A Story by Nev

[Lord Nev]

Hello all! This is a story I've been writing. I've had writers block for a while so it has been slow. So here 'tis.

Chapter 1: The Fallen Warrior

He awoke. His stomach was afire with pain. He even felt sick. The dark shadow was creeping at his senses again. The fallen warrior knew he was dying. The sword wound to his stomach was unleashing more and more blood by the minute, but the man’s will to live was strong. He got up on his hands and knees and surveyed the battlefield he had just walked hours before.

Shields and swords and all manner of weapons of both friend and foe alike littered the ground. But even more so were the bodies. Oh, the terrible stench! It was an awful to see. Blood turned the grass below into a marsh. Gore was scattered all over the ground. Every now and then, the warrior’s boot would sink into a puddle. He looked around again and this time saw more dead with the silver vine insignia than the iron armor of the enemy. This grieved him more and he wondered if he could take it.

He did not abandon his armor even though there was a hole where the sword had punctured it. If he were to run in to the foe he would die taking them with him, but he did not. A sudden jolt of pain raced through him. The man placed a mailed hand on the wound. He groaned, wanting it to end, but if it did he would die. He was doubled over and using his sword as a support. It made a chink sound as it buried it self in the mud. He kept his eyes straight ahead not daring to look upon his fallen comrades. Tears ran down his face for both the dead and the living that would suffer under the iron hand of the enemy because of their army’s defeat.

He saw a cluster of trees and walked toward them. Thunder rolled. The clouds were as grey as the armor of his foe. Even the sky has been conquered by them, the warrior thought. He reached the trees and wondered if his army would have faired better if they would have place some archers in there. He walked for a distance, but fatigue settled in. He rested himself against a fairly large rock. His eyes were leaden and he soon fell asleep.

The warrior saw many men being wakened by ancestors of his race. They got up and walked toward a light in the sky. Another man clad in the same garb came up to the warrior and beckoned him to follow them.

“Come.”
The warrior shook his head. Something inside him told him that the time was not right. A sharp pain awoke him. He screamed.

“Easy mate, your not dead yet.”

The warrior looked up and saw the face of a young man partly covered with a brown hood.

“We’ll get you t’ safety. Don’t worry. Just lay back.”

The warrior did as he was told. He was only half conscious so no other advice sounded better. He generally would not have been so trusting, but the manner in which his visitor talked was soothing. Blackness enveloped him and he lost consciousness.


“Oi! We’re movin’ out!”

The man opened his eyes. He was leaning against the same rock he had been when he blacked out. His sword lay by him and he strapped it on immediately. The warrior ran to his place in the ranks of his comrades. He was only a mere swordsman in the army of Teras, but that mattered little in the grand scale. The warrior’s mind was fixed on the battle ahead. They were not fighting to gain land, but for their country’s freedom. The iron clad invaders had ravaged the land for too long.

The warrior gasped at the sight before him. Rank upon rank of grey stood in the field before him. It was as if a great storm cloud had descended on the green earth. Jegg looked closer and could see the vastness of their enemies. Noticing this, their commander started bellowing out orders.

“All right! Pikemen in front! Cavalry on the right flank! Swords behind the pikes! Formatioooonnnnn!”

The troops of Teras got filed into their formations they had drilled for months. The pike men with their giant shields and long spears spread out in five ranks in front. The warrior could hear the hooves of the cavalry form up on their right. He was nervous. Sweat beaded on his face and dripped down his red hair and beard.

The commander motioned to a man at his side to sound the charge. He did. The horn sounded its single heroic note and sent renewed vigor in the hearts of all present.

“Cavalry!” the hard-eyed commander yelled.

That was all he needed to say. The horsemen, spread out in their attack formation, started at a walk. The warrior wondered what the enemy troops were thinking. A massive wall of steel and flesh could not be too comforting to the ones who were intended to receive it. The horses now trotted. The iron clad foes were obviously preparing for the clash. Long sharp poles were being moved to the front. The warrior wondered at what the cavalry would do. Surely the horses would be impaled and the riders hurled forward to their doom.

The outcome was soon to be seen when the horses charged ahead to a full gallop. The iron clad foes raised their spears. Suddenly, the front ranks of the cavalry whipped out short bows and fired. Cries of surprise and pain rent the air as the steel headed shafts hit their targets. The spears dropped from the ranks of the iron-clad as their wielders dropped to the ground, dead.

The bowmen, as quick as they had taken out their bows, stowed them and took out six foot spears from sheaths on the sides of their horses. The mailed horseman hit the iron-clad with a deafening clash. The swords and spears advanced behind them, ready to do battle with the weakened ranks of the iron-clad.

