fredag den 20. juni 2014

From the ashes of school, TV-shows and a beautiful (evil) writer's block I return to you, faithful readers! Huzzah! Today, I am going to reveal a bit more about the world Taureesia is set in. Today, we are going to visit the far North, and a very special girl.

Far to the north, in the mountains of Roscarr lies a town. Nestled in between the two titanic mountains Soth and Roccos, life thrives there. Down below, farmers plow the frozen fields with beast and plow, doing something most would not even consider, even in their wildest dreams. Strapped to each plow of heavy metal are two gigantic oxen, covered in a thick coat of fur, heavy horns on their heads. In the skies above and on the slopes of the mountains roam the mighty dragons and their riders: men of huge proportions, wielding axes and spears of the finest steel.


“Suut! Get down from there lass! Wouldn’t want ye to fall inta the dragon pit now, would we? Mam at home would have me head!” The nimble girl was plucked off the huge stone fence and placed over the giant of a man’s shoulder. “Pa!” she wailed, beating his back with her tiny fists, “It’s not fair! The boys get to play with the dragons! Why can’t I play with them! I want to play with them! I want to ride!” Her father roared with laughter, “Ye, riding one of the dragons? Hah! Never in me life have I heard of such. A woman riding? You’ll be married to Highlord Brünjolf in two years! And ye’ll make Pa proud, by giving us plenty of strong warriors! Dragon riding, hah! Have I ever heard anything so daft!”

The girl fumed over her supper, stabbing the slab of sheep with her knife over and over. “Why can’t girls be dragonriders?” She blurted out, her mother turning and glaring at her. “It’s a man’s job. It takes muscle! We women keep at home and make sure they have a warm bed and a strong supper! Keep that in mind, Suut. As a wife, you have many responsibilities, the most important is to keep yer husband happy! That, and ye should hope to give him many a son.” The large woman shook her head and went back to the dishes. The door slammed open and in stepped Suut’s father, throwing his axe on a nearby chair. “Is the little one still complaining about not being allowed to ride a dragon?” he asked, grinning at the girl. “Ye know the rules little scaly! Even a chieftain can nae bend the laws of gods!" The man roared with laughter as he reached for the mug of ale his wife handed him. "Yer mother, now there is a prime example of a woman! Strong as an ox, gentle as a dove and clever for both of us!" He grinned and raised the mug to his daughter. The woman chuckled and placed a large pot in front of them. Moments later the peace was broken by Suut's father's stories.

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So girls can't be dragonriders? Let's see what Suut will think of that, in the next instalment! For now, I have a very special announcement, that you can feel free to share with your friends and family!

Now announcing the greatest undertaking since opening that pack of chips last night: Taureesia - The Worldbuilding Project! That's right, Taureesia in its entirety is being thrown to the proverbial masses, and will be a joined construction by all who are willing and able!
I look forward to seeing my faithful readers joining the ranks! Thank you!
Links:
http://taureesia.freeforums.org/index.php
https://www.facebook.com/Taureesia

søndag den 25. august 2013

Let's just skip right to story time today, shall we?

A Problem, And The Peculiar Solution - Part I

"Hah! Beat again, Broth! Don't you think that's the problem, friend? You're not enough of a man to father a son! Twelve daughters, twelve! But not a single lad in the bunch! What are you going to do? Marry them all off and rely on the husband? Or keep them for yourself, eh Broth?" Vronan roared with laughter and punched Broth's shoulder, nearly sending the man off of his chair. "My turn, can't have this bastard of the Corps beat us, now can we? Besides, I think there'd be more in him, fighting someone who makes a living killing the damn things!" He shoved the humiliated man away and thumped into his seat, placing his elbow on the table. "Come on, lad. Let's see what you Dragonriders are made of!" Vronan looked directly into the man's eyes as he placed his elbow on the table, gripping the much larger man's hand. Two small spikes were placed on either side, making sure that the loser would know it. "You know the game: I win, twenty gold pieces, you win, well, how about that?" Vronan nodded towards the unusually large Greatsword leaning against the fireplace. "Fang Ripper, I call her. Slayed many a dragon, she has. She's yours! If you can beat me. That spike, through my hand. She's yours. Otherwise? Well, your pay is gone for the month!" He grinned, revealing a nasty set of yellow teeth. "One, two, three... Hold it, hold it... Go!" The barkeeper yelled, preparing a mug of strong ale for whoever won, and a mug of Firewater for the loser. Vronan frowned deeply as the man from the Corps started pushing on his hand. Slowly but steadily his hand was pushed down towards the spike, the other man starting to smile cruelly and pressing harder. That was his mistake. Vronan gave one, solid push on the other's hand and he let out a loud cry as his hand was slammed onto the spike. "Never, ever underestimate your opponent, lad. You'll get hurt. You'll die, one day. Keep the gold, and take that," he gestured to the hand the young man was now clutching, "As a lesson. Barkeep! That mug of ale, give it to the lad, hand me the Firewater. Need something strong, not that watery slop." Somewhat distressed, the round barkeeper placed the mug of strong ale, and some bandages, in front of the loser, and the Firewater in front of Vronan. "Thank you kindly." He picked up the mug and drained it, a feat not many could brag about accomplishing. But Vronan was a Dragonslayer, a rare breed of men and women doing the most dangerous job known to man: killing wild dragons.
"Lad, get that hand looked at, and your arm. I thought you men of the Corps were stronger than that! But I suppose you rely on your beasts, a pity. One day I'm sure you'll prove yourself." The Dragonslayer went to grab the Greatsword, casually resting it over his shoulder, the blade sitting snugly in strange dent on the plate protecting his shoulder. Even in the blistering heat, Vronan had not removed the heavy plate armour he wore. For as his father had said to him, all those years ago, one cannot know when danger rears its ugly face, and one must always be ready to bash danger's ugly face in with ones fist. His father had been a strange man, Vronan thought, a smile breaking the rugged features of the brute.

