Young Writers Society

Hmph! I can't tell you how long it's been since I did one of these, or in fact, wrote at all. I'm so rusty! It took an age to do this. If I did anything wrong, or need to change something, just let me know.

It only took fifteen hours for fifteen writers to sign up. Please finish your profiles as soon as possible.

We're waiting on six profiles.

Sorry, I can't do this after all

Sadly, I'm in the same boat as fictionfanatic, sorry guys.

Best of luck with it.

Cheers

Three, now. ^_^

So are we starting anytime soon?

Please join this club and direct all your questions that are not part of the actual SB there for now on.

We're nearing our starting point, and just need two profiles. You'll all be receiving individual contact PM's for final additives to profiles (possibly today).

Thanks for your patience.

“Dearest,
War doesn’t change. The methods may; ballistae may fly, catapults let loose, a new spell may scorch the earth, but the nature of the beast doesn’t. War is not kindled by things that matter. Famine does not cause war. Disease does not instigate battles. Suffering does not lead to war. Politics do. Shiny metals do. The eternal debate of whose deity is more powerful does. So when rumor came in from the South that Lorokan--a country well known for having an abundance of both--had mobilized its rather impressive army and was marching on Anaphis, I was understandably taken aback. These were two countries that had always been allies. Both had prospered with the fall of the last Emperor, and neither had any reason to fear or envy the other. Even their gods got along. And despite that, they march. For what? All the rumors say the same thing; why, indeed? Regardless of the reason, when the armies of Lorokan clash with those of Anaphis, the result will be the same as every war before it. The peasants will die while the rich watch from afar. While men and women fight for a cause they probably can’t even articulate, you Kings and Queens and Tyrants and Politicians will sign treaties, and divvy up resources like the winnings of a game of Crowns and Jesters. The game--War--doesn’t change; only the players do.”

Yours.
--E

War has come to Anaphis. The attack was swift and vicious; the Queen's forces had not even left Coranel before Denali and Mephisda fell. Karniss, under siege, dispatched emissaries requesting help from the Mercenary state of Gor Nathal. Daedra, having witnessed the fall of its primary trading partner to the South, mobilized its own militia and marched out to meet the charge.

Roads aren't safe. With the coming of Lorokan the comparably minor threats that had been driven into hiding by the law of Queen Vira emerged. Tribes of marauding goblins, orcs, and giants roam the countryside largely unchecked, and the beasts of the wilderness that would normally shy from the daily patrols have been emboldened by their absence.

Following the advice of a seer, the Queen calls a faithful follower to her side. She gives her subject a desperate and dangerous mission that could change the outcome of the war.

At the same time, a rider from Karniss is sent to Gor Nathal to request reinforcements to prevent the fall of the city. He is escorted by five bodyguards--a force to be reckoned with, no doubt. The fate of a city lies in his hands.

The Mercenaries of Gor Nathal, led by Marlon Grey, prepare for war. They crushed the first wave of invaders, but they know that more are coming. They rush to prepare for the inevitable siege.

Across Anaphis, friends and enemies alike are invaded by the formidable Lorokan army. It is a time of unprecedented loss. The world is changing; old foes become allies, proud nations are humbled, and no one knows what is going to happen next.

(Except for Dono. And Lumi. Grif. And possibly Nate.)

The Map!

Gor Nathal had been the Citadel of Hurden the Cruel. The dark citadel had been designed by the tyrant to be impregnable. An army of ten thousand could not hope to penetrate the thick walls. When the Grey Ghosts overthrew Hurden and Marlon Grey's mercenaries became the most famous force in the known world. Within a month, Gor Nathal was swarming with people trying to join the mercenary group. Some were poor farm hands trying to save their farm; others were professional warriors who had been underpaid for years.

Within a year of taking Gor Nathal, the Grey Ghosts grew to three battalions of forces. Gor Nathal attracted mercenaries like a coy maiden attracted suitors. Composed of all races and both genders, each member had been subjected to intense training upon acceptance. Other merc groups were formed at Gor Nathal, some sponsored by the Grey Ghosts, others were start ups. They were allowed to operate out of Gor Nathal, on condition that they would defend the citadel in the event of an attacker. That gave him ten battalions to work with.

