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Fall of the Last Citadel [N3]

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Nov 16, 2009 | 12:53 AM EST
File Info
6.9 MB
3 min 2 sec
4.11 / 5.00

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Please contact me if you would like to use this in a project. We can discuss the details.

Rated 4.11 / 5 stars
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1,863 Plays | 85 Downloads
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Easy Listening - Classical

Author Comments

After many hours of hard work, I present to you a story. I will not tell you the story aloud, no- this is a story for you to create of your own.

(Whoever writes me the best story in a review will get a free artwork or musical submission from me!)

Please, listen, rate, and review- in that order. I love critique!



Rated 4.5 / 5 stars

Run my princess.

In a dark tower perched upon shadowing cliffs of interlocking, impassable stone. A helpless princess cries out to her seldom prince who will rescue and sweep her off her feet, taking her far away from the chilled, bony clutches of the dark menace, Lur'thut.

The cold stung the air as horse hoofs bellowed down an old cobble path. The horse wheezed deeply and mist rose from its nostrils. A varied selection of grappling hooks, crossbows, swords and daggers of shining brilliance jangled about the satchels on either side of the horse's saddle

A shield lay strapped upon the back of a fearless combatant, decorated with an array of fleeting dragons and golden leaf motif, A man in full confidence, wearing his mighty suit of polished iron and feathered helmet covering a stern face, gazing deeply into the fog looming over the tower.

No time must be wasted, he thought as he flung him self off of his horse, crouching at the base of the perilous mountain, which seated the mighty tower. He brushed his hand firmly across the horse to calm its creeping nervousness, in the eerie, dank mists. He pushed his hand deep into the satchel and retrieved a series of daggers, a well balanced sword that shone in the cowering moonlight of the skies, a grappling hook attached to a good thirty feet of rope and a crossbow.

He packed it all away in a series of leather straps and climbed the jagged cliffs with all his determination, ascending to his final confrontation with, Lur'thut, dark lord of mists. Hefty spikes attached to the souls of his boots allowed him to scale quite a height, until he had reached an unreachable overhang of rocks. He hugged the stone that smelt of tin and damp moss and readied his crossbow. An explosive trigger rocketed the claw skywards into the thick mists latching onto something solid. He climbed in short jerks, like a snake for a brief moment until a sudden, yet rather incredibly strong force yanked the rope up through the mists and flung the man up and over the overhang. He gripped firm and clinched his teeth has he was suddenly brought down on solid ground.

A troll with monolithic arms and a chiselled body built like a train stood before the hunched man, snarling like a ferocious animal. It's arms hung over the man, readying to pulverise his brittle bones. He dived and rolled out of the way as the arms plundered through the bricked ground, quaking the area about, toppling statues and garden pots. A slither of metal drew from its sheath; a stance was erected and perched for combat. The troll flew around and leaked slobber from its disgusting teeth unto the ground. A flurry of daggers met its right cheek, forcing it to clutch in agony. Now was the time to strike. A thick and vicious slice met the trolls throat in a frenzied dash. The man leapt upon the beast's back and wrapped his legs around its head, then drove his sword through the back of its head. It clumsily tried to clutch its wounds as it dropped and crashed over a ceramic garden pot.

The man leapt up and dashed forth. A cackle echoed into the polished halls of golden flooring with a mirror like reflection, giving audience to cold white marble pillars as the man burst through the doors.
'The princess is mine fool. She shall never be yours, as long as I live' Lur'thut bellowed. The voice was close, yet it was untraceable.

He readied his blood caked sword and wearily crept along the dimly lit halls of crimson candles. A snort of snot erupted from behind the hero. He pivoted around and crouched with amazing reflexes, yet it was not enough. Lur'thut tried for a cleaving blow with his lance, but narrowly missed, slicing a thin strain of flesh from his victims arm, ripping through the armour. He collapsed to the sullied tiles. Lur'thut cackled and snorted as he approached. His hideous pig like features was insulting to the man's teary eyes. A grim smile rippled across Lur'thut's fat lips. He stabbed his lance through the air, yet missed and sparked across the tiles. He fell upon the sword, killing him grimly. He then ran up the stairs to his fair maiden. Safe now.


Rated 5 / 5 stars

A beautiful place destroyed.

For many years, a small town lived in harmony with itself, and just to live was enough for them. They knew nothing of suffering, hate, or war. They just lived about their peaceful lives, unheard by the rest of the world.

Then one day, people started moving into the town. Strange people, never like these happy townsfolk had ever seen. They moved right on through, silently, as the happy townsfolk watched in wonder at who they were.

Dressed in black and covered from head to toe, holding guns and other weapons, these strange people headed right for the mountain in the middle of the town.

When the awful strange people arrived at the mountain, they stared in awe at the riches before them. Gold and silver covered the ground in abundance.
They let greed come to them, and started stealing from this mountain.

The townspeople were not pleased, and began to rebel, but were massacred, knocked down, beaten and taken prisoner by these strange people. No longer were these happy people happy. They became very angry, and soon the usually sunny weather became dark, hostile, and downright unforgiving. Fighting it, the strange people continued to mine the mountain. They cared more for precious metals than their own safety.

