Tale of the Night - Wesnoth Fan-Fic

[CheeseLord]

Hi everyone!! Today I've started a short thriller story for Year 9 English that I am tying in with Wesnoth fan-fic. I'm just hoping to get a little critiscm on it (I'm an00b at English, so it won't be like J.R Tolkien So here is the first section, telling the story of dark sorcery and a woodsman. Enjoy!!



VENGEANCE


Gathering darkness, rites of spring,
heralds winter upon the morn,
Upon thee hearthstone night will come,
Ye clan, both accursed and damned shall fall.

Delfador 527YW -

CHAPTER I

The first rays of sunlight dawned over the surrounding villages, revealing a coat of frost that had been painted by the bitter, cold of night. In the distance, the distinct noise of the cockerel crowing reverberated through the countryside, heralding the arrival of dawn. As the sun glowingly smiled, its glimmers of light bounced off the frozen pond, and as the last candles' were extinguished, dawn had come.

“Come on!” Rya urged on as he and Ivan ran through the forest. Both carried small, hand crafted short-bows, and a quiver of arrows was to be seen strapped to their backs. However, they had hunted through the night, so only one shaft was to be seen protruding out. Along this, they each held a tattered sack, both bulging with game. That night's hunt had been a success, leaving them with a score of rabbits to eat.
“Slow down a little” Ivan grunted behind him. Although a skilled archer, age was taking a toll on him, all too evident in his faltering pace. However, as he stopped to catch his breath, he heard Rya call out mockingly in front, jumping on top of a fallen log. “Impudent pup!” he growled in vexation “If you weren't the village elder's son I'd turn you over and whip you with a birch rod.”

He gave an inward sigh as his threat was cheerfully ignored. Rya would make a great hunter some day. However, as well as being brash and self-congratulatory by nature, he had not lost the playfulness of youth yet, and gave him the undesired trait of unbending arrogance which would surely be the death of him.

As they continued on the path back, Rya suddenly stumbled to a halt, stopping. Ivan gratefully took this opportunity to catch back up with him, loping to where Rya was standing. As Ivan followed where Rya was staring at in surprise, he did the same, gaping at the scene which he had stumbled in.

There stood a stone black altar, standing in the centre of a clearing. Small, upright pillars supported the structure for the carefully chiselled base to rest upon. Runes were carefully carved into the surface, archaic symbols that danced in the light. It all served to convey a sense of foreignness, alien yet familiar to the mind. However, despite the elegance it possessed, it seemed.....pernicious. A unceasing dark glamour seemed to hover over the place, lending it an unsavoury malicious taste.

“Hey, what's this?” Rya asked Ivan.
“I don't know.” Ivan replied shortly, “But what ever it is, don't....NO RYA!” Rya had ran up to the altar, gazing at it curiously. It was then when he noticed a small vial stood on top. It contained a misty substance within, swirling inside in a repeated cycle.
“What? It's not like there would be anything dangerous here.” Rya guffawed and reached to grab hold of the vial.
“You don't know that.” Ivan looked panicked, “That might be...” It was too late. Rya had already picked up the vial. Ivan waited with bated breath as he closed his eyes, expecting the worst to happen. Scenes of destruction danced under his eyelids, drawing a involuntary shudder from him. When what seemed like a eternity, he opened them again. Nothing.
“You see,” Rya scoffed at him, “Everything's fine, nothing...” his scorn dribbled away as he looked back at what he was holding. The shadows intensity had rapidly increased, and they revolved, swirling in hypnotic circles that befuddled the eye. A pronounced shadow had also formed below the rim of the wax that sealed it shut. Staring at it was like gazing into the jaws of oblivion, a starless night which held no end in a vortex bridging reality and the void.

