Author Topic: WARBAND & M&B Pendorian Stories  (Read 64847 times)

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noosers

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #30 on: March 20, 2009, 01:00:20 AM »
A rather long one - but it grew while writing. As grew my fun doing so I guess there´s more to hear about Hendrik´s exploits soon!

Hendrik the Cruel and his capture of Marius I., Emperor of Pendor.

Much had happened since the Glory of the Fierdsvain Empire had vanished and been crushed under the nailed boots of the Ravenstern soldiers.

Led by their Marshal, Hendrik called the Cruel, stronghold after stronghold fell, towns were sieged, breached and sacked and their garrisons put to the sword. The last few
desperate attempts to ward off the inevitable doom were quickly dispatched and the defenders easily driven off the field of battle.
Finally, the last stronghold of the Fierdsvain fell. And with Longsbeard Lodge taken and their King dead the nobility of a the now crushed and defeated Kingdom  of Fierdsvain
vanished and scattered all over Pendor to swear new allegiances.

Shortly after Hendrik the Cruel was appointed Count of Javiskholm, a magnificent town he had taken by force though spared a sacking and thus now gleaming more than ever, the first rumors of a huge Snake Cult Army arrived at Ansen Lodge, Hendriks Stronghold and base of power. In fact not only a single Army had landed and started haunting the eastern shores of the Empire but a second had arrived shortly afterwards. The nobility of the Empire did nothing but run whenever the evil worshippers of the Great Snake offered battle - no wonder their Empire had crumbled.

Nonetheless, Marius I., Emperor of Pendor held expansionists plans to increase his realm and help it to former glory. A mad dream of a mad man. Even worse, he decided to declare war on the Dragon of Ravenstern. Marius thought Ravenstern was weak - having taken so much territory had surely as well exhausted its armies as had the bloody sieges and field battles drained the resources of that kingdom and right he was. Both men and money were scarcely available anymore in the bled kingdom of Ravenstern. Thus he called his vassals to arms, rallied his armies and marched his levies off to war. Knudarr Castle had been appointed his first target - the first of many errors the mad emperor made.

Hendrik the Cruel had prepared himself for a season against the followers of the evil Snake Cult whose misdeeds and rumors about their evil rituals caused fear and faith into half Pendor. Most of his seasoned troopers had been appointed garrison duty in both Javiksholm and Anson Lodge to protect his lands - even more important since money was tight and an issue.

Despite all this obstacles Hendrik was able to field a large amount of Ravenstern Foot, a company of Pendors most skilled archers and a score of Ravenstern Knights and
even half a dozen knights of the Order of the Dragon had joined his host camping outside Ansen Lodge. It was the eve of the day before he intended to march off on his holy
crusade against the Snake Cult Army when news of a siege of Knudarr castle arrived at Hendriks Castle.

The trumpets sounded immediately and his host was called to arms. Marching all through the dark hours of a the deep night the army finally arrived just in the nick of
time at Knudarr Castle. Marius hadn´t waited long - he had laid siege on Knudarr Castle and immediately started to assault the damaged walls of the weak castle. It looked bad for the defenders who fought most desperately yet were terribly outnumbered. Launching a feint attack on the rearguard of Marius camp, Hendrik was able to lead most of his army through the loose siege ring and replenish the desperate defenders. New spirit was brought together with expert archers, expert leadership and twoscore grim Kiergaards - all seasoned veterans of the recent conquest of Fierdsvain.
   As the song of the nightingale announced the first light of a new day the Horde of the Empire launched its first and final assault wave against the crumbling piles of
stones which was the curtainwalls of the weakest of Ravensterns castles. First came the Levies and green troopers of the Empire, inexperienced and hastily equipped. They died by the score showered in arrows never seeing heir homes again. Their death had only one reason - to drain the supply of arrows of the defenders. They suited perfectly for that task and when the second battle arrived and manned the siege tower hardly any shafts had been leftover. However, the few ones left bit into mail and leather killing dozens of fearsome Gladiators and hardend Legionaries. Nonetheless all the the arrows had been spent long before the Siege Tower hit the Wall. The main assault had begun.
   The Kierdsgaard elite guard of Hendrik tightend their shields and fortified their stance and waited for the rush of flesh and steel to assault them. Grim were their
faces, and grim was their work. In a valiant effort of expert combat they were able to hold the walls against the most experienced troops of the empire until the elite guard of the Emperor was thrown into the frail. The pressure was too much for the thin line of defenders and soon the Immortals had gained a decent foothold on the wall.
   The situation looked grim for Hendrik when he dropped his bow and hefted the magnificent weapon he had inherited and taken from its secret hideout and entered the melee. The Immortals hadn´t sensed yet how close their peril was. Focused only on the fighters before them they didn't notice the Count of Javiksholm reading himself in their backs. For this sole reason, they never knew who killed them. Yet even those efforts had been too little and the day may have been lost for Ravenstern hadn't reinforcements arrived. Having watched the battle closely from his place at the keeps gatetower Ansen had noticed the peril and headed off towards his leader collecting every figher on his way to it. Due to his presence of mind and fast response he was able to rush the ramparts and cleanse them from enemies.
   Half the defenders of the outer wall had been cut down and the greatest part of the assaulting troops lay dead or dying when both Hendrik and Ansen met on the breached wall. With an evil grin and deadly glitter in his eyes Hendrik raised the visor of his helmet and looked upon the one of his lieutenants who had assisted him. "Ready the horse!" was all he said.

   Eager to prove themselves his mounted troops were quickly assembled and ready to charge the remaining host of Marius. The trumpets sounded, the hooves clattered on stone and earth, steel tips shone on lances in bright tones and above all flew the Green Beast of Hendrik. So quick and decisive and unexpected was this second strike that most of Marius demoralized foot didn't even bother to put up a fight or form ranks but ran for their life - only to be slain merciless wherever the heavy horse caught them.
   The slaughter lasted till nightfall. Almost thousand of the empire's soldiers had lost their life's - together with a good share of the Ravenstern finest´s. While all
the pilfering and searching of dead and wounded took place a humiliated Marius was led before Hendrik. Being disappointed about the fact his war chest had been able to escape and no large sums of money or decent gear to be looted this captor raised his spirits. Hendrik would negotiate the empire for a ransom that would dry them out and help increasing the amount of wealth in his treasure chamber. An evil grin smirked upon his face when his royal captive was led off towards his new home - the  prison tower of Ansen Lodge.
   