The massive shields of the spearmen glinted dimly in the partly clouded sun. They walked right over the footprints of the horses. Their only objective was to keep the enemy from coming at the backs of their own horsemen so they would not be overwhelmed. The commander shouted again.

“Ranks, divide!”

The spears and swords parted to let the retreating cavalry back behind the safety of their own shields. Obviously, their objective had been changed. The warrior surveyed the battlefield. The mailed horsemen were now welding their cavalry swords. Their round shields had successfully warded off the impure iron swords of the foes. They had struggling to stay on their horses. If the cavalrymen failed to stay upon their mounts, they would be overwhelmed and slaughtered.

The commander sounded the charge and the infantry ran at a sprint almost immediately. The warrior felt the anxiety of the battle rush out of him. Instead, it was replaced with the yelling frenzy of the charge. The warrior heard the clash and wielded his sword expertly.

The valley resonated with the ringing of metal and the shouts of war. Expert Teras swordsmen wielded their long-swords almost as if it was a part of them. The fury of the Teras charge drove back the front ranks of the iron-clad, but they were soon replaced with fresh troops. The warrior cut down an iron-clad that jumped in front of him. Another iron-clad came right up behind his comrade. The warrior gripped his sword and blocked the axe blow. He maneuvered his sword between the haft and the head and kept it from action. The sharp blade faced directly at the iron-clad. The warrior pushed his sword into the iron-clad’s unprotected neck. He dropped like a rock.

An iron-clad countercharge was in order. They ran straight into the Teras phalanx and fell into the trap. While one detachment of iron-clad charged, another came around the left flank of the spears. Panic did not yet set in, but the warrior knew that it would not be long until they were overwhelmed. A Teras banner was imbedded in the ground beside him. He picked it up and waved it in the direction of the horsemen, hoping to somehow gain their aid.

The commander raised his sword, but none of the horses charged. The warrior waved it harder and harder and still the horses did not charge. He was starting to worry. He had a reason to. Suddenly, the cavalry charged. This came as a surprise and later a grave mistake. The iron-clad had done more damage to the Teras cavalry than he thought. Obviously, the commander did not know this. A gap in the ranks opened up in front of the warrior and he rushed to fill it, forgetting the cavalry. He picked up a fallen spearman’s shield and used it to his advantage. The 3x5 foot sheet of steel provided sufficient protection to the warrior as he hacked and slashed at the iron-clad, but according to the falling Terasim beside him, he would not be able to hold the gap for much longer.

The iron-clad foes were also thinning their ranks, their own that is. Many of the foes withdrew from the fray. The warrior found this peculiar. The iron-clad were winning. Why were they withdrawing? He soon found out. Gigantic shields as big and wide as a man advanced onto the field. Little sits were cut at about eye level and the warrior found to his horror that there also crossbows extending from the massive shields. He immediately dropped behind his spearman’s shield. Bolts zipped everywhere like bees. They made a thud in as they hit the armor of the Terasim. Screams of the dying filled the very air that the warrior breathed.

This was just on his left. The battle was still going strong where he was so he leapt onto the nearest iron-clad and hacked like nothing else. He was furious. He had lead the cavalry to their deaths. He had failed to hold the gap. He let the head roll of off his foe and rushed into another one, bowling him over. The warrior stood over his fallen foe, sword raised. The iron-clad suddenly drew a short sword and thrust it through the warrior’s armor at the midsection. The warrior stumbled back. Blood rushing from the wound he had just received. He glared at the iron-clad with hatred and pain. Darkness was eating at the corners of his eyes. He engraved the face of the iron-clad in his mind. Then, he was consumed in darkness.

[Shadow]

Very sweet! You are a talented writer. Will you turn this into a LEGO illustrated story? I'm sure it would be a fine one if you did.

[Lord Nev]

Tanks alot! I will if I could fgure out how to post pics into posts

[smcginnis]

I like it. I read it yesterday, and wasn't sure whether you wanted people to reply, because I thought you might want to post additions that were right after the first post. Anyway, great story, but I'm a little confused. Is the fighting at the end after the beginning? If so, then how did the warrior heal enough to resume fighting? Again, great story.

~smcginnis

[ottoatm]

Sweet! I'm always up for a new story! This is really well written - I liked how it started more than anything else. I'd love to see it with LEGO pics, but it does stand alone quite well without them.

[Shadow]

Speaking of stories, Castle World is probably your best resource.
http://s13.invisionfree.com/Castle_World/index.php?

You'll be glad you joined

[Lord Nev]

Well to answer your question, smginnis. The warrior is dreaming about the battle. He's wounded and ferverish so he has vivid flashbacks of the battle he just fought.

Thanks alot for your comments! I was on this one webiste and posted another story and they just made fun of it. I got banned beacuse I got mad at them and told 'em off.