Then a cry like none ever heard rang through the ears of the strange people. The spirit of the mountain had been disturbed. Demons flew throughout the town, spreading fire and death over the strange people. The entire town became engulfed in flames, and burned so brightly that it could have been seen from space.

No longer was there any beauty in the world. It had all been destroyed, and all for pointless greed.

Sorry, man, that's all I got. I tried to be as dark as the musical piece, but I guess I failed. Oh well.


Rated 5 / 5 stars

my best shot

as the preist look out from the parpit, he watched the masses of infidels invade his home land. knowing he would be called on to fight he took from it's resting place his fathers sword which had been use to defend this citadel a generation before.

returning to the pulpit with his family blade he waited and watched as the destruction washed over the city.

he was there to open the doors as the survivors started to flood in.

at long last the last survivor arrived and preporations could be made.

the horde took their time destroying the city and were slow to approch the citadel. the preist had choosen the best archers of the survivors to stand as sentrys, so when the shout came that the heathons had arrived, he was at peace with himself. charging at the head of this ragtag bunch of survivors his thoughts were of his family that awaited him.

what happens after this is in the history books.
the survivors were no match for the invaders and were all slain, but, not befor inflicting a large number of casualties on the invaders.

it is said that the preist still watches over the land where the last citadel once stood.


Rated 5 / 5 stars

A short story I hope sci fi is okay...

The sky was a mix of blues, reds and greens as the battle raged over the small oceanic world of selena VII. Citadel station, the pride of the Selii was under attack, under attack by one of their many enemies. The arrogant and decadent people of the many arcapellagos had too many said enemies to name effectively. The commander of the station sat in his chair, confident in his assured victory, the many screens and lights highlighting their fighter squadrons had shown that the selii had good cause for their arrogance, the 'primitive' as they called it, fighter attack was ebbing.

"Damage and casualty report."

The tall man boomed, his arrogance cutting the air like thick smog.

"The armor is holding sir, minor damage on the port construction array... Squadron three is returning for repairs and... that's it, another primate raid beaten off admiral."

The man smiled wider as the young sensor operator mentioned that last bit, another kill on his tally, another reason that he should be called 'governor pailus' instead of plain 'admiral'. The next few moments dispelled the older man's happiness however.

"Sir... Sensors are reading... They're strange as though... Well... I'm... Wait a minute. Sir. Squadron two isn't responding... now squadron six is... It's vanished."

The reason for these words was slowly making itself visible. The station bore witness to eighteen shimmering shapes appearing out of the either. The admiral stood up, only to be shaken by a massive blue light appearing from the center of the ring of shapes. The calm blue lights of the station were slowly turning yellow. It was so clear to him now what had just happened, the primitive 'fighter picket' sacrificed themselves so that this collective of hidden vessels could line up in formation and finally bring about the end of so many years of arrogance. The ring of vessels adjusted itself as a massive bolt of energy formed in the center of the formation, adjusting it's fire to cut off the head of the snake before it could arm it's own massive guns. All admiral pailus could do was clench his fist and curse himself for what brought him so far on selena, his arrogance. The selii cheered as they saw the massive blue light that followed, not even realizing until they saw eighteen shapes decend upon the planet that their citadel and in turn the focal point of the shield generators that kept them so safe was gone. So began the time of woe...


Rated 5 / 5 stars

This is what I imagine...

As the Empire watches their city burn to the ground, they prepare for the imminent attack on their last Citadel. As archers and heavily armored soldiers take their positions, they begin to see the army walk through the burning remains of the city, marching towards the Citadel. Their armor stained with crimson and glowing from the embers, they draw their swords, all bathed in blood. The men of God pray to the soldiers as their lives are nothing more than a coin in the air, Fate deciding their victory or defeat. The Empire's General orders the archers to fire, but their fear causes their minds to be flushed in chaos. They try to barricade the gate, but the army's Battering Ram breaks the gate, the army rushes through the Citadel like a Tsunami. As blood begins to flood the shattered ground, the Empire's General orders the soldiers to attack. Fearful but determined, they rush the army, only to be swallowed by the army. The General fights for his life as his brothers and sisters fall to the taste of cold steel, he begins to feel Death's Embrace slowly wrap around him. He slits the throat of an enemy, he feels a sharp pain rip through his heart, crimson pouring down his torso. As he falls to his knees, he sees the main building crumble to the ground, the screams of the innocent piercing his dwindling mind. The moments as his knees crash to the ground are of regret that his soldiers did not prepare for this...demon-like army. A foot step shatters his thoughts, the General looks up to see the enemy's general, identified by the intimidating armor, it wore. For what felt like an eternity, they locked eyes. The enemy whispered something that sounded like "I'm sorry, my brother". As the enemy swings it's blood-stained sword, the General felt, heard, and thought nothing more...

Love the song, by the way ^-^

N3XUZ responds:

You created an account just to enter? That's hardcore. I'll let you know if you've won once I have more entries. ^__^