Fan stories

[DeletedUser]

I have absolutely no idea on which topic it should be placed. I am serious or not. The chance of you knowing is small.
This topic is meant for the ones who have stories to share. Place your lore here and most important enjoy our works. (Especially mine)
P.S. Or not it all depends on what you like.


‘Ah Olg! Come, close the door. You don’t want me to catch a cold.’ The man closed the door. The storyteller sat near the hearth of the busy tavern. The storyteller was a old man. He was older than anyone else in the village. He prided himself with the age of two hundred years old, yet he was still as able as if he was thirty.
‘My tale is of long ago when we Rogardin entered the land Elvenar closely followed by those southern men called Arduï.’
The storyteller looked dreamily in the fire. ‘I was then already a Skald. I always looked for wonders which had ceased to exist in our homeland. We were under the banner of Skjoll Stoneshield who fought for our freedom in our homeland. We came here with women and children and horses and oxen. Everything we owned was loaded into our ships. The land was peaceful and quiet, deer calmly walked among us.’
The storyteller grinned. ‘Ah they have learned to fear us. After our journey across the sea we didn’t have much food left, but we didn’t dare to disturb the land, Yet. We traveled land inward searching a good place to settle and found a good piece of land some days from the shore. It was on a hill with a large hell hole protecting us from two sides and mountains protected another. Large forests covered a corner and strange statues were erected along the hellhole. They were large men clad in strange armor, an elaborate bucket adorned their faceless heads. We build the very first version of our main hall. It was simple enough a large hut of logs. We cut the trees from the forest. I remember first seeing one of the Dökkálfar, the elves, when the first tree had fallen. It was a man with a long face and large pointy ears tipped with red. His body was colored light blue unlike the deep shade of blue they now have. A week after our main hall was finished they came. They shot at us.’ The storyteller pointed at Olg. ‘It was your grandfather who died that day. A sword fell down and cut him. Arrows fell among us and we retreated to our hall. Skjoll kept the door closed by himself. Strong like an ox, that was him. We saw the Dökkálfar surrounding us. A masked swordsman said something which resembled the Arduïn tongue. “Leave our lands now or suffer the consequences.” As beautiful as the song of a bird he spoke. Of course we ignored him, we lived here in our new homeland.’ The storyteller smiled. ‘They were the good times. Come back tomorrow Norg. And Olg, I guess you have no reason to come. Ardro, you scoundrel don’t steal from the owner. You will not live to hear the end of my tales.’ The storyteller rested and started plaiting his long grey beard.


I call it, 'Rise of the Rogardin'

 

[ophion]

An exerpt from my ongoing book called the Quest.
Basic outline....
There is a war going on in Isingor...a city in the North and is spreading fast. The cause of the war is due to a magical artifact that was supposedly buried many years ago. Clues as to it's whereabouts have recently come to light and as the artifact is allegedly imbued with the power to bestow the owner with immortality...amongst other things...it's now being sought with a vengeance. The one who requires the artifact is a practioner and leader of the "D'ren" ( an order of the dark religion) called Luka. His army is able to shapeshift....and often roam the borders of the lands as half men/half wolf...and are known as wolfen. Thus my story begins....

Lord Elias sat at the head of the table in the room of Administration, the head of the council of Arkennan, and summoned his five Rule Lords to attend the meeting concerning the war in Isingor.
"This is a grave and dark time for the people of Isingor, and we need to plan well for the defence of our land against those that seek to destroy us and threaten our freedom, as well as offer what assistance we can to our neighbouring friends. As you are well aware, Luka's evil knows no bounds and his power is great. I believe he is biding his time to unleash something terrible upon this land. I say we must act now before it is too late."
Median...one of the five Rule Lords stood to speak...
"Lord Elias, we have news to relate concerning the refugees from Isingor. The black armies of Luka have taken menfolk from their lands and are holding them prisoners with the threat to crucify them along with their women and bairns. Some of the women have escaped and have fled for their lives... attempting to reach our city of Arkennan in hope of Sanctuary. The Guardians of the Border Patrol have sent more news of Wolfen hordes being unleashed...and they are now roaming the open lands between Arkennan and Isingor. There will be carnage if we cannot organise a rescue in time to help these people."
Lord Elias leapt from his seat at the head of the Council Table...
"Then send a messenger at once to Chief Callixis, Horseman of Arkennan, and inform him of this desperate situation and make the Keys of Weaponry available to him. He will organise horses and wagons to transport the refugees to our borders in safety."
"But Lord Elias"..replied Median..."It is a good days journey from the North of Arkennan to Isingor. The refugees willl be in open country without protection until our horsemen can reach them. It's hopeless to think that we can save them before the Wolfen attack."
"The Wolfen are creatures of the night" Elias answered. "They cannot hunt in daylight...that is why it's imperative that the rescue begins immediately. Go now without further delay."
Median bowed his head and quickly left the Room of Administration to execute his order.
Another member of the of the five...Barak...began to leave also.
"Lord Elias, I shall inform the Healers to place extra beds in the Healing Houses for the injured. Our Horsemen will suffer great losses this night I fear."
"Alas...I fear you are right Barak" he replied.
"This night there will be much grieving for our citizens of Arkennan."

