Downfall

All right, this is going to be an exceptionally long story, so Ill write it in installments. Please rate from 1-10.

--------------------------------- Downfall -----------------------------------------

A neverending metallic ring invaded the castle armoury that day. Two fighters were training, honing their skills to a razor edge. Aydrian, crown prince of Asgarnia, clenched his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles went white. His mentor, general Eilenor, wasn't perhaps in the best shape of his life, having seen over fifty winters, but his muscles were still firm and his eyes still sharp.

But Aydrian was a completely different subject. Muscles as hard as steel lacing his body and still slender as a willow tree, he was indeed an Apollo of the modern man. His swordsmanship was unparalleled and with an incredible mindpower, this young man was going to change the world.

Old Eilenor was hard-pressed to keep his opponent at bay. Throwing up his shield to block a downwards slash, he took a vicious punch to the gut from Aydrian's [bleep]ed gauntlet. Lurching in pain, he had least had the time to throw a sideways sweep of his longsword towards the young prince's stomach. The young man sucked in his stomach, hearing the singing blade swish harmlessly past. He quickly brought a hand to his gut, feeling the thin line of red drawn upon his bare skin. Feeling anger rise in him, realising he could've died right there, he promised himself to be more careful. Backing away from his opponent, he let his blade drop. Old Eilenor did the same, at the opposite side of the arena.

- You have become exceptional with the blade, young one, he said.

The prince smiled and took a step.

- I have learned from the best.

Suddenly, the young man exploded into motion, flicking up his sword and rushing towards the older man.

The old general simply waited there, until the last second. As soon as his opponent was barely a foot from him, the old man moved with agility which denied his age. Neatly sidestepping, he lashed out with his mail-covered hand, catching Aydrian square in the belly. To Aydrian, it seemed as he had been shot with an arrow. His world stopped for a second, the wind blasted from his body. Once Eilenor retracted his arm, Aydrian's vision blurred and spun, but the fight wasn't over. The crafty old veteran rested his hand on the flat of Aydrian's back, suddenly applying pressure. The young prince spun a flip through the air, crashing heavily on his back. A black veil quickly fell over Aydrians' eyes, and he sank into unconsciousness. When he awoke, he found his mentor sitting on his chest, smiling.

- You still have much to learn...

Aydrian quickly wriggled out from under his mentor's weight and dusted himself off. Grabbing his cloak from the peg on the wall, he stormed out of the arena room. Still in a huff, he swabbed his face with the fine material, cleaning the blood and sweat that stung his open wounds. Throwing aside the curtain that served as door to his quarters, he tore off his [bleep]ed gauntlets and hurled them to the far wall of his room. He took comfort in the sound they made as they crashed against the unyielding stone.

Stroding up to his desk, he roughly sat down on his stool made of the finest wood and placed his face in his hands. Why hadn't I won? he thought. Was it possible that the old man, old and brittle as a bone, was actually better than him? He quickly dismissed that possibility and got up. He walked over to his cupboard and extracted a thick woolen cloak and a fine silver dagger. Buckling the weapon to his leather belt, he threw the cloak on his shoulders and jaunted out the room. Passing by the huge marble columns adorning his home, he gave a quick salute to his servants and walked through the protective gates marking the entrance of the Asgarnian castle. Walking under these devices, he noticed the razor-sharp blades adorning the lower edge of the gates. Painful, he thought, as he basked in the morning sunlight. Hiding the sheathed dagger with the hem of his cloak, he slowly passed through the great city of Falador.

The young prince strode up to the city square, drawing envious glances from the eyes of every peasant. Disgusted by the long rows of beggars stationned near the banks and castle, Aydrian quickly retreated to the bar thinking to get an ale before the day properly started, but he was immediately accosted by somebody. Dirty, unshaven and smelling faintly of urine, the beggar extended an arm so emaciated, Aydrian wondered why it didn't simply snap off. The old man grumbled softly, and wiggled his fingers around. Aydrian slowly reached into the folds of his robes and produced the silver knife. How the old mans' eyes widened at that sight! He could eat for months with what this young lad was giving him!

The crown prince advanced the weapon, blade forwards, towards the beggar. The old man extended his arm, greedy eyes darting to and fro his benefactor's face. He grabbed the blade with his stubby little fingers. Suddenly, Aydrian whipped the weapon back, taking pleasure in the screams of the old beggar, clenching his hand, three fingers on the floor.

