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The event "The Assault on Taekir" is beginning in 1 day, 12 hours.

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Syrena



Joined: 18 Apr 2012
Posts: 6

PostPosted: Sat Apr 21, 2012 2:57 pm    Post subject: Storyboard

Hi everyone, I thought I'd post a story I'm in the process of writing for Aexolt, it's getting a bit long in-game as I got somewhat carried away so she's going to end up with something like ten notes. And I figured other people might like to read it too. Well, I hope you like it. Embarassed

The Fall of Greginsham
Part I wrote:
If there was to be one song sung in the Elven lands till the last of days, it
would be the Fall of Greginsham. Once it was the greatest stronghold in the
Northern plains, a jewel of a city with towers adorned with bright pennants and
bustling with people. The ruins there now are but a shell, a faint memory of its
glory. I shall tell you the tale of its fall, how the schemes of devious orcs
brought the walls a-tumble, and how their blight was again forced back into the
mountain burrows from whence they came.

Greginsham was at the time helmed by a battle-scarred lieutenant by the name of
Arthen. His company, a band of well-trained fighters, had followed him into many
a skirmish and with his keen guidance and their swift, silent archery, had
emerged unscathed every time. Their guerilla tactics became renowned in the
land within a few years of Arthen's early captaincy, and he had been promoted
from the field campaigns to keep watch over Greginsham by the king.

Arthen was not very happy about this. He was a man of action, not diplomacy, and
having to mince about with the politicians of nearby Liberty was not his way.
Because the Elven and Avian races were at the time still negotiating the borders
of their Northern territories, often there would be a great debate over the
assembly dinners. Whenever Arthen was present, as often was necessitated by
politesse, faces would turn red, collars would be undone, there would be much
shouting and waving of fists, and inevitably one or more of the noblewomen would
flee, bursting into tears at the language.

It was unfortunate that Arthen was occupied with this nonsense because at that
very same time there was a young Orc chieftain by the name of Ruquun who had
recently come to power. Though smaller than most of the burly orcs in his tribe,
he was far more shrewd and intelligent than any other Orc, and by the extent of
his cunning and the ruthlessness of his blade he had literally murdered his way
to the top of the Orcish hierarchy. Ruquun was tired of living in the marshes.
He was tired of mud huts. He had studied scrolls - probably one of the only orcs
ever to read - and had spied longingly from afar the granite-walled cities of
the other, more civilized races, and he wanted to reign in one himself.

This orc had traveled a great deal and seen much from the shadows. Once he had
disguised himself as a beggar in the streets of Seringale and watched the city
from within, listened to the politics bantered at North Square, observed the
shopkeepers bartering in the markets. Watched how the soldiers would mercilessly
slaughter any goblins that ventured in from the South. While he personally held
no favor for the goblins, it struck a resonating note within him, one that made
him grimace with uncontrollable fury. Goblins, like orcs, were relegated to only
the poorest habitats and were treated by the other races like scum.

He was no scum. He would show them.


Part II wrote:
Over the years, Ruquun had heard of the renowned Elven company. His first
encounter was when he was out hunting with a party. Out of nowhere an arrow had
hissed through the throat of the lead hunter Grakish, slaying him instantly. He
had immediately flung himself to the ground and crawled to the safety of scrub
cover, from where he saw the Elves flitting noiselessly in and out of the trees
and heard the gurgling cries of the Orcs and Trolls of his band as they fell,
not even glimpsing the faces of their enemies. This was a way of war that was to
his taste. He could turn this weapon against its very wielders.

After that first ambush, Ruquun adapted his tactics. Where stronger, more
reckless rivals were quick to charge to the ambush region, spearing the bushes
and howling with rage, Ruquun waited back at the camp, busying himself with
"chores" until he heard of new casualties, taking note of the locations and
times. By studying their hunting patterns, he learned that the elves would
retreat in the early hours of the morning and not return before noon. One night
he set a particularly foul-smelling trap and waited until they had returned to
their camp to follow the scent trail. Sniffing the air in the darkness, eyes
glued to the foliage for signs of bent branches and torn leaves, he was
astonished to find the walls of Greginsham appear in front of him. The
excitement of discovery was short-lived as a trumpet alarm was soon sounded
on the city walls, but he returned the next night and the next, until he had
secretly examined the entire periphery for structural weaknesses and patrols.

There were a few years until he could act upon his desires. First he needed to
lead a force of his own, and up till then he was merely a scout. The passage of
time did nothing but aid him, however, as the elven patrols forgot about the
occasional orc sighting on the fringes of the forest and began to worry about
more important things, like scuffles between kleptomanic avian citizens and
elven shopkeepers. (Even long-lived races like Elves have remarkably short
memories sometimes.) Arthen's company was disbanded and stationed all over Thera
by the time Ruquun came to power. His trademark guerilla tactics never quite
caught on in Elvish military training, save for by the woodland rangers, for
the more refined city elves did not like the idea of sneaking about in the
shadows like drows. As a result, they were caught unawares when Ruquun began his
assault upon Greginsham.

At first it was just traveling merchants and the occasional adventurer who would
be reported missing. It was not a great surprise to anyone, for the roads that
spanned the mountains and forests were winding and crossed bear and wolf
territory. However the numbers of the missing began to increase. Children from
the farms surrounding the city and the fringes of the forest vanished without a
trace. The townspeople began to be afraid.

