Post by Chosen. Of. Chaos.† on Jul 7, 2007 13:06:48 GMT 7
A/N: This is a fiction I’ve made about HOMM 5, a truly remarkable game by Ubi-soft. Why, exactly? Well, when you’re bored and full of inspiration, your hands seem to do all the work for you. I’ve carefully collected the information on the characters, but I’m quite not sure how Kha-Beleth actually tainted her, so this story’s mainly about what I think happened and what I hope to happen in the future expansions of the game. So, in the mean time, enjoy. = )
Disclaimer: How many times must I repeat that I own nothing but this rock?!
…………….
Raelag stood on the edge of the small cliff, surveying his army at work. He had brought quite a few; ten deep hydras, five shadow matriarchs, eighteen Minotaur guards and forty-seven assassins (which wasn’t much help at all when it came to reducing numbers. They were only good for poisoning enemies). Going on a dangerous quest with this puny an army meant certain death- but Raelag was beyond that. The Dark elf had mastered the magical energies in his control and all the spells Asha had made. He just needed some troops to accompany him and for backup.
Shadya, his top general, was perched on a boulder while giving orders to his troops. As always she had avoided the work; she thought herself second to Raelag (which was true) so she demanded a bit of respect and mightiness from her lesser peers. Despite the fact she could be annoying at times, she was a very clever shadow matriarch. Trickery and deceit was her game (which worried Raelag a bit and reminded him terribly of someone he hated so much). Like her kind she mostly used her beauty to attract and destroy unfortunate fools who fall under her spell. The Dark elf was so relieved that after the series of unfortunate and dangerous events he had found someone that could help him through his mission.
Anyway, Shadya waved the other complaining elves off with her hand. “We need more lumber if we are to build a ship, no? Now go and cut some wood…the Minotaur’s axes would come in handy. Make good use of your nails.” One of the matriarchs looked outraged, and this was where Raelag approached the bickering lot.
“She has a point, woman. Don’t worry about your newly polished nails- if we don’t get off this island you’d lose more anyway.” He said in his commanding voice, which surprised the latter and without further ado the lesser dark elves were gone. Once they were out of earshot Raelag turned to his general. “Shadya, I doubt they’ll get much more than a sapling. Have you managed to steal the cartographer’s maps of the sea?”
Shadya sighed at this and looked out at the ocean. “I’m sorry master Raelag, but it seems that he wasn’t who we thought he was at all. It was a demon in disguise- Veyer, I presume- and that bastard was planning an ambush on us. It’s a miracle that one of our hydras puked on the hut when I came running out. The poor guy was annihilated then and there.” She replies with a chuckle.
Raelag nodded at this but didn’t say anything else. He had tons of problems in his head already, and another was piled onto the stack. First Nicolai, then the demons, then Isabel. After he had learned of a necromancer joining the Empire, he hadn’t heard from Isabel at all. He was worried sick. Was she alright? The necromancer did say that Isabel’s doing fine; he was able to bring Nicolai back from the dead, after all. But only a fool would trust a necromancer that had been banished for his sinister plans in the past.
Shadya had noticed Raelag’s spacing out, and she nudged his shoulder. “She’ll be okay,” the girl said a bit bitterly, but forced the concern out of her mouth. She cared a lot about Raelag even if he was in love with the queen of the Griffin Empire.
The Clan lord of the Shadowbrand wanted to smile at her, but stopped himself quickly. Instead he turned his gaze towards her, nodding, and she cocked an eyebrow. “What? I know who you were thinking about.”
Raelag gagged at the sound of her words and turned away, pretending to have a coughing fit. He managed to choke out, “What do you mean?”
Shadya rolled her eyes and decided to press the matter. “You were thinking about Isabel, were you not?” she asked in her usual captivating voice, leaning forward with her hands on her hips. Raelag had long understood the meaning of her stance- she was imploring him to answer teasingly.
Much as he hated clichés- he couldn’t help thinking of the phrase ‘saved by the bell’ when Shadya had turned her attention to the rustling of bushes beside them. “Who goes there?” she asks fiercely, throwing a dagger she had taken from her inventory into the bushes. There was a small “oh my,” and stood a necromancer who was still in the flesh.