Marlon surveyed the results of the first combined mercenary assault. The enemy had been routed and the result was a massacre. Enemy banners and equipment littered the fields outside of Gor Nathal. Marlon was pleased with the results, but as information came through the mirrors, he frowned. The signalled news from other parts of Anaphis. Things weren't looking good. Karniss was under attack; and there was word that there were even more forces inbound for Gor Nathal.

"You wanted to see me Commander?" Marlon turned to see a beautiful woman in grey battle armor, she had a scar down her face.

"Lady Agatha. I understand you have the most experience in defensive operations of the entire outfit. You've seen the same intel I have. What is your recommendation?"

"We should send some battalions ahead to engage the Lorokans, it will give us more time to store provisions in the city and prepare our defenses. If you can destroy their supply train, then they won't be able to hold a siege."

"Very good. I want you to take charge of preparing the city. I'll take my forces forward."

Entry Plot Two: Kade's Party Meets Cellardor

Kade’s newfound journey had brought him out of the comforts of the Kingdom’s libraries with Doris, and into the familiar wild of the outlying world. There were three of them in the beginning: Kadence, Doris, and Dsar. While Kade and Doris had known each other for ages of travel, the new addition to their party, Dsar, was a Sylvan Elf--a rogue--and had been hired directly by the queen. Kade silently remarked on how odd it was that she would go about hiring protection for him, but the answer itself had come in her directions:

Seek out the battlegrounds of Denali and investigate; take caution, for I am unaware of the degree of hostility within the city. Return to me with your findings, and I will reward you.

There was clear hostility of a strange degree; and if the heat of battle had his fair queen bothered to this point, then Kade had more to consider.

Their journey had brought them first into the small village of Rawell, where Kade enlisted the aid of a long-since friend and traveling companion, Luciliana, a fellow mage. After traveling for days across the uninhabited Anaphis countryside, the small party arrived in the small mountain vale of Garland’s Well*.

Our story begins just as Kade’s party enters the Garland Pub.

____ ____

“I’ve never understood what attracts you to the shady places, Kade.” Doris sat in the back of the Garland Pub with her three companions, all of which were staring in different directions. She never had quite picked up the love of Pubs on their travels, but Kade swore that they were essential in the resting process--no matter of ale or any sort of brine, but for the atmosphere.

“Alvin Clearstone, the discoverer of the great Orichalcon deposit, wrote in his quest log that success is much more likely when travelers stay in contact with civil society.” Kade stared off towards the stage, snapping apart the buckles on his gloves to remove them, ignoring the dubious glance that had come with “civil”. “Besides, I heard a woman on the street talking about there being music tonight.”

“If we stop to hear music everywhere we go, there will be nothing left of Denali but the dusts of war.” Luci smirked and burned a soft design into the swollen wood of the table. “I won’t complain, though,” she noted, “because I’ve seen Kade after a week of straight travel.” Doris and Luci laughed quietly, watching a brush of red slide across Kade’s cheek, before shifting their attention to the head of the pub where a young, peculiar elf sat on a stool. She had been playing and singing the entire night, but something had stopped her.

“Doesn’t she seem a bit young to be singing in a pub?” Dsar furrowed her brow, slicing a knife around a slender stake of wood.

Kade nodded. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

They all stared ahead as the pub grew eerily silent, a tall, imposing man seizing the girl on stage by the neck. With wild eyes, he forced her against the wall and shouted, disgruntled, "You will rot in the Dreamwell, thief..."

__________________________________________________________
* The small village is notably famous for an aquifer beneath the village's surface, known as the Dreamwell. The waters of the well, Dream Water, is rich in a strange element that notably causes hallucinations, going as far as to put the drinker in a dream-like state. The well supposedly is the resting place of a dormant crystalline creature that gives the well its powers. A prison has been constructed beneath the well for easy execution of prisoners by drowning.

Cellardor

Earlier that day...

Cellardor closed her eyes, her long black hair flowing in the the wind. She took a deep breath, exhaling and inhaling, her chest raising and falling. She could taste the sweet country air, hear the noises of the forest and the hustle and bustle of cold civilization. Where to next? Where to indeed? She had wandered around the realms for so long, for to long. She longed for human interaction, she longed for an audience. There was a town near by a simple village on top of a not so simple natural occurrence, the Dreamwell. She had been there many summers ago, to collect the strange waters. It was time for another visit.

