Here you can find the beginnings to several stories I intend to write. Use them as inspiration for your own campaigns or stories, as long as you credit me. Otherwise, I'd like any feedback you can provide. Don't forget to take the poll on the Main Page.
Dancers in the NightThe winter wind swept across the barren plain, causing what clouds of dust to dance towards Esther and Raymond like Will O'Wisps. They huddled around the dying fire, having run out of wood several hours ago. The last traces of daylight could be seen over the horizon. The pair had been fleeing for several weeks, fleeing some unknown enemy that was responsible for the deaths of their families. Esther stared across the fire at Raymond, examining his face in the flickering light. His cold blue eyes stared back at her, but he was lost in thought, hardly aware of her presence. He hardly made the best travelling companion, he has not said a word since she found him, huddled in the ashes of his former home, clutching the twisted corpse of his long dead sister. His face, although handsome, was marred by a long scar travelling from his forehead to his top lip. It travelled directly past his right eye and curled his lip up in a permanent sneer. A two day beard was beginning to show.
A particularly cold wind struck their meager camp site, and Esther shivered. She pulled the thin green cloak around her neck, not that it could hold out the wind. She considered sleep, but decided against it. Her nights had been haunted by nightmares of the creatures that had sacked her home town and killed her family. Her eyes were heavy already heavy from lack of sleep, but the very idea of facing those creatures again kept her awake. A sigh from her companion aroused her from her thoughts. Take the Poll
Darkness RisingA cold wind blew across the plain, causing the few trees to sway like dancers. Arneth and Culizar huddled by the fire, trying to absorb any warmth which emitted from the fire. Their cloaks provided little protection against the icy winter wind, only succeeding in prolonging their inevitable death by freezing. Three days now they had been walking on foot, fighting off sleep and wolves. Their horses were long dead, having succumbed to the cold winter nights. To make matters worse they were down to their last day's worth of rations and they only had a waterskin to share between them. Things looked grim.
Arneth stared across the fire at his travelling partner. Culizar was a handsome man, his features finely chiselled. His piercing blue eyes rested on a face hardened by years of combat-but he still retained his handsome appearance. From beneath his hood a trace of golden hair could be seen, hardly enough to reveal him as an Elf. Culizar was one of the last Eastgreen Elves, a dying nation of the once powerful race. Their lands were surrounded by the warring human city-states of Numeth, Ultar and Freelance. Arneth was from Ultar, one of the more powerful city states. It was a spectacular city, a rare gem perched upon a pall of onyx. Take the Poll
The HunterThe pale yellow moon shone its light down on Lynaris like some ancient eye. The murky black waters of Syan Lake lapped lazily against the rocky banks. In the distance, barely visible through the thick fog, the lights of Chraal could be made out. A harsh winter wind blew across the barren plains, carrying with it the ash of a dead civilization. Without trees to halt its progress, the wind built up momentum as it blew across Lynaris. Occasionally an unusually shaped rock would catch the wind, causing it to howl as if it were being tortured by some unseen beast. The mutants in their dilapidated houses huddled around the small fire they had created, gathering around in search of some warmth. The wind whistled through small gaps in the wood, causing everyone to draw themselves closer to the flickering flames. Outside the dog strained at its chain, growling at whatever it perceived was approaching the house. They say dogs can sense the Undead, and on this particular night no one would have doubted its suspicions. It was one of those nights when everyone believed in monsters. When the moon offered not only light, but a sense of pure dread. A full moon might mean plentiful light, but it could also mean plentiful evil. Folklore told of Werewolves, spirits and vampires who haunted these plains, giving the mutants cause for concern. From the darkness of an overhanging rock, a being watched silently, surveying the land surrounded the house.
The Lexican prowled closer to the house, its pale skin shimmering in the moonlight. The dog growled louder as it spotted him, straining harder than before. The Lexican snickered, very few normal creatures could hope to defeat a Lexican in single combat. Reaching slowly into its pocket, the Lexican produced an inch long dart. With deadly precision it hurled it, and like some guided missile, it struck the dog just beneath its collar. The mongrel whined, its strength already ebbing from its body, and finally collapsed as its internal organs shut down one by one. The Lexican allowed itself to grin in smug satisfaction. In a society where stealth was paramount, he alone possessed such abilities. He prowled closer to the house and like a cat, leapt soundlessly onto its tin roof. Inside the mutants wondered why their dog had gone quiet. The ideas going through their terrified heads were not correct, for no mind could comprehend the creature of unspeakable evil which perched above their heads, like some ghastly carrion bird. The Lexican scanned the roof for its weakest spot, hoping to drop into the room for dramatic effect. Many people find the Lexicanís obsession with drama unusual considering their unnatural thirst for blood. Take the Poll