xThornx
08-05-2008, 12:13 AM
I wrote this up almost a year ago and only recently went back to do a bit of editing the first chapter. To get more perspective on how to better it, I've returned to the honest folks of DLP. Keep in mind that Thorn is a character I created some time ago and this is really the first time I've used him.
Go wild guys. I present to you...
War Torn, Chapter 1.
He sat, in his damp, dirty cell, his filthy potato sack garb rising and lowering with his every breath. His eyes were closed as he listened to the drip, drip, drip coming from a darkened corner where he knew a moderately sized hole to be in the ceiling; from the smell of it, he guessed that it came from a sewage line. He sighed and swiped his grimy, greasy, black hair out of his face; his lip curling upward in disgust.
How the mighty have fallen indeed. He thought to himself dispassionately.
His downfall was swift, sudden, and rife with betrayal. He knew it was ridiculous; that a man of his stature, of his sheer power, was stripped of all he held close with such ease. He should have known better, but he had an iron grip and was cocksure of his strength.
But they would pay. Oh would they pay. Unlike their betrayal, his revenge would be slow and savage. He promised himself that they would know terror when he was through. A small smile graced his face, knowing his justice would be had.
The problem with getting said vengeance, of course, was escape.
It would be so simple, if only I still had my rituals…Those old mages, if it weren’t for them these feeble walls couldn’t hope to hold me.
He sighed as he heard familiar footsteps descend down the stairs. His guard, Sam O’Teul, walked down the stairs with a grin on his face. Thorn repressed a groan as he saw Sam saunter down the stairs, his red leather armor shaking with his gut as he chuckled.
“ Lo’ there, Thorny! ‘Ow’s the former Dark Lord t’day? My you sure must miss tortuin’ all us soldiers. You must be getting’ antsy though, it’s been what, eight years? You know, Thorny, most a the youngins don’t even remember when you were terrorizing us. Hell, the old ladies takin’ to using you as a story ta make the kids do the chores.”
O’Teul laughed and threw the imprisoned man his food, scattering it along the putrid floor and walked back up the stairs, his head thrown back in laughter. Thorn shook his head at his keeper. The middle aged guard had taken to mocking him every day. He never dared to actually enter Thorns cell, however, no, he was far too fearful for that, no matter how mocking he was.
Thorn bowed his head and started muttering. It was his Ritual of Vitality, a magic incantation of his own, created when he was captured. He repeated it daily, draining all his accumulated magic to keep his body from degenerating in his captivity. Indeed, his body was still in peak condition. He watched the rats pick up his food and run as he chanted. He didn’t care. He was too proud to eat the sullied food, and his Ritual of Vitality used his magic to nourish his body.
Boom...
Thorn’s ears twitched at the distant sound.
Boom…
His eyes drifted up toward his ceiling, watching dirt fall from the rotting ceiling.
Boom!
The edges of his lips turned slightly upward. It was a sound he recognized well from his days in power.
War.
Explosions, far closer now, rocked his prison. Thorn openly smiled, it seemed that his escape was finally at hand. Another shudder of the architecture and the sounds of the heavy doors above being blown off their hinges resounded throughout the building. He sighed pleasantly as he heard the sounds of sword play and screams coming ever closer. A scream echoed down the stairs, and Thorn smiled savagely as Sam O’Teul clattered down the stairs, covered in blood and wide eyed in terror.
As Sam fumbled on the ground to get up and hurried over to the Dark Lord. Thorn cleared his throat of years of not being used.
“My, my, Mr.O’Teul, you do seem to be in quite a tiff. What ever could have you in such a panic?” Thorn asked.
“Th-Thorn! You gotta help me! Oh Thorn. I-I mean Milord! I’ll unlock you! I’ve always been your faithful servant Lord! I’ve just been waiting for the right moment. I’ll unlock you and you’ll save me.”
Thorn crossed his arms and looked on in amusement as Sam fumbled with the complex locking mechanism that held him, mumbling about his eternal loyalty to Thorn.