-Take your just reward and be off with you, Aydrian said in his face, and entered the bar.

The curvy waitress, hearing the commotion outside, approached the young man, a worried look on her features.

- Wha's happenin' outside?

Young Aydrian took a place on a barstool facing the counter and flicked a silver coin on the lacquered wood.

- Just some bum playing around with things he shouldn?t have touched. Ill have a mug of your finest ale.

The waitress, having worked in this bar for quite a while, approached him suspiciously and asked :

- Ah, you don' look to have seen twenty winters. Why would a young 'un like you been wantin' with beer?

Aydrian flicked another coin, gold this time, and asked for his drink a second time. The waitress, not one to complain about free money, went to fetch him the ale. Setting the mug down hard on the counter, the pretty young lass looked around if there was anyone else in the bar, and sat down next to Aydrian. Noticing the fine cut of his clothes and the jewelled dagger belted to his hip, she realised he was no ordinary youth. Aydrian drained his mug in one gulp and got up, still steady. The barmaid grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down to side beside her. Smiling sweetly, she talked to chit-chat him.

- Did you hear? There are rumours of war running among the folk these days.

Aydrian's ears immediately peaked, sensing there might be some profit in this talk.

- Did you happen to hear who were the attackers?

The young lad chuckled and responded :

- Do you ever get anything straight from rumours?

Aydrian took this as a no, and motionned to leave. The lass pulled him around to face her. Aydrian took the time to closely examine her.

She was a pretty thing, aged of about eighteen summers. Her clothes clung tightly to her fair skin, probably to entice male customers to buy more alchohol. Her lashes batted heavily over her green eyes and her teeth were of stark white. Indeed, thought Aydrian, she was indeed a sight to behold. Something then stirred in the young lad. Was it a carnal desire? No, love was for the weak. He quickly dismissed that idea and listened to the girl.

- Just be careful. You can never be too sure of what happens outside our walls.

The young lass released Aydrian's cloak and watched the lad depart. She had the funny feeling she would see him again.

General Eilenor was very much worried about the events in the past month. Rumours had come to his ears about an upcoming war. He realised rumours such as these were often created by housewives with nothing better to do, but this time, the rumours held a ring of truth. Relations between the great city of Falador and the small barbarian village of Ragnorak had not been pleasant, especially with the capture and summary execution of a missionary they had sent back there. The old veteran realised that one village was barely any threat, but a village that drew out allies from their holes in the mountain was real danger. Eilenor climbed the huge stone staircase that led to the castle roof. Popping open the trapdoor, he exited and was greeted by a gust of chill wind. Pain is good for the soul, he repeated to himself, as he gritted his teeth and willed himself to move along. He finally arrived to the battlements. Leaning on the huge stone crenellations, he fixed his gaze on the small plume of smoke in the horizon. Yes, he told himself, we would have to fix that problem. Fire can fix any problem...

Pushing open the huge oaken doors that connected the Great Hall to the throne room, old Eilenor walked over to the king. Aydrian's father, King Felagir, was old. Eyes glazed over with the mist of age, his movements were slow and creaky, and his gait was unsteady. Wrinkles and scars twisted his face into a wood-like complexion. Even his trusty staff could not support his frame. General Eilenor strode confidently and whispered a few choice words into his liege's ear :

- My lord, the barbarians are readying an attack. Should I marshall the troops?

The old ruler mumbled a few words, his lips barely moving. His advisor, the mage Grimlin, leaned over and listened intently. Rising stiff-backed, he called out in a loud voice.

- Lord Felagir supports your attack, as long as you bring young Aydrian along. It is long since he has seen any action.

A turmoil raged inside Eilenor's mind. Why should Aydrian be tagging along? All he would do is get in the way of the knights. And is a battlefield such a good sight to be showing the crown prince?

Eilenor quickly resolved that issue. Bowing repeatedly, he exited the room promptly. His steps echoing through the great marble corridors of the castle, he made his way to Aydrian's quarters. He was not surprised to see him sleeping under a bundle of blankets.

- Get up! Its past morning and we have to go!

