Small note from me:
This is my first Zork fan fic (actually my first fan fic ever) so please don't criticize me for bad writing. The title sorta sounds like the one from a Lord of the Rings game, but it's in no way related. I am good at coming up with stories; it's just putting them into words that's the problem. Oh yeah, and I was also thinking of doing a prequel to this later, just to clear things up.
The Shadows of Dimbor
Chapter 1: The Return
Dimbor awoke early in the morning, four thirty-two to be exact, on Ottobur 13, 1378 GUE to find the television on. He sneered. Another Antharia Jack rerun. As he reached from his chair to turn it off, he remembered turning it off before he went to sleep the night before. Snoring was coming from beside him. 'Zordir the old fool! How many times have I told him to stay in his room at night?! The ass must have turned on the TV.'
He shook Zordir awake and kicked him. "What're you doing in here? And why'd you leave the TV on? We can't have that..."
"Well, sir, I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing strange noises from outside that reminded me of...I didn't turn the TV on! Honest! It's not on now. I just came in to sleep with you to protect me!"
Dimbor glowed of a smile that betrayed his anger...and fear. Zordir was about to speak of that dark night many ages ago. But that is a story for another time.
"Well I guess I understand...but what noises do you speak of? I heard nothing. Could it be..."
"I think it is," Zordir cut in. "The noises were like those of the...I shall not say. But you know what I speak of. Could we get some light in here?"
"But of course." Dimbor lit the lights to reveal a small entry room to the house with a cot in one corner and a TV in the other. There was a large recliner in front of the TV where Dimbor had been sleeping and a couple fur tapestries on the walls. "Now tell m-"
Dimbor was interrupted by a knock on the door. He went to answer it, passing the shaky Zordir. There was no one at the door, but he got that strange sense. Quickly, he grabbed his hat from the rack and changed clothes. He was tightening his coat when he came up to Zordir. "Get a few things. We're traveling light."
"What is it master?"
"No time to explain. Grab your coat and change. We have to get out now."
Zordir met his master outside who was running for the woods surrounding the small house. He caught up to Dimbor and tried to get him to explain what was going on.
"Remember what happened long ago?" Zordir nodded. "It's returned. We must get to Port Foozle. Maybe we can get to Antharia from there. It would be the safest place."
By light, they were well away from the woods surrounding their home. They lived in the Flathead Mountains, north of the White House. At the pace they were going, Dimbor and Zordir could reach the Frigid River by high noon and take a rest nearby. Zordir suggested they kept going until they reached Flood Control Dam #3 and set up for the night.
Zordir knew little of what was actually going on, but he just went along with his master, hoping to find the answers somewhere along the road. There we no orcs, no trolls, no barbarians...no evil presence at all. Yet Dimbor pushed on, full of fear and anger.
"We'll probably have to rebuild our house. I don't reckon any of them wanted to leave it standing."
"Well, at least they think we're dead huh?"
Dimbor gritted his teeth. "Yeah...they think we were in there...most...like..ly..." He broke off, seeing the River. "Come on, we're making excellent progress. They'll never catch up."
After a refreshing lunch of wild plants and a splash into the icy water, they were ready to continue. A thick haze was beginning to cloud their vision. Somehow, they trailed off the river's path and found themselves a little lost in a nearby forest.
Suddenly, Zordir remembered the tale of the legend of Zork. The lone adventurer traveling through the woods around the White House and entering the underground, the treasure-hunter and wizard defeater. The one who became the Second Dungeon Master. But the chances of this being the same wood were slim to none. Then again, it was near the same location, and it certainly seemed possible.
They found the White House without too much trouble. The open window on the east side let them in and they took a nice long rest. Camped for the night in fact. They had to leave a light on to ward off grues, but it was no trouble.
The next day, they made it to Port Foozle without any more occurrence other than the strange sounds in the early morning. At the bar is where it all got stranger.
When they walked in, all seemed normal. A few men drinking their life away...a couple gamblers, and an old man on a computer in the corner. There was a television set hanging on the wall. The broadcast read:
Yesterday, we received word that an old house in the Flathead Mountains burned down. It probably was intentional, but it could be accidental. No one was seen fleeing from the house. The occupants Dimbor and Zordir are presumed dead, but we have no certain evidence. In other news...
Zordir grinned at Dimbor, "They think us dead!" he said in a hush whisper. "We're free to leave without anyone noticing us!"
Dimbor gritted his teeth into a smile. "Yeah..." They went and ate and drank until nightfall. The old man never got up from the computer, and he didn't look like he was doing anything. No one took notice and just had a good time.
At closing time, they were referred to a local inn and went there to sleep. In the middle of the night, Dimbor woke up in a cold, trembling sweat. The clock on the wall read 2:04. It was earlier than last time, but the strangest thing had happened. The TV was on. He woke Zordir and got dressed. They were leaving for Antharia on the next boat.
There they sat, in the dead of the night, freezing on the docks. Out cold. The last thoughts of Zordir before he went out were, 'They've returned.'
