Storythread

Friday is here again, and thus the Storythread returns to bring joy and merriment to all. Well, to some. Okay, maybe only a small portion of Veeky Forums pays attention to these threads, but /we're/ the cool ones, right?

This is a thread for creative writing of Veeky Forums-related fiction, so epic campaign greentexts and other non-fiction go elsewhere. If you have Veeky Forums related stories to post, post them here, and hopefully some kind user will give you feedback (or at least acknowledge that someone did actually read it, which let's face it is what writefags really want).

What counts as Veeky Forums-related? Anything someone could plausibly use in a campaign (which means basically anything if you have enough imagination).

If you don't have a story ready then I and other anons will be posting pictures throughout the thread for you to test your writing skills on. This is, more or less, a world-building and character-building exercise: two vital skills for playing roleplaying games. If you don't have any pics to post, you could try posting an idea for a setting or a character, and maybe someone will be willing to write a story using it. It's also an exercise in writing though, where writefags can try out their material and gain inspiration, so if you just want to talk about world-building you may want to head over to the dedicated world-building threads.

Remember that writefags love to have feedback on their work. Writing takes a long time, especially stories that go over several posts, and it can be really depressing when no one even seems to read it (and the writer won't know you read it unless you leave a comment).

And since writing takes a long time remember to keep the thread bumped. Pics are good, feedback is better.

There is a discord for writers:
discord.gg/6AwKHGF

The previous thread can still be found in the archive here
Don't forget to check out past stories on our wiki page:
1d4chan.org/wiki/Storythread

Other urls found in this thread:

1d4chan.org/images/9/99/ReturnOfAlveredo.png
youtube.com/watch?v=uyp6c0GZddI
twitter.com/SFWRedditGifs

...

You enter a torch-lit tavern. The glow of the flames cast long shadows across the faces of the patrons, however the bard’s music and raucous laughter illuminate the place plenty. You seek lodgings for the night but first join the revelry to ease your aching bones from days on the road. You purchase a drink and sit at a table where people look to a weathered man. With attention on him, he begins to speak:

Horrible, strange, and wondrous things fill our world. Vile beasts, strange mists, and the people who struggle to survive. I have heard many stories, but tales of Lusitania the Grounder seem to find my ears no matter where I travel. Now I have only recently learned how she obtained that title, but I know of a Lusitania that matches your stories of a black haired and sullen eyed warrior. A distant kingdom marks her for death, claiming she murdered Duke Holiander. Although from what I know his death was caused by the return of Alveredo. You see, Alveredo was buried in the village he called home many years ago. Some years after his funeral, that’s when the trouble starts.
As it goes, the town of Holiander took up the name for the duke Holiander that saved the town from bandits and famine. Without requiring they swear fealty, the duke had provided a garrison led by the old warrior Alex Raf. For months the station had been quiet one where Raf could sleep late into the day. However that all ended the morning a young farmer girl slams on his door in those early hours where the sun has yet to rise.
I imagine the old man hobbling to the door, his stride improving by the time he arrives and opens it.
“Please, sir, we need you at Willian’s,” says the child.
The soldier rubs his red eyes. “Unless someone is dead, my men will sort it out.”
“It’s a wizard, sir. He commands the dead to move.”
At the mention of wizard, all exhaustion instantly leaves Raf. As with all of us he has heard of wizards and the despair they bring.
“What do you mean ‘moving dead’?” As he asks Raf has the girl help him don chainmail.
“The bones of men, sir, along with a stitched man tall as a house.”

The old soldier curses his fortune as he grabs his war pick and slides a knife into his belt. Now fully armed and armored, Raf Sets to rallying his troops. He moves through the town, hollering “Come! Brothers and sisters! Time for us to defend our homes!” The people respond quickly. They rally with heavy mallets, pitchforks, and other farmer weapons that have drawn the blood of bandits and arrogant soldiers that stray too far from their banner. Though murmurings of a wizard and the dead brought back to life shakes their resolve, they have courage enough to measure the wizard’s mettle. As they arrive at Willian’s inn at the outskirts of the town the band is forty strong. Ten men that form Duke Holiander’s garrison there and thirty villagers.
With the sun now above the horizon, Raf and the troops see their enemy. The cracked bones of people, bearing the rusted armaments from their kingdom’s battles. One of the villagers falls to his knees in tears when he recognizes a shield his daughter took to war years ago. A shiver runs down Raf’s spine as he locks eyes with one of the creatures. Thoughts of fear invade his mind.
“Surely this wizard must be a master of death to command bones to retake their form!” His hands begin to tremble. “Where is the stitched man? What other horrors can this wizard conjure? Does his magic have no limits?”
A firm grip seizes Raf’s shoulder and pulls him from the terror of his thoughts. A farmer leans close to his ear.
“Ought we tear them asunder?”
Raf does not look at her while breathing in deep and exhaling the madness.
“These are frightful creatures. I know not how we may fight them.”
“Richard, Grey’s son, says they are held together by fine, gold thread. I pray my eyes do not lie for I see them too, faintly glistening.”
Raf looks again with vision unclouded by terror.
“Yes, I see them! They wind around the skeletons and glisten slightly in the sun.”

The farmer nods. “I will trust our six eyes together. A thread is a thread and may be severed. A man who fashions unbreakable thread would attack and be done with it. He fears the quality of his work against our strength.”
Raf traces his tongue between his teeth and gently strokes the hilt of his dagger. He will make that wizard pay for bringing such fear to his mind.
The inn is torn asunder! The old wood shatters as a monstrosity tall as a tree rises from within. Shaped vaguely human, stitches hold flesh like tanned leather together. Bizarre proportions create a horrific visage that repels the defenders. A howl from the breach draws attention away from the creature. A man walks forth wearing a doe’s skull as a mask and a robe coated with bells that do not jingle as he walks.
The man howls again, rearing his head skyward and raising his arms as if to seize the clouds above him. The bells ring in unison, filling the air with jingling. The defenders know not how to react to this man and so stand with weapons at the ready. After a few seconds the howl subsides, his head now turns forward. The bells continue to ring until his arms return to his sides. A few more seconds pass with the only sounds to hear are one’s own heartbeat and the monster’s heavy breaths. The wizard removes his mask to reveal an unremarkable human face of thirty years.
“I am Gigamus, master of undeath. Know that only from the kindness of my heart do I offer you the chance to submit to my demands. Resist and you will all be slaughtered by my invincible warriors. Their ferocity along with my magic will make your deaths as swift as I desire. I do not wish for this. I ask only for your infants no older than a year and your pregnant women. Provide me these things then the rest of you shall keep your lives.”

As you can see, the wizard Gigamus is both cruel and cowardly, much like the knights of the double-eagle kingdom. However their villainy is tempered by interacting with their fellow man. They realize that not all are as cruel and cowardly as they and are all the wiser for it. Gigamus, being a wizard, has little time away from his incantations to find companions. Being vile, he forms no connections with the few he does meet. And being human, he cannot help but see himself in others. Through these things, Gigamus could reach no other conclusion aside from the villagers bowing to his demand when faced with the threat of death. For this reason does he feel comfortable as the old soldier in chainmail steps closer to him and his creations.

“Is that all you want, sir?”

He draws his war pick as he walks closer.

“Sounds like all I need to do is drive my pick through your skull.”

Gigamus laughs as his monstrosity steps forward.

“This child of mine has the strength of ten men. It will kill you and your rabble in an instant.”

When Alveredo had been alive he found himself in a similar position just outside Willian’s barn. He had to face a warrior famed for his spearmanship with only a dagger in his belt. Just as our hero, Raf, slowly approaches his enemy under the guise of conversation, so too did Alveredo. For both face enemies with great reach whether by spear or monstrous arms. Should they charge their opponent from too far away, they would risk being struck down before being close enough to deal a blow. So through words they close the distance. Their body trembles with excitement as they enter their opponent’s reach. Spearman nor monster attack, so confident as they are in their combat prowess. Too confident. And just as Alveredo had plunged his knife into the warrior’s throat, Raf slams his war pick into the monster’s heart.

With the creature’s scream a battle cry the rest of the defenders charge. Many villagers fought bravely that day against the minions of Gigamus. Orwen, son of Orwen, is the first to crash into the skeletons. A giant of a man he brought a wagon wheel into the fray, and with it, topples a third of the enemy in one charge. Shattered skeletons writhe at his feet while he reels back to swing his great weapon. Alas, these foes are not bandits who would be stunned by such a brazen display of strength. Fearless, the creatures set upon Orwen. From below, one of the toppled skeletons runs a rusted blade into his thigh. The hero cries out as blood flows from the wound and he loses balance. With his allies charging to his aide, another skeleton slices the hero’s stomach open and he dies soon after.

The rest of the defenders fill the wake of his charge, smashing the topples bones and trading blows with those that still stand. They fight desperately against merciless opponents. The young farmer Kelvin severs the head of one by slicing the neck as you would a man. The gold threads snap with a sound like metal being struck. He has no time to celebrate for from behind a spear pierces through his back. Grey, a farmer known for her love of music, slays thrice her number with a few swings of a heavy mallet. The first crashes into a skeleton’s chest, shattering the bones and leaving it a writhing mess. While recovering from her swing, another skeleton with a feathered helm raises an exe above its head. Grey quickly charges the creature with her shoulder, knocking it off balance. As she brings her hammer upon the tumbling foe, another skeleton tumbles atop its ally. The two are crushed in the single strike! She charges where the second skeleton fell from and fights side by side with the garrison soldier, Valen.

Amid the chaos of the battle, Gigamus pulls a crystal from his robe and draws rune upon its smooth surface. Hiding behind the body of his abomination he thinks himself safe from the defenders. However, Raf slinks through the battle, dagger in hand. He seeks the wizard who brought him to much strife. The old soldier could not pry his war pick from the monster’s chest and so retreated to his lines so to not face the horde with only a dagger. Now with the skeletons locked in combat, he spies a chance to slay their master. With a keen ear, he hears the wizard’s incantation through the monster’s breathing. Blade in hand he leaps over the massive body and lunges for the wizard’s throat. With a hiss, Gigamus casts burning pestilence from his mouth to the old soldier. Raf howls in pain as scorching miasma melts his flesh. In an instant, his head is reduced to a skull and he dies as such.