“Forgive my intervention, but are you the infamous Raelag who had taken over the Dark elves?” the necromancer asked, making a false bow. The Dark elf being referred to glared at his guest with his cold, dark eyes. “You speak in rudeness, though I doubt you are here to insult me. Markal, correct? How is Isabel; does she fair well?”
Markal smiled wickedly and said apathetically, “Oh, she is as lovely as ever; without her darrrling Nicolai, of course.”
“Without King Nicolai? What do you mean? I thought you brought him back to life.”
The necromancer put on a fake look of sadness. “The wood elves destrrroyed him, sadly.”
If snakes hissed, this guy must be one too. Raelag didn’t buy a single word he was saying. Ignoring the man’s reply (simply because he didn’t give a damn about Nicolai) he continued, “Your objective here must be really important if you have come all this way. Are you here to kill me? I wouldn’t mind, but I should tell you that many have said the same thing and hadn’t been heard from anymore.”
“You must be quite the warrior. Anyway, I am not here to assassinate anyone at all. Just to bring a message.” Markal replied with distaste.
Raelag kept himself from laughing at the man’s expression. “Go ahead, old man. I’ve no time for this.”
----------------
Clad in a pearl nightgown, the queen of the Griffin Empire stepped out onto the veranda, the cool wind whipping around her dress. She had short almond hair that always smelled of rose, Nicolai had always said. Her smooth, unblemished skin can be seen a bit through the thin fabric of her clothes, and her tired, usually determined eyes shut from the stinging coldness of the breeze.
She had been through so many things that she wasn’t so sure anymore. She had taken refuge in where Beatrice had raised her when she was a child. The small sanctuary from all the undead spilling into Griffin Empire lands.
But Markal would visit her day by day, telling her the progress of their so called, ‘Alliance’. Isabel didn’t mind to have him as her guest, of course, but she wasn’t sure if she should be happy to hear about the Silver cities’ downfall.
So anyway, Markal came one particular night with news she couldn’t forget: “My dear queen,” the necromancer had said with a brummagem poignance on his dire face. “The elves have destroyed King Nicolai, and there is no way to bring him back.”
Isabel took this heavily, and as Markal walked away chuckling to himself, the queen stared at the stars once more, her heart broken with despair.
But this night was different. There was a change in the air- the usual rustling and noise was no more- and she could feel a burden being taken away. She looked out to what was visible of her kingdom and gasped in surprise. The teal flags of the undead were gone, and the green mist that smelled of bile the corpse warriors carried has disappeared as well. Something was going on, and Markal hadn’t shown up at all. Quickly Isabel went out her room, climbed down the stairs, passed through the living room and the hallways of the small house, until she finally reached the garden being illuminated by the moon. Someone was there, but because of the dimness of the light, she couldn’t figure out who he was.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she was braver than she felt. The man chuckled in a low, growling voice. “Dear me,” The man said in an equally low tone, “You are beautiful! Queen Isabel, I presume?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking at him cautiously. “Have we met?”
“Not personally.” The man said. He took a step forward, and in the light of the moon, Isabel could see a man who vaguely reminded her of her beloved Nicolai, and she falls under the element of surprise.
This was an unfair advantage for her guest. He walked towards her casually as if he was under the park, not planning to do something malevolent to a vulnerable queen. He smiled, baring his sharp, needle-like teeth, and Isabel is stunned once more. Could he be a vampire? A demon?
Her body unable to do anything, she watches helplessly as the man pushed her to the floor until he has completely covered her with his muscular body. Before anything happened, however, he whispered his identity into her ear.
“I am the Demon sovereign, also known as Kha-Beleth, my sweet.”
-----------------
After the successful and tiring battle Findan, Zehir and Godric had fought against Markal, the young wood elf was glad to rest even for awhile. The three needed to continue on to Isabel and save her from whatever she was endangered in.
