The Culling, Dissension, Frostmourne

The Culling
Genre: Fantasy, Psychological, War
Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft, or anything pertaining to Warcraft, and I am not affiliated at all with Blizzard. Blah, blah, blah. Also, first paragraph is a plagiarized version of an existing introductory paragraph to a book.

The warmth passed hastily from the earth, and the advancing fogs covered an army arriving on the hills on outskirts of Stratholme. As the landscape changed from a fertile green to a terrifying black, the army settled, and began to tremble with fear at the noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the city, which was growing dim from the extinguishing of lanterns and the sleep of the innocents. A haze, a dampening fog, descended upon the army; and in the night, when the city had fallen into its graceful slumber, one could see across it the green, decaying gleam of hostile enemy structures set in the low brows of distant hills.

As the dampening fog spread lazily throughout the city, so did rumors spread among the soldiers. Rumors of a spreading darkness. Whispers of a decaying plague, even now lying dormant in Stratholme. Most of the soldiers knew the terror of this new enemy, had experienced it firsthand when they had nearly fallen at Hearthglen. As many of the veterans recounted their near-deaths during their suicidal defense of Hearthglen, many spoke also of Prince Arthas and Lord Uther. It was as if a floodgate had been opened, for when their names were spoken, even more men began to speak wondrously about the two Paladins. Their deeds were legend among the soldiers, and the dark whispers shifted towards a cheerful din. Knights, footman, and even dwarven artillery were happily recalling instances when they had witnessed or been personally saved through the holy powers of either of the two. Some spoke even of Uther's fabled resurrection abilities, reviving the fallen to relive the reward of life once again.

Amid the soldiers and knights of Lordaeron, there lurked a rather youthful soldier, no longer a child, and yet not an adult. Fresh from the academy, he listened in awe of the events that these veterans had experienced, and recalled the previous battle, his first. Although they had struggled heavily against the tidal wave of animated corpses, unholy skeletons, and stitched horrors, he had never given up hope. Always, the Prince had revitalized them with his zeal and fervor for victory against the necromantic legions of undead. It was as if he radiated an aura of glory that washed upon his men, and gave them hope even as they were overrun. Even then, victory came in the form of Uther Lightbringer, the first paladin of the legendary Knights of the Silver Hand. Truly, it was a glorious sight, the youth recalled, as the two paladins struck down undead after undead with their mighty warhammers and holy powers. Even the weariest of men seemed revived just at the sight, and joined in the fray. The two had worked together so easily, so powerfully in that battle.

So why is it that they seem on the brink of argument? mused the youth.

Lord Uther and Prince Arthas had met in the camp, just as any two lords or generals would have. The dawn of the morning was creeping over the hillside, feebly attempting to break through the deepening mist, as the youth slowly realized that the bond between mentor and apprentice was shattering.

"Glad you could make it Uther," greeted Arthas, with his tongue dripping in sarcasm.
"Watch your tone with me, boy," retorted Uther. "You may be the prince, but I'm still your superior as a paladin!"
"As if I could forget," Arthas sniped back. "Listen, Uther, there's something about the plague you should know..."

Already the youth sensed something...different in these two heroes. The seething hatred that lined their words were barely contained, barely noticeable as more than mild irritation, but it was there. As the youth looked around at his fellow soldiers, none gave a second thought to the conversation held by the two paladins. Not until Arthas swore loudly as his sight caught something he had missed earlier during his inspection of their small camp. The sight of open, discarded crates of grain. Grain that had been shipped to Stratholme. Grain that carried the plague of undeath.

"Oh no," cried the Prince. "We're too late. These people have already been infected!"
In response to the senior Paladin's quizzical expression, Arthas explained more thoroughly. "They may look fine now, but it's just a matter of time before they turn into the undead!"
Thus, Arthas knew of only a single plan left now that he could no longer prevent the undead from taking his countrymen.

"This entire city must be purged."

An expression of horror flashed across Uther's face; however, as quickly as it arrived, it just as quickly disappeared, replaced with a justifiable anger and resolve.
"How can you even consider that?" questioned the legendary warrior. "There's got to be some other way."

By now, the youth had begun to notice what had eluded his many companions and fellow soldiers: Prince Arthas's demeanor. Not just his demeanor, but his pride, or at least, that's what the youth guessed. Ever since Hearthglen, he had noticed it, subtle gestures and glances from the prince at his senior among the Order at first, but as the days progressed, as they edged closer and closer to Stratholme, the subtle gestures soon turned to explosive anger. The youth had seen, on one occasion, the Prince arguing with Uther of how he would've been just as successful as the latter if he had a legion of knights to defend Hearthglen.

Pride. The one flaw that the youth knew plagued Arthas. As the increasing anger began to seethe from the Prince's mouth, the youth turned towards the city, and gazed down at the streets as the already thick fog began to lower and creep.

Gazing away, he heard the voice of his prince respond in equal anger, "Damn it, Uther! As your future king, I order you to purge this city!"

