This is the third part of a piece of fan fiction I began in the summer and since resubbing to Warcraft I've found my muse again! You can read the first two parts here and here and the third part here.
Garim and Raik were talking up a storm by the great fire. The table was littered with empty tankards and if Deme had still been fully human, she would have felt the warmth from the heavy, potent dwarven ale.
Showing posts with label Fan Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fan Fiction. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 January 2013
Friday, 23 December 2011
Holy Healing - Tales of a Student Priest.
Apollina Lightfoot bent down to the river and scooped some water up with her hand. The water was clear and she could see small mudsnappers swimming in the shallows. The cool water felt like ice in her throat, her body was so hot from the sun and the ride through the dark forest. She sat back on the bank and looked over at her horse, a bright black stallion who was also eagerly drinking from the river, his reins resting in her hand.
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Light and Shade -- Part 3
This is the third part of a piece of fan fiction I began in the summer and since resubbing to Warcraft I've found my muse again! You can read the first two parts here and here.
"Are we all set then my love?" Deme asked Raik as she approached him at the tram entrance.
"Of course! Did you ever doubt me?" he smirked as he said it and Deme smiled back, reminded that this was the man who could get any project off the ground.
They turned to walk through the swirling entrance and down the ramp to the tram. The cold metal clunk under their feet rang off the tunnel walls as they left the cobbles and slate of Stormwind behind. The tram always astounded Deme, a feat of gnomish engineering. From the outside it looked like a giant swirling cog with a mouth gaping, big enough to take a whole battalion of Alliance forces in one gulp and on the inside it was full of giant rivets, bronze and iron and the driver-free tram system that linked Stormwind with it's closest neighbouring city, the great dwarven capital of Ironforge. They descended into the station and the sounds of Stormwind faded, the chatter of the residents lost into the metal tunnel.
"Are we all set then my love?" Deme asked Raik as she approached him at the tram entrance.
"Of course! Did you ever doubt me?" he smirked as he said it and Deme smiled back, reminded that this was the man who could get any project off the ground.
They turned to walk through the swirling entrance and down the ramp to the tram. The cold metal clunk under their feet rang off the tunnel walls as they left the cobbles and slate of Stormwind behind. The tram always astounded Deme, a feat of gnomish engineering. From the outside it looked like a giant swirling cog with a mouth gaping, big enough to take a whole battalion of Alliance forces in one gulp and on the inside it was full of giant rivets, bronze and iron and the driver-free tram system that linked Stormwind with it's closest neighbouring city, the great dwarven capital of Ironforge. They descended into the station and the sounds of Stormwind faded, the chatter of the residents lost into the metal tunnel.
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Light and Shade
It had been a week since Demeternoth had agreed to take the trip to Hearthglen. Raiklev had sent messages ahead to various old contacts in the hope that they would be able to help along the journey north, it would be long and rather costly and any room or meal that came cheaply or, even better for free, would be welcome.
Since they had left the forces, he had tried to forge them a new life based on the outskirts of Stormwind, offering them both much needed peace and calm. It had been that way for a time, and the small holding they'd set up had given good yields and they were able to sell the farm produce in the streets of Stormwind. Without warning though, the dreams had started after they'd moved into the log cabin on the lake. Deme had shrugged them off at first but as they became more frequent and more disturbing, Raiklev's concern had grown and he'd urged her to consider confronting the cause of them. Consistently she'd refused, stubborn as ever. They argued more and more about it as Deme's wellbeing suffered and Raiklev continued to work on the farm, trying to build them a future. When she finally relented last week he was struck by how vulnerable she looked, usually so tough, so strong and so defiant to any trauma or fear she suddenly seemed weak. Raiklev sighed to himself, it was that striking and rare vulnerability that he saw in her, that no one else did, that had swelled his heart when they'd first faced battle together.