Tieru had mentioned a demon messiah. That sounded…freaky, but possible, no less. With a wounded sigh, the ranger pushed himself from the ground and stared into the gap between the tent flaps, watching the troops the three had brought along silently. There were many casualties after the battle with the necromancer; Godric had almost broken his left arm. It was a good thing the paladins were still okay, and healed his arm until it would at least be able to hold a shield in time. There were those, however, who could not be saved. Finally getting bored from sitting down, he stood up to his full height, green and brown robes falling respectively by his sides. He was the tallest of the three; wood elves were always so tall.
Findan, like all the other wood elves (except their king Alaron), had long, blond hair and tan skin. Usually his kind wore their hair in braids tied up with leaves, with two down their front and the rest cascading down their back. Findan wore his hair the same way, but what differentiated him from the other elves was his bulky, muscular form, unlike his brethren’s slender bodies. Findan was a well known ranger, and he had protected the borders of Irollan heroically. The High King favored him well, and he was usually doing his king numerous tasks that benefited the country. When not in the battlefield or Alaron’s side, Findan keeps himself busy and writes poetry about everything he had experienced.
Shoving the tent flaps away, he exited his tent, and watched the seagulls fly above him, towards the nearby sea. It all looked so peaceful, with the silent hymn of the earth below his feet, and the serenity the trees shared. It was not permanent, though. Findan could feel the dark presence looming over them, and each passing minute drew them closer to it.
Shaking his head from his thoughts, he walked to his one of companions named Zehir, who was sitting on the grass scribbling furiously on a roll of parchment. The mage was a year younger than him, with long curly hair down his nape. He had a small goatee below his lower lip, wavy but ended in a sharp tip. He wore a magnificent robe embroidered with golden thread, and on his neck were golden expensive-looking necklaces, one on top of the others until it looked like a large choker. The same jewelry could be seen on his wrists and ankles, and two large earrings hung from each of his ears. Mages were always known to dress extravagantly.
Zehir looked up at the approaching elf and flashed him a toothy grin. The mage always smiled like this, his actions carefree and childish, despite the intelligence and problems he had. Findan smiled back. “Are the troops ready?” he asked. “Almost,” Zehir replied, pointing at the group of archmages huddled in a corner. “Those old gits over there are taking too long casting a spell to protect the caravan. I insisted to lend them a hand.” -Here he conjures up an illusion of a large hand and chuckles to himself- “But they wanted to do the work by themselves. So we’ll have to wait a little longer.” Findan nodded his reply, half-laughing at the crude joke his friend had made. “That’s alright with me,” he adds, turning towards Godric’s tent. “And how is Godric?”
Zehir turned serious at this, looking the elf straight in the eye. Findan blinked in surprise at the sudden change of mood. “He’s recovering well, for starters.” The young mage replied, rolling up the parchment on his lap and setting his quill pen down. “But it’ll be two weeks until he would be able to carry that huge shield of his. If he insists to rush and save Isabel, we’ll leave his shield back at the base. It’ll be useless with nobody needing it, of course, and there’s no other purpose for it rather than for a dinner plate.”
There goes one of his wisecracks. While Findan was walking away to visit the said knight, Zehir was rolling on the grass, laughing. How those solemn mages live with him was anyone’s guess. It was a good thing, however, to have an experienced mage in the army, no matter how insane he could be.
Godric was an ordinary human knight who served Elrath with a mighty zeal. Though his mortality prevented him from further suicidal solutions, Godric would’ve sacrificed his life anyway for the good of the empire. Isabel’s decision to trust Markal had wounded him deeply; though he thought that the Queen was too selfish and narrow-minded to see the truth, he still cared for her. After all, Isabel was like a child to him, having been raised by him and Beatrice when she was young.
The old man was sprawled on the sleeping bag, his browse furrowed in annoyance as a fly continued to pester him. Findan knelt down and took a swat on the fly, successfully hitting it, resulting the insect to fall unconscious on the ground. Godric returned to his fitful slumber and the ranger stared at him.
--------------------------------
First and for most, I'm sorry for taking your story again, Jay! It's really nice, and if only you've continued it...I'm not as good with words like you...
>_<
Don't blame me for this. I'm just some fan trying to get the real thing. I wouldn't continue it, of course; I respect your choice of leaving it unfinished.
