Fan-fiction :)

[MasterOfNone]

Want to write a story based in the world of the Dominion of Men? Want to use this thread to pressure Count into having a go?

Well, here's your chance. I'll start it off - feel free to add your own next part of the story (or suggest improvements/corrections)!


The hills staggered down from the city, stands of beeches and tall grasses filling their clefts and rises, before they evened out to form the wild beauty of Ithilien with its rich woodland, verdant clearings and colourful gardens. Faelan could smell the flowers even from up here on the walls. And if he listened carefully, filtering out the noise of the streets and markets behind him, he could hear the Anduin on its journey southward toward the Ethir. Emyn Arnen. The jewel of Ithilien.

It was hard to believe it was now occupied by the enemy. The rebel kingdom that had dared to challenge the legitimacy of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor. The kingdom that had seized his father's lands and forced his family to flee over the Great River. The kingdom that had shamed him.

His father had been counted among the rangers of Ithilien. Faelan had been so proud of that. He remembered how his father would take him out into the wilderness and teach him how to track, how to hunt, how to survive for weeks on end with little more than a bow and knife. His father, robbed of his own land, now employed his skills as a simple scout attached to the army of Minas Anor. Faelan had decided on another course. One that still required stealth, survival and a skill with a knife and bow. He had come to Emyn Arnen to exercise those skills. He had come to Emyn Arnen to kill.

[CountMRVHS]

Great start! I'm not sure whether I'd want to continue this scene or treat it as a self-contained mini-prologue, if you know what I mean. It has a really nice ending. Needs some thought. But maybe someone else has an idea for how to proceed?

[Basileos Predator]

Ok, I'll have a go on a short continuation:

All throughout the streets of Minas Tirith people roamed about in all directions. In preparation for the war, King Cemendur Telcontar had issued orders for mobilisation in all corners of the southern kingdom, and now, Faelon, from his post atop the outer gate of Minas Tirith, saw columns of fully armed men approaching, Swan Knights of Dol Amroth, Axemen of Lossarnach, Bowmen of the Blakroot Vale, and many a manner of King's men formed in countless of battalions of various armament, both on foot and on horse, all coming to the city, to follow their king in battle against the rebellious Kingdom of Adunabar.

But there was no joy in this war, for it will be fought against brothers and kinsmen, and dark creatures bound to the Shadow Cult, for the hearts of men are weak, and easily corrupted, and Herumor the Black has managed to corrupt them and broke the royal house, corrupting even the brother of Cemendur.

But there can be no weakness in the leadership, so Cemendur shall marshal all available forces and cross the Anduin, and free all he lands that were once of his kingdom, and punish all those of the Shadow Cult who oppose him, and bring unity to the Reunited Kingdom, for dark forces come from the east and the south once more, and the mountains are teaming with orcs, and great wars are bound for Middle Earth until peace will come forth again, and Men and Elves and Dwarfs will be in safety and prosperity once more.

[The Angry Greek]

I dont want to interrupt the narrative, but a few weeks ago I wrote a draft for a story in the Fourth Age that was heavily inspired by the development for DOM, and by rereading Robert E. Howard.

I began with this intro, as narrated by a scribe of Minas Anor:

"Know o wanderer that in the Fourth Age of Men, in between the time that the dark citadel of Bara-dur crumbled to dust, and the Dark Lord vanquished forever , and before the rise of the New Shadow, that there was a time undreamed of. Of when beneath the dark sapphire skies of Arda, jeweled kingdoms and cities lay spread across the earth…

Dorwinion, the wine rich kingdom by the lake, gleaming and rich Dale beneath the shadow of the Mountain, proud Rhovanion, the emerald vale of Anduin.

Vast and open Rhun, where barbarism proposed and hordes emerged in swift wains, Khand, whose riders wore silk beneath their dark steel, and gleaming like a brazen serpent, Harad, where the very stars were strange.

Know of Rohan, the domain of the house of Eorl, where the horselords reigned supreme on green plains. Of Dunland, whose people raged like dispossessed wolves in the winter wind, and to the north the lands of Tharbad, where gold gleamed under twin marble bridges.

Of Eriador, where home and hearth were of highest wealth, and where innocence still dwelled. Of the Greenwood, where in their wooden halls beneath the stars, the last of the Eldar sang. Of Erebor, and the forges and wealth of the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.

But greatest of all … was the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and of Arnor, shining and reigning supreme in the dreaming west of the Earth. By Lake Evendim, the ancient and once deserted, but now gleaming and proud like a silver pearl: Annuminas of the North. In the south, marble spires and oaken gates, lore old and new, and colossal towers that dotted the sky. Such was the beauty of Minas Anor. And great was the pride and wisdom of the mortal sons of Numenor.

Now, it is I who alone can tell thee of their fall.

For when peace and prosperity came to man…the shadow within took root. And soon son would kill father, and brother murder brother, and the shadow within man would envelop the land.

Let me tell you of the days of the Dominion of Men."

[CountMRVHS]

Nice! Very Howard-esque indeed.

I've developed a real appreciation for Howard since I started actually reading his stuff a couple years back. Very evocative and atmospheric.

[Aradan]

That was very good!

