The War Of The Kingdoms

Gather 'round now children as Papa Paradox has a tale for ye. A tale of stupidity and laziness, a tale of how Paradox tried, and failed miserably to write a story in NaNoWriMo.

Now I'm going to stop speaking about myself in the third person as despite the fact third person is my preferred style of writing, I despise writing about myself in the third person, which is why I hate it when my parents force me to write my yearly letter for family and friends.

But that's besides the point, the point being that back in November, your pal Paradox tried to write a story for NaNoWriMo and failed horribly whilst his arch nemesis Choco succeed atleast she did to the best of my knowledge.

Anyways since I quit awhile back, not entirely sure when I did; since pretty much everybody I actually made a name with has just given up on talking anywhere outside of the Cafè and since FF is all about lurkers, no idea if they read anything. So this story is to make a name with the new breed of readers.

Plus if the grammar/spelling/everything sucks that's because you get on a tight schedule when writing one of these, which then for just descended into me gaming when I got back into the country.

I also fully understand that some of the names are horrifically unoriginal and the whole exchange between the three races is just a clear rip of that one MLP:FiM episode; look, I matured since then, probably because I stopped talking to Choco.

Anyways, the story...

Enjoy

~


I
The War of the Kingdoms:

In the land of Asrelgard there were three great kingdoms of power: the humans, the dwarves, and the elves. When Asrelgard was first founded, the three kingdoms lived in perfect harmony. The dwarves forged weapons and tools for the elves and humans; the elves kept the weather fair with their magic, and the humans farmed food for the others. This cycle of work for each other lasted for hundreds of years; no matter how spiteful the kingdoms were of each other, they knew that it was imperative to their survival to trust the others.

However this peace was not to last. The humans grew sick of the fact that the elves showed off their magic whenever they came to collect food, what was wrong with a trusty steed opposed to flying? They grew sick of the fact that the dwarves clearly slacked when it came to forging their tools and weapons as they were weaker to the ones the dwarves used. They complained bitterly when winter came, the elves only warded off some snow and hail; and definitely not the cold. Most of all, they despised the fact elves were keeping their magic “under safekeeping”; whilst the elves went around summoning and conjuring, the humans were left below, magicless. A combination of all this hatred led up to the war of the kingdoms, the great war of which no land has ever healed or will ever heal; this is the war in which the dwarves broke into clans, the war in which the elves grew power hungry and the war in which the humans were enslaved…

It started with a flood of deceit, treachery and treason. The humans, enraged after years of torment, told the workers at the dwarf forges that scouts found of a tribe of centaurs planning an attack of their kingdom. The only way to defeat such a foe would be with Tetrite weapons, be this swords, spears or arrows. The dwarves knew their place and carefully provided the humans with some of the most lethal weapons known to dwarves and humans alike, the dwarves providing such weapons out of fear that the centaurs would attack them after slaughtering the humans. However the humans would simply store these weapons and burn newly deceased in a ritual fire to fake the death of those killed by centaurs. The reality being that the centaurs and humans were allies as they often hunted wild pigs together; not that the other two kingdoms knew of such alliance. Their next task was to get their magic back, they told the elves that rogue goblin mages were attacking towns and villages for food, the only way to stop an invasion from these magical beings would be to bless their best warriors with magic to push out the invaders. After much persuasion, the humans’ twelve best warriors were blessed with six different types of magic, two of each: conjuration, restoration, elemental, reflective, teleportation, and destructive. Together the warriors joined forces not to horde off enemy forces, but to light up the night sky practicing their new found powers but pretending to kill goblins. Fresh dead were burnt again to fool any non believers. The magical warriors made sure to have many offspring with magical powers to continue the rule of magic within humans.

And on the thirty second of Hearthbreak 437AT, the horn of war was called along the twelve cohorts of the human invasion… The war of the kingdoms had started, and no kingdom was safe for the savages of the humans. The fight raged on for a decade and a half, many lives were claimed by twelve cohorts of the human invasion fleet. These lives include thirteen of the fourteen elven generals, the royal adviser of king Matcuis the third of Elves, the master smith of the dwarves and each of the five army generals were assassinated, presumably by human archers.