Tap,tap, tap, tap tap. The sound of light footsteps came from the stairwell and Sam gave a muffled gasp as he hurried ever more with unlocking the man he thought would save him. A smallish creature rounded the stairs. Its skin was as black as charred flesh and carried a rank smell that was much the same. The eyes were a vision of violent magma and scanned the dungeon excitedly, searching for its prey. Yellowed claws dripped blood to the floor as it scurried.
“You’d better hurry, Sam. Your Inim-nos friend is coming, and there’s not much in the way of protecting you if he’s taken to chewing your flesh.” Thorn antagonized.
Sam screamed at the sight of the Inim-nos, foolishly drawing its attention to him at the far side of the dungeon. The creature broke out at a run towards Sam, screaming in bloodlust. Thorns keeper cried in terror as he frantically finished unlocking the prisoner. Then his cries were cut short, and his eyes froze, his last remaining tears leaking out. In a spray of blood, the Inim-nos tore Sam’s spine from his back, the now lifeless body falling limp.
“Pity.”
Thorn, released of his shackles and his door unlocked, kicked down his barred door on top of the feasting Inim-nos, cracking its neck.
Well. I did say I’d protect him, after all. Now I’ve protected him from the Inim-nos devouring his corpse.
Thorn threw his cell door aside and pilfered Sam’s sword. He withdrew the double edged long sword and examined it with a critical eye.
“Not too shabby, I suppose…”
He sighed and took the scarlet armor from Sam’s body. He’d have to watch his backside, with the gaping hole where the Inim-nos tore Sam’s spine from. Thorn let out a slow breath. It felt good to wear armor and wield a sword again.
It’s a little short, and a little loose around the gut, but I suppose that’s to be expected.
The freed prisoner turned his violet eyes toward the stairs and began slowly stalking his way up. The sounds of metal cutting flesh and the screams of men and Inim-nos as they butchered each other were almost musical to him. As he ascended to the ground floor, he witnessed the slaughter of his prison keepers. The guards had been taken off balance, not expecting an attack after an eight year cease-fire.
He snuck by the majority of the battles when a high pitched scream rang out behind him. As fast as he could, Thorn spun to face what he knew to be an attacking Inim-nos, he stabbed out, catching the foul beast in the should and pinned it to the wall.
“Pathetic beast. Even the Inim-nos would turn against their creator?”
The grotesque monster chattered “Master commands us to kill Creator, says Creator is too weak to lead, says Creator must die!”
Thorn avoided the Inim-nos’ swipe of its claw and broke it’s neck.
“Too weak? That fool will pay for his betrayal.”
Thorn crept out of a crumbled hole in the wall and took in the outside for the first time in eight years. It was bitter sweet. Koffcerl, where he was kept in his specially designed cell, was being burnt to the ground, its citizens slain and devoured.
But not by me…
The Dark Lord let out an enraged snarl. He pried a lance from a dead arm that had no body and let it fly at the nearest Inim-nos, piercing it’s neck and pinning it to a near by wall.
“You foul beasts of my own imagination, you’d dare take on the mantle of another’s glory!?” He shouted.
He shook his head to clear his rage. It would do no good to gather further attention from the Inim-nos. He’d already discovered they were under orders to kill him and he had no intentions of being cornered by countless of the hell spawn and whatever general that had led them on this mission.
He stealthily made his way out of the burning ruins and a ways in to the plains that surrounded Koffcerl. In the distance he saw an escape party and he hastily made his way.
As he neared the back of the survivors he slowed down to a walk and let out a breath. He pinched his nose and sighed in concentration. Thorn spared no time in thinking of his goals now that he was free.
Firsts things first. New armor. I dare say O’Teuls armor will still fetch a handsome price. Kingdom armor is nice…but it has too many connections and will attract too much attention. Then-!
His musing was interrupted by a young man and his father running into him.
“Clay! Clay, you get back here!” The older man shouted.
“You can’t stop me! Master Bhor trained me for moments like this! I’ll kill them for what they did to mom and everyone else!”
