Short Story Metathread

[Jed1314 420]

Play nice. I'm still new to this

Posted my first actual creative writing effort on here now.. Lets see how it goes

On the recommendations of several (perhaps one or two ¬.¬) people, I have decided to start writing a series of short stories set in a fantasy universe. I will post the stories in sections as comments, and list the comment numbers, along with the story title here. That way, I don't make hundreds of posts, and lose context on the individual stories.

I will begin by posting a series of lore orientated appendices. These will not be particularly exciting, but are neccessary to set up the universe, and allow the reader to understand elements of the stories. (As short stories do not have the length to waste on conceptual introductions, your understanding will rely on your reading of these appendices). Feel free to post your own works in here also, I will list them in the OP under your name using the same system of post numbers as I will use. The post number will be indicated next to the title with #(post number)

Appendices

I - #2

II - #4

The Primal Saga

Crimson Dawn - #9

[Jed1314 420]

Appendix 1 - Primal Energy and The Primal Races

The original four Primal energies, water, fire, earth and air, are thought to be as old as the planet itself. However, their true origins are unknown and this is merely the speculation of scholars. The only remaining source of Primal Energy is presumed to be gemstones, as, to the best of our knowledge, no trace of “environmental†primals exists. All primal energies are balanced in pairs, each has a polar opposite. Fire opposes water, and earth air.

Despite the fact that there were originally four, another two came into existence at some point in the past. These final two were deeply powerful, capable of bending and shaping the chaotic old primals. Life and Death. One is responsible for the beginning of all sentient beings, the other, so the prophecies foretell, will be the end of us all.

The first to come were the elder races. A result of the fusion of life and the Primal energies. The Saxxus are the children of water, the Askandra of fire, the Ludurn of earth and the Caskari of air. Each of them possess the spark of life, but they are defined by their Primal.

The Saxxus are masters of the sea, building great yet elegant ships. Seafaring comes as naturally to them as breathing. They cannot drown, as they are beings of pure Water. However, they are as unpredictable as the sea they love so dearly, and are renowned for their deceptive nature and lack of loyalty to any, other than their own. As well as this, they are aloof, and believe the elder races superior to all others. They live in the cold islands to the north known as the Shining Isles, for their reflective glacial landscapes. They appear tall and elegant, with fair hair. They have a similar complexion to humans, but with a grey-blue tinge, as if suffering from hypothermia. Additionally, their skin is often covered with patches of thick scales. Their eyes are a deep blue.

Askandra are metalsmiths without equal. They work in forges held at a great temperature, which would doubtless kill any other being. For generations, they have worked as smiths, perfecting their art. There is no weapon greater, or more prized, than one forged by an Askandran smith. Their domain is the great desert to the East. Askandra are passionate beings, quick to anger if provoked, and deadly when roused to action. Their passion for smithing is matched only by their love of battle and war. Internal conflicts are common, although this is cultural and not in bad blood. Through years of hard labour and warfare, they have developed into strong, resilient creatures. Standing at the same height as men, they are far broader, with skin ranging from a red-brown to deep crimson. They do not have hair, instead their heads are covered with sharp spines which raise when they are angered. This, along with their sharp teeth and eyes as black as ink, makes the Askandra an intimidating race, not to be trifled with. Despite their warlike nature, their sense of honour is second to none, and they value their word above all else.

The children of earth, the Ludurn, are hulking behemoths. At eight feet, one would be considered short. They are broad and massively strong, capable of lifting great boulders and, if they were so inclined, crushing a man’s skull without so much as a thought. However, unlike their more ambitious brethren, the Ludurn have always been contented with a life of peace and shepherding their flocks of hardy mountain goats around their homes in the Gandara Highlands to the south. They have thick, grey skin, which is covered with a lichen that slowly feeds them energy when in sunlight. Their arms are unusually long, hanging below their knees, and they generally have hunched backs. Despite their calm nature, if their peaceful lifestyles or precious animals are threatened they can defend them with deadly force, masterfully wielding slings, which they use to throw rocks the size of a man’s head with pinpoint accuracy. Ludurn society is stable and rooted in tradition. Rarely does anything change, as they are more than happy to remain in this state of equilibrium.

