The Instigator
Pro (for)
5 Points
The Contender
Con (against)
0 Points

The Story Teller's Debate

Do you like this debate?NoYes+2
Add this debate to Google Add this debate to Delicious Add this debate to FaceBook Add this debate to Digg  
Post Voting Period
The voting period for this debate has ended.
after 2 votes the winner is...
Voting Style: Open Point System: 7 Point
Started: 8/26/2013 Category: Entertainment
Updated: 7 years ago Status: Post Voting Period
Viewed: 1,828 times Debate No: 37044
Debate Rounds (5)
Comments (3)
Votes (2)




Donald.Keller v. JustinAMoffatt

Resolution: Who ever adds the most overall content and best additions to the story will win.

Who had better conduct: Who added the most relevant additions? How well did their addition match the story? Did it fit in nicely and feel right? Who best kept to the genre and emotions.
Who had better spelling and grammar: Who had the better Spelling and Grammar?
Who made more convincing arguments: Who had the overall best additions to the story? Who added the most entertaining parts and made the story overall better?
Who used the most reliable sources: Who do you feel added the most overall content per post?

The point of the debate is to be a better storyteller. This means making sure the overall story turns out great, your half and your opponents.

We will begin with an introduction round. The story will be based on two Genres, Pro and Con will each pick one. Both may also decide one Tone/Style of the story.

Genre - Science Fiction, Pirate, Adventure, Creature-Feature, Horror...

Tone/Style - Sad, Dark, Cheerful, Deep, Terrifying, Humorous, Emotional...

Using, we will define both our selections with a list of books that best represents our categories.


Genre: Medieval Fantasy(a)

Tone/Style: Deep(b)

Con does not have to make his Genre and Tone fit mine. It may be more interesting to make a unique combination of emotions and genres.

Because I know what Tone Con will likely go for, I want to mention that a story can be both deep and funny at the same time.

The story will have 4 rounds. This means the story can be up to 80,000 characters (10,000 a post, 2 posts a round), so we will have enough characters to finish up a semi-complex storyline.

If the debate is popular enough, we might beable to finish the debate with a "To Be Continued" and host a sequal.



I thank Donald for his challenge and must confess the utmost joy at debating him once again, especially in a "writer's debate", since I had yet to take part in one.

I will choose the following Genre and Tone to add to the story.

Genre: Dystopian

Tone/Style: Dark

I look forward to seeing my opponent's opening of our story. Make it a good one. :)
Debate Round No. 1


Chapter I: The Rising of the Sun.

The sun rises in the East... And it sets in the East.

It always has, since the recording of history. No one knows why, they just know it does. The sun rises above us, than it's like time rewinds, and it goes back down.

The founding of the city of Un'bridge-Laye is shrouded in a dark mystery. Founded in the merging of the cities of Unfare-Ceal, Stonebridge, and Laye, nothing is known of the founding or what caused it. They spoke of the scorching of the world, and the dark curses that brought the endless rain, and the Marching of the Many that built Unbridge.

Seven hundred years have past since those days. The City of Unbridge stands surrounded by the last known cities of men. The rain still pours over the wood and stone houses, and through the cobblestone streets. It slivers between the footsteps of peasants... millions of them... like ants filling the shops and alleys, unaware that their city and life's were ending...

The Farmries kept the city alive. Massive towers growing food on an industrial scale. 19 year old Jonathon Taylor worked shafts and farming in the Morgana-Thaft Farmry, in the District of Hess. The jobs were long and testing. Pay wasn't much better.

Jonathon had finished the night as day approached. He head under and over pouring rain that fell from holes in the barrel vault roof of the Farmry. The rain fed the numerous floors of crop. Spheres of firestone hung over the plants, illuminating the waterfalls and giving artificial light to the plants. Jon sat down near the cold lancet window cut into the thick wooden walls.

Looking out across the city, Jon examined what he saw. The sky was covered in pouring clouds, just thin enough to spot the sun. Thick rope and wire connected the Farmry to the dark, moldy stone walls of the other buildings, supporting the 8 floors of the building. The distance was filled with rope and high-hung bridges of wood, connecting the tallest buildings in the background.

The city and towering buildings didn't end. They just kept on going into the distance. The standing castle filled a section of his view, standing above the city. The clouds lite up blue around it, as they did all the tall buildings, but the castle stood out the most. Great magics kept the buildings from collapsing on their own weight. The magic lite the buildings with the blue highlight that seemed to give the city what little lighting it had.

Richard Thaft, the bearded and broad co-owner of the Farmry, walked up from around the corner, and stared across the horizon.
"Richard." Jon smiled.
"Taylor. Everyday I see the same sky that you look at, yet you see something different..." Richard spoke with open thoughts.
"The lights are fading."
"How do you know that?" Richard looked at the blue, it seemed lesser than when he was a child. "Well, I guess everything must fade. Have you been paid today?"
Richard reached in his pocket to grab the boy's pay. "Well here some Crests. While you're free, head to the West Thaft Farmry to fill in for one of the farmers. A shaft collapsed on him."
"Well... I was hoping to head to the marketplace, then to bed. I've been up all night."
"If you ever want a promotion, Taylor, you need to pick up overtime." The boy got up and tried to hold back a yawn. Richard shook his head, and said, "get some sleep after the market." Jon smiled with great joy and begun running to the market, forgetting to clean himself off.

The King's District was full in the morning. 20 year old Sephara of the House of Leven, walked under the nave of the covered street, while water poured from the pillars between her and the rest of the street. Pipes lined the buildings and broken windows were as numerous as rain drops. Cups covered the street, collecting water for drinks, one for everyone homeless peasant laying under the nave.

Rain in the street, homeless under the nave. Neither were proper for a Noble's Daughter to walk in. Especially of the House of Leven. While not a House that rules a district, like the House of Hess, they were powerful. No, Sephara shouldn't be here. She should be in the court watching the jousting tournaments and playing Colf. Instead, her father made her walk through the markets to replace what she had broken.

The shop she needed was across the road. She made a turn, but found herself running into a peasant.
"Watch it scav!" She exclaimed.
"Excuse me." She heard from the peasant. Turning, she catch the boys eyes. Jonathon, the peasant, stared at her with anger. She was scared, and he knew it. She had made weak skinned nobles mad, but not a peasant like Jon. His chin was as broad as it was dirty. His arms were as thick as they were tan. A tan requires light... The only place with enough light to give someone a tan is a Farmry... This was a farmer, and he looked it to.

Sephara had angered a boy with the attitude and strength do a lot of harm to her, and in the market, for that matter. Surprisingly, though, Jon turned and left. It had been enough fun for one day, so she ran across the street, finished buying what her father wanted, and left.

Later that day, after returning and the market and getting some sleep, Jon got up from his straw bed yawning. He had a big day planned, starting with the late-night tournaments being held in the District of Bolan.