This was how Marius I., Emperor of Pendor, was captured and held prisoner by Count Hendrik of Javiksholm, Baron of Ansen Lodge, Marshal of Ravenstern, Knight - Lord of the Order of the Griffin, Knight - Lord of the Order of the Falcon and Knight of the Dragon, Lord of Shapeste, Kulum and Quay, Bastion of the One Faith, True Defender of Ravenstern,subject to his most supreme King Gregory IV. of Ravenstern.

Early Summer, Pendor, the year is 355.
« Last Edit: March 23, 2009, 12:18:36 AM by noosers »

saxondragon

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #31 on: March 20, 2009, 10:12:10 PM »
Nice!! Well written!

Best,

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #32 on: March 24, 2009, 11:39:52 PM »
The snowflake melted in his mailed hand. It was hard to ignore the cold metal entombing him now that the fighting was over. Stupid. I shouldn't have worn plate in weather like this. He looked up at the sky, the movement making him aware of his bruised neck. Still, I guess it saved my life.
"Please, Chase, let me go. I'm no treat to you now". The voice disrupted his thinking, took him back to the present. He looked around slowly. In the distance, on of his men was dispatching wounded men and horses. He had enough work in front of him. The ground was littered with dead and dying. Hundreds. Some of them friendly. No matter, I have more. There are always more.  He looked at the lord kneeling in front of him. He looked old. Old and scared. Dried blood covered the left side of his face, and it looked like his arm was broken.
"Think of the times you have eaten at my table, of the toast we have shared. Let me go, Chase. For the friendship we once had". Chase Delarock looked more closely at the man in front of him, his eyes squinting. Perhaps the old lord did seem somewhat familiar beneath the dirt and blood that was caked in his face. We were friends? I can't even remember your name.
The two guards standing behind the prisoner laughed quietly. "Look at 'm, almost pissing himself 'e is", one of them said, smiling. Chase looked up quickly, catching the guards eye. The laughing stopped instantly. I would have begged. So would you.
"Why?", his voice sounded dry even to his own ears. Dead. Lifeless. It was perfect. "Did you think you could trick me into an ambush? Did you think you could kill me?" In truth he had been tricked. Outnumbered two to one, only experience and discipline had saved the day. They both knew it, but perhaps the people around them did not.
"I told the King it wouldn't work, but he wouldn't listen. He is afraid of you, you know. Getting more and more nervous as you creep closer to his castle". Their eyes met as the old man raised his head. "Why are you doing this , Chase? You had everything."
"Not a kingdom, not a crown. Now I do."
"And how many have died for this crown of yours? How many is now only food for the crows, because of your arrogance and greed? How many more will it take before you end this futile rebelion of yours?"
"As many as it takes. The rivers will run red before this is over, and they will overflow until everybody bend their knee to me! And then... then there will be peace."
"Madness..."
Before he could think he lashed out, backhanding the old lord, blood and broken teeth spraying onto the cold stiff ground.
"Please", the lord repeated, the words almost not understandable as they bubbled from his shattered mouth. Chase looked at his gauntlet. The blood stain somewhat looked like his brother on the end of a pike. He wiped it on his dark purple tabard. Madness? Perhaps. But what of it? Isn't all great men just a little bit mad?
Chase felt a hand on his shoulder. Surprised, he quickly turned a round, and looked straight into a beautyfull face. He's mouth opened slightly in awe, as it always did. So pretty, so perfect, if not for the hate in its eyes. He felt an urge to maim, an urge to kill, but it was over quickly. Captain Ivieraso was to valuable to waste, and Noldors didn't break their oath once given. He had nothing to fear from this... thing.
"Your Highness", Ivieraso said, " Lord Knader fought bravely, and should be treated with honor. There is no need for this." Knader. That is his name. I know him.
Chase forced himself to smile. "Offcourse, Captain, you are right. We should treat our enemies with the respect they disserve." He turned back to his old friend Lord Knader, still on the ground, struggling for every breath. 
"Here, friend, let me help you back on your knees." He kneeled down and hoisted the old man up. Spit, snot and blood dripping from his chin. He wiped most of it away, the purple tabard coming away red. Still, he could see doubt in the lords eyes.
"Dint be afraid, I will not kill you", Chase said as he stood up again, catching one of the guards eyes, and giving a small nod. He could see some hope return to the Lord, then disappear again as a knife was stabbed into his neck, leaving nothing behind.
Chase looked up into the sky. It was getting dark. He liked the dark, sometimes even preferred it. Let it cover me in its dark arms. Let it hide my regret. Let it hide my pain.
"Lets get moving. Plenty of people that still need killing, and they will not kill them self."

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Perhaps not your typical PoP story, but I've emerged from lurking 2-3 years or so to write it, and that got to count for something. All feedback is welcome. Please ignore the spelling mistakes as english is not my native language.
Anyway, thank you saxondragon for making this mod. I've enjoyed it alot so far, and are looking forward to the next version. Your mod is the only one I'm playing these days, and that says a lot 'cause there are lot of talented people out there.

noosers

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #33 on: March 25, 2009, 01:13:02 AM »
Awesome, Delarock! Definetly worth the time you spent writing it!

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #34 on: March 28, 2009, 04:41:53 AM »



He raised that black stallion from a foal, on his father's farm outside Fenada.  Darkstar, he called it... He told the men stories of them chasing antelope together over the rolling fields, riding hard like the wind from the sea.   He rode like a Jatu on that black.  He and his mount were truly one.  When we came to Fenada two months ago for supplies and fresh troops, he amazed us with his horsemanship.  He spitted five peaches on the point of his lance in less time than I could blink an eye... 

Eager for war, he was.  Eager to prove what he and Darkstar could do.  When we rode through the wastes of D'shar to the siege of Ishmatal, he gave that horse half his water, though we were all as dry as dust.  I saw him lance two Windriders on that horse when they chased us back through the sandstorms to Rela Keep.

Now he sits there by Darkstar's cooling carcass, on the body of the horse's killer.  He curses his crossbow for firing its deadly bolt an instant too late, just as the Snakeman's pick tore out Darkstar's throat.  Tonight, I'll have Ansen cut another mount out of the string for him.  He'll ride again, but will he be the same without that horse?  Will the joyful fire in his eyes still shine when we crest a ridge and see the foe arrayed before us?

