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Chosen Worf

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Hello!

Thanks for taking the time to click on this thread. My name is Worf. You might have seen me around these forums before, but if not, hopefully the work that I compile in this thread will bring you some measure of enjoyment.

So please, stay a while and browse. The majority of these tales are meant to be short and sweet, and they cover a variety of topics.

Without further ado, a small table of contents:

Page 1, post 1: Introduction/TOC: you're looking at it!
P1,p2: Visitors
P1,p3: Favorite Threads / Outside Submissions

--- Stories ---

Page 1,p4-5: Hailstorm
P1,p6-7: The Feast
P1,p8-10: The Joust

Page 2, p1-3: Assassination
P2,p4-5: When Breathing Stops
P2,p6-7: Tristan's Peace
P2,p8-9: The Lightning and the Eagle
***NEW*** P2,p10 - P3,p1: Judgement

More coming soon!
---

Posting is now open on page 5. Thank you for your patience

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.-^-._/~§~\- Wørdsmith ~ The Novelists’ Guild -/~§~\_.-^-.
¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯

~Winner of the Story Forum contest "Bigger Pictures" hosted by Lebbeh and Yrolg

14-Jun-2012 03:32:01 - Last edited on 30-Nov-2013 04:54:57 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

--- VISITORS ---

Just leave a post indicating that you've looked through this thread, and I'll gladly name you in this post.

{ Lebbeh
{ Yam42
{ Aeraie
{ Areno3
{ Snowbuster
{ Cyun
{ Vrangr Wayne
---

14-Jun-2012 03:32:40 - Last edited on 30-Jul-2014 22:53:15 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

--- FAVORITE THREADS / OUTSIDE SUBMISSIONS ---

This is a list of works both by myself and by talented writers that can be found on threads outside of this one. I highly recommend reading them!

"A Poem A Day..." QFC: 49-50-171-63012874
A thread dedicated to, of course, poetry. Many different people have left their musing and submissions here, and there are some real gems to be found.

---

14-Jun-2012 03:32:52 - Last edited on 21-Jun-2012 00:27:33 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

--- Hailstorm ---

Frozen rain pelted the sides of the fortress, rattling the steel-reinforced window panes. Storms like this were common in the northern Wilderness; the perpetual cold ensured that all but those with a purpose and those made of the same frozen water ventured here.

Zemouregal stood at the window, examining the onslaught of hail. It amused him to see that even the fury of nature could not break that which the Mahjarrat had constructed. Standing off to the north, directly in Zemouregal's line of sight, stood the imposing fortification of Ghorrock.

Zemouregal's jaw tightened, thinking of the struggle that had taken place there. The last Ritual had been a close shave; even with Azzanadra entombed in the Kharidian Desert, the rest of the Mahjarrat were fierce warriors in themselves. Sliske in particular had been a challenge; his shapeshifting had nearly caused Zemouregal to lose the contest.

And now, the process was beginning again. He stepped away from the window, and strode over to a desk, where he pulled out all of the documentation he had gathered on his fellow Mahjarrat. He scanned them, remembering the names: Azzanadra, Jhallat, Wahisietel, Ralvash...

Zemouregal grinned evilly. Ralvash had been far too easy to offer as a sacrifice, after he had been captured. But he was far from weak. It was a testament to the difficulty of the Ritual that the stronger of the remaining Mahjarrat were beginning to be sacrificed.

The hailstorm intensified. Zemouregal's scheming mind kept up to the storm's pace, furiously calculating how to tip the odds of survival in his favor. His eyes wandered over to a trapdoor in the floor, which led down into his even more private chambers. Walking over, he opened the portal, then grabbed onto a ladder and slid down into the blackness.

14-Jun-2012 03:33:00 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:37:13 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

The tunnel opened into a room from the roof, about ten feet off the floor. Even though he travelled at great speed, Zemouregal landed easily on the cool stone floor, knees bending slightly.