As appointed captain of the guard, Arthen found himself assaulted on all sides
by frantic mothers and terrified farmers and citizens with wild imaginations,
and yet when his patrols were sent into the forests, they came up with nothing.
Unable to leave his post due to administrative regulations, he seethed behind
the walls. At night he took to pacing the battlements, staring out into the
darkness, challenging his mysterious enemy to come forth. Once he imagined that
he saw a pair of eyes faintly reflecting the glow from his torch, but it was
too far away to be sure. Another time he thought he saw long yellow teeth bared
in a ferocious grin, and he swore loudly into the unresponsive night air.


Part III wrote:
Things came to a head when the avian kingdom began to impose entry taxes on its
eastern border to limit migrant elves. Often these were refugees from the
fringes of the city, who were unwilling to remain in Greginsham's walls and
presumably within reach of whichever evil creature lurked in the forest beyond
its gates. Disgruntled by the sudden influx of elves, who according to the
natives competed for food and jobs while contributing very little to society, a
cohort of avian nobles went to their king to complain, resulting in a levy tax
requiring all Elves or those of Elven blood to purchase transport papers. At
5000 gold per person, this proved to be a considerable barrier for the refugees,
who often only could earn that sum over the course of a year's produce sales.
Furthermore, it unfairly handicapped Elven merchants.

The Elves took this new Avian decree as an affront. Avians had until then been
treated as allies, albeit with some disdain on both sides; Elves were commonly
seen as pompous elitists, while the Avians were called posturing thieves. But
that had up till then been said behind closed doors. Now insults were flung
openly in the streets. The people of Liberty and Greginsham, as the two
bordering cities, drew together a hasty conference and scribed a petition to the
king. Yet the Avian king refused to retract the decision. Furious, the Elvish
king ordered the expulsion of all avians from Greginsham. Soldiers were required
to march any winged persons out from the gates on sight. As the alliance between
the two nations had existed for many years now, some avians had already built
homes in Greginsham - some even had settled with Elvish partners. Having done
nothing themselves to deserve such unceremonious removal, many avians and their
families and friends staged a protest in the center square, locking arms and
chanting slogans.

Arthen had never faced such public dissent from his own people before. He was
used to enemies that had earned his opposition. Not these...civilians. Though he
was not the most personable in the assembly room during political meetings, he
had an unblemished code of honor and would rather die than lift a blade against
the unarmed. For the first time in his life he found himself trying to placate
an increasingly unhappy crowd, as his soldiers formed themselves into a
protective circle around them in case they began to riot.

Evening fell, and still the crowd stood strong in the square. More and more
people had gathered, and Arthen had been forced to draw more reinforcements from
the perimeter guard to keep them in check, weakening his patrols. The loud
chants and cries permeated the tranquil air of the forest, obliterating the
quiet rustle in the underbrush as an orc scout ran to alert his chieftain of the
commotion. Ruquun's eyes warmed with happiness at the news and the scout
shivered at the sight of the first smile to ever cross his chieftain's grotesque
features. For the first time in his life, Ruquun felt Lady Luck on his side. His
triumph would come at last.


Part IV wrote:
In the square, the Avian ambassadors were attempting to parley with Arthen over
the crowd.

"We are no criminals! What have we done to you, to be treated like this?"

An angry Elven farmer shouted, "My brother was no criminal himself, and yet he
was turned away at your borders, you bag of feathers. Your fool of a king
brought this upon himself, and upon you. You should go home and whine to him,
not sully our square."

Voices roared on either side at this, and Arthen had to strain his voice to be
heard, jumping up on an overturned cart and smashing his sword against his
shield. "Citizens! Citizens of Greginsham! This is no time to be fighting amongst
yourselves."

"Oh, pray tell," sneered the farmer, "When IS a good time for us to speak the
truth? All of this posturing, all of your upper-class lies! For years I have
watched one of these winged freaks pilfer from my orchards, and never would the
guards lift a finger. They wanted proof. Proof! Of apples already eaten by the
time they arrived! You lead a band of incompetent fools!"

Arthen frowned and responded, "I am sorry you suffered, my friend, and I am
also sorry for your brother, but these men and women gathered here did not do
the deed. I am no spokesman for the crown. I am merely here to protect you. And
I tell you this, as your protector, your greatest enemy is not the citizens of
this town or the next, but the cowardly fiend that hides outside these walls,
unwilling to show his face and filling you all with fear."

"The ghost of the forest? I would not be surprised if the Avians did this
themselves, some scheme to wring even more gold from honest hard-working Elves."

The youngest avian ambassador leapt forward at this, a hand on the dagger at his
belt. "You dare sully the honor of our people, you insolent earthworm?"

His elder associate tried to pull him back but it was too late: the Elves had
seen him reach for his weapon, and all hell broke loose. Fists, shoes, sticks,
stones, and small daggers were flying everywhere. The screams of women and the
injured filled the air. Arthen's soldiers pushed in, shields forward, and he
himself jumped into the fray, trying to pull combatants apart; here and there
an avian would attempt to take off and would be pulled the ground, wings damaged
or broken.

There seemed to be no stopping the crowd. Arthen saw a young Avian woman being
forced to the ground to be trampled, and was struggling to reach her. Just as
he pushed the last Elf aside and grabbed hold of her hand he dimly heard a shout
of "Fire!" from somewhere outside. He pulled her to her feet and looked about.
There was indeed smoke coming from the east...

The gates! "The gates are on fire! Greginsham is under attack!"
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