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AGOD: A Storm of Darkness - Chapters 4/5

Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:25:08 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
I've added some more world building this time. I've also changed my writing style to suit
the scale I'm going for.

Fingertree
/Fin-gur-tri/

Noun. Plural: Fingertrees

1. A yellow leafed tree shaped like the five fingers of a human hand. Named after the
paintings of Prince Daltonian the sixth, who first noticed the odd shape of the trees
when he went horse riding in the south.

2. A mythical creature that hides underground, tangled in the roots of trees, curling
around like fingers.

Hungerwolven
/Hun-gur-woolven/

Noun. Plural: Hungerwolves/ Hungerwolvens

1. A breed of wolvens kept by the house of Bench. Traditionally raised to help soldiers
fight during the Great War of the Houses. Now, they have gone extinct, the last of the
wolvens were seen in A.D. 987.

Verb

1. To drink vehemently. To devour and consume to no satisfaction.
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:27:23 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
Chapter 4

Snap.

He turned around, his feet scuttled on the solid soil. He was disorientated and confused. Where was he? What was he doing here? Sweat drenched his white tunic, something he usually wore before sleeping. Something wasn't right about his body, his hands, or his feet. They were... almost invisible.

He examined the trees around him, noticing that it was indeed night. The trees. They were Fingertrees. Their outstretched red branches tried to grapple anything in its path. Spread on its arms were the yellow fruits that were its leaves.

Very peculiar. No such trees should be near the palace.

The palace.

Altar shook himself, trying not to remember. But memories of the squire's deformed face attacked his mind anyway. The red viscous liquid oozing and pooling on the sand beside the boy. The thrill he felt. The joy.

Repulsed, he tried focusing his attention at the dark areas under the trees. He could hardly see anything. Except for what he imagined lurked inside the shadows.

From behind, a bush rustled.

He spun around. There, crawling out of the black shadows of the trees, were salivating Hungerwolvens. A special breed only kept by the Benches. Their salivating jaws and sleepless red eyes gave Altar more than just fear. He wanted to run, but any move he made meant the wolvens could too.

Then, the youngest looking one, a mere pup with half an ear and so skinny that you could see its sharp ribs poking out, came forward. One grey furred paw at a time. The fear grew in Altar.

It came closer.

Altar felt sweat trickle down on his neck.

And closer.

Altar couldn't stand it anymore. He sprinted, away from the wolves, into the dark forest. The red branches grabbed at him as he plowed through. He heard the wolvens growl, a sound like a grown man belching out his meal. Their howls seemed to come from the sky, as if directly from the moon above.

Above? What is that? Is that the sun or the moon?

But Altar couldn't look again. Whatever the purple thing was, the hungerwolves behind him were far more important. And they occupied his mind as twigs, plants and cobwebs broke apart while he ran.

They were catching up.

One of the wolvens, a big mean one the size of a child horse, tackled Altar. He rolled into the sharp thorns of a bush, bringing the wild beast with him. All Altar could see for awhile was a white colour, and then with a heave, the wolf flew backwards into a tree.

How did that happen?

Before Altar could guess how he lifted a wolf weighing more than 5 sacks of sand, another one bit into his shoulder. He expected to scream, to throttle with pain. Instead, he felt nothing, and quickly took the wolf by its pelt and then slammed it into another wolf.

He was sweating. Breathing fast.

Despite his superstrengths, Altar could still feel fear and it made his heart race. He swerved around, anticipating the next wolf. He shouted, "Come on. Come at me!" But his words were muffled, like a distant echo. A thought in his head more than an actual voice.

Out of the trees, more of them came. Crawling like spiders. Slow, methodical. Each a different shade of grey. Altar prepared to beat them with the torchlight he held.

Torchlight?

He looked down, and suddenly, in his right hand was a torchlight the length of a sword. It was as if he carried it the entire time.

"Bloody hell of Usurper," he muttered. This time his voice crystallized. His senses were regaining and the world seemed thicker. The air, heavier.

Without warning, triggered by Altar's sudden remark, the wolvens lunged at him. There were about a dozen to the right. And then a dozen to the left. Altar almost screamed as he was attacked. He flailed the torchlight all around him. Hitting and scorching a wolven to death, beating the skull of another, and then burning their flesh until the torchlight skewered right through their chest.

Altar stopped and stared at the wolf he impaled. It was quickly burning charcoal black, its eyes wide open in terror and its mouth ajar as its tongue stuck out. It was dead.

Altar threw the carcass away from him, backing away in horror. Horror at what he had just done. The squire came into his mind once more.

Monster, a voice spoke to him.
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:28:01 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
"Monster."

What Altar had thought was his own voice was actually the voice of another. Startled, he turned around, and from behind the tall trunk of a Fingertree, a man emerged. Dark skinned like the colour of a bark of oak. An Apaxi tribesman. The one he killed in the Apaxi conquest. Just like the hundreds more he had killed in the war.