The city was broken into 92 districts, each with a House ruling it. Each house held a court, and an army... small ones. The Nobles cared little about maintaining life for the peasants. While crime exceeds 20,000 a day, and poverty holds nearly all of the peasants, the Nobles bath away in taxes and fortune.

The House of Bolan, unlike the cruel House of Hess, attempts to hold festivals every year to make the peasants happy. There wasn't a way in all Unbridge that Jon would miss the Festival. He got dressed in his finest rags with the least holes, and headed out in the rain.

The gate between the two Districts was massive. Standing nearly 7 stories above Jon. and made of Midnight Blue blocks of solid stone, 7 feet tall and 12 feet long. The bricks alone dwarfed him. Walking through the 18 foot thick walls took forever... The rain poured down the sides, falling over the entrances. They lite deep blue from the highlights of the towering buildings, and the bright blue torch lights held by the guards roaming the entrances. Jon made it from the walls to a covered sidewalk.

The peasants on the other side seemed to head across, moving around a dead peasant. Jon made his way into the building to his left, only to see guards questioning the owner regarding a theft the night before. Jon was curious what happened, since the guards in front of him were Centri Atari. The Centri Atari wore knight's helmets that had large glass goggles to see through, and a gas mask crafted in. They covered their Armour in cloth and bandages. Green seemed to glow from their eyes, something Jon noticed as the Centri begun staring at him.

Leaving, Jon heard in the background announcements being spoke.
"Here all the Word of the King and his House!" As the announcer always said first, "No form of Magic shall be practiced within the Districts of Hess, Furin, Lodaz, Alddar, and Sheth!..." He continued to speak, but Jon stopped paying attention when a boy of his age walked up to him.

The 19 year old boy with fine clothes, blackened hair, and tired eye, begun speaking to him, "Hello. um. Can you help me?"
"Sure, I guess... What's wrong?"
"I don't know. I woke up, and everything was different... What year is it?"
"Uh... Um..." Jon couldn't imagine the possible reasons for such a question. "The year is 721 A.U... Why? When did you go to sleep?"
"Appearantly 721 years ago..."
Jon stirred at the boy in confusion. A boy of that age would have seen the founding of the city. Such a boy would know about the world before Un'bridge-Laye... Such a boy would be... Impossible...

"Father!" Sephara called for him, and waited for his arrival. She laid on the ground in the Jousting court, covered by a barrel vaulted ceiling, keeping an eye open for him.
"What is it, Seph?" He came out from the stables, having been checking up on his prized horse.
"A peasant boy in the market tried attacking me!"
"Really? You seem fine to me.." The father laughed.
"It's not funny, Father, I was scared."
"I remember when you used to call me Daddy. What happened to that?"
"Fine fine," he laughed, "And what did you do to make him try attacking you? Remember to be honest."
She looked at him for a moment... "Called him a bad name..."
"And did he try to hurt you?"
Sephara looked around a little, than looked down. "No... But he got mad at me..."
Her father sat down beside her and laughed. "Don't worry, he's just a peasant. His opinion of you doesn't matter."
"Now!" Her mother came from nowhere, and put in her thoughts, "Remember that our own King Louvre was an orphaned peasant, adopted by the King before him, who was also an orphaned peasant."

It was true. The prior King was adopted by the dying King before. Unable to bare a son, and not hoping to see the Lord Corbal take the thrown, he adopted a peasant. A great insult to the Lord Corbal, who had been making political use of the King's illness. In the King's death, Lord Corbal went into hiding, angered by the insult he deserved. The Peasant King, keeping to the legacy of his coronation, adopted an orphan, Louvre, or now resigns over the City of Unbrdge.

"True enough, dear." The father smiled to his wife.
"Father... Does it seem like it's still daytime?" Sephara seemed confused, as she noticed the sky between the dark clouds was still lite.
"What?" The Father got up and checked the window. The Mother came to see as well.'
"Dear... The Sun..." The Mother looked to her husband...
"It's... In the West..."

For the first time in over 700 years, the Sun rose in the East, and was setting in the West...

The sun hadn't got Jon attention yet. He still stared at the black haired boy, while everyone else begun pointing to the sky. The boy simpy stared back, and than came the Centri Atari...


Chapter II: Things Best Left in the Dark.

"Not even the sun can thaw frozen hearts."

Wind whistled throughout the barren wasteland, snow and sleet nipping at Bryan Edur's young earbuds.


Was he young? He couldn't remember. He felt like he had just awoken from a long sleep.

But he hadn't. He had come back to consciousness while his body was still half frozen.

Those brutal first few hours came back to him in a wave of repressed agony, crashing over him like an icy wave.

His eyes had opened to white. The white was blinding. It seared his eyeballs far greater than any fire ever could've. Blinking, he recovered. He began to make out darker shades, then shapes... Soon other colors became visible.

Not that there was much color to this land. It was just bleak white snow for as far as the eye could see. Well... mostly that is, except for the other people. They were just starting to thaw, not yet awake, not yet feeling. They were in for a heck of a surprise soon, though.

There would be the initial awakening. Dizziness would set in, and then the sickness.

But the cold.... that was the worst.

After you recovered from the fact that you were alive, the pain of the freezing ice surrounding you set in. Bryan had screamed for hours, having to cry frozen teardrops of anguish as he waited for the sun to free his hands. Once he had those, he began to beat his icy prison with the frozen excuses for fists he possessed, until he was free and he could begin to feel warm again.

Warmth was a beautiful thing. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt the suns rays. They seeped under his skin like an internal blanket, giving him a feeling of life that, at one point, he thought he might never feel again.

Instead, the feeling of dread and hopelessness... no, worse... failed hope, had replaced the one of life. Feeling like a dead man walking is one thing, but knowing that you are is a completely different emotion, or lack thereof. There is nothing. You neither wish for death, nor life. Faith has failed you, and allegiance has been broken. You don't particularly wish to be destroyed, but you don't know why you would want to survive, either. Life has nothing left to offer you.

This was what it had felt like... during the final moments of the March. The March of the Many... which was the great civil war which had torn the land to shreds, was a battle fought between wizards, with their pawns being caught up in the middle. Bryan shook his head in disgust, and spat twice at the thought to try and rid his mouth of the bitter taste it had suddenly acquired.

He had been foolsih then, a young man eagerly seeking to do his part for what he thought was right. But it has been said, "War is merely a game filled with the greed of old men, and the stupidity of young heroes."

Yes, young heroes. He had been referred to as just that once, a young hero. Bravery that was lauded among men and women alike, strength that put men far older than he to shame, and a smile and intense blue eyes that could ensnare any woman's heart he pleased. He had believed he was invincible.

The Morthlings, great wizards who had broken free from the Order, recruited him as their general. They promised even greater fame, riches, and women. But none of those had interested Bryan. What he so greatly desired was power... the ability to crush king's skulls beneath his boot without consequence... and he had believed that they could provide him with such. Instead, he just became another item at their disposal.

