Motep
12-28-2007, 07:56
This is a story that I have been building upon for several months now. i have been writing it to entertain the writing club at school, but Ive decided that I might as well show it to you all, see what you think of it. I only have a small portion of it typed up right now, so if you want any additional information of any kind, feel free to ask. I will in the future provide a map of the land to help you all along, and might even post my history of this fine land. Sooo...here you are! :medievalcheers:
(sorry for the wierdness of it, for some reason, the org wont let me indent...)
Prologue
Garal Marimer sat rigidly at his desk, once again working far into the night. He was a dispassionate man, but one of honor. He stuck strictly to the code of the knighthood, and has advanced by his middle age to the rank of Lord General. His hair, which was once as dark as the night, was now speckled with gray. His eyes, however, had not lost any of their luster. He was once considered handsome, in his youth, but many battles left his face scarred and mottled. A pale scar, his first won in battle, running from his eye to the tip of his trimmed mustache, led many to think him an intimidating figure indeed.
He was reading reports he had received from the scouts who had just that night returned from Caliem, and waited impatiently in the courtyard with their dragons, and still decked out in their heavy, padded riding gear. They waited to send orders to Garal's Generals that all was going according to plan, that it was time to strike. Only four more reports, now, stood in the path of Garal and his bed. He laid another sheet of parchment into a large pile that told for his days work. Sighing blandly, he reached for another one. Before his hand had touched the stack, the door to his office sprang open, admitting his wiry aide into the room.
He shut the door quietly behind him, only then realizing that he had neglected to knock. Marin Van Ulster quickly spun around, remembering for a change his duty. Saluting sharply, Marin all but threw another letter onto the desk. A normally efficient and unflappable man, his current behavior intrigued Garal.
"My lord, this report is fresh from the saddle. its courier has just arrived not ten minutes ago. The man was rather haggard, my lord, and insisted that this massage was of grave import. " He eyed the note nervously as he backed away from the desk, fidgeting with his hands.
Garal turned his gaze from the man to the seemingly unassuming note. Sighing, he grabbed the thing, and tore open the wax seal slowly, almost grudgingly. Holding the letter up to the light, he glared at his assistant, and began to read the message.
To His Illustrious Darklord Garal Marimer of Caliem,
I am in dire need of heavy reinforcements. A full half of my forces have been overran, the rest of us can only barely keep a hold on the palace of Raban, let alone the City. By the time this letter reaches your eyes, I fear that I will have lost another quarter. The Elf King of Raban has rallied his men, and stormed the city. He was aided much by the populace; we were quickly pushed into the palace. We lost the Third and Fourth legions, and much of the Ninth when the cursed elf ambushed us during the night.
We are taking heavy casualties from their archers, and I have given up the idea of having sentries placed upon the walls of the castle. I have even tried using my Dragons to rout them, but their cursed arrows must be so, as they pass through the impenetrable hides of our beasts, sending my best men raining down upon us. My Second legion and what remains of the Ninth hold firm the palace, but are dropping like flies to their arrows. I myself have taken an arrow to the shoulder.
We will need another three legions at the least to hit these elves from behind, and drive them from the city, though I doubt that we will manage with any less than four. Make haste, we are running short on supplies, and, needless to say, the elves have cut us short, and have managed to bring up thousands of reinforcements. My own courier has been killed in this hell, so I am forced to use one of the late General Nara. Praise the Lord of the Night that I live to see your reply.
Second General Jon Matar Usterix of Temil
Garal was angry, there was no beating around that. "He cannot even hold the walls! From Elves!" Drawing in a deep breath, Garal let the paper slide to the desk. Calmed now, Garal turned his steely gaze upon his aide. "Fetch me some parchment. And some ink. Now."
Marin jumped to obey, bringing the materials to his lord in record time. He had a brother in Raban, in the second legion. By now he had likely managed to find himself killed, though with all luck he might be able to have saved himself from harm. Unlike the thousands who had found their lives being cut short. Marin knew better than to speak, his lord abhorred weakness, and would respond with an Iron Fist.
Garal began writing his reply, supposedly calm and collected. However, if one knew the signs, he would be able to tell that the man was only suppressing his anger. Writing, however, is one of the few things to fully calm Garal, one of the factors contributing to the longevity of his aide.
Second General Jon Matar Usterix of Temil,
Your reinforcements will arive within two weeks time from when you receive this message. This courier will bring with him twenty dragons laden with supplies for your men, I trust that you can ration them over two weeks. It is my only hope you can manage to survive that long. Please note, however, that you will be demoted, possibly even discharged, if you lose too many men more. As you know, our resources are spread thin as it is. We cannot lose Raban, you must hold out until the Twenty-Second, Thirtieth, Tenth, and Fourteenth legions arrive. Sooner than that, there is nothing that I can do.
Darklord Garal Marimer of Caliem
This letter taken care of, Garal sprinkled some sand upon the paper to hasten the drying of the ink. "Dispatch orders to the legions mentioned in this message, send them to reinforce." Motioning towards the note, he continued, "Wax this when it had dried, and send it to general Usterix. Also, send orders to the vanguard, tell them to strike tomorrow night. I want the royal palace of Caliem in my possession before dawn. Then, we will bring in the main force. Heh…Caliem wont know what hit it!" His calm restored fully, Garal grabbed up one of the reports.
