The stories so far, Edited and ready to roll. Options

[Troika]

OK, this thread will contain any and all stories that are posted on the geocities site and labelled as edited. These babies we don't have to worry about until it actually comes time to stick em in the game.

I will sort out this thread... in other words, please do NOT post up stories yourself... it could lead to multiple copies which could prove problematic later.

Also, please keep posts in this thread to a minimum. This is mainly just a place where people have quick and easy (although not necessarily organised) access to the stories already finished with.

[Troika]

Section: Stories

Written by Balorduin the Sage (Jaeld Alteir)

Chronicles of the Riftguard, Volume 11
Witnessed and recorded herein by Balorduin the Sage, at the Eighth Coming of the Great Cold

Translated and Edited for the Modern Era by Jaeld Alteir


[Editors Note: Although this work is entitled as the 11th chronicle, no other volumes are currently known to exist, and indeed very well may not. This manuscript was found languishing amongst a stack of forgotten documents in a ruined keep to the far north, and translated from an archaic Nordic dialect by myself for the purposes of the modern audience. A number of pages were missing or decayed beyond recognition, but I have salvaged what I could. The legend of the Riftguard apparently has a long established presence in Nordic folklore, but no new tales seem to have surfaced in the past thousand years or so, and considering the rather unbelievable nature of this tale it seems unlikely that they were ever more than heroic myths bantered about in mead halls.]


...but the omens were not to be ignored, and a call went out from Castle Northfang to the lands of the far north. A great council was assembled, composed of the noblest of the lords of frost and snow, and they gathered in the cavernous halls of the fortress at Riftgate to examine the chasm of the Rift for themselves.

But as the snows blew ever colder and as the frost crept across the surface of the towering Riftwall like cobwebs of ice, it was clear that the shamans had read the signs true. The wolves kept by Lord Northfang howled continually, a mournful sound of impending dread sent up to warn their masters of the coming Cold. The ways of beasts are older than the ways of men, and their warnings are not to be taken lightly. The fear was evident even in the eyes of these greatest predators of the North. They could sense what was stirring deep in the earth.

And so the council ventured out through the iron teeth of the Riftgate; the immense thickness of the base of the Riftwall; the one narrow passage carved in the ancient stones laid by the first wardens of the Rift countless generations before. The Gatekeeper, spear nestled in the pit of his arm, led them through the series of gates that had not been opened for many centuries, and the hinges creaked and groaned in protest. When they reached the outer edge of the wall, the Riftguards eldest shaman bent and spoke an ancient incantation before the enchanted wardstone that served as the most potent seal of the Riftgate between men and Rift.

And so, ringed by thirty of the Riftguard's stoutest defenders, with burning torches held aloft and clutching spears and swords enchanted with flame, the council ventured forth into the Valley of the Rift. To the edge of the great Rift itself they crept, and peered down through miles of fractured ice and earth into the chilling realm of nothingness. The cold here is so great that it froze the very earth itself, and split it asunder. There are ancient magic’s at work in the swirling cold of the Rift, and at a certain depth...things change. Men are said to have ventured into the void and never returned. But one thing is certain: this is the point from which the Cold Ones and their minions spill forth into our world. It is said that the council could hear the unearthly wails and whispers of the Cold Ones themselves carried up on the icy winds that poured forth from the Great Rift, and it was then that the council knew beyond all doubt that They who had long slumbered had finally awakened once more, and that war was coming once more to the realm of all that lived in light and warmth.


...the valiant warriors of the Riftguard had met the first wave of the Cold Ones and their minions with flame and steel, but the relentless tide of icy foes had begun to overwhelm the outer fortifications in the days since. It was not only the formless Cold Ones themselves who led the assault, but also the shaggy Frost Giants summoned up from the depths of the ice and corrupted by the dark hatred emanating from the Cold Ones. Most dreadful of all, however, were the animated corpses of the Riftguard's own slain, twisted by the Cold Ones into lifeless shadows of their former selves, with cold, dead eyes of frozen blue. It was a horrible thing to watch as these brave men of the Riftguard were forced to cut down the defiled remnants of those who had once been their closest comrades, tears mingling with the frozen blood on their blades. It is a credit to the stout hearts of the men and women of the Riftguard that they did not waver from their duty even in this, but it will take many a pint of mead to wash these vile memories from their minds when at last this war is over.