So he killed for them. He had slaughtered thousands of his own countrymen by sword, bow, axe, and even his own hands. Angrily tearing through entire villages, never realizing the monster that they were making him into. His had been the March, in which he and his ten armies had burned, razed, and scorched the lands of their own brothers. The campaign lasted for months, and their numbers swelled to even greater heights as the weeks wore on, from their large numbers and rapid recruitment rate, the March recieved its infamous name.

But, the Order wasn't as frail and powerless as he had been led to believe. He should've stopped when he saw the first signs. The rain was the first one. It began three months into the March, when all but the last few cities had been destroyed. Bryan's favorite mess genocidal weapon of choice, fire, was not prepared to stand up against this ceaseless foe. It severely hampered the progress of his military, as he had to begin using machines and men to physically tear the houses down stone by stone, straw by straw.

But he never lost his zeal. The chance to be the ultimate leader of all of mankind was far too great of a temptation for him. He practically shattered rocks with his own hands in his wrath at being slowed down by this unnatural act of nature. So they continued through the undending rain, powering through the torrential downpour.

The snow came next. The flakes, which were soft and delicate enough to be a child's favorite plaything, also proved to be the doom for a great deal of his men. Frostbite practically ate the limbs of his soldiers, and the ice froze the wheels of his machines. Greater was the loss to the bitter cold than the loss to enemy combatants.

And yet, like a bull, he charged on towards the thing that angered him. The final stand of those faithful to the Order came at the three newly formed towns of Unfare-Ceal, Stonebridge, and Laye. The battle was long and hard fought, lasting weeks on end. Despite their heavy casualties due to the freezing weather, Bryan Edur and his army still numbered in the tens of thousands, and they were thirsty for warm blood. However, the ruling men of the three little villages united as one against their common foe, an act which had never been seen between three rulers since the dawn of man. Together, they repelled advance after advance of Bryan's men... but it was not enough.

Their buildings were starting to fall. Great towers, hastily constructed, which served as citadels for the people's defense, started to sway and crumble under the onslaught of the ferocious attacks. That was when the true power of magic had revealed itself. As the first of the citadels began to teeter and collapse, as the screams of the dying could be heard for many floors above, and as Bryan stood grinning fiendishly, the tower was caught. It's savior had been blue light.... a magic that hadn't been observed in action for millenia beforehand. The Order had intervened officially and directly, something that had only been whispered in fairytales.

That was when Bryan's true power was revealed to be the laughable excuse it was. His armies were crushed by blue men, with blue swords, and blue armor. They were pierced by blue arrows, shot from blue bows. Blue light announced cracks in the very ground they walked on, which then opened to swallow them into eternity. Bryan and his finest warriors, those who had survived everything up until this point, fled.

They ran outside the city walls, and fled for miles and miles. Finally, when they had lost all pursuers, and the color blue and the horrors it brought were all but a receding nightmare, the final blow struck.

The sun stopped.

Bryan had been sitting, watching the sun rise over the three sister towns, seeminly a single city from this distance. He watched as it unveiled the mixture of blue magic, still supporting the fragile buildings, and the river of red that flowed through the streets. He remembered shedding a tear... one solitary tear. It hadn't been for any wounds he recieved, nor for his men, not even due to remorse at the actions he had committed.

He had cried, because he had no power.

And just to mock him, just as he was ready to feel the embrace of the same sun which had always been there, even when nothing else was left.... it betrayed him also.

It had literally stopped, yards away from Bryan's very feet... and began to retreat back to the cities where he would never again be able to return to.

And there, as the days went by, he resigned himself to his fate, an ice sculpture of what was once a fraud, a stick figure that thought himself to be a warrior. He was cold, lonely, and powerless.

ut now, here he was. He was awake again. Somehow, after an amount of time which even he didn't know, he had awakened once more. He didn't know why... he didn't know how... but he did know one thing...

He was still hungry for power, and he would do whatever it took, once more, to achieve possesion of it.

A scream pierced his thoughts. One of his men, the first to come back to the world of the living, was experiencing the pain, and the horrible, bitter, unforgiving cold. But Bryan didn't move to help him. His men were like him, and they understood that they were all alone. If you couldn't survive on your own, then you had no business being in their group. Bryan merely waited for the screams to die into whimpers and fits of rage.

That's when he heard him. There was a voice, belonging to a man whom he did not know. Bryan turned and readied himself to face his possible assailant, instincts telling him to reach for the weapon at his side which he knew was not there.

An oily voice called out from the white, melting, snow. "Good morning, master Edur. What a lovely surprise to see you here."

Bryan scanned the surrounding white blur for the voice which seemed to echo throughout the hilly area. He didn't respond.

"Oh? Not going to chat with ghosts, are we? Fair enough." A sudden whoosh sound eminated from behind Bryan, and he rolled forward, spinning himself to come out facing the source of the sound.

He was a shadowy fellow, maybe around five and a half feet tall, and nothing to be concerned about when compared to Bryan's own size of 6' 3". His new mystery acquaintance also appeared to be considerably older than himself.... but then again... Bryan hadn't seen his own reflection recently, nor knew how long he'd been frozen.

"Perhaps I'm being a bit rude, Mister Edur." The man stated, seemingly correcting himself. "I am Corbal, Lord Corbal."
Debate Round No. 2


Chapter III: Festival of Beasts.

The Sun was setting in the distance... 721 years of setting...

The Centri Atari's eye turned a bleeding red that seemed to dripped into the air. Jon's eye were a beautiful green... Something the black haired boy noticed as Jon's eyes grew in terror.
"Come!" The boy said with zeal. He grabbed Jon's hand and ran.
"What? Whe.. Ouch! Where are we!.??" Jon couldn't finish. The boy ran up the wooden seams of the building. Jon was slow to climb with him.

The Centri swarmed the building, looking through out. A group of 3 made it to the roof, but no one was there. The boys had made it to safety, nearly across the wall.

A broad male rose to the building top with the Centri. This man's shoulders were strong enough to hold the 4x4 posts that made up his arms. He's ego was nearly as large as him, the only thing that overshadowed his ego was his actual abilities. He laughed at the Centri, and with a smile, walked to the edge. Staring across the streets of Unbridge, he watched over the hundred of peasants that walked along in the rain.

"They just walk... Walk and work..." The man, Morgan Thatcher, concluded from his examination.
" " The Centri asked as he walked up to Morgan.
"You will need to find that child. He'll be able to answer every question we have."
" " The Centri asked.
"Me? I can find the kid in minutes, but I'll be busy tonight. The House of Bolan is holding a fest after the festival."
" " The Centri said as it walked away. Morgan turned to where the Centri were, but they were gone. He looked forward, to the sun, and walked away.