Gigamus does not revel in his victory for he hears the golden threads snapping and knows the battle turns against him. Cursing his misfortune, he completes a final rune that blinks him and his monster away. Shortly after this expeditious retreat, the last of the skeletons fall. The villagers lost nine of their number in all: five farmers, a carpenter, a shepherd, a travelling merchant, and a garrison soldier. They briefly celebrate with cheers, then collect the dead. Carrying her husband’s body, a farmer mentions that a wizard may have the power to raise another horde.

That night, some bury the dead, many set to building a wall, and one goes on the week-long journey to Duke Holiander.

Two weeks later, a dark haired and sullen eyed warrior eats her fill and laughs raucously with fast made friends. Her mother named her Lusitania and she tells the tale of how she has recently made a small fortune.

“I was travelling with a merchant who spoke harsh words about my snoring. Alas he had soft lips that could not handle a punch. Upon being struck, he called upon his men to cut off my hand. Several of them died to my steel before the merchant begged for mercy. Now, this was a very interesting position for me. You see, among my fellow Nozama, this situation would have us both fighting until the rest of the tribe intervene. From there a third person (usually someone respected) would help resolve the disagreement. How strange for me to not only have someone call for blood, but also surrender on their own accord before death was dealt! The fool was so eager to reclaim his pride and now he groveled at my feet. So seeing that it was on me to ensure justice be done I looked upon his wares. No, I did not take the cart. I have no idea how to fix such a thing should it break. And no I did not take the spices that he always talked so highly about. They tasted awful and haggling over price angers me. I simply took his fat purse, a sash that he always wore, and his horse!”

In the roadside tavern, Lusitania and her friends laugh when she tells them of the merchant’s wails. Together they share drinks and sing. They celebrate the night. Among the revelry, however, is one great feeling of melancholy: Press Murt, a wicked man from the city of Duhalla. A mercenary who thinks little of women for reasons unique to civilization and the comfort it brings. So committed to his hatred he calls out to the merry makers.

“I find it more likely you bed the merchant and stole his gold as he slept.”

The revelers do not hear his words and continue to make merry. Press scowls and swells his chest. Offended by their joy he stands up and shouts.

“I call you a whore, daft woman!”

The bard among the merrymakers looks at him, shocked. She believes the giant of a man hurls fury at her! Lusitania thinks the same but does not fear the mercenary. She walks toward Murt with clenched fists that bear the callouses of many fights.

“Do you insult my friend?” Rage builds with each word.

Murt walks closer.

“I insult you, whore. I think you stole your money through seduction, an impressive feat given your boarish body. Or perhaps the merchant was guarded by women as well? Maybe you were another member of his harem?” He quickly catches her coming fist. “See? You are the weaker sex.” Press draws closer as Lusitania relaxes her arm in his grip. “If I wish it, I could easily overpower you and rob you of-“

Lusitania does not give Murt the chance to finish his taunt. The Nozaman lunges her head forward. Murt screams as teeth rip through his nose where it connects to the face. Lusitania pulls back to tear what few scraps of slash were not severed by the bite. All ears tremble from his shriek. A few patrons laugh at his misfortune, others gasp. Lusitania spits out the bloody mess and glares at her enemy.

“You are terrible at smelling danger.”
With blood pouring over his mouth, Murt reaches for his blade.

“You mad cow!”

In a flash, Lusitania draws her sword and cuts him down. She figured him the sort to reclaim pride with violence and so did not let her guard down for a moment. What she did not notice were his approaching allies. The members of his mercenary company, the Earthnekt, had joined the crowd of onlookers.

“My friends!” He cries as he crawls to his leader’s feet. “I have been slain by this she-devil. Avenge my unjust death!”

The mercenary captain crouches to his comrade.

“I swear by my name, Jules, and Rathan above, justice shall be done.”

Murt spends his final moments laughing, finding joy in revenge beyond the grave.

Lusitania holds her blood-stained sword before her.

“How many more shall die to Lusitania of Nozama? Orelia as my witness this tavern will make a graveyard to hold your corpses!”

Jules takes a deep breath and shakes his whole body. A man of short stature, Lusitania knows she can overpower him quickly to have a hostage. A perfect plan for anyone facing a horde of enemies, but useless against what Jules does next. The mercenary leader touches his fingertips to his chest and speaks
.
“I, Jules, captain of the Earthnekt, offer you a position in our company.”

Lusitania points her sword to the mercenary captain.

“You swear to a man on his death, binding your word to your name and god. You vowed to avenge him.”

Jules spreads his arms.

“I swore justice would be done and it has. That man was a villain and was punished with outlawry before he knew us. His skill with a blade allowed him into our company. To us, he showed loyalty and never brought misfortune. As it was we had no reason to reproach him for any sinister deeds he committed. However, we cannot bring ourselves to slay someone who brought him to a just end.”

The mercenaries nod with some turning their heads. Lusitania lowers her blade.

“But why band with your comrade’s killer?”

Jules lowers his arms and rests a hand on his sword’s hilt.

“We have taken a bounty on the wizard Gigamus. You have shown yourself a greater fighter than Murt. We need that strength for this wizard commands the dead to rise into his service.”

The Nozaman sheathes her sword and scratches her chin in thought.

“As I am now I have no need of whatever this bounty may reward nor do I have interest in fighting the dead. My wealth satisfies my needs and I fear that against this mystic you will use me as an expendable pawn. Still your tongue, mercenary, for I have more to say. I recognize the man behind you. My grandfather told me of a man bearing a double-eagle crest of similar design and war. Sir, who gave you that crest?”

“My grandfather, Hildesh.”

Lusitania smiles.

“The name of the man who saved my grandfather. Descendant of Hildesh, I would join your band if you allow it as a way to repay that debt of my grandfather.”

The mercenary soldier smiles.

“Aye. I am not one to hang debt over a friend of the family. I would also love to hear this story of heroism.”

Lusitania laughs and the two grab forearms and shake. The Nozaman turns to the captain.

“Then things are settled. Jules, Lusitania of Nozama joins your party.”

The captain smiles and pounds his chest with a closed fist.

“Superb! Then let us drink, eat, and be merry! Tomorrow is the long march to Duke Holiander, and after that, the dead shall be cast back to their tombs. Bard woman, a gold piece for more music!”

Lusitania and the Earthnekt spend the rest of the night becoming fast friends. While a few of their number do not enjoy the company of Murt’s killer, that night they find plenty to occupy their thoughts. Afterwards, matters are quickly settled on their long journey together. Lusitania is fortunate to travel among warriors who seek simple solutions for problems. As such, a pikeman approached her to settle things through trial by combat. Lusitania, eager to sleep, agreed. Under the light of the moon and stars the two fighters prepare to fight.

The Nozaman seizes the initiative and charges the pikeman. He in turn braces himself to catch her. At the time he figured himself of equal strength to his opponent. Unfortunately, he concluded this based on her fight against Press Murt. What he did not know was that Murt had to strain himself to hold her fist still when he caught it. So instead of halting Lusitania’s charge, the pikeman was cast to the dirt by her assault. When she set upon her topped opponent, he locked his arms together to protect his head. Alas, he did not know that Nozaman warriors are experts at striking joints. So, when she was faced with two locked forearms, she drives her knuckles into his wrists. The pain drive the pikeman to yield and all matters were settled.

From that night, the band marches two more days and arrives at the town of Holiander. A thick fog fills the air so they proceed with caution. When they see the shattered remnants of a wooden wall the band fears the worst. After all, how long could peasants survive a wizard’s siege? Could the wizard have tortured them and learned of the plea for aide? Mercenaries grip their weapons tight. They strain their eyes against the dense fog, searching for monsters lurking in ambush. They move forward, footsteps falling on moist grass and breaking ancient bones. Closer to the village proper they see a waist-high earthen wall built to incorporate the houses into its defenses.

Lusitania sees a figure past the wall. Unsure if it be friend or foe she readies her sword and calls out.

“You there! Past the wall! Come forth!”
The figure walks forward through the fog. It is a young man in chainmail holding a halberd.

“Greetings!” he says, “I pray you be not deserters. If you are, I hope you may be willing to earn your spoils honestly, for our town needs warriors.”

Lusitania sheathes her sword and approaches the young man.

“I am Lusitania. I travel among the mercenary band called Earthnekt. We have been asked by Argoth Holiander to defend your town.”

The warrior hoists himself over the wall with a big grin on his face.

“Argoth Holiander? Be that the name of Lord Holiander?”

“Yes, I do recall him to be also named Lord.”

“Blessings of Rathan! I am Santilli and I lead the garrison here. Our people are having breakfast next to the tomb of the town hero, Alveredo. We shall meet you all there.”

A few hours later the two parties meet. They share food and in the midst of the fog they pray. Friends are made as they eat biscuits with stew while songs are sung. Lusitania and Santilli become fond with each other and together in a tight embrace. The next morning, Santilli speaks of his fear for the oncoming battle. Finding displeasure in how he chooses to use his mouth, the Nozaman brings his lips to hers. The two make love until noon comes and they hear the mercenary horn of battle.

All across town you can hear cries of “The south wall! The south wall!” as people quickly gather weapons and position themselves for battle. The daily assaults have trained the villagers to maneuver effectively alongside the garrison. This discipline born from desperation could repel the wizard’s forces whenever they arrive. However, on some days Gigamus would be taken by an evil passion of creation and weave together a frightening army of hundreds. The first of these killed half the garrison. The second slaughtered half the villagers and destroyed the palisade wall. And now a third comes. Greater than the past two combined, this legion of death comes with enough soldiers to butcher all those within Holiander, be they mercenary, soldier, or villager.

Jules breathes slow and deep. The mercenary captain nods to the priest. Clad not in armor but only green and red checkered robes, the holy man steps forward with an iron spiral in the palm of his hand. With the village natives shouting battle cries, none noticed the priest move past their lines until he already climbed over the wall.

