of meat pies and other appetizers wafted to her nose, as a draft from the front door preceded the first guests’ carriage rolled up to the stairway leading to the door.

Robin had chosen her wardrobe very carefully for this. It was simple enough that she might be able to pass off as a servant to one of the guests, attending to fine details at a party, yet lavish enough that she would blend in easily with the guests, and also in a design that was beyond inconspicuous. You really wouldn’t notice its mottled red pattern unless you were looking for it, which, at her coming window of opportunity, which was awfully short in itself. She had about 10 seconds while everyone’s attention would be focused in the doorway, when she would be least likely to be noticed, specifically by the guards, servants, or Meskh himself who may recognize her for what she was….now!

She forced herself against every urge to get out of sight quickly, instead walking quickly but not hurrying. The best way to be invisible in plain sight is to look like you belong. Running, well, anything faster than a purposeful-walk would be noticed as out of place. Being in-place required being seen, and ignored.

Seven seconds in, and she was halfway up the stairway, which dominated the middle of the ballroom. At the top of the first, main flight of stairs, the path split, one stairway to either side of the balcony. As she reached the turn, she risked a glimpse and saw that she had more time than expected, Meskh seemed to be particularly colloquial with the first guest. And good thing, too, as, from her perspective, all the servants and guards were also engrossed with the arrivals. There were 6 guards on the lower floor, and she remembered four more patrolling the outside area. Three cooks were preparing the appetizer buffet, while 2 other servants assisted the first guests with their coats and other cumbersome belongings. In the next 2 seconds, she reached the balcony level and exited into the upper hallway, which was completely deserted with the party.

The upper hallway was quite similar to the first, a thick crimson carpet bordered by statues, all of which were very similar, and other pieces of art. She walked along the east wing corridor to the back hallway, which then led to the west corridor. The item she sought was in the far room of the west corridor, but she didn’t want the guardsmen of the room seeing her as she entered the hallway. As she crept around the corner and peered out from behind one of the many statues, she could see two guards standing at attention on either side of a door. This was clearly Meskh’s bedroom. Although she hoped it would be unguarded, she quickly sprung a plan to draw them away. It would leave a dreadfully short window of opportunity, though.

Well, she had a goal, and she wasn’t going to quit because two henchmen were standing in her way.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 4 up]
PostPosted: Wed Oct 13, 2010 8:17 pm 
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Yikes, Its been over a month since I last posted here. I really need to sit down and force myself to complete a chapter. Well, here is a Teaser to chapter 5. What is going to happen? The suspense must be killing you! I haven't even mentioned this guy since chapter 1!

Chapter 5-Cloudy Morning

Wilhelm awoke to find himself in a soft bed, sunlight dappling across the burgundy sheets from the opened window with plain brown curtains fluttering in the breeze. Indistinct conversation from nearby trade and gatherings drifted in through the window. He sat up and glanced outside, catching the sight of brown hair of 2 giggling children dashing under the windowsill. He was momentarily struck with a slight wave of dizziness, but Wilhelm massaged it away. On an oak nightstand, a glass of water and a cold bowl of porridge sat. It tasted rather plain, but had a hint of honey and cinnamon, a spice more common in the eastern lands, but not so much from his homeland in the west. Which would suggest whatever magic old man Ghisga activated sent him quite a long way from home.

Clearly where he was, while not being people he knew, had no enemies. Thats what his surroundings suggested, at least. He finished up the porridge and drained the glass.

Outside the room, footsteps creaking along the wooden floor. They audibly paused outside the door to his room. The door latch slid out of the holder and noiselessly, the door slid open, hinges gliding through a film of oil. A tall man with dark hair, goatee, and a scar on his cheek stepped into the room. He carried a somewhat-concealed dagger at his waist, and looked like a man who had seen fights in the past. Not that Wilhelm planned to fight right now.

"Hi there," he initiated.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 4 up]
PostPosted: Sun Oct 17, 2010 11:21 am 
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I'm liking this story so far, Plastic. More plz.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 5 Begun]
PostPosted: Sun Nov 28, 2010 11:07 am 
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Continuation of Chapter 5-Cloudy Morning


“Hi…” Wilhelm mumbled tentatively.
“Do you have any idea where you are?” The man asked.
“No.”
“Thought so.”
“And?”
“We found you in our wonderful cathedral that we repaired. We didn’t want such a historic landmark falling into disrepair. So we fixed it up. Anyway, you’re north of Tevebens,” the man explained.
“Te-veh-bins…” mumbled Wilhelm.
“It’s the southeast outpost, at the meeting of Ruby and Onyx”
“Roads?”
“Aye, roads,” the man continued. “You seem to have an accent. May I ask where you are from?”

