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New board? Hey, I have something to put on it

 
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Daetrin
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Joined: 26 Aug 2002
Posts: 5

PostPosted: Mon Aug 26, 2002 11:33 pm    Post subject: New board? Hey, I have something to put on it Reply with quote

Hey, it's something to tide you over since the next IC is on hiatus Cool

btw, new board's awesome

Innocence, pyrrhic

The hunt was on.

This was no foxhunt, for a petty lord’s pleasure and leisure. This was a grim and merciless hunt against a deadly dangerous foe. Ambushed, wounded, it had fled into the deep evergreen forests that flanked the snowcapped peaks of the Spine of Raniloth.

It was anyone’s guess what it was doing on that side of the Spine in the first place. But once it was spotted, the call went out, and the best warriors gathered. Outfitted with the finest steel, the softest, toughest leather, they came together for one reason: to kill.

Witness then, this. First came Dorman the Untraceable, the best tracker and ranger in three kingdoms. His skills were no longer necessary, the wounded beast having torn a path through the forest that a small child could follow. Yet he kept watch for a counter-ambush, or perhaps a trap.

Next was Undgart First-born, a civilized barbarian from the far north, whose skill with a blade, while not a legend like Dorman’s skill, was quite respectable. He went to great pains to maintain the trappings of a civilization, even on the hunt, yet the bold tattoos across his face distorted in the bloodthirsty grin he wore.

Then there was Yasif, who, it was said, could thread a needle with his arrows at fifty paces. He preferred to thread it the old-fashioned way, he joked to people. Yasif earned his living as a tailor, having long forsaken the path of a warrior. The lure of this beast, though, had drawn him from his retirement. A quiver of green-fletched arrows rode upon his shoulder.

There were others, Berthold, Curanwe, Giskard, whose skills were more or less on par with the principle three. They moved through the forest like ghosts. Deadly, weapon-wielding ghosts. Slowly, inexorably, they approached their target.

Witness, also, the aforementioned small child, speaking in the tones of deadly seriousness that only the very young can muster. Speaking to the deadly dangerous foe.

There is something that attracts, binds the young of any species, something that bridges the gap. Little boys and girls have, time immemorial, grasped an ineffable something that draws them towards puppies and kittens, or sometimes a thing more exotic. This was a sometimes.

The hunters came upon their prey in a clearing. It had collapsed, glassy-eyed and panting. Blood streamed off the no-longer immaculate white scales, and the dragon’s tattered wings fluttered helplessly as the six men emerged into the clearing. It was a scene not unanticipated by the six.

What was unanticipated was the small boy, perhaps ten years old, who stood between them and their target. With swords and bows drawn and ready, the hunters paused to reassess the situation.

“Look, kid,” said Dorman, eyeing the beast behind the boy, “why don’t you come over here, away from that thing.”

The boy considered this for a minute, thinking deeply. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“Vut’s yer name?” Rumbled Undgart, in what he considered to be a reassuring manner.

“Don’t know,” said the boy solemnly. “What’s yours?”

“Uncle Undgart,” he replied, after a slight pause. “Come to Uncle Undgart, boy!”

The young one shook his head and again said, “No.”

“But it vil kel you!”

“No she won’t,” the boy said proudly. “She’s my friend.”

The hunters took this pronouncement poorly. There was barely restrained laughter from Giskard, and a muffled oath from Yasif. Dorman, Yasif and Undgart had a quick conference.

“The kid’s too close. We can’t grab him without running the risk of the dragon grabbing us.”

“We could simply fill it with arrows.”

“But what if we hit the kid?”

“Bleme it on th’ dragon,” Undgart suggested. “Nob'dy else ‘s here.”

Slowly the other men nodded, not completely glad to take that course, yet all too aware of the realities of the situation.

“Don’t you hurt her!” shouted the nameless boy, who had remarkably good hearing.

“Ya can’t stop us, kid,” Dorman told him bluntly as the others fanned out.

“I said, don’t you hurt her!” He shouted again, clenching his fists. It had not occurred to the hunters to question the reason the boy was alone in the deep forests. Perhaps the shock of seeing him had driven the question out of their minds. Perhaps they had been…encouraged to forget. Yet none of the six thought about it. They did not realize that the small one was also hunted, driven, a monster.

