captainjanks

 It was odd to wish for sleep in a dream.  Ylthorin's midnight adventures those many years ago had been on the eve of his second day without rest, and so by morning time he was near exhausted. His first night he'd been on overwatch as the Elven Army had settled down for the night. That first night was long, and arduous with patrols going on all night long. Back and forth, Ylthorin and his time had combed a two mile stretch perhaps thirty times by morning light. Around dusk, a damned stupid merchant had wandered too close to camp, so Ylthorin had been forced to cut his head off. Merchants were an unfortunate breed. The odds that he was merely

The floors of the house were sticky with blood, and littered with crumpled corpses as Ylthorin and his team made their way through the front door of Jack Laddy's house. As the team emerged, they were met by the archers who had lay within the bushes. One of the archers strode forward with a confident swagger. A smug grin parted his face. "Ylthorin! You came very close there with that first Orc. Nearly wrecked the whole operation right there you did." Ylthorin grinned back and replied sarcastically, "Thanks for the save there, Izsasim. Whose idea was it to shoot him?" Izsasim replied, cockily, "It certainly wasn't the moron who left the bodi

From the slopes of Dalendale Hill, General Westal and General Palencci sat on the soft grass and looked down into the dark plains surrounding the village of Ashsuhl. Large campfires from the Orcish army below illuminated the tents, and very faint glares shone off the metal equipment of Orcish troops as they cleaned their weapons and armor by fire light.  The army was spread out for acres, its massive size spread out like a field of grass across the massive plains, taking up almost every available space in between the crops and the village itself. In the lateness, there was little noise, as most of the army was taking advantage of the first o

As the night fell across the province of Aztarum, the Beldem road echoed in the tiny foot steps of midnight walkers. They donned a very dark blue shade to blend in the night sky, their darkness matching the exact color of the night. Their bodies were concealed in dark blue cloaks, their faces in dark blue shrouds, and their hands in dark blue gloves. The night was never completely black, and thus all black cloaks would do is make them shadows in the forest. They were nearly invisible in this state. Even their weapons and gear were wrapped in dark blue fabric to conceal them from view. They stayed along the grassy edge of the cobblestone Beld

Eighteen miles away from Dalendale, the Yeasenlen Heights towered above the rolling hills of Feridik. At the top of the mountain, a large gray rock sat atop the peak, a roost above the small plateau where the mountain evened out. Atop this roost stood a slim, grim figure, draped in a vibrant purple cloak with a rucksack draped across his back by a single strap. A scowl planted across his face, as if frozen in constant disapproval of his surroundings. He peered into the distance, over the Feridik hills, to the faint silhouette of Dalendale Hill. The figure casually tossed the bag around the strap, and opened it. He reached in and produced a wo

From Dalendale Hill, Three-Star General Tigram Westal peered down onto the plains below him. The luscious fields of Aztarum, the bread-basket of Eldor, lay below him. The fields golden grain shined brightly in the late afternoon sun. The barley lay ripe, the potato plants carpeted fields in a dark green, and the grass of the meadows loomed low from a full summer's feeding by livestock. Red barnyards dotted the country side, and bales of yellow pluming hay nestled amidst their bases. To the West lie the rolling hills of Feridik, and in the faint distance the Yeasenlen Heights. To the north, darting through the plains and cutting through the hi

Ylthorin watched from the ground, with steely eyes as the Orc and the Princess took flight. As he watched, tears began to swell in his eyes. It had been so many years since that fateful encounter, since his shame. And his chance for vengeance, ruined. He was dazed, but in the depths of his mind he knew what was going on. Many hours passed before he gathered the strength to lift himself off the ground and move. His head still throbbed, hurting immensely from the blow. Ylthorin's survival training took over instinctively, trained for years to respond to pain merely by moving on to safety. Yet it was more than his soul wanted. The pain was deep

 Through the panes of glass stretched across the front of the UTC Elephant 9-2-5, Major Julius Elero could see the piercing darkness ahead of him. It was hard to imagine a darkness so thick no light could ever puncture a hole into it, but this was the sight he beheld before him. Though he had long since seen the face of battle, never had Elero seen horror. The two were quite different, battle and horror, for those who saw the later would forever by wrought with the memory of horror. Horror, reaching outwards from the cold blackness could strangle a man's soul and kill him, leaving only his false avatar in its wake. Elero had never seen a Yo