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#31 meredith


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Posted 13 September 2010 - 07:07 AM

The Great Destroyer was dead.

As a doornail.

Blondette really wasn’t sure why things were called dead as a doornail, doornails aren’t alive to begin with so you can’t really kill them. But she was sure that the Great Destroyer was as dead as she is blonde because she killed it all by herself… well, with her friends too. With sword in hand and shield… in other hand she hacked and stabbied it to death, only occasionally stopping to cast healing breeze or vigorous spirit on herself occasionally. But she could handle that because she learned the tricks to warrior’s endurance awhile ago to deal with such high energy burdens.

But the important thing is that that big thing was dead and she needed a bath. The only bad thing about being a warrior is you’re always getting covered in blood and gore and always needing a bath. But Blondette liked bathing a lot so getting a little dirty wasn’t too big a deal.

As she and her friends were leaving the cave of their last battle, Blondette noticed something shiney out of the corner of her eye. It was some large metal thing with a big red button and a note attached. She went to investigate it.

The note read as follows:

-Whatever you do, do not push the big red button-

-Signed, Me-

Blondette looked at the button. It was so big. And so red. And so buttony. How bad could it be if she just gave it one little push? Blondette glanced around to see that her friends hadn’t noticed she stopped yet.

Blondette pushed the button.

The big metal thing started vibrating and making machine sounds. There was a flash of light and the glowing image of a forgotten appeared. Blondette was impressed with the display.

“Thank you for choosing Draconicorp,” the forgotten said. “Tyria’s leading provider of dragons for all your dragon needs. We at draconicorp offer a variety of dragon solutions from little ones for children’s parties to giant world destroying dragons. If you know which kind of dragon you are interested in, please say so now, if not please wait while we give you a list of dragon options.”

“Giant world destroying dragons,” Blondette asked, those sounded interesting.

“You have chosen giant world destroying dragons,” the glowing forgotten said, next to him a number of mean looking dragons appeared. “In our quest to be the leading provider of dragon solutions, we at Draconicorp have developed a number of giant dragons for all of your devastation needs. Each dragon was have is specifically tailored to vigorous specifications in order to provide the widest variety of calamities possible.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Blondette said.

“We at Draconicorp would like to thank you for ordering a giant world destroying dragon,” the forgotten said. “However we regret to inform you that we are currently understaffed and the dragon reanimation process will take approximately 50 years. We are sorry for any inconveniences this may cause you. Please take this plush Draconicorp stuffed animal as a consolation, and remember if you need dragons, choose Draconicorp.”

A stuffed purple dragon appeared before Blondette. She picked it up. It was very soft and very cuddly. It looked like it was made out of high quality materials.

“And I shall call you Drakey.” Blondette gave Drakey a big hug. The forgotten was saying something about a cancellation process but Blondette wasn’t paying attention; Drakey was so soft. Blondette decided she was going to start sleeping with Drakey by her and went to catch up with her friends.

“There you are,” Gwen said. “We thought you’d gotten lost again.”

“Aww,” Blondette said. “I didn’t mean to upset my Gwenny-pooh. Don’t worry I’m fine.”

“For the hundredth time would you please stop calling me Gwenny-pooh,” Gwen said. “It sounds weird and it creeps me out every time you say that.”

“You really must take care not to wander off,” Mhenlo said. “We may have defeated the Great Destroyer but other dangers may be lurking these caverns.”

“Sorry about that, but I found this,” Blondette showed everyone the stuffed dragon. “Isn’t Drakey the best!?”

“Where did you find that,” Devona asked.

“In a vending machine,” Blondette said.

“Why would anyone leave a vending machine with stuffed dragons in a place like this,” Devona asked.

“Dunno,” Blondette said. “Maybe it is a reward for killing the Great Destroyer.”

“That makes no sense,” Devona said.

“There is little sense to what people leave in dungeons,” Eve said. “I found this awhile ago.”

Eve showed everyone her Hello Kitty backpack.

“Devona,” Mhenlo said. “By know you really should know not to ask questions like that.”

“Sorry,” Devona said. “Somehow I was hoping there would be a little common sense left in the world.”

“That looks kinda cute,” Cynn said looking at Drakey. “Good construction too.”

“Aww, he’s soo cute,” Tahlkora said. “I’d love to have one of those for my collection.”

“If you want I can run back and try to get you both one,” Blondette said.

“Really,” Cynn said, hoping to get one. “That’d be nice of you.”

“Please,” Tahlkora said. “I’d love to have one of those as well.”

“Okay give me a minute,” Blondette said and then ran off.

“You two shouldn’t encourage her,” Gwen said.

“Be quiet you, that doll is cute,” Tahlkora said.

“Yeah,” Cynn said. “Besides, what harm could come from a vending machine with stuffed animals? It’s not like it was some primitive device that will awaken some horrible beasts to ravage Tyria.”

“I suppose you are right,” Gwen admitted. "I mean what are the odds of that happening?"

Blondette ran back to her vending machine. Three more times she pushed the button. Three more times she asked for a giant world destroying dragon. With stuff animals in hand, she returned to her friends.

“For Cynn,” Blondette said giving Cynn a dragon. “We have Purple Passion!”

“Purple Passion,” Cynn said and held it to her chest. “That’s not a bad name.”

“For Tahlkora,” Blondette said presenting a dragon to Tahlkora. “We have Himeko!”

“I love my little Himeko,” Tahlkora gave her dragon a big squeeze.

“And for my Gwenny-pooh,” Blondette said. “There is Mr. Cuddles!”

“I didn’t want a stuff dragon,” Gwen said.

“But you look so sad,” Blondette said, trying to speak in a Mr. Cuddles voice. “I just want to give you a magical dragon hug and cheer you up.”

“No,” Gwen said flatly.

“But every lady needs at least one stuff animal,” Blondette said, still speaking as Mr. Cuddles. “It’s a rule and it’s cute.”

“Fine, fine I’ll take it,” Gwen said. “Wow, this thing really is soft and cuddly.”

“See, isn’t it great,” Blondette asked.

“I guess I can have one stuffed animal,” Gwen said.

“If everyone is done,” Mhenlo said. “We really should get moving. It’s a long walk back to the Eye.”

And with that, the brave, bold band of baddy bashers returned unaware of their blonde friend’s epic blunder.

:DThanks for sharing it with us.
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#32 Kalidri


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Posted 13 September 2010 - 08:56 PM

Epic silliness! Started this while on hold with a bank and I soldiered through and completed it. I do question my sanity when I really do have work to do!