The town was exactly the same. Same foul smell, same rotting buildings, same simple people living their sad mundane lives with a resilience she almost admired. There was a pub in the main street, hardly a worthy institution but it would do. She watched from a distance, noteing ever customer, every drunk and every harlot that walked out of its doorways. It was a busy place, no doubt due to the properties of the town's dangerous water supply. She approached, strumming a simple tune on her harp, the music echoing across the streets. She took a deep breath and walk towards pub and towards her destiny.

"How old are you girl?" said the landlady suspiciously, eying the pointed ears. " Age does not dictate talent, I am willing to negotiate the fee if that is what you wish," she said bluntly. The the older buxom lady frowned, watching her husband eye the young woman with an undeniable interest. Cellardor stared into the woman's eyes and the second blue meet black something seemed to click. The landlady nodded dumbly, her weak mind folding quickly under pressure. So it was settled, tonight she would play.

It went relatively well, the audience was large but quiet. She did her usual romantic songs, boring in her opinion but it seemed to please the crowd. Her clear high voice cut perfectly though the thick stagnant air entrancing and enthralling. Losing her self in the song she didn't notice four strange figures enter the crowded bar, she didn't even notice a tall, imposing man stepping up behind her, not until he grabbed her by the neck, pulling her with an amazing force off the stage. Everything seemed to go so quickly. It was a blur. The man, the struggle, the shackles on her wrist and those haunting words, "You will rot in the Dreamwell, thief..." thrown into dark cell, she had never felt so lost of confused, never felt so stupid. Why did she leave her weapons in her room?

She wrapped her arms around her cold body, the guards giving her strange looks. She could not escape, that much was clear, not without her harp, not without summoning her, if he was still alive... Her only source of hope was the small girdled window at the top of her cell. If she could not help herself then she must find someone who could. Softly she began to sing into the cold night air, song laced with magic, beckoning, calling for her rescuers to come.

Dsar sat mute, whittling down at the stake of wood, shavings curling off and falling into her lap. The group chattered on, slowly drinking themselves into deeper smiles and flatter jokes. Dsar thought about the young girl who'd been arrested and the rough handling that the captain had given her. It wouldn't be an easy night for her. Dsar wished she wasn't on duty; there wasn't much she could do.

After a while, the pub crawled back into loud, drunken songs-- the man who'd initially accused the girl continued to drink as well, and was now boisterous and red-faced. Dsar had suffered the many slights he'd been spewing off about thieves and musicians, knife sometimes pushing a bit too hard into the wood, and then it came:
"Damned gypsy tander. Trying to pass their slimed over blood like they're one of us." He scoffed."Soon they'll be claiming that they're nobles!" He burst out laughing at his joke, and the crowd around him joined it, though not quite as loudly.

Dsar set down the piece of wood, and ran her blade over her hand, feeling the edge. It was dull from the woodwork, and she sheathed it up her sleeve, pulling another one out in its stead. She calmly rose to her feet and addressed the man from across the room. "Might want to calm your words, friend. Wouldn't want any trouble." He looked at her, face screwing up in anger.

"What, you gonna stick up for a toadspit gypsy like her?"

Dsar chair's scraped the floor as she left the table, and the pub quieted. Her voice was like smoke in the new silence. "I said, you wouldn't want any trouble. Watch your words." The knife itched at her palm, and her mouth was grim. He took a couple heavy steps towards her, pushing everyone else out of his way, who were more than grateful to get away from the conflict. Dsar left the group, walking towards him with firm steps as well.

"Stickin' up for the tander girl, huh?" He leered at Dsar, eyebrows raised.

"I AM tander, you ale-blooded imbecile."

He threw back his head and roared with laughter before meeting her eyes again. "Well that explains it!" He smiled again, all teeth and no humor. "Only someone with the same dirt running through their veins would stick up for a thief." He looked around the pub as if to garner support, but with Dsar tense and holding a knife, no one said anything.