The skeletons charge forward, brandishing their blood rusted weapons. Golden threads faintly glimmer in the sun. Their twinkling grows brighter as a chorus of shrieks fill the air. The natives hold fast against the piercing sound but the mercenaries howl and fall. The priest is the only exception. Among the onslaught he sings.

“O, Rathan, you blight this world with madness so that we call to you for guidance.”

The holy man’s voice smothers the shrieks as he channels the divine.

“You give us few words to live by except for one absolute: The dead shall never rise again!”

At the final declaration, he thrusts the medallion into the air. The shrieks fall silent and all those who draw breath blink once in unison. It is said that seeing the will of Rathan manifest in our world will cause your head to twist off your shoulders. So instinctually we blink when the god is called upon. I do not know the truth of that belief, only that the defenders opened their eyes to the skeletons tangled in their threads. The gold now turned black from the might of Rathan!

Lusitania charges first. Having been raised in the savage Nozaman jungles, she has a killer’s instinct to strike at the first sign of weakness. Her laughter resounds like a lion’s roar. The tremendous joy grips the hearts of her comrades and they join her attack. Weapons in hand they set upon the skeletons. Incapacitated as they were, the monsters do little to defend themselves. Some violently spasm or manage to lash out, but their weapons find no flesh. It does not take the living warriors long to use their helpless enemies as objects of merrymaking. They laugh as they snap black threads and encourage each other to slay their enemies in creative or humorous ways. Lusitania tests her strength by twisting one’s head until the threads snap. The mercenary Busey asks friends to hold up skeletons by their arms so he may bring down his mace in an overhead swing to try and smash through from skull to grain. Grey finds herself a spear so she may make a game of stabbing between their ribs without touching the bone. She finds so much joy in her skill she begins to sing! Many feats are performed that day with the unanimous favorite done by Santilli and the farmer Orwen. Joyfully they return to the village proper so they can rest. As they walk, Lusitania calls out:

“Come, wizard!” Come to Holiander and spare us the trouble of storming your lair! Lusitania shall grant you a swift death!”

The warriors cheer and a few approach her to tell of an old castle half a day from the village. The castle, named Willetta, once acted as a dungeon for the previous Lord Holiander. While scouting, the villagers saw skeletons coming from an old road that leads there. A plan forming in her mind, Lusitania sets out to find Jules with a proposition: Take the whole of the defenders and slay the wizard in his home. Upon hearing the plan, the mercenary captain touches his fingers to his lips in contemplation. He knows the wizard’s death would allow them to collect their bounty all the sooner. Victory on the same day as their arrival would also grant favor from Lord Holiander. However, Jules does not think Gigamus such a fool to hide undefended. Magical traps could make quick work of their forces and provide more bodies for his vile endeavors. With this in mind, he thinks of a new plan.

“Lusitania,” he says, “if you would be willing, I ask that you take a band of villagers to Willetta Castle and see what you can learn of Gigamus.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Why send me instead of some of your trusted soldiers?”

In truth, the mercenary captain would rather risk the lives of temporary allies than those he will continue to serve alongside. Being a manipulative man he quickly responds.

“I have heard of your hunting stories in the Romaturny jungles. That experience along with the villager’s knowledge of the local area gives me confidence your pathfinder abilities exceed that of anyone in my company.”

Lusitania smells the deception. While she did tell tales of her hunts, other mercenaries had impressive stories of their own. Not interested in playing a game of lies she finds a solution to appease both parties.

“I ask that you travel with us. It does not sit well with me when someone makes a plan but risks nothing in it.”

Trickery struggles before brutal honesty. Jules takes a deep breath.

“I am not needed here for command so I will travel with you. I shall appoint a temporary commander while you gather some villagers. We shall leave tomorrow morning.”

With Santilli’s aide, Lusitania quickly finds a group of villagers to form the bulk of the scouting party. Jules spends the night cursing his misfortune and going over things with his temporary replacement. The next morning the band meets at the south edge of town as the sun’s glow begins to push away the night sky. With breath visible in the morning chill they exchange greetings and make their way to Willetta Castle.

Along their journey, the villagers tell stories about the place’s dark history. A generation ago the last brick of the vile place was laid. A castle in name only, it served as a prison for the late Thomas Holiander to send criminals he could not ransom. Those with families of wealth would be kept in that Lord Holiander’s personal castle dungeon so he may profit from selling freedom. Those without families like yours or mine would be sent to Willetta Castle. In that awful place, they were victims to the cruelties of the Bell Gang. On days the nearby town (then named Monroeville) displeased the wretch Thomas Holiander, one of the villagers would be sent to Willetta. The scouts speak fondly of the day Alveredo led them to burn the castle with the Bell Gang shackled to the floor of their dungeon.

They arrive when the sun has cleared the mountaintops. Its bright light reveals the castle covered In emerald nature. As they carefully move forward, Lusitania hears a high, raspy voice whisper in her ear.

“I do not belong here.”

She draws her sword, starling the rest of her band.

“Have you gone mad, woman?” asks Jules.

“I do not belong here,” it says with anger.

“Lusitania! Your feet!” cries one of the villagers.

She leaps away and looks at her feet, spotting a faint blue glow rising from the underbrush where she once stood. The wizard’s magic! The Nozaman curses her fortune as she sees the world around her become dragged into he glow. She now finds herself in a well-lit room with stone walls, a glowing sword hilt in the center, and five armed skeletons w/ gold thread faintly glistening in the torchlight.

Lusitania seizes the initiative by charging a skeleton with her shoulder, driving the monster into the wall. Its ribs break from the might of her blow. Seeing the broken bones dangling by golden threads, the warrior grasps them with both hands. As a flail she swings the skeleton into its allies, knocking them off their feet in one stroke. With a mighty overhead swing she smashes her weaponized victim into one of its fallen comrades, sundering the two.

The remaining skeletons rise from the ground with weapons drawn. Spear, axe, and mace stained with the blood of battles long past fly towards the Nozaman. She takes up her sword and strikes the spear aside so that it deflects the other two weapons. A second swing slices the gold threads at their throats, unravelling the rest. The trio fall to the ground. Lusitania laughs and thrusts her fist into the air.

She whispers, “Glory to you, Orelia!”

Thinker her comrades to be trapped inside the enchanted sword hilt on the floor she slides it into her waistband (but not before poking it cautiously). Now with clear conscious the warrior leaves the room.

Lusitania quickly concludes she is within a dungeon. She cannot imagine the people of this land would enjoy sleeping in iron cages and she has been among those who call themselves “civilized” long enough to recognize a stockade. However, the Nozaman finds the spikes at the wrists to be barbaric even for city-dwellers. Despite the many torches and fresh paint on the walls, anyone could feel each brick of that cursed place soaked in screams and blood. Evil still lingers. The warrior has no doubt she walks in the damned dungeon of Willetta Castle. A turned corner leaves no doubt. It has been painted over, but color cannot repair scarred stone. Marks chiseled deep into the wall read: “Rathan take the Bell Gang with bodies not black as their souls.” A shiver runs through Lusitania as she hears long dead voices scream in agony as they burn alive. Beneath the obituary, a staircase leading upwards. With sword in hand and furrowed brow, the Nozaman marches upwards.

Faint chanting can be heard. Her mouth opens to a grin. A wizard awaits in his den of evil. Skeletons guarding the portal chamber beyond fall quickly to her blade. What a great story it will be to slay such a foe! She can barely contain her laughter as she slinks through the halls. Many more wretched dead fall silently to her blade as she draws closer to the chanting.

Within his ritual chamber, the wizard Gigamus curses his fortune while mindlessly invocating. His plan unraveled from the first day he arrived at Holiander and no plot after has corrected the failure. Now his body withers from magic. Threads from the tabards of the dead turned gold by a stroke of his tongue. Each enchantment drains his life. The wizard was content to wear down the defenders, but he felt the gold threads of his latest warriors turn black. Facing off against another wizard has forced his hand. Among the glowing runes of the ritual chamber he poured his vile life into a potion. Mumbling curses, Gigamus pulls a crystal from his robe and draws runes upon its smooth surface.

While conducting this ritual, A Nozaman war scream pierces his ears. Heart filled with dread he turns. He sees Lusitania! She stands at the portal with sword held high and fire in her eyes. He looses a scream of his own. Filled with fear he hastily draws runes but Lusitania charges him faster than his fingers move. Knowing death approaches he calls out.

“My monster! My monster!”

A figure hiding in the shadows leaps forward. The ground trembles from its massive frame. Lusitania hurls herself to the side as a monstrosity tall as a house with flesh like tanned leather stampedes past. IT turns and roars. That moment allows Gigamus the time to complete the ritual and whisk himself away. Lusitania has no intention to leave without a prize. The warrior turns to the monster and roars back.

The abomination strides forward. Lusitania hides behind a pillar. The creature smashes it with two clenched fists and looms over the stump. It peers through the rock dust as great stone bounce off its towering figure. Eyes stitched together to fit a great skull search fruitlessly for Lusitania has already crept along the base of the pillar. Slipping behind the creature, the only noise she makes is a grand laugh as she plunger her sword into the monster’s spine. It does not so much as wince. The creature turns to face her. The warrior curses as muscles she stabbed clench her sword stronger than she can pull it free. Weapon torn from her hands, Lusitania narrowly dodges a meaty arm. Her trained eyes focus on the war pick hanging from its chest. Before meeting his last day, the garrison captain of Holiander, Alex Raf, lived untouched by sorcery just as most people have. The war pick he wielded was just as un-enchanted. However, when it touched the monster’s heart it gained the abomination’s appetite for destruction. So, when Lusitania dashes under stone-shattering arms to grab the haft, the head tears through the muscles that hold it. The monster howls in pain, shaking the chamber with its agony. Lusitania grips the wicked pick with two hands as it devours scraps of flesh torn from the abomination.

