OK. For your reading pleasure, biulding and I present the Legend of Claw and Fang, volume 1.

This story should be read as though it were written by a bard or herald or someone similar so I have tried to give it a little "Beowulf" flavor - without the ancient English words and spelling, of course.

Misnomer, I'm hoping you will have time to look it through and check for bad grammar mistakes, typos, misspellings, or anything that looks like it could be improved. Also, someone else - can't remember who for sure right now - also offered to help. I could use it and whoever else would like to help, I thank you for your assistance. (Sorry, it's pretty long, but biulding will cut it up to fit the mod he wants it in.)


THE LEGEND OF CLAW AND FANG: Volume I

Chapter 1:

'Tis said that legendary kings and heroes famed, spring from the gods unborn. Their strength and eye beyond the hope of mortal men, their magic steeped in archmages’ awe. But, truth be told this is not always so, for I have known the greatest yet whose birth is well recorded mid the mysteries of Nirn.

A true son of Blood-Fange, he was not born in fires of war, but the sighs of peace, his future not ordained as one would suspect of birth so royal. As with all the sons of the land of Fang he was to prove his worth on the road to becoming a man and thereby gain his proper place. But this son of Fang, the only male seed of our glorious king Neoko, showed little promise in his youth, save the ability to survive past infancy. No magic came to his whispering lips nor did the child’s sword appear at home in his tiny fists. His feet were not so sure that he could not stumble and his eyes fought tears when he fell. Yet he was the joy that filled the life of many - his sister Luaren and his uncle Bruton the greatest among them.

His future rang silent throughout his youth. The chores of a child intrigued him less than the visions of awe that rang through his mind. More than once need he be reminded of eggs he had not gathered, wood left yet unfound, and errands halfway done before some glint drew him away to some adventurous explore, to be found and retrieved by the worried hand of an anxious uncle. Still, he was deemed adequate, for a child of seven, yet showing little hope for a future king. His studies, like his chores, seldom consumed him but were done with regular prodding from ones who hoped his promise would rise at last on the day of his trials to become a man.



Chapter 2:

On the anniversary of his tenth year, Sinji, son of Neoko, was called to prove the worth of his noble birth. On that day, Sinji did not visit the Sandover farmer for whom his chores were due. Instead, he dressed in his finest clothes and climbed the cold, rock stairs to the great room where King Neoko sat upon his throne, waiting. Not a word did the great king utter, but his eyes were fixed on the youth before him. Beside him sat the Great Council of Fang, their faces stern as their eyes gleamed with hope and pride.

Out of the shadows stepped a figure draped in thick, dark robes. This oldest of men was the king’s battlemage and Sinji’s tutor of magic. As he walked up to the boy, he stopped three times to mark a circle in the floor with his right foot. This was not a spell, but a prayer to Natana Saint, for good fortune to visit them. Saint was not listening that day.

“Sinji”, the mage spoke as he threw back his hood, “there is a board against the wall behind you. In front of the board is a candle. You must prove your right to join the Company of Magic by lighting that candle from where you stand.”

Not a breath escaped the lips of those who watched as Sinji raised his hand. A mumble of words and the movement of fingers, but the hand did barely light. All waited as the words and fingers tried again. This time, the hand grew bright, but the fireball sailed past the candle and the board, dying inside the fourth of eight corners in the room.

“Sinji”, the mage said again, “There is a bird at your feet whose wing is broke. You must heal it to join the Company of Magic.”

Sinji looked down at the fowl lying on the floor, its wing extended badly. Again, he mumbled and his fingers flew, the wing fluttered, but the fowl could not fly away. The battlemage lowered his face and drew his hood back around his ears as the shadows again enveloped him.

Next, a warrior, tall and tested, stepped up to face the boy. He was Neoko’s Captain of the Guard and Sinji’s personal trainer. Giving the boy a gleaming sword, with hilt of gold and deeply carved, he slowly pulled another from his own scabbard. “You must take this sword from me,” the Captain said.

“No,” said the great king. “He is my son. He must face me and take my sword.”

The warrior bowed as the king rose and drew his own sword. Sinji drew a deep sigh inward, and turned to face his father.

