The Lion and the Serpent - Chapter One: Tradition

((this is a set of chapters i wrote some time ago based around the ultimate demise of my fist main rp character, i thought i'd post them up due the sheer bulk of time i spent writing them, criticsm is welcome. though i would like to point out, everything that is stated here did happen, enjoy!))

The moon climbed slowly over the horizon, a clear silver surface rising over the eastern mountains in a haze of deep purples and the coming dark of night, mirrored perfectly by the grand descent of the sun in the west.

As the great flame extinguished into the peaks of the mountains, the moon took its rightful place in the great above, as master of the dark heavens, surrounded by the limitless dark void and the splendour of infinite glowing stars. Far under this majestic performance, the Archaic symbol of mans hardship stood idle, and silent. Three towering pillars of sheer rock, lent upon each other in a perfect upright construct. The Throne of Thoradin was a marvel of the ages. Sitting as it has, for thousands of years since the first humans learnt to build, its purpose never fully understood, but the vast runic scriptures etched upon the inside of each of the three rocks, were a perfect record of a nation and its peoples history. Illuminated by the forever burning flame sat upon a brazier perfectly positioned in the centre of the monolithic structure, the runes told a great story, one of a hundred generations of a people’s traditions.

The magnificent structure sat silent and ominous the year round, except for one night of the solar year, when the tree’s shed their leaves and the highlands were swept by cold winds, this very night. Without failure they always came, quietly and in an orderly march, a funeral procession under the watchful eye of the full moon. The exodus stopped quietly, and without command at the edge of the stone circle, just beyond the reach of the flaming glow of the central brazier, watching it.

Proudly, and from the front of the procession, three cloaked figures advance on the circle, passing under its immense arches, into the light. The first a man in dark red armour, a warrior of raven black hair and beard, flowing almost as much as his long red cloak in the mild night winds. He checked the scene with his sharp blue eyes, like a hawk searching for prey, before he continued on in. The second, a head shorter, but a should broader, a black robed individual with thick brown hair and a thick beard, he rose his arms and hands sharply as he entered the circle... the great brazier bursting into a flurry of fire twice its normal size at his command. The third and final figure, now illuminated by the great inferno, slowly circled the scene, inspecting his surroundings. A long and thick animal hide cloak came over his shoulders, the paws of the beast ending on his left and right breast, latching to him. His thick shoulder length brown hair could be considered grizzly in nature, and his rugged beard belonged to a man in his early forties. A great silver sword, covered in dwarven runes sat upon his back, a contrast to the sturdy plate armour he wore. Glancing around the area, in and out, his attention almost seemed distant as the flames danced and shone off his left eye, a ferocious reward in battle. A silver orb sat where once his left eye did, under a deep brutal scar from his left brown vertical to his left cheek. He nodded once, and the other two men stopped their inspection.

The three each stood below one of the great stones, seemingly satisfied with the situation and location. The robed human, without a word, wafted his right hand almost as if he didn’t care... as he did so, the brazier of the flame instantly flickered, neither growing nor shrinking but creating an effortless light that lit up the whole circle and the roof of which the three great stones met.

A joyful cheer was heard from outside, as the great procession shrugged off their silence and marched into the circle, carrying all manner of object from beer kegs to food, stools chairs and benches they brought. Men, women, boys and girls, old, young, red clad soldiers, farmers and the rest all marched in and formed a circle, cheering and laughing, some hundred, two hundred or more must of gathered around the great brazier, sitting, standing and lighting up improvised stoves or handing out beers.

The gathering sang and laughed for some time as they settled, eating their share of a feast, or drinking their way through the festival. Before long, everyone slowly fell silent, as the original three men took their seats, side by side at a table that had been set up. In the centre sat the one eyed warrior, on a great chair resting his sword across his lap, to his left sat the robed magi, leaning on his stave, and to his right the warrior with raven black hair perched on the edge of his seat, watching all.

Everything fell silent, except for the constant burning crackle in the great brazier. The one eyed warrior stood up slowly, holding his sword in his right hand with its tip aimed at the ground.

Taking a slow breath he opened his mouth to speak...

“The time has come for us once again, my kin!” the crowd watched with silent anticipation. “Let us now Celebrate, the life of our first great king, Thoradin!” the crowd erupted with an air shuddering cheer at the mention of their legendary king...“Ah-hoo, Ah-hoo!”

“And let us honour our fallen, our ancestors, and our heroes... on this the day our great king passed from this world. Let us Remember what it is, to be Arathorian!” the crowd erupted with another roaring cheer, “Thoradin! Thoradin!”
He sat down, with a proud smile on his mouth, as the crowd began to form dancing circles, and tucking into their hefty meals. No sooner had he become comfortable, did the dark haired warrior turn to him and spoke with a smile...
“It’s good your honouring the old festival Lion boy—ahem, Seiken, it’s not been done for a few years” he clapped, looking away to applaud the starting of the music, drums and a violin.

