The Wake of Rage [Fan-Fic] (Chap. 3)

[Grimward]

--The Wake of Rage: Prelude--

The night was still, as the torches cast their burning gazes over the city walls, ready to betray any sign of

approaching movement. The sentries patrolled the walls with their usual diligence, while anticipating the time they would be relieved of duty . This night seemed unpretentious to the city, for although the evil lay well out of sight, it was all to present.

The first sign of trouble came as a poor man making his way slowly, with an uncommon limp, towards the city. As

the figure stepped into the light cast by the protective torches the guards were swift to spot him.

“Who goes there?” Hailed Lodin, the first sentry, as the man approached audible distance. Silence greeted the question. The young guard looked uneased by the silence, the awkwardness born of being snubbed a reply, as the man edged closer. ‘Damned old men” he though to himself, preparing to addressee the stranger anew.

“I’ll do the talking, soldier.” The Captain, a man of obnoxious behaviour, cut off.

“A guard has to demand authority in his voce if he is to be taken seriously.” The Captain took a step forward, leaning against the crenulations of the stone wall.

“Hurlber, Captain of the Hyruax city guard demands to know---” The man stopped his sentence abruptly. Lodin shifted his gaze to his captain, perplexed to know why the man had so quickly ended his words, so quickly ended the joy he took of commanding authority. It took a second to realise what exactly he was staring at. The gurgling sound was the first thing to bring him to realisation.

An instantaneous flood of adrenaline shot into his veins as he swirled back towards the incoming stranger,

sword at hand. The captain had an arrow piercing through his mouth, proudly displaying it’s tainted red tip protruding from the back of the man’s throat. Lodin could see the advancing figure more clearly now, what had seemed like an old limping man could be seen as the lump of rotting flesh that it was, a walking corpse. The horrific truth sunk in all to deep as more figures, several more figures, could bee seen entering the welcoming reaches of the town’s torches. The undead were at Hyruax.

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Excuse me if I have any mistakes, English is not my first language. I welcome critique of my work, I was

inspired by a story I read in these forums, I decided to write my own. I plan to continue on if people find it mildly interesting . This is merely the prelude, the foundation upon which my story is be played out. I am aware that I have very little characterisation done. I have only the groundwork of the concept.

-Grim



EDIT:

Chapter 1: -Chaos-
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“DOWN!!!” A voice yelled.

Lodin had little enough time to duck, let alone see the guard who had yelled it, before a scattered volley of arrows

flew from the darkness beyond the walls. Next came a sound all to familiar to the guards on the wall, as their minds realised what it was their faces sprung into paintings of horror.

At first a screech, then followed by the groaning of large metallic gears turning. The gates of the city were being

opened. ‘What in the creator’s bloody arse is going on!’ the though flooded Lodin as he hurried towards the inward facing edge of the wall. Attempting to glance at the madness of the person opening the gates. The booth, which controlled the mechanism, was located on the ground, next to the gate itself. Where a guard should have been standing staunch, only lifeless feet protruded from the door of the small chamber.

Suddenly, Lodin’s head exploded in a roar of pain, his vision blurred and his senses screamed in agony. The poor

guard had not yet realised that an arrow had felicitously glanced off his helmet, before his foot lost its footing. Perhaps if the mind would not have been hampered by the trauma of the shock, reflexes might have kicked in to avoid the disaster. Alas, misfortune smiled again as Lodin fell from the wall, his grip lost on his sword as it followed it’s own deranged path to the ground. The man was met with a deafening thud, and an equal amount of pain, as his left shoulder hammered the ground. His vision blurred some more.

Screams, cries of pain and horror, the clashing of weapons, the falling of bodies, the rising of bodies and the sound

of flesh and bone meeting deadly force haunted the night. The city was breached. Corpses, some long decayed, some nearly fresh, lunged themselves at every moving essence of life. The guards waged a courageous and surprisingly efficient effort to defend the town from these beasts of flesh. However, it was not long before the skeletal remains of what were once soldiers changed the tides, adding not only to the horror, but also the chaos within the city. The night itself wept in agony as a soft tears of rain began to drop.

