So, this is my first downright fantasy novel. I took some concepts from Runescape. The plotline uses these concepts constantly, so I feel Runescape players will greatly appreciate this. This is actually hopefully going to be a very elaborate story, involving three different books to tell the story. This is the first book, the Book of Valor. Book of Valor focuses on the Ardunites, the Warrior race. The next two books, Book of Judgment and Book of Fidelity, focus on the mage race and archer race. So be sure to stay updated. I'll probably condense the story for the site, but it'll actually be huge.
Please enjoy and review!
A young man, about 17 years old, raced down a narrow stone corridor. The walls shook and rumbled, echoing the sounds not only of the plodding footsteps, but of what sounded like millions of soldiers marching above ground. The cramped passage ran underneath the populous city of Arovyn: the center point of the Warrior-tribe Ardunites' territory. It seemed the message the man was carrying had already been delivered to the Ardunites.
Behind him, a torch slid out of its place on the wall and fell to the ground. Rocks chipped away from the walls and arched ceiling. Somewhere above ground, a mock cannon fire rang out. The blast seemed only thirty feet away. At a similar distance, the passageway seemed to collapse. The rumbling ran through, coming in on him. His breath disappeared, enveloped in the above-ground commotion. Warrior chants sneaked into the passage loud and powerful, years of Ardune traditions and heritage attached. The intensity sank through the boy's skin, pushing him forward.
Then, a light appeared down the tunnel. Behind him, more and more of the tunnel caved in, like a ferocious beast roaring behind him, hungry for supper. Up above, the ground trembled and screams pierced the air. It seemed something was now attacking the city, though it was not likely. The man reminded himself that they were miles away from the Citadel. It seemed impossible that they could have possibly organized and mobilized an attack force so swiftly.
The light grew nearer and nearer. The chants faded away slowly. The man's chest burned and mouth dried out. The light transformed into a door. Behind him, the tunnel coughed up a boulder, flying towards him. He ducked, avoiding the boulder, which then crashed into the ceiling and fell dead on the floor. The man watched behind him, hesitant of any threats attempting to stop him from reaching the castle of Arovyn.
Above, he realized, the sound vanished. An ominous silence, like the eye of a hurricane, took over. He climbed over the boulder impeding his path and darted through the wooden door. Passing through, the dusty, cold, dark passage transformed into a room befitting a king. The grand four-poster bed, nearly one-half of the royal bedroom and draped on all sides by luminescent purple cloth, appeared to be deserted in a rush, with sheets, pillows, and blankets tossed across and some brushing the floor. Above a fireplace mantle, where a coat of arms should have been, was merely empty holsters. The young man tripped on a candlestick tossed, likely by accident, upon the floor. He hit the floor with a large thud. A heavy oak door flew open across the room and an armored man raced into the room.
"You're late, Myrce! They've opened fire on the city. What happened?" the armored man asked fiercely.
"He's dead, General..." Myrce panted, his light brown bangs stuck on his face from sweat. "He died..."
Myrce stood up slowly, nervously. The General gripped onto his shoulder to hold him up.
"Then that's that" the General said. "Open that wardrobe and grab armor and a sword. We've enacted Deadtread and are preparing the fortress. The women and young children are safe for now."
The General turned to the door, his armor clanking against itself.
"And the Prince?" Myrce asked.
The clanking ceased and turned to grinding. The General looked back at him. Myrce heaved the royal armor, adorned with red and gold plates and the kingdom seal, onto his shoulders. He'd already moved into the leg plates and situated the broadsword into a make-shift sheath.
"Vanished," he said. His eyes quaked violently for a moment. "Let's go, Myrce, they're waiting in the courtyard."
Down at the courtyard, the Ardunites gathered, weapons brandished and each coated with clan armor. On the way down, the General explained that the Citadel had unleashed unseen spells upon the city. Those spells were too close to the city to be cast upon estimation. Somebody fed the Citadel coordinates. The Prince disappeared as soon as suspicions arose. Shortly after, the soldiers initiated Deadtread, a military strategy to make it appear a city had been retreated from to fool enemies. The strategy proved effective. Now, the city prepared for invasion. It was unlikely the Citadel would let the city sit "unoccupied".
The General slid through the crowd of warriors, Myrce following behind. He stepped onto a fountain. The water had stopped flowing.
"The King has been murdered, men." the General said.
Appropriately, the reaction was outrage. Armor smacking against armor, roars, and swords being brandished echoed through the city.
"HUSH!" the General roared, and the sound died. "We must prepare for invasion. The Prince obviously has vanished. So, as such, a new ruler need be appointed!"
A murmur from the crowd this time
"Can't this wait? The mages of Citadel are on their way!" one grunted.
The General held his composure. This man spoke the truth, but the truth was inappropriate at this time. Without a deemed ruler, Ardune would fall apart.
"There's no bloodline remaining, General" a man nearby mentioned.
The General stood aside, revealing Myrce. He had now attached all of his armor and grasped his sword in right hand.
"Exactly, so according to law, the king is appointed" he told the crowd, "So, Myrcevlin Crandon shall be your king!"
Myrce, who was staring at his armor, assuring it is properly fixated, jolted at the declaration. The crowd shared his shock.
"He's only a boy!" one shouted.
"He can't be a King!" another said.
The General waved a hand and silenced them.
"We must prepare for war now, King Myrce. But only on your call..."
The crowd fell into a silent mockery as the General took a knee and bowed. Each and every one of them was cursing Myrce in their head. Even Myrce doubted himself. He was only a messenger.
"Pre- prepare for battle, General Lyason" Myrce hesitated.
Lyason broke his bow and beckoned his men to follow him. The doubters and the General walked off toward the fortress walls. Myrce sighed and observed the scene he was now to be ruling over. It seemed he'd come in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nearby, a cannon sat just off of the marble courtyard, smoking from its earlier shot. Farther away, just over the mountains east of the city, the navy dusk sky became baby blue. Before, the sky was clear as crystal, but unusually faint clouds hovered barely in sight over the top of the peaks.
"Lyason!" Myrce shouted. "There..."
The group, not far away, raised their heads toward the east and true silence took them. The baby blue light of the Ilyen clan was coming already. Lyason ran ahead.
"Man the wall!" he shouted.
Myrce could not move from the courtyard. He simply stared as the light became brighter and brighter.
What a way to start my reign...