Chapter 11: Teaser

G'day reader(s?). I'm finally back to work on spectral knight, by popular demand. Well, a demand anyways. And to prove it, here's the start of chapter 11, just to keep both my readers interested.

Aegon looked out into the night, the darkness all but absolute, with the moon being but a sliver. The firelight barely seemed to do anything about the omnipresent darkness. The sense of unease was almost palpable. As the others slept, Aegon and Bjorn scanned the shadows for any hint of the banshee that had been terrorising the group lately. The night dragged on.

Dawn approached. The birdsong broke out suddenly across the forest in a sudden cacophony. Aegon relaxed a moment, the dawn was almost here. Just as he began to rouse his companions a shrill cry cut through the birdsong. Suddenly silence reigned. The group were on their feet. The banshee appeared before them on the path, screaming again, and then fled, moaning a dirge as it ran. Bjorn and Aegon lead the chase, with the group not too far behind.

They were being lead down the main trail, where they intended to go anyway, so no-one questioned chasing the banshee. Suddenly however the banshee screamed again and darted down a side track. Almost unused, it was a scrub-path, cleared by wild animals. However it looked like it hadn’t been used in a long time, even by the animals. The group stopped at the side path, panting for breath. Even as they began trying to decide whether to follow it, an agonising series of screams echoed out from the forest as the banshee turned, stopping its retreat to lash out at its perusers.

Bjorn and Aegon dashed into the forest after the banshee and Jarrod, Iryl and Marie followed resignedly, keeping their distance. The banshee fled again from the pursuit, emitting a slow mournful dirge as it ran. Aegon began to catch up to the spectral woman, slowly but surely closing the gap between them. Suddenly the banshee disappeared, fading into nothing as the forest became eerily silent devoid of the banshees dirge. Aegon looked about on the spectral plane and saw the banshee disappearing into the forest. Not wanting to lose himself in the claustrophobic forest Aegon pulled up. Calling to everyone else, he pointed out a clearing ahead and cautiously advanced down the path. Pulling mana to himself, he noted that the surrounding mana was largely death magic. Now that he had slowed down, he also noticed that the trees were less healthy, and coming up to the clearing many were dead, and the remainder were very sickly. The rotting leaves and moss of the forest floor gave way to the dead earth of the clearing. A wooden cabin sits in the centre of the clearing, although sturdily built, the patchwork repairs aren’t of great quality.


Like it/hate it? Comment below, your feedback would be greatly appreciated. And if you want to read from the start, chapter 1 is here.

Chilled Blood, Part 1: Like, woah.

The Ancen/t g/urus at /tg/ were getting their rage on about another fanfic vamp. series, and it came up that the most quality thing one introduced was the idea of surfer vampires. The idea of writing a short story on this for teh gits and shiggles appealed to me, so here it is "Chilled Blood". Enjoy, my good dudes, enjoy.

It was a dark and most excellent night. Me and my crew were chilling out punching some cones out beyond the breakers. I loved this time of night, no crowds, everything was all chill. All out of nowhere some headlights came on, halfway up the beach. It was probably my good dudes, Razz and Murph. I passed the J to Pez and caught a tiddler in. The propper waves won't start up for a while yet.

Once on the beach I wave down the ol' shagin' wagon and and sure as can be, Razz and Murph jump on out. "You got the stuff man?" I ask.
"Sure thing, bro. Never gonna leave a mate high and dry."
"Gnarley." Razz throws me a zip lock bag, half full. I open it at one end, and take a whiff. "Yeah, that's the shit. Kudos." I then take a sip, pouring it straight into my mouth. A trickle of blood drips over my chin. I lick it up with relish. Oh, man, forgot to let you know. Me, I'm a vampire. Pretty rad, eh?

It all started when Micky-J found this old book up in his attic. He's one chill cat, but he's all interested in the o-cults or somethng. Anyway, I always though one to many buds has slowed him down some, but the book was the real deal. Magic and deamons and shit. Like, woah. Woah. Anyways, he's all like "Dudes, dudes, ya gotta come over. I got some crazy shit to tell you. Like woah! Crazy." So we rock on up and he shows me this page in some book. It was all in like itallian or some wierd lingo, but I was pretty melaxed so I figured I'd ask him what he was on about. "Dudes, you'll never beleive this. But it's real. And no, I'm not trippin', but for real I'm a vampire." I woulda disagreed but he was kinda just floatin' there in midair. I thought I was tripping myslef, but Pez and K-dog could see it too. "Now don't freak out or nothing," Micky-J says "but I got this wicked crazy craving man. Worse then any major-munchies ever. It's like for blood man. Can I take a bite from one of you guys? If not, it's chill. Swap you a dimebag for it."

