Destiny Corrupted

[LordNekroveir]

Greetings,

This is my first piece of fan fiction on these forums, and I do hope you enjoy it. I love to write, so don't expect something rushed; writing itself is an art, not just a hobby.

Anyways, let's get started with this story: Destiny Corrupted.


-Lord Nekroveir.

[LordNekroveir]

PROLOGUE

The cold and howling wind rattled the roof of the Lion's Pride Inn, shaking it so strongly that it was a wonder it was still intact. As it had been for the previous week, it was a merciless night; paired with the wind and the icy temperature, it was unforgiving to those who underestimated it.

That was why Goldshire was quiet, with it's inhabitants occupying the inn or their houses. Nobody wanted to risk the harsh weather outside, prefering to wait it out until the climate improved. But still, the conditions of the outside were still determined to be known, and coninuously attacked the architecture, as if attempting to demolish it and bring the people outside. And yet, even it's aggression could not bring down the protective buildings. The people were safe. For now.

The cloaked figure was battling the elements outside, hands tucked into pockets, cloak drawn close around him to keep him warm. And yet, it was impossible to ignore the cold touch of the night air, even with such precautions in place. To anybody looking from a window into the lonely street, it would have appeared odd for someone to be out in the current weather. Mad. However, the figure cared not for opinion: he had a job to do.

He headed for the Lion's Pride Inn, his face aching from the wind that pounded him with it's freezing invisible fists. The prospect of a warm, comfortable building to shake off the cold was a wonderful thought, which the figure looked forward to. And as the door got nearer as he walked towards it, an insatiable greed came over him; oh how he wanted a hot drink and a comfortable bed to get over his war with the wind. But disappointment filled his heart, too. He would not be relieved just yet.

Finally, he reached the door, and with numb fingers groped the door handle, wrenching it open, and stepping into the noisy inn. At once, the warm attacked the cold, heating up his body and face and hands. What a wonderful sensation, to be free from the burning cold that had so desperately tried to claim him, cause him so much discomfort. But once again, it had been thwarted by the heavenly warmth. It would have to do better next time.

The figure pulled down his hood and took off his cloak, hanging it up on a hook next to the doorway. Then, he blew into his hands, rubbing them together, to remove the sense of little feeling. The tavern's light illuminated his features more clearly now that he had removed the dark cloak in which he had been concealing himself. He was a tall, thin man with mousy hair and mesmerising blue eyes. The man was quite pale, not caused by the freezing temperatures outside; he looked like a vampire, and were it not for his perfect white teeth, it would have been a reasonable claim.

He was wearing long, emerald robes matched with a flowing green cape trailing behind. His feet were covered by brightly golden shoes, pointed at the front. The man looked just like a noble, but in any case, he obviously had good taste in attire.

He walked over to the bar, where a plump, red-haired man was cleaning empty beer-glasses. As the man approached, the innkeeper looked up, then put down the current glass and cloth, before resting his palms on the wooden counter, facing the latest customer.

"You been ou'side in tha' wevver mate?" asked the bartender, his accent rich with slang. The man detested a man who could not pronounce words properly, but hid his disgust by bearing a strained smile.

"Yes, I have," he replied, wringing his cold hands together, still trying to warm them.

"Ya braver than mos' men, then," said the bartender, taking in the man's well-off clothing. "So, wha' can I ge' ya, then?"

The green-robed man reached into a robe pocket, and drew out - with fumbling fingers - three gold coins. The bartender dropped his jaw, transfixed by the money; obviously, he had never been paid this well.

"The finest beer you can supply, in return for three coins," said the man, placing the coins onto the counter. The bartender looked at them for a few moments, then blinked quickly, shaking his head.

"No, mate," he insisted, pushing the coins away, "The fines' ale 'ere costs seven gol' coins."

The customer's smiled faultered slightly; his patience was thinning. "I am afraid I cannot give you that amount of money. You will accept the three gold coins in return for your finest ale possible, otherwise-"

"O'erwise what?"