"Monster." He said again, stepping into the moonlight. Altar could now see the man clearly and it made him jolt. The man was not a man at all. His eyes were colourless, with no pupils. His skin was rotten, bluish and bits were falling off. What he resembled was more of a walking corpse.

A zombie.

Altar tried to run, his feet shuffled on the soil. But as he faced the other way, another one emerged from the trees. This time, it was the one he had tortured, back in the palace chambers underground. The messenger for the Lord of Darkness. His eyes were rotten, decaying, blood oozed out if his eye sockets like an overfilled cup of wine.

Altar cried out. He screamed as he walked backwards and tripped on a bulging tree root. His sweaty palms grabbed at the grass on the ground frantically as he pushed his body away from the thing.

He suddenly felt cold air blow behind his back. As if he was in an open clearing, with no trees for cover.

"Altar." Another voice said behind him. He turned his head around at breakneck speed, eyes wide in horror. The voice was familiar. A female voice.

"Altar." The woman said, sitting on top of a golden leaf, floating on an open expanse of water. Altar saw in front of him the shore of a pond, his hands dug into wet mud. She was only twenty feet away from him.

Altar was speechless, his head spun as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Tried to reason to himself. Then, he finally uttered, "Lysha..."

He spoke louder to her.

"Lysha! H- how? How is this possible? You're supposed to be dead!" His voice was thick with forgotten emotion as he laid his eyes on the face of his wife. Her beautiful raven dreadlocks and green sparkling eyes. His Lysha. Beautiful dead Lysha.

He reached out to her, hand above the pond, his old grim face reflected in the shallow water. But covered in mist, his beautiful wife was far away. And fear kept Altar at bay. Fear that what he saw was an illusion. That the woman was not Lysha, but a fake.

"Lysha my dear..." He said, mournful. But the woman only stared back with a stoic expression. Her wide green eyes gave Altar a certain uncomfortable chill. Then she spoke to him. And her voice. Her voice. It was the most chilling sound Altar had heard. A mix of voices from a thousand dead men and on top of that, his wife's high pitched tone.

"You killed those men."

The fear made Altar sink into the mud. He felt unable to move. Unable to shout, scream or even turn his head.

"Lysha I don't under-"

"You killed those men. Like they were nothing to you."

Altar still didn't understand. Then, from the sides, he could hear the zombies again. He looked at the approaching decaying corpses. And then looked back at Lysha. He understood now.

"These men were against the kingdom." Altar said, pleading her. "They were dangers to the law."

"You mean these men too?" Out of the trees surrounding Altar, dozens of zombies emerged. Squires. Their cheap tunics were torn and ripped. Their rotten mouths wide open, tongues hanging out. Coming out like ants, pushing each other as they slowly walked towards Altar.

Altar was losing his mind. "Please. Lysha. These men broke the law. They deserved their punishment!"

"And this is your punishment."

The zombies kept pouring out of the woods, getting closer and closer. They moaned like dying cattle. Three of them came within reach of Altar. He cried out, staggering backwards and then falling into the pond.

SPLASH!

Altar thrashed around, trying to get away from the horror. But the zombies didn't come any closer, as if not daring to touch the water. He looked up at his wife, kneeling on the riverbed, his entire lower body submerged.

"Lysha, please. It was for honour. I killed those men because it was my sworn duty." His voice was hoarse.
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:29:00 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
Why is she doing this? What did I ever do to her?

Lysha's green eyes glinted with tears. "You didn't save me Altar. That was your sworn duty. You let me die." She said the words with respite.

Altar looked at her with sad guilty eyes. He trudged through the water, trying to get to his wife. He didn't care if she was an illusion. He needed to talk to her face to face.

"Lysha..." His voice was choked with emotion. "I'm sorry... Please, forgive me."

"You weren't there for me." Her face was painful to watch. Tears streaked her cheeks and her eyes showed a deep longing sadness. She sat, balanced, on the giant leaf, still and unmoving.

Altar broke down, tears flowed and he didn't stop them. Sobbing, he met his wife's eyes. The green sparkle had disappeared... replaced with something grey and dead.

He reached out to hug her. To tell her that everything was going to be okay. But she fell away from him. Dropping backwards into the water. Altar shouted after her, trying to catch her. But he fell with her. The water splashed as the two of them sinked.

The water was strangely shallow.

Altar felt the riverbed underneath rise. A body emerged underneath him and Altar resisted the urge to scream.

He scrambled away in total fear. Pushing himself away from the dead corpse of the boy.

Away from the dead Prince of Daltonia.

His back hit the feet of a person. He looked up and saw a squire staring back with eyeless sockets. His bruised face appalled Altar and the disgusting cuts across the squire's lips and nose made the insides of Altar churn.

"You're a monster." It said to him, the words stretched out into long vowels and muffled by the swellings on its face. But his voice was still recognizable to Lord Altar.