The battle rang from wall to ceiling as Sinji countered every blow. But, as hard as he tried, he could not return the furious attacks. At last, his breath in gasps, his strength nearly spent, Sinji watched his sword ripped from his hands as his father’s still sat ready in the hand that brought it. Agility learned from practice served Sinji well. A dodge, a roll, and his sword was his again. For a second time, the battle rang. A feint, a slash, a dodge to the right, the metal forced down with all his might. When all was done, the boy exhausted, he kept his sword, but so did his father.

Silence filled the room, but the trials were not yet done. From behind the throne stepped a lesser uncle, clad in rich leather and green silk. He was Tyron, the king’s warden and the greatest bowman of all the islands of Tamriel and he was also a trainer for Sinji. Removing his own bow and quiver, he handed them to Sinji. “You have a good eye,” he said. “Prove now that you will follow my skills instead and can fight with a weapon greatly overlooked in Fang.” He pointed to a line of small, red balls sitting atop a banister.

Sinji took aim and let fly a dozen arrows toward the balls. Five of them sailed off the bannister, three were nailed against the wall, and the last four barely moved as the arrows shot past them. Sadly, Sinji lowered the bow and handed it back to the warden.

Neoko returned to his throne with heavy step as Sinji bowed before him and waited. All faces of the council looked sad and grim, save one whose smile stayed hidden in shadows deep.

“You have not failed, my son,” Neoko spoke, “but you are not yet a king. You will work hard to improve in all your studies and we will see you here again in five years time.”

Sinji returned to his chambers, bereft of any cheer, and entered them alone, save Luaren who waited there inside. What was said between brother and sister is not recorded, for they saw no one else the rest of day’s bright hours.



Chapter 3:

For five long years, Sinji practiced and trained. The failure of his first trials bore to him a determination he had never known before. He would not, he vowed, cause such sorrow to his father.

On his fifteenth year he was tested once again. This time, his practice showed. His aim was tighter, his strength had grown. His eye recounted lessons learned. For any other son, his trials would have brought celebration long into night. But, Sinji was not tested against any other son. He was the son of the king. He was tested against the king himself and against that measure, his effort showed, but would not best or match.

“You have improved,” King Neoko assured. “But, you are still not a king. Return to me in five years more and we will see what you have become.”

There was no cheer or promise in the great king’s voice, nor did sorrow deepen the faces of the council so much as worry now. Sinji was the only son. The talent of his blood did not show and the clouds of future looked very dark indeed for Fang.

There was one upon the council, though, for whom the trials brought much satisfaction. Ambition ruled his heart and shadows no longer hid his glee. If Sinji failed, as it now seemed certain, the rule would pass him by and settle on another blood, this time a brother, not a son. Of three of those, there was one blood, standing just behind this unworthy son, who felt himself ready.

On his twentieth year, Sinji began his trials again. But this time, they would not involve one day alone, for a king must excel at more than prowess and Sinji spent his first three days among the traders of Sandover, matching wits of a monetary worth. It was not easy for the traders knew his mind as well as his face.

He fared well, but not exceptional. His word was charming and his earnest face bought trust and companions at every stop, but seasoned merchants hold friends apart from business. And, while they were eager to hear his news and share his drink, the gold they hoarded well. Sinji would not make a merchant king.

On the next four days, his thoughts of battles past and future showed promise yet unseen. Comparing minds and logic with his uncles he fared high indeed. Only the king seemed less impressed with the strategies of youth, the king and the uncle who stood behind.

As the day arrived to prove at last his strength and magic, he held his breath and climbed the steps. But this day, his final trials would wait for the passage of fate. As his foot touched the upper step, the castle shook from end to end. The air grew thick and a mighty explosion cracked the sky itself. The king and council and all the onlookers from the octagonal throne room ran as one to the nearest balcony to see the great smoke rise from afar.

“It’s the mountain,” screamed a voice from below. “Claw’s mountain has come to life!”

From o’er the waves, resting light upon the near horizon, the dark smoke boiled. Bolts of fire filled the darkness that curled back upon itself until the island was hidden. Rumbles of explosions echoed through the air. “They’ll come,” said an ancient voice from the balcony. “The filthy Darkkan will be back on our shores. We should prepare.”

“They’ll be dead,” said another. “They won’t survive that misery. We have nothing to fear and we’ll be rid of the pestilence at last.”