The man leaned in and whispered in the bartender's ear. Slowly, the red-haired man's face drained of colour as the man explained in whisper, what would happen. Then, the bartender nodded nervously, took the coins and went to fill up a fresh glass with the finest ale in the Lion's Pride Inn. Satisfied, the green-robed man went to take the weight off his feet, choosing an unoccupied table and sitting down.

A few minutes later, the bartender came to the table holding a frothy-ale in a shaking hand.

"Thank you," said the green-robed man, taking the ale from the bartender, and shooing him away. The bartender complied at once, as pale as the man he had just served.

The beer was adequate, but not the best that the man had tasted. Still, that was what he had to expect from such a dingy, unhygienic place. And at least it was warm. The last of the night's cold air ebbed away as he drained the glass of it's frothy contents, before settling the empty container down on the wooden table, and wiping his mouth with a clean handkerchief.

Time ticked by as the man waited. He did not like being kept waiting by anyone. For their sake, they had better get a move on. And quickly, for the man's patience was slowly leaving him, like the cold from his body.

Just as the man began to lose faith and patience, there was a creak as the door of the inn opened and another cloaked figure stepped in, shivering from the cold. The figure took their cloak off, revealing a balding man with grey eyes, and wearing tatty, dirty clothes only a peasant would be proud of. The balding man's eyes scanned the inn, and when they fell on the green-robed noble, he instantly headed in that direction.

"You are very late," informed the green-robed man as the latest customer sat down opposite him. He looked quite nervous to be in his company.

"I know, sir, I'm sorry," he whimpered, rubbing his hands, which were grimy and unkept. How revolting, thought the noble, an expression of disgust upon his face.

"Well, there's no use grovelling about it is there? I want to know if you succeeded in retrieving what I wanted," stated the noble. The man opposite him shivered.

"With great difficulty, my lord," replied the balding peasant, reaching into one of his pockets, "I have what you wanted."

"Well, then, get it out. I am anxious to see it."

The balding man procured from his pocket, a small, shiny orb; smooth and yet cold to the touch. It was a bright blue, even more impressive than the noble's wide eyes, which were admiring the object like a pretty rose. He licked his thin lips.

"And were there any witnesses?" asked the noble, not taking his eyes off the orb.

"No, sir. It was just me in that place."

"Good," smiled the noble, and in a swift movement, stabbed the man in the throat with a previously concealed dagger. The man's eyes dilated as the blood gushed from his wound, his face of horror and agony. The noble snatched the bright orb from the dying man's clutches, and pocketed it, unseen by any of the other customers. They were drunk anyway. They wouldn't care even if they understood what they saw.

"I can't have any witnesses, my filthy friend," said the noble calmly, standing up from his seat and heading for the door, "I just hope your spirit has a bath."

And in a swish of his green robes, he was gone. The balding peasant slumped forward, his hands still to his wound. Nobody even bothered to check on him, to help him, even as a pool of blood gathered on the table. Nobody even made a move to catch his killer, who had vanished, his cloak still on the hook. But the customers of the Lion's Pride Inn did think they heard something outside.

Something similar to laughter, as cold and as deadly as the wind.

End of Prologue


Keep me feedback, your thoughts, and what you think should be done to improve, if anything. Chapter One should be up soon.

[Aegospotami]

So far, so good. You do a good job of describing things and setting the scene. The dialogue was solid, especially the effort you put in to describe how the innkeeper spoke, and the main character's reaction to his manner of speaking.

Suggestions: Edit it down. There were some places where the description was a little too much. Not because you spent too much time describing certain things, but because some of the descriptions didn't seem to advance the story. Overall, the punctuation and grammar in this story are much, much better than typical WoW fanfic (or any fan fiction). I saw at least one misused apostrophe, but we're not pro writers and we don't have editors, so I assume you know when to use apostrophes and it was just a slip-up.

Other than that, I'd like to see you get into the head of the main character a little more -- there's nothing wrong with having an omniscient narrator in a story, but at some points you (the writer) were lurking in the background, choosing which information to reveal instead of letting events reveal that information. I think the narrative would move along smoother in those cases by showing instead of telling.

Good luck with the next chapter.