She does not give a moment of respite. The warrior sets upon the creature as it suffers, driving the pick into its knee. The monster collapses as the wicked pick devours body and bone without discrimination. Lusitania arcs her weapon towards the monster’s head for a killing blow! Alas, no skull is struck for a meaty fist slams into her body. The attack had little of the monster’s full force behind it but the strength was great enough to knock the air from her lungs and cast her to the ground. The abomination hurls itself forward with a burst of energy. Gargantuan fists that shattered a stone column fly toward Lusitania as she still struggles from the blow she just suffered. She tries to roll away but does not have the strength to fully escape the attack. Death is inevitable.

Or at least it seems that way. The Nozaman props the pick against the ground. The flat of the head points to the stone of the floor while the shaft aims at the coming fist. The hungering weapon gnaws fruitlessly against stone as the monster’s fist hits the wooden haft dead center. The weapon holds! Lusitania casts the fist aside with a turn of the haft. A surge of strength surges through her body and she drives the devouring pick into the monster’s skull. The abomination still lives! It bellows and thrashes upon the floor, rolling onto its back. Lusitania scrambles away from wild limbs. Regaining her composure, she slows her breathing. Her heart steadies. She sees blood flowing from the monster’s wounds just as blood flows from hers.

“We bleed together,” she says as she charges, “Does your heart beat as mine?”
Both before and after its enchantment, the war pick could pierce deep into the monster through the point of the pick. However, no matter its disposition, the head could not penetrate deep enough to reach the monster’s heart. The haft would stop the swing no matter the force. Using the weapon as designed would never deal a killing blow on Gigamus’s abomination. However, Lusitania has another plan. The warrior weaves through flailing limbs, each one so fueled by agony that any could be a killing blow. With great agility honed from fighting such massive creatures, she reaches the torso and presses the flat of the head against the monster’s breast, right over the heart. The enchanted pick consumes tanned leather, muscle, bone, and the cursed heart that birthed it. All motion leaves the beast in an instant. Th pick becomes dormant, its hunger sated.
Lusitania fills the chamber with laughter. A raucous symphony of joy!
“Glory to you, Orelia. I feel your favor upon me!”
Radiating euphoria, she leaves the castle through the front door and soon finds a member of the scouting part as she walks upon the old road leaving it.
“My friend, my friend!” she approaches the scout with arms wide open. “I have a tale of great battle to share! Let us return to Holiander so we may drink and celebrate my victory.”
The scout is stunned by the Nozaman’s bravado but manages to stutter: “When the magic whisked you away, the mercenary Jules directed us to flee. He feared the wizard would soon be upon us. It did not sit well with me to leave you behind so I figured to wait until sundown in case you manage to escape.”

Lusitania slaps the scout on the back. “Ha! The castle is but a hovel to me. I have half a mind to claim your Lord Holiander’s home as my own! Come now, my boasts do not need such a look of shock. Let us return to the town so I may tell you of my adventure and you can decide if my skill could conquer Lord’s abode.”

Little did she know, her adventure has yet to end.

As the pair climb over the won’s earthen work wall, they hear an ear-splitting cry from the town center. They become part of a crowd encircling a young woman with a bloody knife and the wizard Gigamus taking his last breath. The young woman smiles. The crowd reassures and praises her. Soon the entire town is swept up in celebration. Their enemy has been slain. So great their revelry that they do not notice the stirring earth behind the wizard. That trembling soil would be the only harbinger for the return of Alveredo.

A hand bursts forth in defiance of nature’s claim. It presses against the ground to push the rest of the body from its grave. A farmer screams at the sight, alerting the others of the town champion’s horrific visage. With conjured maggots placing rotten flesh on old bones, Alveredo looks around in confusion.

“Why have I returned to life?”

The young garrison soldier Santilli steps forward.

“My lord, Alveredo, I have heard much of your heroism from the people here. I believe a vile wizard named Gigamus has cast a spell on your dead bones, no doubt with the intention of turning you against us for his own ends. Thankfully he has been slain before your soul was claimed.”

The living corpse nods slowly while scratching his chin. Several maggots are crushed in the motion, leaving behind a black ichor. Alveredo pays no mind to it. The ooze clings to his fingers as the move across the air as he talks.

“I thank you for recognizing my title. My family name may have been purged but I am glad our legacy remains. I will have to believe you about this wizard for I feel no bewitchment…Good sir, I must ask you of the crest upon your tabard.”

Santilli glances at his chest and laughs. “Ah, I understand your confusion! Yes, this is the crest of the Holiander family you revolted against so long ago. However, many years have passed. The current patriarch is a kind man who reached out to the town in its time of crisis. I do not exaggerate when I say he saved this place from extinction. So great his generosity they honor him by naming this town Holiander.”

A rotting hand grasps his throat. Alveredo stares at the young soldier with wide eyes and bare teeth.

“Damn peasants, too ignorant of the world.”

Blood pours over the hand as living flesh it touches rots away, becoming easily torn by the grip.

“They do not understand that blood is blood! We are born into this world as we are!”

Villagers and mercenaries draw weapons. They rush to Santilli’s aide.

“They are to live and die as swine while We shape the world!”

Alveredo throws the now dead soldier at the coming warriors. The body bloats as it arcs through the air. A villager reaches out to catch only for it to burst into a cloud of burning pestilence. Victims shriek in agony while the rest recoil in horror. Alveredo gives no quarter. He screams at the crowd and from his open maw a tide of black ichor spews forth like an encroaching shadow. First, it spreads across the ground. Then the forms of the Bell Gang rise with bodies as black as their souls. Cackling, they swing weapons that flow through steel and armor but sever flesh. The once revelrous crowd can only scream in horror with the ichor at their feet locking them to the ground. They are cut down to the last as Alveredo turns to attack the rest of the town. Instead he finds Lusitania’s blade piercing his throat.

Their eyes lock, both faces twisted in hatred for the other. Alveredo opens his mouth to spew burning pestilence but the blade in his throat blocks the attack. Lusitania smirks. With a twist of her body the sword cuts free. Another swing severs the neck completely. Yet the wicked heart still beats! Flesh-rotting arms lunge for Lusitania. She is not caught flat footed. Her blood-stained sword flashes through the air and the attack is cast aside. With a heart=shaking war cry, Lusitania thrusts her open hand forward. It easily tears through the rotten flesh. The might of the blow smashes through ancient bones. Her fingers wrap around the wicked heart. The hand clenches and all that remains are scraps between the Nozaman’s fingers. As such, Alveredo returns to death.

The warrior breathes slow and deep. Having heard the sounds of death, people are already standing outside their doors. Wails fill the air. Some run to the side of their slain love. Others cannot bear to move from where they stand. Villagers and mercenaries alike form a tragic choir. Lusitania feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns to see Jules looking up at her with a slight frown.

“If you wish to mourn feel free, but we leave for Lord Holiander tomorrow morning.”

She nods in response and is left alone. Lusitania turns her head to the sky.

Morning comes quickly for the Nozaman. She and the Earthnekt leave the village with heads hanging low. The fog comes in thick that morning. Melancholy lingers through their journey, but by the time they arrive at Lord Holiander’s castle they find their spirits recovered. The noble has audience with the band where Jules recounts their trials with a single interruption by Lusitania to tell of her battle against the wizard’s stitched monster. It is Jules, however, who describes her battle with Alveredo.

Holiander listens intently to the riveting tale, only moving when he hears Jules mention: “My warrior then removed her blade from the former’s throat so she may drive it through his cursed heart.”

Lusitania raises an eyebrow while the noble strokes his chin.

“If your warrior speaks true about the war pick from the abomination’s chest then I suspect that the same magic that enchanted the war pick may lie in her sword. Be this true I would but it at a high price!”

Jules covers his mouth to hide a broad grin. Lusitania sighs.

“The mercenary has been deceived by his eyes. IN truth, I did not wish for such magic on my sword so I crushed his heart with my bare hand.”

Holiander laughs, “Foolish woman, as if I could believe such a lie. Surely you are not so daft as to risk a hand to protect a sword.”

The Nozaman scowls. “I figured flesh to be- “

The man laughs louder. “enough of your lies, silly girl! Show me your enchanted blade so I may buy it from you.”

Jules turns to whisper to the warrior but she already began shouting.

“Praise your Rathan that armed guards surround you! Take my blade and drive it through your heart!”

She throws the sword forward and marches to the hall’s exit. Startled aby the outburst, the mercenaries give way. His pride ravaged, Lord Holiander rises. Perhaps he wished to hurl an insult, or maybe he would have commanded his soldiers to lock her away. I will never know for a cloud of burning pestilence shot forward from the blade. His body is reduced to bone in an instant. Alveredo’s will had been done.

The captain of the guard grabs the hilt of his sword and turns to Jules. Wide eyed, the mercenary acts quickly.

“Lusitania has betrayed us! To arms!”

With so much happening, neither guard nor mercenary makes a move for the Nozaman. The exception is Jules. Sword in hand he sprints toward the warrior. She turns as he swings and catches his arm with a single hand. Enraged by the betrayal, Lusitania grabs the blade and twists it from his grip. She then throws the mercenary to the ground and moves to make her escape. The mercenary captain retrieves a knife from his boot and moves to stab the Nozaman in the back. She hears the motion. In a flash of steel, she swings to rend his head. The mercenary quickly falls backwards to dodge the attack. The blade sinks into his cheek and flies upwards to his temple. Claiming an eye along the way. The betrayer keeps his life but pursues her no more.

Lusitania laughs at her victory but cannot celebrate further. The captain of the guard has rallied his troops. Not wishing to test her might against so many, the Nozaman bolts for a window guarded by a soldier still flat-footed by the chaos. She easily casts him aside with an elbow to the throat and leaps to a tree, at the base of which is a boy practicing his horsemanship. Lusitania throws the child from the beast and rides it away. They found the horse a week later, but Lusitania had escaped their clutches.

To this day, the kingdom still blames her for Lord Holiander’s death. Jules never revealed the truth, and I doubt they would believe him even if he did. That being said, the kingdom would not dare enact vengeance given recent events.

What’s that? How do I know so much of Jules? I merely speak stories I have heard. I lost this eye farming, as is my trade. Now I will answer no more questions. Let another story be told or leave me to my drink.