The glass finally shattered, as though it had been overpowered by the forces which it contained within. Shard of glass were seemingly flung everywhere into the surroundings. Rya reflexively took back a step in alarm as he dropped the bottleneck onto the ground. Something is wrong, Rya thought desperately, the notion of alarm finally dawned upon him as he warily stepped back, tentatively walking away from where he had stood but just a moment ago.
“What's happening?” Rya was still staring nervously.
“I don't know.” Ivan tensely replied, “But let us depart. I want no more of this”
They turned back, and for a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. But then, as Rya took a step, he heard a low, coarse laugh behind him. It was such a laugh that made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up. The threat he felt only increased when he heard a shuffling noise, followed by a low murmur. Have it your way, Rya thought grimly. Spinning around with his bow held aloft, he swivelled to face the threat, before curiously letting his hand drop.

CHAPTER II

It was no monstrous abomination, neither was it a vengeful spirit that faced him. It was a old man. Although age had not yet drawn its tenacious claws around him, he was by no means young, and seemed even more aged than Ivan. He was clothed simply, and with the faded purple cowl and tattered robes, one could have easily been mistook for a ordinary ruffian. However, Rya eyes were most drawn to a heavy staff that the old man clutched onto with his claw like hands. It glowed with a pale, sickly purple, and upon closer inspection, Rya realised that it came from a ram's skull that stood on top. They stood, staring at each other, and after a period of time, the old man spoke.
“Has thou come to sacrifice thou soul?” Hie voice came out in a raspy hiss, and he gave a leering smile.
“No.” Rya looked cautiously back at him, “But who are you?” he added as an afterthought.
“I have many names.” The reply came in a murmur, “It but depends on where I am.”
“But what shall I call you?” The old man thought for a moment before answering.
“Mal Sintar.” he finally decided upon the name, and walked off towards the centre of the clearing. Meanwhile, Ivan had come back, having followed Rya back to the clearing.

“Rya.” Ivan looked on in horror, “What's happening?”
“Don't worry.” he replied, “It's just him.” Rya gestured unconcernedly at the old man, who was now kneeling in front of the altar, hands spread above him, as though he was calling for something. Two glowing black flames had been summoned, and now resided shimmering inside his hands. All the time, the old man was muttering, chanting in a ethereal tone.

Gathering darkness, rites of spring......

This particular phrase sprang to Ivan's mind as he mutely watched the scene unfold before his eyes. He tried to push it away and back – after all, it was no time for sentimental memories. However, it kept coming back at him again and again, a bee ramming itself against a wall.

Heralds winter upon the morn,........

The morn, the dawn. It was only then when he realised that above him, the sun shone brightly. Morning had begun in earnest, and the crisp breeze let the trees sway gently. In synchronisation, shhh...shhh.... every gust of wind brought a chorus of leaves, swishing and fluttering. It brought about an unearthly perception, like a ghostly wail from the spirits hidden deep inside its wooden depths.

Upon thee hearthstone night will come,

Still the memories came. Ivan realised what it was now. A prophecy, an augur predicting the strings of events that was to happen. One foretold by Delfador the Great, from an age long gone. It had been passed down from generation to generation, from grandfather to father, father to son. Even now, he could still remember the day he had first heard of its telling. From the fresh smell of fresh bread emanating from the stove, and the warm crackle of the fireplace, it all floated back through his mind. Every aspect was there to be recalled, and even after the passage of time, it had lost none of its significance.

There was something else though, Ivan suddenly realised. There must have been another part to this, he thought to himself. It was as though the last phrase had been abruptly cut off, ripped apart through time. Even now, he frantically sifted through his recollection for any sign of the final phrase that now eluded him. It had something to do with him, that much he remembered. It must have been important. But still, nothing came. It felt looking for a needle in a haystack – and as much as he tried, it was all to no avail. He was just preparing to surrender in his futile search – there was no point in looking pointlessly in such a doomed search.

Doomed......the word seemed to have struck a chord with him, an alarm bell ringing. And out of nowhere it came...

Ye clan, both accursed and damned shall fall....

It all became clear now.

The prophecy was about to unfold.