Griselda Irunsdottir's Tale

We norn ice-brave and ice-forged
We norn the aurora first blessed
Bear’s daughter and leopard’s son
We norn speak and are not forgotten

From far and lost Sifhalla I came
My mighty deeds brought me fame
I eschewed armor’s weakling clasp
A heart free of steel, fear cannot grasp

No hunt’s quarry evaded my quick bow
No nighttime chase’s chill ate my bone
I slept in the mountain’s shadow
The snow my bed, the rock my pillow

Listen to my tale as I grow old
Foolish death, mirthless and cold
You cannot silence valor and honor
Hear me, I am Griselda Irunsdottir

Scores of years in echoed time
Have passed since I was in my prime
Follow me on my path, from peak to glen
To the bright ice lake and sodden fen

I liked most to wander the ice lake
To gaze in wonder upon the drake
The enemies upon its icy shore
I hewed and tormented by the score

One evening by starlight’s icy stare
I roamed that land, hunting without a care
Then, ringing through the midnight land
A great crack, a glow like a burning brand

I knew of Jormag’s mighty curse
To put a norn’s power in reverse
I fled up the cliffs but not in fear
But to see what might appear

The ice shivered and shattered asunder
Shards shimmered, a great thunder
The mother of waters spilled from the lake
And roaring its might arose the drake

To see its majesty, the crown of its might
The width of its body filled all my sight
Even in my valor I could not begin to know
How a mite such as I should battle such a foe

Jormag rose further still, whipping its great tail
The water frothed and leaped, rising ever up the vale
From the first I had thought myself invulnerable
But as waters roared, wild beasts fled innumerable

I ran among them, with centaur and reindeer
I ran with my shame upon me, I bowed to fear
The waters roared from the deep, rock broke
It was as if Raven had unveiled his final joke

All that terrible night I recall as a nightmare
I outran the beasts - all fell to Jormag’s snare
Even when dawn revealed the reformed world
I kept to my heels, my voice wailed like a girl

Where is my family? I cried to the peak
Now there are few of Sifhalla who can speak
I journey alone with the burden of shame
I am Griselda who let fear sully her name

Locked in ice, my kin shall not grow old
They’ll be long remembered for being bold
Listen now to the lesson that I tell
The coward lives on, but none too well
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#33 Volkon


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Posted 23 November 2010 - 05:13 PM

Adventurer lost
Final words caught on the wind
"What's this lever for?"
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#34 Kalivan


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Posted 23 November 2010 - 05:29 PM

Last words before he hit the floor, "ugh touch rangers "dieing breath"
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#35 Amannelle


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Posted 23 January 2011 - 02:16 AM

I wrote the intro for my Mesmer, Alice Thorn.

(And may I say it is HARD writing from a female perspective! Lol I had to ask my sister for advice over and over xD )

Posted Image

Alice Thorn
Dawn, breaking over the walls and towers of Divinity’s reach, made its presence known by the songs of birds and sudden bustle of townspeople outside. Though my eyes opened, I feared rising, hoping that somehow remaining in my bed would postpone the inevitable.

It did not.

“Come quickly Alice, we are due to attend a meeting with the ministers, and you must look your best if you are to one day work at the ministry as I do.” called my father from downstairs. The ministry… filled with so much hot air I’m certain it could lift Divinity’s Reach without such effort that it would rival even Rata Sum’s levitation technology. Yet, my father, Gregory Thorn, being of noble blood and prestigious position, expects me to walk in his footsteps and be of the ministry as well.

I had tried to move more slowly, in hopes my father would give up and go without me. The stubborn man that he is, he remained firm. Having less willpower than him, I finally just gave in, and went to my bedroom mirror. I decided nightgowns were probably not the most elegant of fashions in the ministry, and began to hold my hands out. With a flash of magic, my long nightgown seemed to melt away, revealing an embroidered gown of the deepest ivy, with ribbons accenting the back, and running up the corset. My golden hair seemed a mess as well, so I quickly rubbed my hands over it, and as I did this it became straightened, with the back forming into gentle curls which collected along my shoulders.

Such illusion magic often saves me time when I am in a hurry. Despite my father being a Mesmer as well, he seems to insist it should be used only for “significant tasks”. He clearly has not suffered the burden of trying to brush long hair as thick as mine, for if he had, he would realize there is no task as significant as this.

I made my grand exit, slowly walking down the steps to the first floor. “Keep your back straight.” reminded my father, suddenly walking into the foyer from the dining hall before. With a quiet huff I held my shoulders back as I had been taught since a little girl, and preceded the rest of the way with the regal bearing of the Queen herself.

My father nodded in approval, and as I followed him, we made our descent down the stone steps in front of our manor. The city was indeed alive and thriving, considering how early it was in the morning. Merchants called out their goods as we passed by, and some children ran in front of us, almost knocking me over. Apparently whatever had died in Shaemoor was more important than my gown—those ruffians.

We approached the Chamber of ministers, and as I walked past the giant pillars, I could faintly see my reflection in the shimmering map of Tyria engraved on the floor. The smell of roses and daffodils drifted past my nose, and I glanced at the queen’s gardens behind, looking so peaceful and relaxing. Oh how I wished I could just run off and hide under a tree with a good book. Instead I was stuck learning documentation and systematic organization; things the ministry considered “essential skills”. I entered the dark doors, afraid of what I may find inside. No, I do not fear monsters or dragons… I fear the condescending ministers, who I am supposed to join someday…
So often I wish I could do more with my life; I feel like I’m supposed to be doing something great, yet here I am, wasting away. Once when a circus had visited, the ringleader said I was rather good when it came to Mesmer Magic, and even offered me a job with them… however, I did not accept his offer at the time, for I was afraid of leaving everything that was so familiar to me—notably my father. I really haven’t traveled anywhere or even done anything special. However, my father says I can go visit Shaemoor tomorrow, so maybe that will be fun?

I am Alice Thorn, born unto high nobility and student in the chamber of ministries. This is my story.
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#36 umyeah


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Posted 12 February 2011 - 05:11 AM

I wrote the intro for my Mesmer, Alice Thorn.

(And may I say it is HARD writing from a female perspective! Lol I had to ask my sister for advice over and over xD )

Posted Image

Alice Thorn
Dawn, breaking over the walls and towers of Divinity’s reach, made its presence known by the songs of birds and sudden bustle of townspeople outside. Though my eyes opened, I feared rising, hoping that somehow remaining in my bed would postpone the inevitable.

It did not.


do you have any expierence in writing? Because i think this stuff is really good! Except for significance of brushing hair, that is :P

Edited by umyeah, 12 February 2011 - 05:14 AM.

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#37 Oww


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Posted 26 March 2011 - 03:11 AM

So I decided to post his poem here, sorry if its not very good.


So what to you guys think?
This was in no specfic style by the way.

Edited by Oww, 27 March 2011 - 06:43 PM.