I don't know... And I can't afford to care.  I have a warband to lead.  I have armies to defeat and kingdoms to conquer.  I am Ranorax, and I have a Prophecy to fulfill.   
« Last Edit: October 23, 2011, 05:05:23 AM by Thor Head »

littlemikey

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #35 on: March 28, 2009, 05:20:54 AM »
Hey, if you guys want to add some of your stories to the wiki, that would be fantastic. http://popmod.wetpaint.com/page/Tales+from+Pendor

Quote from: sairtar
And remember, Pendor puts the Laugh in Manslaughter.

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #36 on: May 14, 2009, 10:47:59 PM »
Alright, here is the first installment of the story. I don't really care about grammar, and as for the paragraphs, well, screw them as well. I'm just writing a story, not an English report, so don't lecture me on proper grammar and paragraphs. Thank you, and enjoy.

Edit: Edited a few small things, most importantly was I turned the story into paragraphs. Expect more tomorrow.
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It was a warm day in mid-spring, and all was going well for the man who now peered out of the woods. In his sight was a group of exactly 13, he had counted them day and night for the past two weeks. His thoughts went back to the day before he had started his journey, no, his life before he had started his journey.

15 days ago the young man was working in his father’s field. That day he was planning on announcing his plan to leave and start a farm of his own not far from his parent’s. As he worked in the fields with some of the hired hands, a group of about 20 men or so, led by a man clad in light red armor, had entered the field. They inquired into the young man of who lived here, not knowing the consequences he quickly told them that his parents did. The man in red let a small smile creep onto his face, but then quickly disappeared. The man  said something below his voice and the men moved along.

As the young man went back to work he heard a muffled scream and started walking slowly toward the house. As he neared it several of the men that were following the red figure came out carrying three bodies, his father’s, his mother’s, and his younger brother’s. At the sight of the bodies the young man let out a horrendous scream of pain, not physical, but emotional. The men carrying the bodies stopped dead in their tracks and several others drew their swords. Not caring about anything but his parents and brother the young man charged the men carrying the bodies. The man at the head of the column fell under his weight and screamed as he tried to break away from the fury of angry fists that were repeatedly striking his face. Blood started to come out of the man’s wounds as he screamed for help. His comrades just sat there and stared in amazement for the whole three minutes until their friend was nothing but a lifeless corpse. As the young man got up and turned toward the next man, the men dropped the bodies and drew their swords.

Several of the farmhands ran away, while several more of the experienced ones started advancing toward their newfound foes. Seven of the men ran toward the farmhands while the rest marched upon the young man. Realizing his predicament, the young man quickly groped the dead body of the man whose face was now unrecognizable until he found the hilt of the sword. As one of the men came within several feet of the young man, the young man drew the sword out in a slashing motion, slicing his adversary’s neck. The man fell down as blood spurted onto the young man from the open wound. There were several screams nearby and three of the farmhands fell down, while one of the evil men fell as well.

 Knowing that the end of the farm was inevitable, the young man charged forward with the sword in attempt to catch the enemy by surprise. He managed to do that to one of them, killing him in the process, but the rest were quick enough to avoid him. Remembering the mock fights with his brother, and then the ones the local militia held for training, the young man brought his skills into use. Two of the evil men charged forward. The young man slashed at the one that had his sword in the air, ready to come down, and succeeded in slicing his stomach. He then quickly brought his sword up to block the next man’s attack. A small spark flew and the evil man brought his sword around for another attack, but was again thwarted. The young man grabbed the evil man’s shoulder and spun himself around, stabbing the man in the back.

 The young man glanced toward the farmhands and found them either dead or running away. Hope was dwindling, but the young man continued his relentless assault. After fifteen minutes of rough fighting two more evil men were dead and the rest were retreating into the forest with the valuables from the house in hand. The young man had buried his relatives’ bodies and grabbed the family hunting bow. After stocking up on arrows and donning some of the armor from his dead enemies, the young man was finally ready for his revenge. A two week chase had ensued and now here he was.

The young man, 24 year old Corey, laughed as he stared out of the forest again. He checked his gear, and then advanced closer to the tree line. The men, who called themselves the Red Brotherhood from what he had heard, were camped around a dead cow. Corey knocked an arrow and raised the bow, taking a deep breath in the process. He steadied himself and stood in his firing position for about 3 minutes, his grip never failing. Then, as the leader lifted his head for a moment, he released the string. The arrow flew toward its target, singing the sweet song of death. The Red Brotherhood guildsman looked up, but was too late, and the arrow pierced him right between the eyes.

The other troops, the henchmen, looked around and then quickly drew their swords. They checked the body and looked toward the forest as a figure charged out, sword at his side. Corey was running faster than he had ever before, and had taken down one of the henchmen with a slash from his sword. The rest quickly charged toward him. He spun the sword in his hand, a trick he had the chance to practice over the many nights tracking his quarry, and slashed back, re-opening the wound in the stomach of one of the henchmen. Then he swung around again, making a larger gash in the stomach of the man, just enough for him to die after a few minutes. Two down, eleven to go. Two of the henchmen stabbed at him from the front, but he jumped back and knocked their swords away, creating a gap between them. Corey charged for it and swung from side to side, taking out both men in a flash. With nine men advancing on him, Corey had to think fast, and he did. Rushing through an open gap, Corey made a dash for the woods. As he entered the tree line, a pain like no other physical pain he had experienced crept into his arm. Glancing down he saw an arrowhead protruding from it, and he looked back to see the rest of the shaft.

