Curse

Mentalmdc · Feb 05, 2006, 12:49 PM // 12:49

Foreword:

This is a story I have begun that will be updated in chapters. It is a tale of how the Guilds of Tyria came to power and how the conspiracy and tension grew eventually until a full scale Guild War broke out draining the Northern States of their wealth. It is a tale that will keep within the lore of Guild Wars according to the manuscripts and I hope will make for an interesting read. This prologue is just setting the scene to get the plot going and should pick up more in the next few chapters.

Prologue:

1012 AE: The Year Before The Guild Wars.

An elegantly dressed diplomat walked through the large antechamber, his tiny footsteps in comparison to the size of the towering statues created resounding echoes as he walked over the shiny marbled floor. The man dressed in robes of white silk stopped briefly and gazed into the piercing eyes of the statue of King Doric. Doric had once been a wise and powerful King. Leader of the alliances between the northern states, he had himself gone to the holy city of Arah to demand that the Gods rebuke their power of magic.

The Gods had left Tyria and had poured magic into the bloodstones, throwing them into the Volcano split and broken, the purely horrifying magic that had caused too many wars of greed left Tyria for what was hoped, ever.

The diplomat broke his gaze, shaking his head he continued across the large hall. The Alliance of the Northern States was becoming an increasingly uneasy one. The Centaurs grew more agitated everyday and talks of rebel Dwarves breaking from the Deldrimour Dwarves caused the Dwarves to become far too hasty. King Turos was the 13th King in the line left by Doric, now the ruler of the alliance he had called diplomats from all of the northern states. Something was afoot.

Rithos felt his age catching up with him. He had been called all the way from Ascalon, he was no longer the athletic youth he once was but he knew Turos valued his advice greatly, better than the scheming advisors of Orr and Kryta. Rithos burst through the grand oaken doors and looked upon an extravagant room where the walls were lined with rubies and emeralds. Velvet flowing curtains were draped over the windows. A large round table was the centrepiece to the room.

Rithos observed several different characters. Some he recognised, others he didn’t. “Ah, Rithos take a seat. We have much grave news that we must talk about,” commanded King Turos. Rithos sat.
“Our friends in the mountains observed 6 fiery Meteors crashing down into the earth, their point of origin was the ring of fire,” the King broke off abruptly as the room filled with endless chatter. Cries and shouts were aimed at the King as the wise elders of Tyria knew that it could only mean one thing.
“Are you sure?” Cried an old looking mage.
“Preposterous,” yelled another.
“Silence!” demanded the king, “Yes, it is unfortunately true. As believed it is confirmed, the bloodstones of magic have been cast back into Tyria and already its magic has seeped into the soils, reports from magicians are that their skills have become enhanced. This is a time for great care for we all know too well what happened the last time.”
Rithos felt uneasy in his seat. This has happened at the worst possible time and he knew there would be much trouble to come. At least he felt safe in the comforting knowledge that the Ascalonian Imperial Army was at its strongest and would do its best to keep Ascalon safe should trouble arise.

Meanwhile the Ascalonian Imperial Army was marching through the Plains of Bathtidos. As they approached the grand city of Arak De, a sense of dread flood through them. They should have seen a city, but instead a pillar of fire climbed the sky. As the soldiers walked the empty streets they should have seen bustling crowds wanting to welcome them, excited and cheering. There should have been exquisite stalls selling some of the finest goods in all of Tyria. Children should have been dancing, singing and playing merrily as the smells of roasting peanuts and stewing apples wafted up your nose. However this was not what they saw. Instead the streets ran with blood, fires billowing in the wind. Swords and shields lay shattered in the grounds. Men could swear they still head the screams of children echoing down the wind. Shattered spears showed signs a battle had taken place in the vacant streets, however who this unseen enemy was, was unknown.

An ear piercing screech echoed through the streets and the dark clouds moved swiftly in. The wind picked up steadily and ground shook. In the corner of the soldier’s eye they saw a shadow, as they darted their eyes towards it they saw nothing. Suddenly a brush passed their left shoulder, looking round, once again nothing. Hearts pounding and racing a few of the soldiers felt great fear. The general at the front on his horse lost control and was sent to the floor. The sun seemed to disappear and an unnatural darkness swept over the city once again. Buildings crumbled to the ground as the whole of the Imperial Army stood awe struck, swords drawn.