But OH! If only I could read these characters aloud, my own voice and your powerful words...TnT
So to make you feel better, I'll post this here and make sure other people know of your masterpiece! Just don't forget to thank the little people like me, m'kay? ^^
Disclaimer: How many times must I repeat that I own nothing but this rock?!
…………….
Raelag stood on the edge of the small cliff, surveying his army at work. He had brought quite a few; ten deep hydras, five shadow matriarchs, eighteen Minotaur guards and forty-seven assassins (which wasn’t much help at all when it came to reducing numbers. They were only good for poisoning enemies). Going on a dangerous quest with this puny an army meant certain death- but Raelag was beyond that. The Dark elf had mastered the magical energies in his control and all the spells Asha had made. He just needed some troops to accompany him and for backup.
Shadya, his top general, was perched on a boulder while giving orders to his troops. As always she had avoided the work; she thought herself second to Raelag (which was true) so she demanded a bit of respect and mightiness from her lesser peers. Despite the fact she could be annoying at times, she was a very clever shadow matriarch. Trickery and deceit was her game (which worried Raelag a bit and reminded him terribly of someone he hated so much). Like her kind she mostly used her beauty to attract and destroy unfortunate fools who fall under her spell. The Dark elf was so relieved that after the series of unfortunate and dangerous events he had found someone that could help him through his mission.
Anyway, Shadya waved the other complaining elves off with her hand. “We need more lumber if we are to build a ship, no? Now go and cut some wood…the Minotaur’s axes would come in handy. Make good use of your nails.” One of the matriarchs looked outraged, and this was where Raelag approached the bickering lot.
“She has a point, woman. Don’t worry about your newly polished nails- if we don’t get off this island you’d lose more anyway.” He said in his commanding voice, which surprised the latter and without further ado the lesser dark elves were gone. Once they were out of earshot Raelag turned to his general. “Shadya, I doubt they’ll get much more than a sapling. Have you managed to steal the cartographer’s maps of the sea?”
Shadya sighed at this and looked out at the ocean. “I’m sorry master Raelag, but it seems that he wasn’t who we thought he was at all. It was a demon in disguise- Veyer, I presume- and that bastard was planning an ambush on us. It’s a miracle that one of our hydras puked on the hut when I came running out. The poor guy was annihilated then and there.” She replies with a chuckle.
Raelag nodded at this but didn’t say anything else. He had tons of problems in his head already, and another was piled onto the stack. First Nicolai, then the demons, then Isabel. After he had learned of a necromancer joining the Empire, he hadn’t heard from Isabel at all. He was worried sick. Was she alright? The necromancer did say that Isabel’s doing fine; he was able to bring Nicolai back from the dead, after all. But only a fool would trust a necromancer that had been banished for his sinister plans in the past.
Shadya had noticed Raelag’s spacing out, and she nudged his shoulder. “She’ll be okay,” the girl said a bit bitterly, but forced the concern out of her mouth. She cared a lot about Raelag even if he was in love with the queen of the Griffin Empire.
The Clan lord of the Shadowbrand wanted to smile at her, but stopped himself quickly. Instead he turned his gaze towards her, nodding, and she cocked an eyebrow. “What? I know who you were thinking about.”
Raelag gagged at the sound of her words and turned away, pretending to have a coughing fit. He managed to choke out, “What do you mean?”
Shadya rolled her eyes and decided to press the matter. “You were thinking about Isabel, were you not?” she asked in her usual captivating voice, leaning forward with her hands on her hips. Raelag had long understood the meaning of her stance- she was imploring him to answer teasingly.
Much as he hated clichés- he couldn’t help thinking of the phrase ‘saved by the bell’ when Shadya had turned her attention to the rustling of bushes beside them. “Who goes there?” she asks fiercely, throwing a dagger she had taken from her inventory into the bushes. There was a small “oh my,” and stood a necromancer who was still in the flesh.
“Forgive my intervention, but are you the infamous Raelag who had taken over the Dark elves?” the necromancer asked, making a false bow. The Dark elf being referred to glared at his guest with his cold, dark eyes. “You speak in rudeness, though I doubt you are here to insult me. Markal, correct? How is Isabel; does she fair well?”