However, the humans weren’t the only spiteful beings. They easily found tribes of magical beings that had been forgotten, nearly killed off by elves and dwarves. Centaurs, ents, dragons, strands of goblins, vampires and werewolves to name a few. Humans rallied their forces and unleashed a screaming horde of malicious and vengeful creatures, no amount of Terite, Calemite, Shadrost or Glavigost swords, arrows, or crossbow bolts could stop them from destroying towns, cities or villages and absolutely no way of stopping them from ending the lives of those that caused them pain and suffering.

But these weren’t the only people looking to wreck havoc, whilst humans were scheming, as were the dwarves. They meant no harm to the humans, only to the elves as they still refused to acknowledge the importance of dwarven magic, enraged by the ignorance of the elves, they devised a plan that involved a bit of treason. Their only problem was they needed a distraction to break into the fortified walls of Reckevich, the castle of elven royals. All of a sudden, humans had done that for them, and more, they had massacred Reckevich, the only fault in the humans’ plan was magic, to get anywhere past the front walls of Reckevich is to be magical or have barrier stone embedded into your armour. Wave after wave of dwarf warriors with Shadrost armour stormed Reckevich, and the high elf king. And at the top of Reckevich was where the great war of the kingdoms ended, the showdown of three kings. A showdown so great that eras later, people would still talk about it.

Once king Bolgreth of the dwarves and reached the throne room, he was already witnessing a great battle, king Charles the fifteenth of the humans, locked in sword to sword combat with king Matcuis the Third of the elves. A flurry of metal against metal, spark against spark, beast against beast; two master swordsmen dodging, weaving, parrying, slashing and stabbing. But no matter how hard Charles tried, Matcuis was the better swordsman, it was clear to Bolgreth the moment he saw the two clash swords. Charles was pushed to the back of the throne room, up against the stained glass window with an illustration of Matcuis smiting a pack of wolves, when a whizz and tiny crack could be heard. A scream of pain and an arrow jutting out of Charles, in the distance a reeling could be heard as a piece of wire attached to the arrow pulled the king to his death, through a window and down a drop of 120 meters. The leader of human rebellion along with the eleven original magical humans were dead, end of the line for humans to fight back, but not for the dwarves. A cough from behind Matcuis caused his glimmer of hope to burn away. He turned around to meet a tiny, stout, bearded man, two feet smaller than himself, holding a flintlock pistol and a sword that was half the size of him. Bolgreth lunged at the battle worn Matcuis, with one fell swoop he took out the shins of the elf, flooring him instantly. The once proud king, now kneeing and level with Bolgreth glared at his opponent and gasped quietly the words “You took your time my friend.” As the angry Bolgreth smashed his foot into the face of one of the greatest elven kings, Matcuis crumpled into a heap on the floor. The dwarf casual strolled over to the elf and planted a foot on his stomach and his gun onto of his heart. With a silent prayer to thank the gods of battle he pulled the trigger, but in that instant, with Matcuis dying breath as a lead pallet smashed into his rib cage, through his heart and embedded itself on the rib cage on the other side, as blood was launched through the air; he saw an explosive ball of magical fire explode against the back of head of his murderer. As his head slammed against the cold, sticky and blood castle floor he could hear screams of pain and defeat. As he blackout and fell into the sweet embrace of death, he made a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of revenge, battle, and victory.

~

I'm not going to create a feedback thread as per usual due to nobody's probably going to read this post/thread anyways, it's natural, nobody ever does. In addition I'm not sure if I'll post the rest.
I have written out 7 chapters, however I guess if you like more just say so, it's kind of crappy and you would be forcing me to proof but that's fine, be heartless.


