So I was just typing stuff on the computer, and I ended up writing this. I long ago discovered that, for potential authors, one good writing practice is taking a story you already know (preferably one that isn't already a novel or anything like that), and converting it into a story form. I've tried that with Final Fantasy 7, though I haven't finished, and now I decided to try it with the end of Wc3: TFT. So I thought I'd just post this to see what y'all think about it.
And just to warn you ahead of time, there is a little bit of blood and violence in it, for those of you who are disturbed by such things. And also, with the fight between Arthas and Illidan, I was going to make it longer, but I decided it was too much work.... and remember, I'm still an author in the making, not a full fledged one, so please don't be over-critical of my work... but please do comment, lol
So Enjoy! :grin:
_________________
A Symphony Of
Frost and Flame
Based on Warcraft 3, by Blizzard Entertainment
The twilight sky was thick with heavy gray clouds, and an icy wind as cold as death itself blew across the valley. There was very little life in the cold land of Icecrown. Everything was covered in frost and snow, and dozens of frozen rock mounds were spread throughout the area. Looming at the center of the valley was a massive mountain with a number of large ice crystals at its top. At the base of that mountain was a huge gate, its doors wide open to show the darkness within.
…. And standing not too far from that gate were two fallen heroes preparing for the final battle each would share with the other.
One was Illidan Stormrage, the former Nightelven demon hunter who had succumbed to otherworldly powers so that he could defeat his foes. His elf-like appearance was marred by a pair of massive horns curling out of his forehead, and he sported two massive bat-like wings. In each of his hands, he held a crescent blade with serrated edges, and a demonic figure at the handle. He wore a black bandana to cover his blind eyes.
His foe, King Arthas, stood just a few feet ahead of him. Arthas was not as tall as the demonic Nightelf, but had no less of a threatening appearance. With deathly white skin and hair and piercing green eyes, the undead warrior held a very menacing appearance, which was only augmented by his suit of skull-adorned armor and his weapon, Frostmourne.
The blade was very sharp and had a number of jagged edges near its base. At the crosspiece was a lich skull carving, with a pair of sharp horns, and eye sockets that were surrounded with an inner glow and icy mist.
The two warriors stood in their ready positions, both staring hard at each other with utmost hatred, determined to end the other’s life.
Arthas suddenly bolted forward, roaring as Frostmourne sliced down. The blade was stopped in mid-swing, Illidan having lifted his own weapon to deflect the assault. Their blades locked for a brief moment, and then the demon hunter pushed Arthas away, swinging both of his weapons at his foe, who managed to deflect the attacks with lightning-fast reflexes.
Illidan knocked Arthas’ sword out wide and attempted a swing at the king’s head. Arthas managed to lift his blade in time to block the attack, and then push it away and attempt to stab Illidan in the gut. The Nightelf dodged it and opened his wings, which caught on the wind, lifting him into the air away from Arthas.
The undead king glared after him, and then ran forward, gripping Frostmourne tightly in both hands, pulling back, and hurling it at Illidan, who was still airborne. The blade sang through the air, and struck its target.
Illidan fell to the ground, and Arthas walked up to him in triumph. The fallen Nightelf tried to rise, but was dead before long, his dark blood pooling out from the deep wound in his chest.
Arthas lifted his sword from the dead demon hunter, and looked up towards the gaping doors that led into the mountain. Leaving his latest victim’s corpse to freeze in the icy weather, the king stepped forward and moved through the gate.
He found himself in a massive cavern. All across the floor and ceiling were huge ice crystals. Looming over him at the very center of the chasm was a gigantic, icy spire, with a circular stairway around it leading to the top. In the middle of the ceiling was a hole, through which light streamed, falling upon the large ice crystal sitting atop the spire.
The Frozen Throne.
Arthas stared up at its glory only for a moment before beginning his ascent up the stairs. As he walked, voices of the past began echoing inside of his head. For the first time since he had been transformed into this monster, he thought back on all of those events that led him to this moment of victory. He heard the voices of those whom he had once loved, of those whom he had betrayed.
