Aspiring Authors and more ... discussion

“I am the teller of truths, the spinner of spectacles, the weaver of whimsy, and the advocate of adventures. And I can only assume that you came to me to hear one of my many tales of the nine great leaders of Ragnar. Am I correct?” Hugo the Showman asked, intertwining his long, spindly fingers into a great big ball. He leaned his slender frame of a body with his short, fat face with ever crooked features closer to the subject of his question.

“That is correct indeed but I do not want just one story, I would like thirteen.” The mysterious cloaked figure said pleasantly all the while exuding an aura of malice and contempt.

“Thirteen?” Hugo asked precariously while slowly backing behind his cart of curiosity as if to grab something. “I know of only the nine Kings and Queens of Ragnar.” He exclaimed cheerfully even though directly under the surface he was teaming with fear and rage.

“I demand to know the stories of the Rulers of Nine, the tales of Ragnar, the Crimaeus Wars, the Stealing of the Garfind, and the Final Shining. And I demand to know them NOW,” The enigmatic character shouted while throwing his cloak to the ground and standing ramrod straight. With his towering height, piercing emerald eyes, and shoulder length flowing blonde hair there would be no mistaking this man for any other. He was Zyron Olmecas, lord of Ragnar’s brother nation, Falcinyan.

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Hugo praised while bowing his head to the ground and kissing the land that Lord Zyron was standing upon. “Anything for His Greatness, anything for you.”

“Oh, get up you filthy beast and tell me the stories I need to know.” Lord Zyron scoffed at the now humbled Hugo Showalter the Showman.

“Yes-oh-yes Mr.-Lord Omlecas-Zyron-sir.” Hugo “the humbled” Showalter the Showman stammered while scrambling to pick himself up off the ground. “Ohhhhh, Ruk!” Hugo sang/shouted.

There was a slight rusting underneath the tiny cart before a half-sized hunchback monster sprang forth from the cart carrying a small woven basket, with a single gleaming glass ball perched precariously in the middle of a pile of miniscule pillows and clothe, in its tiny little clutches. “Yes, Ma-a-aster-r-r.” The horrid little beast said sweetly staring up with kind eyes at oh so humbled Mr. Hugo.

“By gods! What is that wretched monstrosity!” Lord Zyron shrieked jumping back several feet.

“This is my son.” Hugo scowled before picking up the deformed demon, holding it tight, and giving it a peck on its misshapen forehead. “His name is Ruk and I love him with all of my hearts.”

“Well, whatever it is begone with it at once.” Lord Zyron said while collecting himself from his previous scare.

“I would promptly kill you before ever banishing my faithful son.” Hugo spat, staring down Lord Zyron before leaning over and settling little Ruk’s feet on the pavement and pulling the glass orb form the basket. “Now back at the business at hand, time for your stories.”

wow! that's real interesting! I think i'm hooked ;D more, please? :)

