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Part 4: The Final Part....Yay!

The shrieks of steel clattering upopn steel rang over any ambience in the chamber. Ice shot from the undead prince's palm, and arced towards Mordred, and chilling the air around it. The warrior raised his axe and felt the assault ram and pulse through his weapon, then dissapate, leaving glistening shards of cold upon steel and stone. The two combatents circled eachother, a waltz of death that was ominous in it's beauty. Little emotion was betrayed by the skeleton's somber face besides the fury that burned eternally in his pupils. The hero gripped his axe, anticipating another ferocious wave of magic, but after seeing none he raged towards Vanyar, whirling his axe over his head, giving him the appearance of a crazed devish, unwilling to succumb to death. Mordred roared, letting the passion for battle seep through his blood and wounds. He brought the axe upon the wizard and upon feeling the resounding clatter of weabons embracing, withdrew the weabpon and took a brisk cut at the mage's knees. The bone shattered, unable to withstand such a blow, but it turned out to be nothing more but another image. Vanyar emerged behind Mordred, howling as if a demon were inside of him, and clasped the bastard sword, bringing a massive swipe upon the dwarf only to watch it become locked with the warrior's axe. The wizard slayer thrusted his foe's blade upwards, defying the opponent, and twirled to face Vanyar, swinging his axe horizontally as he turned. But the axe was retched from his grasp as the prince slammed his sword upon Mordred's weapon with such force and intensity that it splintered the hilt and tore it from the dwarf's grip. As the dwarf evaded the flame that spouted from Vanyar's other hand, he groped for a throwing axe only to discover that none remained on his girdle.

At that moment a vicious pain rang through the dwarf's head, who was being assailed by one of the wizard's spells. Not willing to hold back any further, the mage began to utter an encantation, his hands and eyes glowing, shooting light into the deepest recesses of the chamber. Mordred grimaced and spat blood, feeling the crimson liquid creep to his lips.

"Ye shall pay devilkin, By Moradin ye shall!"

He clutched his spare weapon from his back, a wicked mace, newly forged by the fires of Lahab, deep within the Cloudpeak Mountains. It had been honed to perfection by one of the few remaining dwarven mastersmiths who despised magic nearly as much as Mordred. Engraved on the hilt was a powerful rune, which bolstered the dwarf's hatred of magic to epic proportions, rendering him quite oblivious to pain wrought by magicians. The weapon was now drawn, and the rune hummed, feeding it's owner with anger. Swearing oaths that made those taken by druids seem frivilous, Mordred rose, a spectre rising from the grave, and galloped to the attack, possessed by an unearthly fury. Surprising both Vanyar and himself, his next blast shattered not only the wizard's concentration, but a couple ribs as well. The crunch of bone felt satisfying to Mordred and he resumed his offensive, the mage screaming in pain and frustration, unable to contain the beast before him. But as suddenly as the tides had turned, they were halted. Vanyar disappeared, leaving the dwarf clawing at thin air.

"Ye yellow-bellied skulker! I'll slay ye like the rat you are!"

From out of the abyss, globes of fire whistled at Mordred. As the warrior turned, one struck him square on the chest, flinging him into the stone wall, and erupting into a shower of flame, searing the dwarf and singeing his beard. Another slammed into the wall, scattering masonary about the chasm. Solid rock clattered upon Mordred's helmet, sending shots of pain about his skull and partially engulfing him in a grave of stone. Painfully, Mordred tore himself from the burial and grabbed his mace. Slowly, as his eyes refocussed, he became aware that Vanyar was now visible. The wizard was casting a final spell to annihilate the dwarf. So this is how it ends, thought Mordred, By me 'arse! I cannot let a wizard spawned from hell best me! To arms ye fool! Summoning what remained of his depleted strength and rage, Mordred marched forward, head standing high, as if even death itself could not dent his pride. The last bits of the encantation were being uttered. Mordred began to charge.

"Death can't hold me mage! I have no fear of it!"

What ocurred next shocked all, undead and dwarf alike. As the ray of pure energy was released from Vanyar's palm, a hooded figure flew to the ground and as he removed the black cloak, he unsheathed a wicked scimitar and reflected the ray to the side, schorching the entire wall. While Mordred and Vanyar attempted to peer through the sparks that now showered the room, this enigma opened his palm sending a hail of flaming bolts towards the skeleton. Mordred now recognized the man as a half-elf, and the warrior/mage who obliterated the orcs.

"Begone wizard slayer, this is not your fight," stated the half-elf in a tone as icy as his blue eyes.

"Corien!" hissed the wizard, "How in the name of Cyric did you break free?!"

Corien reached to the small pack at his girdle and removed a thrall collar. Clearly detesting the device he tossed it upon the floor.

"You were distracted by this intruder, and lost your grip about me, fool. Clearly, I am more powerful than this dwarf, making that your last mistake. I will have my revenge and will not fall prey to your spells this time, Vanyar."

