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7FEB15 - The short SHORT story contest!

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Berde View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (2) Thanks(2)   Quote Berde Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 10 Feb 2015 at 18:08

The Misadventures of Mel’ven Meritha on the Orders of his Madcap Monarch

Gather ‘round boys and girls, for a tale of woe and misery. Loyalty is grand my friends, but blind loyalty without question is another thing entirely.

I bring you the tale of an elf named Mel’ven Meritha, a skinner in the employ of Her Highness Berde, whose territories stretch from the far northeast to the far southwest of our world. Our Monarch is, well… let us be kind and say she simply isn’t all there.

Mel’ven had wanted to be a skinner for the longest of times. He’d worked as a cotter with his father but wanted more than the meager cottage and life of solitude that that allowed. He had plans! He wanted to be more! He trained with the army but didn’t quite make the grade, and so back to his roots he went. He studied long and hard, apprenticed to a senior skinner. Finally the day came that he was sent out to lead a harvesting missions into the woods.

Of Chulbran! Why, what was his Monarch THINKING? She desired him to go from Laoshin to Chulbran for wolf furs? Surely the ones just a mile down the road were fine! He opened his mouth to protest, and thought better of it. Off he and his men went.

Word came as they crossed the lands. What is taking so long, his Monarch wished to know. Hurry up! And so he and his men raced full-tilt across the stretch of plains and scrambled over mountains. Their chests burned with lack of air and their muscles screamed with the burn of overuse.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, just as they approached their destination at break-neck speeds, a vast legions of rats appeared! The men fought as best they could. Skinning knives flashed in the sunlight. They hacked and slashed. Blood flew in ruby droplets to be cast over the grass. The squeaks of the tiny beasts was shrill and ear piercing. The stink of fear and death clawed its way into nostrils, overwhelming even the most staunch and experienced of the men.

Sadly, Mel’ven Meritha and his men were no match for this ocean of fur and teeth. Down they went to their last, having blindly followed the orders of the Madcap Monarch only to run full speed ahead to their deaths.

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abstractdream View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (1) Thanks(1)   Quote abstractdream Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 03:22

In the 25th year of the reign of King Sigurd, self proclaimed King of Illyriad, the world itself doubled in size, opening vast, undeveloped lands to the far south for new settlement. Once inhabited, now empty of all but the hardiest of Factions and the wildest of animals, this new frontier, rumored as haunted by monstrous creatures straight from the depths of Hell, invites only those willing to give up all of that keeps them safe around their hearthstones.

Having been virtually decimated by brigands with eagles wings and crows beaks, the remaining family members, those sorrowful survivors of the most devastating war in Elgea's pockmarked history, now with ties to their homelands severed and having no obstacles barring their way, Exodus every last one of their beaten cities away from the overbearing lands of Elgea.

Every last man, woman and child, horses and cows in tow, wagons filled with gold and goods and leaving behind the foundations of their cities, cities once shining from the hills of Ursor and those other regions whence they grew, adventured, shed blood and sweat, all follow overland, onto ships, over uncharted waters to set foot on the new frontier, to start again.

Take heed, O ye weary and worrisome, for this land will provide the future of a select few, those hearty, plucky souls never truly defeated.

Be ye one of us, or be ye one against?

Edited by abstractdream - 11 Feb 2015 at 03:29
Bonfyr Verboo
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auel View Drop Down

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (1) Thanks(1)   Quote auel Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 13:51
The first crack in the wall.

The elf stood quietly on the mountain peak, gazing intently on the mighty orc fortress in the predawn gloom.  There was the legendary keep on its mound and the city within the multi towered curtain wall. Around it the rolling plain was alive with marching armies.

“Looks like he’s taken the bait” said his companion.

“Yes, he knows now that the attacks on his other cities were not feints he can’t take the risk” he replied as he scanned the orc legions streaming in.  “I doubt he will have any troops left”

“Nor arms to equip new recruits” his companion smiled.

