An Intro

[Nightweaver]

Well, this would be my first post on the roleplaying forum, and I thought that I might as well right a short intro for a possible short story. I'm bord and have little else to do, so enjoy.


Feintly the torch light flickered, casting the shadows of those gathered upon the cavern wall. A soft yet wicked chant rose up from the circle, and the human struggled in vein to loose the rope about his wrists, though it was to no avail and he was held fast to the stalagmite. As the spell continued on, growing louder with each invocation, the shadows themselves seemed to be drawn towards the captive, becoming as one as they drew near.

Where the chant had once been little more than a whisper, it now filled the cavern. One of the several robed figures stepped forth from the circle, raising his hand and pointing at young man, shadows pouring from his dark skinned hand... and all fell silent.

Quietly, the alfar whispered a single archaic word, and the shadows, seeming now more liken to some infernal nightmare and less like shadows, raced towards the former paladin. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream as the life left from his eyes and the color fled his skin; he fell limp, struggling no longer against his bindings.

The leader of the dark mages moved to crouch in front of the human, or at least what used to be human, and cupped its chin in his hand, lifting the creatures face up so that he may see its eyes. Black orbs were all that remained of eyes that once held the vibrance of life, harboring now only hatred, where once there had been light. The alfar smiled as he gazed into the dark nothingness of his creation's eyes.

The torch flickered once more, a flicker brighter than all the others, one last struggle against the surrounding darkness, and died, lost to the shadows.


I hope yall enjoyed it. This was just right of the top of my head, so you'll forgive me if it's not my best work.

[Nightweaver]

Their coming was no secret, what with the clank of steel and the heavy hoof falls of their war steeds. And such was louder still, the surrounding forest being quieter than death itself; the stillness in the air weighed heavily upon the holy warriors, sent to seek a newly born shadow. The past days had been a living nightmare for those that dwelled within the forest, filled with blood and the screams of the dying, yet none had seen that which had befallen them; the night itself seemed to take them, the shadows stealing loved ones in the dark of night.

And so it was not long before the tales of horror and evil reached the small group of paladins. Verrin Dawn-Bringer, Oreze Demonsbane, and Jorund Light-Wielder had been travelling for the past three days, riding hard to the mirdains' aid. The three humans were silent, sensing the evil in the air, and tasting the vile stench of death; they knew well that what they sought was all too near.

"It's a demon I tell ye," Jorund proclaimed quietly, running a hand through his thick red beard, and peering suspiciously into the surrounding trees, as if expecting whatever wicked was to be found, to leap forth at any moment.

"Aye," spoke Verrin, his voice low," but keep silent." A breeze hailed from the east, carrying the evil stench on the wind. Verrin brushed his raven-black hair from his eyes, brought his horse to a halt, and silently dismounted, knowing that mounted combat would prove worthless in the thick brush. The other two done the same, having learned to trust in their friends judgement over the years.

Oreze pulled his massive hammer from behind his shoulder, gleaming even in the shadows of the trees,"It's here... ready yourselves." Verrin unsheathed two blades, both shining a golden light, and Jorund removed a large axe from his side, readying his shield as he did so.

Dusk was setting now, and the sun was fast fading into the night. The shadows arround the three grew darker, darker than any they'd ever before seen, appearing to be holes of nothingness where once there had been trees and brush. And unlike any shadows they'd found, these moved closer, the smell of rotting flesh causing bile to rise up in their throats.

"...By the Light!" The color fled from Jorund's face as the shadows took form, yet he had scarcely enough time to say even that, as the dark creature in from of him stole away with his life, a single swing from its jagged blade beheading the paladin. Before poor Jorund's head had fallen to the leaves, the blade dark, evil, and freezing to the touch, found its way to a surprised Oreze, his breast plate doing little to slow the wicked edge; his heart beat no longer.

And there they stood, Verrin and the wraith, the paladin's rightious eyes locked with black orbs of hatred, sin... evil. Tears of sorrow and rage fell from Verrin's vengeful eyes as he walked unwaveringly towards the shadow, his blades glowing like the dawning sun...

[Nightweaver]

The blades danced about Verrin, glowing all the while, and with years of practice, he parried attack after sinister attack from the wraith. The shadow's blade came in high, swiftly after a failed attempt to slice into the paladin's side, and Verrin had barely enough time to turn aside the evil weapon, returning with an attack of his own, his sword biting deep into the demon's gut, but it was to no avail. The demon fought on, and the wound quickly closed as the blade left.

Cursing under his breath, Verrin continued to turn aside each of the creature's attacks, each as quick and powerful as the first, and the holy warrior knew all too well that he would be hard pressed to hold out for much longer. He was tiring, and with each attack failing horribly, the wounds closing as fast as they were open, Verrin was losing hope. And so the blades continued to dance about one another, for what seemed like an eternity, and the warrior realised that he would not leave the forest, would fall beside his brethren, yet he refused to fail in his... in their quest; he refused to let them die in vain.

