z

Young Writers Society


Swordwielder (Foreward and Prologue)



User avatar



Gender: Male
Points: 890
Reviews: 1
Thu Oct 30, 2008 6:18 pm
View Likes
DragonScourge says...



Foreword: Upon the Issue of Timelapses

It is what we see that we know or if taken into nigh a contradictive manner it is what we know that is rather what we see or what one chooses to see. There are dimensions to all aspects of things and we find that many a time, upon occasion, we are amused by our own foolishness and shortcomings upon matters that we take for granted. Often it is what one takes at a glance that is in the latter to be found much worthy of attention. Life as all things has many surfaces, many layers-many densities. What is portrayed as simple in due time is later known to be complex. Life is not just life and the world is not just the world, but a manifestation of what we think it up to be.

Upon pondering greatly one would realize upon the concept that there are ‘worlds within worlds’; that there is an ever-predominant illusion of simplicity and the bare that individuals make up in their minds. Undoubtedly one does not ponder more of thing than that much more of which it is. Meaning a car is just a car and a bus is a bus. Thus there is nothing more to a thing than it is and by this mistake we are encased in only a frame of the moving picture, only a still life of a much grander panorama.

From the time of our youthful infancy we are brought up to know that everything has a name. And from these names there are suborders or classes of organizing things into groups or categories. As we learn a mélange of objects and their names we come to understand that the masses of things, in random, are in fact assigned to a certain local or specification. We learn to differentiate as an example the animate from the inanimate, the living from the non-living. Automobiles have their own classification as machines, flowers as plants, birds as animals and the like. Things have their own orders and thereby are organized. And as we learn, we come to discover of these floating masses in depth. Thus we come to comprehend that machines have the capability of work, for fixing, but though mobile are devoid of life. Flowers as well as trees and birds have lively characteristics that deem them worthy of life-unlike machines. Organization is the key to function and order. Virtually many areas of our world depend upon it. So an operation by organization proves as a support for persons, a society, a nation, and as a world.

Upon realization and inspection we see a bus is not just a bus but also a smorgasbord of vital components: an engine for power, gas or diesel for fueled energy and a motor. Thus we come to realize that there is more to the machine that takes us from point a to b and then back again.

If in the littlest of circumstances that there is more than meets the eye could it thus be possible that the galaxy or rather the universe is not what we conceive it be? Could there be more facets to it that border pure imaginational and fantastical proportions?












The Swordwielder: Part 1:The Goldenblade











































“…Gallop upon the laps of torrent stream

Amidst silken white seas of lustful moonbeam

Where luminary doth fort and lay

Who himself shines great, brilliant ray



-Do fly one- gallant



To the gates of earthen sky

As Life Himself does pass by

And precipice trespass

To hoping shire pass



Does course the man lone

Do run valiant one



Over land go

With courteous river flow

Past the eskers and to the North

Forth! Forth!

To the Lands of Aridosan and Mar

-As they are





Hold sight of the slipping seam

Of looming fearsome beam



Venture…



Nigh the fortnight

Where lie the berry and honeysuckle light



Venture…



To Idlefar near mark it

From castle rock

In farthest strait

To Tumming Loch

There be the fate…”



-Extract of ‘The Adage of Sirth’

From the sayings of Algorean and Elogean

The Myth of Man






Prologue: The Gargoyle King

THE WALL shifted as if there had been an abrupt alteration in its subatomic structure. At a point it seemed to liquidize into a crystalline substance. It torqued and twisted, rippled and churned until an abstract vision had manifested upon its surface, shapes forming in the dire gloom. Then it swirled, in a glassy reflection of pure brilliance, a white aura, like a grand archway to another world.

It wasn’t magic. It was roughly manipulated science.

Ziath Bierfrend flinched reflexively. The vision had become real life; the eerie collection of shapes and lights had formed into figures and displays. The portal had appeared magnificently.

The elf-dwarf hybrid gazed at the workings of a room, barely containing his glee. Today was the day he was to strike it rich. He smiled at his giant attendant and turned his attention back to the portal.