...barnacles cling fast to the hulls of boats sent from the mainland to reinforce us, for they have lain silent in port for several weeks now. Lord Northfang's swiftest ships and ravens summoned them from afar when first the council decided that the Cold Ones were to come again, reviving near-forgotten alliances from ages past. From all quarters they came, for all races remember that when the Cold Ones come, the living must rally to meet them. Their ships shall return home much lighter when this nightmare finally ends, however, for many of the warriors they brought here now lie buried at the foot of the soaring Riftwall. Late at night while on watch at the top of the wall, I have heard men tell of how the ancient heroes of the Riftguard buried their dead in a wide arc around the Great Rift, and that the very Valley of the Rift itself was formed by these heaps of corpses piled up over the ages, when the battles between men and Cold Ones raged almost continually. The Imperial soldiers sent from the mainland, and the Dunmer warriors who came to our aid from Morrowind, laugh at these tales, and consider them too outlandish to be true...until they stand for themselves before the onslaught of the Cold Ones, and face that empty, animated armor of ice for themselves. They are quieter after that, and perhaps they start to believe the old tales...

...The outer bulwarks are crumbling, smashed and overwhelmed by continual assault from our icy foe. Still the Riftguard and their allies try to hold the defenses at the base of the Riftwall, willing to fall back to the mighty wall itself only as a last resort. For although the massive Riftwall towers above the valley almost to the limits of my sight, and seems an indomitable barrier, it is truly the last line of defense between the Great Rift and all that lives beyond. If the Cold Ones were to break through, their plague of ice and darkness would consume the world, plunging all into frozen lifelessness. They cannot be allowed to breach the wall, and so we must not let them reach it--at the very least we must minimize the time they have to pound its huge stones with their icy fists, and dig their frozen blades into its ancient mortar.

But still they come onward, by the gods how they come. In the dark of night they hurl themselves at our defenders, and the night is filled with their unearthly wails and the defiant battle cries of our noble defenders. The battlefield is alight with the dancing flames of torches and the arcing tracks of fire arrows launched from atop the wall, for these demons of cold despise the light and warmth of fire.

The wood elves are our finest archers, a complement of whom arrived from Valenwood no more than a week ago. Even in the heaviest wind and snow, they can be relied upon to hit their mark, and the screams of the Cold Ones attest to this accuracy as the flaming arrows consume them. But there is always more surging out of the Great Rift to replace them.

But the strangest and most unexpected of our allies arrived even before that, on a black and windless night beneath a slender moon. Shadows spread and slithered in his wake as he strode silently up to the towers of Riftgate behind the wall. The lone pair of men set to watch the rear side of the Riftwall shrank warily back as the sound of his voice drifted up to them, like the slow gasp of escaping air from a long-sealed tomb. "I am Vhalithasion, born of night and blood, come to fight on the side of the warm bloods."

For he is nothing less than a Dark Lord, a vampire, ancient and immortal. And yet here he was, strolling boldly into the midst of the living, a blackened longsword slung at his side beneath a blood-red cloak embroidered with arcane runes. Half a dozen suspicious men of the Riftguard escorted him into the presence of Rhojal Icefist, Warden of the Riftwall, and his circle of fellow commanders gathered from across the globe. Most notable among them was Lord Northfang, the lord of Castle Northfang, the only other outpost on this far Northern Isle, whose noble bloodline had founded the Riftguard far back in the distant recesses of history.

They too were naturally suspicious of so unusual an ally, but we were desperate for all the aid we could acquire, and the Riftguard has never placed political squabbles above the defense of the living world...so perhaps that could now be applied to the undead as well. They conversed in private with this Vhalithasion for some time, and when at last they reemerged it was agreed that he should fight alongside the ranks of men and elves, an uneasy truce granted in the interest of greater goals.