Markal smiled wickedly and said apathetically, “Oh, she is as lovely as ever; without her darrrling Nicolai, of course.”
“Without King Nicolai? What do you mean? I thought you brought him back to life.”
The necromancer put on a fake look of sadness. “The wood elves destrrroyed him, sadly.”
If snakes hissed, this guy must be one too. Raelag didn’t buy a single word he was saying. Ignoring the man’s reply (simply because he didn’t give a damn about Nicolai) he continued, “Your objective here must be really important if you have come all this way. Are you here to kill me? I wouldn’t mind, but I should tell you that many have said the same thing and hadn’t been heard from anymore.”
“You must be quite the warrior. Anyway, I am not here to assassinate anyone at all. Just to bring a message.” Markal replied with distaste.
Raelag kept himself from laughing at the man’s expression. “Go ahead, old man. I’ve no time for this.”
----------------
Clad in a pearl nightgown, the queen of the Griffin Empire stepped out onto the veranda, the cool wind whipping around her dress. She had short almond hair that always smelled of rose, Nicolai had always said. Her smooth, unblemished skin can be seen a bit through the thin fabric of her clothes, and her tired, usually determined eyes shut from the stinging coldness of the breeze.
She had been through so many things that she wasn’t so sure anymore. She had taken refuge in where Beatrice had raised her when she was a child. The small sanctuary from all the undead spilling into Griffin Empire lands.
But Markal would visit her day by day, telling her the progress of their so called, ‘Alliance’. Isabel didn’t mind to have him as her guest, of course, but she wasn’t sure if she should be happy to hear about the Silver cities’ downfall.
So anyway, Markal came one particular night with news she couldn’t forget: “My dear queen,” the necromancer had said with a brummagem poignance on his dire face. “The elves have destroyed King Nicolai, and there is no way to bring him back.”
Isabel took this heavily, and as Markal walked away chuckling to himself, the queen stared at the stars once more, her heart broken with despair.
But this night was different. There was a change in the air- the usual rustling and noise was no more- and she could feel a burden being taken away. She looked out to what was visible of her kingdom and gasped in surprise. The teal flags of the undead were gone, and the green mist that smelled of bile the corpse warriors carried has disappeared as well. Something was going on, and Markal hadn’t shown up at all. Quickly Isabel went out her room, climbed down the stairs, passed through the living room and the hallways of the small house, until she finally reached the garden being illuminated by the moon. Someone was there, but because of the dimness of the light, she couldn’t figure out who he was.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” she asked, hoping she was braver than she felt. The man chuckled in a low, growling voice. “Dear me,” The man said in an equally low tone, “You are beautiful! Queen Isabel, I presume?”
“Yes,” she replied, looking at him cautiously. “Have we met?”
“Not personally.” The man said. He took a step forward, and in the light of the moon, Isabel could see a man who vaguely reminded her of her beloved Nicolai, and she falls under the element of surprise.
This was an unfair advantage for her guest. He walked towards her casually as if he was under the park, not planning to do something malevolent to a vulnerable queen. He smiled, baring his sharp, needle-like teeth, and Isabel is stunned once more. Could he be a vampire? A demon?
Her body unable to do anything, she watches helplessly as the man pushed her to the floor until he has completely covered her with his muscular body. Before anything happened, however, he whispered his identity into her ear.
“I am the Demon sovereign, also known as Kha-Beleth, my sweet.”
-----------------
After the successful and tiring battle Findan, Zehir and Godric had fought against Markal, the young wood elf was glad to rest even for awhile. The three needed to continue on to Isabel and save her from whatever she was endangered in.
Tieru had mentioned a demon messiah. That sounded…freaky, but possible, no less. With a wounded sigh, the ranger pushed himself from the ground and stared into the gap between the tent flaps, watching the troops the three had brought along silently. There were many casualties after the battle with the necromancer; Godric had almost broken his left arm. It was a good thing the paladins were still okay, and healed his arm until it would at least be able to hold a shield in time. There were those, however, who could not be saved. Finally getting bored from sitting down, he stood up to his full height, green and brown robes falling respectively by his sides. He was the tallest of the three; wood elves were always so tall.