It was the boy he beat to near death in the arena.

The squire named Jibber.

But Altar didn't want to see its face again. he crouched low into the shallow water, blocking his ears with his palms, shaking.

Wanting for it all to stop. The madness.

The pond had seemed to change into a vast endless ocean and he was alone. But the squire was still there.

"Monster. Monster. Monster."

"Stop!" Altar screamed, squishing his ears further. In front of him, Lysha and Edward appeared again, climbing out of the water like it was a sheet of ice. They were on top of the water, walking towards Altar with ease.

He wanted to run. But there was no where to hide. Nothing to do but to sit and hope they go away. The monsters in his head.

Then, Lysha spoke. "You let me die in childbirth Altar. You watched me wither away. Those cold, cold eyes. All you ever wanted was the baby."

Altar looked up at her in anger and frustration. He blurted out, "that isn't true! I always loved you. I never wanted you to leave. You weren't supposed to die. You were supposed to be a mother!" But his voice came out like a plea anyway.

"And you were glad weren't you!?" Lysha continued. "You were glad I was gone because that meant no one could know you slept with a whore!"

That hurt Altar. In the midst of the walking corpses, the only feeling he felt was hurt and betrayal. But deep down he knew, it was guilt that he was feeling. Guilt that he wanted her gone. That it was all true what she had said.

Prince Edward cried tears out of eyeless sockets, "Where's my mommy?" He wailed louder. "Where's my mommy? Why can't I see her? Why did you do this to me?"

Altar had no words, tears came to his eyes.

"Monster," the squire repeated.

"Monster," his wife echoed.

The ocean became the pond again. Altar could hear the zombie herd shouting at him.

"Monster, monster, monster," the zombies chimed with the two. Repeating the word over and over again. Altar felt sick.

"Stop!" He yelled, his voice choking again. "Please! Stop! I beg of you all!"

They didn't stop. The words kept coming, hammering Altar again and again until he broke completely.

"STOP!" He howled at the zombies, at Prince Edward, at Lysha. At the squire.

Enough is enough. When will this hell end?

Please. Please. Please.

Stop.
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:29:57 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
Chapter 5

He woke up sweating, breathless and fatigued. The room was chilled, the windows to his right had water vapour condensed and dripping on the windowsills where the red curtains were wet. Beyond the window, it seemed there was a snow storm, blowing furiously at the thick walls of the room. A fireplace crackled in front of him and he felt the heat on his skin.

Lord Altar shuddered from the nightmare. What did I see? Why? He couldn't answer his half formed questions. He vaguely remembered seeing his wife's beautiful face and then the face of an ugly dead squire.

He felt a warm hand touch his left shoulder, massaging him. A voice whispered beside the bed he sat up on. He heard the white sheets move and the woman who laid with him now had her face leaning on his back. The wounds burned a little. But he did not mind. He had worse wounds in the past.

"Another nightmare?" The Queen, Gina Crescent of House Loria, asked him as her head rested on his shoulder. Her long brown hair slid across Altar's arm, it felt smooth.

"Yes..." He said, pausing. He didn't want to tell her, but he didn't want her worried. "I dreamt of Lysha." He said, looking at her eye to eye. It was a tense moment, but the Queen spoke finally.

"Do you dream of her often?" There was no worry in her tone. Just a question. A curiosity. Altar had to believe that.

"No. This is the first." he slid back into the blankets, facing the Queen.

"We can't do this for long," he said. Her reaction was painful to watch. "I'm sorry my Queen. But you are a widow and so am I. But you can only be wedded to one who belongs to your house. I am not a Loria. The gods would not forgive us for this." Queen Gina turned slightly, staring at the ceiling.

"I don't care for the gods. Not anymore." Her tone was shockingly nonchalant. Altar propped himself on his elbow.

"Why would you say that my Queen? You are the most pious of all in this kingdom. Do you not care if the gods will punish you?" Altar was serious. He, like almost all the Bluesteels, were religious in their upbringing. The exception being his bastard son, Adamus.

"The gods can punish me for all they like," the Queen defied. "They took my son away from me." Her blue eyes stared at Altar. "I shall never forgive them for that." Her stark, dead, tone gave Altar a chill. He should tell her shouldn't he? He should tell her that he saw Edward in his dreams. To cover up the hidden truth, Altar asked a question concerning something else.

"Why me, my Queen? I beat the squire until I was sure I had broken his nose. In that arena, I disgraced myself in front of you. Dishonored you. So why sleep with me?" The question had her puzzled, Altar could see that.

"Are you not telling me something Altar?" Oh no. How could she have... ? "You know why Altar. I've been sleeping alone for almost five winters now. My bedside is cold every day I wake up. There is no one to share my stories to. There is no one to carry the burden I carry as Queen. There is no one to cry with as I look out the windows and witness a city that is crumbling apart." Her eyes were wet. "I crave company. And I also love you Altar."