Chanting words could be heard on the wind swirling round, the general looked into the distance and froze. With a look of horror erupting over his face he looked into his men’s eyes. In an instant the streets of Arak De once again fell silent and vacant as every single man dropped dead.

But they were not alone, all over the Northern States, the armies of Tyria were being wiped out.

Symeon · Feb 05, 2006, 02:07 PM // 14:07

Cool stuff...moving and well written...
I read the Lore in the manuscripts, some of the stuff sounds interesting but wasn't written about in much detail. A lot of people say the lore of Guild Wars hasn't been gone into in enough depth...I reckon that's a good thing because it means we get to write and imagine it ourselves

Goats17 · Feb 05, 2006, 03:46 PM // 15:46

yeah, all the writers here have decent or amazing talent. I would group you with the secong group.

Mentalmdc · Feb 07, 2006, 06:44 PM // 18:44

It took a while for the bustling crowd in the council room to quieten down. A forlorn aged man looked beleaguered in the throne at the head of the table. With his weary eyes he looked dazed. His head rested on his arm as he lay slumped in his chair contemplating the events that had shaken the Alliance of the North. As if things could get no worse a stout dwarf marched into the room clad in battered old armour, carrying a large hammer, as is the tradition with dwarven warriors, he ruffled his beard with his hand and with an almighty heave, swung his almighty hammer into the gong. As the sounds reverberated around the room, it became that his plea for silence was a success. One by one the councillors retook their seats and order resumed.

“The Dwarves of Deldrimour asks for your most urgent help. Everyday more and more dwarves are turning from the ways of old; they have lost it with human interfering and demand for uttermost control. They are splitting from us. It has become apparent they have now formed a solid clan; they call themselves the Stone Summit. Something must be done soon otherwise we will lose control of it.” Some of the younger councillors jeered at the short man.

“You dwarves lock yourselves away in your forges in the mountains. Have you no clue what is beseeching Tyria at this moment in time! Some of the grandest armies of the 3 States have just disappeared over night. We have no clue what is going on, and you, you dwarves, you want the few of us left to trek off deep into the mountains and sort out your squabbles!”

Looks of utter disbelief took hold of each of the councillors as they stared dumbstruck at the words that had just left King Turos. Rithos stood up.

“Sire, surely you don’t mean to...”

The King cut him off, “Well the dwarves should know better! They are all the same, always squabbling and wanting us humans to sort them out. Some of my best legions have been ravaged by an unknown entity. You tell me how can this be? If I didn’t know any better I’d blame it on these dwarfs myself!”

The King stormed from the room as his nervous advisors sought after him. Rithos looked blankly at the Dwarf. Lost for words he slowly looked round the table. No one had an explanation for the Kings outburst.

“Please, good dwarf, do no take the Kings words at heart, he is under a lot of stress and something disturbing is amiss. I suggest you find yourself a place to sleep for the night and restate your plea tomorrow.” With that the High Council filed out of the room having gotten no further in matters of what to do now so many soldiers had disappeared.

In a back door room of the council chambers a sinister looking man spoke in private to the King. The man was dressed in torn black robes. His skin was extremely drained from colour. Hanthor was a Necromancer, follower of the darkest arts. He had spent so long studying the writings of ancient old and delved into places no living human was supposed to go he was now subject to his own experiments. Thick gloves laden in menacing spikes hid the scars of his endeavours. Hanthor was so evil even parts of his own body were dying, his fingers a rotting impression of what they once were. The room was dimly lit; on the other side of the scarcely furnished room was a man with his face hidden by a mask.

“So events are moving swiftly. The time is coming dear Hanthor, just make sure you are ready. The great Oracle has foreseen what is coming and it will not be good. But it shall be to our liking. I have waited years for this moment, for when the magic would return to Tyria. For Gods, they were fools to think they could take back such a gift. We have prepared for years, the people of Tyria thought they were safe in this petty alliance. Instead they have formed the basis for our rise to power. How is the extermination of the armies going?”