The father pushed Clay and the younger man fell unexpectedly over Thorns foot.
“Your mother gave her-”
“Shut up.” Thorn started coldly. “You think Master Bhor’s training was enough to let you defeat a city full of Inim, let alone whoever is commanding them on this mission?”
“Master Bhor trained me in the style all Ashtain soldiers use! Let me go back!” The enraged man yelled.
“I’ll tell you what kid. Fight me. If you win, you can go back to defend Koffcerl.”
“But I-” Clay’s father started again.
“But nothing. If the boy wanted, he could’ve just as easily pushed you down and went on his suicide path.”
“I accept!” Clay declared.
He drew his sword and stood in the Ashtain sword stance. Thorn however, just stood there, idly holding his sword at his side.
Clay thrust his sword at Thorn with a small smirk on his face.
CLANG!
In an instant Thorns own sword was blocking Clays strike.
“You didn’t really think I’d just stand there did you?” Thorn laughed.
Clay gaped before striking again, again, and again, all of which Thorn blocked with a practiced ease.
“The Inim would happily chew on your skin little boy. Better to listen to your father.”
Clay let out a yell and charged once again…
And connected with Thorns forearm. The former Dark Lord glared and moved inside of the boys guard knocking the sword out of his hand and delivered an open palm strike to his opponents chest sending him to the ground coughing.
“Stay with your dad. The Inim would have your hide.”
With that Thorn brushed past spectators that had gathered and continued on the way.
A small time later Clay rushed up to Thorns side.
“What style were you using back there! That wasn’t Ashtain sword technique!”
“Style? Who said I was using a style? Those were just pure sword basics kid. No fancy techniques there.”
“Could you help me?”
“Help you? I’m no sword instructor.”
“Look, were almost to Ardlington, then I’m on my way.”
Sure enough, after hours of travel, Ardlington village was visible in the distance.
"Wait, whats your name? I'm Clay Oldmin." Clay asked.
Thorn thought for a second before replying.
"Hrith. Hrith Barrentine."
------------------
So there it is. I'm posting it here because I know you guys will tell it to me straight.
Go wild guys. I present to you...
War Torn, Chapter 1.
He sat, in his damp, dirty cell, his filthy potato sack garb rising and lowering with his every breath. His eyes were closed as he listened to the drip, drip, drip coming from a darkened corner where he knew a moderately sized hole to be in the ceiling; from the smell of it, he guessed that it came from a sewage line. He sighed and swiped his grimy, greasy, black hair out of his face; his lip curling upward in disgust.
How the mighty have fallen indeed. He thought to himself dispassionately.
His downfall was swift, sudden, and rife with betrayal. He knew it was ridiculous; that a man of his stature, of his sheer power, was stripped of all he held close with such ease. He should have known better, but he had an iron grip and was cocksure of his strength.
But they would pay. Oh would they pay. Unlike their betrayal, his revenge would be slow and savage. He promised himself that they would know terror when he was through. A small smile graced his face, knowing his justice would be had.
The problem with getting said vengeance, of course, was escape.
It would be so simple, if only I still had my rituals…Those old mages, if it weren’t for them these feeble walls couldn’t hope to hold me.
He sighed as he heard familiar footsteps descend down the stairs. His guard, Sam O’Teul, walked down the stairs with a grin on his face. Thorn repressed a groan as he saw Sam saunter down the stairs, his red leather armor shaking with his gut as he chuckled.
“ Lo’ there, Thorny! ‘Ow’s the former Dark Lord t’day? My you sure must miss tortuin’ all us soldiers. You must be getting’ antsy though, it’s been what, eight years? You know, Thorny, most a the youngins don’t even remember when you were terrorizing us. Hell, the old ladies takin’ to using you as a story ta make the kids do the chores.”
O’Teul laughed and threw the imprisoned man his food, scattering it along the putrid floor and walked back up the stairs, his head thrown back in laughter. Thorn shook his head at his keeper. The middle aged guard had taken to mocking him every day. He never dared to actually enter Thorns cell, however, no, he was far too fearful for that, no matter how mocking he was.