Findan, like all the other wood elves (except their king Alaron), had long, blond hair and tan skin. Usually his kind wore their hair in braids tied up with leaves, with two down their front and the rest cascading down their back. Findan wore his hair the same way, but what differentiated him from the other elves was his bulky, muscular form, unlike his brethren’s slender bodies. Findan was a well known ranger, and he had protected the borders of Irollan heroically. The High King favored him well, and he was usually doing his king numerous tasks that benefited the country. When not in the battlefield or Alaron’s side, Findan keeps himself busy and writes poetry about everything he had experienced.
Shoving the tent flaps away, he exited his tent, and watched the seagulls fly above him, towards the nearby sea. It all looked so peaceful, with the silent hymn of the earth below his feet, and the serenity the trees shared. It was not permanent, though. Findan could feel the dark presence looming over them, and each passing minute drew them closer to it.
Shaking his head from his thoughts, he walked to his one of companions named Zehir, who was sitting on the grass scribbling furiously on a roll of parchment. The mage was a year younger than him, with long curly hair down his nape. He had a small goatee below his lower lip, wavy but ended in a sharp tip. He wore a magnificent robe embroidered with golden thread, and on his neck were golden expensive-looking necklaces, one on top of the others until it looked like a large choker. The same jewelry could be seen on his wrists and ankles, and two large earrings hung from each of his ears. Mages were always known to dress extravagantly.
Zehir looked up at the approaching elf and flashed him a toothy grin. The mage always smiled like this, his actions carefree and childish, despite the intelligence and problems he had. Findan smiled back. “Are the troops ready?” he asked. “Almost,” Zehir replied, pointing at the group of archmages huddled in a corner. “Those old gits over there are taking too long casting a spell to protect the caravan. I insisted to lend them a hand.” -Here he conjures up an illusion of a large hand and chuckles to himself- “But they wanted to do the work by themselves. So we’ll have to wait a little longer.” Findan nodded his reply, half-laughing at the crude joke his friend had made. “That’s alright with me,” he adds, turning towards Godric’s tent. “And how is Godric?”
Zehir turned serious at this, looking the elf straight in the eye. Findan blinked in surprise at the sudden change of mood. “He’s recovering well, for starters.” The young mage replied, rolling up the parchment on his lap and setting his quill pen down. “But it’ll be two weeks until he would be able to carry that huge shield of his. If he insists to rush and save Isabel, we’ll leave his shield back at the base. It’ll be useless with nobody needing it, of course, and there’s no other purpose for it rather than for a dinner plate.”
There goes one of his wisecracks. While Findan was walking away to visit the said knight, Zehir was rolling on the grass, laughing. How those solemn mages live with him was anyone’s guess. It was a good thing, however, to have an experienced mage in the army, no matter how insane he could be.
Godric was an ordinary human knight who served Elrath with a mighty zeal. Though his mortality prevented him from further suicidal solutions, Godric would’ve sacrificed his life anyway for the good of the empire. Isabel’s decision to trust Markal had wounded him deeply; though he thought that the Queen was too selfish and narrow-minded to see the truth, he still cared for her. After all, Isabel was like a child to him, having been raised by him and Beatrice when she was young.
The old man was sprawled on the sleeping bag, his browse furrowed in annoyance as a fly continued to pester him. Findan knelt down and took a swat on the fly, successfully hitting it, resulting the insect to fall unconscious on the ground. Godric returned to his fitful slumber and the ranger stared at him.
--------------------------------
First and for most, I'm sorry for taking your story again, Jay! It's really nice, and if only you've continued it...I'm not as good with words like you...
>_<
Don't blame me for this. I'm just some fan trying to get the real thing. I wouldn't continue it, of course; I respect your choice of leaving it unfinished.
But OH! If only I could read these characters aloud, my own voice and your powerful words...TnT
So to make you feel better, I'll post this here and make sure other people know of your masterpiece! Just don't forget to thank the little people like me, m'kay? ^^
<--- Mah boss. OH YEAH. 
