Writer for hire.

#1 As the horde fell upon the pikemen, the ring of steel against steel shut out all other sounds, including the storm. Thunder and lightning fell slowly as time seemed itself to halt. Men fell frequently under an onslaught of creatures who seemed to not care they were dying more than ten apiece for each human. Wizards stood now a rank behind the pikemen and laid down magical lightnings and fires that tore through the second rank of the horde. The ranks simply closed as the horde kept coming. Again and again the wizards loosed their battle magics, slaughtering untold numbers of the enemy. And yet they kept coming.
It was in this cacophany that a new figure approached at the tree line. As the wizards stepped up to deliver another volley, his staff shot forward. Lines of midnight black magic, the likes of which seemed to devour the very light itself, shot through each of the robed figures in turn. They simply fell where they stood, the very life sucked straight out of them.
The horde renewed it's assault, and the lines of men and elves were quickly pushed back to the base of the mountain where a large set of stone steps waited. Each man fought the valian fight of a hero, and took many of the horde to the underworld before he too, simply overcome by numbers, fell. The horde now swept swiftly up the stairs until each human was gone. Those that had thought to jump down found the horde there too, and each was mercilessly slaughtered.
As they reached the top of the steps, there stood a single iron door, rust shone on its outsides, and carvings were gilded on every inch of it. The first wave of beasts reached out- and an explosion knocked them from the steps. Another wave approached, weapons drawn, then mysteriously just backed away as the dark figure glided up the steps.
When he had reached the top landing, he turned out to the horde and his hands rose in a triumphant gesture. "Feast my pets" he said, "the rest is for me to finish."
The door exploded in every direction as the beasts fell upon the bodies left around the mountain. Man, Elf, or beast did not matter to them as they sated their hunger.

The dark figure walked through the doorway, smug in the knowledge that he alone could handle whatever he should encounter inside. Sparks crackled, fire exploded, and at times the very air seemed to waver as the dark one walked through the hall. The magic inside would surely have roasted any normal person, oh but this was no single person at all.
After a short walk he found himself at a curiously wrought cage-like door that seemed to be made of human bones. He scoffed to himself as he pushed against it - but nothing happened. Furious, he brought severe magics to bear: Fire, Ice, Lightning, Stone & Darkness, but each one fizzled out upon touching the bones. He began to weave them together when a curiously small chuckling voice said, "You'll not be getting through that door, Zarius."
The dark robes swirled as his eyes sought the voice. "And just why not, you old fool?"
he jibed.
"Because, my once friend," the voice seemed sad now, "thirteen holy priests of Tressla willingly gave their lives to make it, and your darkness cannot harm it." a bent over frame of an old man hobbled on his staff towards the door and looked the dark one in the eye.
"The holiness of their sacrifice is insignificant to the one still to be made." he stated as he turned back to the room.
"Old fool, you cannot harm me! I am magic itself!" the dark one's voice seemed impossibly loud, and was punctuated with a thunder strike outside.
"That," the old one snapped his fingers, "is what we are counting on."
As he turned back, the dark figure got a true glimpse into the room. There were eight other robed figures, wizards all, in the room with the old one. They were each drawing on the ground with Wizards Sand, finely ground diamond dust so expensive it was said to be worth kingdoms. Four of the wizards were standing around an octagon, each at the four cardinal directions, drawing with their sand. A quick glance showed them to be drawing the Crezu, or true name, of each of the four elements. As the wizard for Fire finished, he pulled a ceremonial dagger from the pedestal that was center of the octagon. As he pulled the weapon across his wrist, he drew with his own blood a triangle, who had one base at the octagon, and the point just past the end of the Fire Crezu. As the last drop finished the traingle, an orange light came up from the Crezu and held his form aloft. He placed the knife back on the pedestal as his face took on a look of ecstacy. Each of the other three wizards followed suit with Water, Earth, and Air. Four bodies were now held aloft. Then the next four robed figures stepped up and began to draw with their own Wizards Sand. He noticed the Crezu for Necromancy, Divination, Evocation, and Illusion being drawn at the remaining four sides of the octagon.
A nagging feeling of impending doom began to creep forth in his mind as he watched them all draw their own triangles of blood, and magical forces come to hold them aloft.
As the old one drew the dagger across his own wrist, and walked in a circle encompassing the entire scene, the full import of this ritual blasted forth in his mind.
"No!" he cried, "You would give up everything magical in the entire world just to stop me?" Renewed with fear, something he had not felt in a very long time, the dark figure poured forth his wrath again, at the very mountain itself.
The old wizard just smiled as he finished the circle and began drawing the Crezu for Spirit on top of the pedestal. The air shimmered, the ground shook as the dark one continued to unleash his full fury on the mountain.
"Stop!" he cried again as he saw the old one finishing the Crezu. "I cannot die!"
The old one finished with his Wizard Sand and levitated to the to of the pedestal.
"I do not care if you die," he stated sadly, "only that you stop living." With his last sentence he drew the dagger across his other wrist and copied the Crezu with his own blood.
"NOOOOOOOO!" the dark one cried as he tried to run from the mountain.
As the last drop fell into place, the world turned white.

"Grandfather?" a child asked as the old man finished his story, "Is that really how it happened?" The old man nodded his affirmation.
"Then why...." the child never finished the sentence as a white tidal wave rushed through the village, where in the midst of the well they were gathered. The wave rushed over each and every thing in it's path, but harmed nothing. Everyone stood after it had passed, some children were screaming for their mothers, others were simply bewildered.
The old man turned, and there, in the middle of the village, was a body.

#2 I am available for free if I like your idea, or free if you'd like to work on my world.
a fully fleshed DnD, PnP world I am trying on my own (very slowly) to put into Torque.

If you are interested, check out my company profile. (Kage Games)


PS sorry the post cant contain the Word formatting.

#3 Hi , im interested in your services.
I like the story you wrote and i would like to talk to you on msn or via email if possible (i prefer MSN)
my address is mervinkoops AT hotmail DOT com



Mervin.