Hello, i thought it might be fun if there was this big realm and each of us could contribute to it a little. That means that each of us could create some sort of a folktale that is based on this realm without actually writing to much about the realm itself. More about heroics that have found place here.
It would be nice if all of you contributed Have fun.



The story of old Ilias.


A dark storm was brooding over the coast of Nightgate.
Small droplets of rain landed in the face of Ilias Dread, an old and grey man that slowly watched the last years of his life slip away in solitutede after he was banished from the kingdom of Noir. Ilias turned his back towards the high cliffs and away from the view of the red ocean to walk into the door to his small shack made from wood that had started to rot in several places and it had not turned out to be a very good shelter against the cold nights here in Nightgate. He coughed and poured himself a mug of tea with which he sat down on the rug in front of his small tv set.
The many fruits of his adventures were gathered around him reminding him of the youth that had forsaken him many years ago. The hero who was loved amongst people and locked in the hearts of many elder was reduced to this pathetic bag of bones with a cold and a sore back.
The skull of a liondor he had fought in the mountains of Palendril looked at him with his hollow sockets, the liondor and he had grown old togheter. Once the beast was strong and feared by many people, but now the noble beast was also reduced to a shadow of its former self. Many a lonely night had Ilias spend amongst his trophees that now gave him nothing but sorrow. The memmories were the worst, he was once afraid of death but it now seemed like a comforting blanket that would protect him from life and all its miseries.
A scream in the night woke him up from his slumber and seemed to lure him outside into the darkness and density of the forest that surrounded his sorry excuse for a house.
The old man took his sword Meándark that had been his closest companion trough many journeys and headed out into the coldness of the night.
A plead for help held him to a stop as soon as he had set foot into the forest, a short path led to the west and he could see a young woman lying on the ground covered in blood, crying at the top of her lungs. The wind howled, playing its seranede of loneliness that was heard trough the lands of Nightgate. The diabolical head of a beast so gruesome that he looked as if hell had kept him in its womb for nine months appeard in front of the old man.
Fear grabbed old Ilias by the troath and he had to fight against this sensation. The grip around the shaft of his sword tightend and he raised it above his head just as the beast was about to strike with one of its razorsharp claws.
The sharp blade of Meándark cleft the beast in two and a disgusting substanced oozed from its wound before it fell on the ground and the red glow in its eyes seemed to faded away.
Ilias looked at his victim and the victim of its foul foe lying on the ground, bleeding, mortified. He walked over to her and stroked her soft cheek, comforting her.
Ilias had saved the life of this young maiden and had freed the land of one more foul doombringer. His life had purpose again, the storm calmed down and Nightgate had lost a little bit of its darkness tonight.







Ps. I wrote this in five minutes and it probably shows, but i was just trying to create an example

Well, what you've written in five minutes is obviously better than anything I could write in a month.

*sigh*

Feel free to try though All of your help is appriciated. That goes for all of you.

This is too good an idea to let it die, heh.
My contribution.

Sholzhen's Stand

Sholzhen turned in the saddle to watch the blue-liveried courier ride up. The messenger's mere-horse was staggering from exhaustion and was lathered in sweat. The man himself was filthy; he practically fell out of the saddle to kneel before Sholzhen.
"Lord-General Sholzhen, I am Dember riZikel, sent from lord-General Iemak, with a message."
"Speak," Sholzhen said imperiously. riZikel bowed his head, staring at the hooves of Sholzhen's demi-horse.
"Lord-General Iemak directs me to say that he musters his force. He will enter the valley within the week with a full command."
Sholzhen looked bleakly across that valley, a long, narrow, steep-walled channel that was the most direct route between Rilembir and her native Temha. The Rilembans called it the Valley-Pass of Shaegar. The Temhin called it Riadh's Pass.
"Lord-General?"
Sholzhen turned to look at her shield-bearer. The slave-born Temhan bowed deeply and looked up at her with concerned eyes.
"Care for this man," she ordered. "I will speak with you alone, Benael."
The shield-bearer bowed again as a soldier moved forward to lead riZikel away. Sholzhen's demi-horse bared his fangs at the soldier. She jerked the reins roughly and the animal subsided.
"A week is too long, Benael," Sholzhen said wearily, once they were alone. "I know Iemak could be here tomorrow if he wished it."
"We can hold the valley, Sholzhen," Benael murmured. "The Temhin have not attacked all week."
"His delay may be our downfall should they attack again," Sholzhen lamented. "I have defended the Rilemban border for ten years, Benael, and n ever have my people desired conquest like this before."
"They attack frequently ..."
"Never with such determination," Sholzhen said. "I fear the stereotype is correct - my people are traditionally cowardly."
"Yet they produced you," Benael said slyly, "who is brave enough to defy the king and then patrol the borders." Sholzhen glanced at her shield-bearer and grinned.
"And you," she replied. Benael shook his head.
"I am slave-born, Sholzhen, and were it not for my dark skin I would be Rilemban. I am not true Temhan."
"True enough," Sholzhen said. "I consider you no less a man for the color of your skin, Benael."
"I thank you for that," Benael replied.
"Lord-General!"
Sholzhen spun her demi-horse towards the sentry who called. The woman pointed frantically towards the end of the valley, and Sholzhen saw the glint of metal in the sun.
"Benael! Arm and mount! Camp alert!" The demi-horse reared, spike-rimmed hooves flashing as Sholzhen projected her voice across the camp. Soldiers ran for their mere-horses and demi-horses, struggling with weaponry and armor as they went.
"Arm and mount! Form up!" Sholzhen's sergeants took over, giving Sholzhen time to accept her curved blade from Benael, who was now mounted on a demi-horse.
"It's the Temhin," Benael said, dark eyes flicking across the formations spilling into the valley. "Why would they attack so close to sunset?"
"To catch us off guard," Sholzhen snapped. "Curse Iemak and his delays!" She dug her spurs into her demi-horse's sides, and the animal leapt forward down the slope.
The dying sun stained armor and weapons red in a parody of blood. Sholzhen's blade flashed in the crimson twilight as she rode to meet the enemy, Benael at her demi-horse's flank. Her sword dipped, then rose, now scarlet in truth.
The first ranks of Temhan soldiers fell as Rilemban archers, stationed along the valley walls, fired. Two of Sholzhen's four divisions blocked the pass solidly; the other two followed their lord-General's charge. The defending divisions turned back the few Temhin who passed Sholzhen's attack.
Sholzhen and Benael pulled back after their initial charge. Sholzhen's eyes flicked across the attacking ranks.
"They have no horses," she murmured. "Where are their cavalry?"