Jon turned to the boy, now in the Morgana-Thaft Farmry. Now that he was able to examine the boy, he noticed his hair. It was strange, short in front, and long in the back, it was messy, but straight... Like millions of spikes that extended from his head and moved in the wind. His eyes looked tired and torn, not like a boy who had slept over 700 years...
"Where am I?" The boy asked.
"Unbridge... Hold on, who are you?" Jon questioned him.
"Me..? Let me remember..."
"Okay.. Well can I ask you something? What was everything like before you fell asleep?"
The boy looked up at him and spoke, "It was... Cold. Last thing I saw was a horde of men and women moving across the land, one of many groups heading to this city after their land had been scorched. I remember feeling hateful... Pain and suffering... Then I slept. And I didn't wake up for hundreds a years..."
"Really? Why didn't you wake up?"
"Time seemed to stopped. It'd start, and turn back around, then start up again... Forever reliving the same dream... It'd start, then rewind, and continue again... Over and over, and I never got to see the end."
Jon stared at him... "What was the dream?"
"It was... Well. I don't know."
"Well. That's okay, don't tell me if you don't want to talk about it." Jon smiled at him.'
The boy smiled and said, "I just want to do something fun for awhile."
"Well there is a Feast going on in the House of Bolan. Only Nobles can come, but we'll sneak in!"
"Really? That sounds amazing... Let's go." The said smiled, "Oh, and my name is Eric Price."
Jon smiled wide, "Well it's great to meet you Eric."

Sephara dressed in her finest clothes, a masquerade of colors and fabrics that challenged the beauty and complexity of the imagination. The dress costed her father over 2,500 crests, much more than the 4 or 5 crests that peasant boy from the market probably paid for his rags... She couldn't keep that peasant off her mind...

Her father had a servant move her across the district in an iron carriage, so the rain wouldn't ruin her dress. stone by stone rode by, the buildings stopped at the short wall that separated the District of Bolan from Bolan's Estate. Stopping under a passage, a decorated guard came and walked Sephara to the entrance. Such luxuries those peasants didn't deserve. Sephara paid no attention to the two boys jumping into the estate through the window while the guard was distracted. Inside was an array of floating items with lights and decorated strings with hundreds of small colored flags hanging on them. The floating lights moved up and around, carrying the flags with them across the scene. It was so beautiful... Everything a noble girl as pretty and young as her could want...

Meanwhile, Jon and Eric hopped into the party, with "privately obtained" suits. They wondered around in awe by what they saw... Jon lived in a massive city of peasants living or dying on the streets in the cold rain, while Nobles partied like this whenever they could. Jon was excited to be in one. Him and Eric ran around the feast, enjoying the deserts and conversation of the end of the world, enticed by the setting of the sun.

Jon was fattening himself on sweet breads and candies, while Eric ventured around the ladies bathing hall. Jon laughed at him a little, then turned around to head to the Courtyard, when he bumped into the towering figure that was Morgan Thatcher.
"Hello Child. Do you belong here?" Thatcher asked him.
"Well... Yes, of course."
"Than why sneak in through the window?"
Jon looked around for Eric, and begin running towards him.
"Eric, run!!"

The three begun running around, causing mayhem. Sephara didn't know what to think... They were ruining the feast... The party she was so excited for.
"What are... but... why...?" She couldn't finish before Jon ran across her, and knocked her drink into her dress. Jon stopped and stared at her.
"You... You... dress... You... your the... peasant fr.. from the market..?" She couldn't think past the anger...
"I, um.."
"I gotta go! Bye!!" Jon ran off again, leaving the sound of laughing behind him... It echoed in her mind.

Morgan was catching up to Eric, when he ran into an large man with wrapping over his arm.
"Excuse me sir." Morgan looked at him... He had eyes that were shrouded in a black bruising, and colorless curled hair, that looked cold and dead. "What happened to your arm?"
"Just a little issue I had outside the city. Nothing more."
"It looks like frostbite.."
"FAR outside the city."
"Pfft. I could make that journey a thousand fold without getting frostbite. But I'll take your word for it." Morgan started moving again, only to quickly turn back around, "Hold on sir. How'd you get..." He couldn't finish, the man had disappeared... Morgan looked forward in search of the boys, but it was too late. The boys had escaped. Not feeling concerned about it, Morgan turned back and enjoyed the party.

The host stood and begun shouting of the world's ending. Men like the one Morgan had ran into were woundering the party. They gave the Nobles and especially the Guards drinks of sweet wine and colored ale, arousing the chanting heard across the distrist. "Drink till the world ends, the sun has set! Drink till it offends, drink without regrets!" Morgan noticed a strange chilled the men gave him. Every Noble in the city was here... Anyone with a plan could do great harm if they wanted to...

The man with white hair and warps on his arm appeared. Bryan, with bandages over his jaw, stood to greet what information the man had.
"They party like beasts, enjoying luxuries and finer things while the people starve. The armies are tiny and weak, hardly worth considering. The men are fueling the nobles, so they and the guards will be weakened by morning." The man spoke.
"Lord Corbal, what is the numbers of this city?"
Lord Corbal spoke with dead words, "Almost of the 53th million. The peasants can be easily turned against their King."
"This is welcomed news... Such an army of men would never taste defeat... And what of the surrounding cities?"
"There are few cities around. Un'bridge-Laye is in between the ocean and the land. The only population outside the city number a quarter of a million."
"Good. My men will raise above the city walls from the inside. Once we intoxicate the Nobility, we can remove the law and order from Unbridge, and we will have the support of the people. Baron, me and Lord Corbal have an issue to deal with while the attack is happening. You will be in charge of taking the city." Bryan spoke to Baron, the white haired man.
"Aye, sir. We have men numbering but a few thousand, but the attack shall be easy enough. What issue must you attend to?" Baron asked.
"The last Morthling... He is alive in the city. Now ready the men... Tomorrow we will attack the walls of the North of the City." Bryan knew what he spoke of... Baron knew this, so he left with out question, and got the men ready. Bryan smiled with both anger and satisfaction... He would finally get his revenge, and accomplish his dream... His finest hour!

The Festival roared like a beast, chanting to the end of the world. Jon walked the halls of the Estate when he heard rushing water in a locked room. The water sounded natural. Birds chirping and leaves rustling. He had to know what was behind the door, so he grabbed a statue head, and slammed down on the lock. He entered an empty room with a large potrait of a lake. The lake was full of scenery and detail.
"Boring." Jon thought. "Where was the birds, and the water..." As he turned, confused, he heard noises from the portrait. Turning back around, he saw lake water pour from it, filling the room. The water surrounded Jon's feet. He walked closer to the portrait, curious of it. He could hear birds chirping again, and hear frogs croak in the portrait. Jon moved his hand towards it, and to his surprise, his hand went into the painting, like a dooway.

The Festival of beasts kept roaring... "The city sets on the sun! No pity for the basterd son..!"

Jon stepped his foot into the portrait, and moved inside it. Surmerged in the water of the lake, Jon begin swimming, further and further into the portrait. The shouts of the Festive behind him.