He waved his hand, casting a spell that would disable the myriad traps that had been set down here. Then, stabbing his index finger into the air, six sconces on the walls blazed to life.

At the far end of the room from where he landed stood a pedestal. Meticulously carved, with glaring skeleton heads adorning a bowl at the top from which erupted a misty grey magic.

Zemouregal walked up to the pedestal, eyes glinting at the object suspended in the magical column: a human heart, still beating frantically.

Ah, the memories, he thought. How beautifully tragic; a valiant, brave heart, bent to do the bidding of a master that would see its most cherished city razed to the ground.

Zemouregal's defeat in his first invasion of Varrock still pained him to think about. But he would have his revenge; and how sweet it would be! The largest, most populous city in all of Gielinor, set ablaze for even the far-off elves to watch the smoke spiral into oblivion!

And not only the elves, but the surviving Mahjarrat. They would come to fear the name of Zemouregal, he who had conquered Misthalin!

***

Outside, a lone adventurer staggered through the deep snow drifts, shield held aloft against the hail. Ali the Wise had been right: Zemouregal did have a fortress here. Squinting through the driving storm, he saw ghostly figures walking effortlessly through the snow, almost certainly guards.

The adventurer shook his head.

Retrieving the heart of Arrav would be far from easy.

--- End ---

Author's Note: I have not completed Defender of Varrock or The Curse of Arrav, so please excuse any errors that I might have made concerning this story.

14-Jun-2012 03:33:09 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:39:13 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

--- The Feast ---

A crow flapped down through the mists, and lighted on a broken spear shaft.

He croaked, tearing through the thick silence, and twisted his jet-black eye towards the ground. There, soaking the grass beneath them, lay the ruined, bleeding remains of men. Some were of fair stature in life, lords of their time. Their limbs were once lithe and strong; their proud voices once sang ancient songs of joy and battle. But no more would the plows feel the strength of their hands, and no more would the hills and forests resound with the melodies of their rejoicing.

Beside those once-renowned men were strewn the carcasses of their enemies: black goblins, twisted, hideous, detestable to the eyes of men. They were smaller than men, the largest of them being no more than five feet tall; their skin was mottled black and green, like leaves that have been stricken with blights of the foulest order. Some still grasped blood-soaked scimitars, crudely forged in furnaces deep in the mountains. Many still wore the grimacing mask of battle on their swarthy fanged faces.

The crow blinked, and looked directly beneath it, towards the base of his perch.

A man sat there, propped against a fallen horse. A crusted trail of blood ran down from the side of his mouth. His blonde hair was now choked and matted with gore and mud; dust dulled his steely breastplate. But the crow's keen eye picked out the smallest of movements. The man's chest still rose and fell, ever so slightly.

The crow croaked again.

A small moment passed. Then the man slowly raised his face upwards, to peer through the mists at the black bird. He coughed, and began to speak.

"Now truly the end has come," he said despairingly. "The steward of the battlefield is come, in his midnight robes and never-satisfied appetite. I ask you only this, O Steward: spare my flesh from your table, that those who may search for my body may find me unmarred."

14-Jun-2012 03:33:19 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:41:16 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Then, suddenly, the man's chest heaved in a mighty cough, and the stream from his mouth ran anew with blood.

The coughs racked the man's body for a few moments, then slowly they faded into oblivion. Once again, silence permeated the mists.

The crow stared for a short while at the now-silent man. Then, with a twinkle of malice and spite in his obsidian eye, he fluttered down to his feast.

--- End ---

14-Jun-2012 03:33:28 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:42:44 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

--- The Joust ---

Horses neighed, adrenaline coursing through their veins, eyes bulging in frantic excitement. They pawed the packed dirt, hooves warm from pounding down the jousting lane. Spectators booed or jeered in the stands, some ecstatic in their betting fortune, others nervously sweating, wondering how they would pay off the massive sums they had promised to the winners.