How curious. Can anyone guess what'll happen next? :D 

torsdag den 22. august 2013

Tales of Taureesia - And a bit of rambling at the end

After reading through some old writing, I decided I should pick up the old world I have been writing, Taureesia. The first snippet you lot got to read the other day will fit in snugly. Now, onto the beginning of the tale of Santo Shardkeeper, and the disappearance of the God of Light, Kyank.


Standing high above the city of Liaryn, Shardkeeper Santo Vallar gazed out across the city of his fathers. The city that had now become his. Even if it was only part of the human empire, it dwarfed most other cities, even the great ones of the B'ta. A smile broke the seriousness of the young man's face, and he took a step back from the railing on the balcony. His hand rested on the silvery hilt of the Shard, a blade so ancient, that some believed it to have been forged by Kyank and Mahvan, in the time of the Gods. Santo looked up at the sky, where a pack of Windserpents, small agile dragons with no legs, only two wings, wings that kept them in the air from birth, and until their death. "Gazing at Dragons again, my liege? Those, as you have surely been told many times now, are the Royals. A breed of Windserpent bred on this very soil, indeed. Magnificent creatures. It is sad that they are too small to ride, as I believe, if I may, my liege, that it would be quite the thrill!" An old servant had entered the room, chuckling quietly at the young ruler. "Hah, riding, Old Palanthius? No thank you, I am leaving that to the Corps! That one time on the Waterborn? Thank you! That was enough for me!" He said, walking swiftly to greet the old man. "It is good to see you, old friend. How is life at the monasteries? I take it that Kyank is still satisfied with our sacrifices, and our prayer?" The Shardkeeper asked Palanthius, tilting his head gently to one side. "And it is a pleasure to be in such grand company, my liege. Life is well: the fields are filled with corn, ready for the harvest, and Brother Sanctis recently got rid of his cold! We thought for sure that Mahvan would take him this time! But Tid works in strange ways, the old Owl. It seems as if Sanctis keeps getting more time, when the rest of us get as old as we get," he smiled sadly, adding more wrinkles to the old man's face, "The Master of Light and Life is yet to respond to any prayers. All is well, yes, but He has not said a word. Sister Madania even went as far as to volunteer as a human sacrifice, but the fire would not have her. But I know not much of the workings of Gods,  even less the workings of Dragons! I am certain that the Dragon Corps will have ideas of what to do. And you, my liege, how is life at the Citadel? Is Lady Marie well? And the child?" The monk took the liberty of leading the Shardkeeper to a set of chairs as he spoke, sitting down and pouring himself and the young man a glass of dark, purple wine. "I am glad to hear, Palanthius. The poor Sanctis has been ill since the day he arrived, seven years ago!" He chuckled and gently sipped his wine, savouring the bitter-sweet taste. "A good year, a good year indeed. Kyank is not responding?" The glass twitched violently, nearly spilling its contents as Santo spoke, his eyes wide. "But why? He has always accepted our offerings and taken to answering. He would not even accept Sister Madania? But.. That is unheard of! Any God would take a willing sacrifice!" He sighed and sipped his wine, unintentionally draining half of it. "I will speak with Master Grom. See what he has to say. Thank you, old friend, in these times we must all stand together, and now that Kyank has stopped responding to us, even more so... Life at the Citadel? It is good, except for the constant meetings. Those are the boring parts of being Shardkeeper: sitting down for hours on end, listening to old men talk! No offence, of course. Lady Marie is well, as is my son. The little man is growing quickly." His expression softened at the mentioned of the woman and the boy, Santo leaning back in his chair in a manner not usually seen in royalty. "He will grow to be a fine warrior. Like his grandfather, and his father before him." Palanthius leaned forward and smirked, "And yourself, my liege."