“My lord, we have taken not a single casualty. Not since the battle of Yaks Bend has there been a greater victory. The last platoon of the Ascalonian Imperial Army I believe is passing through Ashford. For such a peaceful and serene town it will be a shame it will be a scene for such bloodshed. I have dispatched a squad of Shadow Assassins.”

Duke Barradin (Father of the Duke Barradin we know) rode anxiously along the dirt path. He hated the night and these were troubling times. His platoon marched noiselessly behind him. As a child he had loved to walk the road to Ashford and had done it many a time. He knew where every tree was, and where every stone lay. But tonight they looked foreign to him, a looming wall of evil. The wind sneered at him as its icy power cut through his chest. Ashford lay in the distance. A town of peace and serenity and the many mills and plantations churned out their various high quality goods. The Duke had heard about the atrocities of the attacks on other platoons; knowing his was the last he was all too wary.
“Captain, I don’t like the look of the village. Its too empty. We should set up camp on this hilltop. Tell the men to fortify our position, I trust nothing since the stones returned.”
Saying a quick prayer to Balthazar Barradin charged to the back of the Imperial Column, surveying his tired and weary men he searched for his dear friend.
“Corporal Adlebern, come here. I have a special task for you young man. We are not journeying into Ashford, from scout reports it is said these beings are silent and strike more deadly than assassins. Take a party into Ashford, light the beacon when you arrive and keep a garrison for the night. From our position no one will have seen us arrive, I am hoping you will trigger these assassins and we can route them out. It’s a dangerous task but I know your up to it.”

Adlebern was an eager young boy, only aged 17, barely old enough to enlist he had shown so much potential Barradin had taken a special liking to him. Adlebern rode off towards the town with a few of his closest friends whom he relied on like family. As Ashford grew closer they stopped breathing, terrified of what could await them. It grew drastically colder and Adlebern shivered. The party trotted on their stallions down the centre road and reached the town centre unharmed. Only the sound of the watermill churning up water softly could be heard. A fiery intent in Adleberns eyes he stared deeply into the eyes of the man next him. A screech pierced the silent night sky, Adlebern could swear he felt something brush passed his left shoulder. Then two red eyes glared deep into Adleberns soul.

“To arms! Quickly, draw your swords! Run for Barradin.”

Cries of men pumped up by the flowing of adrenalin the party of horses fled unable to see what pursued them. Adlebern rode like he had no other purpose in life. An arrow struck the chest of his horse and he was thrown through the air, crashing through a window and rolling into what appeared to be a little girl’s bedroom. Adlebern was slightly dazed but he grabbed his sword quickly. Turning around barely getting to his fleet Adlebern stared his fate deep in the eyes.

Barradin was shaken as he heard a cursing cry, Adlebern!
“Sound the forward charge and keep your eyes peeled,” cried Barradin.
Man after man charged forward down the dusty dirt road trampling over fallen apples and brushing past the golden trees. Autumn was in full season and the trees that lined the paths like watchful guardians were an assortment of different colours. The men gripped their swords tightly and hugged their shield keeping them close to their body with an overwhelming fear of stark contrast to the brave warriors they were supposed to be. The first waves of the Ascalonian Army poured into the town and were met with the little resistance. It wasn’t until they reached the town centre that a shattering hail of arrows rained down from the sky impaling many. A swirling black mist made seeing difficult. Shapes circled around Barradin’s men ensnaring them with their weapons. Barradin walked passed a quaint house as Adlebern was thrown through the wall. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth as he was offered a firm hand up. Adlebern looked slyly into Barradin’s eyes. “Let’s do this,” he yelled as they charged into battle against their foe.

The whole time the masked figure from the council chambers watched tensely as the eerie scene unfolded. Everything was going to plan. He could not help but smile as he saw Adlebern and Barradin become trapped and collide with each other back to back, horrifically surrounded and outnumbered, not even the wit and tactics that Barradin was famous for would help them now. The pair threw down their swords regretfully in surrender. The masked figured clapped his hands with glee and descended down to his two new prisoners. Once he had arrived he surveyed the scene briefly before addressing the pair.