CHAPTER III

Ivan came to himself in a rush, and recovered to see Rya still gazing at the old man in a trance, eyes rolled back and tongue lolling out in a hypnotic reverie. The old man had not finished his ritualistic chant. It was time to flee. He ran up to where Rya was standing, and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck back from the altar. Initially, Rya resisted, mumbling in protest.
“Rya.” muttered Ivan urgently, voice low so he would not draw attention to himself, “You must retreat from him. Break free.” It was easier said than done. Rya's eyes fluttered as he willed them to blink, but was thwarted as his eyelids sprang back up. It was all to no avail – the force that bound him was too powerful to be resisted though sheer willpower alone. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he quickly realised that he was helpless while the tenacious grasp of enchantment.

It seemed like there was nothing that they could do, Ivan thought grimly. Rya was powerless now the bespellment was at its strongest. His thoughts turned to despair he saw Rya sag in resignation. There was nothing that could be done.

“Prophecy is only what may happen, not what will happen. For in the end, the future is dictated by the actions of those who have the requited determination and courage. No future is set in stone, only the past is ever so.”

It was a quote. Perhaps one of the most important prophetic theories in existence. Spoken by Methor, the great prophet himself at the time of Alduin. Engraved in history, even those who never concerned themselves with sorcerous affairs had been taught with this quote. It was what defined divination, gave it meaning. Nothing could have been simpler. Armed with the quote ringing in his mind, Ivan quickly formulated a plan. It was simple, quick, efficient. And most importantly, it was one that would work. It was time to reveal who he truly was, after years in denial.

With a soft cry, he leapt onto Rya back, pulling him backwards on to the floor. Taken by surprise, he haplessly collapsed onto the grass, legs folding beneath him. Now it was time for part two. He muttered under his breath, holding both of his hands over Rya's exposed, unblinking eyes. Despite the years that had passed, his inner talents were still there at hand, as he unfalteringly recited word upon word of ancient text. It was beginning to work. The spell that still chained Rya was beginning to buckle under the wall of wizardry Ivan was summoning. It was breaking, disintegrating. With a sudden gasp, Rya finally gave a cleansing blink, throwing off the chains that held him. He was free.

“So you have finally escaped from my trap with your bag of spells.” the old man looked murderous “But I fear not, for now I shall consume you both.” With a manic laugh, both Ivan and Rya looked fearfully around. They noticed something that they hadn't seen before. The trees at the edge of the clearing was now occupied by shadows. They looked like men, but then again, they didn't. They were too thin, far too thin. And now, a group of these inhuman bodies drew the trap tight. They were both trapped.

CHAPTER IV

They came into view as Ivan and Rya instinctively huddled closer together. At the side, the old man looked on gleefully in a broken smile.
“Gods, save me, you're a spellcaster” Rya gave a tiny squeak in terror as he saw the first figure appear from the shadowy forests.
They may have been men at one stage in their life, but now they bore little resemblance. They shambling forward in a mindless stupor, shrunken skin hanging loosely on their fleshless bodies. Some were open mouthed, revealing crooked, brown teeth. Most of them were still wearing what they wore before the afterlife, clothed in standard peasant fare. However, over time the sides became ripped, with gashes across the arms, legs, chests. They also carried a foul stench with them, enough to make one choke in disgust. It was as though they were from a tale told to frighten toddlers into obedience.

However, the most disconcerting feature was their eyes. They were empty. It was as though somebody had wiped the life out. Their eyes were rolled back unnaturally so that you could only see the whites of their eyes, dully staring out at Rya and Ivan, devoid of any expression. It was frightening. They moved yet closer towards them, and this time, Rya clung onto Ivan out of desperation and horror.
“We're going to die, we'll die.” he whispered. He'd become mama's little boy again, overwhelmed by the prospect of mortal danger.

Ivan stood there, frozen to the spot. There was little choice, he thought bitterly. Should he manage to escape here, he would surely face execution, a sure death. But then again, if he refused to act, he'd die anyway. There was no way out. It was death one way or another. There was no choice. His time was at an end. Secrecy held for no end.

