The title says it all folks. Something I've been working on for three years.
My Major Influences:
J.R.R. Tolkien
C.S. Lewis
Brian Jacques
J.K Rowling
Notice how every one of them are (or were) English writers. Hope you enjoy the tale of knights and sorcerors, executioners and vitctims, predators and prey.
Location: Fenix Legion Camp, Khardruzil Pass, the White Mountains.
The red and gold light emitting from the red wax candles did much to lighten the atmosphere, along with the perfumed scent of apples that came from the ever melting crimson sticks. The man at the table, his artic blue eyes looking down at the map infront of him, his black hair, with natural blue tips, hanging below his ears by about an inch, partially matching the black cloak, tunic, leggings, and the boots he wore, all with silver designs on them, the mineral gleaming from the light dimly.
A hand pulled back the grey tent's wool covering that served as a door. A white, lobstered hand, and the helmed man walked in, the white spherical helm with a gold visor hiding his face. In his right hand gripped a peculiar sword, a golden double helix blade, with black grip.
Behind the white knight came in a man, dressed in grey leather, the star on his left shoulder marking him as a captain, the longbow and arrows slung over his shoulder marking him as an archer. His cool, grey eyes and light brown hair gleamed in the dim light, as he stood and addressed the man at the table, still looking at the map before him.
"My Lord Twizen." The young, dark man at the table looked up, his artic blue eyes meeting the archer's sea-grey. "What is it, Xanos?" he asked, his face filled with curiousity. "The White Army has assembled a tenth of a league from here. And we found a shortcut to it, thanks to the scouts we found of theirs." Xanos said, a smirk on his face.
"Very well. Call the banners." Lord Twizen said, getting up, and turning to the white knight. "Puppet, hold the center." The Pale Assassin merely nodded, and walked off, giving his double helix blade a few spins, spitting one of the scouts left from the skirmish on the White Army's flank, causing blood to flow out of the now-lifeless man and onto the beautiful, yet deadly blade. Puppet wiped the blood off on the corpse and walked off, mounting his pale white horse.
Fenrir Twizen, Lord of Castle Wolven, and the Isle of Wolves, stepped out of his tent, hood pulled up, concealing his face from any insubordinate soldiers. He mounted his horse, black as sin, and drew one of his matching rapiers, holding it in military salute.
"This is the day you will prove yourselves worthy, the day you will win this battle, and the day you will decide who wins this war of Grey and White!" Thus he addressed the Fenix Legion, strongest regiment of men in the Grey Republique, far superior to the White Army of the White Kingdom.
And to think that this all started from the assassination of King Viral's son, Prince Cyras, of the White Kingdom. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, and neither would Puppet. How the gods have chosen us, I cannot say. But I can say this. Lord Yral and King Viral, however old their lineage and power may be, they have forgotten who made them the kings and lords they are now.
The Lords of The Western Realm, now lost in time. From Kalios Kator and Viktor Twizen came those men's royalty. Otherwise those two idiots would still be simple savages ruling the section of villages the White Kingdom once was.
Funny how the tables turn.
A single banner flew over the Fenix Legion, half white, half black, cut vertically, with a grey wolf, with blue eyes in the centre. " Forth we go, to renew the glory that was Westernesse." Fenrir muttered, smiling silently. The host stopped at the edge of the Valley of Tirion, looking down upon the camp that was the White Army's abode.
Rearing his black destrier, Fenrir saluted the men, and went at a hard gallop into the ravine. The Fenix Legion rode behind him, Puppet, the Pale Assassin, and Xanos, the Arsonit, in the lead behind their leige lord and commander.
Let's hope the Dragon and the Falcon are ready to bow to the Wolf. Otherwise there may be slaughter in Miras Xarus when we get there.
Fenrir grinned to himself, and drew his other rapier, letting his destrier go by itself. He jumped, did a frontflip, and decapitated the man-at-arms infront of him, all in one stroke. Wiping his blades clean on the now-dead man, he turned, spinning arond, parrying the longaxe coming towards him, thrusting into the man's heart that had dared to attack him.
Let's hope that we win the Grey Wars II.