When Corey finally came to a stop he began to tend to his wounds. His revenge was complete enough. Corey let out a loud “YES!” and looked around to make sure no one heard him. Satisfied he went back to work on the arrow. He began to think out loud to himself, “Ya know, this was a great day for me, I finally got my reve-“

When Corey awoke, all he heard was the sound of the sea, then, as his vision came back to him, he saw himself in a cell on a ship. A man clad in light red armor walked by, and Corey sunk back into unconsciousness. As he was tending to his wounds, another Red Brotherhood group snuck op on him and knocked him unconscious, they then took him on a ship and set sail. When Corey awoke later, one of the men let him out of his cell and told him to go down to the rowing station. Corey obeyed, knowing that escape was impossible now. A few of the slaves looked up, while the rest kept rowing. Corey sat down in the nearest seat and grabbed the oar. Every slave was wearing a glove supplied by their captors, as to keep their hands well so a better price could be obtained. A nearby slave whispered in Corey's ear, “I hear that they’re takin’ us to Pendor.” ‘Pendor,” Corey thought, ‘where’s Pendor…’

Part 1: Arrival in Pendor

Corey awoke three days after his capture, his arms and legs sore, and his head reeling from seasickness. He walked up onto the main deck and gazed out toward the not so distant shoreline. One thing he liked about the Red Brotherhood right now was the freedom that they allowed their captives. It’s not like they were going to try to escape when at sea, so they need not worry. There was a shout from the top mast that they were coming into port and that all hands should be on deck for disembarking. Corey stared up into the sky for a moment, then slowly walked over toward the plank that was being readied.

The slaves had been drilled a few times on how to disembark, thus making everything quicker. Everyone had been warned that escape would be deadly, and if they fell out of line then they would be whipped without mercy. Corey took his spot in the second row as everyone began filing down the gangplank. The second Corey’s feet touched the ground; he felt a strange connection to the land. He groped around his neck for his necklace that was given to him as a young child. His father had told him that it was from their home, and that he should treasure it forever. When his hands felt the medallion, it was burning hot, and Corey had to quickly retract his hand to avoid being burned.

The column was quickly led to a raised area at the center of the town; Janos was the name according to a nearby sign. Then, the first slave was led to the center of the small stage area, and the auctioning began.

“50 Denars,” shouted one man.

“I’ll give you 100,” shouted another. The auctioning didn’t last long, and the first man was bought for 150 Denars. The next man was bought for 100, as was the next, then Corey was led up onto the stage. The auctioneer quickly hushed the crowd and told them the quick story of Corey’s valor and skill against the Red Brotherhood, and how he had slain several of them, and even tracked them over the terrain of his homeland. The group fell silent for a moment, and then one man shouted, “I’ll give you 200 Denars for im’,” and then an uproar ensued.

“250, I’ll give you 250!”

“I’ll give you 300!”

“500 Denars!”

“Sold for 500 Denars!” The auctioneer seemed pleased with himself, and Corey led down the line to an elderly looking man. He introduced himself as Robert, “But you can call me Bob,” he said. He was a farmer that needed hands, and had spent a lot of money on him. Corey wasted no time in telling him that he had made the right choice, considering that he had worked on a farm most of his life. Bob smiled and led Corey through the streets toward two horses that looked like they had been carrying a lot of stuff on the way there.

As the two neared the horses, Corey fished around in his pocket and grabbed 30 Denars that he had stolen from one of the Red Brotherhood men while he wasn’t looking. He tossed 10 to a nearby man who looked down on his luck, and then tapped the shoulder of Bob. He handed him 20 Denars and told him that he was grateful for spending so much for a simple farm boy. Bob laughed and told him to saddle up the horse. Corey did so quickly, and then Bob told him to mount up, as they were heading toward bob’s farm.

As they trotted out, Corey thought of running away, but Bob was very trusting of him, so he thought the better of it and followed Bob home. They arrived at Bob’s farm just outside of the town of Fenada. Corey helped Bob down from his horse, and unsaddled the two. He led them into the stables and tossed them some hay. Bob thanked him and led him toward the house. He introduced him to his family, his wife, Lisa, and their daughter, Sara.

After a kind dinner, Bob led them to his room. Corey inquired into where all the other slaves were staying, and Bob laughed. “There are no other slaves; I am working this place myself, with the help of the family of course. I will give you good hospitality, and treat you like one of my family members. Plus, once you work off your debt of 480 Denars, I’ll start paying you as well! Then, possibly in a few years, you can move away if you want to.” Now it was Corey’s turn to laugh.

“Honestly Bob, if you’re going to treat me like that, I don’t think I’ll ever leave. Now before we rest for the night, how are the crops right now?” At those words, Bob’s face grew dim. He told Corey the story of how there was little rain, and that water was very scarce. It was a meager living, he told him, and one that required long hours of toil. Corey told him that he would do his best to turn their situation around and help the farm. Bob thanked him, and bid him good-night.

The next morning, Corey woke bright and early. He crept down the stairs, as the rest of the family was still sleeping. He began inspecting the crops, then he started testing the earth. He grabbed two willow sticks, and began walking over the land with them outstretched. After twenty minutes, the two rods moved and crossed over each other in the form of an “X”. Corey stuck the sticks in the ground and quickly ran back to the tool shed where he grabbed a shovel. He hurried back to the sticks and began digging. After digging about fifteen feet or so, he came across what he was looking for, water. He dug a few feet more, and then tossed the shovel up. He quickly scaled the sides and hopped out.

Five hours later, Corey was pleased with his work. He stared at the small well, roughly 5 feet in diameter, which was wide for a well, and smiled. He had had a rough time finding the needed wood, but eventually did, and when he had, he began putting it together in the rough shape of a circle. Once his base was setup, he made a small area that hung over the center and then attached a bucket. He had created a much needed well for a farm that needed a lot of water.

Roughly five minutes later, Corey heard the door to the house close, and someone came rushing out. The form of Sara quickly came into view and she ran up to Corey. “What are you doing up so early,” she exclaimed, “It’s only 7 o’ clock.” Corey gazed at her with disbelief, at his home the sun came up much later than 2 o’ clock. Sara gazed past Corey at the well and let out a little gasp of surprise. “Oh my goodness, I think you just saved us with this well, oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” She jumped up in the air several times, and her dark hair smacked Corey in the face.

Bob and Lisa came out next as Sara jumped around in excitement. When the two spotted the well, they looked as if they might as well. Bob ran up to Corey and said, “How did you do this!” Corey explained to him how he did it and how it had taken him a lot longer because he had no help. Bob laughed and gave him a manly hug. Corey smiled and patted him on the back, “Now,” Bob said, “let’s get to work on the crops.” Corey laughed and they started toward the field.
Massacring, mass rape, and other such things are definitely not activities that most choirboys participate in.
Tell that to the Catholic Church.