Aydrian woke with a startle and let his eyes adjust to the light. Rubbing a hand over his face, he mumbled that he would be down at the armory in a few moments. Having left the room, Eilenor let his mind fly back to pleasant memories as he made his way to the castle armory. Oh, how many battles he won, how many friends he had made, how many hearts he had charmed! He had that silly grin still plastered o his face when he entered the spacious weapon store. As soon as he opened the heavy iron door, he was nearly overcome by the strong smell of rusting iron and musty air. He pressed on and found a bench to sit on while waiting for Aydrian. The young man stepped in the room a few minutes later, wearing a fine silken tunic and doeskin breeches. He sat down with his mentor and waited for an explanation.

- Do you think you've got what it takes to kill a man? To defend your king and country?

The young man was surprised by this odd question and ran it though his mind a few times. Finally deciding, he stared his teacher in the eyes and answered :

- Yes, I will do whatever it takes to keep my home safe for all.

The old man grimly smiled and said :

- Then you must pick your weapon of choice. Remember, your choice will follow you throughout your life.

The prince ran his fingers on the weapon racks surrounding him. Feeling the weight and edge of different blades, swinging huge spears and polearms and flexing bowstrings, the young man finally settled on a razor-sharp longsword. About 3 feet long and with a blue leather strapped handle, this was indeed one of the finest weapons of the kingdom. It was also one of the only ones made of Runite, a newly discovered metal. Aydrian spun a few slow, delibarate circles with the blade, hearing his sweet song in the air, and snapped it into his sheath. Eilenor watched him in sincere admiration and motionned him to follow. Whiping off a sheet of cloth off of a stand, he revealed a suit of fine steel armour, the burnished metal gleaming in the torchlight. Removing the greaves from the stand, Eilenor strapped the leather bands onto Aydrian's muscled calves. He buckled the helm on the young prince's head and fitted the gautlets. Finally, he strapped on the shining platebody and let the young man admire his looks. After a while, he walked over to the door and presented the exit to Aydrian. Quietly walking down the marble halls of the castle, the two men were deep into their thoughts, Aydrian thinking of glory and fame, Eilenor pondering how he should break the news of his son's death to the king.

Finally arriving to the entry hall, Aydrian yelled a command to the sentry guarding the portcullis and, creaking heavily, the iron gate opened, revealing a dazzling sunshine.

A patrol of about two score armoured knights awaited orders, along with a dozen archers and a small squad of five mages. Eilenor bowed slightly to Aydrian and stretched his hand.

- Your forces await orders, my prince.

Aydrian, unused to so much pressure on him, yelled out an brisk command to exit the city by the north gates. The barbarian village was barely two miles away fom the great city after all. It seemed as all of the Falador population were there to hail the departing army. How many of these people would be in tears at the end of the day? Only Saradomin knew now.

Aydrian quickly wriggled out from under his mentor's weight and dusted himself off. Grabbing his cloak from the peg on the wall, he stormed out of the arena room. Still in a huff, he swabbed his face with the fine material, cleaning the blood and sweat that stung his open wounds. Throwing aside the curtain that served as door to his quarters, he tore off his [bleep]ed gauntlets and hurled them to the far wall of his room. He took comfort in the sound they made as they crashed against the unyielding stone.

Stroding up to his desk, he roughly sat down on his stool made of the finest wood and placed his face in his hands. Why hadn't I won? he thought. Was it possible that the old man, old and brittle as a bone, was actually better than him? He quickly dismissed that possibility and got up. He walked over to his cupboard and extracted a thick woolen cloak and a fine silver dagger. Buckling the weapon to his leather belt, he threw the cloak on his shoulders and jaunted out the room. Passing by the huge marble columns adorning his home, he gave a quick salute to his servants and walked through the protective gates marking the entrance of the Asgarnian castle. Walking under these devices, he noticed the razor-sharp blades adorning the lower edge of the gates. Painful, he thought, as he basked in the morning sunlight. Hiding the sheathed dagger with the hem of his cloak, he slowly passed through the great city of Falador.