And the Beast roared...
"Down falls the exile, down falls the Morthling"
"Out spreads the fire, up goes the morning"
"Now ends the slumber, the Knight drops his armour"
"Now the towers crumble, and down goes the Farmer"

And the sun set.


Chapter IV: Fire and ice.

"Bah!" The Lord Corbal spat in disgust. "He commands me, does he?"

The lonely wind didn't answer.
"Well I didn't exile myself frun Un'bridge-Laye for all these years, just to serve another king!" He whispered angrily to himself. "I'll show him. I'm not afraid of the old ice sculpture." He muttered quietly, for fear Bryan might actually hear his words.

The 'Ice Sculpture' didn't hear the mutterings of the ex-lord, but another did...

"Sir." The brawny soldier rarely addressed him with anything other than that term. Not that Bryan minded... it was a title which implied submission and reverance. Bryan relished the feeling of power.

"Yes, Baron? Speak quickly." Bryan laid down his sword and turned to face his luitenant. He had been training all morning, and Baron knew he wasn't to be interrupted. This interruption had better be good.

The second-in-command nodded slightly and continued. "The Lord Corbal (The title was stated with as much sarcasm as was possible to use.) believes he is not your lesser. He grows tired of your command."

Bryan raised an eyebrow. At one time in his career, he was a brash young man. He would've had such a man under his command flogged, beaten, and then executed. His instinctual reaction was to go back to old habits... but he came to a different decision. Because he was no longer a brash young man at all. He was a (if Corbal was to be believed) 750 something year old man, with the wisdom of many centuries beyond what any mortal man could ever desire, but with the body of his 24 year old former self. After all, ice freezes only the body in time, not the mind.

"Let him stew a bit. We may still have use of him." Bryan stated after a few more seconds of deliberation. "Also, send Chris and Vance to the mountains one more time. I want to be sure of our information. As my father, the carpenter, would say, 'measure twice, so you only have to cut once.'"

"Yes sir." Baron inclined his head at him once more, and promptly left his presence.

Bryan picked up his sword once more, and began letting the memories of past warfare burn in his mind.

"Jon! Where are you?" Eric had been searching frantically for him for the past 15 minutes without luck. He was furiously scanning the drunken crowds for any sign of the young farmer when he noticed a door, out of plain sight, slightly ajar. He could barely make out strange sounds eminating from chamber, and quickly leaped towards it.

Pausing slightly to swallow is fear before going inside, he opened the door the rest if the way. Inside was... water? With a sudden shock, Eric realized the liquid was pouring from a portrait on the far wall. With even greater surprise, he saw that Jon was inside said portrait.

"This has to be the Order's doing..." He moaned to himself. While many in the city of Un'bridge-Laye revered them still, even if only in legend and myth, Eric knew that the Order was not a group to consider an ally. They did what pleased them, and what kept them safe. It just so happened that those who they used to protect them were often grateful for the protection. As for those who would rise against them...

But it was all an illusion, anyways... the whole rebellion. Pointless.

"... down falls the Morthling" came the whisper. Eric shuddered. There was so much force in that voice.... it... it couldn't be....

Eric, shaking with trepidation, began to move into the painting. Maybe this was a trap set up by those he had once rebelled against. But his curiosity got the better of him. And if it really was what he thought it was, then this would be worth any price he had to pay.

"Sir." Baron addressed him from behind once more.

Bryan spun around quickly, anxious for some news. "Yes?" He asked, blades practically visible in his eyes, daring his luitenant to tell him anything but the news he so desperately sought.

"Two pieces of information." Baron, had he been capable, probably would've grinned devilishly at the sight of his commander's right eyebrow shooting up inquisitively. But all of Byran's men were beyond smiling. There was nothing to smile about until the world was in flames once more.

Baron continued his report. "First, Michael brings word back from the city. He informs us that they are all intoxicated, and far capable from posing any threat of resistance."

"Acknowledged." Bryan nodded ever so slightly. This was the highest praise he gave out. Success wasn't something to be congratulated. It was expected. It was understood. "And second?"

"Chris and Vance have returned." Baron stated emotionlessly. "They reassure you that what they saw earlier was true."

Bryan was wickedly elated inside. "So the Order is, in fact, right where we want them?"

"Yes sir."

"Then there's no time to waste. Execute the plan, now."

"As you command, sir." Baron respectfully exited his presence.

Bryan stood for a second to breathe in the warm breeze that floated by. The warmth of the sun was still very pleasing to his skin, and he enjoyed it immensely. But a stronger fire burned within, and the thought of tending to the flame, and allowing it to rise into the blazing inferno it would be, gave him more pleasure and warmth than any of the sun's rays ever could.

"Down falls the exile, down falls the Morthling"
"Out spreads the fire, up goes the morning"
"Now ends the slumber, the Knight drops his armour"
"Now the towers crumble, and down goes the Farmer"

The words had effectively captivated Eric. His worst fears were coming true, but he was blinded by his own amazement. This was no trap set up by the Order at all... Before him and Jon stood the great Beast. The Beast was a creature of old, a.... sentient animal if you will... full of knowledge of the future. No record had ever beem found of it's origin, nor how it had acquired its gift of prophesy. And never, in all his life, would Eric think he'd be in the presence of such a magnificent being.

But the Beast was never wrong... and, while it was generally known to be foolish to try and decipher a prophesy... this one seemed plain as day. "Down falls the Morthling"

"Why... when he says that... does he look at you?" Jon's shaky voice interrupted Eric's musings.

Eric sighed. It was about time the young farmer had learned the truth anyways. Eric turned and stared his new friend directly in the eyes. His look carried so much intensity, quite a contrast to the timid boy that Jon was surely used to, that the farmed stumbled backwards.

"I am Eric Price. I am over seven hundred years old. I am a wizard... and I'm the last of the Morthlings..." He stated with as much calm in his voice as he could feign. His heart raced at his own betrayal of his very volatile identity. The Order certainly didn't keep a close grip on things in the city, but there was no doubt that anyone who associated with the rebel wizard group was at high risk... and posed a high risk to those who associated with them.

Jon, dumbfounded, couldn't mustered the words he needed, and was obviously trying to regain his wits. Finally he began to mutter something that sounded like "Eric.... wizard... magic... friend... what?" But they were interrupted when they realized that their painted magical world began to burn down all around them.

The young men locked eyes. Fire. They both darted out of the painting as quick as they could, leaving the Beast to continue his methodical chanting of the prophesy which Eric knew had sealed his fate.

Bryan wasn't sure which he loved more... the screams, or the blood.

A shriek ripped through the city. The source was a young woman, quite attractive, who was holding a dying man in her arms. Tears streamed down her face like a torrential rainstorm, and the flames which consumed the city were reflected in her watery eyes as she spotted Bryan.

"YOU!" She screamed with as much contempt as could be placed in one word. She began to run directly at the general, much to his amusement, and he stepped to the side so as to dodge her with ease.

But he was not so lucky.