 

[ophion]

I have absolutely no idea on which topic it should be placed. I am serious or not. The chance of you knowing is small.
This topic is meant for the ones who have stories to share. Place your lore here and most important enjoy our works. (Especially mine)
P.S. Or not it all depends on what you like.


‘Ah Olg! Come, close the door. You don’t want me to catch a cold.’ The man closed the door. The storyteller sat near the hearth of the busy tavern. ‘My tale is of long ago when we Norsemen entered the land Elvenar closely followed by those southern men called Arduï.’ The storyteller was a old man. He was older than anyone else in the village. He prided himself with the age of two hundred years old, yes he was still as able as if he was thirty. ‘I was then already a Skald. I always looked for wonders which had ceased to exist in our homeland. We were under the banner of Skjoll Stoneshield who fought for our freedom in our homeland. We came here with women and children and horses and oxen. Everything we owned was loaded into our ships. The land was peaceful and quiet, deer calmly walked among us.’ The storyteller grinned. ‘Ah they have learned to fear us. After our journey across the sea we didn’t have much food left, but we didn’t dare to disturb the land, Yet. We traveled land inward searching a good place to settle and found a good piece of land some days from the shore. It was on a hill with a large hell hole protecting us from two sides and mountains protected another. Large forests covered a corner and strange statues were erected along the hellhole. They were large men clad in strange armor, an elaborate bucket adorned their faceless heads. We build the very first version of our main hall. It was simple enough a large hut of logs. We cut the trees from the forest. I remember first seeing one of the Dökkálfar, the elves, when the first tree had fallen. It was a man with a long face and large pointy ears tipped with red. His body was colored light blue unlike the deep shade of blue they now have. A week after our main hall was finished they came. They shot at us.’ The storyteller pointed at Olg. ‘It was your grandfather who died that day. A sword fell down and cut him. Arrows fell among us and we retreated to our hall. Skjoll kept the door closed by himself. Strong like an ox, that was him. We saw the Dökkálfar surrounding us. A masked swordsman said something which resembled the Arduïn tongue. “Leave our lands now or suffer the consequences.” As beautiful as the song of a bird he spoke. Of course we ignored him, we lived here in our new homeland.’ The storyteller smiled. ‘They were the good times. Come back tomorrow Norg. And Olg, I guess you have no reason to come. Ardro, you scoundrel don’t steal from the owner. You will not live to hear the end of my tales.’ The storyteller rested and started plaiting his long grey beard.


I call it, 'Rise of the Rogardin'

Excellent work my friend...I'd love to read more.

 

[DeletedUser]

The second chapter of the Rise of the Rogardin.


‘Ardro give me something to drink. Yes some ale.’ The storyteller took a long drink passed by the Arduo. ‘That was some fighting we had today. Olg will feast in Rogar’s mead hall with his grandfather. To Olg!’ The storyteller raised his mug and brought it back to his lips. ‘Now where were we yesterday?’
The blond giant named Norg raised his mug. ‘You ended with the elves attacking you in the first week.’
The storyteller bowed his head. ‘Thank you Norg. When the elves left we hurried to get fortifications and walls, but it was not an easy work. We were constantly protecting ourselves with our shields. Each of us took a turn to swing an axe at a tree while the rest of us had to form a shield wall. The Dökkálfar stayed far away choosing to shoot us. When we had build a wall around our settlement we dared to let our children play outside. We started to have a feeling of safety.
It was in the second year of our arrival that we found a nest of two headed dogs. Their Arduïn name is Cerberus, but we called them Fenris. We trained them in combat, but their hate for elves was naturally born.’
The storyteller looked at each man in turn, knowing that each of them had a Fenris of themselves. ‘We had built a village and more ships arrived filled with Rogardin searching for a new homeland. They brought the missing steel and iron that we had not yet found. We could work the ground with the grain they had brought instead of living from the meat that the forest had brought. The pups we were raising caused some trouble. For one instance they were always hungry biting fingers as quickly as they snatched our food from the tables. They were friendly to the children and the men but snarled at the women.’
Grinning the storyteller slurped from his ale. His audience was laughing, remembering how their dogs reacted to the women. ‘We soon came upon the theory that our women had to be an offspring of an elfish race. The dogs at their second year would already be as large as our knees and capable of hunting the elves alone. We, we, we, w-‘ The storyteller fell asleep. His audience quietly left and grinned among themselves. The oldest man in the whole city was starting to get old.

Ophion great story, makes me think of the Dragonlance series.