The moon was high before the Temhin withdrew. Sholzhen still held the valley, and had lost perhaps half a division.
The Temhin did not attack again that night. During the respite Sholzhen ordered the attacking and defending divisions to exchange places, moving the fresher soldiers to the front. Her men were in good shape and had been well rested prior to the attack, and were holding up nicely.

The second wave came at dawn, the sun's rays gilding the surrounding mountains in gold but leaving the valley in shadow. Still the missing cavalry did not appear, and Sholzhen's archers were rapidly running out of arrows. She eventually ordered them to save their remaining shafts and to join the defending divisions.
When the Temhin drew back at noon, Sholzhen had perhaps three divisions remaining.

The third attack came unexpectedly, just before moon-rise. The Rilembans might have been caught unaware had not one of the archers been alerted. Once more they fended the assault, and no few of the Rilemban soldiers gave a sigh of relief when the Temhin pulled back within half an hour.
Sholzhen watched the Temhin draw away with a sense of forboding. Such a short attack was out of character; it had been long enough to further exhaust her men, but had been too short to take advantage of it. So it was with dread that she watched their activity.
Within moments a line of horsemen emerged from the Temhin ranks. Sholzhen heard Benael gasp beside her as she screamed hoarsely for the archers to take their places once more. Her sergeants ordered the men to remount; they had fought the last two skirmishes on foot, to save their mere- and demi-horses. Two divisions of Rilemban soldiers lived, and perhaps half as many mounts. Her one advantage was the archers, and they would not fire after the initial Temhin charge, for fear of hitting Rilemban horsemen in the darkness.
"Benael," she said suddenly, her ruined voice starting the dark-skinned slave. "I would have freed you if I could."
"I know this, lord-General. But freedom would inevitably part us."
"Even death cannot part us now, Benael," Sholzhen said in Temhan. She donned her helmet and drew her blade.
"What are you doing?" Benael sounded alarmed.
"We will join this final charge, Benael. I will not stand by in this final slaughter."

Lord-General Iemak rode into the Valley-Pass of Shaegar at dawn, two nights after he had sent his messenger. He led his command confidently. That confidence was shattered when he entered the valley.
The grass was stained black with dried blood; the bodies of both Rilemban and Temhan lay side-by-side where they had fallen. Iemak could tell at a glance that they were all dead.
Well, not quite. As he rounded a large boulder, he found Sholzhen, propped against a rock, her beloved Benael's dark head resting on her lap in the eternal sleep of death. Her demi-horse lay dead a short ways beyond. She opened her eyes and smiled painfully at Iemak as he approached.
"You're early," she coughed. Iemak stared at her in horror. Sholzhen closed her eyes for a moment.
"The Temhin are gone," she went on. "They won't be back. When they realized they had killed me, they left."
Iemak found his voice. "We - we must get you to a healer -"
Sholzhen smiled slightly and shook her head. She coughed and touched the arrow that pinned her to the rock behind her, through the right side of her chest. The arrow was black, fletched with red.
"This whole campaign was for vengeance," she said wonderingly. "All to kill the traitor lord-General." She paused. "Will you promise me something, Iemak?"
"Of course."
"Bury me next to Benael. And don't bury him as a slave. Mark him as a free man."
"Yes - but why?"
Sholzhen moved slightly, and now Iemak could see the three black arrows that had slain Benael.
"He took the first three for me," Sholzhen said simply. "I took the last one for him."

The Rilembans call that valley the Valley-Pass of Sholzhen now. The Temhin call it simply "Sholzhen's Stand". No army ever passed through it again.
And Sholzhen and Benael lie side by side, the lord-General and her shield-bearer, who was indeed buried as a free man. Their graves are marked by a pillar of wind-carved granite, on the border that Rilembir and Temha both share.

... good luck to anybody that can top that one...

Derby: Content removal. An unfiltered expression was removed.

... you could at least give it a try. =(

Nice job, Copper. You killed the War Tavern. D=

Bah. I hate it when I do that. I'm NOT the best writer here, guys. Not by a long shot.

Then stop proving yourself wrong.