{W.i.p} Arcanica, The Novel I'm Writing.

[Draeris 3124]

Hello people of LotC!

 

I have put my ridiculous fantasy and taste into work, and decided to go start a novel! I have got the first page (s), and as there are alot of people who are into literature and lore, I would like to hear your opinion!

 

 

In groups they ran, breaking the deafening
silence of the morning winter. Cloaked with rough robes, defending the wearer
from the evils of cold. Armed with weaponry, to match their foe. Goggles for
vision, and thoughts of pride. They had one goal, one vision. Unlike others,
they shared it to their last thoughts. Nobody knew these men, these shadows
covering the white snow. They did not know where they came from, or what they
wanted. The only thing they knew sure, is the fear you will have when their havoc
and lust for death would come to you. They were many, yet they were weak when
as one. With their heavy rifles, their fast rhythms of walking. The clutching
of metal making the horrible melody of a upcoming wrath. The shadows saw their
victims, with elegant robes and golden circlets they walked unknowing of their
soon destiny. Their petty lives dedicated to protect that one thing, that one
cargo. With a blue substance surrounding the doomed caravan, they seemed to
survive the hostile cold of Northwinter. They were with few , yet the promised
power they have would be as powerful as many. The shadows, not seeming to
matter within the big world of wonder. Took their aim steady, their lives
depending on that cargo. How low could one be, being bound to survive on
materialistic possessions. But the world turned sick, vile. Not being able to
fulfill everyone's needs anymore. Their white fur robes remained steady, their
muskets leaning on the cold border of the road. The foolish Lumidrim did not
see their enemies. With nervous expressions they walked, trying to keep their
shield protecting them. They were to elegant, too weak to survive the harsh
climates of Northwinter. Yet, they were ordered to travel through the forgotten
region. The last of the shadows made it to their points, all looking from their
goggles. Thirteen muskets pointed towards one shield, five man and a chest. It
was now or never, as if the world would 
die when they missed. Everybody knew that this is their only chance, the
only time the Lumidrim had to send a weak caravan. They nodded nervously,
knowing that their lives would be changed if they missed that shot, if they
missed that stab, if they let that cargo go. 
An overwhelming sound of shots turned the soft melody of food steps and
arcane into the chaos of destruction and death. The Lumidrim, shocked by the
sudden action lost their power to their shield. Two falling into the cold
decayed ground of Northwinter of the implosion. Both sides had a short time to
react, as the ones who stood turned their pale hand palms into a hungry fire.
Their pointy brows frowned as they saw the first showing themselves with their
long muskets. All the five of the Lumidrim regrouped, they were silent, as
their art of fighting required concentration. With the glow of purple in their
eyes, and the wing shaped ears listening for any sound. They prepared for any
battle to come. They were surrounded, ambushed. The worst thing that could
happen to a caravan. They were organized, yet outnumbered by the petty Dragaç,
who stood emotionless around the Lumidrim caravan. With hidden fear one of the
five stepped out of their small transparent orb, holding his hands high to show
he is harmless. With a pretentious smile, a focus on the Dragaç and a hope of
victory. The lumidrim approaching seemed superior among its kin. He wore grand
shoulder guards pointing at the heavens above, the circlet with the biggest
stone. The elves, or as called by their own kin, Mali'Aheral . Prepared to turn
from their protective sphere to a offensive action. The superior Aheral was in
doubt of which Dragaç to face. With a nervous bow he asked, on a elegant tone
"Which of you, are in charge?" All Dragaç came closer to the vurnable
Aheral, knowing that their goal was soon to be complete. The Aheral looked upon
the several short but wide people in silence, fearing that his brave step will
result into a step to the dark grounds of the earth. The Dragaç didn't came for
negotiation. They came for one thing, one thing only. With a quick nod, and a
vicious smile.  They fired their classic
weaponry into the body wielding a hidden taste of perfection, the once elegant
posture turned into a rock with the movements of water. The first casualty
fell, and with fury the other Aheral screamed fire towards the Dragaç. But as
soon as they lit one, their shield disseapered. Resulting into a rhythm of dark
melodies chasing the remaining wildlife of Northwinter to the far outreaches.
It went all fast, and for the first time, the sound of tiny explosions from the
muskets, the harbingers of death and decay to civilazation. Were pleased and
wanted. It was a great step of the Dragaç, as they were the last remaining of
the once prosperous race of the Dwemerin. The Aheral, a once passive and pure
race living among the other civilizations turned vile when they tasted the
bitter taste of magical power. Since the Arcanica, a huge energy source within
the deep core of the Lumidrim mountains was discovered by the Aherals. They
received hunger, for imperialism. Instead of believing to be perfect, they now
believed in being the most superior race of all time. Even today, their armies
fight the vile race of humans and all other remaining races to the last man.
But the Dragaç, the first victims of the Aheral turned hostile as well. The
last remaining, regrouped in their ruined capital Utovian. The last squadrons
of their military the Lumidrim, are ordered to extinct this rebellious race.
But they won't stop, not until they have brought the regime of destruction and
decay to their petty fall. The bodies of the Aherals, not moving and stains of
darker red on their robes lay on the cold snowy road. No compassion was shown,
none at all. As the sun reached its highest point, the snow began to melt flake
for flake. The Dragaç danced around the bodies as a form of ritual, then the
pushed the chest off the floathing Aheral platform. As the chest fell, the lock
broke. As a wave of water the pieces of parchment flew out of the chest, some
being carried by the cold winter wind. With a grim on most faces, the Dragaç
grabbed all the parchments they could while placing them in their backpacks. It
was time for a new era, a new land. Northwinter should be returned to the
Dwemerim, the Dragaç. They were getting there, their once ridiculous ambition
turned into a bitter reality for the Aherals. As they found more survivors,
their army grew. The Aherals were with many, and they had the resources. But as
they say, the bigger they are the harder they fall. So are the Dragaç, the last
of the Dwemerim, fighting for their survival of their race. Living in the caves
back in the ruined capital of Utovian. They had no leader, they never had.
Their political superiority were merely vague memories in the scarred minds of
the Dwemerim. There was a council, with 100 people in it. Every single one
could speak their opinion, and anyone could agree with the councilor. In this
way they had long, but fair debates. Unlike the other races , the Dwemerim
believed in real equality among its race. They did not hide their tyrannical
politics behind illusionary justice and equality. A Dwemerim lived for around
400 years, with the oldest of 520 years yet alive. Age didn't matter, they had
the perfect society. One day, when the rose trees of the ancient Bloomis, now
known as Northwinter. Shared their pink flowers in the capital, a reign of chaos
was thrown in.Red banners with a golden phoenix took quite the view, as scared
citizens ran into their homes while the dying guard tries to defend their
citizens. It was depressive, and every survivor still remembers the terrible
onslaught, the bloodbath of its own kin on their once so prosperous streets.
They had lost the siege, partially. They were thriven out of Utovian, in return
of the Dragaç's  shallow victory they
cursed the lands with their magic. Making it forever winter in the whole
Dwemerim northern regions. Such permanent destruction of a almost perfect and
prosperous race would never be forgotten. That apocalyptic event, made the
Dwemerim themselves filled with the vile hate the Aherals have as well. it
destroyed the race, yet it gave new possibilities. The last remaining Dwemerim,
now known as the Dragaç, will get their revenge and justice. They will rebuild
what was lost, and thrive out the corrupt regime of the Aheral, this is just
the beginning. But they will see, a Dwemerim curse.