Several minutes went by before Lodin regained his senses. The clamorous chaos surely helped to awaken the

shaken guard. Lodin began to rise then threw himself to the floor once more, narrowly escaping the thunderous sweep of an axe. As his eyes gazed towards his would-be reaper, he was met with a terrifying figure of bone and rusted armour, nearly as intimidating as the giant axe the figure brandished. Lodin reached for his sword. His scabbard was empty.

Realisation that he had dropped his sword returned as he dodged another deadly swipe. This last effort sent him

reeling backwards, stopped only by the faithful wall of solid stone that had so poorly defended the town. His assailant pressed forward, with an ironic undying vigour to end a life. A cornered creature, Lodin reached for a means to defend himself, anything, blunt or sharp to act as a weapon. His hand was quick to find a sturdy grip of wood hung to the wall. Without thought or hesitation Lodin flung his new-found weapon towards his attacker. Surprise struck both, as the skeletal warrior erupted in a fit of flames and Lodin realised he was staunchly clutching a torch. ‘Fire’ Was the only though that danced in his mind.

“Back! Fall back! Towards the mage’s tower!! Regroup!” A guard began the cry and as contagious as a plague the cry was sung by all the guards who heard it. Lodin obediently began to retreat towards the mages tower, adding his voice to the echoes of hope.

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I felt like writing some more, so here is the first chapter. I saw that several people viewed my short prelude, but none replied. Feel free to leave feedback, if it was like/disliked. Any comment is welcome, perhaps my concept does not interest anyone? Feel free to share your thoughts with me. Feedback, as I said, would be greatly apreicated.

-Grim

[ParadiseCity]

I'm not much for writing, or critiquing writing, but I enjoyed the story. It seems to me that you occasionally stray from your predominant style of writing, but it does not take away from the work that much. Keep it up, I can't wait to meet the mage .

[Grimward]

Glad to see at least one person is interested in my story Here is the second chapter. Without wanting to give to much away, there is a method to my madness. Do not be surprised if some, or a certain, character behaves unexpectadly. Perhaps there is more than meets the eye?

Also, this is the first chapter with a reference that builds on one of the other tales of these forums. A leitmotif that I will faithfully pursue. I was amazed and entrhalled by the other texts I read in these forums, the pinacle of which so far is 'The White Lich' -Jarkko. My tale is built upon this one and another as the background of my story. If anyone is planning on following my story the I recomend you have read the other fan-fiction on these forums. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the second chapter of my little epic. Tell me if you find anything lacking, I get the feeling something is a little off with this chapter :S Enjoy

-Chapter 2: The Currents of Fate -

A small glimmer of fate shone on Lodin as he was able to reach the wizard’s tower with a relative unevent-fullness.

The tower lay in the north part of town, which was separated roughly in half by a calm river. The northern half of the town housed the military and administrative districts, along with the mages tower and a select few habitations. It was, as one would say, the upper class of the town where those of political standing resided. The lower half was were the bulk of the population took up residence and the minority of the wealth was distributed. The outbreak of the monstrous dead was, with tasteless luck, only in the northern section, for the moment. The guards were rallying by the wizards tower, that flanked the only bridge that lead to the south side of the river.

“Protect the bridge!” Bellowed one of the elder guards, in an attempt to reorganized the leaderless troops.

Lodin took little notice of the handful of men that scrambled around, forming into a crude formation of

terrified soldiers. His attention was drawn to the tower, the calmness of it all. Although the whole disaster had been ongoing for little more than a quarter hour, the noise and chaos was gargantuan in proportion. ‘Why had the mage done nothing?’ A thought he intended to answer.

The curios soldier approached the tower, holding his torch as if it were a blade of immense power. Sweat beaded

down his tired face. In all truthfulness this was the most action he, or the majority of the other guards for that matter, had ever experienced. It was one thing to don the garbs of a guard and to scare the scoundrels and thieves, but to actually fight trained fighters, let alone ones who had already faced the worst of battle, was an other feat in it’s entirety. As Lodin neared the door his nerves began to make their presence known. His unease was beginning to take the better of him, thoughts of turning back slowly began to formulate in his mind. A mage was a powerful entity, especially one that had been groomed by the Arch-magister himself. Only a few feet to the door now, he told himself, we’re there, we’re nearly there.