The young prince strode up to the city square, drawing envious glances from the eyes of every peasant. Disgusted by the long rows of beggars stationned near the banks and castle, Aydrian quickly retreated to the bar thinking to get an ale before the day properly started, but he was immediately accosted by somebody. Dirty, unshaven and smelling faintly of urin, the beggar extended an arm so emaciated, Aydrian wondered why it didn't simply snap off. The old man grumbled softly, and wiggled his fingers around. Aydrian slowly reached into the folds of his robes and produced the silver knife. How the old mans' eyes widened at that sight! He could eat for months with what this young lad was giving him!

The crown prince advanced the weapon, blade forwards, towards the beggar. The old man extended his arm, greedy eyes darting to and fro his benefactor's face. He grabbed the blade with his stubby little fingers. Suddenly, Aydrian whipped the weapon back, taking pleasure in the screams of the old beggar, clenching his hand, three fingers on the floor.

-Take your just reward and be off with you, Aydrian said in his face, and entered the bar.

Nice work :) keep it up.

~Alduron

The curvy waitress, hearing the commotion outside, approached the young man, a worried look on her features.

- Whaâââ‰â¢s happeninâââ‰â¢ outside?

Young Aydrian took a place on a barstool facing the counter and flicked a silver coin on the lacquered wood.

- Just some bum playing around with things he shouldnâââ‰â¢t have touched. Ill have a mug of your finest ale.

The waitress, having worked in this bar for quite a while, approached him suspiciously and asked :

- Ah, you donâââ‰â¢ look to have seen twenty winters. Why would a young âââ¬ÃÅun like you been wantinâââ‰â¢ with beer?

Aydrian flicked another coin, gold this time, and asked for his drink a second time. The waitress, not one to complain about free money, went to fetch him the ale. Setting the mug down hard on the counter, the pretty young lass looked around if there was anyone else in the bar, and sat down next to Aydrian. Noticing the fine cut of his clothes and the jewelled dagger belted to his hip, she realised he was no ordinary youth. Aydrian drained his mug in one gulp and got up, still steady. The barmaid grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down to side beside her. Smiling sweetly, she talked to chit-chat him.

- Did you hear? There are rumours of war running among the folk these days.

Aydrianâââ‰â¢s ears immediately peaked, sensing there might be some profit in this talk.

- Did you happen to hear who were the attackers?

The young lad chuckled and responded :

- Do you ever get anything straight from rumours?

Aydrian took this as a no, and motionned to leave. The lass pulled him around to face her. Aydrian took the time to closely examine her.

She was a pretty thing, aged of about eighteen summers. Her clothes clung tightly to her fair skin, probably to entice male customers to buy more alchohol. Her lashes batted heavily over her green eyes and her teeth were of stark white. Indeed, thought Aydrian, she was indeed a sight to behold. Something then stirred in the young lad. Was it a carnal desire? No, love was for the weak. He quickly dismissed that idea and listened to the girl.

- Just be careful. You can never be too sure of what happens outside our walls.

The young lass released Aydrianâââ‰â¢s cloak and watched the lad depart. She had the funny feeling she would see him again.

General Eilenor was very much worried about the events in the past month. Rumours had come to his ears about an upcoming war. He realised rumours such as these were often created by housewives with nothing better to do, but this time, the rumours held a ring of truth. Relations between the great city of Falador and the small barbarian village of Ragnorak had not been pleasant, especially with the capture and summary execution of a missionary they had sent back there. The old veteran realised that one village was barely any threat, but a village that drew out allies from their holes in the mountain was real danger. Eilenor climbed the huge stone staircase that led to the castle roof. Popping open the trapdoor, he exited and was greeted by a gust of chill wind. Pain is good for the soul, he repeated to himself, as he gritted his teeth and willed himself to move along. He finally arrived to the battlements. Leaning on the huge stone crenellations, he fixed his gaze on the small plume of smoke in the horizon. Yes, he told himself, we would have to fix that problem. Fire can fix any problemâââ¬Ã¦

Pushing open the huge oaken doors that connected the Great Hall to the throne room, old Eilenor walked over to the king. Aydrianâââ‰â¢s father, King Felagir, was old. Eyes glazed over with the mist of age, his movements were slow and creaky, and his gait was unsteady. Wrinkles and scars twisted his face into a wood-like complexion. Even his trusty staff could not support his frame. General Eilenor strode confidently and whispered a few choice words into his liegeâââ‰â¢s ear :

- My lord, the barbarians are readying an attack. Should I marshall the troops?