Marin bowed low, stalked silently out of the room. Turning his head to his own desk, the man sighed. "This is going to be a long night", he muttered, only just stifling a yawn.
(sorry for the wierdness of it, for some reason, the org wont let me indent...)
Prologue
Garal Marimer sat rigidly at his desk, once again working far into the night. He was a dispassionate man, but one of honor. He stuck strictly to the code of the knighthood, and has advanced by his middle age to the rank of Lord General. His hair, which was once as dark as the night, was now speckled with gray. His eyes, however, had not lost any of their luster. He was once considered handsome, in his youth, but many battles left his face scarred and mottled. A pale scar, his first won in battle, running from his eye to the tip of his trimmed mustache, led many to think him an intimidating figure indeed.
He was reading reports he had received from the scouts who had just that night returned from Caliem, and waited impatiently in the courtyard with their dragons, and still decked out in their heavy, padded riding gear. They waited to send orders to Garal's Generals that all was going according to plan, that it was time to strike. Only four more reports, now, stood in the path of Garal and his bed. He laid another sheet of parchment into a large pile that told for his days work. Sighing blandly, he reached for another one. Before his hand had touched the stack, the door to his office sprang open, admitting his wiry aide into the room.
He shut the door quietly behind him, only then realizing that he had neglected to knock. Marin Van Ulster quickly spun around, remembering for a change his duty. Saluting sharply, Marin all but threw another letter onto the desk. A normally efficient and unflappable man, his current behavior intrigued Garal.
"My lord, this report is fresh from the saddle. its courier has just arrived not ten minutes ago. The man was rather haggard, my lord, and insisted that this massage was of grave import. " He eyed the note nervously as he backed away from the desk, fidgeting with his hands.
Garal turned his gaze from the man to the seemingly unassuming note. Sighing, he grabbed the thing, and tore open the wax seal slowly, almost grudgingly. Holding the letter up to the light, he glared at his assistant, and began to read the message.
To His Illustrious Darklord Garal Marimer of Caliem,
I am in dire need of heavy reinforcements. A full half of my forces have been overran, the rest of us can only barely keep a hold on the palace of Raban, let alone the City. By the time this letter reaches your eyes, I fear that I will have lost another quarter. The Elf King of Raban has rallied his men, and stormed the city. He was aided much by the populace; we were quickly pushed into the palace. We lost the Third and Fourth legions, and much of the Ninth when the cursed elf ambushed us during the night.
We are taking heavy casualties from their archers, and I have given up the idea of having sentries placed upon the walls of the castle. I have even tried using my Dragons to rout them, but their cursed arrows must be so, as they pass through the impenetrable hides of our beasts, sending my best men raining down upon us. My Second legion and what remains of the Ninth hold firm the palace, but are dropping like flies to their arrows. I myself have taken an arrow to the shoulder.
We will need another three legions at the least to hit these elves from behind, and drive them from the city, though I doubt that we will manage with any less than four. Make haste, we are running short on supplies, and, needless to say, the elves have cut us short, and have managed to bring up thousands of reinforcements. My own courier has been killed in this hell, so I am forced to use one of the late General Nara. Praise the Lord of the Night that I live to see your reply.
Second General Jon Matar Usterix of Temil
Garal was angry, there was no beating around that. "He cannot even hold the walls! From Elves!" Drawing in a deep breath, Garal let the paper slide to the desk. Calmed now, Garal turned his steely gaze upon his aide. "Fetch me some parchment. And some ink. Now."
Marin jumped to obey, bringing the materials to his lord in record time. He had a brother in Raban, in the second legion. By now he had likely managed to find himself killed, though with all luck he might be able to have saved himself from harm. Unlike the thousands who had found their lives being cut short. Marin knew better than to speak, his lord abhorred weakness, and would respond with an Iron Fist.
Garal began writing his reply, supposedly calm and collected. However, if one knew the signs, he would be able to tell that the man was only suppressing his anger. Writing, however, is one of the few things to fully calm Garal, one of the factors contributing to the longevity of his aide.
Second General Jon Matar Usterix of Temil,
Your reinforcements will arive within two weeks time from when you receive this message. This courier will bring with him twenty dragons laden with supplies for your men, I trust that you can ration them over two weeks. It is my only hope you can manage to survive that long. Please note, however, that you will be demoted, possibly even discharged, if you lose too many men more. As you know, our resources are spread thin as it is. We cannot lose Raban, you must hold out until the Twenty-Second, Thirtieth, Tenth, and Fourteenth legions arrive. Sooner than that, there is nothing that I can do.
Darklord Garal Marimer of Caliem
This letter taken care of, Garal sprinkled some sand upon the paper to hasten the drying of the ink. "Dispatch orders to the legions mentioned in this message, send them to reinforce." Motioning towards the note, he continued, "Wax this when it had dried, and send it to general Usterix. Also, send orders to the vanguard, tell them to strike tomorrow night. I want the royal palace of Caliem in my possession before dawn. Then, we will bring in the main force. Heh…Caliem wont know what hit it!" His calm restored fully, Garal grabbed up one of the reports.
Marin bowed low, stalked silently out of the room. Turning his head to his own desk, the man sighed. "This is going to be a long night", he muttered, only just stifling a yawn.