“The time of free people is coming to an end. The last soldier in the Ascalonian army has fallen and I will create the conditions for the alliance to crumble. Adlebern your feats are well known, join me and you shall live. On the other hand, I know there is no chance of breaking Barradin.”

The figure took a sword from the nearest warrior under his command and plunged it into the heart of Barradin. Barradin flumped to the floor heavily and awkwardly as his eyes glazed over; he rolled onto his side and all signs of life vacated his body.

“Now Adlebern let us continue.”

Mentalmdc · Feb 11, 2006, 05:46 PM // 17:46

A mist swirled majestically through the mountains as a gentle breeze slowly whistled through the curving valleys and creaky crevasses. A lumbering armour clad dwarf trudged up the rocky face of the mountain, two red staring eyes surveyed the convoy below him. The dwarf took a large breath before blowing through his ivory, silver plated horn. A long deep note bellowed out and shook the mountains. He paused a moment before repeating his action. Again the horn sounded. The horses trundling through the valley came to a halt and the leader of the pack jumped off his horse. He looked up to see the dwarf. The soldier looked up through the mist at the long winding ridge, a single lone dwarf.

It didn’t take long for the clanging of metal to surround the convoy. Numerous horns returned the call of the dwarves. Hundreds of Stone Summit dwarves clambered up the mountainside with their bows in hand. One of the dwarves spoke out in his native tongue with a strong commanding voice, the kind you knew not to mess with or disobey. In a single movement every single dwarf and strung up his bow with a deadly arrows that glinted in the sun. Again the dwarf yelled but this time he was met with the sound of a hundred bows twanging and the same amount of projectiles mercilessly slamming into the convoy below. The men hadn’t stood a chance. The blood soaked into the snow marking the beginning of the campaign of the Stone Summit dwarves.

Again, yet another weary messenger walked into the hall of the Joint Alliance, in his hand a blood soaked scroll. He thrust it into the hand of King Turos.

“May Grenth damn these dwarves to the dingy depths of the Ring of Fire. Our convoy in the mountains has been desecrated. I have had enough of these insolent dwarfs! It is about time something was done. I hereby decree that by the act of King Turos, 13th in the line of Tyrian Kings that on the 12th day of the 7th year of my reign that all Non-Human creatures be cast from the alliance. May they never set foot in a human kingdom again!”

A loud cheer erupted throughout the room, in these times no one dared to speak their mind, especially after the events of last night. Rithos had brought the dwarf back into the court of the king demanding that his case be heard again but the king was not himself and had ordered that both be executed where they stood. This outburst had sparked a stand by many dwarves who followed many of their comrades to the shallow ways of the Stone Summit. The Kings failure to listen had now caused the breakdown of the Alliance between men and dwarves and now, never again would a centaur show an act of kindness or help to their human counterparts.

Elsewhere in the Holy city of Arah more scheming took place. The High Governor of Orr was meeting in secret with several well armed men.

“So it is true then, nearly all our men have been taken out. And what about the threat from the north? Do you suspect it will reach us? Can we fund a war? We do not have the men for such things!”

“My lord, it is as we feared, the Krytans are also without an army as are the Ascalonians. Something is coming and it will strike fast and without mercy. I hate to even suggest it; but.”

“Do not speak to me of allowing Guilds. I live in a free country and I will not live to see the day when I am responsible for allowing such corruption to take hold of these Holy lands.”

“My lord, it would solve many problems at once. We have little resources to fund a war with and most definitely lack in soldiers. Guilds would pay us and provide soldiers.”

“No! I will not succumb to this unless it becomes overly necessary.”

“As you wish my Lord. However we know to well what the temptation of magic can do to even our closest friends, how do we know the Krytans won’t try something sneaky. We know that they have many mages and sorcerers who have waited for this day, what if they were already prepared and make a move against us.”

“Then we shall have to see.”