Between the foe orc columns could now be seen the shapes of mighty wains, each carrying a siege engine escorted by tightly disciplined columns of stalwarts and men at arms. Still farther away, behind the orcs a subtle mist spread across the land, as much felt as seen.

The watchers admired the orc captains as they whipped and cajoled the massed ranks of Kobolds and Fangs into position, they smiled grimly as the enemy danced to the tune they had played him and the orcs thronged the vale below.

“It is time” the elf King whispered as he raised his bow and fired a single arrow into the gloom and sent the unspoken command which transformed it into a dazzling blood red comet casting a deathly hue over the massed ranks of the defenders.  At this the advancing mists resolved to reveal a vast force of trueshots who loosed as one, rippling the sky with their shafts, even from the mountain, the groan of the orcs could be heard in the moment before they were struck down in thousands and tens of thousands.

Dwarves could then be seen advancing behind wheeled shields and the watchers knew that these were brave and skilled engineers clearing the field for what followed as the ranks of trueshots opened and divisions of marshals and armoured cavalry thundered through and formed charging wedges, the timing was not quite perfect so that the thunder of each impact was heard as a deafening crash above the rolling storm of battle.

The orcs resisted viciously as was only to be expected but gradually the great clamour faded as the siege engines reached the walls unopposed …. they did not pitch camps, the many armies each fired a devastating volley and turned away, walls withered and fell and the mighty keep was battered into chaos.  The orc city was ruined but did not fall as the sun finally rose to a bronze and bloodied day.

When the dust had cleared Deimo and his personal guard came out to the elf and the man who stood alone on the gory field under the banner of the Charging Tiger.

“So you did me then” he said, “you never wanted the city!”

“No Lord Deimo, we came for your armies ……. and for you.”

Holding their gaze, the orc Lord silently cast down his sword.   


Josiah - VICX

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auel View Drop Down

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote auel Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 14:01
For the curious.  Yes it is a highly fictionalised account of an actual Illy battle and yes Deimo has given his permission for me to use his name.

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Mahaut View Drop Down

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (1) Thanks(1)   Quote Mahaut Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 17:03
                       A Beautiful Morning

Jocelyn peered across the field towards the castle. Morning mist was hazing the ground, a small stream was gurgling nearby and the dawn light was flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.

‘Why isn't anything happening over there?’ he thought. ‘They can see us, and their scouts must have been reporting our movements for days.’

He looked back over his shoulder, the camp fires surrounded by archers and infantry, spearmen on the perimeter being handed plates of food. He noted approvingly that squads of cavalrymen and squires were passing out feed and water buckets to the horses picketed behind the tents. There was an appetising smell of bacon cooking in pans over camp fires.

A light breeze began to brush over the tops of the grasses and sighing he moved off to report to the commander.


Knight Commander Argenteous was not in the best of moods....

'Some nameless idiot has recalled most of the divisions from the other attack,' he stormed. ‘He wants them for a gala, or something equally asinine.’

'Before some other wet behind the ears royal brat gets ideas about birthday parades we'd best get this siege over and done with.'

'Sound the attack Jocelyn, plans are laid, let’s get on with it.'

The plans had indeed been laid. Jocelyn and his fellow commanders had honed and refined the battle plans over many weeks. Weeks in which their progress north had been apparently ignored.


The stream was larger here, flowing slower. Jocelyn could see fish in the water and swans were gliding majestically, outlined against the willows and reeds. So entrancing was the scene that it took a moment - a quiet, half asleep moment - before Jocelyn realised that this was no low lying dawn mist but smoke, the siege engines had done their work; this morning there were no red gold towers, just blackened beams and smoking debris. No smell of bacon this morning, another, far less appetising smell permeated everything.

It was very quiet, the quartermasters had moved everything necessary into the marginal safety of a partially still standing curtain wall and the camp was, apart from the sentries and scouts, mostly sleeping. The horses were picketed on the water meadows, the grass so long and lush that it hid the picket lines.

