Repost + New continuation: Wingfoot

[Ogrey-Author]

This is a re-post where i left off when i left the fourms..
Lets kick the fourm back to life. :y-thumbsu

-
Chapter 1: Fate and discovery.
Wingfoot scampered onwards hurriedly, jerking his head back now and again, ensuring pursuit wasn’t near. He threw himself face-first onto the lush green fields of tall grass, breathing heavily. A speedy arrow of his had found its way to the thick, muscular neck of a centaur young, embedding itself deeply and enraging its huge tribe to a fierce pursuit. The consequences of his actions by centaur law were violently gruesome, and Wingfoot shuddered at the chilling thought. Slowly he peered out from the undergrowth, glancing about, until the thought struck, and a wave of relief washed over him: The centaurs were gone.

His target had been a tall, mighty stag, proud in all its glory. Wingfoot had hoped to slay it under the cover of the night; the rewards of his hunt would have been generous. But the shadows lurking in the dark fooled him; he had mistaken his prey, and ignited a fury that would have ultimately killed him. He had flown down the path as if he had demons on his trail and disappeared into the cover of the night. Roars and the thundering of storming hoofs from the pursuers followed him, letting loose dark arrows into the air. The flying projectiles slithering through the cold air impaled many in its path, but none found him. The north wind, whispering silent words into his soft ear, had been merciful by blowing his scent away from the pursuers. Wingfoot hurriedly prayed thanks to all the gods, known and unknown.

He was twelve, merely a child. His old cloak was worn out, torn and tattered and littered with wide gaping holes from the never-ending hunt for food. At his perspiring back a longbow was safely fastened, yet easily removable if need be. He was of a muscular build; months of hunting had toned him up. Unique characteristics of his would be his dark, wavy hair of a brownish-black color that shone and gleamed in the moonlight, and a heavy chain dangling down his neck. It was a silver cross, beautifully craved, given to him by a holy paladin when he was born.

Wingfoot, frowning, pulled himself steadily up, weary from the fruitless hunt and needless peril. His family, especially his parents, would not be pleased. Winter was imminent, nearing day by day, and the food in their cellars were slowly depleting. He cursed himself for returning empty-handed, and began to stride tardily towards the dusty farmhouse that was his home, but soon turned grim when he realized he had ran too far when he was under pursuit. Now it was night and he was deep into the mystical forest into unfamiliar territory. Arms outstretched, he groped in the dark like a blind beggar towards his destination, until something caught his foot.

He fell.

Cursing his forsaken luck, he stumbled up once more, fumbling about in the stillness of the night for the cause of his tripping. His flailing hands soon found themselves clasped on a thick oval object, formed almost like an odd-shaped ball. It was perfectly smooth and warmth constantly emitted from it. Puzzled, and curious to see its appearance, he raised his flint and struck it heavily on a stone, attempting to conceive sparks of light, but it was in vain. Shrugging, he threw it sluggishly into his aged leather bag, hoping that when sold, it would provide enough food for a day or two.

“Well”, he thought with a slight upwards curve of his lips, “at least I ain’t empty handed.”

[BraveLiver]

A chapter should be two pages of length in Microsoft Word. Isn't that what you said?

[Ogrey-Author]

Yes it should be so i admit..but hey, i wrote this a while back. My bad

[Ogrey-Author]

Chapter 2: Birth.
Two inquisitive and puzzled eyes stared solemnly at the oval structure that glittered and sparkled in the bright moonlight. The stone-like structure was hard and flawless, a seemingly simple object, yet enough to dazzle many and was something to behold. Wingfoot’s parents had scowled when informed of the fruitless hunt, and had dismissed the oval object recklessly without any close inspection. He had strolled back towards his room, suspiring heavily; it was a strenuous and fatiguing job to be the sole breadwinner for the family, yet having to please the elders at the same time. With his father crippled and mother sick, it was entrusted to him, a mere child, the duty to bring back the bread and butter. Only the deep, genuine love for his family had prevented him from snapping.

Lying outstretched on his hard, wooden bed, he stared at the damaged, leaking ceiling thoughtfully, pondering back over the day’s events: If he had not been pursued relentlessly, he would have never stumbled upon the stone-like object. Perhaps it was fate…or heaven’s will that led him to the queer and seemingly mystical object? Smooth and glittering, it seemed to be worth much, probably even more than what the handsome stag would have fetched. The hooting of the wise owls and scurrying of the busy mice echoed through the whispering air, but neither hindered his thoughts. He stared blankly towards the outside of the window, dully boring his blue eyes into the darkness.

Then he heard it.

