Fanfic Fanfare!

Fan art, illustrations, poetry, music, photography, and more.

Unread postby CaTigeReptile » Tue May 08, 2007 11:05 am

Hee hee, thank you! That means that now three people besides myself have read it!

Edit: Hey, I have changed the story quite a bit. It was inaccurate in parts. I haven't updated it here, but I will later. Just saying that I know it took place in 203 and not 209, etc.
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Re: Old Wars of Enroth

Unread postby Dong Zhou » Fri Feb 27, 2009 5:37 pm

Author's Note: Based on the Heroes of Might and Magic Universe, created by New World Computing, then 3DO and now Ubisoft. Credit for the universe in which the game is set, the game and many of the characters go to them, the only thing I own are the made up characters. Italics for this chapter means it goes off into the past, in future chapters it will mean the story has briefly gone back to the present day. Just wanted to see if this would interest anybody


Chapter 1: Remembering Years Back


It was not a pleasant summer’s afternoon in Enroth, what had promised to be a bright day had turned into one of perpetual rain and mud. The clouds made the day seem dark and miserable while anyone forced outside for a minute would be soaked to the skin. The capital took its name from its castle which had, in turn, been named in a fit of ego by its master, Morglin Ironfist. On a good day the King could look out from the highest turret, over the purple roof of the Mages Guild and see everything around him for hundreds of miles. The knights in their jousts near the scenic mountains, the archers returning from their hunts in the forest, blacksmiths preparing tools for their many clients, the markets and taverns as they slowly filled, the little cottages of the peasants and far off, the docks were ships came and went with items to trade.

Today Morglin was sitting by a fire, enjoying the precious heat in his private quarters. Once a stranger to the land, with a small and ragtag army, he was now sole ruler of the continent. His proud moustache was showing hints of grey and his short hair seemed to be getting even shorter of late, his face was still tanned from a warmer climate. His strong body which was more suited to armour then it was a court robe was dressed in a plain tunic and trousers. Here he was now drinking a cup of warm wine with a nasty scar on his left arm a constant reminder of days gone by. The King glanced at the companions in his room, there was his Queen Isolade with long brown hair flowing over her shoulders, the tanned lady had also taken to wearing a simple tunic and trousers, a content smile on her face as she watched the children play. Morcades Lamanda had a yellow cloak wrapped round her body to keep out the cold, blue pearls around the neck as always, her raven black hair kept short, her eyes towards her sleeping husband, the court mage. Teer Estela was the only one still wearing robes, blue with silvery symbols to awe the gullible, he looked tired and pale, his hands gloved in purple, his once blond hair had turned grey long ago and his shaggy beard had reached his waist.

The only noise, other than the crackling of the fire, was the four children whispering, two Ironfists and two Estelas. The eldest was Roland, wearing a light blue shirt, the beginnings of a brown moustache appearing as Roland approached his twentieth birthday, Morglin was delighted that the child had got the kindness of Isolade but feared that he lacked the wit needed to rule securely. The second child was Archibald, black-haired and already developing a thick moustache like his father, wearing a black shirt with gold flames around the shoulders and waist. Archibald was arrogant but cunning, if there was trouble Morglin tended to suspect Archibald was behind it. The two kids of Teer and Morcades were younger then the Princes, the eldest was Arthur, short blond hair, wearing a white shirt with black trousers; it was well known Arthur had eyes on joining the church from where he hoped to do good deeds but for now he was a close companion to Roland, acting as his moral compass. The youngest was the only girl; Teer was devoted to his little Lyonet but Morglin suspected it had made the black-haired child spoilt, she was wearing green and seemed to be hanging onto Archibald’s every word. Morglin was about to leave his chair when he saw a glint in Lyonet’s eye and froze, she only had that glint when trouble was about to happen.