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>Black starts the game
>And it's not even a piece that can be moved legally at the start
REEEEE!

Well done user. Glad to see you expanded on your earlier work

1d4chan.org/images/9/99/ReturnOfAlveredo.png

Yup, workin on the second one too.

Hey, I wrote this ramblinge prologue to an AAR I was doing and thought it would be neat to base a story off it.

Prologue
Of all the races in the world, it is perhaps Mankind that is most susceptible to the call of Chaos. Dwarfs, by their very nature, are obstinate and bear the smallest slights for an eternity. The Elves, secure in their long lived lives and mastery of magic and craft, care not for the temptations that Chaos can offer to mortals, they simply have to reach out and pluck it eventually. They have time enough.The greenskins are simple minded creatures, who live to fight, and fight to live. To them brutality is a part of life. They were made to cruel and nasty, from the smallest goblin to the biggest orc, and chaos has no hold over them. Halflings are content to farm and feast, and so are the ogres. To them Chaos is utterly pointless, it's whispers unnecessary.
Mankind is too short lived to become truly skilled at a craft. The Magic they weave is contemptuously easy to the greenest of high elf novices. The height of their technological marvel is a child's sketch, crudely drawn, to a dwarf apprentice. They cannot cook as well as halflings, or eat as heartily as ogres. Yet, the ambition is there. It shines through the eyes of the lowest human being, a desire to do something more. To be something better. However, their flesh betrays them. Too weak, brittle and short living, a diseased vine struggling to hold the fruit that grows on it. Mankind is, for lack of a better word, too chaotic to accomplish much, according to their betters.

Elven and Dwarfish legends spoke of a time, millennia ago, where mighty heroes battled countless demons and saved the world. Humanity wasn't there, of course. The fathers of men fell to the darkness, or ran far away, little better than savage beasts. They didn't fight any glorious fights then. They didn't raise cairns and magnificent tombs to their heroes and saviours. Mankind does not even remember those days. It simply survived and waited until the storm passed by, like the deer that graze in the woods. Three thousand years ago, to the elves men were savage beasts to be killed for sport. The noon sun shone over Ulthuan and her children, and cast no shadows. Elves and dwarfs traded and prospered, and mankind was a curio that lived on the edges of the world in the lands beyond the mountains of mourn or in the frozen north, suffering the ravages of chaos mutely, like dumb beasts.

Two and a half thousand years ago, the dwarfs and elves were bitter enemies, who had fought a war for a royal beard and had brought their empires to the brink of ruin.
The elves had left the world, never to return, and those that remained became a feral people, jealously defending their forests and groves against all who would attack them. The dwarfs were on the decline as well. Innumerable lives had been lost to greenskins, and other, more horrifying creatures, and entire clans and holds forever lost to the gaze of Valaya. They clung more grimly to their remaining strongholds and remembered grudges that would never be avenged

.
Between the cold harshness of norsca, and the grim horrors of the badlands, lies a large expanse of land. It is defended on three sides by nearly impassable mountains, and the sea on the fourth. A land rich and wild, in both riches and danger. The elves had made cities upon it coasts during their zenith, its glittering spires and elegant walls never to be seen again, for the dwarfs had razed them in the bitter bloodshed that had followed.
The dwarfs had made homes and Karaks in the remote hills and mountains of the land, and lived in spartan conditions while they swore oaths to the High king.
For all their mightiness, skill in magic and craft, neither elves, nor dwarfs had ever thought about taming the lands. It was too vast, and too far from the sea for the Asur, and too shallow and poor in gorl for the Dawi. They were too few. Far too few and in their pride never heeded what the land wanted.
The land didn't need a master's touch to guide it. It lived, it thrived, and it yearned for the touch of higher beings. Beings that didn't crave for perfection in every fibre of their being. Beings that were more than just their lore and craft, beings that would grow, just like She had once. Beings that hungered for more. She would be their mother and watch them grow mighty in her loving embrace.
And thus the land slept, and slowly stirred as the pitter patter of feet came over the World's Edge.
-From the secret history of the Empire Nuln Press 2022
(deemed heretical by the Holy order of the Templars of Sigmar)

Any thoughts would be appreciated and welcome.

wait, so the portuguese lady was in the tavern while the necromancer's attack was being told as a story?

Too much is a straight lift from published sources.
Expect a call from GW's lawyers ...

I derped in my posting

Well written, and I'd be interested to see what kind of story you'd make for that.

Speaking of Warhammer, I'm still waiting to see the conclusion of . I've held off posting the screencap on the wiki until it's all done.

Excellent. Although the one comment I would make is that your story could have been split into chapters (or in keeping with the theme, different nights in the tavern). There are several obvious break points, and with long stories it helps to have regular breaks.

Oh, btw - you get bonus points for realising here to put your text in a better format for Veeky Forums. It seems like a small thing but it makes it look so much better.

yeah, I was writing that until I hit a bit of a block. I will continue that in a little bit.

But non of the names are trademarked :(

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Continuing my story from last threadL >background music: youtube.com/watch?v=uyp6c0GZddI

It is a friday evening and on a terrace area of an office building in downtown where three upper-class co-workers. Philip Sharp, a manager in the fourth floor area who is easily noticable and identified with his "signature" red suit that he liked to wear on either fridays, holidays, or when in a good mood. Manuel Hanson, the geek or nerd and generally the "smart guy" of the group, if any of his friends and closer associates need a certain and or specific problem fixed he's the guy who could help, plus has thick rimmed glasses that reinforce his stereotypical nerd feature. And also Shmul Rosenzweig, a good and even close friend of Manuel and Philip, is a foreigner from Grestin who recently earned citizenship for Bronia, the very country the three friends are in and living now. And jokingly, Shmul is the "Token Black Guy" of his tight nit group of friends, a title which earns sarcastic remarks from Mr. Rosenzweig. And in this pleasant enough friday evening they are just about to leave the office soon as they've already clocked out earlier, but decided to have some small talk and minor chit-chat.

"Another pleasant friday evening eh boys?" Philip said as he stretched his arms briefly before putting them down and having his arms on his back. "Any specific plans today? Hang outs? A short toad trip? Hitting the bar? Or just staying at home and revel at being single with no nagging spouse to be heard of?"

"Most definitely stayin at home mang." Said Manuel as he breath the evening air in and adjusted his glasses.

"And vhat to do all zaturday and zunday mein Manny? Vatch and fap to porn? Fiddle around vith those expensive plastic miniature dolls of yourz? Vatch more of your favortie cartoonz? Or more video gamez to rot your mind?" Said Shmul Rosenzwieg.

“Oh hardy-har-har Shmu! And no, I’m actually gonna be teaching a neighbor-next-door’s daughter how to play a clarinet!” Said Manuel Hanson.

"And what's this I hear? Banter among fellow co-workers I see?" Came the voice of a woman who now just walked in to the balcony area. It was the lady friend and fellow co-worker of Philip, Manny, and Shmul, it was Debra Moss. Who is also a secretary for another manager in a different floor of the office.

"DEBRA!" Philip, Shmul, and Manny exclaimed their female friend's name as she walked towards her male friends with four cold beers at her hands.

"And where'd you get such chilling refreshments Debs?" Asked Philip.

"My boss let me take a few from his private chiller, 'cause its gonna be the weekend and stuff. Knew you guys tend to go out in here either every fridays or when in a good mood, the balcony area, smoke a few sticks, chats, and a view of the city."

Debra passed the drinks to her friends as they begun to crack open the caps which results in satisfying hisses from the bottles being opened. And Debra followed to in drinking up the refreshments she brougt for herself and friends.

"So any plans this weekend boys?" Debra asked as she takes another sip.

"Just planning to stay home and enjoy the single life of not having a nagging spouse." Said Philip in deadpan as he takes a sip.

"I'm gonna be teaching a lil' girl next door how to play a clarinet." Said Manny as he blew softly to the opening of his beer bottle making some echoing sound off of it.

"Vell, remember Celestine Powers?" Asked Shmul.

“The pretty ashen-haired woman? What about her?” Manny asked.

“Vell my planz for da veekend? Celestine invited me to have dinner vith her and her two friendz, tvinz!”

“Ooo! Sounds intriguing Shmu. And should I assume you’s gonna go to Celestine’s invite just to hook up with one of the twins eh?” Philip Slyly inquired.

And Debra jokingly inquired. “Or maybe both?” Which earned some chuckles from Philip, Manny and even Shmul himself.

"HAR-ZE-HAR-HAR!" Schmu sarcastically quipped. "Anyvay, here'z a photo vith ze tvinz. Via Celestine's zocial media."

Shmul got out his smart phone and opened up to show his friends the so called twins that would motivate him to come along with Miss Celestine Moss' invitation to dinner. And Shmul gave his other three friends a view to show that indeed, the twins he's talking about are not only alike but both are good looking.

"¡Vaya, carajo! Those are some damn fine babes! And that's one thing about Miss Celestine Powers. She always seems to be around and even surrounded by some busty babes. Even older, middle-aged women that're around her and or work with her are almost always good-tier MILFs."

"And any senior woman who's associated with Celestine is a GILF, or 'GMILF?' Grandma-I'd-Like-to'Fuck? Hehehe" Philip interjected jokingly also earning chuckles from his office pals.

"Oh don't think about azking for additional invitez if any of you think Celestine vould give any." Said Shmul in an as-a-matter-of-factly manner.

"Well damn, I would've loved to get either of those brunette's numbers." Said Manny as he takes a last swig of his bottle, finishing his drink.

"Same here and you all know that I'm a woman who's down with swinging both ways and prefering either my boys or girls good looking and fair skinned."

Said Debra as she also finished her beer as the next thirty minutes or so continued with various small talk about sharing thoughts of what to probably do in the weekend or contemplating about the possibility of being invited at dinner with Celestine and her pretty lady-friends.

To the author who makes the Chris Orksen stories. I got something for you; pic related.