Yes. And so do I. But there is no mistake that I do not deserve you. I do not deserve you because I...

"... I saw Edward." He said, voice low. "This isn't the first time."

The Queen looked saddened, her eyes drooped low. "It's ok Altar. It wasn't your fault."

"But it was. I failed to protect your son."

The Queen forced a smile. Her thin lips made her look even sadder. She turned away from him. "Go to sleep Altar. You have a meeting tomorrow."

Altar did as he was told. He slid in under the sheets. And he stared at the bare back of the Queen. There were scars there. Scars of abuse from her dead husband. The bastardous King.

Altar couldn't tell if she was crying. But every so often, he would hear the slight sound of her ragged breathing in the dark.

He could not sleep.

__________________________________
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:30:51 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
He walked through the dimly lit halls. Morning had come, but the damn storm was still blowing furiously. The windows to his right showed the same dark skies and heavy snowfall as the night before. Altar passed three torchlights before finally coming upon a wooden door. He turned the gold knob and entered.

The room was as fresh as lavender. The old council room, once burned during the night of the raid, was now stocked with new furniture made from Fingerwood mixed with Birch. The round table was as wide as the last one, polished, and smooth with wax. The air was a little chilly, but the fireplace to the left of the room had already been lit, the flames crackled with a soft peacefulness that Alar had missed. It was good to be back.

Altar walked over to his seat at the far end of the room. He sat down on the sturdy armchair, and set his paperworks down. The scrolls and tomes he had brought from his cabinet were laid out in front of him on the table. He scanned them, noticing that the palace debt to the Diamond Banks were increasing. Damn Illiquiria for setting a deadline. He checked the other papers. Old deposits from dead Lords, paying the Queen pension. Some documents of recruits wanting to join the Royal army. A foolish endeavour. But necessary. Altar thought he heard a man's voice. But ignored it, looking through more tedious documents.

A thump. The table shook. Altar was curious. A cat under the desk? He stooped down and then quickly jumped out of his chair.

"Blood hell of usurper!" He cried out as two men emerged from the table. One of them, a young blonde lad, rubbing his head, was fully naked. Altar pulled his eyes away and stared at the other dark skinned man, naked as well. It was bloody Lord Winston.

"Um..." the young lad said. He bowed down, head sunk low. "I apologize for this indecency my lord!" Altar recognized his voice. It was the squire who helped him with his armour the day of the arena.

"Go." Altar said to him. The squire looked up, wide eyed. Then he fled the room, shutting the door loudly. Altar saw on the floor, the squire's forgotten clothes. Lord Winston was busy pulling his woollen pants up and tying the drawstring.

"I told you to keep your personal affairs out of the council Winston." Altar said as he sat back in his armchair. He sighed. "This isn't the first time I"ve caught you f*cking a poor boy in this room."

"It couldn't be helped," Winton said, smiling apologetically. "I was working late last night when I heard a knock on the door."

"I could have you hanged for unnatural acts under the kingdom you know?" Altar said, examining the documents on the table once more.

"But you won't." Winston said, frank. "There are no laws against queer acts."

"Yes, and there's also the problem that I don't lynch my council friends." Altar said, looking through the papers again. Winston stood silent for a moment, apparently surprised Altar would consider him a friend. Of course he wasn't a real friend. It was curtesy.

"Should I leave Altar? The meeting doesn't start until an houre." he asked him.

"No. Stay. I need reports on the current issues since my leave."

"The four days since the battle?" Winston asked, scratching his chin. Was he taunting Altar? Or was it simple curiosity?

"Yes."

"Right then." Winston took a seat on the left side of Altar. "Where to begin?"

"Tell me about the Lord of darkness." Altar said, not looking up from the papers.

"Hmm..." Winston stared at an adjacent wall. "Yes. Well, there's been several reports of him tinkering with towns in the north. My ravens tell me he's been to Gullhorn, Riverwood, the villages of Rind, Moonwar and countless other small towns."

"Gullhorn?" Altar looked up. "What's he doing in all these towns?"

"That's why I said he's been 'tinkering' with them. From my little crows, I hear he's burned down villages, forcing people to take up a new religion. Praying to a new god. I didn't get a name. My ravens were too terrified to stay and find out."

"God of Bluesteel." Altar murmured, praying to his own god. He put his face in his hands. Winston nodded sympathetically. "What else? Is there any town he hasn't yet brought his disease?"

"Yes. My crows from the Illiquiran mountains and Dorgon say he has yet to visit there. He may be powerful but the strongholds of Illiquira are impenetrable. I've heard rumours saying he is born of magic though. Do you believe that?"

"No." Magic did not dwell in this realm. The gods had forbidden it, as written in the scriptures.

Winston stretched his arms. "Able to touch men without actually being near them," he crooned. "That's an ability I wish I had."