Grinning slyly, Seiken turned, his chair shifting on the grass, and replied with false shock... “You make it sound like we shouldn’t, Arador my friend!” He chuckled gently, with a happy smirk. “But I agree, it’s good to continue the traditions of our fathers, despite our hardships...”
“Hardships? Things are getting better I’d say!” interrupted the robed man to Seiken's left, grinning.

Arador replied readily “Aye I agree wi’ Trohad, they are on the improving side of things, especially since our victory over tha Covenant in tha hinterlands. Anyway, it nay time for our big opening event yet?” replied Arador across the length of the table, with a joyful grin and a feral glow to his deep blue eyes.
“Aye, true... ya had best go take yer place for it, don’t wanna be late!” Replied Trohad with a nodding smile, his dark robes shimmering like a dark but placid silk as he moved.

Seiken nodded once, sat back firmly in his high chair, leaning more to his left on his left arm as he watched the crowd dance on. Cheering and singing along with the drums and the other various instruments in the light of the fire the gathered citizens of Arathor continued the festivities. Arador nodded in acknowledgement of the silent command from his lord, standing and slowly walking around the table and toward the great brazier, sword in hand.
The time has come! Citizens of Arathor, it is time to test our metal!” roared Arador as he began to circle the brazier, the crowd moving away and quietening down as he did so, forming a ring around him and the flame.

“are there any sons... or daughters, of Thoradin here tonight...” he paused, his hawk like blue eyes surveying the scene as he removed his cloak from around him and letting it fall to the floor.

“Willing to put their strength an’ honour on the line, in a display of combat skills!?” He finished his challenge, looking around sharply for any response...
Moments passed, and quiet muttering was heard within the crowd, until the front ranks of the farmers and soldiers began shifting as someone came forward, a man stepped forward from one group, standing up tall but his face masked.

Coming closer to the light, the man strode forward confidently wearing a great wolf mask on his head, and dark red armour much like that of Arador.
“I, Antirius Wolfheart, Vindicator of the city accept your challenge, so that I may honour the coming of age of my nephew!” he yelled with a wry grin under the cover of his mask, thrusting a long spear in the air. The crowd cheered, as a smaller teenage boy stepped out from the crowd behind him, wearing a torn fur robe on his back and tattered trousers, covered in many scratches and bite marks... fresh from his harsh day of trials. The boy cheered, at what was obviously his uncle, holding up his own much smaller spear.

Arador grinned almost cruelly, as if to savour the battle to come. Unclipping parts of his armour, he removed his chest plate, shoulder plates and shirt... mirrored by Antirius in turn who did exactly the same, however he left his wolf helm upon his head. The crowd began to slowly cheer, chant and applaud for the two combatants.

Placing his spear down on the ground, Antirius took a great long sword from his nephew before ruffling his hair with a nod. The blade much resembled that of Arador's, it just lacked the fine silver trappings and craftsmanship.

Seeing the time for combat was come, Seiken slowly rose and let out a deafening commanding roar, far louder than the crowd so that all could hear...
“tonight these champions do us a great honour by showing us their skill in arms, and respect for the traditions our people hold so dear, let them fight with honour and courage... in Thoradin's name, Begin!” the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheering.

“Hawkeye! Hawkeye! The champion of the prince can’t lose!”

“That’s Antirius of the city! He’ll give him a challenge you can bet!”

“For Thoradin, for Strom! Ah-hoo! Ah-hoo!”

And so they yelled as the two combatants circled each other around the great brazier... coldly eyeing the others moves and actions as they slowly moved, like predators on the hunt. The eternal flame flickered and danced, basking both in a warm orange glow, a stark contrast to the limitless dark gloom beyond the stone monument.

The Hawk Struck first, turning sharply on his heels and pouncing at the wolf with a great leap, cutting down at him with furious speed and strength, the wolf managed to barely block the attack in time and was nearly knocked off of his feet. The collision produced a violent spark across the edges of the two blades, when the motion finally stopped, Arador was quick to take advantage and began a flurry of swift cutting strikes at Antirius, who just couldn’t seem to quite keep up, barely blocking each attack, constantly being pushed back and around the Eternal fire. The young nephew of Wolfheart looked on in half shock and half awe, worried for his uncle but also impressed by the prowess of the infamous ‘Arador Hawkeye’, his eyes following every motion with anxious worry.