“I'm about to break you free from here.” Ivan told Rya.
“You're …...you're a sorcerer.” his eyes were wide in shock. “You summoned those ...those....monsters.”
“It was not I.” Ivan said quietly so that only Rya could hear “That was him.” he gestured at the old man in resignation.
“But you're a mage.” Rya looked horrified “The practice of magic is punishable by death. You know how my father is. He will never let you go.”
“I know. But I have no choice. You are duty bound to tell your father what I am.” Ivan seemed to age before his gaze, “You must never see me again after today. I'll stay here to hold them off while you leave.”

He lifted his hands out into the air, fire spurting out from thin air. He directed them towards a group of corpses at the far corner. One of them gave a growl of surprise as the raging balls of death flew towards them, but was left with no time to react or avoid the blast. It jarred into them and ripped through the pack like a knife into butter, leaving burning brands in its wake.
“RUN!!” Ivan roared at Rya, which stood dumbstruck at the scene. “RUN WHILE YOU CAN!” as the last of the flame dissipated into the others.

Rya needed no further urging as he took to his heels, sprinting through the gap that Ivan had forced. Some hands stuck out, trying to grab hold of him, but Rya evaded them all. The agility he possessed was enhanced further by adrenalin, and none could restrain him as he ran through. As he went on, he called back.
“Save yourself!” he cried out after a short distance. It was grief, grief that consumed him now. He'd run off and left Ivan to fend for himself. What was he thinking? Why did he? He left him, one who he regarded as an second father, behind. He would be known as a coward, Rya thought mournfully, and rightfully so.

Ivan saw Rya go off to safety, and he breathed a sigh of relief. At least one was safe. The remaining corpses swarmed towards him, fuelled by rage at the sight of their dead brethren. Ivan would have liked to have flung another fireball at them, but they were too close. He pulled out the end of his bow. The end was nigh, he thought to himself. Weariness forgotten, he pushed back the limits his body imposed, and gave a bellow of unconstrained fury. With this war cry, he buried his knife into the first corpse that reached him. Its intestines fell out as the corpse looked down, but still, it didn't fall. They were animated with a purpose, and even the spilling of its guts didn't deter it from continuing on. Ivan wrenched the knife out of the corpse. He needed a club, or a mace of some sort to sever the head from its body. It was the only means of breaking it from a necromancers control.

He grabbed a log like stick that had fallen on the ground through the winter. It wasn't the best weapon, given the particular circumstances, but it would suffice. He lifted it with a grunt, and slashed it at another corpse like a sword. As the stick crashed into its head, he heard a strangled cry from the old man as the chain between master and slave was forcefully snapped. The stick continued in its circular arc, and as fast as lightning, Ivan turned its course for a downward slash with the combined might of both man and stick punching into two more heads. He would have liked to have taken a few more down with him, but too many had reached him, and as he attempted to make a another broad sweep, a dozen of them threw themselves upon him, pounding their fists against him. He heard a crack, followed by the icy pain on his chest, and knew that a rib was broken. His head was knocked form one end to the other, and then agonisingly smashed on the floor. As more piled themselves upon him, his arm flopped helplessly, and the warm embrace of the reaper was there to greet him.

[Thrawn]

I like it...it has meat attached to it's bones, which is the problem with other fan writing this forum has seen! Will be interested in seeing how it continues

[Captain_Wrathbow]

Glimmers of light bounced off the frozen pond, and as the last candles' were extinguished, dawn had came.

Shouldn't it be "dawn had come." ?

“If you weren't out village elder's son I'd turn you over and whip you with a birch rod.

Missing " at the end of the speech.

Just pointing out a couple I noticed, I don't claim to have caught them all though.

Very creative and fun-to-read writing, keep it up! (although too much swearing IMO)

Btw, did you know there's a forum member named Rya?

[CheeseLord]

Thanks for the positive feedback!!!

Captain Wraithbow: Hehe, it was the first name I saw off the wesnoth name generator for loyalists. I realised afterwards.
I've added a little, but it's starting to seem a bit too much like dragon age and the revenants in there what d'you all think??

[Captain_Wrathbow]

I'm amazed at the very descriptive and immersive nature of the story. Well done!