There! What appeared to be an inner palace had begun forming upon the portal’s shining surface. Stone pillars seemed to grow from an inner space to meet the rotund architecture. And there too was a form, a persona upon an escalated pedestal.

The King sat in a position that was indeed quite stiff. For a moment he was stone cold, a gargoyle, (which in fact he was) and the only inkling that one could have devised as to his liveliness was the abrupt action of the opening of his eyes accompanied with their change of color in fiery frustration. He possessed hair that was fine, gray locks as if twine wires that rested long upon the armrests of his obsidian throne. With foreboding near-resting eyes he sat, long crippled and distorted ash black fingers that clutched his armrests. He wore a long silken garment, being dark azure, near to the hue of black, that barely intercepted light in aura spectra; gleams which foreshadowed the manifestation of his eerie, fearsome ire. The robe was an art of seamless patchwork that draped over his great leathery wings, as if cloak-wear, which the flying implements in themselves were neatly folded, as they were when they were not in use.

He hunched in a crippled, sickened demeanor, with his forked tail upon a lap adorned with a treasure heist of emeralds and sapphires. The King gazed, with eyes that marked a vigilance of luminescent green, into the bounty of each forsaken stone. And at little thought, he selected a peculiar piece, with long, gnarled, talon- tipped fingers. It was one that waned in iridescence in comparison to the others; crude, an Ebony Stone- a translucent gem that matched his coal night color of flesh.

He craved darkness and corruption, in fact he loved it, and under the control of his dark hand he was to summon a world full of it. In his mind he would siphon every creature of this world: men and beast, both, to his bidding, and if they did not comply they would merely be obliterated from existence. But men were elusive creatures, much as the gargoyles themselves, and were rather difficult to hunt. Until recently…

He was to find them out: each and every pettish human. Men were a stupid race and he had no room for ‘stupids’ in his advancing empire that he had worked so earnestly for. They had fallen upon his little ‘gin.’ Thanks to spies in all Bifrendend that spanned the entire realm for months upon months he had finally found them and he would know today. The answer was probably simple, but he had over thought it.

It was not the humans as a whole that he feared; it was their century year old prophecy of the bearer: Goldenblade, one of their number with ‘a power’ to crush and destroy. Well did he know of the priority at his hands. Humans were insignificant, but if their numbers were not depleted at once…it would mean death to his reign and not only that to his nation and to himself. ‘Goldenblade…Goldenblade’ thought the king to himself. Even without being uttered the word itself made him freeze as if struck with cold flame.

The King continued his deathly gaze within the stone. His fists lighted a white fiery glow, and with treacherous intention, lighted the rock red hot, etching minute surface cracks upon its crude surface, until it burst aflame in a conflagration of blue fire. And as it was felled to unnatural ash in his hand, he grinned.

He grinned quite gruesomely through his serpentine beak; folding back the reptilian skin of his lips, inverting each dry facial scale to reveal three rows of teeth. Each was as miniscule sharpened blades with the integrity of steel. A gleam grew in his eye, and their hazy hue altered to a deep blood red.



His royal page had taken to literal flight, as all those who waited upon him, even the scribes, did when they saw that gleam. That gleam meant he could not seize his temper and in the shorthand of time an inevitable leader to death. It was every ruler of Eiphenhardt that he had hated, even the second to last to be overthrown. He desired greatly for the output if his declaration, whether or not he had come to terms with the Western Nymph Sire, Narcissus, of Tripsingard.

Narcissus was a young king, stupid too, thought he. ‘Young’ and ‘stupid’ did not intertwine, and most certainly did not fare well. Valkrin had an empire to build and the hesitation of Narcissus was momentarily ceasing its succession.

Fool, said the sovereign under rage-infused breath. The oaf cared more of his visage than the leadership of his clan, tended to forsake precious affairs, and wallowed upon every opportunity for decisive action. He was not a doer as himself, but less so, an insolent cowardly, a buffoon in the making. And now after several attempts to negotiate the vast kingdom sum he owned, it had come down to this: siege.

If he would falloff this request (which the King himself had portrayed as formally and silver-tongued as possible) he would shave every nymph of their scaly hides and scatter their remains along the countryside. He was well wonted to individuals’ compliancy with his virulent ways the first time. This instance had drained him morbidly of his waning patience.