[Feanaro Curufinwe]

A bit of a parody. What? You thought that after all that serious and awesome stuff there wasn't room for my low quality writing? You thought wrong!

Scene opens to Aldarion the Sickly alone in a dark room.

ALDARION: I was born a hundred and eighty years ago. For eighty years I've ruled as High King of the Reunited Kingdom, but for all these years, I've never been the ruler of my own dreams.

Tense music starts playing. The camera sweeps down through clouds.

ALDARION: Behold! In darkness, a doom sweeps the land. This is the 27th of Hriwë, of the year 228 of the Fourth Age of the Sun. These are the last days of my time, and the final hours of my reign.

The camera finally shows Annúminas, and the Fourth Age theme starts playing.

Sweeping views of the city, and in stylized letters:

Fourth Age: Total War- The Dominion of Men

[CountMRVHS]

Heh! I guess Adunabar's daedric units will no longer be a surprise...

[MasterOfNone]

You have my ear, Citizen.

(overheard after a nasty fight between Biter the Wood Elf and an unfortunate Imperial Guard)

[MasterOfNone]

Is this the bit where I post my rewrite of the prologue to The Hobbit (movie)? Yup, I write parody too



The Hoppit: An Interrupted Journey

Prologue

You asked me once if I had told you everything there was to know about my misadventures. And while I can say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it. Then again, maybe I have. To be honest, I really can’t remember; I am old now, Dodo. Forgetful. Perhaps slightly demented. In any case, I’m not the same hoppit I once was. I think it is time for you to know what really happened…

It began long ago, in a galaxy – er – I mean a land far away to the East, the like of which you’ll not find in the world today. There was the city of Dave. Its markets known far and wide, full of the bounties of chocolates and toys, peaceful and prosperous; for this city lay before the doors of the greatest kingdom in Middle-earth: Haribo, stronghold of Fraught, King under the Mountain, mightiest of the Gnome-lords. Fraught ruled in utter surety, never doubting his House would endure – it was, after all, made of rock candy and a significant improvement over the gingerbread House built by his father. His line, and the future of his confectionery empire, lay secure in the lives of his son and grandson.

Ah, Dodo. Haribo: built deep within the mountain itself, the beauty of this fortress-city was legendary. Its wealth lay in its confectionery; in precious midget gems, its sticks of rock, and in great golden honeycombs, and chocolate running like rivers through the stone.

The skill of the Gnomes was unequalled, fashioning delights of great beauty out of marzipan, chocolate, fudge, cinnamon, honey and toffee. Ever they created better and yet better products. And that is how they made it: The Heart of the Mountain. The Arkenegg. A great solid egg formed from the very finest quality chocolate. Fraught took it as a sign, a sign that his right to rule was divine (for the chocolate certainly tasted so). All would pay homage to him, even the great Alpen king, Fentanyl.

But the years of peace and sugary snacks were not to last. Slowly the days turned sour (much like the milk lollipops), and the watchful nights closed in. Fraught's love of sweets had grown too fierce and he had no teeth left to broker a deal with the tooth fairies. A sickness had begun to grow within him. It was a sickness of the mind (and, to be honest, also the belly); and where sickness thrives, bad things will follow.

The first they heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind, and the candy canes swung and melted…

“Bailing, sound the alarm. Call out the guard. Do it now!” cried Foreign.

“What is it?” asked Bailing as he stared out from the lofty battlements of Haribo.

“A thieving dragon with a sweet tooth,” replied Foreign, pulling him within the safety of the inner wall just as a huge belch smelling of rotting teeth and gums enveloped the battlements. Foreign turned to overlook the great hall and shouted in warning, “Dragon!”

It was a Smoke-drake from the North. Smog had come.

Such wanton death was dealt that day, for this city of Men was nothing to Smog. His eye was set on another prize, for dragons covet chocolate and all sweet things with a dark and fierce desire.

Haribo was lost, for a dragon will guard his confectionery long past the expiry date.

Even Fentanyl would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Alpans that day, nor any day since. Robbed of their homeland, the Gnomes of Haribo wandered the gardens of Men (especially those with ponds and rockeries); a once mighty people brought low. The young Gnome prince took work where he could find it, making confectionery and selling it in the villages of Men, but always he remembered the smell of the dragon’s belch beneath the moon, and the myriad scattered aniseed balls, for he had seen dragon smog and a city broken to pieces as if it were honeycomb (though, to be fair, part of it was). And he never forgave, and he never forgot. But most of all he never lost his taste for a good gobstopper.

That, my dear Dodo, is where I come in. For quite by chance and the will of a sherbet wizard, fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began... Well, it began as you might expect.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hoppit. Not a comfortable, dry hole full of the latest furnishings and thick plush carpets. This was a hoppit hole, and that means slime, smell and a good deal of dry rot…did I ever tell you about the time I got trench foot...?

[Basileos Predator]

Yeah, that's the proper story; I guess the editors miss-wrote the other one in stead of this one, and spoiled everything .

[MasterOfNone]

Too right, Basileos.


Some good writing there, Angry Greek. Good use of words and description. It's highly poetic though, so best limited to an intro / prologue (as I believe it is).