[CheeseLord]

Okay......I've finished part I out of 2 in here. Once again, comments are welcome. Enjoy!!!
I've decided to post it all at the start of the thread so it looks tidier

[CheeseLord]

The final part to this story

PART II: RETURN

CHAPTER V

Weldyn. The crown of all human realms. For the history books, it was a miasma of wonders. Everywhere represented the pinnacle of construction, and the royal palace was no less than a miraculous feat of engineering. From the gilded spires that looked over the entire city to the cobbled pave stones that shone in the light, it all served for a vision of perfection, the gateway to heaven. It was said that it was a place where the lame danced and the mute sang, and none would suffer from want of sustenance or poverty.

Whatever had been said of it, it was all a lie.

Every city in existence, regardless of size or beauty, was the same. Weldyn was no exception to this. Once you stripped away the layers of pomp and fanfare, once you finished gasping at the golden spires that seemed to touch the sky, it was little different from any other city. It was still dangerous to travel once the sun had set, for fear of footpads, and beggars lined the streets like a platoon of vagabonds, all asking and pleading for alms.

In the slums, a lone figure strode through the streets. The clock had struck one, and the streets were empty. A ghostly silence had descended upon the city, and the market stalls were empty. Only a lone, flickering lamp kept the street from plunging into darkness. Rape and murder were just as widespread here in the east, where both the lawful and lawless mingled freely. Filled with thugs and ruffians, the city guard had left the poorer reaches of Weldyn to its own devices. It was always recommended that you equip yourself with a solid axe before venturing into that area.

However, this particular traveller had seemly ignored all such precautions. He strode through the gloom purposefully, a man with a mission. The years had been harsh on him, and from the glow of the lamp, his face looked aged, wearied though long months of exhaustion and starvation. Despite his gnarled leg, he walked on with renewed determination. The man turned into an even smaller side street; it was desolated, and only his soft footsteps cut through the silence. As he picked his way through, a high-pitched squeak rang in the air - he seemed to have disturbed a nest of rats that scurried about beneath him, carrying warnings of the intruder.

With a sudden jolt, he stopped up short, glancing at his left. He had arrived at his destination. It certainly looked unpromising – it stank of trash and the overpowering smell of urine caused him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He knocked on the worn, wooden door that lay in front of him. Without pausing to wait for the door to be opened, he pushed the door. The door was unlocked, just as he had expected, and swung open on its rusty hinges with a creak. Inside lay a blanket of darkness, as black as night. He stepped through the entrance, and was greeted by a insidious scent of mildew. The house was deserted, and had been for a long time. At least, he thought so. He looked around, as though his eyes could penetrate through the darkness. His eyes darted around, seemingly looking for something.

“Good to see you here, arch-magister.” A low voice came out from behind him.
The man jumped back in alarm, then visibly relaxed as he saw who it was. A shadowy figure had emerged seemingly out of thin air, carrying a slim package with him. She was dressed in a brown, musty, apprentice robe.

“Were there any problems?” He asked the apprentice. “Are you sure nobody else has seen it?”
“Yes sir.” She replied, “It was an uneventful journey, and not a soul has laid its eyes upon this”
“Good.” The arch-magister thought for a moment “And make sure it stays that way. Carry this secret to your grave.”
“I will sir.” The apprentice bobbed down in an awkward curtsy, before loping out into the night. The stars were bright tonight, and the moon would guide her way, he thought.

He quickly unwrapped the package that the apprentice had brought, untying the thick rope that held it shut. It was bound tightly, and needed a brief struggle before pulling it apart. Inside lay a battered, weatherbeaten leather book. It looked ancient, and the front cover depicted a skeleton, writhing in agony. The Secrets of Life - By Zarek the Healer, it proudly declared in a caption that was emblazoned beneath the picture. This was the book, he thought to himself. He yearned, yet dreaded to open the book and finally look upon the contents within. There had only been a handful of copies in existence since Zarek, the man who thwarted death, and the father of necromancers wrote this, and even now, only the most senior of warlocks and magisters knew of its being. The book which he held had imbued him with a purpose, the sole object of his ambitions, dreams. Finally, after a period of time, he opened to the first page, and began to read:

Man has been mortal. Ever since the elven kin betrayed the creator's trust, we have always been prone to disease, famine, and events that mark the passing of men. Immortality has always been sought in order to ascend into a higher spiritual being, beyond the perils that endanger life. As we all sought the name..........