His nostrils flared and the fire that had built up within, which he had sworn to control, had slowly caressed the form of smoky fumes. He conjured a great white-hot ember from his fists and threw it with a grunt, scattering ashy shards in helpless array upon the marble polished floor. Slowly, he lessened his anger: unclenching his iron fists and drawing a less intimidating color in his eyes, taking consort in the assortment of gems he possessed; closing his grey eyelids in a meditative mode-one more step to calmness. He would not bombard himself with such a circumstance. After all, he would reap the fruits of benefit; he possessed nearly the entirely world of Eiphenhärdt. As soon as the lord of the southern shire of Tripsingard handed over his kingdom all would be well.



Thunder clamored throughout the confines of the interior chamber; an echo that spread throughout the whole rotunda, with a bolt of sonic defiance; ricocheting off every wall curvature, and every pillar of red jasper, integrated with gold. A dark storm was brewing and likewise he had started in malicious thought.

The King stirred himself, stepped down the flights of stairs that lead to his throne, and settled his treasure in the contents of a chest. For he nearly glided upon the wing, with cloak-garment floating loosely above the smooth marble surface, as a phantom. He needed fresh air.

He strutted, now with feet that tread the floor, and paced haphazardly, tail lashing like a whip. Hastening he met his willful destination: the vista that marked the commencement of the overlook of his developing kingdom.

From every measurable breadth of nearsighted landscape, the city’s Romanesque architecture and (poles of a fortification) spread like a broad clustered infection. North bound land lay resident upon the vanishing gleam of the horizon, hidden amidst the confines of rising, dismal and shrouding mist. However beyond all, there resided open land and the open world- a surreal mural of a universe- all he gazed at, upon his crag, with atypical hunger, a greediness in his eyes and fingers, for the lot was to be his. The haze greatly provoked him, for he could not see his bounty. His large black eyes loosely floated over and above the land and in a moment sparked to light and fiery orange. The world would come to him and he would be the world-no living being nor any force would ever get in the way of his biniacle will. He would rule Eiphenhärdt.

The King resorted back to his main chamber, swiftly beckoning with a talon to the troll doorkeeper to let in the goblin he had cast. The arch doors opened to reveal his page, a young twig of a thing, tall with eyes large and great- unusual for any respectable goblin, and matted silver hair of courteous length. Ui was a lad; originally a servant of prodigitical brilliance who was implanted as successor to a much loutish fore-page who had suffered greatly for his disrespect, whom now lay as a heap of charred refuse, originally a sufferer of death by incineration. Several or so scribes and servants poured in.

Ziath Bierfrend stepped through the portal window, as if through an open door along with his giant attendant. Inside, his nerves electrified with excitement, although little did he show it except with a shower of pride that rained upon his face.

There too was a newcomer that had come in through the vortex, one whom he had not seen, pacing second most in succession. This one was a stubby, round, childish creature, man-like, and full in his pride as he walked in the garb of a hooded cloak, smirking as he entered. Alongside him a being of great size stood, which he presumed was a Giant, likely a bodyguard.

Valkrin rushed to his throne, but he was careful not to lose his grace and elegance as he did so. Inconspicuously maintaining steady breath, he took care not to settle himself upon his tail, winding it about himself so that it lay cradled in his arms. The overall action seemed extremely curt but to foreigners such as these, it would have appeared quite orderly. He was curious of this petite creature and grand companion. These were the spies he had waited for in great anticipation and they were finally present.

Ui stood foreword, shaking at the fearsome gaze of his lord, and lankly stood his bony limbs forward, prostrating neatly at The King’s feet.

“Sire, my lord, these be da spies, you so eagerly inquired.” the gargoyle whispered coarsely. For once the King himself had felt pity for the boy’s lack of self-pride, his frail delicate composure. The servant was a rat with wings, far too large for such a small figure, and he was morbidly afraid. But as quickly as the feeling had fallen upon him, as lighting, Valkrin had begun to contradict himself, growing discontent for nurturing such emotions, setting a mental fire and rooting them out from their source. As he believed, it was not the way of the strong and mighty, for there was no light that resided in a dark heart. Such a display was surely to reflect upon his kingship. Others would likely mock him.