Then as if in anticipation of his arrival, the door flew open in a most unrefined manner.

“Come in.” Hissed a voice, yet with such charisma that Lodin could not help but obey. He rushed in, and the door, as if on cue, shut behind him.

Although Lodin might have never actually seen what a mage’s tower was suppose to look like, this one disappointed

him. A simple rug ordained the floor, several overflowing bookcases lined the walls, giving way only to a crevice that lead to the staircase whilea large wooden table commanded the center of the room. It was at this table that the mage worked, not sitting, but dutifully upright and deep in thought or chant, Lodin did not know, much less dare ask.

The women in question, for she was indeed a women, one kindly touched by mild age, took a moment to finish

whatever task had commandeered her attention. In this moment the door had opened and closed again, twice, exactly as had happened to Lodin, and now two more guards stood by his side, awaiting whatever words the mage would speak upon them. With a final word towards an object on the table the mage seemed to be hit by a considerable wave of fatigue. Her body seemed so sag before making a haste recovery into it’s dangerously sophisticated posture. Surely she had finished some kind of incantation. She picked up the object she had been so keenly focused on, it was a leather bound box ordained by the seal of the crown. Holding this package in her hands, she examined her three visitors.

“This” She motioned the box “Is a message that you three with deliver, in person, to the Arch-magister.” She began.

“My lady, outside the und--” A guard began, but silence quickly overtook him. To be honest his companions did not know if it was the murderous look of the mage or indeed a spell that had silenced their comrade, but not one dared find out.

“To the Arch-magister himself” repeated the mage as if she hadn’t even been interrupted “Not to a representative, not to a subordinate, not even to the king himself. It is of utmost importance that this be delivered, with haste, silence and diligence to the Arch-magister. I trust I am thoroughly understood?”

“With respect, my lady..” Lodin ventured, bested by his childish curiosity. “What deed demands secrecy from the king himself? What are you asking us to carry exactly?”

“Now that” She began, pausing for a chuckle in retrospect “is a secret I must take with me to the grave. Now make haste, I have several enchantments in place that will dissuade any tampering. A handsome reward will await you with the Arch-Magister, but remember, no-one, not a soul, but Arch-magister Rya must receive this.” Lodin uneasily accepted the package as it was shoved into his hands. As the mage rid herself of it, one could almost spot relief in her eyes, as if a burden was being taken off her shoulders.

Before a single one of the guards could protest the task the mage was already passing them, the tower opening

it’s jaw to let them all out. The mage seemed to, only now, come to terms with whatwas actually happening outside. Her face etched with guilt as she joined the disastrous struggle the broken guards fought. The minuscule amount of time that had gone by as the mage and her guests conversed in the tower had seen the battlefield change dramatically. The guards were scattered, fighting individual struggles against any passing undead. In truth it was almost a valiant sight to see that even a handful of guards remained alive, much less that they had not fled.

The three companions reacted with haste. It was agreed upon to meet at the southern gate, the

northern gate would prove an impossible road to take, since the entire northern half seemed like a playground of the dead now. The first guard, Muse, an old friend of Lodin’s left to fetch the horses as the two remaining men began for the south gate. The men were almost grateful to have an excuse to leave the carnage, as if their honour was being retained because they had a purpose that demanded they not fight.

It was halfway across the small bridge that connected the two halves of the village that the harsh

reality of the event clawed its way back into the men. If the chaos they had witness back there had been like watching a brother die, what they now saw was the equivalent of watching one’s entire family tree being burnt alive. The southern side had in fact not been spared an attack from the hordes of death, it had only been spared the multitude of guards who fought to defend it. From what they could see, foul creatures of bone danced the unguarded streets of the urban sector, hunting down the screaming survivors like game. The men stood horrified, unaware of the sound of bone thumping its way towards them from behind.