By this time however, Mordred had snuck up to the half-elf. Taking aim, the dwarf whacked the him in the back, the rune hissing as the mace flew. Corien reeled and fell to his knees, only to be kicked viciously by the dwarf.

"Who is stronger now mageling! Both of ye shall feel me mace!"

"I think not, wizard slayer."

The skeleton had recovered at this juncture as well and now he released a lightning bolt. The ray screamed, and electricity filled the air. The bolt ravaged through Mordred, bringing the dwarf to his knees, and face to face with Corien, who was still clutching his back.

"You foolish dwarf! Now we are both doomed!"

Both of the wounded rolled out of the way as the bold richocheted back at them. The ray was brought to it's death when Corien absorbed it into his scimitar. But Vanyar released another barrage of magic, and once again, both of his enemies scurried behind pillars.

"Listen Mordred! We only have one chance to defeat this monstrosity. We must join arms!"

"Work with a mage?! Bah! I'd sooner chop me own head off!"

"How dull are you dwarf?! Even now Vanyar's magic is breaking through these pillars!"

"And?"

"Fine. I shall be blunt. Do you wish to slay Vanyar, or do you wish to be slain? You have only but one option!" pleaded the half-elf.

As the two huddled behind pillars, seeking shelter from the undead prince's fury, waves of magic eroded the dwarven worksmanship. Mordred stole a glance at Corien. The half-elf was lacking many years, however the eyes glinted as if a heavy burden were pushing the man deeper to the ground each new day. Corien had seen too much in his few years. But something else lay in the half-elf. The look of revenge. The determination to lay down one's life, the will to sacrifice everything for a taste of vengeance. The very same fire that raged deep within Mordred. Feeling some unspoken, indescribible bond he had never shared with anyone, the dwarf called out.

"Corien! Ye are right. Go and stop his magic whilst I send him back to the grave!"

The half-elf showed no surprise and stepped into the battlefield, protected by a shimmering barrier that radiated from him like an aura. Summoning his powerful magics, Corien unleasehed a blizzard of holy light upon Vanyar, sending the skeleton scuttling for the shadows, where Mordred lay in wait.

"Mage! This is for me brother and me beard!"

The dwarf roared mightily and pummeled Vanyar to the ground, each mace strike shattering bone after bone. The wizard, sensing impending death quickly cast a final spell.

"If I shall die, than you sons of a tan'ari shall follow suit!"

Corien lurched forward, knowing what was about to occur, and swiftly dragged the enraged dwarf behind a pillar.

"Put me down you drunk hobbit! He's not dead yet!" yelled Mordred, flailing his mace in Vanyar's direction.

Wordlessly the half-elf dove for another covering as an explosion ripped through the chamber. Corien conjured a shield over Mordred and him, and the torrid flames swept past in fury, unable to breach the magical barrier. The roaring fire beckoned but could not convince the blockade to fall, and the men remained safe. Soon, the fire had died away, and only Corien and Mordred stood alive.

The dwarf and half-elf stared at eachother, unable to summon words for their thoughts. A brotherly bond had built itself during the battle. They shared deeper similarities than most partners. Both had sought revenge. Both were outcasts, never to be accepted by common folk. And both despised the other's profession. Perhaps this was why they felt the need to remain together. Because no one else could accept them. Or could it be that fate had predestined them to cross paths? Whatever the reason, as the portal appeared, they stepped throguh it as brothers, and for the first time since either could remember, each steeped through with a comrade, the party whose feats would be discussed in the years to come, over ale and bread.

THE END

Well, that's a wrap. I'm going to hand in a polished version of the four parts here, and I'd like to thank all who voiced their opinions. If anyone would like to see more, please feel free to tell me. Once again, thanks for all the help.

Hi Z:

I am late coming into this thread, I hope I can be of help. There are some fan fiction sites around on creative writing. I came across one by Dorotea entitled "The Story of a Girl without a Name which appears to be right up your alley.

For more sites, you may like to check out:

1. BG Fanfic

2. The Attic

I have also read the Icewind Dale trilogy by Salvatore which IMHO is very well written in terms of story line, pace and choice of words used.

I wish you all the best in your English assignment.

@BGFan....good stuff

Upon further analysis I have decide that the story is:

• Bland, the tone of the story does not change much from the first to second part
• The plot is not fleshed out enough because the characters do not have enough "personality"
• Certain words are repeated over and over....more colour should be used
• Unbelievable, the characters do not draw the readers in
• Does not sound how a fantasy story should sound
• Rushed, the ideas come too rapidly, and are not introduced and supported well

Hence, seeing that I owe those that helped something a little more worthy of their advice, I have decided to create another version of the story, which will not be as compact and rushed, (No longer for school), and will probably be far better than the above story (which will be only a part of the story, no longer the entire thing, and will be completely redone). The parts, however, will not come as fast, since it will not be my major focus anymore.

Originally posted by The Z
Upon further analysis I have decide that the story is:

Hence, seeing that I owe those that helped something a little more worthy of their advice, I have decided to create another version of the story, which will not be as compact and rushed, (No longer for school), and will probably be far better than the above story (which will be only a part of the story, no longer the entire thing, and will be completely redone). The parts, however, will not come as fast, since it will not be my major focus anymore.