“Step lightly.” The Gargoyle King uttered treacherously, not wholehearted in his etiquette, gesturing at his attendant to rise from his groveling position.

The small man indeed was a figure of high office, thought the King, as he treaded heavily with dark, leather boots that sent clamorous echoes throughout the throne room. He was a prideful creature, dwarfed in comparison to the King, no greater than half his own stature, who walked about headstrong because of the knowledge that he was at the brink of obtaining a bounty-worth supply of treasure for his hard determination. He seemed a constable by the brand of crest that lay upon the breast of his golden hooded cloak. Gems and jewelry clad and studded the fabric, so that as he rushed, he was a vision of starlight. It was underneath this cape garment that he wore a truly extraordinary piece in which the King himself coveted. A brigandine inlaid with a gorgeous design of indigo and gold weaving and a centerpiece of velvet-rose jasper. Upon his hands he wore white gauntlets and about his side settled a handsome blade-a small broadsword. Undoubtedly, by the mark of his appearance, he was a dignitary, a ‘little’ warlord, who owned many fiefs.

His hair was silken white-pure white, a color less prevalent amidst all folk. Every strand tumbled over both round, munchkin shoulders, much to the like as the Gargoyle King himself possessed, and fell low over both eyes. The shadow of the hood concealed nearly all of his face, but he managed to catch sight of a creature owning a defiant sparking pair of pale blue hunters’ eyes, but a true intellect.

And the Giant he had seen from a latter distance was great, huge in fact-a being whose head nearly reached the height of the twelve-cubit rotunda’s ceiling. And too, he stood corrected, the warrior was, more so an armed Giantess. She stood more than a frightful body above his best guard and wore a suit of toughened bear hide, tempered steel and plated armor. Despite the great elevation of his throne she stood at best, near to eye-height to him. Too, the brute was wide in shoulder breadth- broad and brawny and near masculine in appearance. Her mass of brown and blonde-tarnished hair, fray dispersed in tight and wild tresses that faltered, in overall length, near so to her back. Pearl black, were her ever-fixed eyes, which she gazed at him intently. As she strutted, she placed the thumb of her great hand through the loop of a strap upon the gird of her belt, next to a great sword that proved of similar proportion to herself. She was an intimidating opponent whose might would surely prove well in battle.

They both bowed, in which the greater one did so rather clumsily. It was impossible for the king to contain himself and thereby spoke nearly in pestered excitement.

“What exactly have you found?” said he, in exuberant liveliness. The contrast in his eyes had begun lighting like green flames. The giantess retreated into the background, allowing the warlord to step afore, endowing the constable common courtesy.

The constable smiled, much as reviling and evil a grin as the King had done so himself, and receded the hooded guise which revealed a remarkable figure. His ears! They were pointed as an elf! But his stature was little unlike that kind, but more so resembling dwarfkin. The odd physique caught the king off kilter. An elfin and a dwarfish hybrid? The King had never seen, less rather, heard of such a thing. An elf-dwarf, thought the King eerily. The King did not like this unnatural creature that so resembled men and whom bathed in his filthy vanity and pride.

“Gargoyle King, we have a favor, that I should like to think you would be quite willing to oblige.” the elf-dwarf introduced through sly teeth.

“What be this proposal? A handsome sum I do believe, no doub---” The King inquired and was halted from his lulling, serpentine words. He clenched his jaw, flaring both nostrils and twitched an eye. He hated being interrupted.

“A favor…” the stout constable corrected, near so to rage, but catching himself in his arrogance with hindrance. He continued soon after, “a favor from me: The constable, Ziath Bierfiend, of the western king, Narcissus, of the Domain of Nymphs.” The midget pronounced haughtily his title with a high chin that defied all authority.

Ziath was a brat, thought the King. Within his reservoir of pride he had enough audacity to betray the kingdom of his own nymph king.