X'rael's War Teachings

Some writing I did for a thread on /tg/, I figured I might as well post it here too. It's a nice idea for a setting.

++ Translated from X'rael's War Teachings ++

And of the humans, there is but one piece of information. Do not antagonise them, do not aggravate them, do not under any circumstances attack them. Although they are small of stature, they have a bestial mentality. Logic would dictate that one of our [heavy infantry] with it's superior armaments, greater strength, size, durability and stealth capacity could overcome one of these humans. And for the most part that is true. But these humans are possessed of a spirit and a comradeship like nothing else. Outnumbered and out gunned they will hold ground selling their lives to give their comrades extra seconds. They will attack with ferocity unheard of, using their crude technologies to extra-ordinary usage.

They use tactics unthinkable to us, so suicidal yet effective. In the last (and thank Luck, only) war we had with them they passed nuclear weapons out in their trenches. As soon as one area was breached, they would activate it, and charge with a fury unknowable to a civilised species. The sight of these dead men walking, dead men fighting, knowing that they would die and fighting for glory was terrifying. Then their weapon would explode clearing the area of all forces. And even when radiation rendered the area unusable they would hide in it, safe in the knowledge we could not pursue them. They would launch guerrilla warfare campaigns out of these toxic wastelands.

Their suicidal techniques inspired so much fear that very few of our soldiers would attack their trenches, and when we did, even a feint of a charge was enough to sound the retreat in fear of their self-destruction.

And when we attacked their cities, every building was a fort held against us, every human hand held a weapon against us, ever road was booby trapped and held against us. Their crude technologies, although simple were turned into weapons. Their ancient electrical networks were torn down to create deadly shock traps. Every city we took was sabotaged, and crumbled around us, and from the ruins they would continue to fight. Even the children. Occasionally we would capture some, but they were not done yet. They would strain our resources, break out of our camps, half starved and flee into the forests - not to escape but to begin the guerrilla campaign anew.

I recall one boy, a mere child by their reckoning, 16 if their years. Captured and tortured for where his comrades were, he refused to give in. Instead he laughed. Then he spat something metal into my face. A small ring with a pin attached. Next thing I knew it was fire and shrapnel. I was lucky and escaped only with this scar.

Every natural feature housed humans who had adapted to live there. Some species live in deserts much hotter then theirs, and others in tundra much colder, but I have never seen a species that lived in such a wide range of environs. Ever forest was home to a family who knew its every path, and could hide there indefinitely, making whole units vanish in our attempts to capture them. When we attempted to conduct a sweep with a whole legion, they merely burnt the forest down around us, shooting us even as the inferno raged.

Then the war turned on us. If we thought them bestial before, we were mistaken. They became a truly mobilised species. Every human was a warrior, trained in the arts of war first hand. Fathers taught laughing children how to fire a missile, watching with fatherly pride as they shot their first airship down.

And these were only the normal ones amongst them. Some of them were much better, as skilled in war as some of our greatest artists are at their own arts. One sniper hid in one of our cities for months. We thought it was an elite infiltration unit, but once we captured this one the attacks stopped. He killed 189 soldiers, and 598 civilians.

The capital of our empire used to be Njol'naix. Yes the wasteland planet. It was once red with life, a thriving planet. The humans changed that. They destroyed all traces of life, salting the earth with chemical toxins, biological warheads and their crude nuclear weapons.

They gave us one offer. We were to live on this moon, never to attack them again. We would create vast numbers of weapons for their army and conscript one in ten of our children to their army. We taught them our technologies, and their scientists (who were also fearsome warriors) soon turned them all into weapons. Who would have thought that our farming technologies could be so destructive.

We created the humans, the scourge upon this world. And now you will go and fight in their armies, and you will fight alongside these beasts and gain their loyalty and trust. You will learn to fear them as do I, and if you survive 10 years in their war camps you shall return and spread your fear of them to the next generation to be conscripted. This way we shall remain safe, for the fury of every other civilisation is nothing next to the wrath of humanity.

Found: Part 1

Aaaaaand he's back. Finally got around to writing something, uni holidays are comming up, expect more.

A young boy ran down the dark alley, his puffing and panting loud in the otherwise quiet backstreets of Neotopia. Ducking behind a pile of waste, he held his breath, half attempting to avoid breathing the foul fumes from the refuse, but primarily trying to avoid detection from his pursuers. The quick click clack of boots running over the uneven pavement and junk that stew the back alley drew closer, and the boy drew even further within himself as he attempted to remain concealed. Time seemed to slow down, with the sound of perusers blacking out all other noise in the otherwise silent shadows. Suddenly, silence. Torchlight lit up the alley, and the boy barely stifled a scream in his surprise. Without warning the light vanished, and the sound of the chase resumed, this time away from the boy. Frozen in fear, the boy still didn’t move.

