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 Keric Du Tahrellian (Nog Robbins)

Service to the Crown

Account recorded by Keric Du Tahrellian - seer, historian and scribe.

Fer’ar Mellarn sat atop his world, looking down on the chaos he had created and the territories he had subdued in his name.
Standing wearily, the aged general ran a blood covered hand through his hair, hair that was lank with the efforts of battle and plastered to his head by his steel helm, a helm that now lay in ruins at his feet. The once proud emblem of his family, the single heirloom passed from father to first born son when they came of age since records began, now a shattered wreck. Sighing he glanced at the fresh blood dripping from his fingers and felt once again in his mind the sword blow that had almost shorn the helmet in two. By law he should have been dead. The blow was clean and cruel. Yet somehow he survived, and his assailant lay dead in a puddle of his own entrails. He had been ripped apart by the general’s closest guardian. Stooping gingerly, he retrieved the ruined item, his calloused fingers first tracing the sharp edges along gash, and then more reverently brushing across the intricate inscriptions that lay on the banding.
Turning to face the trail that had led him to the peak, he acknowledged the presence of his loyal protectors. Only three remained from the twelve that had served him since he reached maturity. Nine lost and soon to be forgotten, for none but their brothers truly knew them.
"This is it" they intoned together, eyes downcast. "Your success is complete. None remain to stand against you as was decreed."
Fer’ar glanced down once at the broken remains of his helm, still held in his bloodied hand. With a shrug he dropped the item to the dirt and turned his back on it. A new symbol for his family would now be drawn up, one to stand for the ages remaining, one to represent his achievements, one to be remembered by all, and one to be viewed with awe.
Striding as majestically as he could in his current state Fer’ar began the trek down the mountain, with visions in his mind of his now elevated position in the land, the tributes due him, and images of a crown placed upon his head in place of the helmet. One hundred paces later the emptiness of being alone seeped through his musings and took foremost place in his conscious thought. Looking back along the trail he could easily perceive his remaining protectors still standing atop the peak, facing each other, but unmoving, their hands clasped behind their backs.
"Am I so safe here I need no protection?" he growled. "Am I so unimportant as to not warrant a procession in my moment of victory?"
The dark shrouded shapes remained as statues. With a rising sense of exasperation at the apparent insubordination of his loyal protectors, Fer’ar strode back to the summit.
"Loyal though you may have proved to be, unswerving in your duties no matter how callous I have demanded you be, you still serve ME!" he roared, standing in the centre of them.
"This is it" they intoned together.
The first raised its head, and red eyes bored into the warrior from beneath the cowl. Bringing its hands from behind its back it revealed half of the shattered helm.
"Your success is complete." the voices intoned.
The second raised it head, and again, red eyes bored into the aged general. Bringing its hands from behind its back it revealed the second half of the broken heirloom.
"None remain to stand against you."
A sharp pain entered the soldier’s side just beneath the ribs, a searing heat flooding his chest. Staggering, he turned to face the last protector, a serrated blade held in its hands.
With blood bubbling in his lungs, Fer’ar stumbled to his knees, a look of shock on his creased features.
"As was decreed" the protectors intoned.
And as the life seeped from Fer’ar, the light fading from his eyes, so to did his protectors fade.
A single word hung on the calm breeze, to be carried away and lost.
"Released..."