[N] Rise of a Storm

Deus P · **Posted:** July 4th, 2007, 1:21 am

[Title due to change as I don't really know what to call this]

Hello and welcome to my first runescape story. With that said, read, chew it apart, then tell me what you think.

Prologue:
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It was chaos outside. The night howled and rain crashed along the castle walls in relentless fury. Not many nights like this appeared in Burthrope. Naturally the high mountains surrounding the small outpost protected Burthrope from the elements, however this was a storm like no other; houses were uprooted within minutes of its appearance. Soon, the castle was filled with the family of the Black Army. One little girl buried her head in her fathers lap as lightning flashed in a nearby window.

"There now Cilly, its just a storm," The man patted her head as she jumped to the sound of a door opening.

"Sir, the castle is secured. All the residents are within its walls."

"Good, now we just have to wait the storm out." He looked across the hall at the his family and friends. This was a new experience for them.

"Excuse me for asking Denulth, but what can we do while we wait. We can't train within the castle. There are too many people here."

"Then let me tell you a story, about a storm like this one..."

The Black Army of Burthrope stood watch over the Troll Stronghold for hundreds of years. None of the Gods looked upon this small speck of RuneScape since it was first established, for that is the way of Gods. Zammarock was busy with his game of Go with Saradomin. Both players were highly skilled and believed to be equals in every stone they place. Arguements would break out over a move and hundreds of lives would be lost over their bickering. However Guthix was always there to sort out the small matter. The word of Rune Scape was as it should be, or so the Gods believed.

Deep within the confines of the Troll Stronghold, Gargaruth was born. His mother, the stone thrower Nugmead, passed away with her sons birth. Like most trolls he was big and sturdy. His forearms were strong from his mother and his legs built for his mountain home. He was in every aspect a troll, except for one small feature, his deep purple eyes.

These eyes were a foreign amongst trolls. None among the trolls thought better of it, but Gargaruth soon grew restless. He found that he was different than the other trolls. Unlike his fellow brethren he had thoughts, imagination, and the most un-trollish element: reason.

Tahu 1000 · **Posted:** July 4th, 2007, 7:46 am

Wow. Very intriguing. Only minor SPAG errors. However, there's one huge problem: YOU NEED TO WRITE MORE!

kittycatdude · **Posted:** July 5th, 2007, 7:26 am

Very nice story! :icon_thumleft:

It really caught my attention. Please, keep writing.

Tahu 1000 · **Posted:** July 6th, 2007, 5:22 am

Yeah, now write some more!

Deus P · **Posted:** July 6th, 2007, 12:41 pm

Chapter 1:
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The glare of the sun was in Bedlam’s eyes. Not being able to see could get you killed, especially when facing the man in front of him.

His opponent pointed the tip of his practice sword to the ground and took a step to the side, slowly circling him. He was a tall man with broad shoulders that would make any man seem cumbersome, but not him. He moved liked a snake and worked his sword with the art of a master. His movements were taunting. Point, step step. Point, step step. Soon the sun was in Bedlam’s eyes again.

His opponent rushed at him, his sword darting for Bedlam’s head. Wooden practice sword met with a clack! and time seemed to stand still. Then the two fighters began to dance. Each moved with the grace attained from years of practice. Swords darted back and forth from attack to defense in a steady rhythm as the sun beat down on the two. A bystander “awed” as the two men battled each other. It was hard to remember that if their blades had been steel, blood would have flowed. But no blade of steel, or wood, touched either man.

Sweat dripped from Bedlam’s brow and fell on his hands as he deflected a blow to his head. This was taking too long and Bedlam knew he couldn’t hold out for much longer. With a surge he thrust his sword at his opponent’s stomach, but swept the blade low at the last minute. His wooden sword bit into his opponents leg and he followed with quick blows to each wrist before stopping with his blade resting at the mans throat.

Applause erupted around the two men as they shook hands. It was a good fight, one Captain Bedlam Geofald of the Black Army of Burthrope, would not forget.
“You’ve done well son. Maybe in a years time I can take you on patrols up the mountain.”

Jaacob Geofald stared at his father with shock. “After putting you through the fight of a lifetime you still won’t permit me to go?”

“Aye, son. I still won’t let you. Your good, I’ll give you that, but all my men here can best you. Bags son, some of them can even best me and I’m the captain. In a years time, and no sooner.”