-Paradox

 

Now looking at the time stamp and the number of words on this I'm presuming this was just to finish off my daily quota for the first day. I was probably going to come back to this chapter at a later date for more finishing of daily quota but as you may know if you actually read this, it never happened.
Anyways this chapter is far shorter than any other.

~

II
Jake:

Jake was a human slave under the rule of elf master. His family dates back to the war of the kingdoms, his family caught by the elf army, under the power of general Tacrelius, the last remaining general after the war. However, unlike most slaves, Jake was a magical one. At birth, few babies are selected by the government of the elves to be gifted with magical abilities, these abilities can vary from simple telekinesis or weather changing abilities or fully fledged destruction magic; depending on how much mana is in your blood. Mana is magical blood, passed down from generation to generation. Everyone has a little mana in their blood stream from the first people to roam the world Asrelgard; but in runs stronger in those with stronger magical ability. Jake was a slave with strong mana blood stream, so strong that nor he or his slave masters knew the extent of his powers. Jake often asked his father if his mother was magical as his father wasn't but to have powers as strong as his, he would need to be directly descended from a mage. No matter how often Jake asked about his mother, he never got a straight answer from his father, even though she had died 13 years before.

Jake’s masters were busy people so he hardly ever saw them, but when he did; the events that followed were never pleasant. Jake often got enraged by his owners and as a result of this he could not control his magic. The results could vary from rain inside the house to the burning down of a room; and it always ended with lashings from the belt. His father and other onlooking slaves were powerless to help however you could see sympathy in their eyes, as they continued to work around him. As his owners were often busy, he was often beaten by the children, two daughters and a son. The daughters commonly sat by watching unless Jake had down something that directly upset them or insult them along with the rest of their family. The majority of time it was the latter, as the son hit him, the two girls would stand at the side, glaring at him with empty, soulless eyes. Jake’s relationship with the son was worse than that with the others, as he dutifully did his job, he often apologised for hitting him, told him in a soothing voice that his parents were making him do this. The first time Jake every saw this boy was when he first hit Jake, he noticed that he and this boy were of similar age, yet Jake was powerless against him.
“I’m so sorry for this, may the gods forgive these hits of outrage from my parents.” He whispered, his brown eyes sympathetically glancing upon him. Jake’s hatred died down briefly, this boy; no older than him was being forced to do this. Unfortunately if he wanted Jake’s friendship, he was going about it the wrong way, his hits were malicious smacks of burning hot pain. Each blow delivering another shock wave of hatred through Jake’s body and out through his mouth from in the form of foul blasphemy and swears.

Compared to the other slaves in the house, Jake was a well off servant; for he had only been in service for nine years and his list of chores only consisted of lighting the fires, controlling the temperatures of said fires, keeping the weather nice for the crops and other jobs of such. For other slaves had been serving the family for a good thirty or forty years and had jobs like: cleaning the toilets; feeding the animals and cleaning their stables; or worst of all, providing cooking for the banquet… The banquet that provides for the whole family and relatives; all two hundred and fifty eight family plus the odd hundred or so friends.

Slaves that happened to get these jobs are often the new ones or the ones that are particularly ‘rebellious’. Those unfortunate enough to get such jobs often won’t get ‘promoted’ from such jobs as their masters don’t pay enough attention to their slaves to notice good work so they often just do their jobs dutifully opposed to doing them in flying colours. Since it’s their life permanently, why waste effort doing something well in vain? Jake would surely be demoted to these jobs almost instantly if it weren't for the fact that he was one of the four magical slaves of the house. Admittedly he did get the worst jobs of all the magical slaves, however magical slaves had to do magical things and the magical things never consisted of cleaning out blocked excrement in the toilets.

Jake often lived his life as happily as you can life as a slave. He found ways to make his job more interesting: adding patterns of water went raining had to be done; racing other slaves to his job before them; drawing rude pictures in the ashes from last night’s fire before promptly starting a new one to hide the fact he did it in the first place. This was all fine and dandy for Jake, but he wanted something more, something different…
More than anything else, Jake wanted freedom…