It was an idyllic spot. Idly Jocelyn wondered if Commander Argenteous was minded to be generous in rewarding his subordinate commanders.

‘Good land this,’ he thought. ‘Horse country, and I could grow good crops, soil looks fertile, river is wide enough and deep enough that I doubt it runs dry in summer.’

‘Miriam and the kids would love it here.’ Daydreaming, in the still of the dawn, he wandered slowly along the river bank.

Something glinted away in the distance.

Baffled, Jocelyn peered across the fields and forests, towards another castle, rising out of the mist in the distance; the dawn light flushing the castle towers with red and gold.


It was a beautiful morning.


Inspired by

And a real circumstance in the GA war.
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Luffster View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Luffster Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 20:19
Excession and Luffster argue on which to drink first, Wine or Beer - they decide the only way to settle this argument is to go to war.  Each send their best drinkers to do battle in the only way they know how! Drinking Contest! They meet in the only place they can - The World’s End Pub, already there are Mahaut, XMCo and Boru - Judges for this Duel to the passout.  Beer is brought from the Distant Land of GuernZ, Wine is brought from the other end of the world Eklles – Luffster goes with the Beer then Wine is Fine Excession goes with Wine then Beer makes you Queer – Both get very drunk – it goes to a judges decision – all three have passed out waiting for Excession and Luffster to finish – both Excession and Luffster decide that they are the absolute winners and agree to do the same next week! The End!
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Altrix View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Altrix Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 00:30

The location that this story takes place is here;

The Battle for Lan Larosh (Story from the Chronicles of Elgea written by Altrix)

The human army had been marching for the best part of a month, tracking down a group of orcs that had been raiding those that lived in Lan Larosh, before they reached the western bank of the river Emn, the river the divides Lan Larosh and Tor Carrock. Intel had suggested that this was the largest gathering of orcs that had ever been sighted and hence General Ilirra had been given 200,000 men, and the order to kill every single orc upon site, to deal with this threat.

As the army approached the western bank fear started to work its way through the soldiers as they caught site of the forest that awaited them on the other side. After all, this was the best spot for the orcs to turn around and ambush them as the army tried to cross the river and form up on the other side. The men managed to put this fear aside as they knew this was the only way to rid the new world of the devilish orcs that marauded the countryside preying on the weak.

After a few hours rest, enough time to give small number of men, 50,000, time to cross south of their position and to start circling back, the command was given to start the crossing. The plan was to get as many companies across as fast as possible and then to form up in a defensive formation on the eastern bank to allow others to follow safely. The plan went smoothly for the first quarter of the army but then a shout rose up from those on the eastern bank. The orcs had been spotted! They came out of the trees like a whirlwind causing destruction as they went, ripping through the army as they clambered about in a feeble attempt to stop the orcs. Just as the last remnants of those on the eastern bank were cut down the flanking army arrived from the south and boxed the orcs against the bank of the river. As the orcs turned to face this new threat General Ilirra fronted the charge, with the rest of the army following, across the river to fall on the rear of the orcish army. This was too much for the orcs and confusion spread throughout their ranks as they tried in vain to combat the double sided attack that they now found themselves under. From there it only took a few short hours before the last orcish head fell at the feet of General Ilirra, there was no mercy for these devilish creatures and hence no chance of survival.

This tale has been told around fires ever since as it marks the last time that any orc was seen in Lan Larosh until the great peace treaty that bound the four races of Elgea together.

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Belegar Ironhammer View Drop Down

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (1) Thanks(1)   Quote Belegar Ironhammer Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 02:13
Hold the Line

      Steel rang upon steel beneath a blackened, storm-wrought sky. White forks of lightning flashed brilliantly, heralding deafening claps of thunder that roared across the muddy, blood-soaked battlefield. Guttural orc war cries echoed in the night, a savage prayer to the gods of war, answered only by the roaring bellows of the dwarves, beseeching their comrades to greater efforts.