He was not, let it be said, evil. Neither was he misunderstood. People knew all too well what he was. A monster of ten years, yes, but still a monster. And none of them noticed the white glow behind the child’s eyes as they bent back their bows. Even if any of them had, it would have been too late.

As the first arrow flew, the boy opened his mouth in a wordless shout. There was a wave of whiteness. Ten miles away, birds took fright and launched themselves into the sky. The dragon stared, blankly, as the boy toppled over, a single green-fletched arrow in his side.

When the other hunters, the ones looking for the smaller, less conspicuous of the two beasts, stumbled across the clearing, they shook their heads. There was a swath of bare, scorched earth. There was dried blood on the grass. And there was no sign of any bodies.

Some assumed, later, that the two evils had annihilated each other, and it was by sheer force of bad luck that six strong men stood their way.

Of all those that know the truth, only one is human.

For in a mountain, far off, a place from which very few humans have returned, there were two awakenings.

There was relief and joy, for even dragons have a family.

There was the bitterness of innocence lost, for even children have a conscience.

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"Do not presume to question me, mortal. I will be dancing the dance of glorious existence for millennia after your bones have turned to dust."

"Memory of joy is not joy. Memory of pain is still pain."
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elMaxx
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 26, 2002 11:54 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

*claps at story teller!!* That was sweeet! Very Happy more please??
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hikaru
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 27, 2002 1:09 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yah. Not bad. Maybe you should get Whiplash to set you up with a form for your stories. Smile
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Daetrin
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Joined: 26 Aug 2002
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PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2002 11:49 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eh. I don't have enough stories for that, nor do they lend themselves to any sort of following (unlike Hikaru's). Plus I'm going to try to publish at least some of them. And on the gripping hand, that'd be just plain wierd.

*Tries to imagine having a forum*
*fails*

Anyway, here is more...there are three shorts set in this universe, plus my novel WIP, which is now over 15000 words.

"The Balance of Life"

The word spread throughout the land; the High Dragon was dying.

Many people rejoiced, in their inherent fear and hatred of the great dragons, such an event was like a holiday to them.

However, such news was no balm to my soul. I, mage second of the Circle, have spent my life studying dragons and their lives. I can, from memory, recite the true lives of the seventeen High Dragons humans have known in the past millennia. I know the names of twenty-three others, and the existence of still forty more. I know the lines of two hundred and eighty-three families of dragons, although not the families that produce High Dragons. That knowledge is forbidden even to one such as I.

I know that fear is a proper response to a dragon, but hatred is not. Dragons have no natural antipathy towards humans, although they should, the way we try to hunt them. Dragons are not petty, cruel, and evil. It may appear that way from the rumors, but I know the truth of these incidents, and the few that are not spun out of whole cloth are mostly our fault. There may be a few dragons who delight in wreaking havoc upon other races, but they are shunned for their excesses by Dragonkind as a whole.

Did you know that in the past two thousand, dragons have prevented the destruction of the entirety of civilization on no less than five separate occasions? Heaven knows why they did, in their place I would not be able to find the honor to save us.

Especially now.

Especially after this incident.

The reason the High Dragon was dying, for they do not die of old age, but rather from accident or fighting, or even simply disappearing into some unknown realm, was that he had been poisoned. Poisoned, not by herb or mineral, but by magic. And by someone within my own Order! I knew that much, even if I did not know who or how.

My Order is killing him; my Order must save him.

Nobody else, though, will undertake such a task. I am the only one with the audacity, nay foolishness, or perhaps insanity, to try. I would prefer to look upon it that I am the only one with understanding, or honor...but I cannot lie to myself.

So I have journeyed to this mountain, this tower, this aerie, for it is one and the same, this place where dragons dwell, in order to rectify the harm my fellow man has visited upon an innocent, of crimes against us, at least, being.

There is only one path up Karath’eyre, as the dragons name it. Few who walk that path live to walk it again.

As I set my foot upon the smooth slope, for on foot is the only way it is possible to ascend this height, my path is set. I cannot turn back now. I am climbing, climbing, ascending to where, perhaps, the gods live. After a timeless time, trudging up a path worn and smoothed by, not only feet, but also fire, I come upon an arch, a tunnel, an entrance. Guarding it are two great dragons, one dusky grey, the other a shimmering green. Their eyes widen in surprise, and perhaps, alarm, for I can say I do have a reputation, even among Dragonkind. If I wanted to enter against their will, these two could not stop me. But that was not my purpose.