Lord Hattie

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #37 on: June 06, 2009, 08:14:17 PM »
In the darkness, between Stagheart and Nomar, there was a small camp of ten or twenty men. Whilst most of them were out of guard, wary of the heretic covens and the Red Brotherhood bandits, three men sat round a campfire, eating from a pot over the fire, which seemed to contain a stew of some sort. Like all fireside discussions, this one turned to the discussion of tales, myths and legends. For a while they spoke of Hendrik the Cruel, then of Chase Delarock, and then, finally, of The Fish Knight.

"I once fought with the Fish Knight." One of the men commented, to the chuckles of the others. "No, I really did. I had been hired by a caravan, I think it was a Fierdsvain caravan. We were attacked by a combination of Red Brotherhood men and some assorted other scum that had crept their way out of the woodwork. We were ounumbered, and had little more than fifteen spears between the twenty of us. We were guarding the caravan, many of us dying when, like a hero from the days of old, he lept out on his horse, his heavy lance skewering three men at once. Unfortunately, one of the bandits, armed with a bow, pegged his horse right between the eyes. The horse fell, but before you could say 'Gods help us!' he had risen to his feet and cut the throats of another five men. It was then that I saw his sword. I had never seen anything like it, but I had heard of swords like that being wielded by the Noldor. Whether he got it off a corpse, or whether it was given to him by the Noldor themselves, I don't know, but it was as fast and as balanced as any sword I've ever seen. He took nary a hit, blocking any wayward blow with his shield, emblazoned with his Fish, and finally, found the Red Brotherhood man who had organised all this. He grabbed him by the throat, whispered something to him, drew his sword and..." The man trailed off.

"And what?" One of the others said, after a few seconds of silence.

"And let him go. The bastard looked terrified, and from what I could tell had probably soiled himself, but he ran, and ran, and ran. And our caravan was never attacked again." The man smiled.

"I say you're a liar, my good man." The third man laughed. "Everyone knows the Fish Knight is just a myth bandits made up just to scare their little children."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that." A fourth man said, his face shrouded by the shadows of the cooking pot. "I met the Fish Knight once. Or, at least, I thought it was him. He was in his armor, with his faceplate. He asked me where to find the nearest horse merchant, and I told him the way. He gave me 10 Denar for my troubles. A few hours later, I was sitting in the tavern, when he came in, sat down, and announced that he was buying everyone in the tavern a drink. Instantly he was the most beloved person in the building, other than the barkeep of course. Hours later, with our pockets considerably lighter, and with much ale in our bellies, we left, me and the Fish Knight, and he wandered off, to the stables, saying he was going to camp near the city limits. After that... I never saw him again." The fourth man finished, as he put his bowl down.

"Well, I say that your story is just like my friend's: A lie." The third man sneered.

"Believe what you wish my friend. I must leave. Good bye, all of you. I hope to meet you on the battlefield." The fourth man chuckled, as he turned and left. A few minutes later, the men realised that the stranger had left a shield behind. They turned it round, and found it emblazoned with a white fish on a blue background. And in the distance, hooves could be heard, as the Fish Knight vanished into the night

(Ah yes, the return of The Fish Knight. Once again, I don't think this is very good, it's all very spur of the moment, but... I think it's better than the last one.)

Deer

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #38 on: June 07, 2009, 01:44:03 PM »
This is just the beginning of my new character, which i intend to play in PoP 2.0
As the story unfolds i intend to write more chapters (If i remember it :wink:).

Alone

Expelled… That simple was it.

This was no honourable ending for the late Chieftain’s wife. She had been a respected member and leader of her tribe, especially after her husband fell of the horse during a raid, and broke his back.

But the traditions of the Windtooth’s tribe were clear as the night in the desert; no woman can possess property of her own. Not even what was given to her due to the bounds of marriage.
She was a skilled and beloved leader, but that changed nothing. She had refused to join hands with another man, and could therefore no longer be a part of the tribe.
Even her sons agreed to that. – Her sons… she had carried them, brought them to the world and raised them. She had taught them about the life in the rugged southern desert of the D’shar’s land. Their first horses were chosen by her. Their farther had loved them too, no doubt about that. But he had mostly been interested in them, as they grew old enough to learn the way of the warrior. A man, and especially the chieftain of the tribe, could not be degraded to the work of raising children. He would take the boys and turn them into men, but she had created those boys. Didn’t that mean anything?

She obeyed the decision though. The desert does not accept weaklings. The tribe must stay firm, fit and stick to the traditions, on which they have survived for centuries. There is no room for individuals, she knew that, and had more than once made similar decisions when the warriors and her husband were away.

She smiled bitterly as she rode through the night. An expulsion was supposed to be a death sentence. Left by the tribe in the ocean of sand, with no or little water…
They had been merciful though. They gave her a bow, some arrows, water and a horse. Fools… as an outcast she was no longer a Windtooth, and they had no obligation towards her. The tribe comes first.
But she was thankful. She was skilled in surviving in the desert, and a good hunter. If she avoided slaves and bandits she would do fine. Maybe she would find a tribe with more open rules for women with property and weapons. If not she would seek north to the cities and lands of grass.

She had lost the ground on which her life was built, but she would find another rock, where she could carve in and recreate her place in this world…


¸.•'´¯) ¸,ø¤°``°¤ø,¸(¯`'•.¸
¸ .•'´¯),ø¤°``°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸(¯`'•.¸
You don't get what you deserve.
You get what you take!
``°¤ø,¸©¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸©¸¸,ø¤°
(_¸.•°´'`°¤,¸.•*´`*•.¸,¤°´'`°•.¸_)
°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°

noosers

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #39 on: June 08, 2009, 11:12:41 PM »
You should have given the lass a name, Deer!

If you´re lucky and curious enough you may find one or two references to a story character posted till now in PoP 2.0. A little something I had to do to award your efforts!

Deer

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #40 on: June 08, 2009, 11:20:13 PM »
You should have given the lass a name, Deer!

If you´re lucky and curious enough you may find one or two references to a story character posted till now in PoP 2.0. A little something I had to do to award your efforts!

well, i was planning that se would leave her old name behind, with the rest of her past.
But i considered her to be called Rebecca (and i am really bad when it comes to last names).
But if the D'shars are more arab inspired, and not simply normades/middeleast, we should maybe consider a more arabic name.


