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Member
Join Date: Jan 2008
Location: bodmin.... bet you can't find it.
Gender: Male
Posts: 2
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Paladin Rising
this is a the first chapter of a fantasy story i've been working on for the past few months... i'm up to chapter 17 or so on my deviantart account but here i'm looking for some specific: is the opening too cheesy and should i drop it and start purely with the mock fight?
enjoy:
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Four centuries ago to the day, a world with three mighty empires unknowingly sentenced itself to destruction. An empire of machines, alchemy and iron discipline warred against another of noble knights and wizards while a third of elves and dwarves stood by as both nations attempted to destroy all their rivals.
In the bitter war between these ancient nations, the elves and dwarves retreated away from the world. The dwarves forsook the surface and burrowed deep into the earth where they remained. The elves of the forests, of the mountains and of the earth fled to and island in the centre of the largest of oceans.
And so, only man was left. The war tore their nations apart, sundering their once proud cities and their once honourable men. Soon enough, both sides became desperate for victory. And so they called for help.
The mechanical empire of the west used great mages to summon mighty demons to the field of battle, and the wizards of the east summoned angels with which to do battle.
Soon the energy of the war, the endless slaughter, gave the beings of the other world strength to break free of their masters and were turned loose on the world. Angel and demon alike turned on man and wreaked utter havoc. East and west united could do nothing.
But there was salvation. From the ruins of the middle empire, one remained… the spawn of a knight and a sorceress. At his command, a fleet of elder dragons rose to the skies and the dead themselves dug from their graves to rise in rebellion against the invaders.
At a cost, the world survived, but the wounds were deep and lasting. The middle empire had forever vanished and lesser kingdoms of man rose. One place never recovered and became a land ruled by the undead. However, once again man is looking to his boarders and war is once again on its way.
Such is his lifespan; man refuses to see history repeat.
“Get up.” his tutor ordered him, his voice aggressive as ever. He should have expected as much from the warden. The man was a head taller than him and much more experienced. The four foot length of blunt steel hung lazily in the warden’s hands.
Sean hauled himself up. The warden had been a veteran of countless skirmishes and two full-scale campaigns, hence why Sean’s father had entrusted him with the safety of their lands. He’d also entrusted Sean’s training as a knight to him. Sean wondered if he should have tried as a priest instead… they had it easy.
As Sean regained his balance the warden charged again, leading his shoulder. Sean had seen this tactic before, at the pinnacle of the charge, the warden would halt and send his sword arcing upwards with the remaining momentum. Normally it would throw an opponent off balance because he’d be expecting the full weight of the charge.
Sean stepped sideways and threw out his mock sword, aiming for the ribs of the grizzled veteran. The boy gasped as the man ducked and swung around in a full arc and smashed Sean’s legs out from under him.
“Most things you’ll come across in this world won’t have lived your lifestyle, lordling. Most things out in the wild, whether they be man, beast or monster, will fight with tenacity instead of training. To beat them you must use that and your training.” The old man almost spat.
Tenacity, eh? He thought to himself; he could do that well enough. He swiped up from stone floor, arcing his ‘sword’ for the man’s wrist. His blade, sure enough, passed through thin air, the old man having almost danced away.
“You’re going to be a knight… you’ll fight in armour,” he started as he began dodging every strike Sean launched. “Armour sacrifices speed… not all creatures think that’s a good idea.” The man laughed, slapping down hard on the top of Sean’s shoulder with his steel.
Sean went down under the force. The old man was far too strong for his age. Sean rolled out from under the man’s feet and punched him on the side of the shin. The man smiled at him and kicked him in the face.
“You’re starting on the tenacity already?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t have any armour.” Sean told him with a smile, rolling further away so he could get up. The old man pressed him hard, so he swept around with his mock blade and the man dodged back. Sean leapt upwards, eager to regain his footing.
Sean waited, waited for the warden to make the first move. Every time Sean had tried to make the first move he’d been beaten back savagely. Maybe the old man would give him an opening. He watched and waited, his breath coming out in gasps through pain and fatigue.
The old man’s frail frame surged forwards, his blade above his head pointed down towards Sean. As the old man closed range the blade hissed forwards. Sean slapped it aside with his gauntlets. True enough; had the blade been sharp it would have left him without a few fingers but if this were for real it would be thick steel and not leather.