“Two favors, I have, precisely. One is as regards to the Western Kingdom, which you have now come to own and has been forfeit on account of the sovereign’s own signature.” He withdrew a scroll from the inner pocket of his cloak, which he unfurled and handed over to the attendant, which in turn handed it over to the King. The paper was indeed the own handiwork of the western king who had set his kingdom as the ransom for siege, at the hands of the Morlock King.

It was a matter that by all means had taken time, which the Goblin King believed he had much of, and effortless energy. Narcissus had at last found within himself, the reason, to undermine his own kingdom. And alas, by sidestepping the second race in defiance to him, he could find the humans, the last race in opposition to his developing rule. Being that the warlord of Narcissus kingdom had owned all the land it was simple for him to hand it over, sell it, as it were to the Goblin King. And with the self-righteous king in sore straits, under the worst depression of his life, he had unwillingly signed the allotment for his kingdom to be overthrown.

Valkrin cackled. He was incredibly pleased with himself. For a moment he had forgotten of the unpleasant runt of an elf-dwarf, which stood at the foot of his throne and the giant barbarian woman that lay planted upon his marble floor. The goblin felt himself letting free, feeling an awkward power run throughout the being of him, as pain did when wounded with a knife.

“There too, is a second favor, for a sum, as you guessed. It is as regards, the humans…”

“Have you found them?”

“Yes, but first, information comes at a price and I will name it: twenty bars of both silver and gold, with transportation of course if Morga cannot manage”, he gestured to the large woman and continued, “a chest-full of emeralds and sapphires, and nineteen talents of ruby. ”

“As you wish-” the ruler was nearly astounded at such a mind-boggling amount, although he showed no such sign. He did own much treasure, of which he collected in a war chest obtained in battle, but for a simpleton to ask for a price that high, was truly incredible. It did not matter anyhow. He would pay through the nose of any tantalizing rat, if it meant power. All in all it was a rather small amount to pay for kingship and he was more pleased with this fact than the gems that would inevitably tumble from his hands. He would shift his thoughts to a different matter, other than riches and materialism, and subtlety imply as to the local of each and every human. For that issue, was indeed the most important.

He remarked for an instance the constable’s demeanor. He was an individual quite fond of his accomplishment and snickered, jeered with a spark in the eye. Valkrin made note of that. If he was to be crossed with deception, as this little idiot had been known to do, he would turn upon both the rat and the stupid giant in fiery rage.

“Where are the humans?” the goblin screeching, inquired gravely as if a command.

“In the mountains, north of Kretoir; a place hidden as of now in the mountain rock; the Last Citadel as it is called.

‘We stumbled upon their fort in the late night. It was many days that we looked, but did not find even the slightest hint of men until then and I had begun to doubt myself to continue. But it was a sound in that night which caught my attention, as well as Morga’s, and we came upon a cleft in a precipice off to the North, near so to the East River. We had not known what it was that made the sound, but as it led us we began to make out upon the horizon great walls, borne of mountain rock, so maliciously hidden that any being would think it to be of natural formation. It had tricked me at first and I too had been fooled. Morga had insisted we venture beyond to see. We continued, to the great walls and caught sight of a wood within, a forest wood and that was when we caught sight of a human scout run through the depths of the forestry and that was no more. It was then that I came to realize that they live in the forest, Dunn, as it is called, isolated from all. And it seems as if they are preparing; preparing for a war. I do suggest, though sovereign it is of your own call, that you take decisive action, before these humans think up another devious heist.”

The King was taken aback. The answer was too easy. Now with their numbers weak, he was going to attack and deplete every single breathing man. He would leave none to live. There would be no survivors._

“Very well.” said the king hoarsely. He mimicked the constable’s wicked smile, but to a much, much more grotesque degree. He was content and his eyes showed it, as they had sparked to a haunting orange, and his tail had become restless within his palms.

Time was of the essence. He would send a messenger to his general and produce a full-fledged attack upon the humans, merging the sum of his new acquired infantry with the great lot of his military. The humans would have no chance, thought the Goblin King, as they had trapped themselves, and burrowed themselves with certainly no chance of escape.

The King dismissed all with a hand and watched, his eyes fixed upon the elf-dwarf as he walked to the exit. Darkly within he wished to set flame to such a beauteous adorned a cloak and torch the hair of the great lady, but knew better of it. He would conserve his fire for the mountains in which every human lived, torching them to doom.