Thorn bowed his head and started muttering. It was his Ritual of Vitality, a magic incantation of his own, created when he was captured. He repeated it daily, draining all his accumulated magic to keep his body from degenerating in his captivity. Indeed, his body was still in peak condition. He watched the rats pick up his food and run as he chanted. He didn’t care. He was too proud to eat the sullied food, and his Ritual of Vitality used his magic to nourish his body.
Boom...
Thorn’s ears twitched at the distant sound.
Boom…
His eyes drifted up toward his ceiling, watching dirt fall from the rotting ceiling.
Boom!
The edges of his lips turned slightly upward. It was a sound he recognized well from his days in power.
War.
Explosions, far closer now, rocked his prison. Thorn openly smiled, it seemed that his escape was finally at hand. Another shudder of the architecture and the sounds of the heavy doors above being blown off their hinges resounded throughout the building. He sighed pleasantly as he heard the sounds of sword play and screams coming ever closer. A scream echoed down the stairs, and Thorn smiled savagely as Sam O’Teul clattered down the stairs, covered in blood and wide eyed in terror.
As Sam fumbled on the ground to get up and hurried over to the Dark Lord. Thorn cleared his throat of years of not being used.
“My, my, Mr.O’Teul, you do seem to be in quite a tiff. What ever could have you in such a panic?” Thorn asked.
“Th-Thorn! You gotta help me! Oh Thorn. I-I mean Milord! I’ll unlock you! I’ve always been your faithful servant Lord! I’ve just been waiting for the right moment. I’ll unlock you and you’ll save me.”
Thorn crossed his arms and looked on in amusement as Sam fumbled with the complex locking mechanism that held him, mumbling about his eternal loyalty to Thorn.
Tap,tap, tap, tap tap. The sound of light footsteps came from the stairwell and Sam gave a muffled gasp as he hurried ever more with unlocking the man he thought would save him. A smallish creature rounded the stairs. Its skin was as black as charred flesh and carried a rank smell that was much the same. The eyes were a vision of violent magma and scanned the dungeon excitedly, searching for its prey. Yellowed claws dripped blood to the floor as it scurried.
“You’d better hurry, Sam. Your Inim-nos friend is coming, and there’s not much in the way of protecting you if he’s taken to chewing your flesh.” Thorn antagonized.
Sam screamed at the sight of the Inim-nos, foolishly drawing its attention to him at the far side of the dungeon. The creature broke out at a run towards Sam, screaming in bloodlust. Thorns keeper cried in terror as he frantically finished unlocking the prisoner. Then his cries were cut short, and his eyes froze, his last remaining tears leaking out. In a spray of blood, the Inim-nos tore Sam’s spine from his back, the now lifeless body falling limp.
“Pity.”
Thorn, released of his shackles and his door unlocked, kicked down his barred door on top of the feasting Inim-nos, cracking its neck.
Well. I did say I’d protect him, after all. Now I’ve protected him from the Inim-nos devouring his corpse.
Thorn threw his cell door aside and pilfered Sam’s sword. He withdrew the double edged long sword and examined it with a critical eye.
“Not too shabby, I suppose…”
He sighed and took the scarlet armor from Sam’s body. He’d have to watch his backside, with the gaping hole where the Inim-nos tore Sam’s spine from. Thorn let out a slow breath. It felt good to wear armor and wield a sword again.
It’s a little short, and a little loose around the gut, but I suppose that’s to be expected.
The freed prisoner turned his violet eyes toward the stairs and began slowly stalking his way up. The sounds of metal cutting flesh and the screams of men and Inim-nos as they butchered each other were almost musical to him. As he ascended to the ground floor, he witnessed the slaughter of his prison keepers. The guards had been taken off balance, not expecting an attack after an eight year cease-fire.