Suddenly lights flashed in the boy’s face, waking him. Squealing in panic, the boy realised he must have slept on the refuse, exhausted. “Please sir, don’t whip too hard. I’m still good, don’t bin me.” Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked up, and behind the light there was a face. But the overseers didn’t have faces. There was no brand on his forehead either, so it couldn’t be an escapee. So that could only mean an owner. Looking around he didn’t see any overseers. Maybe he could escape, there was a hole in the fence he didn’t see last night, and he was good at slipping through holes. There was no way an owner could fit through, although this one was skinny for an owner. Paying attention again he realised that the owner was holding out a red something. He had seen the overseers eat them from time to time, and one time he even got to taste one, after one of the other boys had stolen one. The other boy had given some to all of them in the same kennel, so they wouldn’t give him away. It was the most delicious thing he has ever eaten, even if he only gotten a bite. He couldn’t remember what it was called though.

The owner was still there, holding out the red thing. Maybe it was a trick. But he was a fast boy, to escape; maybe he could grab it and run. Grabbing it, he began to run, but the owner didn’t chase him. Instead the owner sat down and waited. Reaching into his tattered old coat the owner pulled out another red thing and sat down and began to eat his. This owner had a coat like nothing the boy had ever seen before. It wasn’t clean like most owners’ clothes, but it was better then any rags any of the other boys owned. The grey haired, odd owner called out, “There’s another apple in here if you want it, kid. What’s your name?” The boy stopped, looking back through the fence. Another apple? Maybe this was a trick. But he had never had a whole apple to himself before, and now this weird owner was offering him a second one. This was better then when he stole a bottle of rum from a drunken overseer, and brought it back to the kennel. He figured it was worth the risk. He stopped, finished his apple, and then walked back over, the whole time the old man simply watched him, saying nothing. “Here, catch.” The old man threw another apple, and asked again “What is your name, kid?”

“Name, Sir? I don’t got one.” The old man smiled and replied, “Well, you can pick one then. Any name you choose. My name’s Gaffer.” The boy blinked. “But, Sir. I ain’t no owner, I don’t get a name.” Gaffer smiled and said, “You’re out of The Kennels now kid, you can chose any name you like. But no rush. If you want a place to sleep and a meal, come with me. We got plenty more apples.”

The boy followed the man meekly though the back alleys. If there were more apples there, he’d work there. And if the work was too hard, or he was going to get thrown away, he could always escape again. He got away this time, so he was confident he could again.

Revenge of the Real Life

Hey, if I have any readers left, I'm apologising now for the lack of update. Between Uni and my other projects, this has kind of fallen by the wayside. Once my schedule settles down I will get more done though.

Legend and myth - Intro

Hey guys. Here's the start to the next story about Rejik, to whet your apitite. More comming soon.

Rejik.

The sun set like a drop of crimson blood, its colour splashing all over the sky. Alone, a silhouetted figure sat atop a hill, marvelling at the glory. A second figure approached the silent watcher from behind, picking his way carefully up the rocky terrain. After a time he joined the silhouette, his tall, gaunt body small and spindly against the majesty of the sunset. Silence reigned for a time, as the pair sat and watched. After the last rays of the sun had sunk, the newcomer broke the silence. "Krajh, I have something I want to ask you." Krajh merely nodded, and after a moment held up his hand to stall any other comments the younger newcomer could ask.


"Rejik," He started, his deep voice sounding loud next to the post-dusk ambience. "Before the fight, I told you the story of Bjorn and Orik. However, that was only a partial telling of the tale. Let me tell you the complete version."

Legend and Myth

Rejik.

The sun set like a drop of crimson blood, its colour splashing all over the sky. Alone, a silhouetted figure sat atop a hill, marvelling at the glory. A second figure approached the silent watcher from behind, picking his way carefully up the rocky terrain. After a time he joined the silhouette, his tall, gaunt body small and spindly against the majesty of the sunset. Silence reigned for a time, as the pair sat and watched. After the last rays of the sun had sunk, the newcomer broke the silence. "Krajh, I have something I want to ask you." Krajh merely nodded, and after a moment held up his hand to stall any other comments the younger newcomer could ask.


"Rejik," He started, his deep voice sounding loud next to the post-dusk ambience. "Before the fight, I told you the story of Bjorn and Orik. However, that was only a partial telling of the tale. Let me tell you the complete version."