Altar did not laugh. "Why has he not touched Dorgon?" he asked. "Is that not the homeland of the Apaxis? It would be barely any effort for him and his crew to conquer their lands."

"They have a new Queen I hear," Winston replied. "The whispers that my ravens have picked up on say they've gained a powerful army. Not human. I am unsure of what they are."

Altar nodded slowly, taking it all in. The rumours would be dangerous. If too much fear of the Lord of Darkness's powers spread throughout Daltonia, much of the peasants and commoners would flee to the south, bringing along their valuables and the entire economy in their pockets.

"Send one of your 'ravens' to the farmlands in the north." Altar said, turning back to the paperworks in front of him. "Spread a message saying the Gods will protect its people from the Lord of Darkness. Tell them the High Cecillians say so."
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:32:48 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
"As you wish."

"Is there any more news?" Altar asked. As always, life as a council leader was busy.

"I'm enforcing a special program for tighter regulation on rape among the peasants." Winston said. He waited for an effect. Altar did not say anything.

Rape is normal. Why should I care?

Winston rolled his eyes in frustration. "We're not all idiots Altar. I know you think we are. But we do have brains. If we keep letting anyone be able to f*ck anybody, we're going to have mass increases in women giving birth and more bastards. Not only that, women won't feel safe knowing they might get raped in the night, so they're going to bar themselves indoors. Men are going to roam the night, go to more pubs and drink more often. We get more drunk men, probably even more violence. Then, we're left with a city being overturned by drunk rapists."

"I don't buy that argument."

"Gods sake Altar, it was a joke. Order and peace is always good for a city. I'm sending more men to patrol the streets. I've also set up some preachers to walk down streets, protected by guards. They'll convince everyone that raping is a sin."

"Yet in the scriptures it isn't." Altar replied. Winston's program wasn't convincing. it didn't seem necessary at all. Why waste men in patrolling the streets, when they could be guarding the kingdom borders? Or barring the palace gates in case of a second raid?

"Yes. in the scriptures it most definitely isn't." Winston echoed. "But other than that, the only news worth noting is an 'angry' miner in the south, at The Gathering. You know, the one near Thornes. He's a buff miner, with one arm. Kind of attractive really."

"Mikal." Altar said, solemn.

"Yeah, Fendal Mikal. He's been causing a ruckus lately, getting in bar fights and all that. But get this. There's been reports of an unidentified crippled mercenary, killing rich lords in the south for a good pay. They call the mercenary, 'Fullhand'. I find it quite ironic. It's apparently a metaphor. One who can shoulder the burdens of everyone."

Altar was quiet for a moment. He stared at the clutter of papers, holding one of the documents. Mikal was a good friend. An honorable man. But why did he choose to become something so vile as a mercenary? Something so unlawful?

Monster.

Shut up. I'm not a monster. I may have given the order to have his arm amputated. But he broke the law. And he sinned.

Monster.

Altar shook his head. He looked up at Winston, who was quiet and contemplative as always. He must be thinking the same thing. Remembering when Altar beat the squire to near death.

"Winston..." Altar began. "Who do you think is the mole in the council?" Winston glowered. Perhaps because he assumed Altar was suspicious of him.

"I don't think there's a mole."

"What?"

"It's unlikely. The Queen is thorough in her selection. Besides, who would actually put himself through the pain and chore of council meetings just to eventually support egalitarianism? Which, mind you, I think is the worst idea of government." Winston replied, voice smooth.

"Egalitarianism is not a form of government Winston. It's a social doctrine."

"Ah, you see Altar, you still think us council members fools. Do you really think the Lord of Darkness is going to sit around whilst people proudly claim their independence? No. He wants control. It's a social doctrine, yes. But it's also a political doctrine. There has to be someone there to make sure it's being followed, no?"

"I see what you mean Winston. But back to what you were saying before you got evidently distracted. You said it was unlikely that there was a mole in the council. How can this be? They intercepted the escape route when I tried to flee with the Queen. I had told no one about the secret passageway nor did anyone know I was escorting the Queen away."

"Escorting the Queen?" Winston asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She agreed to flee. And it was necessary." Altar replied. A spark of anger was lit inside him. But he hid it.

"There is no mole Altar. Just... trust me." Winston said. His voice faltered a little. Suspicious. Why was he so adamant on there being no mole in the council? Winston got up from his chair and nodded his head slightly to Altar.

"I should get changed. My clothes are filthy." He told Altar. Winston walked towards the door. "I'll be back in an houre or so. In time for the meeting."

"Wait, Winston."

Winston stopped and turned his head. Altar sat, thoughtful for a moment. Are you the mole? He wanted to ask.

"No. It's nothing. Don't be late." Altar said eventually. Winston smiled a little. He opened the door and left, shutting the door gently.

Suspicious. Everyone was suspicious. Who can I trust? The Queen? Altar agreed with himself. She was the only one he truly trusted. And he would protect the Queen with his life. Protect her from any and all harm.