“Cant you keep up Wolfheart!? You’ll never get into the household guard at this rate!” roared Arador as he began to lash, stab and weave in and out at his opponent. Antirius responded almost immediately, seemingly spurred on by Arador’s words, swiftly sliding as close as he could between Arador and his blade, blocking it, then placing a well aimed punch up at him, knocking him back...

Arador stumbled back two steps, then slowly righted himself, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose.

“At this rate, you won’t be able ta stay in, old man” Antirius grinned, holding his sword forward defiantly and to the ready.

“Your old man taught you well Wolfheart...” nodded Arador once with a small smile, the crowd still cheering and chanting for their favourite fighter.
The two nodded at each other slowly, and after some seconds leapt at one another, swords clashing as they collided, now parrying, weaving, blocking, diving, dodging, stabbing, slashing and pushing at each other on now much more equal terms.

Trohad and Seiken even lent forward onto the edge of their seats, Trohad smiling with amused satisfaction and Seiken staring almost coldly with his arms folded, though a small smirk played on the edge of his mouth as he watched on.

The crash and clash of steel went on as the two swords continued to work off of each other in circles around the great flame, dancing and flying with such precision and speed as to almost fool the mind into thinking they were flashes of lightning.

A clear over exerted slash by Arador made his momentum falter, over stepping his range while the wolf barged right shoulder first into the hawk’s chest, knocking him off his feet and onto the small of his back with an almighty “Oof!” while his sword went flying straight over the brazier and out of sight. Sharp gasps escaped many mouths in the crowd, but before Antirius could wade into his opponent blade first, Arador rolled to his side and leapt onto his feet and elbowed the wolf straight in the middle of his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs and his sword from his hand.

As soon as the blade hit the ground, Arador had already begun hammering into Antirius with mighty jabs and uppercuts, trying to knock him down to size. It went well at first, landing a nasty pair of jabs and a shocking uppercut, but Antirius let out a mighty shocking... “H-Raaaaaa!!” putting all into his second wind, blocking Arador’s attempt at a finishing right hook, but it was to no avail. The second their arms crossed each other did the Hawk slam a knee into the Gut of the wolf, a last groaning rasp of air escaping his lungs as he slumped to his knee’s coughing and choking., then onto his side clutching his chest.
Arador stepped back slowly and cautiously, as if weary of his defeated foe. The silence that had overcome the crowd ended with a sudden explosion of cheering Arador’s name. The nephew of Antirius ran over and patted his uncle on his side, lifting him up onto one knee as he coughed away.

“Ya fought well Wolf, but you’ll need more hairs on yer chest before ya can beat me” uttered Arador as he helped Antirius to his feet. Antirius simply replied... “or more grey hairs on your beard” with a wicked grin, they both smiled and hugged patting each other on the shoulder, then turned to the high table were Seiken and Trohad sat, Antirius being helped up by Arador on one side and his nephew on the other.

Seiken stood slowly, applauding for a moment while the crowd calmed down and turned their attention to the speech their prince was about to make.
“Tonight two brave champions fought with great honour and courage!” he roared for all to hear, “Thoradin would be proud of them, it makes me proud to see Arador retain his champion status... and for his great dedication I hereby make master Wolfheart a knight of the silver raven! One of the king’s household knights!” he finished, lifting his hands and applauding as everyone gathered lifted their arms and chanted as one.... “Ah-hoo, Ah-hoo!”. Antirius smiled contently as his nephew helped him off to a seat nearby, while Arador put his shirt back on and walked back to his seat at the high table.
Nodding to seiken, as he wiped a trickle of blood and sweat from his forehead, Arador sat slowly back into his chair.

“You did excellently Arador! Though I must admit, for a moment there I Thought Wolfheart was gonna win!” said Trohad across the table to Arador with a mocking grin on his face.

“He was playing with him the whole time Trohad, didn’t you notice?” muttered Seiken instantly, still looking onward as the other two looked sharply at him a tad surprised. “You let him think he had a chance, so he’d fight better, clever I’d say Arador, almost cruel too...” he finished, turning to Arador with a smirk.

Arador paused a moment, then smiled before he replied... “Nay be so picky, if I win all tha time I may as well make it look like a challenge!” He chuckled as he finished, slouching into his chair as a young woman handed him a pile of spiced raptor steaks on a platter, instantly sitting up again before tucking in eagerly.

Trohad and seiken simply shook their heads and chuckled lightly, as the band began to play the more usual instruments like the violin and flute and dancing began among the citizens with a slow dance for the couples, tapping bells as they went.

Half way into the song, Trohad slowly shifted his attention to Seiken and asked... “Are all the preparations for tomorrow’s journey set yet?” with a blank but inquisitive expression on his face.