******

Bjorn and Orik were half-brothers. Bjorn was the illegitimate son of the cheif, born to a slave woman but he was the oldest and was next in line to be cheif. Orik was barely a month younger, but was born to a tribe woman. Whereas Bjorn was from youth a giant of a man, Orik was smaller in stature. A mere six foot tall, he was fair of hair and form, where Bjorn was dark haired and built like a bear. Both were popular amonst the trive - Orik was evrey man's friend, and Bjorn was admired for his feats of strength. It is said that during his fifteenth winter he wrestled a wolf do death, and had already hunted his first great bear. The pair were rivals, but friends in all things. No sooner then one had acheived something, the other would set all his energy into surpassing his half brother.

Now it so happened that the tribes from the Green South were raiding the north, in preparation for a larger attack - not for land, but for valuables, slaves and tribute. Normally this would not worry the hardy people of the White North, but they were amassing under a great horse-chief, and the attacks would be on a scale unseen in the history of the Northern Tribes. Bjorn's and Orrik's father was away viking, and wouldn't return for half a season, so both Orrik and Bjorn attended the gathering of the tribes to see what would be done. Even amongst the other northern tribes the brothers were both well thought of, and it soon became clear that the smaller tribes would follow their decision. However, the brothers did not agree. Orrik thought it wise to take the tribes into the northern mountains and endure the harsh conditions where the Green Southerner's wouldn't follow. Bjorn thought that they must stand, and fight to discourage further raids. They argued, and soon it became clear that if they did not agree, the tribes would fragment, and individually be swept away by the raiding host.

The brothers soon agreed that either decision was better then death, but neither would back down. Orrik called Bjorn a simple baresark, and Bjorn called Orrik a craven. Soon their rivalry turned sour, to animosity, and the pair decided to settle this on the battlefield. Only in death would the pair accept defeat. Bjorn was the larger fighter, but Orrik was better with spear and bow. The pair wondered off into the wilderness to settle their score.

Different versions of the tale tell various things about the battle. That it lasted for days on end, that they fought through a blizzard, that each was wounded beyond the survival of an ordinary man. However, all versions agree on this: that Bjorn finally gained ascendancy, and pinned Orrik down with a knife against his throat. He gave his half-brother a chance to surrender and back down. Orrik spat in his face, called Bjorn a bloodthirsty berserker, and attempted to throw Bjorn off. Bjorn easily held him down, laughed and threw the dagger away, announcing that "You're no coward, I surrender to you. You were willing to throw your life away to make a point, consider it made." That night the pair both ritually scarred themself with the sign of the other, as traditional for a defeated warrior.

The tribes followed Orrik and moved north, where most the Southerons didn't follow. Some tribes did, and attempted to attack the Northern Tribes, who were spread out to find sufficaint food. The conditions almost destroyed them, and the Northerners won every engagement easily. Bringing such an army north without plundering anything meant that the army and empire of the great horse-chief soon fell apart. Their father had died in the raids, so the next year Orrik lead the gathering of tribes, and Bjorn lead the viking.

On: mesurements

Time for something fun! Mesurements. Ok, I admit it, this one is more for me to have reference material, but if you're interested, don't let that stop you.

Now we got rid of th-. . . Nah just kidding. It really is measurements.

In Erondia they use a set of measurements mainly based off the human body. A small object (such as a fork or a daggers length) will be mesured in digits - roughly equivalent to an inch (a digit is 1/16 of a foot or 3/4 of an inch). A longer dagger might be measured in palms or - defined as half a foot, so 4 digits is the same as 1 palm. As the digit is based on the width of a finger, 5 digits is often called a hand, although this is usually used informally in jest. A span is equal to 3 palms, and is used for measuring swords. A foot is 16 digits, or 4 spans - and is used to measure hight of people - further mesurements are given in spans informally (so 6'3" would be 6 feet and 1 span, usually said "Six foot one"). If further detail is needed, quater and half spans (digits) are used in addition to this. Someone who was almost 6'4" would be 6 ft 1 span, 1 digit which is usualy said "Six foot one and quater").

Longer lengths are an ell (based off the length from fingertip to elbow, and is 6 palms or 1.5 feet), an ald (based off a mans outstreached arms and is 4 ells or 6 feet (roughly 2m)), and more commonly used pace (baced upon the measure of a full stride ie. the position of the heel when it is raised from the ground to the point the same heel is set down again at the end of the step. Thus, a distance can be "paced off" by counting each time the same heel touches ground, or in other words, every other step The stride is standardised at 5ft). A pace is used to measure length on the ground, where an ald is used for cloths, or lengths of movable objects. Alds are also used to describe the heigts of walls accurately, as an ald can be approximated as the height of an average man. A Pend is 5 alds or 30 feet (roughly 10m). Pends are used to measure medium lengths, like short fences, and hallways.