Irritated at his father's dicision Jaacob ran off with his practice sword towards the slopes of the Death Plateau. One of Bedlams men made to go after him but Bedlam stopped him.

"Let the lad go and cool off. He can take care of himself."

kittycatdude · **Posted:** July 6th, 2007, 4:55 pm

Writers block? I have found it helpful when at this point, to interview your characters. Get to know them. Wat do they say now? Do? Think? I've used this form in the past to help me.
Copy it into Microsoft Word, then fill it out there.

What is your name?

Where are you from?

What is your age?

What is your job?

What are your most showing traits?

What is your one desire in life?

What is your favorite weapon?

How many men have you killed?

What grade of peoples are you?

Do you run away from danger?

Worst fear?

What do you enjoy most?

What was your Fathers job?

Social?

Most Likely way to die?

Personality?

Hope this helps.

Deus P · **Posted:** July 6th, 2007, 5:52 pm

Ok I'll give it a try

Thorita · **Posted:** July 7th, 2007, 8:55 pm

This was really good, I can't wait to read more. As for your writer's block, don't stop writing. Force yourself to keep writing, but you don't have to finalize it. You can play around with it some, until you find the next part that you like. The worst thing you could do would be to stop writing.

Dwarf_Moria · **Posted:** September 25th, 2007, 5:44 am

Don't stop writing at all costs. You have to be in the mood to write a story, and if u start one, stop, and try to start again it won't be enjoyable to work on. I'm writin my first story (Unleashed), and I've been working on it for the past couple weeks. If I stopped now, well, the whole thing might die.

Deus P · **Posted:** November 9th, 2007, 6:52 am

Chapter 2:
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He ran. That was all he could do. His mind was a blur as his father's word's replayed in his head. He was angry and he knew it. He had trained for so long, gone through each trial his father set before him, and yet he still wouldn't permit him to join in the patrols. He was so hot he couldn't think. And so he ran.

He did not know how far he ran or for how long. His legs hurt and his lungs felt like they were about to burst when he fell. Jaacob landed with his back against a massive oak tree. He could remember this tree clearly. When he was younger he would escape his chores by running to this tree and hiding behind its massive trunk. There was something special about this tree. The shade was always cool against the hot mountain sun and housed a breeze that relieved the soul. But today was different. After taking a deep breath Jaacob still felt troubled.

"What seems to be the problem young one?" a strange voice asked.

Startled Jaacob jumped to his feet. "Who's there?!"

"Don't be afraid. I am on the other side of this tree where I can't hurt you." The voice had a calm soothing voice that slowly set Jaacob's nerves to rest. Once again he sat against the tree. "You seemed troubled, what happened?"

Jaacob was raised to distrust strangers. "It's a dangerous world out there son. You can't trust anyone, not even your family." His father had said, but this voice was different. There was a warmth that flowed with it. Just listening to the strangers voice helped him relax. He felt at peace.

"Its my father. You see, I've been training all my life to be just like my father. To defend Burthrope and be a hero, that is what my father is, my dream. But he won't let me go on the patrols like everyone else. And I hate him for that!"

"You shouldn't hate young one. Hate is an emotion that if once born will grow and corrode you. One must never hate."

"I know that," Jaacob looked at his sore feet ashamed. "My father says the same but I just don't understand him! He began his patrols at the age of twelve, half the age of me! Am I that weak? Is there something that I'm not doing right?"

"No I don't think that is so..." The voice paused for a moment. "It is not that he doesn't trust you or believe in your bravery. There is something else holding him back."

"What is it? Tell me so I can understand my father!"

"Ah, we are the same young one. The want and need to understand our parents binds us. In a way you could say we are kindred spirits. However the difference between us is also our parents. Your answer to your problem is simple and can be explained logicaly, but mine was lost the minute I was created. If you must know, the reason why your father will not allow you to patrol. . .his love for you holds him back."

"His love for me?" Jaacob was speachless.

"Yes. Maybe you will understand in time but that is the one and only reason."

"Sir, may I know your name?" Jaacob got to his feet and started to walk around the giant oak.

"Why yes, my name is Gar."

"My name is Jaacob, nice to meet you Ga..." But Jaacob was stopped by what was before him. In a panic he turn and fled back down the mountain pass with one word hanging on his lips.

"TROLL!"

[N] Rise of a Storm

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