The last of the elder races are the Caskari. They, more than any other race perhaps, embody the spirit of their Primal origins. Transient and migratory, the Caskari are also comparatively short lived, generally passing away before they have seen their fifth century. For a human this may seem a long time yet , to the other elder races, this would generally be middle age if even that. They appear fair skinned and petite, standing shorter than an average human, with dark hair and delicate features. As with all Elder races, they possess a distinctive eye colour, in this case a steely grey. They have no particular home, preferring to roam the continents and live a life free of any bindings or obligations. Every century, they come together for Jaktarr, a Caskari tradition designed to ensure the continuation of their race. When this happens, they will pick a mate and travel with them for as long as is required, until they produce offspring who have matured enough to travel alone. The family will then separate, and return to their life of solitary wandering. The Caskari are generally distrusted by other races, having garnered a reputation for thievery. This reputation is well earned as, while they are far weaker than other Elders, they possess a supernatural speed and dexterity, which many utilise in less than savoury industries.

Humans are a young race, by the elder’s standards. They are different from any other; unique in the world. They are beings of pure primal life. While they are not as strong as the Ludurn, nor as fast as the Caskari, not as skilled in warfare as the Askandra and not half the mariners that the Saxxus are, they have a skill that the elder races can only envy. As a being of pure life, they have the ability to bend the primal energies to their will. It is in this ability that humanities power lies.

[Teranz 37]

-snip-

You should write a book m8...

[Jed1314 420]

Appendix 2 - Humans and The Laws Of Pellomancy

A non story related curiosity, the term “Pellomancy†is of my own invention. It is a combination of “pello†- latin for push and “mancy†- an ancient greek suffix, used to describe something as divination. While this does not seem to make sense, I have aimed to evoke thoughts of Necromancy and other such things, which began as a form of divination, but has been expanded in popular culture to refer to the raising of the dead and use of malicious magic. So in this case, Pellomancy refers to the magic of pushing, which will be explained below..

The human race, while comparatively young, has still existed for many thousands of years. They were birthed into a world dominated by strange creatures, far more powerful than them in their technology and physiology. Initially, man did not know of their powers and were enslaved by the creatures, who we now refer to as the elder races. The tale of humanity's struggle for independence is one for another time, however, it is suffice to say they escaped their masters. During these difficult times Brachus, the first king of men, discovered mankind’s sole advantage against these powerful beings. He named it Pellomancy; the magic of pushing.

Pellomancy relies on man’s innate ability to unbind and shape the primal energy present in gems using their life energy as the catalyst. There are two distinct schools and, though there is no restriction on which one a person can use, the second is far more costly to the user. The first is called “The Way of Oneâ€, as it affects only the caster. This school is low risk and low cost, as it requires only the life energy to unbind the gems primal energy and, once the user has finished using the Primal, it will return to the gem. When they are unbound, the user may push energies around his body to achieve certain effects. They are characterised by the 4 primals, and are similar to the benefits experienced by the elder races for their primal nature. A pellomancer pushing fire into his body could boost his endurance and resilience as well as his strength, though to a lesser degree than a man pushing earth, resist inhuman amounts of heat and grow sharp spines at will, whereas the same pellomancer pushing earth would find he was significantly stronger, but far less endurant. Additionally, he would be able to thicken his skin to the point where it would deflect all but an Askandran blade and would be energised by the sun.

This low risk pellomancy is practiced by most every human. It is infinitely sustainable, presuming one has a gem, though it does require concentration for the inexperienced to maintain it. Very experienced practitioners can push two Primals, those who have devoted a lifetime to studying pellomancy may even be able to push three. There have even been a select few, Brachus being one, who were capable of pushing all four Primals simultaneously. The general populace is limited to The Way of The One, not because of law, but fear.