Alex focused, letting the roar of the surroundings subside to a dull throbbing. There was only the horse, the lance, and the opponent: a burly man, atop a midnight black horse. He was obviously aging, yet he sat proudly erect on his steed, a champion of many competitions. And the prize in this contest would more than cover the costs of being a knight: a chest full of gold coins, glinting rubies, and verdant emeralds.

The man snorted, examining Alex's lean figure. It was hard for him to believe that this scrawny knight had unseated so many highly trained warriors; and to make it to the championship round! It was preposterous.

Lowering their visors, the two knights slowly turned their horses to stare down the dirt lane. Froth foamed at the warhorses mouths, and they urged forward, eager to fly across the pitch of battle.

Finally, an announcer stepped forward, and read the rules of the championship round. The crowd noise subsided as they listened intently.

"The contest will consist of one round of jousting, and one round of swordplay," the announcer said in a slightly nasal voice. "Should either of the contestants be maimed or killed, he forfeits the contest by default. The jousting round will begin on my mark, and will end when one rider is unseated. The swordplay round will continue until one of you concedes defeat, or is otherwise unable to continue. Are the contestants clear on the rules?"

They both gave a silent nod.

The announcer raised his hand. "Then, on my mark..."

"Begin!"

14-Jun-2012 03:33:36 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:45:05 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

Spurs flashed backwards, goading the horses into action. They broke into furious galloping, kicked dirt flying out from under their heels. The crowd roared, eager to see a knight flung off of his horse.

The world around Alex seemed to turn to a slow-moving mire, slowly shifting in time with a thundering heartbeat. The lance slowly lowered, angrily aiming at the other knight's breastplate.

Then the horses flashed by each other; both knights had stayed on their mounts. The crowd booed, disappointed.

Wheeling quickly, the knights charged back towards each other. This time, there was a loud screeching of metal and snapping of wood. Both knights flew backwards, each landing a direct hit on the other, to crash onto the churned ground below.

"A tie!" The announcer shouted, as the crowd erupted into satisfied cheers. Pages rushed in to grab onto the bucking horses, leading them off of the pitch.

Both knights staggered onto their feet, dazed from the impact of the lances and the ground. Alex's breastplate was dented, but usable. The opponent had not fared as well; part of his shoulder plate had been shorn away.

The announcer called for silence from the crowd, and eventually receiving it, addressed the contestants again.

"Is each contestant able to continue?"

Both nodded again, drawing their swords in unpracticed unison.

"Then let the swordplay round begin!"

The two champions flew at each other, blades shining wickedly in the sunlight. The swords screamed in fury as they collided, each willing to prove its superiority to its master.

Alex jabbed quickly at the opponent's side, then quickly ducked as his sword whizzed by overhead. I have to get at that shoulder, Alex thought, simultaneously parrying a vicious two-handed stroke. Quickly twisting under the opponent's guard, Alex sliced at the opponent's shoulder, and was rewarded by a wounded yell and a spurt of blood.

The opponent buckled to his knees, and the crowd roared in a bloodthirsty frenzy.

14-Jun-2012 03:33:44 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:46:15 by Chosen Worf

Chosen Worf

Posts: 929 Gold Posts by user Forum Profile RuneMetrics Profile

"Is the contestant able to continue?" The announcer yelled over the furious din.

The knight stared at the ground, sweat beading on his face. His arm throbbed with pain, making him wince. Slowly, he grasped his helmet, and tore it off. The crowd volume intensified, realizing that he had forfeited.

In one of the more decorated stands, a woman in an extravagant dress stood, and waved for silence. The crowd quieted down almost instantly, respecting the lady of the realm.

"Congratulations to our champion!" The lady said, in a strong voice. "You have earned the title of Lord, and have proven your honor as a knight. Pray, take off your helmet, that we might see the face of our bravest knight!"

Alex bowed, then, lifting the helmet, shook out long, dark brown hair, a smile lifting her cheeks.

--- End ---

14-Jun-2012 03:34:23 - Last edited on 14-Jun-2012 03:48:03 by Chosen Worf

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