It was a strange noise, as if something hard and brittle was being ripped open; being forced apart from a greater force. It was a slow, painful crack, shrill and high. Wingfoot quickly turned instinctively towards the source, and was startled to find that deep cracks lengthening down the stone-like object. He began to panic and his heartbeat soared; what could have caused this reaction? Was it magic? Witchcraft and spells from an evil source? Like a piece of shattered glass the mystical, stony object splintered apart and burst open, revealing a queer sight:

It was a lizard, an unusually huge lizard. Its hide was a dark crimson green, with patches of different darkness littered across its muscular body. Along its scaly back, spines were lined in an orderly manner and piles of body fat trembled and shook with each step it took. Its eyes were deep and sad, and they appeared to bore into one’s soul as they stared dully at you. Most interestingly of all were the short, distinct coughs it gave out. It wasn’t the coughs that were interesting, but the sparks of fierce, raw lightning bursting savagely from its sagging mouth each time it let off a cough.

The truth dawned on Wingfoot: Right in his very hands, was a legendary creature of old. A creature thought to have been extinct for many years now, something that only existed in mere myths and stories. He had gazed bewilderedly at numerous pictures of it, and heard its vivid descriptions over and over again. There was no doubt about it.

It was a thunder lizard!

[FanMan]

A chapter should be two pages of length in Microsoft Word. Isn't that what you said?

Bitchin'.

As for the story, it's decent, doesn't seem too special, and seems under pretty good control proofreading/length/grammar wise. Good luck with it.

[Ogrey-Author]

Chapter 3: -Interlude- The Disturbance of the Peace.
Laughter.

That was the natural reaction of the men and women living in Stormwind when they were told of the two thousand humongous Orcs, most equipped with great blood-soaked axes, converging on their location. Blasphemy, they concluded, the Orcs would never dare commit such an outrage. Stormwind was impregnable with its steep, towering, and thick stone walls; it would never fall to enemy hands while capable men defended it. Nevertheless the horde of swarming Orcs, hoarsely bellowing war cries and savagely beating war drums, was soon there for all to see. Finally aware of the incoming danger, the men cried out in dismay and cursed their enemy with shaking fists.

Scurrying hastily like busy mice on a Sunday morning, the human defenders quickly rounded up every able man, speedily equipping them for battle. The men were well trained even at the period of peace; a precautionary step that have saved Stormwind from a sudden invasion during countless occasions. Grim and serious, they marched around the city walls proudly, displaying colored banners and blowing great horns with hearty zeal. Then they took their posts and positions, sternly watching the gathering of the Orcs.

It was no mere brute that led the assault on the great human fortress. It was a spear of terror from the warlock Guldan’s demon-infused forces, a hand of malice used to terrorize unwilling opponents into submission. Rark’nor was his name, literally destruction in the old Orcish tongue. On his sinewy nick slung a long chain made from human skulls, most of them tainted with dried blood. His weapon was one to behold, for it was long and thin, yet hard and strong with great dexterity. It could slice through flesh and armor like butter, and had strange demonic runes inscribed on it, such that if it stabbed into you, your flesh would burn and burst apart in its power. Such was his weapon; mystical and mighty, that no one was able to challenge it.

As the humans watch helplessly, the relentless Orcs pulled great machines into the field, cunningly placing them just out of arrow range. With the command hoarsely given, the Orcs pulled levers and cut strings, causing the rickety mechanism to shoot burning balls into the air, rising to such a great height it went over the towering city walls, landing on the buildings below, exploding with such a fury it collapsed the buildings and killed many. Chaos erupted, and the city was burning and in disarray. The men spat helplessly towards the dark enemy, unable to hinder its actions.

In the midst of the devilry, fire, and confusion, out rolled a colossal Orcish Ram, dragged painstakingly by staggering trolls and ogres of huge built. Towering over all, the ram’s mighty steel head took the shape of a gruesome monstrosity with gleaming eyes shining brightly, by witchcraft or devilry no one was sure. Finally it rested at Stormwind’s mighty steel gate, where knights and footmen had heartily slumped their bodies against, in hope of defying the ram’s might and power. The huge ogres and trolls, bulging with fat and muscle, tightened their grip on the huge ram and hurled it forward mightily. Like a hammer it came crashing down, striking the great gate with such power the men behind it was thrown backwards in shock and bewilderment. Yet the gate stood firm, for it was strong and mighty.

Without delay, it came charging forward again, fueled by the herculean muscles of giant ogres and trolls. Such was the force that the crash thundered and echoed strongly through the air, deafening all who heard it. But the mighty gate, made from the well-devised craft of the high elves, stood tall and absorbed the shock. Finally Rark’nor raised his blood-soaked blade into the air, and cried out with such force and fury that his throat burned. Following him were the rest of the Orcish army, bellowing out a cry that boomed and shook the ground with unbelievable force. The ram was hurled forward once more with increased force and power, fueled by the zeal, determination, and bloodlust of its handlers.

Finally, the gate splintered and burst asunder. It fell inwards with a groan, crushing numerous brave human defenders under its tremendous weight. The bloodlusted orcs swarmed in like ants, crushing the remnants of the gate’s guards. Yet as they fought on, volleys after volleys of human arrows came raining onto them, slaying many. With a blow of a horn and a mighty shout, the royal knights gathered and charged, crashing through the Orcish ranks. Yet more orcs came to take the place of those who fell, and slowly the humans were being pushed back once again. Appearing from seemingly nowhere, Rark’nor threw himself into the fierce battle and slew the human captain himself, turning the battle into his much-desired favor.

