The Forgotten Places of Duelyst Project is something I wanted to make in tribute to both The Lost Cities by Cold in Gardez and the (woefully under explored) lore for Duelyst.
As this would be my first (serious) venture into fan fiction lore writing, iāll be working to try and keep to a 13 day upload schedule.
Since this is a personal project, all that I write here would be considered non-canonical unless otherwise recognized by cpg.
With that said, let me introduce you to the first installment of this series!:
The Watchtower of the Kingdom of Oras
Summary
Hidden by the dunes of Akram lies a lone watchtower.
The tower itself is unimpressive. Itās walls are short and squat, sanded to perfection by the raging desert sands. The only window is closed shielding the innards of the tower from the harsh weather outside. The outside is unimpressive, the inside is not.
The inside of the tower is made up of 3 stories, each are impossibly huge.
The first is what seems to be a storage. Golden coins, engraved with the likeness of kings and queens lie in heaps large enough to drown a man. Chests filled to the brim with ancient artifacts and other items of immense value float amongst the treasure and lush banners emblazoned with royal insignias are hung here. Everything here is immaculate for no living thing has entered here for eons. It will stay this way for eons more.
The second floor is a library of sorts. The walls are lined with shelves, each holding an untold amount of scrolls. Their seals are still intact.
In the middle of the floor is a wide table upon which a map is laid out. The map details a single, unbroken continent in which a single country rules over. Within that country are dozens upon dozens of cities each capable of holding millions of inhabitants. A complex road system links each city together and a multitude of towers are stationed over the roads. This tower is but one of them. And in the center of the land is a city whose size dwarfs any other. Itās name is Oras. It no longer exists.
The third floor is more secluded than the others. Itās door lies open, the key still in the lock. A massive telescope lies in the middle of the room, the opening exposing it to the sky is closed alongside the window. Papers are scattered on the floor besides it, each filled with hastily written calculations. The papers in turn are scattered in a trail that leads to a wall, a wall on which a star alignment and seed is carved. On the floor underneath lies a skeleton, one hand clutches itās chest while the other reaches for the door.
It never reached it.
St.Marks Orphanage
Summary
Windcliffe, the city that roars against the sky.
Amidst itās sprawling metropolis, hidden in the shadows of other buildings, lies an old, abandoned orphanage. The building is small, with only two windows and one floor. It could not have held more than a dozen children at a time. Nevertheless, it seems to have fared well throughout the ages. The windows are still clear and itās door is only slightly rusted. The walls even hold a few faded drawings, most likely made by the children that lived there. One of them depicts three figures, a man whose features are obscured by a massive beard and a nun who in turn holds a young boy in front of her. The young boy has orange hair.
Three rooms make up the interior of the orphanage.
The kitchen, small and cramped is nevertheless neatly organized. The drawers are closed, the pantry shut tight against any hungry hands, and the pots lie far from the edge. The dining table is small, but sturdy and itās underside is filled with carvings of stocky knights, stick skirmishes and other silly sketches. The chairs are worn, but have endured with the help of numerous patches. The stove also shows some wear and a dent, aligned perfectly with the pantry, exists as the perfect warning against hungry children. The kitchen, with itās neat dishes and stove and set dining table, lies ready to serve a host of hungry mouths. A thin layer of dust sits on the top of the table.
The bathroom is simple. It is furnished with a simple sink and toilet. Both have fully functional plumbing, a luxury in the slums of Windcliffe. The sink is simple, itās inner rim lined with cups each holding a different toothbrush. One, older and in disrepair, is engraved with a lion.
The third room is lined with beds. Eleven of them are made up. Underneath eleven beds is a mish mash of personal items. A book on making friends, a few rolls of bandages, a picture of long lost family, whatever the children couldnāt take with them. The twelfth bed sits by a window, one of the two seen from outside. From the window, one can see through an alleyway, out into the streets. And even further than that, one can see the high towers of the windcliffe nobility and the roaring cliffs they sit upon. It is a beautiful sight, one that someone could appreciate from the bed.
This place was once filled with laughter. That laughter is long gone, replaced by the muffled noise of the street and the grinding of the Ironcliffe Guardians that patrol them.
Sorry folks, Iām hunkered down with a bit of a cold and the next installment will have to be delayed a bit. Iāll try to have something by Christmas though so look forward to that.
Enjoy the Holidays and stay well!
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Dear God, my head still hurts
Update 1/24/2018: Finally feeling better, been stuck on this one story though (go figure, the one faction I suck at piloting is the one whose story gets me stuck). But Iāll be working on it so huzzah for that!