Suddenly the four children moved as one towards the King, bowing and with eyes cast to the floor. It was Archibald who spoke first, his voice carrying the cultured accent of his distant relative Lord Kilburn. “Father, whenever we have asked for you to tell us how you came to rule Enroth, you always tells us our teachers will inform us or that you are too busy. Our tutors will not tell us but the basics and since there is nothing pressing to occupy your time now, why not educate us?” Roland joined in, his deep voice pleading “Worthy father, I am nearly of age and wish to follow your good example but how can I when you keep such a large part of your life hidden from us?”

The King was silent as he glanced at Teer, the wizard was suddenly wide awake and looking amused but soon the wizard found Lyonet on his lap. Using her little princess voice, she batted her eyelashes “Daddy, you promised you would tell us one day but you’re always putting it off with some excuse. Now why not tell me what a hero you are?” Arthur knelt before Teer, his voice serious but uncertain. “You always told us the importance of knowing our past so we can learn from mistakes and victories. We know of the victories of the lords in ages past and their failure to unite the land but you won’t tell us where the Ironfist clan came from other then a long way away.”

The two men turned to their wives, hoping for help but it wasn’t forthcoming, Isolade’s smile becoming mischievous, her voice smooth and gentle. “My husband, it is not right that the kids know so little of their heritage or of us.” Lamanda turned to Teer, her voice solemn and questioning “I am almost as ignorant of your past my dear as the children. You owe me the story as well so why not tell it to everyone, we can share our experiences.” Seeing the King wavering, Teer submitted to the requests, reaching into his robes, his quiet voice carrying a hint of amusement “Your Majesty, we must entrust the land to them one day, if they make the same mistakes we did then ambitious lords may seek to overthrow your successor. Eventually they will find a way to learn what happened, might as well be now when all of us gathered so we don’t miss anything. I have something that should make it easier for them to see and understand our world.”

The King slowly nodded his head, giving into the wishes of the majority while wondering how much Teer had guessed. Morglin’s voice was weary but held a hint of authority, a man clearly used to being obeyed “I need less impudent children but fine, you will get your wish. Well done whoever planned the timing of the question, you forced me into a corner. Teer, perhaps it is best if you start us off.”

The warlock had already begun the preparations, throwing some powder into the fire, his fingers creating a pattern in the air as he muttered to himself. Suddenly there was a bang and the room filled with smoke, when it cleared, they found themselves looking over a dull brown land, small, with a red sun. Teer was pleased with himself, explaining as the image headed towards a large city. “This will use our memories to show what happened. I have vowed never to speak the name of this land so that nobody could seek it out, I have no wish for any of you to seek it out and seek trade or vengeance, there would be no gain but lots of suffering for the people on both sides. Now this land had been ruled by the Ironfist clan for as long as anyone could remember, no other local clan had ever gained control of the hot and dry kingdom we called home. As with any long reigning dynasty, the succession wasn’t always secure and it was not unknown for murder to be used.”

The image swooped down into the city and into a packed jousting field. There was the young Ironfist, dressed in full armour, his red banner including a grey shield with a golden star inset with red jewels swaying in the wind, the then Prince taking on all comers. Some he bested quickly, others put up quite a fight before Ironfists natural skill won the day. “Lord Ironfist was the Heir Apparent to the throne; there were great hopes for him as his might was known throughout the land and only one person ever could hope to best him in a joust. His cousin Ragnar was strong willed, ambitious and a long time rival in tournaments it was often the highlight of a tournament when the Prince and his cousin faced against each other.”

Ragnar appeared in the joust, his brown hair and tanned face in front of a purple banner with a purple shield, two lances across it. Morglin lifted up his visor, his face darker back then, and the contestants bowed as they prepared for the duel ahead. What followed was a joust that was rather too competitive for comfort, again and again they went at each other, landing blows that ringed around the stadium but eventually, the red knight landed a blow that was just powerful enough to knock Ragnar to the floor to huge cheers from the crowd. Dismounting, Ironfist held his arms aloft to acknowledge the cheers as friends came to surround him. Friends the children recognised from court portraits or court visits, the worried looking Ambrose, young Arturius handsome face disfigured by a scar on his left cheek, Dimitri in his red coat wearing the expensive earring and the goatee wearing Sir Gallant. There were many people the children and Isolade did not recognise, but one caught the eye, a red haired woman of enchanting beauty, her emerald green eyes entrapping any male watcher as she congratulated the victor by a rather passionate kiss.