"NAME?" the red dragon rumbled. "PURPOSE?" the green dragon roared. There was one thing I knew of that would gain me entry, if only for the sake of the novelty. And so I gave it, without hesitation: my true name. "I am Daryth Tranadore. I have come to see the Ka’Danugh." Ka’Danugh, pronounced with a harsh rasp that is almost impossible for the human tongue to wrap itself around, is the title which the dragons give their leader, what we call the High Dragon. It loses much in the translation.

Again the guardians were surprised, for a mage’s true name is the source and control of all his power. If one had a mage’s true name, one had the mage and his power under one’s control, if one so wished.

Yet if I had freely given my name, they had nothing to fear from me, and so they let me enter.

They escorted me through tunnels and chasms to a great hall under the mountain. A white dragon, personal servant to the Ka’Danugkh, escorted me into an audience with the great one himself.

It is impossible to convey the awe, and fear, I felt, standing in a hall full of dragons, standing in front of the High Dragon. He was, I think, over six hundred feet from snout to tail, and his wings would have blackened the sky. Jet-black he was, but his scales were dull, instead of lustrous, and his golden eyes were dimmed. Even so, he was a magnificent sight.

Row upon row of dragons watched from stone terraces. A metallic rainbow, they were, and filled the chamber with the slight background noise of the rustling of scale upon scale and the scrape of claw on stone. There were ones that I recognised, and their names rolled through my head in a thunderous litany; Karghak, Nageic, Zckhaar, Brokra, Myrcik...

"What is your petition, mage?" He rumbled, and his voice was like thunder.

"No petition, my lord, instead I have come to help you," said I.

"What makes you think you can help?" snapped a gold dragon lying to the left of the High Dragon.

"Because, milord has been poisoned by a spell... a spell cast by a human." Draconic magic and human magic are nearly invisible to one another, so something as subtle as the poisoning spell would most likely have not been spotted by any dragon. It was, however, visible to me.

"WHAT?" another dragon roared, and the sound knocked me to the ground. Before I could get up, monstrous claws were a hairsbreadth from my throat. "Who?" the white dragon hissed. I was proud of myself. I didn’t flinch...much.

"I do not know," I said sorrowfully, "I would have killed him myself if I had known." I considered. "Or perhaps I would have brought him to you." I had no illusions to what dragons would do to such a person. Dragons may have honor, but they do not have much of a concept of mercy.

"We shall see," said the gold dragon, who appeared to be the Ka’Danugkh’s personal retainer. At that I winced. I also had no illusions about what they would do to me if they thought I was lying, especially since they knew my true name. "What do you intend to do?"

"I will try to break the spell, and then heal the Ka’Danugkh."

"And if that fails?"

I took a deep breath. "I will have to resort to older magics."

The gold dragon cocked its head. "Older magics?"

"Much older," I confirmed. "The magic at the beginning of the world." I said sadly, "That one person, in giving their life, may bequeath life to another."

The High Dragon stirred. "You would do that, for me?" An odd question, I thought, coming from the one whose life would be saved, and especially from a dragon. But I answered.

"Yes."

"Why?" His dusky voice rolled across the hall.

I took another deep breath. "Because I respect, but more importantly, because I love, dragons. And on balance, your life is worth far more than mine."

The Ka’Danugkh lay still for a moment, as if absorbing this statement, then said, "Very well. I shall trust you. Proceed." Then he closed his eyes.

I looked to the gold dragon, who nodded. I was acutely aware of the gaze of the hundreds of dragons in the great hall as I clambered up to the platform the High Dragon

was resting on. I pressed my hand against one massive scale then plunged my consciousness into his body.

The enchantment poisoning the High Dragon was a work of art, for all its deadliness, a thing of terrible beauty. It was, however, far too deeply buried in the body and spirit of the Ka’Danugkh to be simply pulled out. It would have to be destroyed from the bottom up. My mind began the arduous task of unraveling this net of death. It was like fighting the mythical hydra. For each strand I broke or unwound, more would grow out, deeper into the dragon’s body. For hours I tried to break that spell, but to no avail. Finally I drew back into my body, and collapsed to the floor exhausted.