King Neoko stood and thought. “If they come,” he mused, “it will be as refugees, frightened and bereft. They have no time to prepare for anything else. We will wait and see how many survive.”

But, our great king was far too kind. Warned by rumblings deep inside the mountain of the end, Darkkan evil was well prepared. In bare days they landed on precious Fang soil at Ravenport and put the city to flames. Heralds proclaimed their march northward toward Sandover. And there, the blood of Fange would make its stand.

The great council was well represented in that battle as was the blood of Fange, but Sinji did not go. Some said Neoko would not have a youth unskilled. Others told of disaster should the blood of kings be lost completely. But, truth be told, Neoko held his own counsel and told no one of his reasons, save perhaps his son, Sinji, who met alone with him in the throne room of eight sides. When Neoko emerged, he came alone and led the army of Fang to battle.

Tales of that great battle in Sandover are steeped in legend and myth. King Haven Darkkan sent his best to lead the evil forces, the demon spawn known as Valstron Claws. It is said that he commanded the powers of Oblivion, but I swear his magic, though powerful, drew from mysteries of this side. His powers matched Neoko’s, but his trickery knew no bounds.

Blood flowed in rivers and buildings made of rock and sod crashed back into the land that made them as the line of battle passed back and forth over the once great city of Sandover. Sons of the Council lay still and cold before it ended, as did the flower of much of Fang. Spells clashed as loud as the steel of sword and fell to ground in grand explosions. Ice froze the flames of conflagration and swiftly burst into flames again. But the great deceit of Valstron Claws was saved for the end, when all were near exhausted. Holding back the furious armies of Fang with his power, he faced Neoko alone. And there, the greatest battle of all spewed forth.

Fire to fire, ice to ice, with stones raining from the sky, they met each thrust with one of their own. The power was well matched, but little by little Neoko gained the ground. When at last he held the evil in his sights and readied for the final blow, the hand was raised, but did not fall. The vermin squirmed away from doom and struck a mortal wound against an unprotected back. The evil sword ran him through and came out the other side soaked in precious blood. And when it was finished and withdrawn, Neoko lay upon the ground with his breath bubbling out his chest as it also dribbled from his lips.

Furious vengeance, now released, fell upon this treacherous foe, but Valstron worried little. Dodging back into the shadows, he laughed and laughed again as swords and spells filled every corner yet unseen. And still they did not find him. Like the demon seed that bore him, his body seemed to vanish in the air, leaving but his laugh and grin and all his abandoned followers to face the wrath of righteousness.

The armies of Fang knew no mercy on that day. As one, they dragged down their foes. Anger filled their swords and spells and vengeance drank the blood that fell.

Only one was left untouched by mindless fury as he crouched upon his knees to cradle the head of the dying king. “My Lord, my brother,” cried Bruton. “I should have been there at your side. I should have been your shield and cover and bore this blow myself!”

“No,” King Neoko whispered. “You must listen to me well.”

Bruton bent down his head to catch the soft words spoken. “Fang is in great danger,” Neoko gasped. “Deceit most high is in our midst and speaking to our loss. Should it prevail, all hope is lost and Fang will teeter on the brink of disaster and oblivion.’

‘Sinji . . . Sinji must be your king. You, my brother, must make sure his trials are completed, and he installed as king. For the sake of Fang and all I’ve known, you must pledge your life to that and see that it is done.”

“But, My Lord, he has not . . . ” Bruton stuttered.

“Promise me!” Neoko ordered. “Swear upon my memory and all that I have been to you! Swear that you will see him safe and fairly sat upon the throne. If you love our land as much as you love me, protect it and do swear that you will see this so!”

Bruton bowed his head and nodded. “I so swear, My Lord, my brother, with all my heart and all my soul.”

“Then I may go, unwillingly but unafraid . . .” a cough, a sigh, a final breath, “I meet my kinsmen on this day upon the darkened waves of Oblivion.”

And Bruton held the empty shell of the man he most adored for hours past their final touch and parting.

The tragedy did not end that day upon the battlefield. When news of death arrived at the castle of Blood-Fange, Neoko’s mate and true companion did decide to join him in eternal sleep. And so the mourning bells rang twice that day for the soul of Blood-Fange.