Hope you's see this :)

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Jake D. Bucher, Average American Citizen
Personal Journal, Recovered from Salt Lake City Ruins–

When the magic came back, no one was prepared. No one really knows why it came back, but the eggheads on discovery channel think it has to do with some relics that got destroyed in some air raid, but regardless, it’s here and probably here to stay. I remember I was sitting down, watching the local news spew bullshittery when it happened. It felt like a wave, it just hit you and all of a sudden it seemed like there was so much MORE that you could see, like a eureka moment. The feeling mostly went away after a few seconds, but not completely. Actually, if not for the fact that literally everyone I talked to had felt the same thing, and the fact that two days later my kid lit his bed on fire with his bare hands, and I could see my neighbor’s kid doing god-damned loop-de-loops in the sky I would’ve completely forgotten about it.

Turns out it was pretty fucking major happenings all over the world. People freaked the fuck out of course, riots and fear-mongering fucking everywhere, the Middle East went BUG-FUCKING-NUTS with witch-hunts, a Primal accidently summoned a fucking lightning storm over San Diego. Ya know, the kinda fun stuff one would expect. Had to crack a few zealots’ heads myself when they tried to witch-hunt in our state. Well, it took about 20 years for all the major hubbub to die down. Well, here in Texas anyways. The feds had tried to shut down magic users after that whole Primal-taking-over -San-Diego-and-establishing-a-independent-City-State thing , but it turned out to be a harder proposition than expected when fully 10% of the population could use magic in some way or another, and 50% could perceive it. The courts struck down most laws pertaining to banning it when people started realizing it was intrinsic. The fear-mongers are fucking everywhere still, hell they just got the new Pres. Elected on that basis, but there ain’t too many down here where I live.

There were several classifications for magic user’s, you see. The first were the 50% percent, that could be taught to “see” magic, if nothing else. And let me tell, you, it’s damned gorgeous to watch an arch mage do his stuff. Then there’s the mages, which can use magic, but you gotta be taught and really work at it to go up in sub-classes, from novice to arch mage. That neighbor’s kid actually took the test the other year, and passed with flying colors, which kinda surprised me, given the restrictions on it. A novice can set a pile of logs on fire, but an Archmage can do the same to a small town. We got about 70 that passed the bar in Texas now.
Then there are the Primals. They happen about every 150,000,000 people, but America’s (un)fortunately above the average. We got 4 of ‘em. One went and took over San Diego like I said before, and threw everything the military threw at him back twice as hard. Our own Roberts stayed here in Texas, keeping those fuckers across the border in check after Mexico fell. But the other two are just kinda hangin out, sponsoring magic festivals and shit. My kid actually convinced me go with him and his family to the one in Salt Lake City this year, supposedly the main attraction this year is going to be a duel between the other two Primals. I just hope those fuckers in DC don’t try and pull anything while we’re there.


Continue? First time write-fag.

>Continue? First time write-fag.
Hell yeah, that's good stuff you got there user.

Got a minor formatting note though: put a full line space between every paragraph.

you can see the difference it makes here
where clearly the user who wrote it realised if you copy-paste text from wordpad or whatever into the Veeky Forums dialogue box it doesn't end up looking so good.

>want to write a near future fantasy with wizards and angels
>main antagonist would be the strongest wizard in texas
>Want to give them some twist, decide it should be that magic is strictly manipulation of perception
>Antagonist should have some special advancement of that
>Realize the best thing I could give him would be one power that he uses for a whole bunch of shit and isn't explained till the end
>Want to give him the ability to stop the perception of time
I can't escape the memes if I do this, but I think it might be worth it

Alrighty, note taken. Will probably continue in the evening tomorrow.

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"Welp I don't about you lady and gentlemen. But I think it's time to call it a night." Said Philip as he is the last to now finished his beer. "I'mma clock out now, see you in monday my fellow corporate dregs!" Said Philip as he begun to walk back into the building to walk down to the lobby and leave the area.

"Adios Amigos! Got one of my favorite weekend shows that's coming up tonight. And gotta prepare my clarinet for those lessons I'm gonna give to my neighbor." Manny waved an arm as he also begun walking for home.

"Vell itz about time I alzo clocked out too Fraulein Moss, I vould not vant to ztay up all night and be late for my veekend dinner invite vith mizz Powers. Tschüss, and see you in monday az uzual Debra." Shmul said as he made a perfect toss of his now finished beer bottle into a nearby garbage bin and waved Debra goodbye and walked for home.

"You to Shmu, and hey maybe you could tell Celestine to make one more invite or even a last minute invite for just me? I really am eager to meet one of those twins if possible." Said and asked Debra with humorous intent in mind.

"Ha! I'll try and ask Celestine!" Said Shmu as he was just near the door heading back into the officer. "Not heading home yet???" Shmu asked loudly from the distance.

"Maybe later, I'll just take in the evening view and air for awhile then I'll leave later, I already clocked out earlier."

"Okay, goodbye again!" Shmu said again as he now got back inside.

And now Debra was just by herself as she at last took a last swig from her drink and placed it down on the ground for the custodial staff to clean it up later. She decided to got some her earbuds and plugged it in her phone and listen to some tunes while taking in the evening breeze before heading home soon.

And thus concludes such an evening for four fellow co-workers who're also friends.

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There you go, fin. Since this storythread's still new and its still the weekend, I might make another story in a while.

bump!

...

...

So, this is a cutscene for one of the characters I play in Exalted.
What you need to know is that the character was highly compassionate, his virtue flaw being Red Rage of Compassion. That basically means he flies into a more-or-less uncontrollable rage when those he cares about get hurt.
And for context, most of the world was just destroyed by a fucker.

How do you find this?
The story so far:
About two months into their refuge inside the manse after the fall of Yu-Shan, evening finds Noz in his room, looking out the window. The room is a mess, with dirty clothes, bottles of ale, wine and hard liquor littering about a quarter of the floor. Besides the smell of stale air, which is present throughout the manse due the windows and doors not being opened in quite a long while, the room reeks of alcohol, marijuana and sweat. Noz is sitting by the window, looking out. His unkempt hair and beard, alongside with the smell of booze and sweat that had been following him the past few weeks make him look older, and unrecognizable to anyone but his circle.
He shambles, as he is wont to do recently, towards the table with the assortment of tubes, jars and glass bottles, almost knocking over one of the potted marijuana plants he is growing and narrowly missing the punching bag suspended in the middle of the room. He crashes hard, elbows first, on the table, making the glass paraphernalia shake with the impact. He picks up one of the jars, which contains a clear, strong-smelling liquid, and takes a swig. “I’ve had better” he says to no one in particular, and finishes the rest of the jar. Throwing the now empty container over his shoulder, he opens a drawer and takes out a marijuana cigarette. “Now whurr ish dat little fuhcker?” he says, turning around. He takes two steps and loses balance. Trying to avoid a fall, he throws himself at the bed. He lands on it, right side first, but the mattress bounces him off and he lands hard on his back.

The marijuana cigarette is still in his mouth, intact. He starts laughing hysterically. Since he is still on his back when he starts laughing, the cigarette does what gravity tells it to do, falling into his mouth and partially down his throat.
Choking and laughing at the same time, Noz pulls the cigarette out and turns his head to the left. “There y’are!” He exclaims, as a fresh burst of laughter erupts. He reaches under the bed and pulls out a box of matches. Between short fits of laughter, Noz attempts to light one of the matches, managing to break quite a few in the process. Finally managing to keep one lit and to temporarily suppress his laughter, Noz brings the fire to the end of the cigarette and inhales deeply. He exhales and takes another drag. This time, a fit of coughing starts shaking him, making him go up to his knees. Bumping his knee hard against the floor and feeling no pain, he remembers a time when his knee used to hurt all the time. He gets up, room spinning all around him, and falls down on the bed. He never thought he'd say this about that year of his life, but even that was better. Taking another deep drag, Noz remembers the events of his youth that lead to his Second Breath. He relives the walk with Silvestra and the demon's attack. He remembers all the dead bodies, and the creature going for his famiy. Was Varnas still alive? But no, he couldn't go down that road, not again. Not after last night.

It happened while he was drinking a jar of the special moonshine he'd been making. Toch was hanging out with Ignis, who was trying to figure out how he worked and Jonathan was free to fly around the manse, since he couldn't go outside, so he didn't know exactly where he was. He could've found out, but he wanted to be alone, and Jonathan understood that. Noz was roaming through the manse, drinking and thinking. That was pretty much all he did these days. He ended up in the kitchen and got the sudden urge to cook. He'd go for anything, but he knew Khaia had been drooling for some cake for a while. Then, he remembered who else had been very fond of cake. A single tear rolled down his cheek and fell on the counter. Its fall lasted ages.
As the tear was plummeting towards the counter, he felt that all of Creation was trapped inside it, and the moment it crashed, he felt the anger take him again. He struck out against the kitchen counter, making it magma-hot, burning and melting in a matter of seconds. Then he screamed, and punched the floor. Vines came out of every crack and crushed almost every object in the kitchen. In a moment of clarity, he ran up to his room to avoid causing any more destruction. He got there and tried to calm down, but he couldn't. Everything was dead or dying. Everything was dead or dying because he was too weak to do anything about it. If he could only banish the shadowlands that were killing everything and putting all souls in a circle of reincarnation. But then, he thought he knew exactly how to do that. In his rage, he threw open the doors to the balcony, tearing one out of its hinges, and looked at the darkness outside.

Darkness. Shadowlands. The only thing that can beat darkness is light. He flared up and, with a raging bellow punched the air in front of him. From around his forearm, a flaming bird made out of diamond and ruby essence shot forward, shrieking, and crashed roughly 1000 yards from the manse. Before it exploded into a huge ball of purifying flame, Noz had already started working on the second one. The second bird shot forward, leaving a trail of burning essence in its wake, and crashing into the darkness outside. Noz could already hear shouts from outside his room, as he was working on a third brilliant predatory bird. Even though his forearms and hands were covered in burns, since he didn't shape the birds with the utmost care, Noz launched a third attack on the darkness outside. He heard Amiri yelling for Pat and Khaia, standing in the door, asking him "What in the name of Creation do you think you're doing? Have you gone mad?". But he ignored her, and started working on the fourth bird. "It's working, can't you see it? I'm fighting darkness with light! I will stop the dying and then I'll go for the sonofayeddim who started all this!" He launched a fourth bird and started working on the fifth. By then, his arms and chest bore horrific burns, and the room smelled like charred meat and burnt hair. "I can't clinch him if he's on fire!" yelled Pat, while Amiri said something unintelligible, probably in her wyld dialect.
"Arvia wouldn't want you doing this", came a soft voice from his left. That made him abruptly stop his casting, causing the quarter formed bird to quickly dissipate. Silvestra was standing beside him, looking at him with an interesting mix of amused curiosity and honest sympathy. "I don't have time for this!" Noz yelled, while starting to cast yet another raptor. "I have to stop the killing!". She smiled. "I'm sorry for this, but I can't let you hurt yourself any further. Pat, heal him!"