Anything for a fan. Thank you so much

First I will weave a whimsical tale of the Warrior King:
As Rylus O’Giud traveled through the valley, passing the very stone that would one day become the Prowen- the place of the final battle in the Crimaeus Wars- on his way to the House of Kas to avenge the death of a few of his farmers that Kas’ men killed, he was ambushed. It wasn't the reflection in his lucky dwarf fashioned belt or the quiver in the bushes that made him know that he was about to be ambushed, but the feeling that resonated throughout his body, the feeling deep in his bones screaming through every fiber of his being that he was being watched. It was the same feeling that he experienced when he had first entered the Zoen King’s Hall. So as not to alert his would be attackers of his awareness he sat down and unsheathed his sword of pure thundersilk and set it on the floor next to him to make it seem as if he was just going to rest for a little while. Moments after he stretched out on the ground he heard a low whistle followed by the rustling of bushes and deep, brutal growls. Then without any other warnings the forest around him exploded, spitting out nine of the biggest, ugliest, most disgusting Ogres Rylus had ever seen. Leading the group was none other than the Ogre Emperor himself.
“Give us your gleaming sword and polished lightningwool belt or we will take them from your cold, lifeless hands that will never touch a cairn!” Lork the Emperor shouted while swinging his enormous cudgel around savagely.
“No.” Rylus responded quietly as he stood and picked his sword off of the ground and tightened the belt around his tunic securing it fastly.
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Lork bellowed as he stepped closer and closer to Rylus, “He thinks that we will not crush him into the dirt and use his blood, marrow, and other squishy things as food. He thinks we will not peel his skin for a rug and use his bones for toothpicks. He must not-” Blustered Lork before stopping abruptly to yank out the lustrous thundersilk sword that he was once so fond of out of his swollen, misshapen belly, but Rylus wouldn't allow it to budge even an inch. He just pushed it deeper into the stomach of the awful beast, twisting the blade until it protruded from the creatures spine, staining Rylus’ hands the deep purplish-yellow color of the Ogres foul smelling blood.
“How?” Lork asked looking deep into Rylus’ stony, uncaring, grey eyes until, in one sweeping motion, Rylus pulled the sword from Lork’s sickly abdomen and in the same quick movement beheaded Lork. As Lork’s misshapen head fell to the earth, his blood poisoning the ground it touched, Rylus snatched the Ogre’s crown and gently set it atop his own skull.
Following the customs of the ancient Ogres, half of the shell shocked Ogres kneeled to their new king, the very same king who seconds later took their four heads in one mighty swipe of his sword. The other half, who quickly broke through the cloudy haze of shock to avenge their fallen brethren, charged Rylus with their clubs raised high, screaming in unison the Ogre battle cry, “Fyrir fallið bræður okkar og systur við munum drepa sviksamir, framhleypnir einn!” roughly translated to mean “For our fallen brothers and sisters we will kill the treacherous one!”
“You can try.” was Rylus’ extremely calm reply while he dodged the incoming clubs, lashing out with his sword at the same time slicing the tallest of the four neatly in half. This slowed the second assault, but only for a split second before the Ogres remembered their promises of eternal life for trying to avenge their comrades.
Two of the Ogres flanked Rylus while the third came barreling towards him. At the last second just as the running Ogre jumped and the two on his sides swung their clubs down, Rylus rolled out of the way and the two falling clubs crushed the flying Ogre’s skull into a plethora of tiny, little fragments. The two Ogres then screamed in disgust and attacked Rylus in a frenzy. They managed to get a clean hit on his knee shattering it instantly. With Rylus wounded and the Ogres in an uncontrollable frenzy they pounced on the wounded warrior. That would be the last mistake the two would ever make.
Immediately Rylus lashed out with his blade piercing the Ogre closest to him and then, using the Ogres now limp body, he was able to block himself from the attack of the other beast pinning the living Ogre to the ground and repeatedly bashed his skull in until the Ogre’s face was unrecognizable and his body lay still with new death. Rylus then got up off of the blood splattered ground, collected his items-the ones he rightfully one from Ogres along with his original cargo, washed up in a nearby stream, and continued on his trek to Kas’.
As he stepped over the carcass of the smallest of the nine Ogres on his way to Kas’ he heard a faint moaning sound that kicked his instincts into high gear forcing Rylus to flick his eyes over his shoulder, his long shaggy blonde hair momentarily obscuring his star-burst green and gold eyes, and in that moment of blindness he smelt the enticing scent of Nymph tears and finally he laid his eyes upon her. Standing about a quarter of a mile away was the most beautiful woman Rylus had ever seen. She stood little under five foot seven with long flowing red hair and amber eyes. Rylus immediately recognized her to be Aideena, the Protector of the Lands.
At first he didn't understand why she was crying until he looked at the ground and realized what carnage he had left in his wake, the toxic blood of the Ogres was quickly poisoning the surrounding grass, shrubs, and trees turning them black and killing them. On this realization Rylus returned to the scene and apologized to Aideena while collecting the dismembered bodies into a large pile and setting them aflame, turning the flesh and blood of the unnatural creatures into a pile of Savorial Ash which he then sprinkled over the ruined landscape. The Savorial Ash had a property completely unique to itself; it could return life to anything that the Ogres had brought death upon.
Aideena let loose a whoop of joy and threw her arms around Rylus, pulling him into a kiss before scampering off to an extremely large oak tree and melting into the bark. “Thank you Lady.” Rylus said curtly bowing to the oak before turning his back on the clearing and setting off towards Kas’, he still had some farmers to avenge.