"Haha, and myself, Palanthius. Though I should let others praise me, for praising one self is ridiculous! Then, even he who shovels the waste from the dragons could be called a mighty warrior! Well, in some cases he is, I guess. Not many would dare venture in with them, to remove their droppings!" The young man gently put the glass on the table, standing and stretching his back. He turned and looked as if he was going to speak, but at that moment the door was flung open and two members of the Dragon Corps stepped inside, wearing the usual greyish uniforms. "My lord Shardkeeper, the Matriarch has requested your presence!" The taller of the two said, an urgent tone to his voice. They both had their hands on the hilts of the heavy swords used in aerial combat, their knuckles white from holding on too tightly. "She was very insistent on your arrival as soon as possible, so please, come with us!" Palanthius turned and stared at the men, not as much for their news, but from the clear break of courtesy to their ruler. Santo on the other hand, did not seem to mind but was already past them before the second sentence had been spoken, calling out for his horse. A young servant came running with the Crysanthium moments later, the huge, six-legged horse nearly rising on its hind legs as it saw Santo. "Calm, Brutus, calm! Come, we must go at once. The Matriarch has summoned us, though I am sure you already know, old friend." He swung himself into the saddle as the horse thundered past him, knocking over the young boy in the process. The two members of the Corps were nowhere to be seen, but he needed not their guidance to find the nesting grounds. Santo lay down flat against Brutus' strong neck, keeping one hand on the side of it. "Ride, lad, ride. You know more than I do at the moment. I wonder, why would She summon us? This must be severe. Her eggs are not set to hatch for another year." He spoke quietly to himself as the horse thundered past several servants. On foot it would have taken over an hour to reach the nesting grounds, but on the Crysanthium, a mount like no other, the only exception being the Dragons, it took less than ten minutes. "Calm, Brutus. We're here." Santo spoke a bit too late, as Brutus didn't stop until he had leapt clean over the bars that kept the nesting grounds locked off, and rode straight into the Matriarch's nest itself. The horse shook his head and Santo hurried off, looking curiously at him. An urgent, feminine voice dragged him back to reality though. "Santo, you are here. Something has happened, something that even I cannot explain." The floor groaned as the giant Matriarch rose and stepped closer to him. "What has happened, dearest Matriarch? Does this have anything to do with the sudden disappearance of Kyank?" He asked, looking up at the dragon. "Yes, I am afraid. Though He did not disappear, and that is what frightens me. He came to me in my dream and told me of hard times to come. Santo," she lowered her head so that her eyes were on the same level as his, "He has left us. Not out of hate or anger, no, his brother, Mahvan, stepped too far. The young Saviri Dragoncaller was corrupted. The Elves think humans are to blame. Do you know what this means, Santo?" She asked him sadly. Around her, dragons were curled up around themselves, whimpering at the loss of their god. "Yes... The Elves... We must keep the Ambassador in the city, he is our only hope of making them realize before they go to war with us." The dragon gave him a sad look, resting her head on the floor as she lay down. "He is gone. One of my kin carried him off, to Se'ryli." Santo stared at her, his mind working furiously to find a solution before the elven armies were at his door. The Shardkeeper leaned against the dragon's snout, stroking the warm scales. "What should we do?" He asked. She rumbled calmingly and rubbed his hand gently. "Seek out help. Find those most unlikely, as only they will have the strength to do what must be done. No man loyal to you will do, I am afraid." Santo sighed and leaned his forehead against the dragon. "But a woman, could do." The Matriarch said, smiling faintly. "A woman? But who? There is no- wait. You are no thinking? No, I will not! I am not sending her out there!" He stepped back from the dragon, shaking his head furiously. "It is what you must, if you wish to stop this threat. Santo I know it is hard, but we all make sacrifices. I send my sons and daughters to their deaths, praying that Kyank, and the brave riders that guide them, will keep my children safe. Now it is your turn to make such a sacrifice." She looked at him with a deep understanding, stretching her neck slightly to nudge him reassuringly. "I have no choice, do I?" He sighed, "I will ask her. What pitiful a ruler I am, sending my own wife on a mission even I do not know what is! but I shall do what I can to keep her, and whoever will follow her, safe. I need air. Thank you for your time, Matriarch, we will speak again soon." Angrily he swung himself onto Brutus' back, looking at the ancient dragon one last time before turning the horse around and racing out of the nesting grounds. "Sending Marie to battle... It is insane. What kind of twisted husband am I? My own wife.." He buried his face in Brutus' mane, silent tears filling his eyes. "It will not be in vain, Brutus. Those not loyal... I will find the best, the strongest, the most cunning to protect her. I swear, in the name of Kyank I swear!"