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#38 Deimos-Ironmaw


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Posted 27 April 2011 - 06:51 PM

[This was actually a roleplay I had with two other people, and I've gone through and tried to fix any typos they would have made. I myself love these 3 charr so much, they are all so hilarious. Also, 'bas-tard' is written that way because it censored it here and I don't think it's really that bad of a word, considering it was in one of my G-rated games...]
Posted Image

"Hmph, they were holding me back anyways!" came a young, gruff charr voice. He was an adolescent, rather small bodied in terms of a charr, and his fur was a mix of dark browns and blacks. He wasn't exactly dressed to impress, and he was armed with an old gauntlet and dragging a sword on the ground with him, and strangely, he was alone. Anyone who knew anything about charr could see 'gladium' written all over him.
He started swinging the sword around recklessly, "I'm a one charr warband!! YAH YAH!!" His ears flattened as the sword easily went flying out of his hand and spun in the air, smacking against a cliff in the open woodland area. It was moments later that he was running, unarmed, from a mob of angry Grawl who had been resting in the cliff cave.

The noise of the running was overheard by a bitter looking charr clad in a chain vest, padded leather trousers, and a iron pauldron on his left shoulder that went down to his forearm. He had an orange tiger pattern, and had a broad and well muscled build. He growled to himself as he tried his best to ignore the noise, adding another log to the fire in front of him, adjusting the spit over it, "Stupid grawl...probably smell my food..." he muttered to himself as he leaned his hammer closer to where he was sitting, prepared to fend off any would-be attackers.

Seeing a light, it was the young foolish charr's first instinct to run towards it. This would have been fine, except that he made the mistake of constantly looking behind him to the grawl pursuing him. "Do these things ever give uuuuppp!?! WAGH!!" His lack of attention caused him to trip on a stone, sending him flailing forward and out of control. He tried to skid to a stop to adjust his balance, regrettably getting his foot right in the fire that the other charr had been tending to. "HOOOOTTT!!!" he yelped as he stumbled off to the side, between running from grawl and rolling from stepping in a fire.. it really wasn't his day.

"My food!" The older charr exclaimed as the other charr caused embers and his dinner to scatter "What in the world is wrong with you?!" he snapped at the young charr.

"That's what's wrong!!" he yapped, pointing at the grawl who were bumbling towards him, as he stumbled up to his feet and backed away. He held up his gauntlet and mumbled pathetically, "Aw there's no way I can kill that many with just this dumb thing..."

"Grawl...you were being chased...by grawl...?" he asked in a flat voice. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hammer and gave a heavy vertical swing, taking one of them out with a single blow. As it flopped dead to the side, the others stopped in their tracks, the older charr readied a battle stance, daring the others to try and get near him.

"Shut up, I lost my weapon!!" he crossed his arms and pouted, glaring at how easily the Grawl was killed. The other grawl stood still for a moment, before making a few grunts and grouwls as they turned to run.
The young charr swiftly picked up a rock and tossed it in their direction, yelling "Yeah and don't come back or we'll eat all of you!! HAH!" He stood proud, despite doing absolutely nothing.

"Don't coax them back, I won't help you again" he said as he grabbed the dead grawl by the scruff, dragging back to the smoldering fire, sitting back down and adding logs to rekindle it. "Bah...took me forever to catch that moa...and now it's grawl again." he glared at the younger charr accusingly.
"Moa? Those are easy!!" he bragged, trying to redeem his stupidity. "Ahh, I would have been fine if.... Those grawl didn't sneak up on me when I'd put my sword down!" He finally groaned and slouched, defeated by his own lame defenses. "Sorry...."

Elsewhere in an outlying city, a market caravan was preparing for its journey to the next major city, which lay beyond the open woodland and treacherous forest. Because of this, the caravan was looking for any brave swordsman that would dare venture through these perilous roads for a sack of silver. A young adult charr walked through the city, trying to mind his own business. He was pure black, and mid-range in his build, fit, but not bulky.
As he walked passed the announcer, one of the caravan leaders noticed the blade this charr was carrying and pointed out to the charr. "You there! Charr! You hold a blade...care to do a job?"
"M-m-m-me? O-oh I am just passing by...I don't mean to-," The young charr tried to explain to the man, shying away from getting involved.
"You hold a blade sir...surely you can handle this job?" The leader remarked.
Another caravan leader came to the two and noticed the blade as well, "We will pay you for your services....I am sure you are a fine swordsman."
The young charr looked at them a bit with shakiness. While it was true he had a sword, the compliment that the caravan leaders gave him was something he felt that he shouldn't be given. Because of this he tried to muster up courage to say, "W-well I do have a sword but-"
The main caravan piped up, "We'll pay you for your trouble... Two bags of silver and some of our food rations for your swordsmanship."
The charr looked down and placed his right hand on his stomach. He didn't eat for days and the promise of food was too tempting. He felt now in inner turmoil between honesty and survival. The growling of his stomach made him concede to their request.
The caravan set off with their new sword for hire out for the journey. The charr walked alongside the wagon as he ate a good bowl of meats and rice, downing it with a mug of grog. One of the caravan merchants asked the charr, "Oi. What hails thee, wanderer? Your name and origin?"
The charr looked at the merchant, a bard of his trade, and replied, "M-my name is Wrath. Wrath Bloodclaw."
"Ah, Bloodclaw! Does that mean thou hails from a powerful blood clan?"
The warrior softly said, "W-well you could say that-"
"Splendid! We are saved! This journey should be no problem then now that we have a Bloodclaw on our side. A fine swordsman to boot!" the merchant declared.
Wrath sunk a bit. Was he truly a good swordsman? Could he actually save the caravan should things go awry?