This time it was Morglin that spoke as the image paused at a banquet, a sad edge to his voice as he remembered elements of the past. “I was young and foolish; I believed the throne was to be mine by right! I spent my time jousting, drinking and fooling around with my friends and my fiancée Ewine. Her connections to some of the most important families in the kingdom made her a political catch but I was entranced by her, she laughed at my jokes, seeing the jealousy in other people’s eyes always cheered me up, she was beautiful and she was as a mistress to me. Ragnar had used the jousts to win fame and regard, we both did but while I frittered it away on drink and Ewine, Ragnar cultivated the support of the local barons and the head of the important organisations in the city for his uncle. For my wasteful youth and childish infatuation, I lost the crown, to avoid such losses is why I try to steer both of you away from such vices my dear Ronald and my dear Archibald.”

Isolade was glaring with undisguised anger at Ewine though Morglin was unsure if it was anger over Ewine’s former hold on him or Isolade’s protective instincts making her angry for hurting her husband. She wasn’t the only one angry at Morglin’s former lover; Lyonet seemed rather displeased at the attention her friends were showing the other lady. Morglin shut his eyes, he knew what they were about to see, for awhile his dreams had been haunted by the events, even now he could still see everything clearly in his mind, hear everything as it had sounded back then.

xxxxxxx

It had been an excellent few days of hunting and now he was heading home, tonight he would be in Ewine’s arms; tomorrow he would see his father the King. The road was quiet and he had got used to the sounds of the hooves behind him from his courtiers horses, so he was surprised when he heard the sound of someone galloping at full speed from his left. Reigning in his horse, Morglin waited to see who was in such a rush, in a few seconds he saw a familiar face. Lord Haart, blond hair reaching behind his shoulders, his noble face showing signs of concern, his red cloak wrapped around his grey shirt, Haart’s piercing blue eyes settling quickly Morglin, panting out the news.

“Your majesty, the King has been killed in a coup by your uncle. The guards managed to kill the usurper but were defeated by Ragnar. The throne has passed onto your cousin and the capital is under his complete control.”

Morglin was shocked, his father was far from young but the death hurt, the King had been indulgent of his son and had been a hands on father, Morglin was already beginning to miss him. Part of him wanted to cry, another wanted to rage against the usurpation but he suppressed his feelings, he had to ensure his own survival. He knew Haart could be trusted, the man had served his father loyally and his dedication to the Imperial Family was well known. “Haart, who in the capital remains loyal to me or to the memory of my father?”

Haart shook his head “There are Barons who will rise up if you ask but Ragnar has quickly eliminated those in the capital who could be trusted. My lord should not despair, Ragnar will wish to be seen as a merciful king who will accept the loyalty of any, if you act in the right way you can stay alive and await events. Or you may gamble that enough Barons will support you in time but I fear what forces we could raise ourselves would not last long enough to gain reinforcements.” Morglin was silent for a few moments before tilting his head back. “Inform my friends of the news and urge them to go home for the night. We will see tomorrow who will stand by me Haart in my time of trouble, to those that are as loyal as you, they I will always cherish but I will need you to guide me.”