An Erondian Mile is 1'000 Strides (5'000 ft or ~1524m). A quater mile (250 strides) is often informally called a Wald, and a fifth of a wald (1/20 Erondian miles) is called a Kiln, and a fith of a kiln is a wald. One Dek is a fifth of a wald, but is also 10 strides (50 ft or roughly 15m).


This can be summed up as:

1 palm = 4 digits
1 hand = 5 digits
1 foot = 4 palms = 16 digits
1 Span = 3 palms
1 Ell = 2 spans = 1.5 feet = 6 palms = 24 digits
1 Stride= 5 feet = 16 hands = 20 palms = 80 digits
1 Ald = 4 ells = 6 feet = 8 spans = 24 palms = 96 digits
1 Pend = 5 alds = 6 strides = 30 feet = 40 spans = 76 hands = 80 palms = 480 digits
1 Dek = 10 strides = 50 feet = 160 hands = 200 palms = 800 digits
1 Kiln = 50 strides = 200 hands = 275 feet = 1'000 spans = 5'000 digits
1 Wald = 250 strides = 1'000 hands = 1'250 feet = 5'000 spans = 20'000 digits
1 Mile (Erondian) = 4 walds = 1'000 Strides = 4'000 hands = 5'000 feet = 20'000 spans = 80'000 digits.

On: Gnomes

Yeah, I know, its kinda late. But here it is, On: Gnomes.

Physically gnomes are diminutive (between 2 and 3 feet tall) and of roughly proportionate build to human, but with larger feet and hands. Their hair and eyes come in a wide range of colours, all of them bright. The hair and eye colour will also change throughout their lifetimes. They have between three and five fingers on each hand, and toes on each foot. A gnome with 7 fingers (on each hand) and 7 toes (on each foot) is said to be blessed by Hojo, and is supposed to mean the "blessed" gnome will have a chaotic, but fortunate life, and they should trust in their luck.

Mentally gnomes are formidable and have mastered sorcery, particularly entromancy (chaos magic). They are unusually curious, constantly tinkering with something or other, usually dangerously. Many gnomes have died because of their sense of curiosity has overpowered their sense of self preservation. This mix of a powerful intellect and an insatiable curiosity means that gnomes are often great scholars. However their short attention spans mean that only the most focussed and determined gnomes become a master of any given field.

Gnomes are frequently mages - as with all the other 3rd spawning races (Dragons, Ents and Elves). They gravitate towards entromancy (chaos magic) and away from syntromancy (order magic). Elemental magics are common, particularly pyromancy (fire magic) and aeromancy (air magic), Aquamancy is more common then geomancy (water and earth magic respectively), and similarly biomancy is more common then necromancy (life and death). Gnomish geomances tend to focus more on quaqe magic, and most mages are also sorcerers, who mix in dangerous amounts of enromancy to create unpredictable effects to their magic.

Gnomes venerate Hojo above all other immortals. Of the first gods, they prey to all of them, but mainly Gnok (curiosity) and after him Graj (discontent/wanting/hunger/rebelliosness/change). The gnomish temperment is ill suited to Modah (thoughfullness/contemplation/patience) or Shaw (calmness/sleep/contentedness).

As gnomes age, their hair and eyes tend to become less table, changing colours faster and faster. Their eyes particulaly will change rapidly, going from red to purple to blue and back again in moments in the oldest gnomes. As gnomes age, they show increacing signs of mutation, growing extra fingers, losing their hair (or occasionally it fading slowly as per other races), extre leangth in the limbs, extra ribs, stunted gowth, regression and eventually if they survive they will begin to grow extra stomachs, lungs, eyes and even limbs. This process will continue until the gnome in question dies. Some ancient gnomes resemble morphilks and choaskin, with extra arms, claws and undesirable limbs of all descriptions. Many will seak out a Syntromancer, to remove mutations magically - however eventually the gnomes build up a resistance to syntromancy and they slowly age and mutate until death. Eventually a mutation will kill them, a rib growing through a lung or a heart that pumps bile instead of blood. The gnomes are then burnt, their mutated husks being forgottern, so loved ones can remember the gnome that was.

Revenge of the Full Time Work

My job's been keeping me busy lately, so I've been a bit slack on here. I'm posting to say sorry, and make a commitment - to post something up by Sunday 11th. Hopefully this should motivate me to get something done. Cheers all.