Adlebern had not slept all night. His good friend had been mercilessly slain and now he lay in a damp dark dingy cell, rusty iron chains clasping his wrists. Adlebern rolled onto his and grimaced due to the pain of endless torture and beatings combined with little food and water. Congealed blood clung to his dry skin. He did not know how long he had been kept prisoner but what he did know was that something terrible was taking place. The dark figure approached the cell once again striding with a strong sense of pride and amusement at his victim.

King Turos paced anxiously back and forth through the golden coated halls of his chambers. The news of the loss of his last platoon had shaken him greatly and now he was at a loss at what to do. Scouts reported everyday that an unknown enemy force approached from the north but today the most disturbing message of all had been delivered, one of the scouts had reported that he had seen a Krytan banner.

Vermilion Okeanos · Mar 17, 2006, 10:43 PM // 22:43

It is so good that I confused it as the real official lore. lol

Keep it up.

Karl Denham · Mar 18, 2006, 09:17 PM // 21:17

Really cool story mate

Mentalmdc · Mar 25, 2006, 02:50 PM // 14:50

The foam of the waves lapped gently against the golden sand, the wind danced gently knocking the crusted sand that clung to the jagged rocks that littered the beach. A young monk gazed longingly into the distance viewing the hugmongous warships pass the coastline frequently. Kryta was a beautiful country but the Lionsguard had been suffering in numbers, the unknown warriors that had spread like a disease had caused several of the border towns to lose contact with the rest of Ascalon, however more disturbingly was the fact that the whole population of the village Helthorn had been wiped out when their water supply had turned to a poisonous acidic liquid. Something was transforming the countryside, Summer, the monk had been assigned the task by her holy order to travel to the Temple of Ages. The monks who lived there had been playing a large role in the Lionguards leadership but nothing had been heard from them for a few days.

Summer climbed upon her horse again and rode of at speed, her body moving with the horse showing a true sign that in her childhood days she had spent many hours with her favourite horse, Geldor. Geldor was like a brother to Summer, they went everywhere together and the horse was just as powerful a weopon as Summers Ivory bow. The pair raced through the winding valleys before the air seemed to get colder. The plants here had wilted and the sky had turned far more menacing. This was strange for this area was normally abuzz with life. Summer looked around, the many lakes had dried up and the trees were twisted and rotten. Summer rode further onwards when something large flung itself at the young girl, it smacked into her chest knocking her off into the dirt. Summer scrambled to her feet and looked around, there was nothing to see, she had not imagined it, the punch felt real enough. Summer climbed Geldor again and rode onwards, the sight that met her eyes caused rivers of tears to flow, the grand temple of ages lay in ruins, bodies were piled up burning whilst huge branches and leaves looked to have impaled the temple, a giant branch had pierced the grand wall and rose miles into the air twisting and contorting into various shapes. Summer jumped to the floor slowly exploring the hallowed ground. A flock of birds squawked making the monk jump as the ground began to rumble and shake, Summers heart began to race as her eyes surveyed the shadows, looking for these mysterious warriors, however this time, they never came. To Summers disbelief the trees began to unwind and moving pulling the stones apart with their amazing amount of strength, repeatedly they lunged at summer who had to roll to the side as a large branch came crushing down upon her horse friend, it wrapped itself around before whisking the horse away. Summer ran, her weopon gone, her small size gave her an advantage, she weaved in and out amongst the attacking forest. The forest was alive and it was an evil one marked by the deadly poisonous swamps that now replaced the serene lakes of the past.

Summer ran but a thick fog enrraped her until she could no longer see where she was running, she let out a cry as something cold brushed against her leg. A slithering noise worked its way closer but was met with a slicing sound before dying away. Summer could see nothing but she could hear the many cries of men and horses rushing into a foe they could not hear, the screams and thudding of metal on wood was unbearable. Summer just crouched down low and huddled into a ball closing her eyes. It seemed like hours later when the fog cleared like spirits returning to whence they came from. All around dead men lay scattered in the swamps, some hanging by their feet were strung up in the tree tops looks of disbelief warped on their faces. The men thought they could tame the newly created forest of evil, but they had been proved wrong. Summer saw light at the end of the road and ran as fast as her tiny legs would carry her saying a prayer to grant her haste.

Summer burst out from the dakr forest her clothes shattered and torn, the pale white now a murky brown with splatterings of crimson blood.