Back at the small camp, the elder charr was rolling his eyes as he got the fire back up, pulling out a small knife as he proceeded to skin the dead grawl "You should probably get back to your warband" He said idly as he saw the younger charr just standing there, watching.
"Uhh..." He looked away, scratching his nose and huffing, "I left mine, they were a bunch of idiots." He looked a little tense when he spoke.
The older charr looked up, examining the younger for a brief moment. "If all of your band were idiots, then I dread to see how they represent charr, if you are a step up above them." he said sarcastically.
"Haha very funny, I told you I just didn't have a sword on me, that's all." He inched closer, "Say, maybe I could just stick around until I can get a new weapon? They might attack me again if I'm on my own. Which I'm fine on my own by the way! .. Most of the time."
He glanced back at the darker furred charr. "Fine, whatever." He muttered "Just don't get in my way, do you know any skills besides running away and destroying fires?" he asked as he carved up pieces of meat.
"I can fight!!" he insisted, "I'm Deimos Ironmaw, I'm great with devourers and tactician, and a sword. Which I lost. Feh, it was an old rusty sword anyways, who needs it!" he sat down roughly, making an 'oof!' sound.
"Iron...?" He began, but couldn't help but burst out into laugher. "IRONmaw? Are you that vain to think you can just name yourself after my legion?" He said as he kept laughing.
"Your--" he shut his mouth and glared at the fire. "Well it's better than Coppermaw." he mumbled with spite in his tone.
"Copper... So you are a gladium." The older charr said, not finding it surprising given his physique and his handling of attacking grawl.
He looked away and snorted. "You don't gotta say it like that. It's not a big deal. I'll make my own warband."
"I don't think you'll be leading any warband soon, with that kind of attitude" He commented, placing carved meat on a spit and beginning to roast it.
"What's wrong with my attitude?" he looked up with a challenging expression, but he wasn't budging from his sitting spot. "I'm confident and ambitious, isn't that important?"
"No, being a legionnaire is much more than that." He said, not taking his eyes off of the cooking meat "Get confident, and you get in over your head. Get too ambitious, and you get in trouble." he concluded.
"Ehh, what do you know?" he rested back, "Well anyways warband or not.... Hey, speaking of warband.. You a gladium too? I don't see any comrades around."
"My comrades are gone..." he said, looking down "They met their death because our leader WAS 'confident and ambitious'."
Deimos quieted down, "Oh um..." he twiddled his thumbs. "Well....Hey, sorry about that." He gave an awkward cough, "Ok so you do know about it. Well maybe I can START a warband at least. Hey I got it!!!"
"Forget it" He said instantly, catching on easily on what he was going to say. "No way am I following you." he said as he took the spit of meat from the fire, handing it to him.
The young charr gawked, crossing his arms again. "Well fine!! I don't need ungrateful--- Oh, hey, thanks!" without another word to his argument he started to scarf down the meat he was given. "Umff I neegig fhat."
The tiger charr just rolled his eyes at the sudden disposition change, grabbing another piece of meat to cook. "You can follow for now, but we're not a warband, got it?"
"Yeaf thaf fuin, whakeffur." he gulped his food. "That was the plan anyways. Hmph."

Suddenly, the two charr that were enjoying their feast would be treated to the sound of gunfire. Frightened birds flew in the air in all directions from the location, the treacherous forest.
In the forest, the caravan was under attack by bandits riding forest spiders. The charr that was paid to protect his supplier was too cowardly to draw his blade willingly. In his mind, the terrible massacre he led his clan into seeped ever so. The horrors, the agony, the humiliation, but most of all, the lives lost, their deaths marked in his soul. With a weak cry, he finally mustered the courage to pull out his blade, rushing into battle with a sort of determined terror.
Deimos perked up, then stood quickly. "Hey there's something going on over there, let's check it out!!" without any thought or opinions from the older charr, he was up and running towards the direction of the noises like an excited puppy, not even considering that he didn't have a proper weapon.
"Hey! what are you-!" The older charr started, sighing "Another meal lost..." he grumbled as he grabbed his hammer.
Every time the charr felled an opponent, their blood seeping his blade, the cries of death from both his enemies and allies rang through the forest. He closed his eyes, in hopes to force the bad memories of his past back into the recess of his mind.
One of the caravan leaders, in due desperation, blew a horn that cried for the assistance of any who could hear its call, only to be fallen to the blade of a bandit.
Deimos skidded to a halt when he came into view of the fight, now dawning on him that he didn't have a proper weapon at all. He crouched and murmured, "Maybe if I sneak in and snag something of theirs... Hmm...."
The older charr made his way near Deimos, crouching next to him "Are you mad? you're unarmed!" He said quietly. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"
Before them was the black charr. He had just slain another of the ambushers with a blade that was not of Charr origin. It was a curved blade, meant for single precision strikes. His form was rusty, his movement was rather stifling. However he did possess some amount of swordsmanship and fighting tactics.

Deimos frowned and whispered back, "I know that, that's why I stopped...! But look, another of our own. And he's with a buncha humans. Yuck." he watched the bodies and seemed fixated on them, more interested on what the dead were carrying over what the living were doing.
The charr sighed and pulled a knife from this belt, handing it to Deimos "Here, use this, it's better than nothing, and don't lose it, it's the only one I got!"
Deimos took the knife and looked it over, then to the older charr, he gave a quick nod. He stood up from the bushes and shouted to the warrior, "HEY!! Need help there?!" When he got the attention of some of the attackers, he didn't back down this time, seeming more confident with a dagger as he ran out to charge.
The charr looked to the direction of the one who called him. Pleased to see that aid had heard the horn, he called out to the fellow charr, "Please! I need to protect the caravan up front! They need help and these ambushers blocked my way!"
Part of the older charr wanted to just leave and let the impulsive one get killed, but his training nagged him to help fellow charr. He reluctantly gripped his hammer and ran out next to help the others.
With the aid of the elder charr and the young outspoken ambitious charr covering his rear support, the charr swordsman ran as quickly as he could to aid the caravan and attack one of the three bandit vanguards near it.
Deimos was a very easily distracted fighter. When he'd managed to down an opponent, he saw a shiny sack of money and a wand, which he quickly kneeled down to grab. He was totally unaware that he'd kneeled down just as someone else was leaping at him, and even more unaware that he accidentally ducked out of the way of a swinging axe.
The older charr fought with the indication that he's seen his fair share of battles, capable of taking on opponents without hesitation or fear, easily crushing foes underneath his hammer.

The charr swordsman fought his vanguard opponent to the best of his ability. He was at a disadvantage, for his foe wielded a great axe. To make matters worse, the bandit was on a spider which had a set of fangs.
The older charr stood next to the swordsman "Get the spider! I'll take the rider!" He shouted as he swung his hammer back, throwing it at the rider.
Acknowledging the elder's command, the swordsman ducked to a low stance and struck his blade against the fangs of the spider. As he pulled away, he slashed at the spider's legs to bring the bandit down to the older charr's hammer.
As his hammer hit the rider, the older charr lept forward over the distracted spider, towards the fallen rider, disarming him of his great axe while he was still in a daze. His hammer in in arms reach, he wrapped his hands around the attackers neck, attempting to strangle him.
The bandit fell to the elder charr's iron grip. His throat clenched, his spine broken from the pressure.
The charr swordsman killed the dazed spider by stabbing it from above.
Deimos dodged another swing without realizing, as he was tugging at the sack of coins from the dead body he stumbled backwards. He saw the axe go between his legs at that point, eyes widening. As the bandit was trying to pull the axe from the ground, the young charr sliced the dagger at the man's legs and rolled away from him, stabbing again and yelping, "You scared me you bas-tard!"
The other two vanguard bandits retreated, knowing they had failed, save for a few scraps of loot.
Deimos didn't really seem very aware he was in a fight at this point, or if it was over, as he was mostly patting around the dead bodies and snagging any goodies he could find. He seemed fixated on one of the bodies, kneeling and poking around at it, and bluntly he started to yank on the leg, kicking the body over and over until he tore the leg off. "Perfect length!"
"Hmph, cowards; get them in low numbers and they turn tail..." The charr started as he recovered his hammer, looking over to his younger cohort "What in the world are you doing...?" he asked as he saw the young charr obsessed in a leg.