When the world had been broken and Stormwind shaken to the core by Deathwing himself, he feared her dreams would grow worse, the noise from the forces amassing by the portals and the increased activity around the lake destroyed the little peace and quiet they had carved out for themselves. Whilst they hadn't become more frequent, the dreams hadn't stopped. In some ways the noise and sounds of battle preparations at the portals had offered a small comfort, a distraction almost, but the intensity of the dreams had continued to grow and that's what concerned him more than anything.
He shook his head clear of the musings and gathered up the last of the supply crates. Walking out to the horse and cart he loaded on the last crate and lashed it down. A few gold passed to the driver of the cart and he reconfirmed the instructions to meet up at Menethil in 4 days time. Now to track down his wife.
Deme was in the dwarven quarter purchasing the last of a few light supplies to take with them on the first leg of the journey. She marvelled at how quickly Raiklev had made the arrangements and smirked to herself, she should have known, he was never one to wait for things to happen so she should have been prepared to move quickly. She wrapped the bread she'd bought in a cloth napsack and thanked the vendor, just some water and light ale to pick up and she could head off to meet Raik at the entrance to the tram and then, they would begin the trek to Hearthglen.
Since they had left the forces, he had tried to forge them a new life based on the outskirts of Stormwind, offering them both much needed peace and calm. It had been that way for a time, and the small holding they'd set up had given good yields and they were able to sell the farm produce in the streets of Stormwind. Without warning though, the dreams had started after they'd moved into the log cabin on the lake. Deme had shrugged them off at first but as they became more frequent and more disturbing, Raiklev's concern had grown and he'd urged her to consider confronting the cause of them. Consistently she'd refused, stubborn as ever. They argued more and more about it as Deme's wellbeing suffered and Raiklev continued to work on the farm, trying to build them a future. When she finally relented last week he was struck by how vulnerable she looked, usually so tough, so strong and so defiant to any trauma or fear she suddenly seemed weak. Raiklev sighed to himself, it was that striking and rare vulnerability that he saw in her, that no one else did, that had swelled his heart when they'd first faced battle together.
When the world had been broken and Stormwind shaken to the core by Deathwing himself, he feared her dreams would grow worse, the noise from the forces amassing by the portals and the increased activity around the lake destroyed the little peace and quiet they had carved out for themselves. Whilst they hadn't become more frequent, the dreams hadn't stopped. In some ways the noise and sounds of battle preparations at the portals had offered a small comfort, a distraction almost, but the intensity of the dreams had continued to grow and that's what concerned him more than anything.
He shook his head clear of the musings and gathered up the last of the supply crates. Walking out to the horse and cart he loaded on the last crate and lashed it down. A few gold passed to the driver of the cart and he reconfirmed the instructions to meet up at Menethil in 4 days time. Now to track down his wife.
Deme was in the dwarven quarter purchasing the last of a few light supplies to take with them on the first leg of the journey. She marvelled at how quickly Raiklev had made the arrangements and smirked to herself, she should have known, he was never one to wait for things to happen so she should have been prepared to move quickly. She wrapped the bread she'd bought in a cloth napsack and thanked the vendor, just some water and light ale to pick up and she could head off to meet Raik at the entrance to the tram and then, they would begin the trek to Hearthglen.
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Light and Shade
This is my third bash at fan fiction. This one might go a bit further than the previous two though.
Beneath the scaled plate gauntlets Deme's finger tips were white. In places the nails were jagged and torn with drying blood crusting up the plate joints. She scrabbled to get purchase with her feet but there was nothing. Nothing. Below her, if she dared to glance, was ice, snow and the gallumpfing rotting abominations of Icecrown. There were no footholds at the seat of the Lich King, just a rigid ice block and a fatal drop should you fall victim to his machinations.
Her left hand was slipping. Over head, she could hear the battle raging. The taunts of the Lich King playing out, the grim note of death ringing in his thick voice. And then she heard Tirion, a glossy rich baritone next to the Lich King's unearthly tone.
She heard Tirion begin his speech and then saw her lost comrades imbued with the holy light rising above the her and the platform. Fighting to retain her hold on the platform she felt the plate scales skidding on the ice.