Elsewhere in Ascalon the force from the north silently and slowly marched onwards, the capital of Ascalon in their sights, the banner of Kryta held up high.

In Orr, matters were getting worse, with no armed forces to keep order criminals and bandits had sprung up everywhere taking advantage of the lack of control. Riots and violence had broken out all over the Grand cities, the rich fled for their lives as their possessions were given up for a free for all. The governor of Orr knew he had to do something, but there had to be another answer. A group of shady diplomats approached, a squirming weasel of a man looked at his associates before speaking to the governor.

"My Lord, Orr is in disorder, you have to allow the Guilds a chance to intervene, it is the only way!"

"I can't, there must be another way, we all know what may happen if I allow it, especially in times such as these."

"My Lord, I regret to do this but you know what the Law says, you have only 2 days left."

"Damn you, Hanthor, if I didn't know any better I'd say you wanted me to allow the Act of the Guilds."

Everything was deteriorating at an alarming speed, so many underlying schemes and problems, something bigger than what had already happened would happen soon. King Turos walked the lonely halls of the catacombs below his royal palace, for in these days they were quite safe, or so it seemed.

FredDie · Mar 27, 2006, 08:27 AM // 08:27

This is a great man

The language used in this story is far more sophisticated than in original Guild Wars Lore...keep on doing the good work........

Mentalmdc · Mar 27, 2006, 05:11 PM // 17:11

The ground tremoured as lashings of snow were whisked up into the air, the cold air mystically danced between the towering legs of the giant. The humongous being saw far and wide with its height, a large batterd club hung over its shoulder, as the monster walked he left imprints the size of lakes in the mountain side. Something fluttered slightly in Ferod Bashtills right eye, it was something small, no more than a fly to the man, and as with a fly the giant found it annoying, especially the slight buzzing sound that surrounded him. Bashtill could not place where the noise was coming from but it grew louder and louder in volume, the giant stopped moving yet the ground still shook violently, reverberating echoes from a hollow cavern reverberating through the ground. Bashtill peered down to the ground, it was a long way down but he could still make out that something was not right, the ground began to buckle and fold as the snow melted in the friction. A miniscule crack appeared in the mountains side like a stretching scar a villain might have on a cheek, but unlike a scar, evil poured from its depths.

It would be wrong to say that thousands of flies burst from the crack, for they were not flies, but thousands of them they were, in biblical preportions the gargoyles in many different shapes and sizes ruptured from the crevase swirling up into the air making the giant falter in its balance. Normally bashtill would have had no problem swatting the huge annoyance just swatting with his huge club as the immense number of gargoyles bounced from his tough muscualar chest, but for some unknown reason huge boils had ruptured all over his skin. Bashtill scratched infuriatingly at the painful outbreak, screaming with pain the Giant ran for the different river, for the river had cool sensuating water, on a normal day, but strange things were happening. Bastill bounded off of the cliff and plummeted through the air into the lake to make his wounds feel better, but instead of cool releiving water he was met with the unpleasant suprise of blood, red, sticky, warm, blood.

Bastill screamed out of fury as the swarm of gargoyles followed him, the Giany became more and more infuriated with himself, Giants are not a very clever race and so he blamed his bad memory on his unpleasant bath, however something much larger was at work. Out of the hole in the ground various other creatures such as flies and gnats poured from the deep chasm. The giant looked towards the sun but as he gazed into its powerful rays something mystical happened, it dissapeared and the world was plunged into darkness. The Giant was now completely and utterly confused, feeling rather hungry by this time he searched for a local sheep but to his dismay found a whole field of dead animals oobviously ravaged by disease. Had the giant been far more smarter, he would have been able to tell you that these were signs of godly punishments. (very much like the 10 plagues of moses

)

Bashtill staggered for a moment before falling down the crevase to his painful death.

Hanthor looked across the hills as the sun set, he saw the swarm in the far distance reaching for the sky from the mountains, the black magic his associates had told him would be carried out was working better than expected.