Again, he rose from his kingly, black throne and glided down, with great black and silent wings, towards his troll guard. He ventured through the halls of his palace into the heart-rock of the castle where there was an outlet to a much-dignified estate at the threshold of the world.

Valkrin was upon a balcony, overlooking once again the scenery of his kingdom. He caught sight of the elf-dwarf that had looted him and the giant woman who so boldly positioned herself at his side. Escorts marked their party, of them, being his very own, who would help the giantess in her treasure.

Valkrin thought of the humans and smiled craftily. There would be fire and bloodshed in the mountains of Kretoir
  





Random avatar


Gender: Male
Points: 899
Reviews: 11
Sat Oct 08, 2011 4:55 pm
1wasprt says...



Well first of all I think that you need to split it up into smaller parts. Also I didn't get it at the beginning, and to be honest I really didn't finish it. It looks like it would be a good story if you maybe made it to where people understood it more.
He who is without sin may cast the first stone.
~John 8:7
  





User avatar
69 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 3549
Reviews: 69
Thu Oct 13, 2011 6:24 am
Butterfly18 says...



Well first of all, DragonScourge, I think you're trying to impress us by showing off your smart talk. Haha.

I ain't smart nor do I pretend to be, but surprisingly enough I understand every word of this, nearly.

Second of all, when you're going to write like this, have your audience in mind.
Onto the flow,

It is what we see that we know or if taken into nigh a contradictive manner it is what we know that is rather what we see or what one chooses to see.

You need a comma in there to break it up so I don't run out of breath while reading it, in my head. But better yet, get rid of all the repeated words like, what is used 4 times and that is used twice, in one sentence. On the first read, all I honestly saw was, what, that, what, what, another that. Only when I read it a second time did i take notice of all the other words. And, from what I know, contradictive isn't a word.

Also, you repeat see three times. Just a suggestion to make it not so repetitive and more, understandable:

It is what we see and know, or if taken into nigh contradiction, our knowledge is what we would rather see.

What we know, is knowledge is it not? And, rather what we see is what we choose to see, is it not? Same thing just two different explanations, in my opinion, and in my understanding.

Now, what I've done to your opening sentence, I could do to pretty much all of your sentences. I understand your overall concept, yet I feel it is drowning in repetition and is being drawn out far longer than it needs to be. Shorter is better, because when you say what you need to say in ten words, its much simpler to grasp rather than how confusing it is if you were to then explain that same thing in twenty words with repetition and unnecessary words.

Now, the segment of this post that ends with this, Could there be more facets to it that border pure imaginational and fantastical proportions?, is all preaching by you, the author. That is called, authorial intrusion. You don't want to intrude in your characters story do you? If you want to have this in here, make it like a quote from some, script or some wise ancient book. Don't know if you've read Dune, by Frank Herbert, but if you have, the opening to every chapter has a quotation from a text. Do it something like that and then you can preach all you wish, within a limit.

As for the opening before the prologue, I assume that's a poem, though it's not set out like one because of all the long giant gaps between each line. That too should be dealt with like a quotation from a text, otherwise it'll just seem like its been put there by accident.

Prologue -
Don't know why you've capitalized, The Wall. If you're trying to make a point that it's known as, The Wall, then just write it like a name.

It wasn’t magic. It was roughly manipulated science.

Very nice, I like the sound of that. Sounds interesting.

Ziath Bierfrend flinched reflexively.

Don't know if you naturally talk like a walking-extensive-vocabulary, but regardless, you need to ease up on the big words. If you want people to read this, you need to simplify. Explaining the science behind, manipulated science will require enough use of your vocabulary.

It is very long and I did not get too far into the prologue, but from what I've read, its sounds interesting.
The writing itself either isn't that bad, you just need to work on the things I've mentioned.

Although, I don't claim to know anything. Just giving my advice from all my acquired knowledge over the last six years.
Feel free to disregard whatever I've said if you don't agree. Hope it helps in some way though. :)
  








"I never expected that I should be a queen so soon."
— Alice's Adventures in Wonderland