As Haart bowed and left to follow his instructions, Morglin shook his head and blinked away tears that threatened to overwhelm him. He could not afford to cry now, he had to appear strong for the next few days, when he had more time to himself away from those who could overhear, only then he could cry. Spurring on his brown warhorse, Maisie, he watched as some of his friends chose interesting detours to their homes rather than be seen entering the city with him. Once he reached the gates of the capital, with the sun already going down, only Haart remained with him. At the gates a group of Ragnar’s personal guards were waiting. At the head of the welcoming party was the court wizard, old Guthbert, his once red robes now changed to green but his long beard and portly figure were still the same. Ironfist didn’t like the smirk in the old magic users face though the bow and tone were humble enough. “Prince Ironfist, his Majesty has been awaiting your return anxiously, he had feared you might have run into trouble. It is late and you should rest in the palace so you will be fresh for your audience tomorrow. Lord Haart, you best return home, if the Prince wishes then come to the Palace tomorrow.”

Ironfist could recognise an order well enough and he suspected Guthbert was enjoying his moment in the sun. The Mages had never been an important factor in court and being a court wizard was something of a joke, the Prince suspected Ragnar had promised to make it into a position of influence. He was silent as he was escorted home, noting the little changes, the flags, the colours of the guards uniforms, a few posters showing the new King’s face and a general stillness in the usually bustling streets. Without a word, he dismounted on reaching the stables and followed the wizard to his old room. As soon as Ironfist was inside, he heard the door be closed and locked behind him, leaving the prince in a room that was emptier then it had been a week ago. Someone had left his night clothes out, some wine and some bread for him so he got changed and began to eat; certainly his room had been stripped off its valuables. A sign of hi sfuture fate or just pillaging from former servants? No point wondering, there was nothing he could do now but sleep till the morning.

He had a good deep sleep and felt refreshed when he woke, till he opened his eyes and saw the room; he thought it had been a horrible dream. As soon as he got out of bed, a servant silently came in and put down another small meal then his court robes that signalled him as a royal prince, red as always. One had prepared himself, taking good care to ensure his moustache was neat and tidy, Ironfirst knocked on the door, ready to face whatever his dear cousin had in store for him.


Please read and review, idea's are most welcome.
“You, are a rebellious son who abandoned his father. You are a cruel brigand who murdered his lord. How can Heaven and Earth put up with you for long? And unless you die soon, how can you face the sight of men?”
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Re: Fanfic Fanfare!

Unread postby Dong Zhou » Fri Feb 27, 2009 5:39 pm

OC: and the second chapter

Exile

Ironfist opened his eyes to bring himself briefly back into the present, taking a few precious moments before returning to the past. Isolade looked concerned, he had never told her too much of what had happened or how much it had affected him. Teer’s face was a mask, hiding his feelings on a time he well remembered. Lamanda was only mildly interested, waiting for her husband to make his appearance in the story. The children seemed to be trying to connect the Ironfist they knew from the one they were seeing, indeed it was hard for Ironfist himself to reconcile the two. Shutting his eyes, Enroth’s King turned back to the past.

It was a quick walk, accompanied by two discreet guards, into the crowded audience chamber, many former courtiers wearing a green token in favour of their new master. As he approached the crowd opened and to the sides he saw some of his friends had changed their loyalties but the likes of Arturius had not let him down, giving him a reassuring smile. Ironfist was unable to smile back but felt his nerves easing with each friendly smile he saw, stopping in front of the dais where the throne sat. To his left came Haart, arms crossed as the crowd seemed to take a step back, leaving the two of them alone as they waited silently for Ragnar to enter. They had to wait only a few moments before a procession made their way into the chambers, the new King walking proudly in front of his subjects with Ewine and Guthbert just behind him till he reached the dais where the King advanced to the seat and looking down.

Ironfist had caught a disgusted glimpse at Guthbert’s new banner, a green winged serpent, but now his eyes were cast to the ground. All around him, people were silently getting to their knees and kowtowing to the King but Ironfist refused to go that far, he may not be Heir but he was still a Prince of the blood! He did what was due to a King from a Prince, bowing from the waist, a small act of resistance but one he knew Ragnar could not object to in public. There was some irritation in Ragnar’s deep booming voice but the former rival was outwardly friendly.