I awoke on a pallet, in the same room, sans spectators. The gold dragon and the white dragon were still there, though.

"You failed," said the gold dragon, and it was not a question.

I nodded, my heart heavy.

"No matter what happens, you will not be forgotten," rumbled the High Dragon, and I jumped, for I had not known he was awake.

"What will you do now?" queried the white dragon, who had not spoken until now. It had a high, golden voice, like all the trumpets in the world, and I guessed it was female. In that case, she would be one of the High Dragon’s mates, perhaps the First Mate.

"What I set out to do," I answered.

I stood and went again to the High Dragon’s side. I traced out runes in the living rock, runes far older than any that were conventionally used by mages of the Circle.

"Is there anything you require?" asked the gold dragon.

"Perhaps a sharp knife," I said with a weak smile, but then the patterns of magic I had traced, beyond consciousness, indicated something else. "No, on second thought I have everything I need."

I finished the runes dictating the transfer of one life for another, and began the incantations. The hall was so large that my voice did not return to me from the farther walls. As I completed the incantation I stepped forward, where one of the ailing High Dragon’s claws was at about chest height. It was, I thought, fitting that it would end this way, saving a dragon by dying on his claw. I closed my eyes and leaned into his claw. The point, shaper than any mortal blade, went right through my flesh, and I could feel the ancient magic take hold. It was like a torrent, far more powerful than any magic I had ever handled, and it tore my spirit from my body. In that instant I could see my life-force enter the Ka’Danugh, and like a cleansing fire swept all trace of the spell from his body, before joining the High Dragon’s life-force to become part of him.

And then there was silence.

---------------

This is the entirety of what mage Daryth Tranadore would wish written about his life. His tale shall be recorded here, for dragonkind, and humankind if they would so wish.

Regardless, he shall be remembered by all High Dragons to come.

In my own hand, Kurath Dra’Karak, Ka’Danugkh.

[/i]

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"Do not presume to question me, mortal. I will be dancing the dance of glorious existence for millennia after your bones have turned to dust."

"Memory of joy is not joy. Memory of pain is still pain."
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Fishburne
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PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2002 12:21 pm    Post subject: OH MY!!!! Reply with quote

More please!!!

You have an incredible style, reminiscent of Eddings or even Cherryh!

Please, put your writnigs into a tome! and I believe we will all love to read them!!!

As to a forum, you have one now!!!!

Holy cow!

Fish

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hikaru
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PostPosted: Wed Aug 28, 2002 8:45 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Daetrin wrote:
Eh. I don't have enough stories for that, nor do they lend themselves to any sort of following (unlike Hikaru's). Plus I'm going to try to publish at least some of them. And on the gripping hand, that'd be just plain wierd.


Definitely get a forum. I'm sure Whiplash would set you up with one.

As for a bookshelf to house your stories, you DO realize the Raccoon's Bookshelf (he's got a forum here under mjriv) hosts stories for aspiring artists. Just send him a copy of his work and he'll setup a shelf just for you!

Cheers

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Read my stories at http://www.IC-Stories.com
http://katayamma.deviantart.com/

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Daetrin
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Joined: 26 Aug 2002
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PostPosted: Sat Aug 31, 2002 11:11 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Bookshelf?

http://elfwood.lysator.liu.se/libr/f/i/fierro2/fierro2.html

Booookshelf.... Very Happy

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"Do not presume to question me, mortal. I will be dancing the dance of glorious existence for millennia after your bones have turned to dust."

"Memory of joy is not joy. Memory of pain is still pain."
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PostPosted: Thu Sep 05, 2002 9:56 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

...I just sent "Innocence, Pyrrhic" off to a magazine for publication...wish me luck!
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Daetrin
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PostPosted: Fri Sep 06, 2002 9:41 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yea, but none of my stories are actually furry, per se, and I already have a place to put my stories...which is why I put that...
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"Do not presume to question me, mortal. I will be dancing the dance of glorious existence for millennia after your bones have turned to dust."

"Memory of joy is not joy. Memory of pain is still pain."
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