Grand Unified Story Thread

[cypher132]

I thought PPQ_Purple's story was well written, if not slightly typoed. It explains what happens to the dragon and shows conflict in the future. If it all ends all happy and hokey, that's really boring.

[Skitters]

The return of the Ratcatchers Guild

Hagneth looked in despair around him. Life on campaign had brought with it a new horror – the country life. He found himself confronted by rations made up of pilfered turnips, and meat that still looked like the animal it had come from. There were no Brothels or inns, but worst of all there were things that wanted to kill him.

Obviously he’d expected enemy troops to want to get him with their pointy weapons before he could stab them...and yes, in the city he was often just one turn of a corner from a mugger with a knife - but play along and hand over your purse and most lived another day. The wilderness though had things that wanted to eat him, and didn't negotiate about it. In the City he’d been used to being one at the top of the food chain (or at least close to it)..but seemingly there were things out here that had got a taste for human flesh. Rumours even talked of Giant Spiders that used the carcass of men to help spawn their offspring.

Hagneth was relieved to hear the same fears echoed by a number of his fellows. War had to be fought – he knew that much –but he missed home comforts all the same.

The days had turned to weeks, and the weeks to months and the sense of despair had steadily grown.

He looked down into the pot, making out the unnaturally green plants and what looked like a leg of some kind stewed away. Even as he looked queasily into it, he became aware of a commotion as troops began to flock around a newcomer.

As he stared over he finally heard the excited shouts of his fellows “tis the Ratcatcher’s Guild!”. The stew was quickly forgotten as he rushed to the shabby looking cart, and fought his way through the thronging masses.

“What’s cans I does for ya sonny? We’s got Fried Rat, Rat Dippa’s, or Ratbab, all with owa special spice sauce or gravy. Or there be today’s special, Rat Liver and Onions”

Hagneth hand dug deep into his purse. For the first time in months he’d get some proper food in his belly. Life in the army wasn’t all that bad.

[Jabie]

Apologies for threadjacking, but this post could probably have done with a bump anyway.

I've submitted a number of stories to this site and always had positive feedback, so I decided to send a story into a magazine to see how it would turn out. I can now say that I am a published author!

Thanks for giving me a place to practice and for all the encouragement I have received in this forum. Those of you who are lucky enough to live in Hampshire can read my "You don't know Jack" in Hampshire View which can be found outside Waitrose and Waterstones. Those who are reliant on an internet connection can visit their website: http://content.yudu.com/Library/A1ou...-View-August10 on pages 48 and 49.

I hope my success will act not as a vain boast but as a spur to some of the other fine writers on this website to go on and achieve greater triumphs. Thanks for all the encouragement guys!

[thomas.berubeg]

Congratulations! well done

[loocas]

That's excellent news, Jabie! Way to go!

[.Arawyn.]

Omg, LOVED Balseraph Diplomacy! besides Perp and Keeyln, Falamar is one of my favorite leaders. I wonder what would happen if Jack Sparrow and Falamar ever met. Probably they'd either kill each other (or, more likely, jack would run away while falamar would be chasing him) or they would be best friends.

[.Arawyn.]

i got a story. the title is "A Average Day in the Vault of Mammon".

Spoiler:

It was morning when Larka woke up. At least, he thought it was morning, but it’s hard to tell what time of day it is in a place where the sky permanently remains yellowish brown.
He crawled out of the small hole in the alley wall where he had slept. He had always slept there, probably because it was a good hiding place from others who wanted to steal his coins. Speaking of coins, He thought, watching as a new comer stumbled past the alley. Oh boy, another coin! Larka already had 5, he just needed a couple more.
“GIMME YER DAMN COIN!!!” He shouted, jumping out from in the alley, a sharp piece of metal he picked up in his hand. He had used it to kill the other 2. It still had they’re blood on it.
The person he was about to rob, predictably, shouted back “No!”
But the word barely left his mouth before Larka jabbed the metal shard into the man’s neck. A warm spurt of blood issued forth, and the man collapsed, twitched once, and laid still. He would get up the next day, they always did. The same had happened to Larka himself. But he had hunted his killer down. Larka had taken both of his coins. He had strangled him to death, since he didn’t have the metal piece then.
Larka quickly searched the man, and found his coin. He then darted back in the alley, and put the coin in with the others in his stash. He didn’t keep his coins on him, in case someone killed him.
The hiding place was behind a lose brick. Larka slid the brick out, and put the coin in with the others. “ ‘Ello ‘ello ‘ello! Brought you a new friend!” he said, talking to the coins. “You lot play nice!” He then slid the brick back, and went off, looking for another victim.
Larka walked down the street, breathing in the smells of the city. Many were so horrible he couldn’t describe them. But he didn’t care. He actually liked the city. Many hoped to move on but no, not Larka. He was going to get many coins and buy himself a new weapon, and then get more coins. He was going to have a good after-life here. He liked it here. He could kill anyone he wanted and no one would care. In life, when he was with the Bannor, if he even mentioned killing any of those stupid Order priests, they would throw him in jail. When he had finally done it, they all decided to execute him. It was meant to be his punishment, but it didn’t feel like it here. He liked the city.
He accidentally stepped on a broken rib bone jutting out from the gutter. “Agares Blood!” He screeched, rubbing his sore foot. He heard cackling behind him, and looked to see a slave rolling with laughter. Slaves were the souls who had no coins and had been captured by the slave traders. They usually were stuck permanently in Mammon’s Vault, and never left.
“Oi! You think that was funny, ya stupid idiot!” Larka said, his voice full of venom. The slave didn’t seem to notice, and continued to laugh. Larka took out his piece of metal. “Fine then, it seems yer’ve, chosen yer fate.” He said, grinning evilly. The slave stopped, his face gone pale. “Wh-what? You mean you’re going to k-“ He began, but broke off in a howl of pain as Larka stabbed downward, slitting open the slave’s belly. The slave looked down, horrified as he tried to hold his bluish gray entrails inside himself. Larka walked off, laughing manically. “He shouldn’ ov’ laughed, stupid lil’ bugger.” He muttered to himself.
“HEY!” He heard a cry behind him. He whirled around to see a dream merchant coming after him. “You damaged my slave! You know how much I paid for him!” Larka lunged, and in a split second had his metal shard at the merchants neck. “So what iv’ I did? Wat ya gonna do ‘bout it?” The merchant gulped “Um, um, nothing.” “Good. Now give me tha’ pouch of coins ya got ‘ere” the merchant, not wanting any trouble, quickly gave the coins to him. “Good. Well, I ‘ave no use for ya’s now.” Then Larka quickly jerked the metal, and the merchant fell, dead. “Thank ya’, mate.” Larka sneered, then walked off. He quickly counted the coins. 50. More than enough to buy a sword. He grinned. “Next stop, weapons stall” He said to himself.
Conveniently, there was a weapons stall right by. He walked up and looked at the weapons on display. He saw a dagger he immediately liked. The blade was red with ice blue runes that read “Blood is Joy.” It had a brown hilt inlaid with bone. Larka read the price tag. 20 coins. He put down the coins on the counter and grabbed the dagger. He tossed the shard of metal away. “Useless junk” He shouted after it. He wanted to test out his dagger. He looked over at the weapons salesman. His back was turned. Quietly, Larka crept up behind him. With one quick slash, Larka had loped of the man’s arm at the shoulder. The man screeched, clutching the bloody wound where his limb had been. “Nice blade, I ‘ave to say.” Larka remarked, tossing the blade from one hand to the next. “shame ya don’t ‘ave anything ‘round to test ‘er on.” The weapon seller just crumpled in a heap, moaning in pain. “Guess I better ‘eave ya in yer misery.” Larka said, picking up the coins he had left earlier as payment.
Life was good in the city. Lark had all the people he could ever want to maim or kill, and all the coins were his for the taking.
But he needed some ladies. Larka recalled a brothel he had passed the other day. He started to wonder...
A couple hours, coins, and a couple ruined womans' reproductive organs later, Larka was back on teh street. he felt like doing some killing. He found a suitable spot to hide, and dark little alley, samller than the one he lived in, but more concealed. He waited, and a couple minutes later, some one walked by. Larka sprang out, bringing his dagger down on he person's head. They fell over, blood gushing from their head. Larka looked across the street, seeing another person. It was a stupid priest of one of the temples. "I'LL KILL YA!" He shouted, running after the priest, who was a priest of Lugus, the ones who believed he was dead. The priest looked friehtened, and tried to run. But it was no use, because Larka was on him in a flash. he went beserk on the priest, hacking into his body while he was still alive, listeninbg to the poor mans scerams as he died. Soon the priest was reduced to a pile of chopped up flesh, bones, and blood.
Larka snatched the priests coin pouch. 20 coins. "Ha ha, ya stupid lil' troll! Ya think yer gods dead? Well ya sure ar' 'ow!" Larka yelled, cackling madly.
Larka ran around, killing more people and creating an absolute gore-fest. Later, when he was too tired to kill, he went back to his little alley. He shoved all his coins in the hole, and was about to go in his hole when someone ran into the alley. They had a sword in their hand, and before Larka could react, the person had stabbed him in the gut. Before he died, Larka managed to shout out "ARGARES BLOOD!".
But he still liked the city.
He liked it here
He really liked it here.