A deafening crack was what awoke Lodin from his state of trance. Beside him his comrade doubled over onto the

floor, a small trickle of blood decorated his skull. His reaction was just fast enough to witness a femur smash into his right shoulder, sending him flailing onto the railings of the wooden bridge. A skeletal figure, gripping a femur that obviously did not belong to him, advanced menacingly towards the shaken guard. It all seemed surreal except for the pain, it proved real enough. Instincts kicked in as Lodin lowered his knees into a striking position and lunged out with his torch. Surprise came hard as his blow was gracelessly deviated by the creature, a counter came immediately after as a femur cracked hard onto his back. Unable to resist the momentum of the blow, he collapse to the floor with a pained grunt. A nimble roll allowed the fear driven soldier to avoid a second harsh strike that thudded where his skull had been.

The lone guard pushed himself back up with haste, realising he had dropped his torch. The soft rain

was still softly pelting down on the village, to weak to dwindle the torch’s fire, but strong enough to moisten the bridge, preventing the old wooden planks from catching alight. The skeleton drove his gripped femur aggressively towards Lodin, who barely evaded the blow. He was now, once again, with his back to a wall, in this case a railing. The figure pressed on, preparing for another strike of bone on flesh. Lodin, in desperation, flung a wild fist that smashed into his adversary’s cheekbone. The skull cracked slightly sideways, making the skeleton appear as if he was staring slightly to the right, but did little else. A moment later the defenceless guard was struck again, hard, as the femur drove into his abdominals, a loud crack echoed, followed by a soft moan as the mans breath escaped him. The blow had come fast with the force of an ox and the impact sent Lodin forcefully backwards, pushing the weight of his upper body over the railing. The man soon found himself escaping his oppressor, but falling back first off the bridge.

The fall was swift, his momentum graced by the blow he had received. A small spray of water welcomed the man as

he penetrated the water’s surface. The river was quick to grab Lodin, dragging him downwards before the current took it’s toll. Lodin’s mind began to waver as his strength became fleeting. A soothing darkness began to swallow Lodin’s mind as his body grazed unconsciousness. The waters, relentless in their quest, carried the helpless body further downstream.

A hopelessness induced by Lodin’s pained state and the merciless waters that dragged him emerged. If given the

chance, the waters would have dragged the body until it was a mere corpse, drugging an aimless journey past the eastern forest, into the capricious mountains of the dwarves and down the falls that had claimed so many. Yet fate robbed the river of it’s greedy desire as the body drifted shore-wards, allowing the near unconscious man to exhaust the last remnants of his strength as he dragged himself onto a stone-made riverside.

The man had pulled himself onto the side of the water-gate that disallowed invaders from using the river as a

means to penetrate the walls. As luck would have it, the device had befuddled the determined current and allowed the strength of man to prevail. It was inside the narrow stone tunnel, of which two pathways flanked, that Lodin pillaged every breath of air his lungs would allow. Wheezing, gasping, coughing; the man fought to stay awake, his vision nearly blurring from exhaustion. Suddenly a clear set of footsteps began to walk towards him. Still lying on his back Lodin was able to slide his head around, getting view of two feet clad of leather striders making their way confidently towards him. As relieved as he was to see human feet, his relief vanish with the scraping a dagger parting from it’s sheath.

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[Jarkko]

Your story is interesting. It concentrates on small, detailed events, so that while I'm reading it, I can actually see what happens. It's good. However, it might be a good choice to decrease the gore a bit in the future - just for the sake of the little people and their possibly over-protective guardians.

I definitely urge you to go on and write more.

[Grimward]

Glad to see a second comment, it is much appreciated. I was unaware it was gory, perhaps I should hold back on some

detail in the fights. I am accustomed to Bernard Cornwell, where description is bountiful of the pain and fight, yet I understand what you mean, this is a public forums.

You grace me with your comment, I am truly thankful for some critique, and humbled that you enjoy. My enthusiasm is

refuelled.

--Chapter 3: Gifts That Bind--

“Help me…” Croaked Lodin, his lungs still struggling to regain the breath the waters had stolen.

As he spoke the newcomer seemed to give pause, as if realisation that what had washed up was living and not dead had

sunk in.

“Help…” He repeated, his hands slowly covering his ribs, as if touch alone would sooth the pain.