“Look up my dear cousin, I am so glad to see you again Morglin. My condolences with your father, I know he meant a lot to you but he was a weak ruler and change was needed! My uncle threw a coup for you but with you out of the city, the populace clambered for me to take the throne instead, I protested but they pushed me into a coronation that same day. I hope you understand and will not hold it against me.”

The tone was friendly as the words but Ironfist knew the green eyes were watching for any expression revealing his true feelings. Keeping his face a careful mask, his own eyes still lowered though his back was straightened, Ironfist responded carefully “Thank you for your kind consideration Majesty and the loss of my father hurts me deeply but I know it was for the good of the kingdom. I am not as strong, for I know you held back out of loyalty and consideration for my pride, or as wise as you, I am ill-suited to anything more than a simple jouster. I merely ask that your Majesty will believe me as your loyal servant, that my heart and mind all wish to be of service.”

It was open submission before every senior member of the kingdom and it clearly pleased Ragnar, the King held out his hand, the Prince now had to seal it by kissing the signet ring that had once belonged to his father. Approaching the dais, Morglin got to his knees and crawled up the stairs till he could lean down, kissing the ring, a sign of favour from the king and a final sign of submission from the vassal. As Ironfist returned to his place in front of the court, Ragnar spoke again feigning respect for his predecessor. “After my coronation, some of my courtiers sought favour by recommending that the late King be buried in a pauper’s grave! They forget that I am an Ironfist and that he was my Uncle, as such I have buried him on the hill to the south of the city as his will requested. Those same people then insisted that my Morglin would not come but seek to cause trouble have misjudged my cousin dearly. Now he is here, I can reveal what I have kept hidden all week.”

With a flourish, Ragnar pulled Ewine onto his lap and gave her a kiss that drew frowns on more than a few faces, unused to such behaviour. Morglin, for a few seconds was one of them and he suspected Ragnar noticed it before Morglin could gather his composure. Ragnar’s declaration was triumphant but also a challenge to those who would suggest another lady. “I have proposed to Ewine and she has consented to be our Queen, mother to all my subjects. Is there anyone that perhaps objects to the marriage?”

A challenge to all in the court, to object would be to signal opposition to Ragnar himself. Morglin knew all eyes were on him. Forcing a smile, the Prince managed to fake some joy, enough at least to be partly convincing. “Let me have the honour of being to first to congratulate the happy couple and wish them both a fruitful marriage. I have long known Lady Ewine and I have known his Majesty, twice blessed by such illustrious company and I have no doubts that they will be happy together.”

Ragnar nodded, pleased as the rest of the court began competing to give the best praise and wishes for the company. Morglin tried to catch Ewine’s eyes but she was looking at her fiancée from his lap and at whoever was praising her. As things were getting crowded around the dais, Morglin stepped away and walked carefully backwards to where he knew Haart to be. His most experienced supporter was carefully keeping an eye out on those few still loyal to Morglin, ensuring they did not get too close and form a group before the King. The two of them kept silent as they waited until Haart noticed something odd to the left, tapping Morglin’s shoulder so the Prince saw it too.

Below a black banner, with yellow lightening from four corners meeting in the centre stood three wizards, dressed in green, yellow and blue, trimmed with gold and silver signs, their beards white, their hair disappearing. There was one wearing plain white who looked rather younger than his fellows. The young one’s blond hair was hanging just above his blue eyes, the small beard failing to hide his scowl, something that may have had something to do with the tight grip kept on his shoulders. Morglin glanced at Haart who could only shake his head, both were puzzled by the image. A young wizard in trouble with the law or rather in trouble with his own leaders? The mages would normally deal with troublemakers within their towers; they were a law unto themselves. Perhaps this one was a troublemaker they planned to hand over to distract Ragnar from peering too closely at what the other wizards thought?