The caravan and its inhabitants came to inspect the damages and lives lost in the raid. The only surviving leader looked and took record. Gritting his teeth he looked to the Charr swordsman, "FINE SWORDSMAN YOU ARE! You cost us four days of pay!"
Deimos ignored the elder charr's question, and ran at the yelling man, waving the leg around, "Hey shut up, you're alive aint ya?!! Stupid humans, show some gratitude for once!! It was your own stupid fault for going this way and hiring someone who couldn't handle this job!"
The charr swordsman was offended by the comment that the ambitious charr made. He was also feeling disgraced for not protecting most of the lives lost.
The leader retorted, "Aye. And damn proud you helped, the both of you. Save you both weren't promised pay..."
"I'm actually in agreement, while this youngling seems to be formidable, he's in no shape to be guarding lives." The older charr added, "Maybe you humans shouldn't be so quick on decisions and look for an ADULT next time." he hoisted his hammer onto his shoulder.
The human leader retorted respectfully to the elder but disdainfully to the charr swordsman, "Aye. I will keep that in mind. My brothers fell this night, and this bas-tard charr claiming to be a Bloodclaw has their deaths on his soul. Kryta be praised that their trade will make it here, but not in the quantity the asked."

With this the caravan leaves, disbanding the charr swordsman without any more food or pay.
Deimos merely agreed, waving the leg around and giving a roar. But he was getting impatient with the human, and shouted when they left, "Ahh humans never shut up, always giving speeches like they're important! Huff!!" He swivvled in the direction of the warrior, tucking the leg under his arm. "Hey, you a gladium?"
The warrior Charr looked to the ambitious Charr youngling and softly said, "W-well you could say that, but I just-" He couldn't say anymore, not after recovering from what the caravan leader told him. The word disgrace echoed in his mind, the fate that happened after the massacre vivid in his mind.
"Don't feel for a human, they'd turn on you for a silver coin" The older charr comforted. "Your fighting however, was hesitant, you show fear in your actions. What was that?"
The warrior charr looked to the elder. "I-..........I don't know. I-I-I was trying to do my best and....I tried to tell them I wasn't that good, but....I was hungry and I had no other choice...they needed a blade and I-"
Deimos piped up, slapping a hand on the sputtering charr's back, "Well you're in luck, you can join our warband! Who needs humans!!" he didn't consider the elder charr's opinion once more, but according to him they were a warband and that was final. "I'm Deimos!!"
The word "warband" sparked a wide-eyed shocked expression from the charr warrior as he got up and backed away a bit, "WARBAND?! O-oh nonononono, I couldn't possibly join your warband! I-I'm d-d-d-disgraced."
The older charr looked over to the younger, hitting him in the back of the head with his free hand.
"Ow!!" he rubbed his head and glared at the bigger charr, then pouted off at the warrior. He mumbled, hoping the older charr would hear him, "Who ever heard of a charr letting another charr go hungry...?"
"We're NOT a warband, ok? We can travel together for now, but that does not mean we're united" He said bitterly.
The warrior charr bowed politely to the elder as he said, "M-my apologies. I had no idea. I-I was just wandering to the next town you see. I d-didn't-"
"Well fine but I'm still Ironmaw!!!" Deimos interupted, he tapped his foot and fiddled around with the human leg. "So they said Bloodclaw for you? And what about you, anti-warbander?"
The warrior charr replied, "My name is Wrath....Wrath.....Bloodclaw" The last bit he was hesitant to say.
"Bloodclaw? Am I just encountering the younglings who think they can have high and mighty names today?" He asked no one in particular
Deimos frowned, "And what's your name? Grumble Bittergrouch?"
He sighed "It's Kindle Flintlock"
Deimos grinned and held the leg up in the air victoriously, "Deimos, Kindle, and Wrath!! The 3 wandering gladium charr!! No rules and no one to stop us!!"
"I'm not a gladium" Kindle corrected "I'm a lone survivor"
Wrath, "A-a-a-and I'm a disgraced wanderer...."
Deimos, huffing his chest out and giving his cheeks a little puff of a pout, "Dammit, gladium sounds cooler and you guys messed it up.."
"There's nothing cool about 'gladium'" Kindle stated.
Wrath shyly spoke up to Kindle, "I-it is a lot better than what I have though..."
"That's not the point!! It's just a matching title that sounds like some awesome fate brought three unlikely and outcast charr together to conquer the world!" he stops to breath, as in his excitement he'd forgotten to. "...Buuut... well you both lack vision, so you don't deserve it anyways. Hrmph..!"
Wrath held up a hand, "Um....D-deimos, wasn't it? You are a charr, b-but...you don't.....well....act...like....one?"
"What's that supposed to mean? What else am I acting like?" he gives a clueless and slightly offended look to the two of them.
Wrath looked away, "N-n-nnothing. I just was p-puzzled." He got up slowly, swiped his blade clean from the blood that rested on it, and sheathed it accordingly. "It....was a pleasure meeting you two....but I must simply be on my way to the next town so-"
"You're coming with us" Kindle stated "The way you two handle yourselves in battle..." he glared at Deimos. "You wouldn't last long on your own."
"I'm fine on my own, I said!!!" he grumbled and gave Kindle the dagger, "Here I don't need this stupid thing, that guy over there has a nice axe and I want it." He didn't have the politeness to clean the blade at all, and he stomped over to the dead man with the axe, struggling a little as he lifted it up and propped it on his shoulder. "Hnf."
Wrath to Deimos, "B-but didn't you just say we could be a w-w-war-"
"Shut up, a warband is a cool bonus!!"
Wrath shut his maw, but mumbled, "....what bonus? All I see is a charr spouting contradictions..."
"We're not a warband, but someone has to look after you two or you'll get yourself killed." Kindle said.
Wrath spoke softly, "I a-appreciate the offer, and will gladly walk with you two until the next t-town." He said this because even he knew that this forest was an area he wasn't familiar with.
"Hah, you don't have to worry about me! I just wasn't on the top of my game today. I'm a real fighting machine when I've gotten good rest and a full belly!" He looked silly, wobbling a little from the weight of the axe with a disembodied leg tucked under his other arm, especially with his small stature.
Wrath couldn't help laugh at the sight of Deimos, "Y-you look a dwarf who drank a lot of grog and can't hold his axe!"
Deimos merely responded with a growl and stomped his feet, "This handle sucks, not my fault, I'll be fixing it when we aren't surrounded by dead humans."
Kindle sighed "Let's just focus on making camp for the night." he said, walking to where his previous fire was
Wrath, "Y-yes sir!" he said, following right behind the elder.
"Yeah, whatever, Bittergrouch." Deimos grumbled, dragging his feet as he followed. He muttered under his breath to himself, "Still think we should be a wandering trio... Those jerks."