He snuck by the majority of the battles when a high pitched scream rang out behind him. As fast as he could, Thorn spun to face what he knew to be an attacking Inim-nos, he stabbed out, catching the foul beast in the should and pinned it to the wall.
“Pathetic beast. Even the Inim-nos would turn against their creator?”
The grotesque monster chattered “Master commands us to kill Creator, says Creator is too weak to lead, says Creator must die!”
Thorn avoided the Inim-nos’ swipe of its claw and broke it’s neck.
“Too weak? That fool will pay for his betrayal.”
Thorn crept out of a crumbled hole in the wall and took in the outside for the first time in eight years. It was bitter sweet. Koffcerl, where he was kept in his specially designed cell, was being burnt to the ground, its citizens slain and devoured.
But not by me…
The Dark Lord let out an enraged snarl. He pried a lance from a dead arm that had no body and let it fly at the nearest Inim-nos, piercing it’s neck and pinning it to a near by wall.
“You foul beasts of my own imagination, you’d dare take on the mantle of another’s glory!?” He shouted.
He shook his head to clear his rage. It would do no good to gather further attention from the Inim-nos. He’d already discovered they were under orders to kill him and he had no intentions of being cornered by countless of the hell spawn and whatever general that had led them on this mission.
He stealthily made his way out of the burning ruins and a ways in to the plains that surrounded Koffcerl. In the distance he saw an escape party and he hastily made his way.
As he neared the back of the survivors he slowed down to a walk and let out a breath. He pinched his nose and sighed in concentration. Thorn spared no time in thinking of his goals now that he was free.
Firsts things first. New armor. I dare say O’Teuls armor will still fetch a handsome price. Kingdom armor is nice…but it has too many connections and will attract too much attention. Then-!
His musing was interrupted by a young man and his father running into him.
“Clay! Clay, you get back here!” The older man shouted.
“You can’t stop me! Master Bhor trained me for moments like this! I’ll kill them for what they did to mom and everyone else!”
The father pushed Clay and the younger man fell unexpectedly over Thorns foot.
“Your mother gave her-”
“Shut up.” Thorn started coldly. “You think Master Bhor’s training was enough to let you defeat a city full of Inim, let alone whoever is commanding them on this mission?”
“Master Bhor trained me in the style all Ashtain soldiers use! Let me go back!” The enraged man yelled.
“I’ll tell you what kid. Fight me. If you win, you can go back to defend Koffcerl.”
“But I-” Clay’s father started again.
“But nothing. If the boy wanted, he could’ve just as easily pushed you down and went on his suicide path.”
“I accept!” Clay declared.
He drew his sword and stood in the Ashtain sword stance. Thorn however, just stood there, idly holding his sword at his side.
Clay thrust his sword at Thorn with a small smirk on his face.
CLANG!
In an instant Thorns own sword was blocking Clays strike.
“You didn’t really think I’d just stand there did you?” Thorn laughed.
Clay gaped before striking again, again, and again, all of which Thorn blocked with a practiced ease.
“The Inim would happily chew on your skin little boy. Better to listen to your father.”
Clay let out a yell and charged once again…
And connected with Thorns forearm. The former Dark Lord glared and moved inside of the boys guard knocking the sword out of his hand and delivered an open palm strike to his opponents chest sending him to the ground coughing.
“Stay with your dad. The Inim would have your hide.”
With that Thorn brushed past spectators that had gathered and continued on the way.
A small time later Clay rushed up to Thorns side.
“What style were you using back there! That wasn’t Ashtain sword technique!”
“Style? Who said I was using a style? Those were just pure sword basics kid. No fancy techniques there.”
“Could you help me?”
“Help you? I’m no sword instructor.”
“Look, were almost to Ardlington, then I’m on my way.”
Sure enough, after hours of travel, Ardlington village was visible in the distance.
"Wait, whats your name? I'm Clay Oldmin." Clay asked.
Thorn thought for a second before replying.
"Hrith. Hrith Barrentine."
------------------
So there it is. I'm posting it here because I know you guys will tell it to me straight.