“I do enjoy a good beg” Came a warm charismatic voice, softly inviting yet powerful. Lodin couldn’t muster up the energy to reply or to gaze upon this newcomer. Exhaustion, pain and weariness overtook him. The world around him darkened until there was nothing but a shadowed void of nothingness.

His eyes thundered open. Nothingness. Confusion first greeting the lone guard as he examined his surroundings, baffled by

the entirety of the black sea around him. However, his perplexity did not arise merely out of the surroundings, far from it. Confusion ran wild within Lodin because he felt good, real good. In fact, he had never felt so strong, so fast , so vigorous, so...… capable It was almost as if he felt infused with power, his senses heightened and his skills sharpened. Then, he felt a warmth.

Indeed, it was a warmth that had been there since his awakening, but only now his senses recovered from astonishment

and awareness sunk in. His hand reached under his chest-bound armour, attempting to locate exactly where this queer feeling came from. He found, tucked under his armour a leather bound box, he dragged it out. It was, uncannily enough, the box the mage and conferred to him. Furthermore, he felt raw energy seeping into his hands, drinking in his skin until it’s power soaked every inch of his flesh. “Perhaps” His thought began, “The mage blessed us with more help then we had thought.”

A strange white spec appeared in the distance, a mere dot in the horizon of the black realm. Then, without warning, the

dot erupted in an explosion of bright white light as the world flooded back into Lodin’s eyes. Surprised, he took in his surroundings. A cave, damp and dark. “Could it be?” He dared think, “Have I? Am I?” A quick panicked glance of his weary body confirmed he was in fact still fully human, and alive. A sigh of relief. More relaxed, he now observed his surroundings a second time.

The cave was fairly small, perhaps the size of a bedroom. Large enough to be able to roam about, but too small to fit more

than a bed and a desk. From the sides of the cave, one could see a small glimmer that betrayed a dampness, with a periodic drip from the rough ceiling. In one end of he small room was a small sack nearly bursting of bright coin, nearly a years wages Lodin remarked. Beside the sack, piled unceremonially, lay an assortment of rather unfitting objects, clearly not all belonging to the same owner.

"My guest awakens?” came a familiar voice.

A swift turn of the head revealed the man who stood on the opposite side of the room. The same man whom he had heard

after crawling out of the water.

“Ah yes, silence. Such a pleasant addition to a conversation” Jested the man, a playful smile painted on his face.

“Apologies, many thanks, stranger.” Ventured the suspicious guard. “Perhaps you would enlighten me the past event?”

“Zephyr, my good man. Your saviour! Welcome, oh honoured guest, to my humble home. My cozy one room domain is yours to enjoy, it has seen it fit to accommodate your recovery.” The tone was exaggerated, yet nonetheless friendly and without an ounce of negativity.

A small conversation followed suit, questions lead to answers and confusion lead to enlightenment. As strong as

Lodin might try to remain suspicious of the individual, the man’s untameable charisma bested him. He quickly found himself liking, even trusting, this man.

“Thieving is a harsh word” Zephyr Protested kindly “I don’t steal, I merely….. help wares find new owners.”

Lodin couldn’t help but award a small laugh for the comment. In reality, there wasn’t much he could do against the man.

What good would apprehending the man bring? From what he had learned the slaughter of the town had been merciless, if anyone remained they were in hiding, much like they were.

“Business must be good then” he gestured towards the pile of goods.

“I do what I can!” replied the footpad, enthusiastic about the very subject. “Those poor objects weep for an owner, I only do their bidding! In fact…” he pilfered through his pile, finding a dulled sword resting on the bottom.

“With the harshness of the past events a good man like myself could always use the services of a well trained guard” offered Zephyr in an inviting tone, offering him the pommel of the weapon.

“I’ll admit, I do owe you a favour” Lodin said, inoffensively, reaching for the sword. However. before his hand could wrap around the hilt it was snatched away.

“Yes, yes you do.” Both men’s gaze locked each other, as Lodin was handed the weapon.

“In fact…” Added Zephyr, as if his words had already all been picked out. With another one of his grins; “…I might have just the task.”

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