¸.•'´¯) ¸,ø¤°``°¤ø,¸(¯`'•.¸
¸ .•'´¯),ø¤°``°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸(¯`'•.¸
You don't get what you deserve.
You get what you take!
``°¤ø,¸©¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°¤ø,¸©¸¸,ø¤°
(_¸.•°´'`°¤,¸.•*´`*•.¸,¤°´'`°•.¸_)
°`°¤ø,¸¸,ø¤°`°

Fawzia dokhtar-i-Sanjar

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #41 on: June 09, 2009, 11:59:04 PM »
The History of the Queen of Pendor

Preface:
The view from the top of the castle tower in Sarleon encompassed quiet land sleeping beyond the river lapping lazily at its banks, its waters cut by the odd leaping fish.  Further on, the moving dots of peasants working their verdant fields in peace bore testimony to the Kingdom’s stability.  Peace, a state once well nigh unthinkable in Pendor, now was the rule, disturbed only by an occasional Vanskerry raid, bandit group or an audacious, overly ambitious Lord.

     “Your Majesty, its hard to believe that it has been more than twenty years now since we united Pendor, isn’t it?”

      “Sir Roland, oops, sorry, Grand Master Roland.  I didn’t hear you approach.  I was just thinking the same thing.  We’ ve grown old, my friend.”

      “Sir Timothy, Sir Rayne and I were discussing our impending old ages over a flagon last night.  It is high time, M’Lady, that you summoned the scribes and dictated an accurate history of our exploits, so that time does not distort our accomplishments once we’re gone.”
 
     “It will anyway, you know.  Depending upon who is in power, what events transpire, and how future kings wish to aggrandize their own deeds, we’ll either be damned as ruthless conquerors or praised as saints who could do no wrong.  Victors, successors and their scribes write history, not those who did the deeds which made it.”

    “Perhaps.  But we’ve a chance of preserving the truth of what we did, if only you’ll have it written.  Do you know, M’Lady Cygne, despite all the years we’ve known one another and all the tales we’ve told around our campfires, you never said what brought you to Pendor in the first place.  You must start our story there.”

     “Very well, if you insist.  I’m not convinced future generations will give a damn about the ramblings of three knights in their dotages, a fusty physician, an elderly Lord and their old bat of a queen, but I’ll not do this alone.  All of you, every single one of my loyal Companions, shall tell our story with me.  Otherwise, I might steal all the glory and claim you merely accompanied me in my travels!”

     “I’ll order wine, send the scribes to you and summon the others.  This will be thirsty work.  After you, M’Lady.”

Pendor United, as spoken in their own words to Chief Royal Scribe, Ulric and Royal Scribes, Thomas and Raymon by Queen Cygne and her Companions in Sarleon.

My earliest memories are of a tumbledown manor house in the outskirts of Barclay, staffed by my father’s doddering retainers.  Some fine silver goblets, rich tapestries and my father’s rusty armor on its stand contrasted sharply with the rough furnishings of our Hall.  We ate the same fare as our peasants: bread, cheese, game from my father’s hunting and strong ale brewed by Hal, his steward.  Old Mag, Hal’s wife, was forever harping at me to behave like a lady.  I never quite managed it.  She was the only mother I knew, as mine died bearing me.  I was a child of the outdoors, galloping across the fields, hunting with my father, learning bladework from Tomas, his elderly Captain of the Guard.  A grand title, that, for a kind old man with a rusty sword commanding ten peasants armed with bows and cudgels!  Once, when he’d had a bit of Hal’s ale, Tomas told me that he’d been my father’s squire, in the glory days when my father was a Knight of the Dragon, a Pendor Lord’s younger son who’d made a great name for himself in tournaments and battles.  I asked my father to tell me about those days, but he refused to speak of them, saying only that he saw no point in raising the ghosts of a past long dead and buried.

On my thirteenth birthday, my father sent me to Lady Alicia, wife to Sir John of Ferncliff to learn the ways of a court.  She was horrified when I appeared in trews and a boy’s shirt, unkempt hair in a rough braid, and immediately set to work.  As I’d never worn a dress before, I loathed my skirts and tripped constantly until she showed me how to walk in them.  I destested embroidery and my work was patterned more in my blood than with my clumsy stitches.  Then came the dreary sessions with her children’s tutor, learning to write my name, add some numbers and suffer through a few boring books on deportment.  I persevered, and then discovered an old book of knightly tales and legends, written in the bardic style.  “The High Kings” it was called.  It set my path.  I vowed then and there to become a knight like my father had been, to do bold deeds, conquer evil enemies and be famed for my chivalry, sung of by the bards.

When word came of my father’s sudden death, I was devastated.  Sir John broke the news to me that I could not inherit our fief, as only male heirs could succeed their fathers.  Mine had willed his estate to his friend, Sir John, who promised to hold it in trust for me, as dowry when I married, along with a small amount of gold left me by my father and his armor, which he said should go to my first son.  Marriage!  What the devil did I want with a husband?  I’d no intention of settling into a routine of embroidery, court intrigue and endless childbearing, married to some lordly lout who got drunk each night with his men, smelled of his stable and preferred hunting to conversing with me.

In short, I took my gold, donned my father’s armor, and ran away to take ship for Pendor.

     “Hah, you’ve not changed noticeably over the years, wife!  Though I don’t get drunk every night, and rarely smell of the stables, you know.”

      “You know I wasn’t describing you, my heart.  Best give Sir Rayne a thump on the back – he seems to have wine up his nose and he’s choking.”

     “Your Majesty, the Physician Ansen is here at your summons, he says.”

     “Please admit him at once and then you may go.  Ansen, how are you?  Did I pull you away from some ancient scroll, or were you lecturing your students?”

     “The former, M’Lady, but in a good cause, if Sir Roland’s message is true. Please don’t let me interrupt your fascinating narrative.”

Our ship docked in Javiksholm without incident, though we’d had to outrun a Vanskerry longboat on the way.  I still remember my first step onto the wharf.  A voice in the back of my mind said, “The die has been cast.”  I needed sword and horse, so I walked into town to find the weapons maker’s stall.  Midway there, I was stopped in my tracks by yet another voice, a woman’s, proclaiming me a long awaited champion, whose duty it was to fight the evil overwhelming Pendor and unite the land.  Fat chance I’d succeed at that, I thought; assuming I was fool enough to try!