I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes.

__________________________________
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Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 4:54:14 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
To those I promised would appear in this arc, don't worry I haven't forgotten.
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mishapqueen
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3/25/2015 9:36:26 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/25/2015 4:54:14 AM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
To those I promised would appear in this arc, don't worry I haven't forgotten.

Great job! The dream sequence was extremely well done.
You cannot choose whether or not you will live by rules, but you can choose which rules you will live by. --Me

"I was wrong. Squirrels are objectively superior to bunnies in every conceivable dimension."
--Joey

"Silence is golden, duct tape is silver" --PetersSmith

Nunc aut Numquam
Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 10:03:55 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/25/2015 9:36:26 AM, mishapqueen wrote:
At 3/25/2015 4:54:14 AM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
To those I promised would appear in this arc, don't worry I haven't forgotten.

Great job! The dream sequence was extremely well done.

Thanks!
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PetersSmith
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3/25/2015 10:13:34 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
Empress of DDO (also Poll and Forum "Maintenance" Moderator)

"The two most important days in your life is the day you were born, and the day you find out why."
~Mark Twain

"Wow"
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"Don't believe everything you read on the internet just because there's a picture with a quote next to it."
~Abraham Lincoln

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EndarkenedRationalist
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3/25/2015 9:21:35 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/25/2015 4:27:23 AM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
Chapter 4

Snap.

Crackle. Pop. Rice Krispies.

He turned around, his feet scuttled on the solid soil. He was disorientated and confused. Where was he? What was he doing here? Sweat drenched his white tunic, something he usually wore before sleeping. Something wasn't right about his body, his hands, or his feet. They were... almost invisible.

A ghost?

He examined the trees around him, noticing that it was indeed night. The trees. They were Fingertrees. Their outstretched red branches tried to grapple anything in its path. Spread on its arms were the yellow fruits that were its leaves.

Very peculiar. No such trees should be near the palace.

The palace.

Altar shook himself, trying not to remember. But memories of the squire's deformed face attacked his mind anyway. The red viscous liquid oozing and pooling on the sand beside the boy. The thrill he felt. The joy.

Well, it beats a 3-eyed raven.
Wait.
What?
Sadist!

Repulsed, he tried focusing his attention at the dark areas under the trees. He could hardly see anything. Except for what he imagined lurked inside the shadows.

From behind, a bush rustled.

He spun around. There, crawling out of the black shadows of the trees, were salivating Hungerwolvens. A special breed only kept by the Benches. Their salivating jaws and sleepless red eyes gave Altar more than just fear. He wanted to run, but any move he made meant the wolvens could too.

Oh, so they can't move unless you do. Got it.

Then, the youngest looking one, a mere pup with half an ear and so skinny that you could see its sharp ribs poking out, came forward. One grey furred paw at a time. The fear grew in Altar.

It came closer.

Altar felt sweat trickle down on his neck.

And closer.

Altar couldn't stand it anymore. He sprinted, away from the wolves, into the dark forest. The red branches grabbed at him as he plowed through. He heard the wolvens growl, a sound like a grown man belching out his meal. Their howls seemed to come from the sky, as if directly from the moon above.

You messed up now.

Above? What is that? Is that the sun or the moon?

But Altar couldn't look again. Whatever the purple thing was, the hungerwolves behind him were far more important. And they occupied his mind as twigs, plants and cobwebs broke apart while he ran.

They were catching up.

One of the wolvens, a big mean one the size of a child horse, tackled Altar. He rolled into the sharp thorns of a bush, bringing the wild beast with him. All Altar could see for awhile was a white colour, and then with a heave, the wolf flew backwards into a tree.

How did that happen?

Good question.

Before Altar could guess how he lifted a wolf weighing more than 5 sacks of sand, another one bit into his shoulder. He expected to scream, to throttle with pain. Instead, he felt nothing, and quickly took the wolf by its pelt and then slammed it into another wolf.

He was sweating. Breathing fast.

Despite his superstrengths, Altar could still feel fear and it made his heart race. He swerved around, anticipating the next wolf. He shouted, "Come on. Come at me!" But his words were muffled, like a distant echo. A thought in his head more than an actual voice.

Out of the trees, more of them came. Crawling like spiders. Slow, methodical. Each a different shade of grey. Altar prepared to beat them with the torchlight he held.

Torchlight?

He looked down, and suddenly, in his right hand was a torchlight the length of a sword. It was as if he carried it the entire time.

What is happening?

"Bloody hell of Usurper," he muttered. This time his voice crystallized. His senses were regaining and the world seemed thicker. The air, heavier.

Without warning, triggered by Altar's sudden remark, the wolvens lunged at him. There were about a dozen to the right. And then a dozen to the left. Altar almost screamed as he was attacked.

Lol. Nah, man, 24 wolvens isn't scream-worthy.