Turos walked into the royal burial chamber of the catacombs. The walls were lined with previously dead kings, it gave him the creeps but it was the one place he could find peace, quiet and solitude. The King began to sit down and think but was astonished to hear a thumping noise down the end of the corridor, after a crashing sound of stones falling to the ground a large buzzing sound filled his ears. Hundreds of shadows flicked against the wall in the flame light when eventually the flame extinguished itself. The King looked round in horror, a loud screeching noise filling his ears. Something like a dark wind rushed into the room swirling round, it threw the Kings books to the floor until it dissapated, absorbed by the various coffins. Again a thumping sound echoed through the dim chamber, but this time it came form the coffins. Not wanting to see what was to reveal itself the King ran, ran into the corridor and not looking back at what flooded the catacombs he wound his way through the winding passages but became drastically lost. Something was coming, coming, coming for him.

MMSDome · Apr 21, 2006, 10:11 PM // 22:11

keep them coming man, these are good!

Cjlr · Apr 21, 2006, 11:48 PM // 23:48

Decent, but... Not great. Some good ideas, and for the most part fair writing, but a little proofreading would go a long way. I could catch a hint of akwardness in the flow, as well - it seemed like you were trying to match the style of the Lore in the manual and on the website. Which is a good thing. But it was a little forced in a couple spots.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Mentalmdc

Summer climbed upon her horse again and rode of at speed, her body moving with the horse showing a true sign that in her childhood days she had spent many hours with her favourite horse, Geldor.

This one caught my eye more so than most of the others - it's quite the monster of a run-on sentence. And it could so easily be rephrased:

Summer mounted her horse. Her actions, easily second-nature to her, were those of an expert rider, attesting to the many days of her childhood she had spent with Geldor, her favourite horse. She rode off at great speed.

Canadian Bacon · Apr 21, 2006, 11:55 PM // 23:55

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cjlr

Decent, but... Not great. Some good ideas, and for the most part fair writing, but a little proofreading would go a long way. I could catch a hint of akwardness in the flow, as well - it seemed like you were trying to match the style of the Lore in the manual and on the website. Which is a good thing. But it was a little forced in a couple spots.

This one caught my eye more so than most of the others - it's quite the monster of a run-on sentence. And it could so easily be rephrased:

Summer mounted her horse. Her actions, easily second-nature to her, were those of an expert rider, attesting to the many days of her childhood she had spent with Geldor, her favourite horse. She rode off at great speed.

Lol Cjlr, I can tell we have similar personalities: we tell it like it is, and sound like assholes in the process, but we mean well.

Cjlr · Apr 22, 2006, 12:06 AM // 00:06

Quote:

Originally Posted by Canadian Bacon

Lol Cjlr, I can tell we have similar personalities: we tell it like it is, and sound like assholes in the process, but we mean well.

Yup. Cheers!

Everyone I know well is prepared for it, and a good number of them appreciate my particular brand of "brutal honesty".

But new acqaintences (especially the ones who don't have sense of humour!) can be trouble...

Canadian Bacon · Apr 22, 2006, 01:03 AM // 01:03

Quote:

Originally Posted by Cjlr

Yup. Cheers!

Everyone I know well is prepared for it, and a good number of them appreciate my particular brand of "brutal honesty".

But new acqaintences (especially the ones who don't have sense of humour!) can be trouble...

Heh, i know what that's like!

Ka El Windstorm · Apr 25, 2006, 03:57 AM // 03:57

not bad, not bad at all. There is some redundancy and contradictions, but nothing major.

In the end you mention the king running: "he wound his way through the winding passages " - redundant

In one of the early posts you talk about gold trees lining something and then go on to say the trees are all different colors. Little things like that.

DarthLasing · May 31, 2006, 05:13 AM // 05:13

wow...i mean WOW..this story is really awseome. Can't wait for the next chapter. The language used in the story really makes me think this is the Pre-lude of the Guild Wars. Keep it up!
(send it to a.net see what they think about it)

Gmr Leon · May 31, 2006, 03:11 PM // 15:11

Two months since the last part of the story...is there going to be another part added soon?

DarthLasing · Jun 05, 2006, 10:05 PM // 22:05

Yes, please add another chapter, im still looking forward to read this