My Major Influences:
J.R.R. Tolkien
C.S. Lewis
Brian Jacques
J.K Rowling
Notice how every one of them are (or were) English writers. Hope you enjoy the tale of knights and sorcerors, executioners and vitctims, predators and prey.
CHAPTER 1
Location: Fenix Legion Camp, Khardruzil Pass, the White Mountains.
The red and gold light emitting from the red wax candles did much to lighten the atmosphere, along with the perfumed scent of apples that came from the ever melting crimson sticks. The man at the table, his artic blue eyes looking down at the map infront of him, his black hair, with natural blue tips, hanging below his ears by about an inch, partially matching the black cloak, tunic, leggings, and the boots he wore, all with silver designs on them, the mineral gleaming from the light dimly.
A hand pulled back the grey tent's wool covering that served as a door. A white, lobstered hand, and the helmed man walked in, the white spherical helm with a gold visor hiding his face. In his right hand gripped a peculiar sword, a golden double helix blade, with black grip.
Behind the white knight came in a man, dressed in grey leather, the star on his left shoulder marking him as a captain, the longbow and arrows slung over his shoulder marking him as an archer. His cool, grey eyes and light brown hair gleamed in the dim light, as he stood and addressed the man at the table, still looking at the map before him.
"My Lord Twizen." The young, dark man at the table looked up, his artic blue eyes meeting the archer's sea-grey. "What is it, Xanos?" he asked, his face filled with curiousity. "The White Army has assembled a tenth of a league from here. And we found a shortcut to it, thanks to the scouts we found of theirs." Xanos said, a smirk on his face.
"Very well. Call the banners." Lord Twizen said, getting up, and turning to the white knight. "Puppet, hold the center." The Pale Assassin merely nodded, and walked off, giving his double helix blade a few spins, spitting one of the scouts left from the skirmish on the White Army's flank, causing blood to flow out of the now-lifeless man and onto the beautiful, yet deadly blade. Puppet wiped the blood off on the corpse and walked off, mounting his pale white horse.
Fenrir Twizen, Lord of Castle Wolven, and the Isle of Wolves, stepped out of his tent, hood pulled up, concealing his face from any insubordinate soldiers. He mounted his horse, black as sin, and drew one of his matching rapiers, holding it in military salute.
"This is the day you will prove yourselves worthy, the day you will win this battle, and the day you will decide who wins this war of Grey and White!" Thus he addressed the Fenix Legion, strongest regiment of men in the Grey Republique, far superior to the White Army of the White Kingdom.
And to think that this all started from the assassination of King Viral's son, Prince Cyras, of the White Kingdom. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, and neither would Puppet. How the gods have chosen us, I cannot say. But I can say this. Lord Yral and King Viral, however old their lineage and power may be, they have forgotten who made them the kings and lords they are now.
The Lords of The Western Realm, now lost in time. From Kalios Kator and Viktor Twizen came those men's royalty. Otherwise those two idiots would still be simple savages ruling the section of villages the White Kingdom once was.
Funny how the tables turn.
A single banner flew over the Fenix Legion, half white, half black, cut vertically, with a grey wolf, with blue eyes in the centre. " Forth we go, to renew the glory that was Westernesse." Fenrir muttered, smiling silently. The host stopped at the edge of the Valley of Tirion, looking down upon the camp that was the White Army's abode.
Rearing his black destrier, Fenrir saluted the men, and went at a hard gallop into the ravine. The Fenix Legion rode behind him, Puppet, the Pale Assassin, and Xanos, the Arsonit, in the lead behind their leige lord and commander.
Let's hope the Dragon and the Falcon are ready to bow to the Wolf. Otherwise there may be slaughter in Miras Xarus when we get there.
Fenrir grinned to himself, and drew his other rapier, letting his destrier go by itself. He jumped, did a frontflip, and decapitated the man-at-arms infront of him, all in one stroke. Wiping his blades clean on the now-dead man, he turned, spinning arond, parrying the longaxe coming towards him, thrusting into the man's heart that had dared to attack him.
Let's hope that we win the Grey Wars II.