I’d enough gold for a Zweihander and a hunter, with money over; (my Barclay gold coins were worth thrice as much as the Pendor denars) so proceeded to the tavern to hire some men.  Pendor did not seem the sort of place to traipse about in unescorted.  I’d seen the Red-jacket thugs threatening a merchant in the market, demanding “protection money.”  If public goings-on of that sort were allowed, doubtless worse villains lurked in the countryside.  And that, of course, is when I first met you, my husband.  Why not carry on from there for a bit, while I have a sip of wine?

     “I stood in the tavern, a feast for any maiden’s eyes, resplendent in my sapphire and gold armor.  In walked a girl in rusted armor, swaggering as if she owned the place.  She accosted me immediately.”

      “Yes, and you behaved most churlishly to me, then demanded that I repurchase your horse for a vast sum of money, before you’d join my company.”

      “Company!  What company?  All you commanded at that moment was that stubborn hunter of yours that kicked everyone who came near him.  How was I to know you might turn out to be a capable captain some day?  I wasn’t grumpy, I was sad at having to sell my warhorse, Dancer.”

Since I’d nowhere near enough coin to hire Sir Timothy, I turned to the other person standing in the tavern; a runaway rich boy named Ansen.

       “I wasn’t rich at the time, M’Lady.  I had about ten denars to my name, a knife, and the clothes on my back.”

       “At least I didn’t have to pay you a fortune!  And it was your idea that we recruit in the villages and train up our troops, as well as ourselves, in the training grounds.”

My remaining gold just covered a horse for Ansen, a cheap coat of mail and a sword, which initially was more a danger to him than to any enemy.   We bought a bit of bread and cheese and some smoked fish in the market, and set off for Sarleon, because I’d a notion of forming a mercenary cavalry company, and Ansen said the men of Sarleon were fine cavalry material.  En route, we were attacked by bandits, of course, and through sheer good luck overcame them.  Neither of us could use our swords skillfully, but we killed three and stunned five of them.  Their ransoms enabled me to hire the first of my troop, ten naïve peasant lads from Stagheart.  In Avendor, we met Donovan, do you remember how sadistic he was, Ansen?  Still, he knew his business as a trainer, and I was able to curb his inclination to flog the men whenever one of them sneezed.

     “Hah, if one of them so much as coughed, he threatened to hang him, as I recall.”

     “Enough, he was a brave man, for all his cruel ways, and you must admit he was a fine trainer.  Without what he taught you of bladework, you’d have been dead long ago, instead of spending your days sneezing over dusty scrolls and bullying your medical students.  You’ll recall I sacked him later at your insistence.”

     “I learned considerably more of battle from Sir Rayne, ma’am, and in a far more pleasant manner.  I credit him with my battlefield skills, not that bastard Donovan.”

In any event, we soldiered on, honing our skills on the bandits that popped out from behind every bush, then began fighting the Mystmountain Raiders in Ravenstern.  I used every spare denar I could find to hire more men and equip them, as well as recruiting refugees and peasants we rescued.  Once we became a half-decent warband, we tackled the Vanskerry Raiders, and sold the loot we didn’t want for fine sums.  By then, Donovan had left us and Sigismund had joined; though I had to pay a village’s ransom to the inkeeper for his bar tab, before he’d join.

     “M’lady, you’ve accused me of that for years!  The money was not just for drink; it was for food, a room and a bit of a gambling debt.  I was a bargain, at that, for all you complained of the cost.  My armor alone was worth what you paid the innkeep.”

      “You were drunk as a lord, and a surly bastard to boot, and you know it.  I had to put your head under the pump before you could walk straight enough to join my men at the gate.”

       “My advent began your successes, too, don’t forget.  It was at my urging that we first fought and whipped one of those Rogue Knight companies.  You used to avoid them.”

I concede that point to Lord Sigismund of Sinclair Keep.  That battle was a near thing, though, and I valued the men we lost to that fight above the loot we had of them and their ransom money.  Still, a few more battles, and I had a fair sum of money to spend, so I repurchased Sir Timothy’s horse for him and he joined the company.  By then, the Sarleon lads had matured into fine knights, and our cavalry was growing in fame.  We took on larger groups: Heretics, big bands of Vanskerry Raiders, hired more men and equipped them better.  Soon, “Cygne’s Company” were in great demand to escort caravans and Lord’s wives when they travelled.  Thank the gods, we no longer needed the pay for delivering wine or herding cattle from one market to another!   I’m proud that we never raided caravans or villages, poor as we were in the early days.  The villagers grew to trust us because we saved them from bandits and never took a denar for doing it.  I valued recruits above their paltry offerings, anyhow, and they were even poorer than we were. 

      “Your reputation preceeded you, else I’d never have joined your company, however much gold you sent to my Order.”

       “I remember your saying that, my Paladin.  And now you’re Grand Master of the Order of the Dawn in Pendor, so you were wise to join us when you did.  Remember Kaverra?  She stopped by last week, while she was here on business.  She has nine grandchildren now, and is the most prosperous merchant in Windholm.  She’s building yet another warehouse, she says, since her sons can take care of the increased business.”

    “She found time to call me an idiot yet again while she was here, too.  I said it long ago and I say it now, she’s a peasant who never knew her place, for all she was a good soldier.”

     “Still on your high horse after all these years, Sir Rayne?  Admit it, you were just put off by her nickname, and she took advantage of that.  She never threatened to wear your family jewels for earrings, as she told Kassim she’d do if he insulted her again.  That’s why he left us.  He threatened to beat her and cut out her tongue, so I told him he had to go.  On the subject of beatings, I seem to remember your threatening Sara the Fox with one.”

     “She may be the most famous bard in Pendor, M’lady, but the only reason she’s not also the most famous tart in Pendor is due entirely to her age, not her inclinations.”

      “Bah, she’s been respectably married for years now.  Where was I?”

      “The day I joined you?”

       “Right.  That huge band of Heretics would have had us all for sacrifice, had you not arrived when you did, Sir Roland.  I’d never seen anyone fight so skillfully or kill so many men so quickly.  When we spoke after the battle, I did think you a tad pompous, though.”

        “Mea culpa, M’lady.  I was young and on a mission, and thought rather highly of myself, since I’d just been raised to the rank of Paladin.”