The night wore on, and under the moonlight, he read on, and snorted to himself at the thought of his name. His name was Rya.

CHAPTER VI

Three days and three nights had passed since he had first leafed through the book. It proved to be a fascinating read, and he was unable to stop himself from reading it in its entirety (as I hope this story is for you ), whether he was on horseback or on carriage. But however much he was enthralled with the contents, his mind was always on the task he had to finish. He felt every one of his years bear down upon him in its stifling oppression. It had been so long back, and despite the decades that had passed, the memory had not faded with time. He had been so confident, so emotional, such a fool. Ivan had sacrificed himself, but that day, Rya had been the coward. The one who ran, the one who led Ivan to his death.

Rya never saw his village again after that day. He'd left to flee, and fled into the western reaches where Elensfar lay. There he had become a lowly footpad, and dabbled in the grey sides of the law. It was there that he had begun his rise to significance, advancing from a footpad to a city council member in the space of only two years. Around then, a passing mage had seemingly by coincidence met him. Rya must have left a good impression, for he offered to make Rya his apprentice along with the rare privilege of calling the mystical Isle of Alduin, the abode of the ruling powers of the western fiefdoms, his home. Rya eagerly accepted, and he travelled by ship to study the magical arts. In Alduin, he worked to his utmost, rarely stopping for more menial comforts, and in barely half a decade, he finally rose from a lowly apprentice to become a Red-Mage, the first step on the ladder of influence. The success that he had seen in Elensfar had seemingly followed him to his new home, and so he rose quickly through the ranks, and thirty five years on, he held the prestigious position as a member of the highest caste any could aspire to reach.

While he was musing over his humble beginnings, the sun had started its long farewell. The skies dimmed into a dull red, and his horse gave a shy neigh as the edge of the forest came into view. Rya plunged into its depths fearlessly, and as the trees took him into its warm embrace, dusk began to fall.

The birds sang their final songs before falling into slumber, and the nearby lake was filled with the squawking of ducks as they sought shelter for the night. A nearby fox poked his nose out of his hole eagerly, restlessly waiting to begin his nightly hunt. Rya’s horse slowed down to a trot, and gave a soft whine at the howling of the wolves.
“Not far to go now.” Rya muttered comfortingly to the horse, patting it on the neck. It was surely near here. He could almost feel the raw fuse of power from here. Wasn’t far now, he thought to himself. Just a few more steps.

He suddenly burst out into a break in the forest. Looking around him, he knew he was in the right place. The gap in the trees, the marshy pond on his right, they were all the same. He felt a wave of dizziness as he gazed around. Apart from a few patches of growth, it was like he had never left. In front, the altar lay there, cold and uninviting, still with shards of glass from the destroyed vial. It seemed to have remained untouched. The altar still radiated an aura of seductive complacency. How easily he had been fooled before, he thought in woe. It was difficult to shake off the feeling of guilt, but he did so, pushing it back into his mind. He drew his long nurtured years of rage, the years of anger, to the forefront, feeding off them. Guilt was replaced by a destructive fury rolling through his mind, and revenge burned in his heart.

“Look what the cat’s dragged in.” A sneer of contempt came from behind. Without pausing to see who it was, Rya sprang round, replying with a volley of flames that threatened to annihilate anything that stood within its path. However, the figure looked unworried, and a casual flick of his hands absorbed the incoming wall of fire.
“Foolish child.” the smoke had finally evaporated, so one could clearly see at the figure. It was the same old man as the one four decades ago. He seemed to have aged little since their last encounter, and the purple cowl and robes still clung to his skin.
“I know who you are, you murderer.” Rya growled. “I have grown, and you’ll regret what you did to Ivan. You’re a necromancer.”
“Fancy dreams.” the necromancer scoffed at Rya “You are barely a novice at dabbling with 'witchcraft' when compared to I. I am Mal Sintar, Lord of Darkness, the Master of all Realms. What hope have you of defeating me?”