Chapter 2 almost done. Would you like it in another thread or just here?

[smcginnis]

Aha, that's it. Makes sense now. As to your question about the new chapter, might as well post it here to make it easier to find all the chapters (if you post several threads, some may die and be hard to find, while others may stay at the top).

~smcginnis

[Lord Nev]

Okay! Back by popular demand!

Chapter 2: The Cries of the Wounded

“So, whatcher think? Will ‘e make it?"

“I don’t noo at this point.”

“That wound’s bad, mate. He needs more medicine than we can give ‘im. ‘E needs a real physician and with the Iron-clad patrollin’ about the place, they’d spot ‘is steel from a mile away. They’d kill ‘im and ‘ang us fer ‘elpin’ ‘im.”

“I noo that, but we’ve go tae get him oot of here. Et’s no good for either o’ us.”

“But we gotta do summat to ‘elp ‘im.”

“That’s noo the praeblem here.”

“Wot’re you talkin’ about? O’ course that’s the problem here. We found ‘im and we gotter ‘eal ‘im. I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna go ‘elp ‘im.”

The quaint woodsman picked up a bowl of salve and started to adorn the wound in the soldier’s stomach. The wounded soldier groaned.

“’Is mind’s troubled, mate.”

“He just cam’ oot of a battle. O’ course his mind’s troubled.”

“Awright mate, since we can’t take ‘im to a physician, you go get one and bring ‘im ‘ere ‘cause you’re not ‘elpin’ ‘ere at all.”

The other man walked out the door and mounted his horse without a word. The woodsman stayed and tended to the soldier’s wounds.

“Dratted irons. Imagine not purifyin’ yer weapons so’sm the slag gets in the wounds. Barbarian I tell ye’, but don’t let that worry ye’, stranger. We’ll get that wound ‘ealed if it’s the last thin’ we do.”

Gradually, the soldier’s grimace faded and for once in two days he looked peaceful.

The warrior was dreaming again. He was dreaming of his family. For some reason, his sleep beheld the images of his wife and children. He remembered his wife’s face as he left the door of their sanctuary dwelling. All soldiers of Teras had hidden their loved ones in case the battle should go ill. It was by the sea, a long way North. It wasn’t so Northern as to be freezing but every so often the children could play outside without heavy clothes. The warrior was assured that they would be safe there.

He dreamed about his son who would be 14 now. The warrior had given his son his old sword. The look on his son’s face was engraved in the warrior’s memory even in the haunting of his sleep. He remembered exactly the conversation he and his son had before he left, but mostly he remembered his son’s words.

“I will not fail you, father.”

The sound of horse hooves startled the woodsman. He quickly grabbed a broadsword that was hanging by the door, belted it on, and snuck out the door. The woodsman saw the dull grey armor of the riders as he hid in the rocks by his dwelling.

“This’ll slow ol’ Hetch down quite a bit,” he mumbled to himself.

The woodsman could hear the exclamations of the riders. Half of the words spoken were terrible language that any self-respecting man would shun. The woodsman shut his ears to all this, but perked up when he heard the words “soldier” and “steeler”.

“Oh Hetch, be careful,” teh woodsman whispered in the warrior's ear. “People are lookin’ fer ye’, mate. If you can ‘ear me, pleas ‘ang on. Yer our on’y ‘ope left.”

The warrior heard this plea in the deep recesses in his mind. Even as the Gates of Beyond opened in front of him, he refused entrance. He felt a duty to help the man to whom he owed his life. Yet, the reoccurring thoughts what the iron-clad would do if ever they found the families he and his comrades left behind. Oh what a sad day it will be when the news is brought to them that the wives and children are now without husbands and fathers. A tear ran down his cheek as he dreamed of this.

“Oi, Fandori! Open oop will ye’!”

The woodsman ran to let the Northerner in.

“Did ye get ‘im? Is the physician ‘ere?” the woodsman asked.

“No. There were too many irons runnen’ aroond. I coudnae get to hes hoose.”

“Then we condemn our friend to die.”

“I niver said that. I have knowledge of healing. Well, I do! Did ye’ clean the woond lak I asked y’ to?”

“Aye, there was a load o’ slag from those under-smithed swords, but I did manage t’ clean it.”

“Good. The worst part’s done. Noo, leave thes t’ me.”

The Northerner bent down by the warrior’s bed and cleaned the wound again. He mixed some herbs and some leaves that the woodsman did not recognize in a bowl. He applied the strange concoction to the warrior’s wound and layered it with torn up sheets as gauze.

“A’ve doon all ah can. Noo, et’s up tae him.”