"Where is my light Paladin?!" She cried.
Deme was raised into the air, high above the platform. For a second she hung in mid-air, a feeling of intense scrutiny filled her, followed by a freezing cold that bit into her bones and stayed there gnawing at her. It felt familiar.
The wind was forced from her lungs, her limbs fell in front of her and she was flying through the air of Northrend, ripped from the platform and hurtling back towards Acherus.
Screaming out, Deme shot up in the bed. Sweat trickled down her back and beaded on her top lip. The room around her was dark, the fire having long gone out. From the window she could hear the faint lapping of the lake on the shore and could see a hint of light from the open portals on the island. Beside her, her mate stirred in the bed. She drew the tatty blankets back up round his shoulders and he settled back into slumber.
Deme rose from the bed and took up a robe. Since they'd left the mercenary ways behind them she'd grown used to the feel of cloth on her skin, it had certain advantages that plate armour didn't. The cloth was cool on her skin and she shuddered as it slipped over her body. Walking through the bedroom door her bare feet padded on the floorboards and into the larger, main room of the humble cabin. She paused and picked up a cloak from the chair by the fire and looped it over her shoulders.
The cool night air tickled her hair against her neck and the wet dew on the grass drenched her bare toes. She walked on to the shore of the lake until she felt the water lapping at her ankles. She could see the portals clearer now, their different glows casting an eery light over the island and fighting with the light from the braziers to show the faces of the guards and battle mages who maintained the portals. Faintly she could catch the odd snippet of conversation as they chatted through the night. Every now and then a fresh hero or a battle worn veteran would swoop in from the walls of Stormwind and head off to one of the war fronts.
She knew if she turned around she'd see the tall cold walls of Stormwind behind her. Walls that protected and shielded but they weren't quite tall enough. The spires still climbed higher. The wretched golden spires of the cathedral taunted her and twisted her guts.
"My love?", a soft call, "What are you doing out here?"
"More dreams", she replied, turning to face him. Even in this pale light his strong face showed his concern. This was becoming more and more frequent.
"Tirion?"
"Uh-huh"
"Perhaps we should do something about this before they get any worse"
Deme frowned. "I know what you are suggesting, but I don't see how going to Hearthglen will help."
He had moved to her now and slipped his arms round her waist. This close with the glow from the portals, it was possible to see the crinkles and faded scars which portrayed his own battle experience. She ran her hand along his forearm and marvelled for the thousandth time how the skinny arms had ever held a shield. But held it they had, and held it well, for they had both survived that fight in Icecrown to stand here together in the night. Standing this close also meant that she couldn't avoid his gaze. The blue of his eyes was warm, alive and real.
She thought over the months since the nightmares began, Raiklev was right, it couldn't carry on. With trepidation, she relented. "Ok, we'll go to Hearthglen."
Beneath the scaled plate gauntlets Deme's finger tips were white. In places the nails were jagged and torn with drying blood crusting up the plate joints. She scrabbled to get purchase with her feet but there was nothing. Nothing. Below her, if she dared to glance, was ice, snow and the gallumpfing rotting abominations of Icecrown. There were no footholds at the seat of the Lich King, just a rigid ice block and a fatal drop should you fall victim to his machinations.
Her left hand was slipping. Over head, she could hear the battle raging. The taunts of the Lich King playing out, the grim note of death ringing in his thick voice. And then she heard Tirion, a glossy rich baritone next to the Lich King's unearthly tone.
She heard Tirion begin his speech and then saw her lost comrades imbued with the holy light rising above the her and the platform. Fighting to retain her hold on the platform she felt the plate scales skidding on the ice.
"Where is my light Paladin?!" She cried.
"There is no light in you Death Knight. You burned your soul clear of that the moment you killed your old friend in the chapel. There is no light for one as black as you. You are the shadow to the light, and as shadow you must stay."