Rya seethed within, and if glares could destroy, the whole forest would have been a smouldering pile of ash by now. He was playing for time now – the Secrets of Life had revealed much, and he now knew the key to overcoming this necromancer.
“I defeated your plan long ago.” he replied through gritted teeth. “Your pathetic ploy to take me down failed miserably.”
“Miserably?” The necromancer held up his head, before bursting into raucous laughter, “I think not. Your foolish sorcerer companion tried to thwart my ambitions. He has paid for his impudence long ago. I have long given consideration to pursuing you to eliminate you once and for all, but here you come, like an obedient hound, to hand yourself over to me.” Eyes glinting with malice, he stepped up onto the altar.

It was too much for Rya to take. With a howl of vengeance, he shook with an uncontrollable howl of bloodlust, the force crackling in the air. He flung his hands into the air once again in fury, before the trees began to shake. Thunderclouds gathered in a circle above him, and as he bellowed out a curse, the very ground seemed to shake. With an unbelievable pounding of thunder, a clap of lightning hurled into the necromancer, toppling him from his altar, and another pelted against the ground. He gave a cry of shock, as blasts of electricity all hit him, searing his skin, burning into his bones. The rest of his cries were muffled by strings of magic, each empowered with the furious mind that guided them.

The storm finally petered out in a gasp, and Rya fell to the ground in exhaustion. He now felt drained in weariness, but it had worked. He was dead. He stared at the motionless figure lying on the floor, charred and burnt. He had won. Ivan was avenged.

It was all over. Rya finally groaned, and lowered his head. It was time to dig for Ivan’s bones. But first, he had one more act. He walked over to the charred body of the necromancer.

“Going somewhere?” Another voice suddenly came, icy cold in its tone. He looked back. His heart sank as he recognised who the voice belonged to, plunging into the icy waters of despair. He looked up again.

The necromancer was back. And he wasn’t the only one.

CHAPTER VII

He wasn’t remotely human anymore. The necromancer. He seemed to have stripped off all connections with humanity, and now, he was an abomination. A skeleton, with his skull drawn in a grin.

Even more alarming was the corpse at Mal Sintar’s side. It was Ivan.

Rya looked in horror. Ivan was clearly dead. His faced seemed even more lined, and his pale, flaccid skin hung down. His eyes also had the same lifeless expression that all undead wore.
“Ivan……” Rya was speechless.
“You thought you could have killed me?” He looked at Rya in glee. “You thought that a feeble storm of mortal devising could kill me?” This time, he bared his white teeth. “You’re a fool.” he spat in contempt.

This time, Rya had no energy left to throw back any retort. He painfully clambered onto his feet, drawing the dagger he carried the first time he ventured in. It was time to end this, to put a conclusion onto all of this. The weapon had gained enormous powers since, and it was the only weapon that could disrupt an immortal necromancer’s flow of energy. Rya grasped it tightly in his hand.

But the dagger vanished.

One moment, it was there, the next moment, Rya grasped at nothing but air. He looked around in alarm, looking around. Maybe he’d dropped it. He felt a rising tide of desperation threaten to engulf him. Without it, he was powerless against Mal Sintar. It would all have been for naught, and he would be just one more victim.

“Looking for this?” Mal Sintar leered as he held up a shining blade. It was the dagger. Another trick Mal Sintar had learnt, Rya thought bitterly. It was all over, and he was unable to resist the thread of magic that pulled him over. Mal Sintar twirled the dagger, and passed it to Ivan, which looked back with a face devoid of emotion. Rya looked at Ivan, glassy eyed, face full of shock.
“Kill him.” Mal Sintar commanded.
“No….” Rya gave a strangled cry, his face growing paler. “You….you can’t….”
Ivan shambled towards him, holding the dagger in both hands. Swaying, Rya was paralysed, unable to react.