Are those your thoughts or your teacher's? Harsh!
Even if I was any help, you owe me nothing. However, I will always be interested in what you do with the story. I assume you plan to keep it a short story, and I think the challenge there is to let the reader experience the story, while keeping it short; its hard to say a lot without using too many words. If you want anybody to proof it, just ask. I can also upgrade words if you ask, as well.
*Patiently waits to hear more from the story.*

My opinion I kinda figured that out when I was polishing it up, but it's all good. I'm kind of in Expository Paragraph mode, so that might be the problem (Too many essays)

Yep.....especially since for some reason, my History teacher likes essays too

That's why I dread English and History exams....my wrist gets more tired writing those things than it does playing a game like Diablo for an hour

Originally posted by Skooter327
Actually, History essays are cake once you figure out the formula for them. I don't believe I've ever had an English exam, just papers due.

I'd prefer not to have an English exam, but I guess they still want to see whether we know what a noun is, and if we can still write an essay

History essays have a formula?

Originally posted by The Z
History essays have a formula?

Of course!
Simply reword and rewrite the questuion asked of you, and include 2 things that answer the question--that'll be your topic sentence. The rest just falls into place:

Topic Sentence
First Answer
->Support for 1st Answer
->Support for 1st Answer
Second Answer
->Support for 2nd Answer
->Support for 2nd Answer

That'll satisfy nearly every History essay out there. The only thinking one needs to do is come up with the 2 answers, and 2 reasons for each answer.

Ahhhhh....I see.....I'll have to remember that for the next History paper. Thanks for the tip.

Here we Go Again (Criticism Allowed)

(This is completely unrelated to the previous story at the moment)


"Corien!"

"I'm sorry mother, please forgive me, I'm sorry I don't quite know how to ----"

"That is quite enough idle chatter from you young man. Look at Anders. He accomplishes every chore asked of him, and he does not waste time with such beastly and useless hobbies that you do."

"Mother, the realms need a strong sword arm, and on top of that, I could become enlisted with the High King's Phoenix Riders!"

"Those cavalry men have talent that you could never equal. You should focus on spellcraft, where your true strengths lie."

"But there's a different world beyond the glory of magic! Having a sword in my hand, having it's hilt fill me with it's icy steel energy.....it has a feeling of it's own! Besides, magic is not something I can feel! I have to summon it with effort that is time-wasting and----

"Don't be ridiculous! You lack the skill that other elves do. Even your brother, excuse me, half brother is a better swordsman! As I continually tell you, when one becomes a mage of high power, that person will be nearer to the Gods themselves in strength!"

"If they even live long enough without warriors to protect them..."

"Enough lip, half-elf."

"Yes, alright....fine....I'm sorry mother, I know how much you have sacrificed to take me in. I should feel overjoyed that I'm given the opportunity to study with such fine tutors."

So why, then, did it feel so hollow to live with his half family, mused Corien. Why did the whole batch of elves seem to reject him at every turn? Sighing and pondering the most recent berating his mother had so eloquently bequeathed upon him, Corien resumed his chore. Trying to remember all he had been taught about tending to The Great Oaks, he was interrupted once again by his motherl

"You clod! The song of Rillifane must be recited after the Blessing of the Forest is complete! Begone, you are no use to me at this moment"

Fighting down the humility which threatened to overwhelm him, Corien simply blushed and replied, "Yes mother, once again, you are completely right as always. I shall stop and go study that spell, which I've cast perfectly a hundred times"

"That is quite enough from you Corien. And yes, go and study that invisibility spell again! It is far from perfect! You must learn how to cast as gracefully as an elf, having harmony with your body, spirit, and mind. At the moment, your casting is a blunt and brash as a human would cast such a spell."

As Corien skulked away to brood, more reflection stumbled into his mind. Why was he such a failure? His mother had given up everything for him, and he could never meet her expectations, let alone his own. For his entire pitiful life, he had worked doggedly and diligently; not once had he missed a spellcraft class, and not once had he forgotten to practice his swordplay upon finishing the daily chores. Still, Corien could not overtake his peers in that arena, even though many of them never trained half as hard. Moreover, more of his partners had bested him in the past years than ever before. Sighing once more, he quickened his pace, ashamed that he had embarassed his mother. Lately it seemed that it was all he had succeeded on doing in his dismal history. Bowing his head, Corien wallowed in dismay, and reflected on his life.

Oooh, melancholy. I like this so far. I can't say why, but some of the speech seems... abrupt, like it doesn't flow... It may just be me, but just a quick observation...

I tried to make it seem as though Corien were getting cut off at every turn, and add the feeling of one of those brisk "sibling arguements". Not sure if it worked though

Re-reading it, you can tell that he is being shut down by his Step-Mother, but I dunno, Fable may understand what I mean, I've worded it terribly...

The dialogue seems a tad choppy upon further reading, but I'm not quite sure how to edit it.