With trained perfection, Verrin allowed for an opening, knowing that the hell-spawned creature was watching for just such a thing. Yet, unlike so many feined openings he'd allowed before, where he had swiftly taken advantage of his enemy's error and finished the fight unscathed, the paladin allowed the blade through, the dark blade sinking deep into his stomache. He did not scream, did not flinch, for he was already dead and did not see much need for such, and Verrin moved with skill the likes of which he had never wielded, with a strength born of faith, sorrow, rage, and desparity. Before the creature could move away; before it could respond to the paladin's movements, Verrin slammed one of his blades through the creature, reaching through to take hold to one of the forest's many trees, yet the creature drew its now crimson blade from the dying man's stomache, and moved to finish him.

Verrin, with his remaining blade, blocked and, in a single, gracefull movement, sliced the wraith's fingers from the hilt, and caught the blade before it fell. For the slightest of instants, he thought he saw something other than hatred in the creatures eyes. A flash of sorrow gave way to... what the man could only recognize as joy, yet it was only for a moment, as Verrin sank both blades through the shadow's dark orbs, through its skull, and like the blade before, left them biting in the tree behind the creature.

With that, the paladin, exhausted and dying, collapsed to his knees, comforted in the thought that they had succeeded in destroying the nightmare that cast so many into a sleep from which they would not wake, and fell away from this world, quietly, to rejoin his companions...


I hope that yall enjoyed this story. Please comment whether you liked it or not. There is no such thing as bad criticism so long as it is given honestly and intelligently... Well enough, mayhap I'll find time to write another story.

[Jonkar]

(( Wow, I truly enjoyed it. Keep up the good work! ))

[Danaya]

((Heh, liked it aswell. You should make more ;P))

[Nightweaver]

Verrin lay their, ever so still upon the forest floor. Around him lay the remains of what had been the closest thing to family he had known for quite some time, brothers. They had fallen in a battle against an evil that they could not win... A battle that they had not won.

For Verrin, for all his skill and mastery, had only destroyed the flesh of the wraith, and not the dark monstrosity of a soul that dwelled there in. And while he had sacrificed his last breath, his life was far from over, though none who gazed upon his corpse could have suspected such. But Verrin yet lived, and dreamed, dreamed dreams, nightmares, of a life not his own, memories, a fate he did not welcome.

In his slumber, the holy warrior beheld sorcerers, dark skinned and dark hearted... Alfar! And he himself was bound fast, unable to move, forced to watch and listen to their hellish chanting. It was a horror unlike any he'd ever known that he felt, as the spell came to a close, for he gazed upon shadows that had become something more than shadows, something sinister, born of an unholy scorn.

They danced and writhed, slithering ever closer to Verrin. He tried to look away but could not force his eyes to move from the evil that drew near. And as they reached the paladin, entered into his soul, consuming and suffocating all that he was, all that he had ever been, and all that he ever could be, a scream escaped Verrin's lips.

He bolted upright, his scream tearing him from his vision, but his scream swiftly faded, giving way to laughter... The moonlight peered through the heavy vows, finding Verrin, standing once again, retrieving his blades.

Yet the moonlight found something hellish and wicked, undying and maddened, as it reflected in Verrin's cold, black orbs.

A smile escaped the wraiths lips as it retrieved its blades. It gave one final glance at whom it use to be, but only a glance, before leaving the gruesome event behind it, fading into the darkness as easily as if it were the darkness itself...

[Nightweaver]

He bolted upright, his scream tearing him from his vision, but his scream swiftly faded, giving way to laughter... The moonlight peered through the heavy boughs, finding Verrin, standing once again, retrieving his blades.


Had to fix a typo :/ Sorry bout that

[Rageon]

(( Really good story, keep writing. I really enjoyed it, thanks. ))

[Speedway01]

thats interesting thanks.

[Nightweaver]

They had set up watch, the Mirdain; having heard the tales of the creature that stepped from the very night to slaughter their people. And the guards knew well the stories, shifting uneasily at their posts, gazing into the gloom with a deep fear that they would indeed find something moving within the shadows. But there was nothing.

Not one thing was to be found in those shadows; all was quiet, waiting, watching.

The two guards looked to one another, feeling as though they were being watched, but both attributed it to there imaginations, running wild with the tales of late. But as their eyes returned to watching the shadows, they realized all too swiftly that their imaginations were not the only things running through the night!

The wraith, blades bleeding shadows which fed the darkness about him, charged toward the two. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, leaving the guards standing, weapons at the ready, defending against creatures who were not there. Their weapons fell from their grasp, as twin blades drove through their backs and into their hearts. They soon followed their weapons.

Verrin watched, from somewhere deep within the wraith, as it rose up from the darkness behind the Mirdain, cutting them down with blades that had once defended them, but he was unable to do anything to stop it. He screamed, pleaded, wept, all as the wraith moved from house to house. The paladin watched in horror as men, women, and children, fell to gluttonous hatred.

When dawn finally broke, the wraith had long since vanished, leaving behind a silent Mirdain village, it's inhabitants sleeping all too deeply, held fast from ever waking be deep rings of crimson about their fair skinned throats...

And Verrin wept.