Tale of Luminar

[Sigurd]

Prolouge

Welcome, to whoever may read this. My name is Moifey Grubalie Dale, fifthteenth Chancellor of Luminar. This article is of my Sire, Sigurd, who wrestled the Tyranny of Terra Empire and reconquered Luminar. Talking about sires, I have become one myself. My wife has given birth to a boy. His name is Sigurd Bladden Dale. After his two grandfathers, my father Sigurd, and my wife's, Bladden. But as I was saying, let's get this story started.



Chapter One
On the Western coast of Luminar, lay a city. The city was surrounded by a heavy oak wood wall. There were no ramparts, just walls. Inside the walls were many hills, where houses rest. On the flat ground, there were much more luxorius buildings, such as hotels. Talking about hotels, to the far west of the city, which name was Comtorian, was the Grand Perr'e Hotel. It was a large, twenty story building, made of ancient dry pine wood. On the eighteenth story is where our story begins.

General Caimtarpy Rethanlound was in luxury. In the ending of the Terra-Luminar War, he had easily conquered many of the western coast cities. These acts had easily promoted him from Liuetenant to General. But that was long ago. When Luminar had been led by the royal family, the Heruna. But all of the Heruna family had been killed in the battle of Fort Quintec. Caimtarpy shuddered at the memory of the battle. He was one of the few survivors.

Caimtarpy was a pine marten. His fur was light brown, with golden rings around his hazel eyes. He wore a short green tunic. A blue scarf wrapped around his head in a turban. His green waistsash was loosely strapped. A long curved brass sword lay in the waistsash, just itching to be used.

"Marta!", he barked, waving his right paw. An old gray vixen hobbled up. Bowing, she barked in her raspy voice, "Yes, General?"
"What is my future looking like?"
The old vixen was a well-renown seer in Terra, so it wasn't strange that a general would be asking her about his future. The old vixen stooped down. Dropping her cane on the floor, her paws went to her pouch. Grabbing a small and twig, she hobbled to a chair nearby. Suddenly, the twig burst into flames. Holding to the bone over it, she watched as it turned black. Suddenly, it exploded. Bone shards flew across the room. The marten jumped back, as a black piece of charred bone dug in his left leg. Pulling it out, the General examined it. The black bone crumpled in his paw, leaving a gold ball, not even a centimeter large. "What the hell is this?", he barked at the vixen.
"It speaks your future...", Marta rasped. "Last of Heruna will rise. Blue turns to gold. Death to turns life. Common turns to rare. The true ruler of the Isle will be left standing. He will claim his title as Prince." The old vixen had no sooner finished, before her head hung low, unconsius.
"Hmmm, Prince...", The General murmered.


Chapter Two
To the east of the city, on a large hill, was a Forge. Only three beasts lived there. Well, truly two. Grubalie Dale Furtie, the housekeeper, Sigurd Hector Dale, the blacksmith and adopted son of Grubalie, and Rowan, the beggar stoat who lived outside the forge. Grubalie was not a true Dale. He took the name so that Sigurd wouldn't have felt so, out of place, during his childhood.

The same time that Caimtarpy and Marta were discussing the future, Sigurd was forging a new blade. Sigurd wasn't the tallest fox, but not too short. The blacksmith's fur seemed to radiate from the forge heat, seeing how it was gold-red. The blacksmith was only nineteen, born a year after the Luminar-Terra War. The golden fox bore a black smock forge, covered with slivers of spare metal.

Chink! Chink! The hammer pounded. The blade was done. Grabbing a forge mitt, he picked up the blade. It was shorter than most blades, but much more heavy. Sigurd felt the heat burn into the mitt and onto his paw. The Blacksmith immiedatley tossed the burning blade into a bucket of water. Steam hissed as it sunk to the bottom. The Blacksmith pulled off his forge mitt, and tossed it aside. Walking over to the other side of the room, he opened a draw. In it were several handles, made of iron and wrapped in soft leather. Finally finding a heavy, single handed sword handle. "Perfect...", he muttered, and with it in his paw, he strode back to the bucket of hissing water. Using a metal rod with a short of claw at the end, he plucked the heavy blade out of the water. Then the Blacksmith carefully went to work, fastening the blade to the handle.

An hour had past, and Sigurd had finally finished fitting the blade into the handle. Suddenly the forge door flew open. A plump fox limped in, "Sigurd, my boy!", Grubalie, who was the fox, called out cheerily. The Blacksmith fox's head perked up, "Mind heading to the market, and buying up some grub, my boy?", Grubalie finished. Sigurd nodded, groggily. Slowly removing his forge smock, it revealed a musty brown tunic. The fox walked into through the forge door into the house. Grabbing a pouch of gold coins, and coat and walked out the front door.