By now, most of the soldiers in the camp had gravitated towards the raised voices of their two heroes. Knights, captains, footmen, even the lowly army laborers gave the two paladins the utmost attention as the simple argument had intensified into something more. Already, the men were choosing their sides, deciding whether to support the wise Uther or the glorious Prince Arthas.

Last edited by UA on Thu Jun 26, 2008 3:17 pm; edited 5 times in total

Well, first off, I have to say I'm not familiar with this specific fandom, so please excuse my misconceptions, if any.

I enjoyed the imagery that is used throughout. It was rather well used in most instances, of course sans the first paragraph which isn't exactly yours. The word choice was fitting for the context of the sentences, which is sometimes a problem for some writers, specifically those whom are ruled by a thesaurus. The dark tone does set in nicely from the beginning, and doesn't let up. Though the army is speaking of holy warriors and are apparently fighting against "evil", there is still a sense of ominous darkness that surrounds them. Ironic, I'd say.

Once specific piece of imagery I liked was "stitched horrors," and, it might just be me, the image appeared to me. Though you don't go into specifics, the vague description is enough to leave those with an imagination with a haunting image.

I am at a loss to the references of specific names, I'm sorry to admit, and cannot comment on the accuracy of the specific names or places.

There are of course the commonplace grammatical errors. It's difficult to read over one's own work, of course, but it is necessary in order to have a good final product. There are some run on sentences, such as the fourth sentences of the second paragraph.

One sentence just sounded awkward to me:
"As the dampening fog spread lazily throughout the city, as did rumors spread among the soldiers."
"As..., as..." sounds wrong, no? It's as if you're going to continue listing on.
"As...., so.." would be the right way, if I'm not mistaken.

All in all, the end of this section did leave me wanting more, and I hope to see the end of this.

-J.L.

_________________

setsunasa no kagiri made dakishimete mo itsumade mo hitotsu ni wa narenakute
Even if you embrace me until it's suffocating, we will never become one.

Noted.

Updated, finally with dialogue.

lololol... undead. You should make them asian too. And make them around 30 years old. :O

Gosh. The youth. ><

"Oh no," cried the Prince. "We're too late. These people have already been infected!"

I'd think that the punk would say "AH SH*T" instead of "Oh no" Razz

I like it so far.

Imagery is great. I like the long usage of the fog and how it's connected to the plague. It's very nice and smooth. Dialogue is tricky and you have managed well. But it doesn't sound smooth to me. Otherwise, everything else is fine.

Finally updated, will try and keep up more often as best I can. I notice I'm going really slow, I haven't even gotten past the opening cinematic yet for the first mission that I'm writing on.

UA wrote:

The Culling
Genre: Fantasy, Psychological, War
Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft, or anything pertaining to Warcraft, and I am not affiliated at all with Blizzard. Blah, blah, blah. Also, first paragraph is a plagiarized version of an existing introductory paragraph to a book.

The warmth passed hastily from the earth what do you mean by passed from the earth? it disappeared from it? came out of it? It doesn't make sense, and the advancing fogs covered an army arriving on the hills on the outskirts of Stratholme. As the landscape changed from a fertile green to a terrifying black, the army settled, and began to tremble with fear at the noise of rumors okay, this is incredibly confusing already. You say there's an army marching toward Strathalome, presumably the undead if I know my warcraft, and now it's settling and its soldiers are spreading rumors? I'm pretty sure you've shifted toward the humans protecting Strathalome. In that case, describe the human army first so the reader actually knows there's a human army. It what is 'it'? since you have two armies, one established and one implied, you might want to specify which one cast its eyes upon the city, which was growing dim from the extinguishing of lanterns and the sleeping (maintain paralellism) of the innocents. A haze, a dampening fog, descended upon the army which army?; and in the night, when the city had fallen into its graceful slumber, one could see across it across 'it'? what exactly is 'it'? the city? the hills? the green, decaying gleam of hostile enemy structures set in the low brows of the distant hills. i don't know about using the color green to describe the undead, since you used "fertile green" earlier. I know what you're trying to say obviously, but I'd suggest using black or 'rotten green' or something like that

As the dampening fog spread lazily how does a fog spread 'lazily' around a city? Fogs aren't lazy. Try slowly or something. throughout the city, so did rumors spread among the soldiers. combine these two sentences with a colon or semicolon Rumors of a spreading darkness. Whispers of a decaying plague decaying plague sounds like the plague itself is weakening. I'd suggest changing the wording, even now lying dormant in Stratholme I know what you're trying to say, but most readers don't, what exactly do you mean by "lying dormant in Strathalome". Most of the soldiers knew the terror of this new enemy, had experienced it firsthand when they had nearly fallen don't forget 'raised' at Hearthglen. As many of the veterans recounted their near-deaths during their suicidal defense of Hearthglen, many spoke also of Prince Arthas and Lord Uther. It was as if a floodgate had been opened, for when their names were spoken, even more men began to speak wondrously about the two Paladins. Their deeds were legend among the soldiers, and the dark whispers shifted towards --> toward a cheerful din. Knights, footman, and even dwarven artillery were happily recalling instances when they had witnessed or been personally saved through --> by the holy powers of either of the two. Some spoke even of Uther's fabled resurrection abilities, reviving the fallen to relive the reward of life once again.

