This story as an idea was thought up in year seven for a piece of English homework, but at the time it was a rather obvious rip off of World of Warcraft. Now I plan to continue this.
This story is a fairy tale, but not your average one. This tale follows the antics of Targoran, a evil, cynical and bored necromancer in his attempt to take over the world of Il'Maris and how some annoying heroes try and stop him.
It was a dark and dismal day, the rain clouds loomed heavy over Letharon; the ancient city, once gleaming marble, polished stone and sparkling metal, now it was a decaying monstrosity. The tall wall were now supported by dark iron beams, spikes had been placed on the walls large blades, razor sharp lined the walls, granting death to any who tried to scale them.
Targoran lounged on his throne in the centre of the dark keep; the throne was made from Obsidian and leather looking ominous to the onlooker, but comfortable for the person seated. Targorans two Rune-blades, Death and Decay, were seated in their scabbards on the back of the throne, whilst Targorans dark helm rested on the arm rest. The Necromancer lifted the orb he was toying with, his black eyes seeping purple mist; inside was the soul of his captive, Princess Lavina Morvena. She had been captured by the Shadow Lord’s forces a month ago as she was out riding. Targoran liked Princesses; they were the perfect bait for Heroes. The Necromancer smiled, his cracked lips spreading back against his teeth his silver hair hanging down in front of his face, he despised Heroes with every essence of his unholy being. They always tried to foil his plans, so rather than letting them come in unexpected and having to run around after them, Targoran led them into a trap. It was simple enough, he caught a princess; Heroes tries to save princess, Hero gets an unexpected surprise, more corpses to be raised as his minions. What could possibly go wrong?
Lavina lay on her stone bed staring up at the ceiling; her black hair was left to its own devices, lying all over the place. She was dressed in a simple white nighty, thank the gods for over protective parents who made her wear three layers, all she had had with her when she was captured was he dress, her undergarments and a dagger, the dagger hadn’t been much help when some hundred undead horrors charged the carriage, killing the honour guard in under an minute and whisking the Princess away before she had stopped screaming. She had now gotten used to hearing screams of terror and pain from below her cold stone cell. A tall monster, who seem to be created from the parts of other dead with its guts hanging out, stood guard outside the Iron door, at first she couldn’t even close her eyes with it outside, but now she had little problems sleeping. Her once tanned, slender face was now pasty and skull like. Her once sea green eyes, were now sunken into their sockets, puffed up and were turning purple...
Lavina looked at her bare arms; the blood vessels were becoming more visible and turning black. The dark energies in this forgotten kingdom was corrupting her, it had been for a while, she had accepted the fact that eventually she would either end up as a mindless ghoul, or like Targoran, sadistic, cruel, and cynical. Hopefully the former would happen, at least then she wouldn’t know it was her doing the terrible things...
Lavina was woken from her trance by the sound of people moving around outside her cell. She looked up and saw the tall, dark necromancer walking towards her door, his bony face came up to the bars.
“well my dear, it would seem another hero has come to rescue you, so up to the balcony” Targoran turned to leave but then stopped “well I suppose we can’t let you look so... free” The Necromancer waved his hand in a lazy motion, black mist flowed out of his hand and wrapped itself around Lavinas torso and solidified into dark iron chains. “Come, come my little princess.”
Lavina was lead from her cell, by four ghouls and the Necromancer, up a winding stair case and into the open air stench. Corpses litter the roof, tattered cloaks, rusted swords, shattered shields; they were all present on the top of the dark castle. There would be no rescue for Lavina, only the death of her attempted rescuer. She was tied to a tall pole in the centre of the roof, her dark chains fastened so tightly that she could barley breath. Targoran walked over to her, his hand stroked the princess’ face; when his gauntlet reached Lavina neck he stopped and smiled. Here he could see the dark poison pumping through her veins.
“Well my dear, looks like we’re becoming more alike each day...”Lavina gave a dark murderous stare toward Targoran. “Don’t touch me you monster” she spat. The necromancer smirked; he drew back, placed his helm on his head and walked back towards the stairs. He halted just before the first step turned and drew death; the red blade gleamed in the moonlight and a flash erupted from the sword arcing out and surrounding Lavina, the light sank down into the floor forming a faint line around the princess. Targoran replaced Death in its ornate scabbard, smiled a cruel smile, and walked back down the steps.
Lavina waited until all the Undead had left, holding her composure until the last zombie had stumbled down the stairs. As it did so she slumped, only being held up by the chains wrapped around her, she hated how she was used for bait.