Noz did not even notice the burns on his arms and chest being healed. Instead he launched the bird, and as he was getting ready to start working on another one, he heard Pat saying "I'm sorry too." and found himself flying through the air. He landed, and before losing consciousness, he saw the whole circle, including their once lost Eclipse caste, leaning over him. Despite everything, for the first time in ages, they were all together.
That had happened yesterday. This morning, everyone had been acting like nothing had happened. Noz was grateful for that. And he realized that trying to banish the shadowlands by blasting them away was a stupid plan, if there ever was one. Still, the feelings of uselessness and guilt continued. Had he listened to Arvia's request for them to take her with them, or to let her roam Creation, to get to know life outside of her manse under Nexus, she might have still been alive. Were he smarter, he would've heeded Rhys' warning that the guy in the Day Star was not Big' Ol' Sunny-Boy. Were he strong enough, he would've done something about that, and maybe the Unconquered Sun and Luna would still be alive, and none of this would have happened.

But it's not the time for 'what-ifs". Noz tries to throw his roach in the trash bin on the other side of the room, but instead he throws it on the mattress. "Boy, this is some good pot. Had the world not ended, I could've made good money selling this. It could've been the major export of the city we could've built." He tries to get up, but falls back down. "Oh, right." A bubble of water envelops Noz's head, and as it bursts, both the effects of the alcohol and those of the marijuana are gone. "It's a damn shame I had to do that, but it's time." He gets off the bed and goes to the punching bag. He starts hitting it, imagining it's Solarion, as Pat described him. For an hour he keeps this up, trying to break the bag, trying to break Solarion. "I am going to break you! I am going to do to you what you did to Creation, you no-good, god-murdering son of a-"
"Am I interrupting something?" Silvestra walks in, with Jonathan on her shoulder. She takes a look around, sniffs around a bit and says "You should really do something with the place."
"Yeah, I'll... I'll get to that. So... what did you want to see me about?" says Noz, while heading towards the desk with the improvised distillery on it, opening a drawer, finding it full with jars of moonshine, closing it and taking another marijuana cigarette from the one above. "Oh, do you want one?"
"I'm good... What, can't a manse's avatar have a chat with her creator?"

"Yeah... sorry. I'm not much of a people person these days"
"You should do something about your appearance as well. Now that you're all buffed up from hitting that punching bag, that beard and messy hair make you look like a buffalo."
Lighting his cigarette, Noz says "I've seen a herd of buffaloes once. Trust me, I look nothing like one. I wonder if there is anybody left alive who knows what one looks like."
"You do know that torturing yourself like this will not bring her back right?"
"I am going to kill him, Silvestra. I *want* to kill him. I've never felt that way about anyone. I... I want to more than kill him. Were it within my power, I would condemn him to an eternity of suffering. If it were in my power, I would pull him out of the cycle of reincarnation and make him pay for eternity."
"I'm a bit surprised to hear that coming from you."
"He destroyed Creation, Silvestra. He killed millions! He probably killed my family... He... He killed Arvia. She was... she was like my little sister. I haven't seen my little brother Varnas in a few years, and she reminded me so much of myself when I was small. Wanting to explore stuff, yearning for knowledge and being unable to leave the place you were born in. When I heard she died, a huge part of me died with her. I think that's why I did what I did when I heard the news. It was... It was kind of like last night."

"Hey, it's going to be ok. Somehow... I know you can put things right. If anyone can, it's you guys. Now..." she begins, as Jonathan Livingston flies over to Noz's shoulder and covers his face with a wing against the smoke "tell me more about the buffaloes. Tell me everything about your travels. I do need to learn, if I am to be your manse's avatar. Start with the sea. I love the idea of a neverending source of water."
Silvestra sits down next to him, on the bed, and Noz puts his joint out. They sit there, the ethereal avatar of the manse, a conflicted sorcerer uncertain of who he is and what he's become and his seagull who was with him from the beginning. He starts talking to them, telling tales of people, animals, and magic. He tells tales of lands that used to be and of glories that once were. He talks to those closest to him, to those who have, in a way, been with him from the very start; h talks until he falls asleep.

...

Time for backstory:
He woke up four days later. His left arm was broken, as were a couple of his ribs. His head was covered in bandages. They had apparently hit him with a fishing pole and split his scalp. The worst part was his right leg. It had been crushed, the knee destroyed. Except for the head wound and possibly one of the ribs, the rest hadn't been the bullies' work. He had been found on the coast, with a tree on top him. After they had left him there, the storm had apparently knocked down a tree, and he was unfortunate enough to be lying unconscious underneath it.

And so began the worst year of his life.

The pain was unbearable. He was given potions, poultices were applied and changed daily, and he was kept mostly asleep. After the worst was over, the fact that he'd live became apparent. What was obvious though, was that he would never swim again.

He wasn't able to leave the bed for the first 3 months. Then, he got a pair of improvised crutches. When he became able to leave the house, he'd go to the edge of the sea and look out towards his island.

His little piece of paradise on which he would never again set foot…. The knee was a constant source of pain, but it didn't bother him as much. What bothered him was that all of his books and artifacts, which he would never see or touch again, were just lying there. He became quiet. He seldom talked. His parents were worried, and tried to get him to open up, but nothing worked. Until one day, about a year after the accident (one year, two weeks, five days after he woke up, to be exact), when they told him a circle of Solars was passing through.

That got his attention. He went outside and, as he expected, everybody was crowded around them. He could barely see the top of a shaved head, but nothing more. He tried to make his way through the crowd, but he was pushed and found himself falling on his bad knee. He screamed. As he was getting up, he noticed that a path was forming in front of him. He didn't understand what was going on, until he saw the big bald man dressed in radiant robes was almost in front of him. He started backing away, scared, apologizing for screaming, apologizing for anything he might have done wrong, asking for mercy. The big bald man didn't say anything. He looked at the improvised crotches, then at him. Then, with a reassuring grin but no words whatsoever, he grabbed the kid's head.

Cold and heat together started flowing into him from the man's hand. It went on for about five minutes. The flowing eventually stopped, and the hand squeezed his head gently, lifting him to his feet. He could stand. He couldn't believe it, but he could stand. His arm was feeling great as well. There was not a single trace of pain left in his body. He tried to thank the man, but started stuttering.

The Solar, by then walking towards the rest of his Circle, simply looked back and smiled. He said there were no thanks required, that that was the way of the Unconquered Sun. Then he proceeded to ask Nausmir where he lived. Noz pointed a finger at his house. The man grinned.

He said the Unconquered Sun might not be done with him yet, and that maybe them crossing paths had not been a thing of chance. The he turned away and returned to his friends, the crowd moving back behind him. Noz walked home and slept.

During the next months, he swam. Little by little, he got his stamina back. In six months, he was able to swim to his island again. He didn't though. Not yet. He told his parents he'd be going away for days at a time. They weren't happy about it, but they were excited that he was walking and talking again, so they agreed. Plus, they had their hands full with his newborn little brother.

So he went back. And trained. He bought a thick rope, used for tying masts, and brought it to the island. He built a shelter. He started using the rope as a fighting chain. He also used it to get better at climbing and swinging from trees. When he got good at using it, he bought another one. He'd go home twice a week, but the rest of the time, he'd practice. He got skilled at an improvised style of chain-wielding martial arts.

Time passed like this. About two years later, he went back home for good. He'd still swim to the island every now and again, but there was no more he could learn by himself. The books he knew by heart. The weapons were still too heavy for him to wield. The artifacts were still of unknown use to him.

He got a job as a fisherman on the docks, since his seasickeness was the one thing the Solar had not cured him of. He got a part-time job as a cook's assistant. He provided for his family.

Ten years passed.

Noz, now twenty-five, had his own place, he was a cook in the new tavern and was the best big brother in the world, or so Varnas would have everyone believe. One night, the young man was returning home with a young buxom beauty that was just passing through and needed a place to spend the night. Unfortunately, as this is called the Age of Sorrows for a reason, disaster was just around the corner. Literally.

As Noz and Silvestra were turning the corner, they noticed something weird being unloaded from a ship. It was late, the docks were empty, with only them and the tall, thin man with the thin, long mustache who was letting some sort of creature out of a big shipping box. As the creature came into view, Noz could see that it was about 7 and a half feet tall and was made from what appeared to be solidified chunks of flesh and scabs. It had spikes on its head and back, made from the same fleshy substance. It was oozing blood and a fowl, green liquid. The creature had rows upon rows of huge teeth, curving both outward and inward, and its tongue was split in half, like a snake's. As it looked towards the couple, the tongue lashed out to lick its lips. It fell out instead, and the creature instantly grew a new one. It had huge wings on its back, which looked like those of a skinned bird. Its eyes were burning embers, glowing in the night. It was holding what appeared to be a spear made of human bones.

Noz tried to scream, but couldn't. He looked at Silvestra, and didn't know what to make of what he was seeing. Instead of screaming, or trying to run away, she had her war face on. She was holding a daiklave, even though he was positive she didn't have one on her before, when they were heading home. His hands had been all over her, he should have felt it. He turned to look at the creature again, but instead of it being 10-15 yards away as it originally was, 2-3 seconds before, it was right in front of him. He got a good look at the cracks the scabs made in the thing's skin. He felt sick.