Eventually even Ragnar was bored with all the praise and with one raise of his hand, all was silent again, the courtiers awaiting his next words. Heaving himself up, the usurper fixed his gaze on Morglin. “When I was a Prince, I spent most of my days living near Varnal Hills, guarding the borders of the kingdom as my family has long done. Now I am King, I must be at the capital but I cannot leave the borders untended for who knows what might happen if the outsiders sensed weakness? I know Morglin Ironfist to be strong in arms, valiant in battle, with all the talents fit for the heavy duty. Cousin will you, your descendants and your retainers keep the borders secure?”

A fine speech and perhaps one that would have been true decades back but the threats from outside were nonexistent now and the area was prosperous. The problem for Morglin was that the local Barons and officials had long been loyal to Ragnar’s clan; it would now serve as a gilded cage for Ragnar’s main rival. Morglin hesitated, trying to find a way out but then Haart whispered to him “Ask to allow you to stay with Lord Kilburn, he is a good friend of mine and he would not be hostile to our cause.” Stepping forward, the new viceroy made his bow “I am unfit for such an important task but how could I refuse such an honour? Will his Majesty permit me to stay with Lord Kilburn, his reputation as a knight is well known and I could use his experience with the tribes to guide me.”

Ragnar seemed puzzled by the request but as Guthbert leant in and whispered to the King, the ruler smiled. “Very well cousin, I shall grant your request and give you a gift to help you. There was once a time when being court wizard was an honour, the wisdom of those who knew magic was sought after by Kings and Princes. Stories of our glorious past not only tell of great feats of valour but wise advisors and of great magic, in recent years wizards have not got the respect they deserve. Guthbert will be leading the way into returning the wizards to their rightful place. The Barons should look to listen to their wizards while the wizards must leave their towers to serve the kingdom!”

While the King was wittering on, the white robed wizard was brought forcibly to stand besides Morglin, bowing to the Prince. “Now cousin, I wish for you to take a wizard for your retinue as an example for the Barons. My own wizard has handpicked this man just for you, Teer Estela was one of the most talented students, now he has become a fully fledged wizard, I hope he will be useful to you. Now, I wish to go hunting, this court is over!”

The guards stepped forward, hands on swords, cutting off any potential protests or pleas as Ragnar with his fiancée and wizard behind him, left the court. The wizards put their arms on Teer to take him away while guards approached the Prince to act as an “escort.” Haart left Morglin’s side and approached the friends who were hanging around hesitantly, shooing them out of the room before they got in trouble. Graciously Morglin accepted the escort and followed the guard captain as they went from room to room in the castle, they had done a thorough job in sorting out what was his and preparing it for the journey that they had clearly known was coming. Only a few times Morglin claimed something that was his, usually treasured mementos’ from his father rather than anything valuable. All this took awhile as the guards and servants were thorough, ensuring that Morglin even checked the dungeons before they escorted him outside the city. No parade, no chance to say further goodbyes, just out by a private gate, where his horse Maisie waited to be mounted then onwards towards his father’s tomb.

When they arrived at the hill, Morglin saw a couple of wagons, loaded with his riches protected by the soldiers of Haart with Dimitri sitting on the lead wagon. Ragnar’s guards carefully handed over the few mementos collected and then departed, they had done their duty and now the Prince had to care for himself. Glancing up, Morglin saw from the red sun that the morning had gone already and it was already afternoon, he would not have long to mourn his father. Looking back down, he saw Haart had dismounted and was holding the reigns of his horse and of Maisie, acting as the groom. “My lord, I thought it would be best for your friends to settle their estates and make their own way to Varnal. Dimitri will take my men and your treasury to your new home so all will be ready for your arrival and without a large escort you would not arouse concern. I will come with you my lord to give what advice I can and to give you some aid if scoundrels seek you harm.”

Morglin heard all of this but made no reply other than a nod to Dimitri, he was glad for Haart’s presence but his mind was elsewhere. As the wagons rumbled away, the two of them climbed the hill, feeling the gentle breeze take away some of the heat that was beginning to build up, yet by the time they had clambered to the top, both men were sweating heavily. The tomb of the Late King was a cairn, an honour given to the richest of men, most were simply buried in a pit and forgotten but as long as the stones stood, his father would be remembered. Haart stayed at a discreet distance so Morglin could be alone for a few precious moments.