            “Hold the line!” shouted Belegar, yelling with all his might. Clad in silversteel plate and surrounded by his elite bodyguards, the dwarf king stood like a rock against the orc tide, his warhammer gripped firmly in his gauntleted hands. The war axes of his chosen rose and fell in a steady rhythm, every stroke claiming the life of an orc, snapping bones like straw and pulping innards in crimson sprays of arterial blood. Crossbow bolts cut the air, hissing like vipers.

            A snarling, yellow-toothed orc charged Belegar, brandishing gore-streaked scimitars in each of its meaty hands. Red, bloodthirsty eyes glowed like embers in the orc’s ugly, lopsided skull. A cloak of flayed skin wrapped about his brawny shoulders.

            One of Belegar’s bodyguards leapt in front of the onrushing orc, an oath of hatred gushing from his lips. Quick as the lightning that rent the sky, the orc slashed his scimitar at the dwarf, piercing his armour and dealing a grievous wound to the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf sank to his knees, blood seeping from the sundered armour.

            Before the orc could complete the kill, Belegar attacked, screaming a foul cry of his own in the harsh language of the dwarves.  Blunt-nosed hammer and scythe-like scimitar met in a guttering sizzle of orange sparks. Pressing his assault, Belegar slammed his hammer downwards in a series of brutal, overhead strikes.

            The orc parried the dwarf’s heavy-handed strokes, his every action accompanied by a savage grunt, his green face split by a feral, lipless sneer.

            The mud sucked at Belegar’s boots, seeking to drag him down as he advanced. The silver-armoured dwarf pulled his hammer over his shoulder and swung it forwards just as the orc launched an attack of his own. Belegar ducked beneath the twin murder-weapons and completed his swing, his hammer crunching solidly into the orc’s left ankle, which shattered like a pane of glass in a hailstorm.

            Swept off his feet, the orc landed heavily on his back, air whooshing from his lungs. The impact ripped the breath from his throat and a scimitar slipped from his hand.

            Seizing the advantage, Belegar swung hard and smashed his hammer into the orc’s sternum. The force of the impact stung his hands and vibrated up his arms and into his shoulders. A column of thick black blood geysered into the air, drenching Belegar in a shower of warm, sticky rain. The dwarf’s next attack hit the orc’s skull, which exploded like rotten fruit. Bone chips ricocheted off his armour.

            Belegar stood to his feet just as another wave of orcs attacked, a solid mass of muscle, sweat, and rage.

            “Hold the line!”   

Edited by Belegar Ironhammer - 12 Feb 2015 at 02:14
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jcx View Drop Down
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (2) Thanks(2)   Quote jcx Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 10:53
Unleashing the Chained Beast 
(Mist vs NS Selection)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful warrior named Mist, she'd conquered few lands in Fremorn and loved by thousands of soldiers.

In a gloomy day of February she'd decided to unleash the beast sleeping inside her. She calls all the brave warriors in the land of Elgea to fight against her. 

Brave warriors of ~Night Squires~ responded, enlisting the finest heroes within. 

They rallied against Mist!

Mist unleashed her cavalry in an attempt to kill her enemies in no time. But 1 of 2 attacks failed.

While her known ally jcx was confident enough that they will win the contest and conquer their enemies, Tink XX proved him wrong.

Tink XX sent massive wave of scouts to know the whereabouts of jcx siege engines, 3 out 500+ waves went in and give her the right intel. Then Larious Saleed commanded her cavalry and destroyed jcx engines losing his upper hand against the NS troopers.

jcx became desparate, he commanded several attacks against Tink XX, Larious Saleed, Artahm, killing some of their troops, but still that didn't turn the table back to his favor. 

Siege Landing Day - all engines from NS troopers landed in Mist backyard to start pulverizing his walls bearing 300K mix troops with equivalent numbers of weapons, Mist was surprised!