The old ruler mumbled a few words, his lips barely moving. His advisor, the mage Grimlin, leaned over and listened intently. Rising stiff-backed, he called out in a loud voice.

- Lord Felagir supports your attack, as long as you bring young Aydrian along. It is long since he has seen any action.

A turmoil raged inside Eilenorâââ‰â¢s mind. Why should Aydrian be tagging along? All he would do is get in the way of the knights. And is a battlefield such a good sight to be showing the crown prince?

Eilenor quickly resolved that issue. Bowing repeatedly, he exited the room promptly. His steps echoing through the great marble corridors of the castle, he made his way to Aydrianâââ‰â¢s quarters. He was not surpirsed to see him sleeping under a undle of blankets.

- Get up! Its past morning and we have to go!

Aydrian woke with a startle and let his eyes adjust to the light. Rubbing a hand over his face, he mumbled that he would be down at the armory in a few moments. Having left the room, Eilenor let his mind fly back to pleasant memories as he made his way to the castle armory. Oh, how many battles he won, how many friends he had made, how many hearts he had charmed! He had that silly grin still plastered o his face when he entered the spacious weapon store. As soon as he opened the heavy iron door, he was nearly overcome by the srong smell of rusting iron and musty air. He pressed on and found a bench to sit on while waiting for Aydrian. The young man stepped in the room a few minutes later, wearing a fine silken tunic and doeskin breeches. He sat down with his mentor and waited for an explanation.

- Do you think youâââ‰â¢ve got what it takes to kill a man? To defend your king and country?

The young man was surprised by this odd question and ran it though his mind a few times. Finally deciding, he stared his teacher in the eyes and answered :

- Yes, I will do whatever it takes to keep my home safe for all.

The old man grimly smiled and said :

- Then you must pick your weapon of choice. Remember, your choice will follow you throughout your life.

The prince ran his fingers on the weapon racks surrounding him. Feeling the weight and edge of different blades, swinging huge spears and polearms and flexing bowstrings, the young man finally settled on a razor-sharp longsword. About 3 feet long and with a blue leather strapped handle, this was indeed one of the finest weapons of the kingdom. It was also one of the only ones made of Runite, a newly discovered metal. Aydrian spun a few slow, delibarate circles with the blade, hearing his sweet song in the air, and snapped it into his sheath. Eilenor watched him in sincere admiration and motionned him to follow. Whiping off a sheet of cloth off of a stand, he revealed a suit of fine steel armour, the burnished metal gleaming in the torchlight. Removing the greaves from the stand, Eilenor strapped the leather bands onto Aydrianâââ‰â¢s muscled calves. He buckled the helm on the young princeâââ‰â¢s head and fitted the gautlets. Finally, he strapped on the shining platebody and let the young man admire his looks. After a while, he walked over to the door and presented the exit to Aydrian. Quietly walking down the marble halls of the castle, the two men were deep into their thoughts, Aydrian thinking of glory and fame, Eilenor pondering how he should break the news of his sonâââ‰â¢s death to the king.

Finally arriving to the entry hall, Aydrian yelled a command to the sentry guarding the portcullis and, creaking heavily, the iron gate opened, revealing a dazzling sunshine.

A patrol of about two score armoured knights awaited orders, along with a dozen archers and a small squad of five mages. Eilenor bowed slightly to Aydrian and stretched his hand.

- Your forces await orders, my prince.

Aydrian, unused to so much pressure on him, yelled out an brisk command to exit the city by the north gates. The barbarian village was barely two miles away fom the great city after all. It seemed as all of the Falador population were there to hail the departing army. How many of these people would be in tears at the end of the day? Only Saradomin knew nowâââ¬Ã¦

I think, as a story, it's pretty amazing. A few minor spelling mistakes, and a little of it is unrealistic...but I would rate it 9/10.

In case you don't know, that's 90% ... which, for me, a very hgh rating.

Well done, keep it up.

My suggestion is to stop using ? as '. For instance, you say Aydrian?s instead of Aydrain's. This REALLY ruined it for me.

Urin-urine

whipin g-whipping

mentonning- mentionning

:lol: :wink:

Well, the ? in place of the "'" are because I type on a French computer and the transition from the two languages transforms the punctuation marks often. I Guess i just missed a couple...