Kneeling down, he let the tears flow, stored up since he heard the news, anger building up inside at being robbed, he thought of all the times his father had been there when he was a child and his father was a warm cuddly face in soft robes always picking him up when he fell, telling him what a brave boy he was. There was always time for a bedtime story or a little game, no matter what pressing matters there were. As he got older, his needs had changed but his father had always adapted, being the gentle guide through the treacherous matter of love, a shoulder to cry on, someone he could talk about anything with. Yet as he grew older, they had grown apart, the King could only see a few of the jousts that he liked to be in and now he bitterly regretted being apart so often. Revenge would not change that regret, it was one he would always have to live with but perhaps it would please his father’s spirit. Wiping his tears away, he let his wishes known to the Heavens and to Haart. “My father was a good man undeserving of his cruel fate, I will write to the local lords tonight and march on the capital with their forces! When I have crushed Ragnar, I will offer his head and that of my wretched uncle to my father, take Ewine as my bride and become the rightful ruler!”

Turning around, he saw Haart as expected but he also saw his new wizard, dressed in simple black, patting a rather fat little white pony. The wizard’s face was rather amused and when Morglin reached for his sword, Teer held up his hands in mock surrender, his voice quiet but revealing some concern. “My lord, rightful King you may be but Ragnar has been careful to appease most of the Barons around the capital, if you seek their aid then few will support you. Ragnar has installed his men in all the key positions, what small army we could raise would be easily crushed before allies from further afield could arrive. If you wish to die then sacrifice yourself here rather than kill all those loyal to you or your father.” While he talked, Teer looked like he had swallowed something unpleasant, pulling his face in disgust.

Morglin had never seen Haart angry before but the knight now had his hand near his sword, placing himself behind Teer, clearly wishing to make sure the mage could not escape. “Fine words warlock but have you no feeling for family or honour? A usurper sits on the throne and you would see nothing done?” Suddenly Haart’s sword pressed against Teer’s back “Or perhaps you would tell Ragnar of the plans and seek your master Guthbert’s esteem?”

Teer bitter laugh at the idea of seeking Guthbert’s favour was stopped by a sudden coughing fit, the wizard clutching his stomach, gasping out his complaints. “Blasted mute potion, not being able to talk is bad enough but the after-effects are even worse.” Straightening up slightly, Teer tried to regain his composure “If I had a choice, I would be in the tower trying to get myself on some nice little experiment or debating with another wizard so no, I am no loyalist of the royal clan. I would not have sought Ragnar’s defeat, nor that of your Majesty’s but circumstances have changed for myself, now I am in your service and your fortunes affect my own. If you are defeated then I face death or disgrace, Guthbert will ensure that, if you are victorious then I share in the glory and would return to the tower as its Master. Betraying Lord Ironfist would bring me a few weeks glory but soon a knife in the back as Guthbert would ensure Ragnar would not trust this little traitor, you can see it is in my best interests to see Lord Ironfist restored to the throne.”

Morglin indicated with his hand for Haart to put away his sword. “As a pledge of loyalty, it isn’t very gratifying but I at least know where you stand. Tell me Teer, what would you have me do?” The Prince’s tone was authoritative but wary; he expected an answer and Teer, bowing, gave him one. “Play a long term game, I think Ragnar hopes you will revolt quickly so giving him a chance to destroy you now. Instead wait for the unity in the court to fracture as it must, your own loyalists will be looking to revolt certainly but there will be other factions to use. Ragnar murdered your father but rumour already spreads that Ragnar’s father survived the usurpation only to be betrayed by his own son, old servants of that side of the family will be unsettled by the accusations. Then there were will be those who have lost out in the new regime or those, and there will be many, who have not got what they feel to be a fair reward for their help. With your Majesty alive, if far away, they have a readymade replacement for Ragnar, the usurper will find himself fighting revolts and dealing with plots against him, who is to say we cannot manipulate such events?”

