Imperial Hope

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Archwar, Mar 21, 2015.


How is it?

  1. Pretty good

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  2. Decent, but needs work on

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  3. Meh

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  4. OK?

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  6. No, just no

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  1. Hello nation of Iwaku! I have recently begun working on a story that I'm planning on showcasing. I would appreciate criticism, but PM me about so this thread doesn't get clogged up. If I have posted in the wrong forum, please tell me and where I should put it.

    Chapter 1: How the story really is
    It should be noted that this chapter takes place AFTER the events of the story, but I didn't reveal too much about it. Just some names, races, and that this world has a mix of fantasy and SCI-FI in it.

    Show Spoiler

    The Storyteller felt the breeze kiss him on his wrinkly face as he tottered towards five towering statues keeping a silent watch over the park. A tear rolled down the Storyteller’s cheeks as he remembered them, memories of a bold, black wolf, a vain elf, a hyperactive man, a headstrong woman, and a pacifist human flashed by in his head. They were heroes in their day.

    “Heroes create hope. And the Emperica Empire suckles on hope’s teat. Too bad their stories have been distorted those clown actors.” The Storyteller silently said as he walked closer to the base of the statutes. A crowd bustling with laughter and clapping hands had gathered to watch a play. The Storyteller decided watch it as well as his mind had wandered off too much these days.

    He slithered through the crowd to the front and snorted in disgust. The play was about the exploits of the five heroes and they had it all wrong. The pacifist was displayed as a brutish orc, the bold wolf a prideful lion, the hyperactive man a lazy lout, the headstrong woman an obedient Drow which was surprising, and the vain elf, well, a vain elf. That was all they had correct.

    “Yeah, Ajax. Why don’t we go to the training simulations and you can beat me!” The orc snickered as he patted his buttcheek.

    The Storyteller rolled his eyes at the pathetic, humorous attempt.

    The crowd roared with laughter.

    The lion pulled back his lips revealing his horrendous teeth. A few gagged at the sight and one even had to fight through the crowd to vomit. Still, the crowd stayed to laugh. They were rewarded for their patience when the lion’s tongue rolled out and his facial expression changed to that of a whimpering pup.

    “Ooh, but Arau, aren’t you a pacifist?”

    The crowd ate it right up. The Storyteller, however, allowed his anger to boil over and finally lost it when the orc ‘Arau’ shook his head no before mocking the idea of pacifism stating it was a pile of shit.

    “ENOUGH!” People ducked as the Storyteller’s cane dashed through the air and pointed accusingly at the lion, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Smearing the image of Ajax, a hero! He didn’t behave like this; he wasn’t a lion with bad teeth nor was a coward.”

    The lion opened his mouth to object, but the cane raised in a threatening posture and he immediately shut it. Then the Storyteller whipped around to the orc.

    The orc flinched at the glare that made him as if he was melting, “And you”, the Storyteller’s voice had a venomous hint to it, “I should drag you through the rotting corpses of your ancestors for simply sullying the concept of pacifism.”

    The orc shrank back at the insult. To use such phase would make even the hotheaded orcs hang their head for it meant that they and their very bloodline were worse than animals. Worse than feces perhaps!

    “But then you distorted Arau. That man, though dead, still has more honor than you.”

    The orc snarled angrily, ready for strike him, but the Storyteller casted a glare so fierce at the orc even the crowd could feel the heat.

    “Alright, alright! I think the old man is just baking out in the heat people so let him ramble on. Not like he actually knows the story unless he is an Immortal,” the people parted way for an elegantly dressed man. The Storyteller took a moment to examine this newcomer seeing the man stood of average height and the features of a regular human.

    “Emperica Humira. Imperial human. Why must it always be them that distort the stories?” The Storyteller stroked his grey beard.

    “So, elder,” the newcomer took off his top hat and bowed slightly, “why is it that you have come here?”

    “Visiting old memories.”

    “You actually knew them?” The human chuckled as he pointed to the statues


    The human stared mockingly at the Storyteller while the crowd laughed. The Storyteller tightened his grip on his cane and glared back, but the people did not stop. They continued laughing. Who was this old hag? Was he crazy? Insane? Just some old couk?

    “I can show you,” The Storyteller muttered quietly.

    “You? Immortals aren’t old looking elder,” the human clasped his hands.

    “Stereotypical. Have you forgotten that Richard the Truthfulhand was also immortal and yet he appeared as very old with graying hair and wrinkles? Not to mention he had a cane as well!”

    “Yes, but ever since he was killed during the…” the human stopped and a great silence fell down onto the crowd.

    “Yes, he was killed during the battle for Earth. When your kind unleashed the nukes upon your own planet the Immortals appeared shortly after and it took your kind many, many years just to recover to the medieval age. By then new races had appeared and the land shifted and during one of your petty wars those things,” the Storyteller spat the word and the older members of the crowd shook their heads remembering the horrifying events,” those creatures made of shadow and fire nearly exterminated your kind and they would have if it wasn’t for the Sentinels that slumbered beneath the ground.”

    “And then they took us to Tierra! A dead and decayed world that had once been inhabited, but also was wiped clean by those bastards!” Somebody roared in fury.

    “And what does this have to do with our story!” the human raised a fist and waved it at the Storyteller as if he was going to strike him.

    “Because the race that lived before is a part of this story.”

    The human lowered his fist, but still clutched it,” The Apex Tierras. They live isolated in those islands in the north. We don’t know what they are doing up there nor do we care! As long as they leave us alone then we all get along just fine.”

    “You should care, because after all, you are their cousin race, but we are getting off topic. I can show you the real story and it will be as if watching TV.”

    The human laughed, “You have to be a pisonic to tell such a story then!”

    The Storyteller lifted his cane to the sky and electricity crackled through his hands onto the staff before shooting up into the skies.

    “A powerful pisonic!” The human crossed his arms in annoyance.

    Soon after, a miniature grey cloud appeared over the human’s head and angry thunder crackled. The human’s hair stood up in response to the crimson lighting that flashed in the cloud.

    “OK, OK, OK! I’m leaving it to you!” The human yelped in panic as a bolt struck his behind and smoke began rising from the spot. He then dove into the crowd to avoid another lighting strike.

    The Storyteller bowed to his captive audience. He then raised his cane and slammed it into the ground. It bent a bit, but did not snap the ground expected. The Storyteller then removed his hand from the cane yet it stayed in place.
    The crowd leaned in as a red mist began seeping from the top of the cane. Somebody yelled bloody murder and ran like a rabbit from a fox. However, the crowd stayed and breathed in the mist. Images began flashing by. Some began shaking violently, but the more mist they breathed the less violent their shaking became.

    “Close your eyes,” the Storyteller commanded. The crowd did so with hesitation not knowing what would happen. When they did close their eyes, they found themselves in living in another body.

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  2. I think it's quite good. I noticed a few typos, and words that were omitted here and there, probably occurred while pasting--but otherwise, I found it interesting. :)
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