Dsar quickly crossed the distance between them; he'd only put his hand on the hilt of his sword when she kneed him between his legs and fell on him as he crumpled, knife held up to his throat and knee on his chest. Across the pub, no one dared move save for one man edging towards the door. Dsar's face was grim as she drew a small beaded line of blood under his chin, and she spoke low to his face, where even in the dead quiet, no one else could hear but him. "If I weren't on duty right now, you'd be dead. Remember that." She stood then and picked the man up to his feet by his jerking, spiraling him towards the door.

"Get out." She watched him disappear, eyes lingering a few moments on the door after it had closed. She returned to the table and avoided the group's face, who watched her with wide-eyes, not entirely sure what to do or say. She picked up the wooden stake for a moment and then threw it down in disgust before calling out for another lager.

It was about an hour before she spoke again. She spoke into her ale, but loud enough that the group could hear. Her voice was tight and controlled. "That girl was young. After you guys are done struggling to hold your alcohol, we're making sure she's alright."

Gleam

I whipped around and sunk the silver blade deep into the hairy underside of the dwarf. I felt his muscles contract around my short blade, and then with a grunt fell off it into the dusty ground of the plains. Panting heavily from the battle, I scoured my surroundings looking for more enemies. I noticed that the rest of my comrades had fallen, and each of their pale blood-stained faces scarred my soul far deeper than any mortal blade could affect.

I closed my eyes and muttered a short prayer to the Light, wishing their souls to the Blessed Land. Now here on Anaphais I was left alone on my task. With a grim smile stained on my lips I turned to my charge. I remembered when I first met him; the great Zakar.

The smell of incense filled my lungs. The smoky interior of the temple chamber was lit by several candles, one of which I held in my hands. Across the cobblestoned floor I watched as a tall ungainly man with coffee color skin stumbled towards the high Priest of the Church of the Radiant Soul.

I broke from my stupor and shook my head furiously. I must concentrate on the mission at hand. I made my way across the carnage to the bush where I had thrown Malik when the mercenaries attacked. He lay crouched on his knees, his crossbow brandished threateningly and a small Sanctuary surrounding him.

"The battle is over, you can come out now" I said to him, extending my gloved hand down to him. He took it shakily and let the Sanctuary fade away.

""Right. Yes. I see. But where are the others?"" He babbled in an excited fervor. I sighed and closed my eyes.

"It's only you and me now Malik" I said solemnly, "we've got to push through soon though, Gor' Nathal is only a few leagues away, and it is common knowledge that Lorakan attack in waves"

Luciliana

Luci sat drumming her long nails on the table before her, watching the scene unfold with a bored expression. Dsar stood where she was for a few moments—her slightly heaving chest the only sign of her anger—before she made her way back to the table.

“Done playing hero then, are we?” Luci asked in a nonplussed tone, continuing the quiet click, click, click of her fingernails on wood.

Dsar shot her a look, which she returned quite pleasantly. “Oh, come now, Dsar! No need to get in a huff about it. Who knows, maybe she is a thief—I hear it’s a genetic thing, you know. In the blood and all that.” Luci mocked sweetly.

“He was a brute, and he deserved what he got. I could have killed him for what he said.” Dsar replied coolly. Luci had to stop herself from rolling her eyes; gallantry was simply not her style.

Dsar glared at Luci for a moment, and their eyes locked.

Neither looked away for a moment, before Luci broke the tension with a giggle. "Ahh, don't you mind me, I'm only joking!" She grinned widely.

“I think I’ll go for a walk, see if the authorities will let me see her.” Dsar sneered the word authorities as if it left a bad taste in her mouth, giving clear indication how she felt about the level of intelligence in the surrounding area. She walked away from the table with a level of flourish that even Luci had to respect, if only a little.

Luci gave Kade a playful look, and thought she heard him groan quietly.

“Always the professional, that one. Someone needs to teach her how to have a bit of fun, really.” She grinned mischievously.

Kade audibly groaned this time, giving her a rather nasty look. “Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“Oh come off it!” Luci exclaimed in mock hurt distress. “I never said that someone would be me.”

Kade eyed her wearily and Luci grinned, giving him a playful shove of the shoulder. Both friends turned to Doris, who sat quietly, staring wide eyed at the pair. Kade met Luci's eyes for a moment, and the two friends burst out laughing.