So, shit's gonna go down real soon. Now that's my quota of typing like that for the day filled. Right now I'm sitting here in my class, waiting for the teacher to arrive. And, I'd like to point out, class ends in 30 minutes. Yaaaay? Okay it sucks. And there she is. Toodles.

tirsdag den 20. august 2013

This is me. Howdy.

So I finally decided to do this blogging thing (I'm crazy, I know) to have something to keep kicking myself back to, when it comes to writing (And probably ranting :I). Hopefully I'll get a few followers who will read (and enjoy?) my content. Anyway, rambling done, let's delve into the mind of Zorach the griffon-keeper.


The wind howled around him. Drops of water struck with the force of great hammers on anvils. His eyes were narrow, scanning the horizon for the lost rider. The world turned to the left as a cow came hurling past with a dull look, still chewing on grass. Shortly, the world righted and Zorach gripped the reigns tighter. His goggles, what he wouldn't give for his goggles. Far below, a bird's cry echoed up through the gale. He kicked the sides of the feathered creature he was sat upon, and the two dove straight down through the pounding rain, towards the shrill cries of their companions. Little Ronin, so eager to fly with his new best friend. And the griffon, equally young and foolish. Zorach had flown for over eighty years. The powerful muscles and rough feathers he felt below the saddle, belonging to his oldest friend and life-companion, had followed him for as long. Sirah twisted her beaked head to the side and change direction mid-drop, her powerful wings launching the two through the brutal downpour. A flash of feathers and the horrified expression of a young dwarf, his beard still only a small patch on his chin. The gut-wrenching sound of bones shattering and flesh tearing.

"Zorach! Wake up ye idgit! Ye've been dreamin' egain!" The world was rustled violently, and the ageing dwarf dared open an eye to peer upon his assailant. As usual, Grot was glaring down at him. "Come on! Ye dinna want ta be late for the ceremoneh, do ye now?" A growl in dwarfish followed as Grot stomped out of the room and out the front-door.
"Good ol' Grot," Zorach chuckled, "Ey, let's git these 'ere ol' bones movin'..." With a groan the dwarf stood, stumbling for a moment and gripping the bedside table. "Eh... Gettin' ol', 'bout time." His beard twitched, a gesture that normally would be accompanied by a smile, but it had grown to mostly conceal his mouth. Moving slowly, the ageing dwarf ventured outside of his home and into the bustling streets of Firestone. Mounted guards on their rams walked in pairs around the streets at this time, ensuring the populace would not trample one another on the way to the Anvil. Zorach gripped his walking stick and started following a group of younger dwarves, talking loudly about which of them would surely be named Grand Artisan one day. "I see you have awakened for the ceremony, old friend," a soft voice interrupted from beside him. In earlier years, the Highborn elf would have caused the dwarf to jump out of his skin. Now, he merely smiled and glanced at the man. "Witty, long-ears." The two shared a chuckle and kept on in silence for a while. Passing through the gateway to the Iron Forge, the wave of heat from the metal-works hit them like a wall. "I do not understand why you linger here still, Zorach. The hippogriffs have shown great interest in your caring for their lesser brethren. You would be welcomed on Darkay," the Highborn said, nodding politely at a passing Moon elf. "An' a woman in ye life woul' do ye good, Sarai!" Zorach grinned and nudged the elf. "So you keep claiming. I am barely past my fifth millennia, that is too young to settle. Though I must admit, the young Moon elf was quite pleasing to the eye," finally the elf's lips twitched, revealing the slightest smile. Zorach burst out laughing, "Pleasin' ta the eye? She was a looker if ah ever saw aneh! Bah, ye'll have ah wife an' child before me anvil runs dry, friend!" The dwarf, satisfied with his statement, passed through the gargantuan doors to the Triumvirate's quarters. The sound was deafening. A multitude of races were gathered here, though most being dwarfs. Sarai rose far above the rest, like an ancient oak in a forest of young trees. A hammer struck an anvil with force, and the sound died instantly.

"Friends, famileh, guests," a booming voice spoke, "Ah welcome ye to the Council of Three. Ta'night, the Grand Artisan 'imself will pass the title ta ah successor." Immediately the talk started again, many of the younger dwarves calling out there names.

From the tallest seat of the three at the very back of the room, an ancient dwarf rose. The room silenced to the point where a rat could be heard eating stolen cheese. "I name Zorach Ironshield Grand Artisan."
Zorach's calm expression turned to one of horror.




Yay! The very first part of Zorach's story. Next, we do something different! I have no clue what yet. Perhaps the Magi? A dragon? What about... A peasant! Hm... We'll see. Comment, like and subscribe. Or whatever the fancy YouTube folks say these days. Peace! <3