"Ow, you slimy little-" His words were cut off by a fistful of fingers grabbing the inside of his mouth as the young woman scrambled to climb on top of him. He bucked her off of his back and back onto the street, but she was up in seconds, with a rock in hand.

"Whoa, there." Bryan dodged the projectile as it narrowly missed his eye. "I don't believe that's very wise. I've liberated your city."

The young woman stopped with her arm still preparing to throw the next stone. She was visibly shaking with rage and sorrow. Bryan thought this peculiar, since most of the fools who lived here hated the aristocracy. But not so with this little wench.

"That... was my... father. You son of a-" But now it was Bryan's turn to stop her mid-sentence. With a quick extension of the arm, the warrior's mighty fist crashed down on the young Princess' face. She was aristocracy, too. She would have to go. It was a pity, really, if for no other reason than the loss of a potentially skilled soldier.

"Baron, bring her with me. We need her for show and tell."

"We can't go any higher!" Eric heard Jon shout behind him. They were high in one of Un'Bridge-Laye's mighty towers. While this may have seemed like a foolish strategy (to go inside and up a building during a fire) to any outsider, Jon had assured him that the towers were preserved by some sort of magic, and they would not fall nor burn. Eric had decided to believe him.

Something caught the young wizard's eye down below. "Jon! Hurry up! It seems like you'd wanna see this."

"My new people!" A familiar looking man addressed the masses, obviously finishing a speech. "I know you don't particularly wish to subject yourselves to a new ruler so soon. That is understandable. However... you must understand that, as much as I'm sure you'll appreciate my reign, you don't have a choice."

With that, the man lit a signal fire... and another rose in response... and the chain went on and on...

And suddenly, without warning, the tower began to shake.
Debate Round No. 3


Chapter V: Kings of the Reach

Brick by brick, the wall collapsed. Jon and Eric ran for the stairs, but the doorway was gone. Bricks had replaced what used to be an exit. Jon looked back and saw it... The blue that used to light the sky... It was gone. Jon kept looking about hoping to see an exit. The boys were in a hurry, no time to question the missing door.

Suddenly, things felt calm... Jon wasn't sure why, but he turned in place trying to find out where a sudden breeze was coming from, and then a leaf flew down beside him. His eyes begun their slow raise upwards to see what they hadn't noticed... The vaulted roof was engulfed in a Autumn filled painting. It was painted onto the roof, full of color and...

The columns collapsed, the roof fell onto the two, and the tower begun to tilted. It was horrifying to the peasant below. The smell of death and warfare was about them, and then they heard the screeching of the giant that was the tower... It tilted endlessly to the side in a roar that shook the ground. Bricks and columns came down around them, escorting the giant to the ground. On impact, it flooded the streets with dust that flowed through the district and dripped into the buildings. The smoke was followed by stone and debris that tore away at the nearby buildings, and they too begun to crumble...

Bryan walked in the halls of Falnhaul, escorted by the columns and portraits of Kings past that lined his broaden path. Stopping, he turned to Baron.
"Yes, sir?"
Bryan replied simply, "Count of this hall the number of Kings."
Baron counted, and replied, "29 kings, sir. Why?"
"I fought across the world, earning my place as king... And 29 of these men ruled instead... What makes them so great? Why them... Why... not... ME!" Bryan's words seemed to echo a from each portrait.

Bryan walked to the throne before him... He was ready to sit down in it... But no. Not yet. The King was still alive. Bryan knew where the king was. He just needed patience. Bryan heard laughing from behind him. When he turned to look, only Baron was there, confused.
"... Bring forth Corbal."
Baron nodded and left. Bryan walked around to occupy his waiting.

The men of Bryan's Army scavenged the city. A group came across a round of 2 Centri Atari. The Centri pulled their swords and grabbed out at the men. The men quickly lifted from the ground, turning as they rose to face away from the Centri, arms stretched out and struggling. The Centri's fingers also struggled to stay in place. But it was laughable, the screams of the men could be heard across the district.

Morgan moved in on the Centri. He thought he saw men run in there earlier, but couldn't see any now. He laughed and continued to the Plaza of Alddar. That was where Bryan's army was to hold their public executions. Morgan was most certainly going to watch them die, even if metaphorically.

Making his way across the halls and roofs of slightly broken buildings, he reached the wall. Across the crumbling wall was the District of Alddar... The King's District. The Centri were approaching the Krec Du' Alda, the Castle of the King. Anyone inside opposed to the King wouldn't last long there, except for Bryan and Baron. Morgan begun his way through the gates. He met some of Bryan's men along the way. They were standing guard... Were...

The breeze was felt across Jon's skin... He had never felt this before... Falling leaves and warm sunlight... It was Autumn. He had never known such warmth. Eric seemed to have recognized the feeling.

The world in the painting had crashed onto and around them... The brick floor below them was still there, outlining the circular borders that was the tower. Everything else was a valley and trees of red and orange. The bricks were dark and moldy in comparison.

"Jon... Let's go. We have to find a way out of here."
"Okay. Where do we start?"
"How about that?" Eric pointed to a tower in the distance.
"Um... Ya. That looks good." Jon said, turning to the tower. They begun walking towards it.

Upon arriving to the Tower, Jon was grateful to see the door opened. The boys walked into the tower, and begun up the stairs. There were portraits lining the stairs. Each one seemed to show a person of great age. "Who are these?" Jon asked.

"These people... They are the Order. Some dead, some alive." Eric replied.
"Really? Wow..."
"The Morthlings used to be in the Order... They broke away a long time ago." Eric looked around.
"Really? So... You have a portrait here?" Jon asked with excitement. Eric smiled and went to show him...

Eric found his portrait. Jon wasn't sure what to think... "Why... are you so old?"
Eric laughed. "I wasn't always young. The Order and Morthlings are Faul Wizards."
"Faul Wizards? So... you mean there is more than one type?"
"What I mean is... there is more to the world than you think. Nothing within the existing world... But so so far out there, you find out about new people and cultures. I remember two strange looking Wizards from the West arriving. They seemed, um, blue... They didn't stay long."
Jon laughed. "So whats a Faul Wizard?"
"Well... There were the Faul, Mor, and Anon Wizards. Faul Wizards can only have sons, one each. Every Faul Wizard has two souls. A sender and a reciever. The Reciever takes the form of the son, and the other stays in the Father. When the father dies, his soul enters the son through the connection between the two souls. Because both souls are his, it's literally him breaking into two people, and then becoming one. It's how we live thousands of years. That's why I look so young."
"What if the Wizard dies without a son? Or if you kill the son?"
"He dies... If you kill his son, he has no way of continuing after his own death. You kill his son, and his son's soul, so he can't have another son."
"That's... Strange..."
"Haha, yea." Eric smiled at the humor. "Let's keep going. We can't wait around." The two continued up the Tower.