Chapter 4:

The mourning had not ended before the fights began inside Fang’s mighty council. Neoko’s brother, Hawk, stood tall, reminding them of all they’d lost and urging them to battle. “Darkkan filth still hide among the shadows of our Ravenport,” he said to all before him. “I stand here ready to lead you and protect you. As king I vow to throw them out upon our blades and shields. As liege, I will make them pay for every drop of blood they’ve spilled.”

“No,” cried the other brother of the king now gone. “It’s Sinji’s throne you covet, Hawk, and Sinji’s fate you set aside.”

“Bah! You are a fool, Bruton!” Hawk spat upon the floor. “The boy is but an untried youth, untested yet in battle. His skills show nothing of a king and his trials have been wasted. I paid my way with my own blood, and he has suffered little. He watched the battle from up here, while I risked all to keep him safe and saw my own son fall broken on the field. I will not have lost so much in vain.”

“You will not . . .” Bruton began, but gentle Luna did stay him.

“Stop!” She cried. “We must not spill more royal blood this way. So long as Darkkan soils our land, these battles cost us more than pain. Drive the evil from our shore and then we count our needs.”

The council did agree and so marched forth and all the way to Ravenport. There did the forces of the Isle of Fang so slake their thirst of rage upon the heads on every final one of Darkkan’s dire invasion.

But, Sinji did not go. Instead, he walked the broken streets of death that once was called Sandover. He heard the cries and felt the loss of merchants, smiths, and farmers. He wept for wives and husbands lost and children who would never grow. He saw the hunger that would rise and knew the cold the night would bring. It filled his heart with anger and a void where friends had been. It burned his soul and built his thoughts to one thing left: revenge. When his head felt full to breaking and his body shook with rage, then did he at last return to enter in an eight-walled room.

The council there was waiting, soldiers, patrons, sage, and kin. Hawk stood tall before the throne and Bruton rose to make his call. “It’s time,” he said. “This test was started days before. Now we must see the outcome finished of Neoko’s only son.”

Hawk smirked and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s end this now and for all time. Let him prove if he be king and then be done with him.”

Sinji didn’t answer. Instead he raised his arm. A pointed finger glowed and burned and sent one spark that set the single candle into blazing glory. The other fingers moved and every candle in the room burst forth to burn while silken tapestries behind them swayed in gentle folds. Again his fingers moved and a walking staff, hewn from a blackened tree, did sprout with leaves of green and flowers of the pinkest hue.

Next, Sinji held his hand out toward a battled hardened soldier in the room. “Loan me your blade,” he asked and turned to Hawk. “Will you now fight me?” But, Hawk declined.

“I am the best for now in Fang,” Bruton called to him and drew his sword. “You may test yourself against me, but I will not give you quarter.”

“I need no more than what I earn,” Sinji did reply. And, the battle fought between them took the breath of all who saw. When all was done mere moments later, Sinji held both swords.

Next, the bow of Tyron was placed in Sinji’s hands. He turned to face the rail of balls and brought it up to bear. The movement came too fast to see but when the test was done, all balls upon the rail were nailed against the wall.

“My father left me more than blood,” said Sinji to astonished silence. “Now, I would prove his love to you and earn your loyalty.”

Hawk’s face grew pale and in a moment reddened as a thought as black as death crossed before his beady eyes. “Yes, do,” he answered, “if you can. Show us what fate that you prefer upon the shores of Claw. But, as you sat here by yourself while all of us did fight, now you must take the fight to them and do it by yourself.”

A gasp rang out throughout the hall, but Sinji did not falter. He nodded and then bowed to all and turned to leave the room.

He walked alone to Ravenport, but when he found a boat to take him to the Isle of Claw, two companions hopped aboard and offered up their arms. These were Tyron the archer and one Naragi youth known to all as Matthew. “I am sworn to go alone,” Sinji told them softly. The two declined to leave the boat and settled in the bow. “We swear to share your fate,” they said. “It is our right to follow. Where our king goes, our future lies, and we would pledge our lives to keep safe your back.”

The three sailed swiftly through the night and dawn’s bright light did miss them, for they were deep within the cloud of noxious air and boiling seas and melted land beneath their feet.