She unleashed her 40K brave elven trueshots to clear Stangs' siege square 1 and she was successful. while she went to Boomerex siege square 2 (bearing most of the armies & engines), she met her fate all 40K brave ET's had fallen in the hands of boom. 

BitterSweet, Sally - a 15 hours firefight....

Mist called her 1st sally forth to clear boom's siege square but failed. After 6 long hours again she called her 2nd sally forth, this time she was victorious. Killing most of the commanders and some engines was a relief. But still having 3 attacking squares outside her city was worrisome.

She changes her strategy. She'd recall all wardancers & elven true shots back to its respective cities - and goes back to attack each square and succeed. 

Unfortunately, Mist lost all of her troops in the effort of clearing those 3 siege squares.

NS Trooper are relentless! after their first attempt of destroying Mist, they came back! 

King Korr unleashed his final blow that defeated Mist (Dead). 

"The lovely warrior has fallen, along with her brave of soldiers." 

~NS~ win the contest!

Credits to: Tink XX, Boomerex, Larious Saleed, Stang, Artahm, Mist of the Abyss
Disclaimer: The above is jcx|orcboy's personal opinion and is not the opinion or policy of Harmless? [H?] or of the little green men that have been following him all day.

jcx in H? | orcboy in H?
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Shûl-nak View Drop Down

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (3) Thanks(3)   Quote Shûl-nak Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 13:15

Azurrok inhaled deeply. The cloying air was thick with smoke, ash, fear and death - the raw scent of war. In his heart he could feel the primal spirit of the Always-Chiefs raging and roaring, exulting in the bloody madness. His teeth ached for more flesh to tear, and his hands longed for more soft elven necks from which he could wring the pitiful life forever.

The last of El'tirisel's defenders sent a volley of humming death from the keep's final spire; a swathe of kobolds collapsed squealing in the courtyard. Azurrok snarled and grabbed a dying runt to hold aloft. His newfound shield quivered with caught arrows as he sprinted towards the stairs.

Many Elven wardens blocked the winding ascent, but their fluid fighting style suffered in such cramped quarters. The stocky orc used his bullish momentum to barge, grab and hack, pushing and shoving them to fall to the tower floor below, dealing bone-rending blows with his cruel scimitar.

The thrumming of loosed bowstrings filled his ears as he reached the summit. He discarded the kobold, now bristling with arrows, and leapt into the ranks of the unwitting archers with vicious glee. Wielding his blade with both hands, their soft leather armour could not save them as he split limb from limb in great cleaving arcs.

His savage laughter was cut short when a blade scored a deep slash across his shoulder. Azurrok's eyes flashed as he recognised the wielder; a wardancer captain, a fellow death-walker he had fought before. A worthy opponent.

They circled, carefully stepping over the bodies of the fallen, the floor slick with blood. The elf's blade sang as he gracefully adjusted his stance; the orc snarled and growled impatiently. Then the first clash came. The orc swung; sparks flew, his scimitar deflected with ease.

Azurrok saw the counter-attack too late. His left hand sailed over the edge of the tower as it was severed by a deft swing, but he was already ducking to avoid the blade sweeping for his neck. Yet the elf had overcommitted to his strike. The orc screamed, surging forwards to grapple his unbalanced opponent. They collided in a blur, sent sprawling over the balcony and into the air.

As the wind howled around them, the orc bit, clawed and struck the captain in savage fury. With fist and fang he battered the life from his adversary; by the time they hit the waters of the lake below it was over.

Winded and wounded, Azurrok unceremoniously dragged himself to shore, finding his severed hand already on the banks. He seized a passing orc: “Take this... to the chief. Tell him... the city... is ours.”

He raised his black warhorn and sounded the growling victory call. He bellowed and stomped as the howling roars of his horde erupted from the streets below, their celebrations beginning in earnest.

But even as he claimed victory, his eyes were already fixed upon the gleaming cities of the horizon...

Edited by Shûl-nak - 15 Feb 2015 at 12:32
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