Bryans wait was over. Corbal had arrived at his order.
"Which portrait?" Bryan looked at the walls.
"The King's Portrait." Corbal pointed... Bryan looked over to it. The portrait stood high with the rest of them, of course, the King's image wasn't there, just a background of a land with tall trees and light. Bryan walked to it and placed his hand upon it... It felt like silk, and a breeze?

He turned around and everyone was still. They seemed frozen, and everything looked a colder blue. A blue highlighted the portraits, and figures seemed to pop out of them. The figures of older kings twirled and danced around him! The breeze that came from each of their place of rest, their portraits, blew between them, and swirled up around Bryan...

"Who comes and sees, a summer's breeze, that twirls and warps around him?" spoke the first king.
The second spoke up, "Who is he, that comes to me, seeking to attack them?"
"He wants to attack them? Let him then, We're let him in to see them."
Bryan was surrounded by ancient words from ancient men. "What.. What is this?!" Bryan shouted...
"Do you think you deserve to be king?" The third king spoke up.
"Of course I deserve to be king!" All the kings stared at Bryan as he spoke this.

All was still... Bryan couldn't answer... More than seven hundred years, and he froze to one word... Why did he deserve to be king? Because he could raise armies against people?

"I cured the sick in the District of Boe." "And I saved the peasants from the House of Haulan, who stole their children and wives from them." "And I increased their pay, from 3 crests to 10." The words kept coming. All the things a King could do... Should do...
"And now we ask you. You can raise armies against your own people. You justify what you do by pretending you'd be able to defend them, but once you are done killing everyone, who do you have to defend? When no one is left to attack you, what is your worth?"

Bryan couldn't reply to it. He just stood in fear of these things. The figures begun moving back to their portraits, until all was straight again. Bryan looked over at Corbal.
"What interests you?" Corbal stared back.
"Nothing. Lets just go." He said. He looked at the King's portrait. He laid his hand on it, and to his amusement, felt nothing. He push forward, and his hand just moved into the portrait, followed by his body.

Jon and Eric walked to the top of the tower. It seemed far larger inside than out.

Upon reaching the top, they looked out across the valleys and forests, a hundred miles wide. "The Reach..."
"The Reach?" Jon was curious what Eric meant.
"Everything you see is the Reach." Eric stared across it.

"And down goes the Farmer." The voice roared behind them. The two turned to see The Beast behind them, in a vast portrait. It's skin was an armor of scales, hiding the body of a horse with the head of a loin. It stared down on them. "The Order has been given, and The Order will rise." It spoke with a voice that trembled the Tower.
"Beast, how do we get out of here?" Jon asked the giant god that stood before them. It did not reply.
"Beast!" The Giant looked down at the angry Jonathon Taylor.

The Beast stared over at an exit. The same exit they were looking for before the Tower crumbled. The Beast continued it's chant. The noise echoed across the Reach.
"Down falls the exile, down falls the Morthling"
"Out spreads the fire, up goes the morning"
"Now ends the slumber, the Knight drops his armour"
"Now the towers crumble, and down goes the Farmer"
The Boys ran towards the exit, but Eric stopped. "Jon.. I wanted to remind you... Prophecies don't always go the way you think they will..."
Jon listened in on the Beats prophecy. His eyes matched the tired and worn Eric. "I... I'll remember that..."

The two ran down the stairs. They reached the bottom, a were greeted by a large door. "It's a portrait..." Eric remarked. It was, Jon could see the borders of the Canvas. Opening the door, they walked through, and into a large Cathedral. Stairing across the long and broad nave, Jon and Eric could see a figure.

"Oh good. Visitors." Greeted the King with a smile.


JustinAMoffatt forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 4


Chapter VI: Hall of Hearts

The King stood to greet the two boys.
"You're the King!" Jon stuttered.
"Yes.. I suppose I am. And you are?" The King could see the two were peasants.
"Why aren't you out there fighting!?" Jon yelled.
"And be dead? And how efficient would I be then? Am I a better Martyr than a King?"
"Well you haven't been much of a king, so yes."
"To whom's perspective?" The King responded. Jon wasn't sure how to reply... "Am I, one man, to feed 52 million? Am I to have that kind of power? You exaggerate my potential to mock my accomplishments. Could you feed even a million?" Jon did not reply.
Eric spoke up, "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know. We have to find a way to stop the invasion." Jon sat down in a pew to think.
"Not quite. The Centri can handle them. As will some close allies. We only have to worry about the men in the portraits."
"The Portraits?" Jon was confused.
"Jon... The portraits." Eric grabbed his attention.
Jon looked around and noticed the portraits of men scattered on the walls. "Who are they?"
"The Morthlings." Eric spoke.
"I thought they died out..."
"No. They were trapped in these portraits. Bryan, the guy attacking, would only have to open the portraits."

Jon walked around the room, staring at the portraits. They looked like normal paintings of people, but the land around them was frozen. Jon begun towards the far end of the cathedral, where a massive window overlooked the city through stained glass. Jon knew where the cathedral was, it was in the District of Hess, standing far above the city, like a massive tower with no entrance. Jon never really looked at the Stained Glass, it was just kind of there, but now that he noticed it, it was curious...

The glass created the image of a grey, rigid terrain, shrouded in auras of blue and greens and reds. There were stars surrounding the auras, but everything else was black. As Jon was examine the image, he could see a tower collapse in the distance. Jon watch it slowly drop onto the city.

Suddenly, he begun to hear voices that echoed in his mind. "Jonathon Taylor, child of the son of Albeon the Star Catcher." Jon looked around to find who was speaking to him. "This world is of darkness... It shrouds itself in evil and... imperfection. We step not into it. You, child of the son of Albeon the Star Catcher, must come to us."
Jon looked behind him, back at the stained window. This time, instead of staring at it, he seemed to stare into it. Curious, he walked towards it, and stepped inside.

Morgan watched over the King's Square. The guards, wrapped in their frost bit cloths, stood the nobles up on the block. Before executions begun, they readied a young girl to be their first show for the worried crowd.
"Behold! This noble shall set the stage for the execution of the filth that has scorched your lives with their presence!" The guard spoke. The people watched as the cloth was removed from Sephara's head. Her eyes were submerged in tears that reddened her face. Morgan's calm seemed to fade to hatred. This was a child!

" " the Centri asked.
"Not yet..." Morgan focused his vision on her. The Guard lifted his sword above her, ready to bring it down upon her. "now." Morgan watched the guard drop. The entity of a men came into being, an invisible Centri had been standing there the whole time. All the men and guards of Bryan's army pulled their swords. The Centri's eyes became a blood red that dripped from his mask. It was matched by bleeding pairs of eyes appearing around all the men... Hundreds of red eyes surrounded the area.
" " The Centri next to Morgan spoke before vanishing away. Morgan drew his sword, and jumped into the crowd.