The mountain called Omega spewed its guts across the isle. Rocks flowed as rivers down its sides and fouled the mighty sea. Clouds of poison filled its sky and deadly smoke rolled through its chasms like an oven of the dead. Thunder rumbled without end as bolts of lightning struck the air. And yet the citizens of Claw were not bereft or dead. They clung to life in homes of rock and vendors kept their trade. While rocks rained down, they ducked and hid and lived their lives as best they could while waiting for the Hell to end.

Some might have found this brave. No doubt a lesser soul would shiver. Both Tyron and Matthew stood in awe, but Sinji knew no admiration. Darkkan life continued on despite the reign of fire, while Fang’s great cities lay in ruin with cold and hunger rife among them. Visions of the ones he loved grew hard upon his mind. The life he saw enraged his soul and hardened hope for mercy. As Darkkan sent their demon seed to feed on souls of Fang, so did their acts of evil earn them vile reward in kind.

As one possessed of rage and hate, did Sinji move among them. In one hand sat a sword of steel and fire burst from the other. From house to house and pub to store, he sought them out and slew them. Their fight was weak compared to his and none could manage to escape him. He chased them down into the mines and broke their lives against the rock. He climbed the cliffs and searched the vales and turned their castle into rubble. All died that day except for three: the demon Valstron Claws, Elms Eater and a warning butler. King Haven Darkkan saved them when he teleported them away, then faced the rage himself and lost his head upon the floor.

When all was done, the slaughter over, no life stood upon the shore save Sinji and Tyron who carried to the boat between them the brave body of the youth known to all as Matthew. In silence did they sail out from death and darkness deep, to face a day of brightest sun and life that bloomed once more.

They landed at the dock of Ravenport and walked the road to Blood-Fange castle. Inside the room of eight rock walls, they faced again the mighty council. Astonished stares gaped back at him in silence did they greet him. Even Hawk, with ashen face, did not expect to see this youth again. But, Sinji was a youth no more and fate had carved his manhood. He turned and pulled from neath his cape, the proof of his success. Before them all, in bright array did stand of the mighty crest of Darkkan homeland which he retrieved from the castle of their great foe. “They are dead,” he said simply, and with those words the weight of war long waged at last from Fang was finally relieved.

All fell before them to their knees as loyalty they pledged, for Sinji Blood-Fange was now the king throughout the land.

biulding- just added in the chapter 4 break hehe felt like there should be a break there aswell.. might put one before the battle on claw aswell... not sure...

When I get a chance, I will read this over carefully and edit anything that I see. I've only scanned it over, Nowena, but I love it! You have an interesting story-telling rhythm which I like a lot.

Thank you, Misnomer. The rhythm part was the hardest to maintain and probably will need more work in the second draft, particularly in parts of Chapt 1 and 2. For some reason, I really got it going the way I wanted in 3 - and now 4.

And, biulding. Thank you. I agree about the chapter break - and exactly at that point - but I was afraid to do it myself. The story seemed to want it badly. If you think another chapter break fits please feel free also.

Wow, Nowena. That was... amazing! I was still reading in "bard-style" the note to Biulding

Thank you very much!

Heh, heh. It is addictive, isn't it?

hehe i cant wait for nowena to write book 2 and 3

then just 4 & 5 will need to be writen

biulding

(ps 7-9 are avible for dl on nexus in the forum of my mods

I'm on my way to work now, Nowena, but tonight when I get back, my first plans are to go over this for you

Just didn't want ya to think I'd forgotten

edit: duh, yes, Nowena, for you...was talking to Lalwende on another forum, and just kept using her name, I guess....good thing you understood me...it's all I ask

Umm. For Lalwende, or me? Sorry. I didn't want to get lost. I understand what you meant. And, thank you. I could use the help.

Update for ya, Nowena:

I went through my first revision. I usually like to go back to such a long work again, it usually helps to look at it fresh.

And might I add, I had to re-read some paragraphs over to edit them, I found I was quite involved in the story and kept forgetting to look for mistakes. You are a Master Story-Teller, Nowena.

Misnomer

I wanted to find a blushing smiley, but this is second best.

Thanks, Misnomer. You are way too kind, but please don't stop. It does my heart good, not to mention my ego. (And lately, that can use all the help it can get.)

I did get off the rhythm, though in a few places, particularly in Chapts 1 and 2, because I had trouble fitting the proper words in the proper song cadence. If you can think of any replacements in those areas, or perhaps another order that will keep the rhythm, I would be very grateful.