Edited by Deimos-Ironmaw, 27 April 2011 - 07:27 PM.

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#39 Akembo Mehtani

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Posted 07 June 2011 - 10:30 AM

O People of this thread, what constitutes a short work?
If a short work can be really short, then this sticky is pretty well upstaged by
What's your story?

So maybe that one should be stickied too? Just wondering for the sake of interested Library-ers.

Edited by Akembo Mehtani, 07 June 2011 - 06:32 PM.

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#40 Elan


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Posted 26 June 2011 - 09:55 PM

Although it's in the What's Your Story Mk II thread, I'll repost this one in its entirety here, since it's long enough to be considered a story in and of itself.

The Children of Grenth


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#41 Agrestal


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Posted 12 August 2011 - 02:56 AM

Hi guys, copied is part two of a fictional lore-based blog I've started. I'm adding this post in here in particular mostly because it's in celebration of sylvari week and I do plan on playing a sylvari!

It is nice and short and depicts a sylvari female and human male adventurer within Lion's Arch after they have started on a particularly daring quest together. This post really only covers the sylvari's awakening, but I wanted to keep it very lore-centred.

Hope you enjoy.


The sylvari: noble, beautiful, plant-like. No other race in Tyria has come to be like the sylvari. The youngest of all the races of the world, less than twenty-five years since the first sylvari’s birth, they dwell amongst the sanctuary of the Grove. That is unless they are called to the Wyld Hunt.

A large majority of the sylvari are barely twenty years of age and many of their population have branched out into the rest of Tyria. Their emergence came with mixed reception; the asura abusing the sylvari’s innocence and taking some as slavish workers. The lesson was learnt quickly, and since then the sylvari have been wary of the small creatures from underground.

The plant-like sylvari arrive into the world fully grown after emerging from the Pale Tree, their mother. Before their birth they exist within the Dream of Dreams and seemingly float above the events of the world in a spiritual, spectator-like state. The things they see and learn from the Dream go with them upon their birth and the things they see and learn come from sylvari who exist within the world. As such, each generation gains more knowledge with their awakening.

Honour, curiosity, empathy and the Dream make up the true essence of the sylvari and create both strengths and weaknesses for the young race. But do not underestimate these seemingly timid and naive creatures – it could very well mean the death of you, especially if they have turned to the Nightmare instead of the Dream.

“I remember my awakening from the Mother Tree. I recall the cries from my brethren calling out amongst the Grove. An attack was coming from the Sea.”

Agrestal and Alastair were perched on the ledge of a boardwalk that overlooked Sanctum Harbour. The water sparkled brilliantly in the afternoon sun as it tinged the sky with a potent pink. Wisps of clouds hung along the horizon after a day of rain while a small fishing boat made its way past Molokk’s Spit nearby.

Their talks with the Captain’s Council hadn’t gone as bad as they had thought they would, yet their plans were no closer to completion than before they had spoken with the Council. Alastair had been amazed at how the young sylvari had handled herself and controlled the direction of conversation while they had spoken with the Council. His initial perception of the plant-like woman had changed dramatically as the afternoon had passed and his scepticism had slowly but surely turned to awe.

“They had never completely reached the Grove before that. Tutors and my Dream both confirmed that. But on that day, on my awakening, they broke through the Mother Tree’s defences.”

She lowered her head slowly and stared down past her feet at the green-blue sea water that sloshed quietly beneath. Her leafy ears caught the afternoon sun and Alastair caught his breath as he saw the veins within pushing golden sap along the designated paths. Her eyebrows had been forged of five different leaves and her hair made of dozens of copper-brown fronds of plants turned to a rich red in the pink sunset. Everything about her was so natural and innocent, but Alastair could see that the rumoured innocence of the sylvari was absent from Agrestal.

“What happened?” he asked before she could speak again.

She could feel his wonder growing through her undeniable empathetic connection which she shared with most beings, especially her own kind. It was something she had seen as a curse, her own levels of empathy seemingly greater and more potent than many other sylvari she came across, but after several years she began to find its strength and usefulness. It was, after all, how she was able to manipulate Alastair into letting her go with him in the first place.

“What happens when undead attack? They ravage, destroy and take.”

She responded slowly but her voice rung with the pain she felt. It was a massacre.

“I am sorry,” Alastair replied timidly, averting his staring gaze from Agrestal’s eyes. She had continued staring at the water below despite being aware of Alastair’s gaze, but she could not look back into his. The overwhelming empathetic waves of apology from him would have frustrated her, and frustration was not what she needed whilst sharing such a story.

“I was with my house, the House of Day, when the first wave broke into the Grove. From the Dream I had seen only a few of the undead, yet their cries were undeniable even to a newly awakened such as myself. For however long I had existed within the Dream I had seen the Elder Dragon, and as soon as I heard the first of the horrific cries of the undead within the Grove, I knew where they had come from and why they were there: to steal and turn the sylvari into minions of Zhaitan.”

Alastair suddenly noted how her demeanour changed as she finished what she was saying. Instead of looking down at the darkening water beneath her feet, she looked up to the horizon and the silhouette of the risen peninsula of Orr and glared. Her eyes thinned and her chin rose while a shiver passed along her plant-like physique; sprouted leaves and ferns hissing quietly as they rustled in time with the shiver.

“But they failed,” she continued, a distinct note of pride added somewhere within her graceful voice. “Sylvari cannot be turned. We will never be turned. Many, including myself, believe we were created to fight the Elder Dragons. Because of this we are protected by some unknown power that will not allow us to be manipulated into one of Zhaitan’s minions.”

She turned slowly to look at Alastair who gazed back in wonder; his usual facade of confidence and determination having been melted away by Agrestal’s revelation. He had never known.

“Instead, we die. But we would rather die than become one of them, or one of the Shadow, because death is just as fascinating to us as life.”

