Tales of Alegora: Prolouge"Right thrust! Left swing! Block! Parry! Squad Four, watch your flank!"Tales of Alegora: Prolouge by aldraw
These orders came out from Ethos with a calm but commanding voice. And that was as it should be, for Ethos was the leader of the Order of Renown. Those raw recruits that he was training in this courtyard were the front line against all threats to the security of Alegor. This mock three-on-three battle was crucial to the ability of these men to work in a group and as a team, and that could make all the difference in actual combat. Combat, Ethos hoped, that would never again come in his lifetime.
After an hour of practice, Ethos decided to retire his men for the day and dismissed them appropriately. His tenure as Overlord of Order had been relatively uneventful until now, consisting of little more than requests to handle petty bandits and solve minor border disputes. Neither Ethos, the Order, nor most of the people of Alegor could know just how quickly that would change.
The Origins of OminousThe cave was cold, dark, and had a sinister air about it that would scare away most souls. But then again, the hooded figure walking towards it was no ordinary soul. He had not come 20 miles from his homeland to this desolate place only to leave empty-handed, for he was a man with dark secrets and even darker ambitions.The Origins of Ominous by aldraw
As he descended into the cave, the hooded man, armed only with a torch to light his path and a map to find his way, recalled some of those secrets. Those cruel memories. Like how he saw both his parents murdered in a massacre ordered by an insane king. Or how he was forced to eke out a living on the streets while civil war raged on after the king's death. Or how he had barely escaped the borders of his homeland of Dearth when he murdered a prominent general and angered a faction of the civil war to steal the map to this cave.
His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he had reached his objective. The hooded man came to an enclosed space with a stone pillar i
Closure HourAuthor's Note: Both main characters are from Scotland and they are supposed to talk with an accent; in Sean's case I altered the normal spelling as an attempt to show is much thicker accentClosure Hour by Woodclaw
The clock over the counter of the “Hall of the Smoking Dragon” struck the two. It was an old, slightly rusty, clock, in tone with the general look of the pub. The tables were all new, but handmade from dark oak wood. The assortment of weapons on the walls looked like they were picked from some battlefield, but they were actually very good replicas. Only the roof was original, made of thick trunks that looked like they were in place since the middle ages, which was exactly what convinced Sean – the 30-ish co-owner, barman and general aide – to buy the place. A longtime fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, D&D and anything even remotely fantasy, opening a fantasy-themed pub had been his dream for a long time.
Looking around from behind the counter, Sean made a quic