The Guards didn't know what to do, and were suddenly surrounded by armed peasants. "Why?! This noble filth takes from you and uses you for their own luxuries!"
Morgan stood up to speak. "And you wouldn't?" The peasants shouted in agreement! "These nobles may not be good, or even remotely pleasant, but you're simply punishing them for not making you happy, for not pleasing YOUR will... They shouldn't have to meet your will, but they try. You may not always see it, but how could you? In a city this large? You punish them for not doing everything they can to make YOU happy, but why should they?" The Guard stood in place... He knew not how to reply to the masses yelling in agreement to his opposition. "Those nobles are better then you..." Morgan stood with his blade pointed at the guard.

The rest of the the guards begun to attack the Centri and the Peasants. Sephara stayed in place, fearful of the violence around her. Everyone was stabbing and cutting, and blood filled her sights. A great noise filled the air, and she looked up to see a tower fall in the distance. Smoke filled the horizon. The City was literally falling apart around her. The magic that kept the towers standing had disappeared... Sephara closed her eyes, and pretended it's all go away.

Jon stood freezing on a massive rock. It appeared endless, like a planet. The cold space around him was beautiful, stars and colors flew through the night sky. Jon heard the voice behind him, and turned to see his Planet below. He was on the moon... He stared down upon it, seeing a grey entity that was his city formed onto a peninsula. The land grew into a massive, and beautiful, continent. But it was small... so small... the planet was so massive... The world he knew was but a fragment in the world. Continents and islands he had never known of...
"Jonathon Taylor. Child of the Son of Albeon the Star Catcher. You know not the path of your ancestry. Locked away since the dawn of Un'Bridge Laye." The voices spoke to him.
"Who are you!?" Jon looked around for them.
"We are the stars, and all the space between them. We are their mother and their father, their master and their servant. We are the stars in the sky that looked upon you with light. We now look upon you once more, and find faith in your world." The Gods spoke down to him.
"My world? But how? After everything that has happened!?"
"No, child. You see of the few, many. We see of each person his own actions and heart. We do not see the ways of a few, and judge the many by it. You have judged the world for the hearts of few."
Jon looked down on the world... It was beautiful. He had never seen anything like it... "Look to us, our child." Jon looked to the stars again. "Who are you? Your souls speak of many hearts, and many years. Can you give up your soul to those you love?"
"What do you mean?"
"The world has for so long rested on the hearts of a few... But not this day. As the sun rises in the sky, this day shall rest on the shoulders of the many. But him who is closest to you shall rest only on your shoulders tonight."
"Him closest to me?..." Jon thought for a moment, "Eric!! Is something wrong with him? Send me back!"
"The world awaits your shoulders to lift them. The stars will fall on you."
Jon wasn't sure what they meant by that. He stepped back, and fell through the glass. Staring back, he saw Eric and the King stand to see what had happened to him.
"Jon?" Eric was concerned about Jon's expression.
"Eric... Behind you..." Jon stared behind Eric, at the entity that was Bryan.

"Well. Look, Corbal, it's the Morthling.." Bryan stared at them.
"King Louvre... The Peasant King." Corbal glared at him with a cold and dead hatred.
"I only want the Morthling, ending him will free me of this hate."
"Ending the Morthling? You seek to kill him?" Corbal was confused.
"Of course. I was used by them... Just a pawn. They were no different than the vile nobles I sought to destroy. Killing the last of them will be a release."

Jon ran up beside Eric, "No! You're not laying a finger on Eric!"
"Eric?" Bryan stood forward, "Whom? I am only interested in you, Morthling."
Jon and Eric went quiet. Jon didn't understand what he meant... Then it came to him...

"Down falls the exile, down falls the Morthling" ...
"Now the towers crumble, and down goes the Farmer"

"Who are you? Your souls speak of many hearts, and many years."
"Every Faul Wizard has two souls. A sender and a receiver."

Jon... was the last Morthling Bryan had been hunting... "Eric. The prophecy, it talks about the farmer... But you aren't a farmer, I am..."
Eric looked at him with sorry eyes, as though he already knew from the beginning.
"Did you know of this?" Jon asked.
"We are the last... I wasn't sure how to tell you."

Bryan laughed. "There are TWO? Two Morthlings still alive." He pulled a throwing knife from it's sheath, and aimed at Jon.
"No!" Eric yelled out, jumping in front of Jon as Bryan threw the knife. It struck him and it's force pushed into his chest. Eric dropped to his knees, his hands over the knife. He rose his head to meet Jon's eyes. "Jon... Don't let them... open the Portraits... Our evil... must die with us..." Tears begun to slide down his face, dripping from his chin, like the blood that dripped from under his hands.
"Eric..." Jon froze over him as his body fell onto the ground. Jon just stood there, his eyes hadn't moved from where Eric's eyes were. They were so cold, and dying...

"No! You foul!" Corbal screamed out. "I need the Morthlings alive! Without their power present, the portraits can't open! I must open them!"
Bryan lifted his last knife, aiming for Jon. He couldn't miss, for he had no other means of killing Jon. The knifes were special, the only thing in the room that could kill a Morthling.
Corbal pulled a sword on Bryan. Baron, who had waited in the Portrait behind them, called out to Bryan. "Silence!" Corbal turned and lifted his hand to the Portrait. Baron hit against the wall of the painting. He looked around confuse, but knowing of what was happening. The portrait was closing, with him in it.
"No!" Bryan screamed. He ran to the portrait and faced Baron, who stared back without fear.

Jon stood there over Eric, thinking of the God's words to him...
"Can you give up your soul to those you love?" The words stuck in his mind, over and over...

"Now." Corbal's grinned, "Let's open some portraits."


JustinAMoffatt forfeited this round.
Debate Round No. 5
3 comments have been posted on this debate. Showing 1 through 3 records.
Posted by donald.keller 7 years ago
To Be Continued
Posted by JustinAMoffatt 7 years ago
Not going to be able to post on time it would seem :/
Posted by donald.keller 7 years ago
I wanted to ask that Justin start his round with Chapter II: [fitting subtitle.]
2 votes have been placed for this debate. Showing 1 through 2 records.
Vote Placed by rajun 7 years ago
Agreed with before the debate:--Vote Checkmark0 points
Agreed with after the debate:--Vote Checkmark0 points
Who had better conduct:Vote Checkmark--1 point
Had better spelling and grammar:--Vote Checkmark1 point
Made more convincing arguments:--Vote Checkmark3 points
Used the most reliable sources:--Vote Checkmark2 points
Total points awarded:10 
Reasons for voting decision: It was a win for con if he would have posted something... FF
Vote Placed by bsh1 7 years ago
Agreed with before the debate:--Vote Checkmark0 points
Agreed with after the debate:--Vote Checkmark0 points
Who had better conduct:Vote Checkmark--1 point
Had better spelling and grammar:--Vote Checkmark1 point
Made more convincing arguments:Vote Checkmark--3 points
Used the most reliable sources:--Vote Checkmark2 points
Total points awarded:40 
Reasons for voting decision: FF

By using this site, you agree to our Privacy Policy and our Terms of Use.