The second school is far more dangerous, but also far more powerful. Divine pellomancy. It has the ability to shape the world outside of the user, but at a cost. In order to project their pellomantic abilities, they must sacrifice some of their own life energy to bind the projection together. Great divine pushers have, in the past, changed the course of wars, singlehandedly defeated armies and decimated vast stretches of land. However, there has not been a pellomancer of such power for a millennia. They can achieve such power by releasing and binding then energy from hundreds, or possibly even thousands, of gems. However, once the energy is released and bound, it will never return to the gems, and they will shatter. A frequent divine pellomancer risks terrible suffering by depleting their life energy, as a human without this energy is left as a Wight, an undead shell, doomed to wander the earth until killed, unable to leave this plane of existence.

[Jed1314 420]

You should write a book m8...

A book is too ambitious for me right now

I'm just laying the groundwork for my short stories, they'll get a lot more interesting when I'm actually trying to write something which tells a compelling story, as opposed to a set of appendices which explain the setting I am writing in

[Teranz 37]

A book is too ambitious for me right now

I'm just laying the groundwork for my short stories, they'll get a lot more interesting when I'm actually trying to write something which tells a compelling story, as opposed to a set of appendices which explain the setting I am writing in

If i ever ready a book i skip the first few pages... XD

[Jed1314 420]

If i ever ready a book i skip the first few pages... XD

Oh dear

I am a big fan of reading. If I'm not on here in some capacity in the evening, I'll be reading

[Just_Another_Guy_:) 1,066]

the primal energies you choose remind me Avatar the last airbender (not the *cough*HORRIBLE*cough* movie, but the tv show). But other than that, i can't wait to see the actual histories and, if i'm ever inspired enough, i may write one of mines...

[Jed1314 420]

Crimson Dawn

The desert above had seemed unbearable when he had arrived, but compared to the oppressive, muggy heat down here in the mines, it was as cool and refreshing as an oasis. He struggled away, working with his partner Aurtaurus, slowly chipping away at the rock face before him. Cruel taskmasters carrying crueler whips patrolled behind them, eyes watching for any sign of laziness, or weakness. Not two days ago, they had flayed an old man he didn’t recognise for stopping his endless swinging of the pick. The women and children had not escaped either, they pulled the carts of iron back to the surface, or worked in the foundries pumping the bellows. It was a miserable existence. He could barely remember the green grass and heavy woodland of his distant homeland.
They had come bearing weapons of “metalâ€. He had been a hunter before, using spears and arrows of flint. This technology was new to him, and his people, and they feared it greatly. Some of the men had tried to fight. Their stone weapons bounced off the hard skin the masters wore to battle, and they were cut down in an instant. Any thoughts of resistance had long since fled the oppressed people. Every few weeks, another group of slaves would be deposited. People he did not recognise, even from the neighbouring valleys. The masters hands reached far.
Many of his people had passed since their abduction, only one season past. They were fed a watery gruel twice a day. Many of the older workers were so emaciated, you could almost see their bones through their thin, transparent skin.
“Concentrate ! We need to keep working, or they’ll flay us too !†Aurtaurus said in an urgent, hissing whisper. The taskmaster turned, but he had already begun swinging his hammer once more.
While they seemed to work almost constantly, there was the occasional moment of respite, when they slept or ate. This was one of those times. He could not tell what time or day it was, the sense of day and night was lost on all who worked down here. There was only working and resting. He turned to Aurtaurus, “Do you think we will ever leave this place ? Or are we doomed to die as slaves beneath the masters ?â€
“I do not know, but I … I doubt I will survive. You, you are young, and fit. There is still hope yet.†His voice sounded pained, yet the elder had clearly come to terms with his inevitable passing. He had been the leader of the village back home, his wisdom and fatherly nature were comforting, even in this most evil of places.
They finished their meals in silence, heading to their cots without saying a word. As he lay on the hard, wooden bed, he thought of his beautiful wife. Her screams as she was dragged away still haunted him, both in waking and while he slept. His anger burned, hot and black, like a coal from the forges, within his belly. The urge to cry out was almost irresistible. He was to blame for her abduction, perhaps if he had fought …. No, it was futile. They had been powerless to stop the masters. He had to live. He had to seek his vengeance against those who had so easily torn his world apart. He had to make them suffer.
His sleep had been short and restless. It did not bode well for the day to come. He trudged out of the sleeping quarters, grabbing a sledgehammer as he passed through the equipment room. He was still not fully awake until he reached his designated work station. He looked at his new teammate, a dark skinned man from some faraway place. They had worked together before, and he was an excellent partner. They did not speak the same language, but instead communicated through symbols, gesturing and furtive glances. He had gained one thing through his forced labour, his body, once relatively weak, was now powerful and muscular. In turn, the masters fed him better due to his productivity. He often shared these extra rations with those who needed them most, the old and the sick.
As he and the man, who he had dubbed “Furdaâ€, his peoples word for silent, chiseled away at the walls of the mine, a glint caught his eye. Was it iron ? The masters often rewarded teams who discovered new veins with extra rest, something which he desperately needed. Furda has obviously spotted it too, as he glanced at him then back to the rock wall. They sped up, working frantically to expose the vein. As the boulder they had been attacking broke free of the wall, their hope faded. Instead of iron, they were faced with an unfamiliar sight. In front of them was a small cluster of transparent red lumps. He turned to Furda, and gave him a questioning look. In reply, he raised his shoulders. Whatever these things were, he didn’t recognise them either.
He had decided to pry free one of the lumps. They looked beautiful in the light. In a strange way, that gave him hope. If something so wondrous could exist down here, in the heat and filth of the mine, perhaps he too could survive, and return to the valleys he so dearly missed. “What is freedom without your bride to share it ?†He could not escape his misery, even in times of hopefulness. He looked back at the red lump. He wondered what it was called. Did it even have a name ? He would call it “Rubyâ€, her name suited it well.