Shifting his gaze to his left, seiken waited a moment in thought before he replied, answering... “All the supplies are on the ship, we need only march to Arador’s new vessel and set sail” he uttered, with a sleepy tone. Arador even smirked a little, obviously very happy with his ‘new’ ship. Trohad blinked several times as he considered this a moment...

“Would it be bold of me ta ask who ya leaving in charge?” he finished with a half hesitant smile. Seiken again slowly glanced to his left, taking his gaze away from the festivities.

With a slow arching brow he stirred his voice and answered “did I not explain all this yet? I put lisle in charge, he’s up in Ravenholdt as we speak, sorting things out—“

“Is that wise!?” interrupted Trohad before seiken could finish, a worried expression covering his face. Seiken quickly shifted his expression to one of sharp annoyance.

“You think it a bad choice Trohad?” he snarled, Trohad sighed slowly collecting his courage to answer... “I know this ‘Lysle’ has a questionable past, and is a shady type sire, I only question his convictions not your choices” he finished holding his head high and eyes up to show no fear.

Seiken waited a moment, almost seeming to look right through Trohad with his fiery brown eye while his scarred and silver eye morbidly watched on. “I understand your doubts old friend...”I he spoke slowly, looking back to the festivities, “but he has changed, I can see it in his eyes, he has found a new road in life to walk on, I trust him” he firmly finished. Trohad slowly nodded, still a worried look in his eyes as he turned to look forward.

Arador had been listening quietly, and after a minute or so passed simply nudged Seiken in the shoulder once retorting... “Hadn’t ya best make yer big speech now? The party be nearly done...” a smug smirk on his face. Shaking his head, seiken slowly stood, the band instinctively knew to stop playing and the crowd quietened down, looking up the head figure at the main table who was about to address them.

Squinting his eye he licked his parched lips a second, considering what words to use... an awkward silence was maintained for a short while before he decided to start, slowly...

“Brothers! Sisters! ... My family!” He yelled for all to hear, no reply was heard as everyone kept silent. “Tomorrow I set sail with our brave soldiers to the land of Kalimdor! To aid our elven allies in their struggles” still not a word, as everyone simply listened...

Taking a slow breath, he continued... “We have struggled, these past months, but we have triumphed! Our enemy’s, have been forced from our lands, and though our great city is still not re-taken, we dwell safely in secrecy in the northern mountains slopes, safe in the knowledge we shall rise again!” before he had even finished every last one of them, young and old, took a deep breath and replied with all their strength... “Ah-hoo, Ah-hoo!”
He smiled, satisfied he did what his ‘people’, or as he thought, his ‘family’ justice.

“It is not an easy road we are on, nay I would say it is the most dangerous we have ever embarked on” he nodded resolutely, “but with our allies in Ironforge, our brothers in Stormwind and across the seas, we shall rise again as a force to be reckoned with... a force that protects and upholds the values of this, our GRAND... alliance!”

They cheered ferociously, before quieting slowly again with an applause.

“We shall do as we have always done, we shall fight! as we was born and raised to do . We shall weather whatever fury and challenges the world throws at us. We shall battle on, against all odds, with courage, honour and Pride!” He took several fast breaths, his heart pounding as he waited those few precious moments. Watching all those around him, and the eager but anxious smiles on their faces...

Taking a final deep breath... “And why? ...Because we are Arathorian!” thrusting his sword into the air he finished.
Everyone stood at once, Arador, Trohad, the soldiers and the farmers and cheered as one.

“Arathor! Arathor! Ah-hoo, Ah-hoo!” over, and over they cheered, shaking the very earth and sky with their ancient chant.

(( Sometimes when I experience something epic I get a really nifty chill throughout my body. This story triggered that in me.

I was neatly surprised to see you could write so well. The way you described everything is simply enthralling. The immersion made me forget this was written about a game but made me feel it as if it were a real damned thing happening right in front of me. Just...jolly good, chap! Giving me some insight into the server's story as well! ))

(( Now that was well written and very enjoyable =) More than enough to make me wish to read another chapter in fact... so I think I shall

While I do not have any idea where this story leads I will still say that it appears to be a good place to start a tale... festivities, duels and laughter make a welcome change to blood, misery and gore. Wonderful! =D

As of yet... I have no real criticisms aside from that you sure prefer commas to full stops. But I believe that is just my personal preference.

Still! Now to the next chapter! ))

(( Maybe he is German? From what I gather it´s quite common in Germany to produce as long a sentence as possible. Anyway, twas a good read. ))

(( Good grief! Is that really you, Gnash?! *hugs* Great to see that you're still alive, I've missed you.

And I am fairly sure that the author is not German... and that I complain too much ))

(( Even though you messed up the character and your friendships so badly in the end, I still to this day enjoy the stories, I'll be honest. ))