Jiliru ran at the idiot, waving his sword. He ws going to kill this fool, and take his gold. Then he could get out. He plunged his sword into the man's stomache, who yelled out "ARGARES BLOOD!" before collapsing in a heap. Jiliru checked the man. Yes, one more and he was free. free at last.
But there was no coins. The man had been carrying none. Jiliru threw back his head and wailed "NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
He hated it
He really hated it here.

I'm working on another story now, though. Still editing this story every now and then. Feedback on this story though would be greatly appreciated!

Note: this was based on kael's "The Layers of Hell" Info-story

[mythmonster2]

Not quite sure if stories based off of Rise from Erebus are allowed here, and I'm already breaking a taboo by necro-ing this thread. But I decided to write a small story about an experience I had while playing as the Austrin civilization. My hero, Harmatt, explored the Pyre of the Seraphic and found an Assassin, who joined him. A little while later, after the Assassin finished off a goblin, I got an even that said some god (can't remember which, and the save file's gotten busted since then) had chosen that very Assassin to be his chosen, boosting up his strength. Together, I used these two guys to explore a vast desert in the center of the map, busting up lair and destroying barbarian cities. But alas, the Assassin finally met his end when I encountered Orthus holed up on top of a tribal village. I sent in the Assassin with about 45% odds, and he perished. However, he brought Orthus down to 1 hitpoint, allowing Harmatt to finish him with ease. This is the story of that encounter, of Harmatt and Orthus.

Spoiler:

The tent flap opened, letting in the light of fires and the smell of smoke as the man walked into the tent. The crackling of uncontrolled fires meshed with the desperate screams of fleeing civilians, but the man paid no heed. He removed his hat and held it by his side as he looked around the tent. Many opulent pieces of furniture were scattered around haphazardly, though from their condition, it seemed they were only kept around for their appearance and not for any actual use.

“You... you are the explorer. Harmatt.”

The man’s attention turned to a pile of rags on the floor. Or rather, it turned to the orc underneath those rags.

“Aye. I am Harmatt the explorer, hero of the Austrin people.”

The orc on the floor laughed silently, shaking in the rags. He sneered and said, “Your Austrin will fall, as all the rest have under my axe. You may be the hero of one people, but I am the destroyer of many more.”

Harmatt took a step towards the orc on the floor. “And you will destroy no more, Orthus the barbarian.”

Orthus’ sneer turned into a wicked grin. He rustled within the rags, seeming to look for something. Harmatt immediately thought he was digging for his axe, but then he saw that it lay against the canvas on the other side of the tent. Orthus spoke again, hoarse, “The Assassin... He spoke of you. He said you would avenge him.” Again, he laughed, a harsh chuckle. “He was a better man than you could ever hope to be. He attempted to pick me off here in this very tent, but when I fought back, he stayed...” At last, the rustling stopped, and Orthus pulled out what he had been searching for. A bloody head emerged from the rags, its eyes and mouth shut. “until his death.”

At that, Harmatt stopped everything he was doing. He took a sharp breath and stared at the head. The head of the prisoner he had rescued from the Pyre of the Seraphic. The head of the man who had helped him fight off goblins. The head of the one who was chosen by a god himself to represent him on Erebus. The head of his friend.

“And you will never be able to fight me as he did. He was worthy, a fierce opponent! While you...” Again, Orthus chuckled, “You come into my tent to kill me while I recover from his wounds.”

Harmatt said nothing as he drew his sword. Orthus gave one final laugh as the blade plunged into his chest, and the laugh died with him.

Harmatt kneeled there for a while. Nothing went through his mind as he blankly stared at the assassin’s head. Then he picked up the head and began to walk out of the tent. But as he opened the flap to go out to the burning village, he again saw the axe out of the corner of his eye. Could he possibly... use it? It had been used for great evil acts before, and the Austrin themselves were rather morally ambiguous, but Harmatt was a man of relative integrity. Again, he looked down at the assassin’s head and imagined what he would have had to say about it. “What’re you askin’ me for, take it! Can you imagine how powerful it must be?” Harmatt smiled. He had always been a pragmatist. He went back into the tent.

A man flew out of the smoldering remains of the barbarian village on the back of a pegasus. Strapped to his back was an enormous axe. He looked west, towards lands still unknown. He flew to the horizon.

And in the wreckage of the village, there lie a mound of upturned dirt, with a sword sticking blade-first into the ground to mark the site of a friend’s grave.

[Elder Methyl]

I haven't played Austrin on RifE, so I can't comment. That said, I think it's okay to post RifE stories on the thread.