Amid the soldiers and knights of Lordaeron are we talking the ENTIRE Lordaeron army? or the army protecting Strathalome?, there lurked lurked sounds like he's doing something evil a rather youthful soldier, no longer a child, and omit 'and' yet not an adult. Fresh from the academy, he listened in awe of the events that these veterans had experienced, and recalled the previous battle, his first. Although they who exactly is they? his army? had struggled heavily against the tidal wave of animated corpses, unholy skeletons, and stitched horrors I personally think you should spend more detail describing the undead arsenal, because I bet most of the readers don't know what the 'stitched horrors' looks like., he had never given up hope. Always, the Prince had revitalized them with his zeal and fervor for victory against the necromantic legions of undead. It was as if he radiated an aura of glory that washed upon (maybe 'bathed' would work better his men, and gave them hope even as they were overrun. Even then what's the 'Even then' for? you're not establishing contrast, victory came in the form of Uther Lightbringer, the first paladin of the legendary Knights of the Silver Hand. Truly, it was a glorious sight change this fragment to "It was truly a glorious sight", the youth recalled, as --> seeing the two paladins struck --> strike down undead after undead with their mighty warhammers and holy powers. Even the weariest of men seemed revived --> revitalized just at the sight, and rejoined in the fray. The two had worked together so easily, so powerfully in that battle.

So why is it that they seem on the brink of argument? mused the youth. why not simply "...they seemed to be arguing?"

Lord Uther and Prince Arthas had met in the camp, just as any two lords or generals would have. The dawn of the morning was creeping over the hillside, feebly attempting to break through the deepening mist, as the youth slowly realized that the bond between mentor and apprentice was shattering.

"Glad you could make it Uther," greeted Arthas, with his tongue dripping in sarcasm.
"Watch your tone with me, boy," retorted Uther. "You may be the prince, but I'm still your superior as a paladin!"
"As if I could forget," Arthas sniped --> snapped back. "Listen, Uther, there's something about the plague you should know..."

Already the youth sensed something... omit '...' different in these two heroes. The seething hatred that lined their words were barely contained, barely noticeable as more than mild irritation, but it was there if the hatred was 'barely contained', that means it's very evident, yet the next fragment you say 'barely noticeable'; pick one or the other. As the youth looked around at his fellow soldiers, none gave a second thought to the conversation held by the two paladins. Not until Arthas swore loudly as his sight caught something he had missed earlier during his inspection of their small camp. The sight of open, discarded crates of grain. Grain that had been shipped to Stratholme. Grain that carried the plague of undeath.

"Oh no," cried the Prince. "We're too late. These people have already been infected!" If I recall, he didn't really 'cried' out as much as he simply said in a 'grave, shivering tone'
In response to the senior Paladin's quizzical expression, Arthas explained more thoroughly. "They may look fine now, but it's just a matter of time before they turn into the undead!"
Thus, Arthas knew of only a single plan left now that he could no longer prevent the undead from taking his countrymen. '...that he could no longer prevent' his single plan left could no longer prevent the undead from taking his country men? I think you meant '...single plan left now that could possibly prevent the undead from taking...'

"This entire city must be purged."

An expression of horror flashed across Uther's face; however, as quickly as it arrived, it just as quickly omit 'just as quickly', you already said it disappeared just as quickly, don't be redundant disappeared, replaced with a justifiable anger and resolve.
"How can you even consider that?" questioned the legendary warrior. "There's got to be some other way."

By now, the youth had begun to notice what had eluded his many companions and fellow soldiers: Prince Arthas's demeanor. Not just his demeanor, but his pride, or at least, that's what the youth guessed. Ever since Hearthglen, he had noticed it, subtle gestures and glances from the prince at his senior among the Order at first, but as the days progressed, as they edged closer and closer to Stratholme, the subtle gestures soon turned to explosive anger. The youth had seen, on one occasion, the Prince arguing with Uther of how he would've been just as successful as the latter if he had a legion of knights to defend Hearthglen. lol I remember that part

Pride. The one flaw that the youth knew plagued Arthas. As the increasing anger began to seethe don't say 'began to seethe' just say 'seethed'. It's like saying 'he proceeded to do something' as opposed to saying 'he did it' it's simpler and more concise, and as far as I know, arthas is already frothing at the mouth in rage from the Prince's mouth, the youth turned towards the city, and gazed down at the streets as the already thick fog began to lower and creep.

Very vague use of pronouns, and the first two paragraphs were confusing, but around mid chapter the story kicked up and everything flowed neatly together. I can't really say if non-Warcraft fans would find this interesting, but I'm sure Warcraft fans would appreciate how accurate the quotes are. Kudos to you on that.

Keep it up! I hope this youth has a name and he gets into the fight soon. Killing his fellow humans would be some intense drama...

_________________