The warrior felt peace at last. His fevered dreams were fading and more peaceful visions were appearing to him, visions of home and life as a boy. He still saw the Gates of Beyond in the distance but never once considered passing through. His family kept him alive. He wanted to see them again more than anything. They were his sustanence. They were his will to live.

The shadowed realm of fever was fading. He could hear distant voices talking. Slowly, but surely the darkness faded and a comforting heat awakened him. His eyes opened weakly and he was staring into a fire. The warrior was afraid. He had never been to Oblivion before, but he hated even the name of it. As his eyes focused, he could see a hearth surrounding it. He was in someone’s house, but whose.

With great effort, the warrior turned his head ever so slightly. He could see two men sitting in chairs and reading from manuscripts. He listened as their conversation went on.

“These were all the old documents I could find in the remainin’ libr’ries. How did ye’ fare.”

“Ah think Ah got the moost impairtent ones just en taime. The irons were two minutes be’ind me.”

“They intend to make their conquest complete. Nothin’ will remain of Teras after the irons are through with it. As of a week ago we are no longer Terasim.”

“Et’s a sad thing esn’t et? We’ll coom back. We’ll take back oor land.”

“The Terasim will rally to us if they see this warrior. By seein’ their own devices, they’ll gain ‘ope. But on’y if this man lives.”

“I live.”

Both men turned around to see the warrior staring straight at them. The woodsman rose to kneel by his bedside.

“Listen stranger, I doubt ye’ know what’s happ’nin’. It’ll be hard to ‘ear this mate, but ye’ve gotter know.”

The woodsman told of how the iron-clad had taken complete control of Teras. He told of how they were erasing Terasim culture from the land and replacing it with their own. He told of how unchallenged they had been in their invasion because of the all of the Terasim soldiers being wiped out on the Galad Fields. The warrior did find it hard to listen to, but he needed to hear it. He wanted to know what he was up against when the uprising came.

“I can’t believe it,” the warrior said with a sigh. “All our lands, gone; all our soldiers gone; all our homes, gone.”

“I know, mate. I’m sorry.”

“Fandori, that wasn’t very sensitive.”

“There’s no sense in sugar coatin’ somethin’ a man needs to know. You of all people should know that, Hetch.”

“But et may kill ‘im. His strength esn’t completely restaired.”

“I’m fine,” the warrior said with a grunt. He tried to sit up, but instantly faltered when the pain hit him. Fandori stayed the warrior and laid him back down.
“Stay there, mate. You’re wound still needs watchin’. Ye’d do well to sleep.”

“I must get up.”

Fandori gently held the warrior down.

“Stranger, as long as I’m healin’ ye, ye’ll stay until I say otherwise.”

The warrior was powerless to help himself up, so he had to submit to his healer who he still did not know. There was nothing to do now, but sleep and so he did. His troubles were manifested in his dreams. He dreamt of fire and death. The little refuge where his family was staying was burning. The warrior felt hot and began to sweat. The small droplets of perspiration slid down his face and dropped to the ground. But the sweat was not water. It was blood! His head was dripping with blood and already the dirt was shaded crimson.

The drops of blood kept falling until the warrior was thrust into a raging torrent. A deep red flow carried him to a battle. Men whom he did not know were fighting other men he did not know. He ran from the conflict and entered a cave. Inside the cave, he found his family safe and sound. He rushed to embrace them, but a yawning chasm appeared before him. He fell without a sound.

“NNNNOOOOOOO!”

Fandori and Hetch awoke and jumped right out of bed. Instantly, they were beside the warrior bathing his brow with water.

“’S alright, mate,” Fandori soothed. “‘Twas only a dream. Easy now.”

“Congratulations to ye’, sir. It seems your fever broke,” Hetch said, but then he added. “All over the bedsheets. I bet I could wring at least a flagon out of this.”

Fandori took no notice. “That means your doin’ better in Hetch-speak.”

“Thank you. Be forewarned, though. As soon as I’m well enough, I’m leavin’.”

“Are ye’ noo? And where d’ ye think yer goin’ tae go?”

“I will…” the warrior voice trailed off and his head collapsed into the pillow.

“Hetch, I don’t care how risky ‘tis. I’m goin’ to get a doctorer.”

Fandori grabbed a brown cloak from a peg by the door and bolted out into the rain. It was pouring. Instead of droplets, the rain came down in sheets. He rushed to the stable and mounted a black steed. He whispered in its ear.

“Ye’ve carried me out of death. Ye’ve saved my life more times than I bother t’ remember, but hearken t’ me now. Another man’s life is at stake. A warrior of Teras’ fate rest on your hooves. Be swift, now. Be fast!”

The steed ran out of the small wooden hut at top speed, bolting down the hill. Fandori looked out the window and saw his friend dash away.

“Bring him back safely, Garrast.”