This is my first Zork fan fic (actually my first fan fic ever) so please don't criticize me for bad writing. The title sorta sounds like the one from a Lord of the Rings game, but it's in no way related. I am good at coming up with stories; it's just putting them into words that's the problem. Oh yeah, and I was also thinking of doing a prequel to this later, just to clear things up.
The Shadows of Dimbor
Chapter 1: The Return
Dimbor awoke early in the morning, four thirty-two to be exact, on Ottobur 13, 1378 GUE to find the television on. He sneered. Another Antharia Jack rerun. As he reached from his chair to turn it off, he remembered turning it off before he went to sleep the night before. Snoring was coming from beside him. 'Zordir the old fool! How many times have I told him to stay in his room at night?! The ass must have turned on the TV.'
He shook Zordir awake and kicked him. "What're you doing in here? And why'd you leave the TV on? We can't have that..."
"Well, sir, I couldn't sleep. I kept hearing strange noises from outside that reminded me of...I didn't turn the TV on! Honest! It's not on now. I just came in to sleep with you to protect me!"
Dimbor glowed of a smile that betrayed his anger...and fear. Zordir was about to speak of that dark night many ages ago. But that is a story for another time.
"Well I guess I understand...but what noises do you speak of? I heard nothing. Could it be..."
"I think it is," Zordir cut in. "The noises were like those of the...I shall not say. But you know what I speak of. Could we get some light in here?"
"But of course." Dimbor lit the lights to reveal a small entry room to the house with a cot in one corner and a TV in the other. There was a large recliner in front of the TV where Dimbor had been sleeping and a couple fur tapestries on the walls. "Now tell m-"
Dimbor was interrupted by a knock on the door. He went to answer it, passing the shaky Zordir. There was no one at the door, but he got that strange sense. Quickly, he grabbed his hat from the rack and changed clothes. He was tightening his coat when he came up to Zordir. "Get a few things. We're traveling light."
"What is it master?"
"No time to explain. Grab your coat and change. We have to get out now."
Zordir met his master outside who was running for the woods surrounding the small house. He caught up to Dimbor and tried to get him to explain what was going on.
"Remember what happened long ago?" Zordir nodded. "It's returned. We must get to Port Foozle. Maybe we can get to Antharia from there. It would be the safest place."
By light, they were well away from the woods surrounding their home. They lived in the Flathead Mountains, north of the White House. At the pace they were going, Dimbor and Zordir could reach the Frigid River by high noon and take a rest nearby. Zordir suggested they kept going until they reached Flood Control Dam #3 and set up for the night.
Zordir knew little of what was actually going on, but he just went along with his master, hoping to find the answers somewhere along the road. There we no orcs, no trolls, no barbarians...no evil presence at all. Yet Dimbor pushed on, full of fear and anger.
"We'll probably have to rebuild our house. I don't reckon any of them wanted to leave it standing."
"Well, at least they think we're dead huh?"
Dimbor gritted his teeth. "Yeah...they think we were in there...most...like..ly..." He broke off, seeing the River. "Come on, we're making excellent progress. They'll never catch up."
After a refreshing lunch of wild plants and a splash into the icy water, they were ready to continue. A thick haze was beginning to cloud their vision. Somehow, they trailed off the river's path and found themselves a little lost in a nearby forest.
Suddenly, Zordir remembered the tale of the legend of Zork. The lone adventurer traveling through the woods around the White House and entering the underground, the treasure-hunter and wizard defeater. The one who became the Second Dungeon Master. But the chances of this being the same wood were slim to none. Then again, it was near the same location, and it certainly seemed possible.
They found the White House without too much trouble. The open window on the east side let them in and they took a nice long rest. Camped for the night in fact. They had to leave a light on to ward off grues, but it was no trouble.
The next day, they made it to Port Foozle without any more occurrence other than the strange sounds in the early morning. At the bar is where it all got stranger.
When they walked in, all seemed normal. A few men drinking their life away...a couple gamblers, and an old man on a computer in the corner. There was a television set hanging on the wall. The broadcast read:
Yesterday, we received word that an old house in the Flathead Mountains burned down. It probably was intentional, but it could be accidental. No one was seen fleeing from the house. The occupants Dimbor and Zordir are presumed dead, but we have no certain evidence. In other news...
Zordir grinned at Dimbor, "They think us dead!" he said in a hush whisper. "We're free to leave without anyone noticing us!"
Dimbor gritted his teeth into a smile. "Yeah..." They went and ate and drank until nightfall. The old man never got up from the computer, and he didn't look like he was doing anything. No one took notice and just had a good time.
At closing time, they were referred to a local inn and went there to sleep. In the middle of the night, Dimbor woke up in a cold, trembling sweat. The clock on the wall read 2:04. It was earlier than last time, but the strangest thing had happened. The TV was on. He woke Zordir and got dressed. They were leaving for Antharia on the next boat.
There they sat, in the dead of the night, freezing on the docks. Out cold. The last thoughts of Zordir before he went out were, 'They've returned.'