She smiled as her bark cheek bones lifted slightly and her leafy ears moves in sync. Alastair stared in wonder at what sat before him. From what he had learnt of the young sylvari, they were both around the age of twenty, yet it was painfully obvious to him just how wise Agrestal was, and just how naive he was. All of his pre-conceived notions of the sylvari melted away with the setting sun, and as the city of Lion’s Arch turned into a glittering mass of shadowed structures behind them, he knew he chosen the right companion for his undertaking.
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#42 Amannelle


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Posted 12 August 2011 - 03:06 AM

Oooo so enchanting. :D I love how it ties in what we've just learned, yet makes it all seem so fresh as though I'm learning it for the first time alongside Alastair. :D Can't wait to read more! I got chills when she was talking about the moment the attacks came.
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#43 Agrestal


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Posted 15 August 2011 - 08:41 AM

Oooo so enchanting. :D I love how it ties in what we've just learned, yet makes it all seem so fresh as though I'm learning it for the first time alongside Alastair. :D Can't wait to read more! I got chills when she was talking about the moment the attacks came.

Why thank you Amannelle! I really wasn't expecting a reply, but it's nice to know it's been read :o I aim to write another in a few more days and will post it when it's ready.

Although, Gamescom might take my attention for a week or so... ;)


Part three from my blog. Not as "soft" as part two; this explores Alastair's past and his motivations for the undertaking he has started.

Hope you enjoy and don't mind my potential spamming.


The Sea of Sorrows, once known as the Bay of Sirens, is a sea surrounded by Kryta, the Southern Shiverpeaks, the Tarnished Coast, Orr, and the Strait of Malchor. Its hub and northern most stretch reaches to the mouth of Lion’s Arch, the renovated remains of a corsair’s haven and shattered city from hundreds of years ago.

Within the Sea of Sorrows linger dark enemies other than Zhaitan’s undead minions. The bloodthirsty and ravaging krait, the frog-like and alchemically excelling hylek, the stout and peaceful quaggan and many other of the usual creatures of the ocean mingle, fight and exist with another in the waters and along the coastlines.

The rising of Orr turned their ecosystems into havoc as Zhaitan’s chaos ensued. The hylek were forced inland along the coastal regions and have spread vastly in numbers and size while the quaggan have opted to move further inland through rivers to lakes and shorelines around the Maguuma Jungle, Steamspur Mountains and Kryta to avoid trouble.

Despite the fight for survival amongst these races and environments, it still appears as though the truly dominant races of the land have the hardest fight to win. Human, charr, asura, norn and sylvari alike face the undeniable threat of the Elder Dragons in each of their respective places of Tyria, yet even within the shadow of their darkened wings, the fight for supremacy, revenge and life continues in ways that can never be completely traced.

A heavy downpour fell from the canopy of dark grey clouds as though the land needed the rain. All around the small fishing boat waves crashed and caused the vessel to groan in agony. A younger adolescent and his father worked hard to hold the boat on its course as the farthest eastern island of the Dominion of Winds disappeared behind a thick curtain of fresh rain several miles away.

They had been out fishing among the Sea of Sorrows since early morning and had let themselves drift far too south. It had been the boys fault, but his father had not criticised him – the storm was enough of a consequence as a tongue lashing, maybe more. The clouds had appeared faster than usual for the bay and had caught them off guard before they had a chance to redirect their course. In the end they simple resigned to the fact that it was going to be a long slog back to Lion’s Arch.

The boy went to grab a flailing rope but lost his traction as a frighteningly large wave collided with the side of the fishing boat. He toppled over, threatening to fall head first into a large bucket of fishing spears, but at the last moment a strong grip swung him around. His father’s fingertips lost their clutch and the boy slammed painfully into the deck of the boat with his shoulder.
“Get up, son! No time to feel sorry for yourself! I need you to fix those lines!”

The boy groaned and pushed himself up as the boat swayed on a sickening angle. Tools of the fishing trade spilled over the deck and over the sides as another massive wave threatened to flip the boat, throwing the boy off balance for the second time in a minute and sending him careening towards the port side of the vessel. Just in time he threw out his right arm and hooked it around the mast pole and held on for dear life, grunting with the effort as his energy quickly drained.

Mercifully the boat levelled out and the boy’s father quickly picked him off the deck, leaving him instantly to leap into the air and capture two flailing pieces of rope to bring into submission. The boy watched his father in wonder as cold rain pelted against his sodden body and gale force winds pushed angrily against him. He hung onto the mast as a sharp pain jolted from his shoulder up his neck, determined to not be more of a burden to his father than he already had been.

The storm continued as they sailed north, its ferocity barely dimming as the first hour crawled by. Both fishermen were robbed off whatever energy they had had and were left feeding off the adrenaline that kept them alert. Shadows of distant islands lingered beyond the hazy layers of pelting rain and every few minutes both looked north in the hope that the magnitude and shadow of Lion’s Arch would become visible through the rain, a beacon and symbol of hope amidst the storm.

The father barked orders frequently as the storm began to slow and allow the boy to move more freely without danger. Slowly but surely the seas levelled out and the wind quietened. The rain continued to pour in flooding quantities, but somewhere through the thick haze a growing wall of darkened shadows was growing to the north.

With a wide grin the boy pointed towards the silhouette of Lion’s Arch with his unhindered left arm, turning to his father as he did so. But as he turned, his smile quickly changed to a gaping mouth as his elation turned to dread.

Slithering over the handrails on the starboard side, a large snake-like creature armed with swords and strange armour appeared. The boy’s father had his back to the creature, and before his son could even utter a word the creature had the man’s head in an iron grip, its slimy skin oozing over his father’s leather tunic and stubbled chin.

A look of horror filled the father’s eyes as the creature began to retreat back to the handrails, the human unable to get a solid grip on the creature’s slimy hold. The boy ran forward instinctively, not out of braveness but out of foolishness, and attempted to help his father with his able left arm. His smaller fingers fumbled and slipped over the glistening skin of the creature and seconds later he was kicked aside as his father’s upturned legs smashed into his head. The boy recovered instantly as his awakening fear pushed him beyond the concussion he had just incurred and watched as his father’s boots dipped beneath the surface of the churning water.

“Father!” the boy screamed, frantically searching the surface of the water for a sign of his father’s return, slipping over the handrail as ooze from the creature mixed with the rain water on the wooden surface.

But as the minutes passed and the storm continued to calm, his father never returned. Miraculously he had been able to sail the fishing boat one-handed back into the harbours of Lion’s Arch, but as he sought for assistance to find his father he was only met with resistance.

“Boy, it is unfortunate, that is true, but no one could hope to follow that damned creature. Not the krait. The best you can hope for him is that his death is swift and painless.”
Alastair opened his eyes and sat bolt up, frantically wiping away the sweat that had pebbled on his forehead. His eyes were dilated and he searched almost desperately through the small room with his eyes, a faint glimmer of hope shining through the fear.