...If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, we will become as vile as the orcs...
...You are not my king yet, boy. Nor would I obey such a command even if you were!...
...Forget this business! Lead your men home!...
...This is an act of treason...
...You lied to your men, and betrayed the mercenaries who fought for you! What’s happening to you, Arthas? Is vengeance all that’s important to you now?...
...The young prince will only find death in the cold north...
Arthas realized that he felt a sudden wave of regret overwhelm him, and he wondered if Frostmourne truly had completely overtaken him, or if there was still some part of his old self still hidden beneath that cold shell.
But as he finally reached the top of the stairs and stood before the Frozen Throne, those voices, and the guilt, were washed away. Trapped within the massive ice crystal, he saw a ghostly figure that had a somewhat humanoid form, positioned as though sitting in a large chair. At the wraith’s head was a dark helmet with skeletal-like carvings etched into it, and a number of blades at the top, reaching up like a crown of death.
Take the blade, said the voice of Ner’zhul. Complete the circle. Release me from this prison!
Arthas gripped Frostmourne tightly in both hands and stepped forth, roaring as he swung the blade and struck the crystal. Immediately, there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening, otherworldly scream echoing throughout the whole cavern. The ice exploded, sending frozen shards flying in every direction. The ghostly image disappeared, and the helmet fell to the floor, sliding right down to Arthas’ feet.
He considered the deathly crown for a moment before bending down and lifting it up. Placing the helm over his head, Arthas rose back up, closing his eyes. The very instant the helmet touched his head, he felt another consciousness, one that was overwhelmingly powerful, enter his mind. For a moment, there was only silence. And then…
“Now”, spoke an incredibly powerful voice inside of his head. “We are one!”
Arthas opened his eyes, which were now like blue-glowing ice crystals filled with the coldness of death itself. The entire chasm began to quake, and chunks started falling from the ceiling. Before long, the entire mountain came crumbling down, and all that remained was the tall spire, and the Frozen Throne.
Arthas took his place in the massive, icy chair that had been formed from the crystal that had shattered. Holding Frostmourne in his hand, the Lord of the Undead Scourge sat and stared out at the vast, frozen expanse of Northrend, doomed to the dark existence that fate had long ago chosen for him…
And just to warn you ahead of time, there is a little bit of blood and violence in it, for those of you who are disturbed by such things. And also, with the fight between Arthas and Illidan, I was going to make it longer, but I decided it was too much work.... and remember, I'm still an author in the making, not a full fledged one, so please don't be over-critical of my work... but please do comment, lol
So Enjoy! :grin:
_________________
A Symphony Of
Frost and Flame
Based on Warcraft 3, by Blizzard Entertainment
The twilight sky was thick with heavy gray clouds, and an icy wind as cold as death itself blew across the valley. There was very little life in the cold land of Icecrown. Everything was covered in frost and snow, and dozens of frozen rock mounds were spread throughout the area. Looming at the center of the valley was a massive mountain with a number of large ice crystals at its top. At the base of that mountain was a huge gate, its doors wide open to show the darkness within.
…. And standing not too far from that gate were two fallen heroes preparing for the final battle each would share with the other.
One was Illidan Stormrage, the former Nightelven demon hunter who had succumbed to otherworldly powers so that he could defeat his foes. His elf-like appearance was marred by a pair of massive horns curling out of his forehead, and he sported two massive bat-like wings. In each of his hands, he held a crescent blade with serrated edges, and a demonic figure at the handle. He wore a black bandana to cover his blind eyes.
His foe, King Arthas, stood just a few feet ahead of him. Arthas was not as tall as the demonic Nightelf, but had no less of a threatening appearance. With deathly white skin and hair and piercing green eyes, the undead warrior held a very menacing appearance, which was only augmented by his suit of skull-adorned armor and his weapon, Frostmourne.
The blade was very sharp and had a number of jagged edges near its base. At the crosspiece was a lich skull carving, with a pair of sharp horns, and eye sockets that were surrounded with an inner glow and icy mist.