He flailed the torchlight all around him. Hitting and scorching a wolven to death, beating the skull of another, and then burning their flesh until the torchlight skewered right through their chest.

Altar stopped and stared at the wolf he impaled. It was quickly burning charcoal black, its eyes wide open in terror and its mouth ajar as its tongue stuck out. It was dead.

Altar threw the carcass away from him, backing away in horror. Horror at what he had just done. The squire came into his mind once more.

Monster, a voice spoke to him.

Nah, the wolvens were trying to kill -
Oh. You meant the squire, didn't you?
You're still bad-a$$ though.
EndarkenedRationalist
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3/25/2015 9:25:43 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/25/2015 4:28:01 AM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
"Monster."

What Altar had thought was his own voice was actually the voice of another. Startled, he turned around, and from behind the tall trunk of a Fingertree, a man emerged. Dark skinned like the colour of a bark of oak. An Apaxi tribesman. The one he killed in the Apaxi conquest. Just like the hundreds more he had killed in the war.

Oh. He ate the shrooms.
Wait. Weren't there still another 20 wolvens around?


"Monster." He said again, stepping into the moonlight. Altar could now see the man clearly and it made him jolt. The man was not a man at all. His eyes were colourless, with no pupils. His skin was rotten, bluish and bits were falling off. What he resembled was more of a walking corpse.

A zombie.

A WHITE WALKER

Altar tried to run, his feet shuffled on the soil. But as he faced the other way, another one emerged from the trees. This time, it was the one he had tortured, back in the palace chambers underground. The messenger for the Lord of Darkness. His eyes were rotten, decaying, blood oozed out if his eye sockets like an overfilled cup of wine.

Altar cried out. He screamed as he walked backwards and tripped on a bulging tree root. His sweaty palms grabbed at the grass on the ground frantically as he pushed his body away from the thing.

He suddenly felt cold air blow behind his back. As if he was in an open clearing, with no trees for cover.

"Altar." Another voice said behind him. He turned his head around at breakneck speed, eyes wide in horror. The voice was familiar. A female voice.

"Altar." The woman said, sitting on top of a golden leaf, floating on an open expanse of water. Altar saw in front of him the shore of a pond, his hands dug into wet mud. She was only twenty feet away from him.

Thought you used shields to measure brah.

Altar was speechless, his head spun as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. Tried to reason to himself. Then, he finally uttered, "Lysha..."

He spoke louder to her.

"Lysha! H- how? How is this possible? You're supposed to be dead!" His voice was thick with forgotten emotion as he laid his eyes on the face of his wife. Her beautiful raven dreadlocks and green sparkling eyes. His Lysha. Beautiful dead Lysha.

Ewwww.

He reached out to her, hand above the pond, his old grim face reflected in the shallow water. But covered in mist, his beautiful wife was far away. And fear kept Altar at bay. Fear that what he saw was an illusion. That the woman was not Lysha, but a fake.

"Lysha my dear..." He said, mournful. But the woman only stared back with a stoic expression. Her wide green eyes gave Altar a certain uncomfortable chill. Then she spoke to him. And her voice. Her voice. It was the most chilling sound Altar had heard. A mix of voices from a thousand dead men and on top of that, his wife's high pitched tone.

O_o
*listen closely*

"You killed those men."

The fear made Altar sink into the mud. He felt unable to move. Unable to shout, scream or even turn his head.

"Lysha I don't under-"

"You killed those men. Like they were nothing to you."

Altar still didn't understand. Then, from the sides, he could hear the zombies again. He looked at the approaching decaying corpses. And then looked back at Lysha. He understood now.

"These men were against the kingdom." Altar said, pleading her. "They were dangers to the law."

"You mean these men too?" Out of the trees surrounding Altar, dozens of zombies emerged. Squires. Their cheap tunics were torn and ripped. Their rotten mouths wide open, tongues hanging out. Coming out like ants, pushing each other as they slowly walked towards Altar.

Altar was losing his mind. "Please. Lysha. These men broke the law. They deserved their punishment!"

Nah. Lysha's anti-death penalty.


"And this is your punishment."

Nope. Never mind.


The zombies kept pouring out of the woods, getting closer and closer. They moaned like dying cattle. Three of them came within reach of Altar. He cried out, staggering backwards and then falling into the pond.

SPLASH!

Altar thrashed around, trying to get away from the horror. But the zombies didn't come any closer, as if not daring to touch the water. He looked up at his wife, kneeling on the riverbed, his entire lower body submerged.

"Lysha, please. It was for honour. I killed those men because it was my sworn duty." His voice was hoarse.
Adam_Godzilla
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3/25/2015 9:27:38 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/25/2015 9:21:35 PM, EndarkenedRationalist wrote:
At 3/25/2015 4:27:23 AM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
Chapter 4

Lol, thanks for the commentary :)
New episode of OUTSIDERS: http://www.debate.org...
Episode 4 - They walk among us
DarthKirones
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3/26/2015 12:26:01 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
Such emotions.