Nearby a shadow moved and he reacted, rolling off the bed and reaching for a staff that he had left leaning against a bedside table.

“Alastair!” A familiar voice called.

The results were astounding. Agrestal’s call cut through his hazy dream in an instant and brought him to the place he stood, half-dressed and panting, a staff at his fingertips.

Her silhouette filled the doorway in the dark pre-dawn shadows. He could feel waves of empathy coursing from her towards him as he silently returned to the bed and pulled the sheets over him despite the heat he felt.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, not bothering to enter further.

Somewhere outside a snarl cut through the night, no doubt some charr having nightmares.

“It will be,” Alastair replied, staring out to the grimy window and towards the faintly glimmering stars beyond. “It will be.”

Edited by Agrestal, 15 August 2011 - 10:19 AM.

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#44 Raena Arvalle

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Posted 17 August 2011 - 06:36 PM

Lovely reads =) This thread is sort of new I saw, I posted my Raena-stories in the old one a few months ago, but I'll just post my latest here :)


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#45 Positive


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Posted 17 August 2011 - 08:09 PM

Oh nice! This got stickied. That's good
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#46 Agrestal


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Posted 22 August 2011 - 11:37 PM

Lovely reads =) This thread is sort of new I saw, I posted my Raena-stories in the old one a few months ago, but I'll just post my latest here :)


Very nice! Your description is really good :) I wonder if this story will continue further?
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#47 Raena Arvalle

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Posted 23 August 2011 - 01:20 PM

Very nice! Your description is really good :) I wonder if this story will continue further?

Thank you so much, am glad to hear you liked it =)

And well, believe it or not; Raena's stories are something I've been writing on quite a bit, and one could say it got out of hand ;) I'm up to 23 pages now (not all is mine, there's bits in it from Cyrus :D), but I have the feeling that if I post the full thing it won't really be an "easyread" xD I however have posted two stories about her before in another thread, that's basicly the style I continue to use; some form of happening--> flashback. ^^
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#48 Neveris


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Posted 23 August 2011 - 01:22 PM

(not all is mine, there's bits in it from Cyrus :D)


Here's one of them ;)
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#49 Agrestal


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Posted 26 August 2011 - 04:06 AM

All so good! I really enjoy the talent that is on here and what sprouts from the Guild Wars 2 story! It's hard not to though when it's so rich.

Here's my latest from my blog, titled "Tarnished". I for one am extremely happy with how it turned out and hope anyone who reads it enjoys :D


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#50 Urdont


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Posted 05 November 2011 - 06:54 PM

So I figured I'd try my hand at this and wrote up a quick story on my planned GW2 rangers history - at least a small part of it. This is shortly preceding the centaur attack on Shaemoor. I apologize if this is the wrong place to post it. :P


Edited by Urdont, 06 November 2011 - 08:09 AM.

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#51 Sinny


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Posted 27 November 2011 - 03:37 PM

I felt kinda sad when i found out that my guild wars character was gonna be killed off with no extra information than "fighting against the dragons". She slayed the demons of hell, brought down a god, and brought freedom to kryta, and now she was just going to disappear?. So this is my tribute to my guild wars character, so she can pass away fittingly. It also links towards my hopeful Guild Wars 2 character at the end(this is just first draft, ill be editing it a bit more when i get some more time)

Edited by Sinny, 27 November 2011 - 03:44 PM.

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#52 Mendicant


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Posted 11 February 2012 - 09:04 PM

An asura writes an adventurer's advice column:


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#53 vicevine


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Posted 11 April 2012 - 11:29 PM

I'm working on a story I'd like to either put into comic form or a possible machinima when the game is out. I have the full story laid out already, but I'm still working on it. I'd like to share this first chapter with everyone. (If this sounds like something you'd like to help out with in the future, like with providing a character or a voice over, feel free to let me know)


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#54 The Casual Critic

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Posted 28 April 2013 - 08:43 PM

The Dream.
Imagine the most wonderful place you have ever thought of. Rosemary-scented flowers, gushing streams of forget-me-not-blue, shimmering leaves that whisper to you the most exciting stories, reeds growing in the marshy, mushy damp banks of the rivers. Nothing bad could ever enter the Dream, how could it? Evil, a thing of blackness, a dark monstrous hound facing you with its gaping jaws and low but palpable growl, how could such a thing enter the Dream? The Dream: where goodness and kindness flourished, where everyone was fat and rich and healthy, where all could speak their mind, and sing, and dance!
How could evil enter?
Nothing could infect the Dream: such an idea was preposterous, ridiculous, unspeakable. How could anyone suggest such a thing, and if anyone were to, well they should be looked down upon, as heads were shook and sighs shared. The Pale Tree protected them in the Dream, nothing could enter it.
In fact, they barely knew what evil was. It was unheard of, only occasional murmurings of the wind would tell them stories of such a thing: evil. It was like the air, infecting all who came across it, lurching across their skins, curdling their stomach, and twisting their hearts and mind until it had finished them, and all was left was an empty walking corpse, removed of all emotion, sensitivity, life. It had feared the young Sylvari greatly to hear this thing: evil. The singing mockingbirds hushed calm stories and reassurances into their minds, forcing them to believe against evil, making them believe that it would never infect them, corrupt them.
One day, however, it did.
Tryston arose with a startle. He had been lying by his favourite stream, the one next to the three willow trees where the bumblebees would often congregate and hum their adventures to him, and where the water was quieter, but even more alive, and would whisper stories of adventurers come and gone from the Dream. He had no memory of how long he had resided in the Dream, lying there next to the stream, chewing on a bud of grass, whistling thoughtfully, whilst all the time nodding to the bumblebees and the rushing waters, reassuring them that he would be there to stay, to listen to their tales.
And so he wanted to, but he knew well in his heart that one day he would have to leave the comfort of that place. The rustling leaves had whispered occasionally, but it had been enough for him to hear: of where the adventurers whom the bumblebees and the mockingbirds and the gushing waters spoke so long of: outside of the Dream.
Outside the Dream?
Such a thing seemed equally, if not even more preposterous to evil infecting the Dream. It would have been good, he thought, if he could lie there all day, without having to worry about leaving the Dream or evil or infection or anything complicated like that. It would have been much simpler if the whole world could lie down and listen to the gushing waters and the bumblebees.
There it was again! Tryston ... that was his name, right? He remembered of some distant time when Morcades had whispered it to him, smiling. Back then, he knew nothing of evil or of outside, and he would have preferred it if it had stayed that way too.
Wait, but he recognised that voice. It couldn't be - it was! Tryston got up quickly, and shouted back.

Will write more when I get time, all I can write for now
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