Ivan’s corpse finally reached him, and they stood but inches away from each other, For the first time in decades, they stared at each other. From behind, Mal Sintar watched the spectacle. Ivan pulled his head up. Death waited, its jaws looming. The clearing was silent now. Today, his life would have been at an end. Today, he had failed in his attempt at vengeance. Today, began the first day of his eternal servitude.

Then suddenly, Ivan’s eyes flickered, and he brought his knife up.

And buried it into Mal Sintar’s heart.

A puckered scream of pain came from Mal Sintar, as the strands of arcane power spun their webs around him, draining him of the life force that sustained him. Rya could only stand there. Ivan had been loyal to the end, even now, he rammed the knife into Mal Sintar once again, before dropping it to the floor. Mal Sintar staggered, falling down to his knees. He was weakening, strength quickly fading. While he was on his knees, he managed to utter one single word.
“How?” he croaked.
“I was stronger than you thought.” Ivan spoke flatly, as he had not conversed since his death. His voice came out in a gravelly fashion. “You reanimated me. By doing so, the remnant of my power and mind was still intact. You never considered checking. You were too confident, just as Rya was all those years ago.” His voice faded as the life that flowed within him, kept him animated started to dissipate. “I took back what was rightfully mine.” He whispered.

The link broke as Mal Sintar gave one last groan, limbs spread out. He fell, and the skeleton seemed to fall apart as all trace of life disappeared. A mist came out of his body, a ghost of terror, and flew off. Ivan likewise fell, crumpling in a heap on his side. The altar was gone.

Rya was alone.

[Midnight_Carnival]

I didn't read this (working on that problem as we speak).

I just hate it when somebody's working on something and they don't want to double-post but nobody says anything after they post something so they get like "have they lost interest?" -and then they don't ever finish it.

-Ignore me if your story is finished, I will read it sometime .

...ok, I read some if it, but it is definately lacking something.... the rest.

[Frogger5]

great work But I've got some critique.

I'm simply not drawn to it. It's not keeping my eyes glued to the screen how it feels like it should. A reason for this might be because the story is extremely fast paced. I think it would be better if it slowed down a little. Explain important things with detail. You also might want to work on explaining the characters emotions, reactions, and feelings.

The characters don't appear to have much depth. Remember, they're people. They think what the way we think. And they think all the time like us. And they always have thoughts on everything that happens to them, and anything they notice around them.

Apart from that, this is looking good.

[CheeseLord]

Hi guys!! Sry for not replying earlier - busy few days. Anyway..

I definitely agree with you both that it's a little short. However, it has reached a conclusion, not a satisfactory conclusion, not a resolving conclusion, but still, it's the end.

I would have extended the descriptions, fattened the characters with more personality and stuff. The main problem was that this was intended as a thriller story for English, and even though it wasn't actually too long, it's already tripled the MAXIMUM recommended limit. I was forced to cut out a third part just for meeting the deadline , and now, I doubt that I have the patience to continue working on this.

Thanks for reading though, and hope you enjoyed it

[StandYourGround]

What really seemed the most rushed to me was how Rya went from hunter in the woods to arch-mage in hiding. That part seemed to be skipped.

[Jarkko]

You are very - uhm - descriptive in this writing... I don't even know the right word for it, but it's kinda like, that if you'd write about a chicken crossing the road, you could write it so, that the skies weep, the mountains tremble - in other words, you could make it sound magnificient... yeees, I shall refer to this piece, when I'm trying to play with words.

I won't gnaw you about shortness, I understand if you had a word limit and I truly hate those, too. It sticks to the relevant, the beginning is nice and the end is good, too. However I must gnaw upon a tiny inconsistency - Zarek's book is "Concept of Life"
...but hey - I just loved the excerpt from it. In fact it invoked an entire thought process in me.

All in all this is a nice piece of work. If you ever think, that you never finished this - Do finish this. IMHO a story has been concluded, when the author truly feels, that it's concluded - and it won't start bugging on the next day.

[Frogger5]

You have a word limit? God that sucks, I HATE word limits.