At first some of our mortal warriors muttered and cursed about this unnatural beast within our midst, but I must grudgingly confess that the one known as Vhalithasion bore it all with an admirable calm. He had a noble air about him, and I gradually began to understand him as a creature that had...lived? existed? long and knew much...he was not merely a base monster as so many of his kind are known to be. I fear we shall never fully understand his reasons for joining us in this fight, and when I asked him about it he seemed almost amused. As his deep red eyes bore into me, he responded "Perhaps I do not wish for these...Cold Ones...to rob me of the lifeblood of this world. Or perhaps if you had lived as long as I, you would understand that a changing world is all that an immortal has by which to measure his existence...an eternity of cold and darkness does not interest me." He flashed a grim smile then, revealing the gleaming fangs that marked him as no mere Dunmer. "Or perhaps I merely thirst for battle after a long slumber. My reasons are my own, mortal. Simply be glad that I fight with you rather than against you."

And we most certainly did come to be glad of that. The first night after his arrival, he took up a post on the front lines of our defenses. We were still wary of him then, and the defenders shrunk from his presence, holding their torches close. But he seemed hardly to notice their discomfort as the cold night air whipped and coiled around him, setting his cloak aflutter. His red eyes glowed in the flickering firelight as he stared off into the darkness, waiting, poised to strike, yet unmoving against the frigid wind.

We all heard it then, carried on the wind--the now-familiar sound of Cold Ones and Frost Giants clamoring up the sides of the Great Rift, and the scraping of ice as they shuffled up out of the valley. Vhalithasion stepped through the line of wooden stakes that marked our furthest perimeter, and strode alone out into the fresh snow. The only sound was the soft crunching of his footsteps and the distant murmur of the advancing foe, for none of our own soldiers spoke. They watched, transfixed, as the imposing vampire slowly drew his fearsome black blade, more than two dozen strides out in front of the nearest man. The sounds of the Cold Ones grew louder in the darkness, but he did not move. Soon we could make out their shapes advancing through the icy mist, but still the Dark Lord stood firm.
The wailing of the Cold Ones and the roar of the Frost Giants grew louder until it filled the valley, and at last they burst fully into view, a great wall of foes streaming towards us across the floor of the valley. I think Vhalithasion laughed then, but the sound of it was like...like the echo of a dying star, perhaps, is the best it can be described. Even more difficult to define is what happened next, for it seemed that all the sound was sucked out of the valley in an instant, and as its absence throbbed like a heartbeat in the air, Vhalithasion's upraised sword burst into flame and a great ring of fire erupted out of the frozen earth around him, soaring up into the heavens before vanishing in a flare of red light that illuminated the entire battlefield for an instant. The Riftguard and our allies gasped and gaped, and even the legions of ice faltered in their advance at this great display of heat and power, but Vhalithasion merely let out another otherworldly cry and leapt upon his foes, covering a hundred strides in an instant, with his flaming sword flashing in the darkness.

Blazing curtains of flame erupted from his hand as he summoned arcane magics to his aid, and the wails of our foes filled the air as the fury of flame and sword tore into their ranks. Say what you will about these vampires, lords of night and blood, but I merely record what I saw: In battle, Vhalithasion was a god of ferocity and flame, his prowess unmatched by even our most heroic warriors. His charge ignited the courage of our own ranks, and we burst to life out of our stunned stupor--a flight of flaming arrows from atop the wall was first into the fray, followed closely by gouts of flame launched by our own battle mages. And as the blanket of flame subsided and the Cold Ones surged up to the edges of the defenses of the living, the rest of our troops surged into action, and the night was alive with the sounds of battle.

Though many of the men and elves who fought with us never fully trusted the taciturn Vhalithasion, he earned their respect that night, and there was never any doubting that he meant to fight alongside the best of us just as he said he would. He remained one of the greatest warriors of this war, and each night he appeared on watch without fail, always ready to leap into the thickest fighting and help drive back the hordes of foes who assailed us. Regardless of what he may have done before or since, in the annuals of the Riftguard the name of Vhalithasion shall always be remembered as a champion and stalwart defender of the mighty Riftwall, and may his legacy prove to generations hence that aid can come from even the most unexpected corner.

This post has been edited by Troika: Mar 13 2006, 06:27 PM