In a matter of moments the battle was over. The bulk of the human defenders were soon dead and gone, with the rest scattered in hosts and companies around the city, hopelessly fighting swarming orcs. Rark’nor climbed proudly to the highest point: a tall church tower, and stood erect victoriously, arrogantly raising his bloody sword high up in the still air that eerily lingered with the stench of death. The remnants of human defenders cried out in fear and agony when they saw his feat, and they cursed the enemy with foul words and grew disheartened, soon falling to the powerful might of the Orcish grunts. For they knew that they had failed, and that the deed was already done:

Rark’nor had conquered Stormwind.

[Bullroarer]

Booyah, great story mon. This story is thuggin and buggin.

Can I hear holla holla holla for the ogre man.

[Saurus]

holla holla holla!

But seriously, interesting read. Only point of critique I can give at this point is that the first part of chapter three moved too fast. In relatively few lines you skip from the first signs of the orc horde to the breaking down of the gates of Stormwind, where you then slow down the pace to a plausible speed. Point is you could have done much more with the battle and make it more immersive. Other than that it is very descriptive and fluent. :y-thumbsu

[Ogrey-Author]

Chapter 4: Thunzha
“Stay here.” Wingfoot imposed sternly, speaking slowly and clearly, wanting the thunder lizard to somehow understand his language.

The thunder lizard, much larger now, did not comply. Instead, it wailed and growled for food, stumbling clumsily about Wingfoot’s room. The young human was at a complete loss, for he was ignorant in the care of mystical creatures, and was helpless. He scrambled to his feet, rushing towards the food cellars and bringing back thin strips of dried meat; fruits of Wingfoot’s labor in hunting. The thunder lizard growled with hunger, but did not consume the meat. Wingfoot was puzzled at the lizard’s seemingly idiocy, but soon realized the idiocy was his own; it was an herbivore, a plant eater!

He crept out of his room, holding his newfound pet in his quivering hands. Glancing this way and that, he lurked out of the door, moving in silent tiptoes that a cat would have been proud of. He had decided to keep the thunder lizard a secret, for superstition was on the rise, and the villages might proclaim the lizard a dark omen; one that had to be slaughtered and killed. He could vividly depict in his head angry townsfolk, wielding pitchforks and angry fists, hoarsely cursing and spitting towards the baby thunder lizard, furiously reaching out to kill it.

He stalked quickly towards the dense forest, his feet striding with a furious pace. Deeper and deeper he ventured into it, clutching the small thunder lizard in his hands with a fatherly grip, soothing it tentatively. Finally he reached a spot untouched by human hands, a place where he could raise his pet in secret and in relative safety. He smiled contentedly, for it seemed perfect: Long, wet grass, flavored with the morning dew, formed a large grassland. Towering trees, nature’s mighty shelter against the elements such as the sun and the rain, were standing steadily, littered across the area.

Setting it down, he hastily turned to leave, praying silently his absence went unnoticed. Whimpering, the thunder lizard clumsily stumbled towards him, brushing against his leg, willing him to stay. Wingfoot smiled, touched by the close affection, and stroked the creature’s back.

“I have to leave…I will be missed. Sorry.”

The thunder lizard might not had understood the words, but the meaning still came across. Its whimpers grew silent, and its sorrow dispersed into the air, lingering about in the breeze. Wingfoot began to leave once more, jogging at a steady pace. Yet once he turned back, countless questions exploded wildly inside his head: would it be safe? Would predators attack it? What if centaurs, or any other barbaric folk, stumbled upon it and took it away? Cruel images of a dead thunder lizard, impaled on a stake, cooking over a flickering fire, materialized in his head. His movement came to a halt, and he quickly went back. The thunder lizard gleefully spotted his return, and it pranced about playfully, rejoicing.

Wingfoot broke into a wide grin, and tiredly sat down, leaning against a tree. Soon, for no evident reason, he began pouring out his feelings and emotions towards his newfound friend and pet, cursing his enemies and revealing his worries. The thunder lizard gazed at Wingfoot intelligently, seeming to absorb every word and emotion. Their conversation grew and lengthened as the day progressed, but soon it turned dark, and Wingfoot had to leave.

As he stood up, his stomach growled and grumbled, and a pang of hunger hit him. He fruitlessly tried to remember the last time he ate, and decided to set off for home. Before he left, he glanced at his friend and pet once more, and became aware that it, like all living beings, needed a name! He marveled at his ignorance and stupidity, and thought for a while, subconsciously placing his hand on his chin, and then proclaimed:

“Thunzha. That will be your name. Yes… Thunzha.”

The thunder lizard acknowledged the naming and approved it, for it growled lowly, satisfied. Without another word, Wingfoot left.

[Bullroarer]

Yo man you gotta keep up the good work cause I am so loving it.