Before he had time to think, a hand with claws that were a grisly 10 inches-long flashed in front of him and sent Silvestra flying into the ocean. He felt an impact, blood trickling from his chest, and he was flying as well. His back hit a wooden wall, followed immediately by the back of his head. He felt the wood crack and was swallowed by darkness.

He came to, a little while later, surrounded by the smell of smoke, blood, and the screams of people. He got up clumsily, staggering. He touched the back of his head. Blood. It hurt, but he would have to put up with it. The house through which he had partly crashed was on fire. The people living there were nowhere to be seen. There were, however, bodies all over the place. On the docks, in the water, on top of houses. There were people screaming, people crying, people running. He could still walk. And he could still run. He had to check on his family.

He ran to a small store that sold oysters, clams, and cockles. He tore down the awning and took the chains that held up the sign. He gave them a spin and smiled. They were just the right weight. Then, he started for his parents' house.

Now that the initial shock of seeing it was gone, he realized he had read about creatures like that. It was a demon of the second circle. Apparently, the man on the docks had smuggled it into the village for some reason. On his way, he saw the devastation the demon had left behind. Dead bodies splayed everywhere. People he knew. People he had lived with his entire life. Surprisingly few, though. Seeing as they were a fishing village, with no means of defending themselves, the body count was surprisingly low. The destruction was mostly focused in a straight line. The demon had apparently known where it was headed. That meant it was smuggled in the village for a reason. As he was thinking about what that reason could have been, Noz realized in an instant one horrible detail that made him stop dead in his tracks for a moment. The trail of destruction was leading towards his parents' house. He picked up speed, praying to the Unconquered Sun that he wasn't too late. He didn't know what he’d do when he got there, he didn't think he could stand up to a second circle demon, but he had to try.

About two streets away from where his folks lived, the trail suddenly stopped. Instead, there was a hole through a building, as if someone or something had been thrown through it. Sounds were coming from the other side of building, but he had to check on his parents and Varnas. If anything happened to them...


He reached the house and slammed the door open. His family was alright. They were all huddled up in a corner. They jumped when he opened the door but as soon as they realized who was standing there, they jumped him. They were glad he was ok, and were asking him what was going on. He told them what he knew, and decided to go see what was going on, and if he could do anything to stop the unholy abomination from killing any more neighbors. As he was about to head for the door, one of the walls exploded in thousands of splinters and pieces of wood.


Something heavy hit him so hard he went sprawling, the thing on top of him. He hit his head against the floor and pain instantly flared up. It was so intense he blacked out for a couple of seconds. When he came to, he saw that it was Silvestra who had crashed into him.


As he got up, he managed a coy smile as he realized that despite everything that was going down this evening, he’d actually forgotten about her: "That's not the way I expected you to get on top of me this evening."

"I'd tell you what I expected from this evening, but I believe your parents are here."

"Feisty! I like that!" said Noz, beginning to like her more and more as the evening went by.

"And I believe *he* is here as well." she said, readying her paired daiklaves.

"Don’t you play the pronoun game wi-" then he saw it.

The demon was in the opening. It stepped inside. One of its arms was missing, as was a wing. Half of its jaw was gone as well. Blood and green goo dripped from it on the floor. Its spear was jammed through its own torso, but it didn't seem bothered by it. It started walking towards them. Silvestra made a gesture to attack it, but the thing was suddenly gone. Then, Noz heard his brother scream.

He turned around as fast as he could, and he saw his father lying on the floor. There was no way to tell if he was alive or dead. The demon had his mother by the head. It was holding her up one handed. Silvestra sprang forward, daiklave aimed at the thing's head. She managed to scalp the creature but it showed no signs of noticing or being deterred by it. The demon swirled, kicking Silvestra straight in the gut and sending her flying across the room. She hit a wall and didn't get up. Noz turned towards the thing, spinning his chains. A light flashed in his mother's eyes, her head still held firmly in the thing's hand. Then it dropped her to the ground. The demon turned its attention to Varnas.

Noz started running towards it. A sweep of the thing's one remaining wing sent him sprawling, chains flying out of his hands. He looked towards Silvestra. She was still out. He looked at the demon, which was now reaching for Varnas, who was backing into a corner, too terrified to even cry. He was helpless. He had no chance against the thing. It was going to kill his brother, like it did his parents, and then it was going to come for him. There was nothing he could do about it. He was going to let his brother die because he was too weak to do anything. He was as helpless as that time on the coast, when the big kids knocked him out. The desperation was overwhelming. As was his sense of uselessness. The thing grabbed Varnas' head. And then it happened.

He could feel himself changing in way he couldn't exactly describe. It was as if his very soul was being altered. No, not altered. More like... enhanced. Yes, that was the word. He felt as though a piece that had been missing all along was added to his soul. Now that it was in place, he couldn't understand how he had lived without it. It belonged there. He could feel the same type of warmth combined with cold flowing through his body as he did that time when the Solar had healed him.

Not only could he sense it, he could see it. He extended his hand and looked at it. A shiny, golden aura was radiating from him, just on top of a light blue one. He felt power flowing through him. Then, a sudden and unexpected shockwave, with him at its center, plowed through the house. Every piece of furniture was knocked over. Pieces of wood flew outward from the hole in the wall. The demon was propelled forward, hitting its head against the wall and dropping Varnas. Silvestra woke up, rose, and started towards him.

"Are they-" Noz began, looking at his parents, but Silvestra cut him off.

"They're fine. It just tried to read their minds. Well, steal their memories is a more apt description, but either way they'll be fine. They might not remember what happened here, but otherwise-"

She got cut off as Varnas ran and grabbed Noz's leg, asking through rivers of tears and snot what was going on.

"Everything's gonna be fine, little man. You just go with her, while I deal with him." He turned towards Silvestra "Please take him to a safe place. Them too. I'll deal with him. You try finding that son of a yeddim who brought it here."

"Bossy, aren't we? Looks like the Second Breath's gone straight to your head."

"So that's what happened?"

"Yes. Now you take care of that thing. We'll catch up later." And she took Varnas on her back, slung his parents one on each shoulder, and leapt through the wall.

"Looks like it's just you and me, big boy. Let's see how you like me now."

Noz picked up the chains from the floor and started swinging them. The thing charged. It tried to tear him open with its claws, but Noz was faster. He swung a chain at the demon's remaining arm, clenching it. He slid between its legs, got up and pulled. The demon was pulled arm-first between its own legs and went sprawling on its back. Before it had a chance to get up, Noz was on it. He coiled one of the chains around the thing's neck and started squeezing. The thing grabbed him by the neck and threw him out of the house, through a wall. It jumped out right after him.
Noz fell in the water, while the the thing landed on a pier. He tried to climb up behind it to surprise it, but it turned around abruptly and kicked for his head. Noz barely got out of the way of the kick and swung both chains, wrapping them around the thing's leg. He pulled.

The demon was on its back again. Noz started spinning. The demon started spinning as well. Soon, they were a blur spinning through the night sky. Noz expertly swirled in the air, positioning the creature at an angle and throwing it in the air. Because of the thing's momentum, and because he was still holding onto the chains that were coiled around the demon's leg, he went flying after it. They flew about 5 stories high, taller than any building in this small fishing village, and during the ascension, Noz managed to get on top the thing and stand there. He made the chains uncoil, swung them again for the thing's torso, and while still in the air, started spinning it again. He uncoiled the chains and sent the thing flying towards an anchored ship. As Noz fell towards the water, he saw the demon hitting the ship's mast.

He got out, breathing heavily, and looked at the ship. The demon was down, the mast toppled on top of it. It wasn't moving. He wanted to jump onto the ship in order to make sure the abomination was dead, but instead got the air knocked out of him and was sent flying.

The demon had just swung a piece of the now broken mast at him and hit him square-on. He landed on the fo'c'sle. Everything hurt. He tried to get up, but was instead lifted by his head. He saw the the thing's own spear jutting from its torso. He was getting closer to it. It was trying to impale him on the spear jutting from itself. What in the name of the Unconquered Sun was this thing made of? He didn't have enough strength to resist. He tried but it was useless. He was going to become a torso ornament for this abomination. All of a sudden, the spear disappeared. He looked through the hole left by it in the thing's body.
He took a few steps back and realized that now it was jotting from the demon's head. Right between its yellow, burning eyes. The spear then jerked upwards, splitting the upper part of the thing's head in half. The head rolled off to the side as the demon’s body finally let go of Noz. It toppled over, only to reveal Silvestra standing behind it.

The next two weeks were interesting, to say the least. Silvestra gave him some answers, but not nearly all of them. Apparently, his house was built on something called an essence node. That, along with the emotions he went through when the demon was about to kill his brother, were what most likely caused his Second Breath. She hadn't managed to catch the man who released the demon, but she was able to find out some things. All she told him was that someone was trying to turn the island into a shadow land.

Unfortunately, there was nothing more she could or would say about the subject. She didn't tell him anything about her, not even if Silvestra was her real name or if she was a Solar as well. Before leaving the next day, she taught him a few things about the Exaltation. She also taught him how to attune the two Dire Chains on his island in order to make them usable.

His parents were ok, but the conversation with them had been quite awkward. He explained what he knew. It quite difficult, seeing as he didn't know that much about what went down, to begin with. It was made even more difficult by the seagull who started following him around after that night. He could understand all that the seagull wanted him to, and vice-versa. Apparently, Exaltation spilled over everything in the vicinity of the one who draws their Second Breath. Jonathan Livingston, as was the bird's name, had had its nest on the Seaworths' house, getting a full dose of radiation. This made him smarter than the average gull.
Noz told his parents that he decided to leave, to travel the world in order to attempt to banish the shadow lands. They were hesitant but really could do nothing to stop him. He gave Varnas a small Fire Pearl, which he had found among the artifacts and told him to take care of it until he returned. He buried the rest of the shipwreck goods along with the wave cleaver daiklave and the books, both the ones he'd read, and those damaged in the storm. Now cured of his sea sickness thanks to the Exaltation, he left his village for the first time ever, after helping with rebuilding.

I've got more related to a different character if anyone's interested