Sigurd had never removed his boots from the forge. They now pounded in the mud, heading to the market. The market was a large complex, filled with many vendor carts. The Grand Perr'e Hotel overlooked it. As Sigurd marched into the market, a loud horn blew. Raising his head, the fox saw Caimtarpy overlook them on a balcony on the hotel. Behind him, was the trumpeter and Marta. The trumpeter bore chainmail armor, while Marta bore her regular wear. Caimtarpy bore a golden silk robe, with a silver turban.

"Hello, good people of Comtorian! I have heard the future from my good seer, Marta!"

A loud groan followed from the marketplace.

"She tells of the future, where a Prince of gold rises! And that Prince will be me! Gold wear shall be banned, and anyone who has gold in their fur shall be imprisoned and killed! If you harbor a 'golden one', you will sentenced to prison camps! If you hand in a 'golden one', you will be justly rewarded!"

Sigurd gasped. His fur was golden-red. The fox sprinted back to the forge at full speed, avoiding any crowds. Why must that damn marten ruin everything? Now he was hiding for his life.

The Blacksmith was back at the forge-house. Lying against the wall was the beggar, Rowan. Rowan looked as though he hadn't shaved in years. His beard and mustache and were long and ungroomed. He wore a raggedy gray cloak. Rowan was a large stoat. It was weird, seeing how he only hung outside Sigurd and Grubalie's home. Rowan's brown eyes picked Sigurd out easily. "Boy, what yah runnin' 'ome fa'h?", he called in gruff voice. Sigurd darted past him, and into the building. "Grubalie!", he called out, but no answer. The young Blacksmioth searchec the house, top to bottom, but with no luck. He had found signs of a struggle.

They were already here. They had taken Grubalie. They would most likely come back for him. Sigurd ran into the forge and grabbed the heavy sword he had completed earlier. Now he needed some armor and a cloak and-

Knock, knock. They were here! Sigurd tip-toed to the door, sword in hand. He sprang open the door and stabbed the sword. A strong paw deflectec it. "What yah doing that for, Sigurd?", the voice was Rowan's.

[Ashstripe]

Chapter One
General Caimtarpy Rethanlound was in luxury. In the ending of the Terra-Luminar War, he had easily conquered many of the western coast cities. These acts had easily promoted him from

Liutenant Lieutenant

to General. <------ That's a huge leap, your skipping around six or so ranks there. It's unrealistic and a tad bit over-powered.

But that was long ago. When Luminar had been led by the royal family, the Heruna. But all of the Heruna family had been killed in the battle of Fort Quintec. Caimtarpy shuddered at the memory of the battle. He was one of the few survivors.

Caimtarpy was a pine marten. His fur was light brown, with golden rings around his hazel eyes. He wore a short green tunic. A blue scarf wrapped around his head in a turban. His green waistsash was loosely strapped. A long curved brass sword lay in the waistsash <---(Try something like loop, instead of repeating yourself.), just itching to be used. <-----Good.

"Marta!", he barked, waving his right paw. An old gray vixen hobbled up. Bowing, she barked in her raspy voice, "Yes, General?"
"What is my future looking like?"
The old vixen was a well-renown seer in Terra, so it wasn't strange that a General would be asking her about his future. The old vixen stooped down. Dropping her cane on the floor, her paws went to her pouch. Grabbing a small and twig, she hobbled to a chair nearby. Suddenly, the twig burst into flames. Holding to the bone over it, she watched as it turned black. Suddenly, it exploded.



Overall, a bit short and doesn't quite flow as well as it could, you haven't really given much indication of the character's personalities, but that could be attributed to length more than anything.

[Sigurd]

Prolouge:

To whom this may concern, I am recording a tale of one of our nation's most treasured heroes. He started from humble beginnings, a forge-hand. He rose to power in the late era of the Terra-Occupation. He formed a small army which only grew larger, freeing the island on Luminar in twelve years. Of his supporters, many have gone down in history as famous heroes, and heroines, as well, such as Erken 'Cateyes' Rowantree, the good Major Q. Foertee, Bagdone, and many others. The tale of Sigurd takes place in the city of Comtorian, a Western Coast city.

Comtorian was well known for its solid oak walls, which stood thirty-two feet high, and two feet thick. Inside the walls, was a community of more than three hundred homesteads. After the Heruna family fell in the Luminar-Terra war, a hotel was developed as a way to house foreigners, especially soldiers. The hotel carried twenty-seven stories, the seventeenth of which carried a Brigadier Caimtarpy Rethanlound. The Brigadier served as the Coast-town's governor for more than ten years. A hard ten years for the working class.