The two warriors stood in their ready positions, both staring hard at each other with utmost hatred, determined to end the other’s life.
Arthas suddenly bolted forward, roaring as Frostmourne sliced down. The blade was stopped in mid-swing, Illidan having lifted his own weapon to deflect the assault. Their blades locked for a brief moment, and then the demon hunter pushed Arthas away, swinging both of his weapons at his foe, who managed to deflect the attacks with lightning-fast reflexes.
Illidan knocked Arthas’ sword out wide and attempted a swing at the king’s head. Arthas managed to lift his blade in time to block the attack, and then push it away and attempt to stab Illidan in the gut. The Nightelf dodged it and opened his wings, which caught on the wind, lifting him into the air away from Arthas.
The undead king glared after him, and then ran forward, gripping Frostmourne tightly in both hands, pulling back, and hurling it at Illidan, who was still airborne. The blade sang through the air, and struck its target.
Illidan fell to the ground, and Arthas walked up to him in triumph. The fallen Nightelf tried to rise, but was dead before long, his dark blood pooling out from the deep wound in his chest.
Arthas lifted his sword from the dead demon hunter, and looked up towards the gaping doors that led into the mountain. Leaving his latest victim’s corpse to freeze in the icy weather, the king stepped forward and moved through the gate.
He found himself in a massive cavern. All across the floor and ceiling were huge ice crystals. Looming over him at the very center of the chasm was a gigantic, icy spire, with a circular stairway around it leading to the top. In the middle of the ceiling was a hole, through which light streamed, falling upon the large ice crystal sitting atop the spire.
The Frozen Throne.
Arthas stared up at its glory only for a moment before beginning his ascent up the stairs. As he walked, voices of the past began echoing inside of his head. For the first time since he had been transformed into this monster, he thought back on all of those events that led him to this moment of victory. He heard the voices of those whom he had once loved, of those whom he had betrayed.
...If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, we will become as vile as the orcs...
...You are not my king yet, boy. Nor would I obey such a command even if you were!...
...Forget this business! Lead your men home!...
...This is an act of treason...
...You lied to your men, and betrayed the mercenaries who fought for you! What’s happening to you, Arthas? Is vengeance all that’s important to you now?...
...The young prince will only find death in the cold north...
Arthas realized that he felt a sudden wave of regret overwhelm him, and he wondered if Frostmourne truly had completely overtaken him, or if there was still some part of his old self still hidden beneath that cold shell.
But as he finally reached the top of the stairs and stood before the Frozen Throne, those voices, and the guilt, were washed away. Trapped within the massive ice crystal, he saw a ghostly figure that had a somewhat humanoid form, positioned as though sitting in a large chair. At the wraith’s head was a dark helmet with skeletal-like carvings etched into it, and a number of blades at the top, reaching up like a crown of death.
Take the blade, said the voice of Ner’zhul. Complete the circle. Release me from this prison!
Arthas gripped Frostmourne tightly in both hands and stepped forth, roaring as he swung the blade and struck the crystal. Immediately, there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening, otherworldly scream echoing throughout the whole cavern. The ice exploded, sending frozen shards flying in every direction. The ghostly image disappeared, and the helmet fell to the floor, sliding right down to Arthas’ feet.
He considered the deathly crown for a moment before bending down and lifting it up. Placing the helm over his head, Arthas rose back up, closing his eyes. The very instant the helmet touched his head, he felt another consciousness, one that was overwhelmingly powerful, enter his mind. For a moment, there was only silence. And then…
“Now”, spoke an incredibly powerful voice inside of his head. “We are one!”
Arthas opened his eyes, which were now like blue-glowing ice crystals filled with the coldness of death itself. The entire chasm began to quake, and chunks started falling from the ceiling. Before long, the entire mountain came crumbling down, and all that remained was the tall spire, and the Frozen Throne.
Arthas took his place in the massive, icy chair that had been formed from the crystal that had shattered. Holding Frostmourne in his hand, the Lord of the Undead Scourge sat and stared out at the vast, frozen expanse of Northrend, doomed to the dark existence that fate had long ago chosen for him…