Wilhelm sat up in the bed, and carefully digested the previous information before responding.

“I’m from the western provinces, including Yttrius for a year when I was 8. Some stuff happened, and I went to Rycolid. I’ve been there since,” Wilhelm explained.
“So…you are saying that while you were born here, in Fallatoh, you lived much of your life in Rycolid,”
the other man inferred.

Wilhelm nodded. The man closed the door and strolled into the room. He leaned against the windowsill and sighed before turning back to regard Wilhelm.

“I’m not going to force you to stay here. Feel free to walk around town, but try not to get lost”

The man departed, leaving Wilhelm to his own thoughts. All of his comrades might be dead, but he still had a task to do. Ghisga may not have realized it, but the book Wilhelm had attempted to escape with was nowhere near as important as Ghisga thought it was.

Wilhelm may be young, but he had done his research. Certainly Ghisga had a treasure in his hands. But by all means, it was a translated copy. The true books were both a danger and a source of protection for the world.

At a time when order of the world was non-existent. When strange magicks weren’t considered forbidden yet. When the man who INVENTED the forbidden lived and died. When the world was torn asunder in the Great Expel, when the influence of Gods and Demons alike were forcefully removed from the world by the chaotic magicks of a person long ago.

(Kibitz from Plasticmanticor: That whole part is going to be a side story (eventually) called the Chaos of Prophecy. It is inspired by a dream I had)

Yes, Wilhelm had done his research, like the way Sumter had when Ghisga was younger.

The chaotic magicks still existed, sealed away in ancient tomes akin to the one Ghisga had, albeit in the original language. He thought for a moment, to what was just hours ago. If that was the evil cult mentioned in the back of Ghisga’s book, not that I was supposed to read it, but I don’t seem him complaining. Then they would probably be after the volumes as well. I doubt they knew the one in the Cathedral was a fake. There’s more to the books than text alone

Wilhelm crawled out of the bed and stiffly walked to the door, It certainly didn’t seem like a bad town to be in. He just hoped he wouldn’t get emotionally attached in any way before he left, probably to head south to that place mentioned earlier, Tevebens.

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 Post subject: Re: Fables of Prophecy [Chapter 5 is up!]
PostPosted: Mon May 23, 2011 1:30 pm 
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Geez, I've had writers block for 6 months. I guess I'll post what I have so far of chapter 6 soon. Expect the second half in a couple weeks.

I promise to stop splitting up chapters later.
I also promise to break that promise at some point.

-------------------
Chapter 6-The Sorcerer Appears

"Breme." The torch flickered to life in the sorcerer's grasp from a whispered spell, illuminating the damp hallways of the old Castle Fallatoh. Thick warm boots, partially covered by an equally thick cloak, padded softly and swiftly along the stone walk. Wide gauntlets, glowing a pale purple during the spell, vanished into the enveloping sleeves of the dark grey cloak. A hood thoroughly blocked any vision of the face.

A cluster of spiders scuttled for cover, fleeing hastened footsteps. The figure stomped through a door, where the castle gloominess did not reach. He placed the torch aside, and filled a long drinking glass with cool water from a store barrel in the corner of the room, transporting it to a nightstand by the bed. The room itself was uncomfortably warm, credited to a large fire on the eastern wall, and well lit thanks to a dozen candles scattered amongst the premises. The cold stone walls sat covered by large tapestries and curtains, and the floor was insulated by a drab carpet, well worn and faded from its previously vibrant reds, yellows, and browns. He carefully opened a paper packet of herbs, slipped them into the water, and carefully approached the large bed that dominated the room.

"Teacher, please, drink," the sorcerer said, revealing a relatively young voice.

The other one in the room, the one dubbed teacher, chuchled from underneath his sea of blankets. Old was an understatement. His eyes flickered open, showing pale yellow orbs both glossy and sickly. Sharp cheekbones accented his sullen face and his head gleamed under the candlelight, devoid of a single follicle. The chuckle turned into a dry wheezing cough lasting a few moments.

"Teacher," he snorted, "would imply that I still teach you." He groaned in the effort to sit up and accepted the mug of liquid. Eyelids slid shut momentarily while wisps of steam started coming off the tea. "I'm dying, Matteus. It's unavoidable." He opened his eyes and sipped the tea he just heated. "What will you do when I'm gone?

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