They ran through the forest, he led her by the hand. They were laughing. He was happy. Her face was radiant, glowing in the early morning light of the forest, the scent of dew filling the air. Everything about this moment just seemed so .. right. They heard a scream, followed by shouts of anger and confusion. They ran back towards the village, before they had even entered the clearing, they saw the smoke, thick and black, rising into the red sky. As they broke free of the trees, they saw the destruction before them. Men lay slaughtered, beasts were dragging those who weren’t dead off, throwing them down beside some kind of silver cage mounted on wheels. One of the creatures turned and saw them. His skin, reflective like the surface of a still pond, mirrored the destruction. He laughed. “Ruby, run !†He shouted to her, but it was too late. The beast was fast. Just as she had began to turn, he was on her, dragging her back towards the cages. His capture was swift. He could not leave her. Once they had gathered all the people they could find, the creatures began forcing the men into the cages. Ruby held him tightly. When they came to him, she gripped even harder. He was trembling. The huge creatures tore them apart easily. Ruby screamed and kicked. She shot her hand upwards, and found the creature’s eye. She forced her finger into it. The creature let out a terrifying howl. Grasping at its face, it dragged her off. She screamed and shouted for him, but he was powerless. The beast sat her upright and grabbed her neck. It pulled her spine from her body in a shower of gore. The sky was crimson that morning. A blood dawn for a day of blood. The man collapsed inside the cage.