First of all, I really liked how you defined two things in your story before it even began. It's very unique as I have never seen it before.

Second, I loved all the emotion. It felt... Human. I was excited and terrified. I was happy and sad. But it wasn't me, it was Altar. I felt his emotions, his emotions became my emotions. I felt his guilt, his agony, his denial and his humiliation. The story builds a bridge, and the other side is the reader. i am invested in the story. I want more! Excellent job on that.

My only small criticism is that the thoughts are indistinguishable from the baseline story.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes."

That is the original piece of text. It may be interpreted as just part of the story, rather than a thought. This is what it could be.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes"

This is clearly a thought, it's personal to a specific, much more than just another general part of the story.

But that is my only problem. Great work!

DarthKirones
"I am not religious. I am a genius. I have the Universe in my hands."
-Aerogant

"Of course a jewish baby cannibalizing a jewish mommy is fine"
-Heil being retarded

"Eradicating the baby scourge from our midsts is most certainly fun. And I am proud to be your hero. Babies tremble then they hear my name.. Airmax, the hero of baby annihilation."
-Airmax
Adam_Godzilla
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3/26/2015 8:37:50 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/26/2015 12:26:01 PM, DarthKirones wrote:
Such emotions.

First of all, I really liked how you defined two things in your story before it even began. It's very unique as I have never seen it before.

Second, I loved all the emotion. It felt... Human. I was excited and terrified. I was happy and sad. But it wasn't me, it was Altar. I felt his emotions, his emotions became my emotions. I felt his guilt, his agony, his denial and his humiliation. The story builds a bridge, and the other side is the reader. i am invested in the story. I want more! Excellent job on that.

My only small criticism is that the thoughts are indistinguishable from the baseline story.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes."

That is the original piece of text. It may be interpreted as just part of the story, rather than a thought. This is what it could be.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes"

This is clearly a thought, it's personal to a specific, much more than just another general part of the story.

But that is my only problem. Great work!

DarthKirones

Thank you so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate this X) !
New episode of OUTSIDERS: http://www.debate.org...
Episode 4 - They walk among us
DarthKirones
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3/26/2015 8:41:31 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/26/2015 8:37:50 PM, Adam_Godzilla wrote:
At 3/26/2015 12:26:01 PM, DarthKirones wrote:
Such emotions.

First of all, I really liked how you defined two things in your story before it even began. It's very unique as I have never seen it before.

Second, I loved all the emotion. It felt... Human. I was excited and terrified. I was happy and sad. But it wasn't me, it was Altar. I felt his emotions, his emotions became my emotions. I felt his guilt, his agony, his denial and his humiliation. The story builds a bridge, and the other side is the reader. i am invested in the story. I want more! Excellent job on that.

My only small criticism is that the thoughts are indistinguishable from the baseline story.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes."

That is the original piece of text. It may be interpreted as just part of the story, rather than a thought. This is what it could be.

"I swear to you I will catch this damn mole, my Queen. No matter what it takes"

This is clearly a thought, it's personal to a specific, much more than just another general part of the story.

But that is my only problem. Great work!

DarthKirones

Thank you so much! You have no idea how much I appreciate this X) !

No problem.
"I am not religious. I am a genius. I have the Universe in my hands."
-Aerogant

"Of course a jewish baby cannibalizing a jewish mommy is fine"
-Heil being retarded

"Eradicating the baby scourge from our midsts is most certainly fun. And I am proud to be your hero. Babies tremble then they hear my name.. Airmax, the hero of baby annihilation."
-Airmax
imabench
Posts: 21,222
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3/27/2015 1:12:31 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
Solid story. The build-up of suspense is spot on and the story has some nice flow, my only criticism is the 7 posts that the story took up, because it makes it kinda difficult to process all the information that goes down when you have to sort through (7x8000) 56,000 characters of information.
Kevin24018 : "He's just so mean it makes me want to ball up my fists and stamp on the ground"
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RevNge
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3/27/2015 2:37:00 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/27/2015 1:12:31 PM, imabench wrote:
Solid story. The build-up of suspense is spot on and the story has some nice flow, my only criticism is the 7 posts that the story took up, because it makes it kinda difficult to process all the information that goes down when you have to sort through (7x8000) 56,000 characters of information.

Each post was only about 4.5k characters, actually.
Adam_Godzilla
Posts: 2,487
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3/27/2015 8:22:59 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 3/27/2015 1:12:31 PM, imabench wrote:
Solid story. The build-up of suspense is spot on and the story has some nice flow, my only criticism is the 7 posts that the story took up, because it makes it kinda difficult to process all the information that goes down when you have to sort through (7x8000) 56,000 characters of information.

Thank you, I'll take note of that :)
New episode of OUTSIDERS: http://www.debate.org...
Episode 4 - They walk among us