View Full Version : Wood Elf fiction

06-01-2006, 00:31
The first part "The Watcher" is a little intro to a character I want to develop as time goes on, he's the General of the WE army I'm plannig to collect.

The Watcher

The blades rang as they clashed, the sound reverberating throughout the clearing, like a bell tolling for the coming death that the watcher would soon bear witness to.

He eyed the warriors impassively, knowing their skill, feeling their anger and hatred welling up within them as they strove for dominance in this bitter struggle.

His gaze flitted towards Ghrazil Bloodeye, Kurgan chieftan of the Wind Talon clan, famed throughout the steppes for his deadly skill with the scimitar and a long way from home with his dread Daemonblade, Zreloth'Naar.

Across the way, the other combatant was breathing slowly and steadily despite his heavy suit of armour and the weight of the blessed greatsword he swung with an ease bordering on the contemptuous.

He was filled with contempt, this Knight of Bretonnia, this Alain de Volchaire, contempt for the lowborn scum before him, who dared bar his way.

The watcher's contempt ran even deeper, he despised both of these mighty warriors, their very presence in the clearing filling him with a disgust normally only reserved for base abominations such as the Orc or Goblin races.

No matter, it would be over very soon.

The fighters rushed towards one another, their steel ripping through the air as it sought flesh and bone to cleave asunder, eyes focusing on one another as they sought out the slightest weakness to exploit, to transform it into a fatal opening.

A brutal backhand cut from Ghrazil was bareley deflected by the knight, his greatsword turning the scimitar from his unprotected face as a vicous forward kick slammed him backwards into a mighty oak. Taking advantage of the stunning blow, Ghrazil barrelled forward with a two-handed slash towards Alain's midriff, an attack that would surely end it.

A split second before the strike landed Alain flew aside, Zreloth'Naar biting deep into the trunk of the ancient tree and wedging firmly.

The knights strike was like lightning, hacking the Chaos warrior's arms off at the elbows, his life blood spurting from the wounds as he collapsed to his knees.

This was it, the Watcher knew that the end had arrived, they had fought each other to a standstill for hours but it would finish in moments.

Alain's sword came down in an arc into Ghrazil's thick, bullish neck, decapitating him cleanly, the Knight finishing his wounded foe as quickly and painlessly as possible.

"At last," muttered Alain as he knelt to clean this gore from his holy blade, "It is over."

The Watcher's arrow took him in the back of the head, killing him instantly.

"Yes." said Taelinal, Watcher of the Way, "It is."

06-01-2006, 00:37
The second part "Waiting" was written on a slow day at work, I was sitting doing nothing when the name "Starfall" popped into my head and I thought it would be a good name for an Elven sword. Remembering Taelinal, I set about descibing his blade, then his bow and magical pendant, then his hatred seeped into the piece again.


Waiting, it's all the Watcher ever seemed to do, long periods of inactivity and preparation followed by brief but deadly application of his skills.

He honed his blade, thirty-six inches of razor sharp Elven steel that had been his father's whilst he lived, older than he could remember. A blade that, could it speak, would regail him with tales of Ulthuan of old and the rise of the Witch-King Malekith. It had been in his family for generations, it had ended lives in numbers than he could not count to to in a year, even if he did naught else but tick off the deaths, one by one. It was trusty and faithful, a weapon of true beauty, Elven war runes glinted along the blade and a star-cut emerald glimmered in pommel, winking back at the stars in the night sky. Starfall they called it, although he could not recall why, the origin of the name was lost in antiquity until the end of all time. He guessed the name stemmed from the ancient enchantments bound into the steel, spells of old that allowed him to sheath the blade in a nimbus of cold green fire at a thought, a fire so cold it burned the will to fight from those it wounded.

His bow, well, that was a different matter altogether. It was new compared to the blade, he had crafted it himself as a boy and knew every detail of it as intimately as a lover. Carved from the core of a fallen yew tree, he had obtained the blessing of the forest before even considering the creation. It had taken him days, working every waking hour he could until he had whittled down the trunk sliver by sliver, a labour of love and hate all at once. He had strung it on the first day of Spring and slain with it that very night, his arrow ending the life of a foul little dwarf who had come with fire and steel to harm fair Athel Loren.

It was on that night he was finally accepted fully into the Kindred of Nymraif to be a Mist Walker forevermore. He was taught the ways of silent death, of channeling his hate and contempt into his arrows, of moving unseen by the ignorant eyes of the barbaric Keigh-Mon and of masking his scent from the brutish nostrils of the vile beastmen. He excelled in his arts, his blade killed only one in every twenty, so sure were his arrows and so great was the depth of his hatred.

He adjusted the chain around his neck, admiring again the crystal which hung from it, blessing the day that it was gifted to him. The crystal protected him, although he could not say how, for its magic had turned aside blows that he could not have parried and deflected the lead bullets from the Dwarves cruel firearms that no mere mortal could avoid. Yes, the crystal was special, that much he knew for certain.

An army awaited nearby, thousands of dirty, stinking Keigh-Mon, all ready to slaughter each other in the name of their foolish Gods, pathetic. He was only here in case they decided to send a foraging party into the woods, men with axes and stupid intentions of gathering firewood. Yes, if they harmed a single leaf he would let them taste just how much he despied them, let fly his arrows and watch as his brothers let their own hatred guide their aim. They would come with thier axes and torches soon.

Until then, he would wait.

06-01-2006, 05:24
Its a bit late for any real critique, but I like these more than the eversor peice. Still, more description would be nice though. You may want to try and over describe everything and then edit it down. One small thing that caught me was contemptuous then contempt again twice. It seemed like synonyms would have been a good idea to replace the redundancy.
Great stuff though

08-01-2006, 15:05
Aye - overall very good, a little more description in the first part would have been welcome, the surroundings, the light/time of day, what the knight looked like for instance, but I will say the action flowed very fast as it was, which seemed like the intention.
The second part was good too, in general, neither overly long nor too short on each item or it's story, and well written.
Like to see some more some time.