The old man laughed and continued advancing, pressing Sean back. Sean knew this was exactly what he wanted; an enemy with his back to the wall had no where to run. If he got trapped he’d have to block everything or lose.
So, instead, he pushed forwards. He smashed his blade up into his opponent’s and held it there, supporting its end by placing his hand on the flat. He darted forwards, his blade screeching down the other. His sword smashed into the warden’s hilt and he spun, delivering a punishing strike to the man’s ribs with his elbow.
The warden wheezed as he staggered back from the blow. Sean followed up and pressed the winded warden with everything he had. Strike after strike was blocked but the warden was struggling to breathe while keeping up his defences. Sean smashed down on the sword and the impact threw the warden to the floor.
Sean rushed up and placed his steel on the man’s throat. Sean smiled. The old man didn’t.
“Good, but not good enough.” His mentor said, prodding up into Sean’s ribs with his blunt sword. “There are many enemies in the world, but only one you. Then, while you’re enemy would be dead, so would you. That means all of this would have been a waste of time.” The man said, with a level seriousness that stunned the boy.
Sean didn’t know it, but the warden had seen many friends die from similar situations, exalted by the kill they let their guard down: The last mistake of a warrior. The old man pushed himself up and moved to the drink cabinet and pulled out a water skin.
Sean caught one as the old man tossed it to him. He unstoppered it and drank heavily from it. They’d been training for the better part of two hours, using mock swords, maces and various other implements of knightly destruction. It was part of his daily training. Two hours with the warden learning how to fight, and hour with his father learning mathematics and economics and other ‘exciting’ matters of state. Then an hour or two with the keep’s priest learning alchemy and magic.
He didn’t like magic; mainly because he wasn’t any good at it. It took him a lot of effort to heal small cuts and many other things were beyond him utterly. He’d seen Dorn the priest use a beam of light to cut a vase in half and summon a mighty divine hammer. Sean couldn’t aspire to that in his wildest dreams.
“Valen’s coming back tomorrow.” The old warden said. Sean looked up, wide-eyed and then lowered his gaze, nodding. Valen, that name conjured so many memories in his mind.
Valen the bard, Valen the illusionist, the Magician, the Sorcerer, the Story-teller. He had so man titles, and as many names to match; but to everyone here he was Valen. No one knew exactly where he came from, but he was well trusted here. It was here he called his home, even if he was out in search of new tales all the time. Only Dorn didn’t like him, mainly because of Valen’s talent for summoning unnatural creatures.
“I wonder what he’s been up to the past few years.” Sean mused out loud.
“In the sixteen years you’ve been alive, he’s been here about as many months. Why are you always so excited to see him?” the old man asked him. Sean smiled, it wasn’t so much the time and more how it was spent. Valen told him about what was happening in the world, things his father’s aides wouldn’t know or tell.
Valen had also showed him some entertaining tricks and told him wild tales as a child, teaching him honour through ballad. He’d also taught him how to sneak and steal, passing its dishonour and wisdom. Sean’s smile widened into a truly mischievous grin. That man had much wisdom… more than all the sages of the world.
‘True magic doesn’t come from spells or enchantments. You’ve seen all my tricks and how they work… how many do you think are drawn from mystic power?’ he’d said to Sean once. That had stuck with him. Aside from summoning, Valen’s magic came from what people didn’t notice or refused to see.
Hence the art of thievery.
“What of the world, my old friend?” Aherin asked the shabby looking man before him. The ragged form looked up to the lord with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, it’s still about” he said with amusement dripping from his voice and mischief glowing from his teeth. The lord, too, smiled at the joke. The same conversation was had each and every time he came back from his long journeys. “The west empire is restless again. They’re mobilising to invade the smaller countries on its boarder. Save Dremire, of course.” He told the noble.
“The Vandires would be insane to try and conquer that place: Anyone would be.” Ahern shuddered at his memories of his journey to that place; he’d vowed never to go there again.
“It would take someone with a heart of steel and a brain of stone to try and take a country where the land and the dead would fight you every step of the way.” The traveller said with a sagely nod. “But the west moving is not a good thing… especially for anyone caught in between them and the east: Especially for us.” Valen told him.
“We’re too far north…” Aherin said, hoping his friend wasn’t about to crush his sense of security.
“You know the Vandire dynasty as well as I do. They’re power hungry. I think they may be gathering power to strike at east kingdom. They won’t see it coming, their knights aren’t like ours, and they see nothing but monsters and men. They are blind.” He said distastefully.