Morglin considered the proposal but could find one major flaw, one he only voiced when all three men were mounted. “That is all very well but when the court splits apart, I will be in the land of Ragnar’s loyalists, unable to raise an army without being crushed.” It was Haart that replied this time “We can muster a formidable force if given enough time, your allies are making their own way to join us near Varnal with what money they can raise, persuade Lord Kilburn to lend his resources to our cause and we will have a decent army. Without Ragnar keeping a close eye, his loyal lords will fall out amongst themselves, some will turn to us and when the time comes, we can add their forces to our own.”

This pleased the former Crown Prince and he felt his spirits rising, he could wait for revenge, he would use Varnal as his base. He would have to see what resources he had, be wary of Teer’s loyalty and begin setting up a way of having contacts within the capital, then the other regions of his kingdom but first the journey “Well gentlemen, I will take your advice and wait upon events but we have a long journey ahead of us, each one full of traps. As we ride to Varnal, we must keep our heads amidst the taunts, do not respond or we fail before we start. Onward!”
“You, are a rebellious son who abandoned his father. You are a cruel brigand who murdered his lord. How can Heaven and Earth put up with you for long? And unless you die soon, how can you face the sight of men?”
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Re: Fanfic Fanfare!

Unread postby MhiHayoli » Wed Apr 11, 2012 8:36 am

Oh, that's a nice Topic idea! I'm not so good with english and could use some pointers for my stories. :?

I'm trying to write a novel Fan Fiction for "Dynasty Warriors" with some "Romance of the Three Kingdoms" history elements. I want to sort them into four books, like avatar. Water, Fire, Wind and Earth. I also add different endings for each main book story. I even planned on making polls for some chapters so that the readers can decide which direction will the story wander too :)

It's better they post their comments here. That would make reading easier for all XD

Here I will post the chapters :)
>> http://the-scholars.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=22264&p=567386#p567386 <<

And here I will place the link to the polls for "The reader decided story parts"
Zhang Jiao's dead >> http://the-scholars.com/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=22342 <<
"I do not speak to change minds. I do not trust in the sweetening lies you speak with false dignity. I care nothing for your worldly treasures and pity you all for you need them to feel value in life."
-LordBloodySoul-
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Re: Fanfic Fanfare!

Unread postby FoxWithWings » Thu Nov 13, 2014 6:13 am

It was a disaster, this fool's errand at Hu Lao Gate.

She could only watch as Lu Bu moved on Gongsun Zan, looking terribly fierce in his black armor. His halberd was red with blood, some of it had spattered onto his black scales. The man from the north gave way quickly, but Lu Bu would catch him, mounted as he was on his mountain of a horse.

Then there was a roar, and a man in green was upon the man in black, swinging a serpent blade close to his head. It was Zhang Fei, the man who she had met outside of Peixing all those years before. She felt her jaw drop as Fei matched Lu Bu blow for blow, not yielding a single inch.

But Lu Bu was not withdrawing either. There was another dash of green, and there was Guan Yu! The man with the magnificent beard, and the frighteningly large sword. Shivers ran down her spine as she regarded what surely was a battle between gods. Lu Bu refused, still, to give in. His ferocious counters were met each time with sharp steel, and a few of Guan Yu's hammering blows nearly got past his defense.

Yet another rider broke away from the general press of combat. This one garbed in green like the other two. She recognized him quickly. Liu Bei, the man who had paid her such courtesy at Peixing. He set upon Lu Bu furiously, his sword flashing like gold in a pan.

At last, this was too much for the greatest warrior in China, and he turned tail and ran back to the shelter of the gate. The Allied Forces roared, and seemed to leap forward, finding heart in the success born from their apparent tragedy.

-Excerpt from my incomplete fan fiction: "A New Dynasty"
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