He awoke with a start, he had been screaming in his sleep. The others in the quarters eyed him with suspicion. Aurtaurus shot him a look of sympathy. He had been there.
He began carrying the ruby with him as he worked. It was almost as it were supporting him, lending him the strength he needed to work on as he did. The heat no longer seemed so unbearable, the work no longer so taxing. “Hope is a powerful thing,†he mused to himself. In the past couple of days, the number of taskmasters had increased. They were pushing the slaves unusually hard. He felt something was amiss. They looked around often, as if watching for something, or someone. He ignored the concerns. They probably just needed more iron from the mines. He looked over at Aurtaurus. The old man was struggling now, he could see that. Despite giving him extra rations, he was still losing weight at an alarming rate. While before he had merely appeared frail, he now looked haggard and thin. He did not have long left. The day finally came a week later.
Aurtaurus had dropped the chisel. Too exhausted to hold it up to the rock face in front of him. It did not take long for one of the overseers to notice. He laughed, then shouted something at the old man in his guttural language. When the old man did not respond, the creature kicked him in the side. The crunch of bone breaking was audible from some distance away. Aurtaurus coughed up blood. The creature looked down, shaking his head. He raised his foot above the old man’s head. “Goodbye, old friend,†he said, looking away. He could not bear to watch.
The taskmasters rose them early. Why, he could not say. As they trudged out through the equipment racks, they were watched closely. Something was definitely happening, he had been right to worry. The day began in the normal manner. He was again paired with Furda, who he nodded to in a friendly greeting. As the hours wore on, he began to feel his sense of concern had, once again, been without merit. As if somebody had noticed this, a taskmaster walked by swiftly, not bothering to look at the slaves. It had looked fearful. He turned to look in the direction the creature had walked, to see a small procession of finely dressed beasts. The one whom he had previously established ran the mine was talking frantically to another of the creatures, who was dressed in even finer clothing. He looked closer. He recognised it. It was missing one eye. The tormented sleep, the death of his friends and family, his village burning, her screams as they dragged her away. It all came flooding into his mind. The anger, which once smoldered inside him now ignited. Rage overcame him, his entire body felt as if it was aflame. Suddenly, the mine felt cold. The weight of the sledge which he was holding seemed to vanish. He turned to the taskmaster behind him. With one hand he swung the hammer. As it connected, he felt bone shatter. The beast flew to one side and collapsed in a heap, blood trickling from its mouth. Furda turned and stared in disbelief. Everything stopped.
He heard the roar of the creatures down the hall, but his blood was still fire. He felt no fear, only the desire to kill. He turned to face down the corridor. The one eyed creature looked at him briefly, then gestured towards him and roared once more. The others advanced towards him sprinting, swords drawn. He charged forward recklessly and, as the first beast approached, planted his foot on one of their chests and jumped over them. Not breaking stride, he continued to head straight for his tormentor. It drew a long, heavy blade from within the robes, and took up a stance. As he reached it, he once again swung the hammer. He was no warrior though, and the strike was clumsy and predictable. It dodged the wild swing and went to strike a killing blow. Yet, somehow, he managed to recover and roll out of the way, the sword grazing past him sending sparks flying as it hit the ground. He stood again and unleashed a frenzied flurry of hammer blows. The beast deflected them all, yet it was visibly struggling. He had never thought himself to be this strong. Behind him, the other miners had turned on the remaining taskmasters. Using whatever they had to hand, picks, chisels, hammers and shovels, they were violently attacking the creatures. The mine was filled with the sounds of war and the smell of fresh blood.
His fight with the beast wore on, yet he did not tire. He dodged the creatures sword strokes time and time again. He swung the hammer once more. It caught the strike with the sword, just below where the head was fixed to the shaft. The head flew free at once. He was disarmed. Though fire still filled his very being, he felt a sense of dread begin to creep in. He crouched. “Ruby, I have failed you once before, this time I will fight,†he whispered to himself. The creature smiled. That same smile. He would not die a coward. He sprang up from the ground onto its chest. An expression of surprise flashed across its face before they both fell to the ground. He raised his arm to strike the beast. As he did so, several spikes began to jut out of his fist. He hit the creature in the face, it howled. Pulling his hand away for a second hit, he could already see the damage that had been done. He struck again, and again, and again. The pounding almost became rhythmic. He felt a touch on his shoulder. As he readied himself to attack once more, he turned to face his opponent. He was presented with Furda, bloodied chisel in hand. They had slain their oppressors.
He turned toward the survivors. “I am Brachus. My wife was taken from me, my friends and kinfolk slain. On this day, they have had but a taste of the vengeance that will be wrought upon those who have oppressed us. I pity those who stand in our way, for they will fall. We will take the suffering they brought us, and rain it tenfold upon their lands.†The survivors cheered, shouting his name. He walked to the end of the hall to escape the stench of blood. As he reached the end, he looked up the shaft, to the unfamiliar sky. It was dawn. A crimson dawn. A blood dawn for a day of blood.

[dukejuke 47]

well.......seems unecessary to ask i you could write a book now.......that was way better than many a long detailed novel i have read