LavaSlicer
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Hi everyone, so I'm an aspiring writer and I thought that I would compose an AQW-related story that has been building up in my mind for some time. I don't know if I should trust my own judgment on its quality, so if you could please give it a read and reply with your suggestions and reactions it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you!
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A small, twinkling tendril of bluish lightning trembled around Ethan’s fingertips as the necromantress began to chant resurrection spells in a lifeless, monotone voice. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, began to wash over into a pale and unhealthy white, and her hands began to glow with crimson, as if she had dipped her wrists into shining, blood-red gauntlets. An eerie smile split her expressionless face into a mask of delighted foreboding as a sudden wave of heat swept through the air.
Then an unholy blast of sound caused the very earth around them to tremble, and Ethan turned in instinctive panic towards the tent behind him.
“Serena, don’t come out!” he yelled. Too late; her slender, battle-lithe figure was already parting the tent flaps, rushing towards him and joining her to his uncertain and increasingly grim fate.
“How do you expect me to stay put while hearing all of this?” she said. “There’s red lightning and thunder and flashes and that terrible sound that just blew apart my eardrums and you expect me to just stay put while you face all these alone? Don’t you even think of it, Ethanrold Darlionell, I will NOT oblige you on this one, no matter what I promised my entirely unreasonable father.” She emphasized her indignant tone by putting her hands on her hips, and her lips actually moved upwards into a pout, which Ethan found amazing considering the circumstances. It was almost comical; and yet, so terribly not.
“Serena, please,” he intoned, not knowing whether to chasten or plead. “You can’t even use magic, and the chances of me walking away from this fight are about as good as the chances of your father allowing us to be wed. I put that teleportation crystal in the tent for a reason. I can’t allow you to face any danger! If you die, I lose everything. Don’t you understand that?” Even before he had finished speaking, he knew that his words were useless; angry tears dashed across her face, and she was giving him a stern look remarkably similar to the one her father, the King of Lore, often wore when speaking to him.
“And do you not think it’s the same for me?” Serena replied angrily. “If you die, I too will have no more reason to live. It is better that if one of us die, the other should too. Don’t argue with me further, Ethan—my mind is already made up.”
As he opened his mouth in protest, a terrifying howl blasted through the air, causing the both of them to duck with their hands over their ears. Then the earth itself caught fire and sprang open in four different places, which aligned in a fiery rectangle that depressed into the ground, releasing a platform of molten magical energy amidst the flame.
The necromantress chuckled before she spoke. “As you two were having your lover’s quarrel, I was indulging in a rather tricky bit of magical calculus that I had anticipated would take a very long amount of time. Fortunately, however, the corpses contained in this cemetery are ones of a rather high magical pedigree, and I accelerated their resurrection process by using the residual magic in their bones to complete the ritual faster than I had thought. This, of course, spells your death. It’s a little quicker end to your life than I had thought, but, oh, what fun!” Her lips parted to reveal startlingly white teeth, which she licked around with a blood-red tongue. The next sentence she spoke turned Ethan’s blood into ice.
“Say hello to your father, Ethan.”
Elroy Darlionell, once the most powerful warrior in all of Lore, emerged from the platform of molten magic, his body sheathed in dark armor and his eyes a soulless black. With his hands he clutched a pale, white sword, the metal of which Ethan knew was of astonishing magical filigree; it was Tyraseus, a Darlionell family heirloom and one of the most powerful swords ever forged in Lorian history. The blade seemed to shiver, anticipating a battle, and Ethan tried to swallow his panic and rage at the sight of his beloved father, reduced to a carcass of manipulated magic. Emotion pierced at his heart as he drew his sword.
“HY-AH!” With a loud shout, Ethan ran his lightning-adorned fingers across the flat of his blade, and his sword, Ragnarok, began to glow with powerful Good magic. The necromantress paused and stared at his blade, wondering. Ragnarok’s aqua-blue blade was exuding a force for Good the likes of which rivaled Alteon’s, and the sword seemed to be emitting runes from its center. The weapon unnerved her.
“That sword…from where did you obtain it?” she asked, her previous bloodlust drowned in inquiry.
“That’s none of your business,” Ethan spat. “However, it is ironic that my transaction with Dage the Evil will be your undoing.”
“Dage,” she breathed. “Warlic’s crystal ball did foresee the existence of a weapon that could bring light to the darkness. But can you go so far as to harm your own father?” She smirked as Elroy advanced, a negated champion raised to harm his own son.
Ethan’s response was to point his blade at his father. “For Serena, I would do anything. And besides, my father is already dead. Long gone are the days in which he was a part of my life. I must now protect those who can love me in the present.” He swung Ragnarok, and a crackling circle of runed light began to pulse through the sword’s center. “Come, necromantress. Do your worst.”
The necromantress chuckled. “Admirable sentiments. I was right to choose your kind to engineer my plan. But do you really think you can stand against your father, who excelled all other warriors in his lifetime and is magically charged besides? And you forget that my spell has awakened others too, who are beneath this platform of earth as we speak, waiting for me to raise them up at a second’s notice. Even if you manage to defeat your father, can you conquer them as well? No, today is your day to die, my foolishly Good warrior, and you will do so, at the hands of either your father or your resurrected townspeople.” She waved her staff, and thirty heads rose up from the cracked earth, glowing with the same darkness as Ethan’s father. “You will have to defeat all of them if you are to survive.”
Ethan’s heart faltered. The faces of his many childhood heroes: Aranx the Good, Ganaloth the Dragonslayer, and even Artix the Paladin now adorned the cemetery floor, ready to emerge from the molten earth to battle against him. More than fighting them, it was seeing that the darkness had overtaken such champions of light that saddened Ethan. Would his lifeless corpse too one day be used to further evil upon Lore? A terrible rage came over him, and he raised his blade up high.
Serena grasped his arm. “Ethan, let’s run! Into the tent, where the crystal awaits. We cannot beat her, and I know how you loved these fighters. We cannot win this.” Tears pooled into her eyes, and her green irises marbled into watery mosaics of broken light. She sounded so heartbroken that Ethan turned with her and ran. As Ethan was running, however, the necromantress spoke.
“Ah, yes, run, little boy. It is always this way for you heroes: turn when there is no hope. Just know that I will take great pleasure in demolishing the surrounding towns of Willowshire and Cornelis with the help of your father. And once that is done, I will amass even more force in their dead bodies, and soon even Swordhaven and Battleon shall be mine and my master’s.”
Ethan dashed into the tent, and grabbed the crystal, Serena following. He pulled her hands towards his and laced both their fingers around the crystal, activating it with a few murmurs of whispered magic. Then, he let the crystal go just as the white teleportation aura overcame the hands of those still grabbing onto the crystal. Namely, Serena’s.
Serena quickly dropped the crystal, but to no avail; the teleportation spell had already began, and she began to dissolve into white. Tears streamed from her eyes as she beat Ethan’s chest in frustration and anguish.
“Ethan, why, why? You can’t win, and once she kills you, she’ll move on to the surrounding towns anyway. Ethan, I can’t live without you. My heart hurts. No, Ethan, no! You can’t win! There are too many of them,” she sobbed as she was whisked away to Swordhaven.
Ethan strode out of the tent, Ragnarok crackling blue in his hands. Blue flames seemed to erupt in his eyes as his father began to charge in his direction.
“Watch me,” said Ethan.
< Message edited by Gianna Glow -- 1/27/2014 20:03:25 >
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