Deme was raised into the air, high above the platform. For a second she hung in mid-air, a feeling of intense scrutiny filled her, followed by a freezing cold that bit into her bones and stayed there gnawing at her. It felt familiar.
"You are of the shadow!" boomed Tirion, "And back to the shadow you will go!"
The wind was forced from her lungs, her limbs fell in front of her and she was flying through the air of Northrend, ripped from the platform and hurtling back towards Acherus.
Screaming out, Deme shot up in the bed. Sweat trickled down her back and beaded on her top lip. The room around her was dark, the fire having long gone out. From the window she could hear the faint lapping of the lake on the shore and could see a hint of light from the open portals on the island. Beside her, her mate stirred in the bed. She drew the tatty blankets back up round his shoulders and he settled back into slumber.
Deme rose from the bed and took up a robe. Since they'd left the mercenary ways behind them she'd grown used to the feel of cloth on her skin, it had certain advantages that plate armour didn't. The cloth was cool on her skin and she shuddered as it slipped over her body. Walking through the bedroom door her bare feet padded on the floorboards and into the larger, main room of the humble cabin. She paused and picked up a cloak from the chair by the fire and looped it over her shoulders.
The cool night air tickled her hair against her neck and the wet dew on the grass drenched her bare toes. She walked on to the shore of the lake until she felt the water lapping at her ankles. She could see the portals clearer now, their different glows casting an eery light over the island and fighting with the light from the braziers to show the faces of the guards and battle mages who maintained the portals. Faintly she could catch the odd snippet of conversation as they chatted through the night. Every now and then a fresh hero or a battle worn veteran would swoop in from the walls of Stormwind and head off to one of the war fronts.
She knew if she turned around she'd see the tall cold walls of Stormwind behind her. Walls that protected and shielded but they weren't quite tall enough. The spires still climbed higher. The wretched golden spires of the cathedral taunted her and twisted her guts.
"My love?", a soft call, "What are you doing out here?"
"More dreams", she replied, turning to face him. Even in this pale light his strong face showed his concern. This was becoming more and more frequent.
"Tirion?"
"Uh-huh"
"Perhaps we should do something about this before they get any worse"
Deme frowned. "I know what you are suggesting, but I don't see how going to Hearthglen will help."
He had moved to her now and slipped his arms round her waist. This close with the glow from the portals, it was possible to see the crinkles and faded scars which portrayed his own battle experience. She ran her hand along his forearm and marvelled for the thousandth time how the skinny arms had ever held a shield. But held it they had, and held it well, for they had both survived that fight in Icecrown to stand here together in the night. Standing this close also meant that she couldn't avoid his gaze. The blue of his eyes was warm, alive and real.
She thought over the months since the nightmares began, Raiklev was right, it couldn't carry on. With trepidation, she relented. "Ok, we'll go to Hearthglen."
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Blogging and Fanfiction
In the past few weeks I've written a couple of stories about Deme. The first part, Midnight Ride, was good. Honestly, I believe it's a good piece of writing. The second part, Light House, humm, not so much. It didn't feel as good when I wrote it and then this last week I've written another part whilst on the plane off on my holidays. This 3rd part feels good too, BUT it also feels like it's giving away too much too soon. There's some great passion in there on the two characters parts, but it feels like they are baring too much to each other way too soon. So I'm not putting it out there yet.
Now I'm a bit stuck. I've got this 2nd character involved and I'm not sure I've introduced him properly. Let me explain. I've not developed sufficient back story for Deme yet to carry a 2nd character and his introduction felt rather rushed. I read it back and I didn't buy it so I don't know how I expected a reader to. I think I swung Deme's reaction to the new character too soon and should have taken my time with it a bit more. So now what? I need your help! Do I leave it as it is and try to improve on the 2nd part some how? Do I just chalk it up to being in-experienced in this field of writing and carry on ignoring the pants effort I made on it or do I just leave Deme on the jetty for all eternity?!
And would you like to hear about Artemia, a clumsy rogue? I think WoW needs more comedic characters.
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