       “You were a good man and an amazing fighter, so a bit of pomposity mattered not to me!  Did Sir Rayne join us before or just after our stint as mercenaries to King Ulric?”

       “ I joined you just after that, M’lady.  You hired me with that large reward he gave you for bringing him the head of the Chief of the Red Brotherhood Guild in Sarleon.”

I well remember that fight.  I’m grateful we finally stamped them out.  The bandits, however deplorable they were, had some reason for their banditry.  The Red Brotherhood were nothing but hardened criminals and filthy slavers.  Speaking of slavers, I heard Ramun had died, at the grand old age of ninety-two.  He likely outlasted every slave he sent to the galleys and elsewhere, the old reprobate.  He never forgave me for outlawing slavery in Pendor, though he had more money than any king by the time I made him retire.  He outlived his usefulness to Pendor, since no one has strings of captured prisoners to sell him any more.  I still laugh when I remember all the times I sold Red Brotherhood guildsmen back to their own!  I always enjoyed the looks on their faces when I paraded the prisoners before them.

To be continued.
« Last Edit: June 10, 2009, 01:06:17 AM by Fawzia dokhtar-i-Sanjar »
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"Your soldiers are a bunch of women, and just because women kill thousands of my people doesn't mean I fear them,  much..."  (Daedelus McGee)

littlemikey

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #42 on: June 10, 2009, 02:46:20 AM »
Thanks guys for the stories! Please create a new page here:
http://popmod.wetpaint.com/page/Tales+from+Pendor
And post your story, so we have a nice archive of them :)

Quote from: sairtar
And remember, Pendor puts the Laugh in Manslaughter.

Gordulan

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #43 on: June 10, 2009, 09:58:11 AM »
Here's the beginning of the tale i am writing.

1. The Beginning

Upon a day nearly 30 years ago a D’Shar incursion came deep into Noldor territory where it massacred the rangers who were posted there, only the women survived. One of these women was my mother who was raped by what she told me was a noble. One year later i was born, my name is Cuwen, in noldor it means unclean for i was only half elven and only half as radiant as my peers, i had my father’s eyes my mother told me.

I was taken a distance from by my teachers and peers, not only because I was unable to string a bow, neither was I able fire one as accurately, but my skills with a sword were unmatched, i was able to take on nearly 5 of my peers. After ravenstern sent an exploration force which was decimated by rangers my mother died by a lucky shot from one of their archers. I was not furious, in fact, i was relieved for my mother had taken distance from me ever since i was born, she told me that I reminded her too much of my father.

Having no ties left to my birthplace I left to search for my father. I left with my family's ancient longsword. After hiring myself out to village elders to aid them in their hour of need I was given the most promising piece of information I had ever received, apparently the incursion was lead by none other than the late D’Sharian great Khan and that my eyes reminded the elder of him, making my way to the capital I was horrified to see my father’s head on a pike above the main gate and a sign ”This is the head of the traitor king Saleanor his lust for power dishonoured him, and pray you do not make the same mistake”. The text was made from what looked like coagulated blood.

Climbing onto the wall I ripped off my father’s head from the pike and destroyed the sign into splinters, I broke down and started weeping, i was later shown into the dungeon by two guards. There I met Gordulan, a captain in the Old D’Sharian army under my father, or so he told me. He told me that my father was not a powerhungry maniac who had no limits, but a just and fair ruler.

In the evening I was dragged by two guards into the Khans hall, he saw my father’s eyes and commanded that I was to be slaughtered in a week. On my way back to the dungeon the guards fell dead, i noticed the daggers in their backs, instinctively i drew one of the dead guards swords, when a whisper told me that if he wanted me dead i would have been dead already. He told me to follow him. Having no option but to trust him I kept up with him as well as I could, we came to a halt outside the widow of the tavern and the mysterous man hooted just like an owl to my surprise, the barkeep came out and showed us to the basement doors and opened them.

As we were about to descend into the murky depths of the basement a small sack was placed over my head, obscuring my vision, a voice whispered that it was for my own protection. Darknes swallowed me up. After what felt like an eternity the bag was removed. I was thrown into an empty stone hall, the only decoration there was a sturdy stone pedestal, the only word of the faded lettering on it i was able to perceive was "Qualis". I then noticed a large azure gem the size of my fist, i was confounded that i had not seen it earlier. It was placed upon a highly decorated pillow. When I tried to touch it an arrow whizzed past my eyes, I jumped back. A man with a blue coat and a longbow then came to my attention. Yet again I was confounded, he was standing about 60 feet away and had not hesitated to fire the arrow, I yelled that he could have killed me. He simply introduced hmself as though nothing had happened, his name was Diev Woodensen, i recognised that name from my youth, he was one of the few humans the noldor in my village had respected instead of resented.

**Gordulan's Extra**

I had awoken in the dungeon, as always, i heard a dragging noise outside and saw the door open, a shackled man was then thrown in. I saw the guards take what looked like a noldor sword, it wouldn's surprise me if the guards would put it on the black market, corruption had done much to this town, then my mind started working again. A Noldor here?! Impossible! They keep to their own in their woodlands resenting humans mostly. I had not seen a Noldor man's face before. But a woman's face i had seen. The late khan wished to take one as wife, but was ambushed on his search, I was there with him. We managed to fight them until we had slaughtered almost all of them, strange that only women were part of the assault force. all but one fled, the one that was there was radiant, the kahn had his way with her later that night. I can understand why she stayed behing while her companions fled, it was as though these Noldor could read minds. the khan was satisfied if he got one, so if all ran hey would be hunted down again, most of them would be killed. In the morning the woman had dissapeared, we made our way back and Khan Saleanor was greeted with a dagger in the back, all who abandoned him after that incident were spread out to guard different villages, some were sent to be bodyguards. But there were ten who would not bow down to the "new" khan. I was one of them.

***************************************************************************************

2. The Revelation


_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Some feedbacks would be nice :D
« Last Edit: June 11, 2009, 02:32:10 PM by Gordulan »

Rilder

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Re: Pendorian Stories
« Reply #44 on: June 11, 2009, 06:24:46 PM »
Nicely done... :)  The fish Knight.  Great concept.

Saxondraogn

Heh I see that Fish Knight story got a reference to in a rumor .