 

 

The Empire

 

With the first beams of light embracing the
sidewalks of the Aheral capital 
Aetherus. Rosalyn opened her small oaken doors with her nimble fingers.
It was hard facing the direct sunlight first, but soon her purple colored eyes
could watch the colorful streets of Aetherus. With a smile on her face, she
watched the city come alive. She was proud to be Aheral, and to have acces to
the perfect city. The city existed of several rings, with all its purpose. The
inner ring was the govermential ring, the second ring is the industrial one.
With a big staircase you go to the privileged residences, which from there you
could go to the common residences. Around the inner and outer ring there was a
big marble wall, with red banners and guardsman making the lifeless stone
almost come to life. She lived in the privileged section, she was married to
the commander of the guard, the councilor of military affairs. She remembers
the drunk councilor hitting on her in the middle of her rose garden back when
she was a commoner, it still remains a mystery how he could climb a roof drunk.
Suddenly, her smile of the beautiful memories she had turned into a thin
stripe. She wasn't happy with him, Lorundil almost never was home. She couldn't
have intimate moments with her necklaces, she wanted him! Her lust made her
almost desperate to see him again. She was teaching herself not to be so
demanding towards Lorundil. Yet, she wanted him home. With a big inhale of air,
she sighs as she makes her balcony tidy again. She pulls a golden pillowed
chair from the small shack on the side, and sits watching the sun coming up.
Her favourite times were when it was dawn and dusk, it was a ritual to her for
to watch them both. Rosalyn had a pathetic life she often thought, she wanted
action and adventure. "Why can't Aheral women have fun!", she
accidently yelled to herself, making several passing merchants look confused.
In the Aheral society women were lessers, and sometimes considered equal to the
even lesser races. An Aheral woman would preferably stay home, and take care of
the children.. Which, Lorundil never could make. Her life was boring, she
always watched other people having fun. While never going out herself. It was
depressive, what could she do with her new magic if she would be arrested if
she used it! The system is corrupt, she thinks by herself while leaning against
the marble balcony wall. She didn't know where Lorundil would be, she never
did. He or was in the council or on the streets drinking. It was pathetic, even
a Dwemerim was better then that.

 

[Knox213 10]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.