“What of their wizards and the queen’s court? Will they not raise their voices?” Aherin asked.
“The king of late is weak. He won’t move unless his nobles tell him to… which they won’t. That’s why the Vandires are moving now. On open ground no force can match the east empire. Not even the cannons of the west can bypass their magic. But if they don’t mobilise in time nothing will save them from those guns.” Valen said dismally.
A long silence fell over the two. The west was a mighty empire whose trained regiments and great cannons were difficult to match. Small nations, like Iremark in which Aherin’s duchy resided, would fall like wheat before a scythe.
“What about the other nations?” Aherin asked the ragged bard. “Everyone else caught in between?”
“Those on the west’s boarders are siding with them… I already know that from the Aldans.” Valen told him with grin. It wasn’t good news, but if the Aldans were helping them they still had hope. Aldan was a nation of spies and assassins and the richest of the smaller kingdoms. They were on Iremark’s southern boarder and stretched down to the red sands, nearly a thousand miles south. “In total, five nations have joined the west… the east has two ally nations, Sanguine and Bosmark. That leaves four of the neutral nations, including Iremark.”
“Nothing compared to the west then…” Aherin sighed mournfully. “I guess the elves and dwarves are out of the question?”
“I’m afraid so… the elves will not leave their island unless the old one calls them and the dwarves have a trade agreement with the west. Aside from humans, we could only hope for either demons, angels, dragons or the undead as allies.” Valen said seriously.
“To use any of them is out of the question… the demons are as much of a threat as the west is, angels and dragons care little for men; and the undead? No man in his right mind would fight alongside them.” Aherin thought aloud.
“Yet they are all we have…” Valen said, levelling his gaze at the desperate lord.
“Sean! Sean!” the voice echoed across the courtyard. He looked down from his tree perch. His cracked a soft smile reluctantly at the blonde girl ran across the grass lawns. He sighed and slumped back into his reverie. “Sean? I was wondering if you wanted to come to the riverside with me?” she said pleadingly.
“Sorry Abigail… I’m waiting for someone.” He said in a lazy voice.
“Oh? A new lady for the lord? She mocked him from the ground.
“I don’t quite count Valen as a lady Abigail…” he said slowly, fixing her with a flat stare from his amber-brown eyes. Her blue gaze widened; he chuckled. He loved taunting her. She also looked pretty when she was shocked or awed; it complimented her rounded face well.
He’d long looked to Abigail as a friend, someone who would cheer him when the pressure of being a lord’s son caught up with him, when he truly believed he failed to meet his father’s standards. But lately he had begun looking at her as more then that.
Both of their head snapped around to regard the open iron framed doors.
“Valen!” he called in delight, swinging down from his tree and sprinting to the ragged man. He was just as homeless looking as usual, mismatched boots, patched cloak and all the other trappings of a vagabond. The old traveller smiled and embraced him warmly.
“You’re taller than I remember lad… becoming more like your grandfather.” The man smiled at him, his tanned and worn face full of contentment. Like a wave of pleasant nostalgia had just washed over him. “I hope your training is going well?”
“I’ll be a knight soon enough…” he said in a quiet determined voice.
“I’m sure you will. Speaking of which, I’ve talked to your father and we agree the best way to learn is to experience it first hand, so you’ll be coming with me when I leave tomorrow.” He said with a twinkle in his eye. Sean took a moment to let it sink in… he’d never been further than the boarders of Iremark; Valen’s treks took him all over the world.
“I-I’ll be going with you?” he asked, sure Valen was mistaken or that he’d misheard. Then the rest of the sentence hit him. “You’re leaving so soon? You’ve just arrived!” he exclaimed, shock evident in his voice.
“Yes, yes I’m leaving and you’ll be accompanying. The best way to forge a blade is in the fire, as they say,” he wisely told the younger boy with an exasperated sigh. “You young ones are always so excitable these days…” he added.
Sean let his gaze wonder around the almost radiant garden, his thoughts awed. Travelling with Valen had been something he’d dreamed of, to be the knightly hero in the tales. Then his eyes caught Abigail, he’d be leaving her behind. Somehow even that didn’t douse his enthusiasm.
“Just remember,” the man said quietly, “you’re no hero, not yet.” He said with a wink and a smile. The oddly garbed bard began to walk away, whistling happily.
“Yet,” Sean said with an almost feral grin.
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