Novels?

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Novels?

#1 Post by Neptune » Sat Jan 13, 2018 2:34 am

I dint know if this should be in the comic discussion board, or not a post at all, but I'd like to know if the comic might have a novel set in an alternate scenario, or something like that.

Not fanfiction, though. An actual, Tom-endorsed novel.
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Re: Novels?

#2 Post by Dadrobit » Sat Jan 13, 2018 7:32 am

Actually, believe it or not, yes.

13-14 years ago on the old boards Tom used to post on his written works about Twokinds. Book one was a prologue to the comic and was never posted afaik. Book two is the comic of Twokinds itself. And book three was actually an alternate universe version of Twokinds set a few years later where things turned out very differently from the current canon, (like having Flora being the leader of a resistance group against a Trace led Templar different). But nothing more than 3 or 4 chapters and an illustration or two of that was ever posted.

Flora in book three below. Notice the '04 there. :mrgrin:

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Re: Novels?

#3 Post by Neptune » Sun Jan 14, 2018 11:24 pm

Hmm...

Hope stuff like that wasn't just a Black Swan and there'll be more stuff like it. JOJOVELLER happened, why can't another novel?
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Re: Novels?

#4 Post by Tesla Foxtrot » Sun Jan 21, 2018 8:46 pm

Dadrobit wrote:
Sat Jan 13, 2018 7:32 am

Flora in book three below. Notice the '04 there. :mrgrin:
okay, so thats the hole story behind that, really awesome knowing that i always connected that image with the Feral tiger that humps Trace
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Re: Novels?

#5 Post by Dadrobit » Wed Jan 24, 2018 6:28 am

Here, have this. Original posts date back to February to July of 2004
Twokinds Book Three: Flora's Journey
Tom Fischbach

Prologue
Rain. I hate Rain.

For weeks now an impossible, unending sheet of gray has hung in the sky, a grim omen that seemed to suggest that even the Earth itself was against the change that we were bringing. The rain pouring from the clouds soaked through both fur and cloth, biting at the skin and chilling to the bone. It was pure agony for all that traveled through it. All but me. For me it was a different kind of torture; a constant reminder of the pain I’ve had to endure up to this point, and the pain that I knew must come. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the sounds of a hundred echoing voices whispered to me what I already know. I had made a mistake, and it was finally catching up to me.

Shifting my gaze from the unchanging sky, I once again found myself looking at the mud soaked ground. The fur on my digitigrade feet, normally white in color, now seemed to be permanently stained brown from the mud. Without having to look, I knew that the same image could be seen reflected several thousand times on either side of me. Two thousand people, most of them Keidran like myself, marched along behind me. I still find it hard to believe so many had followed me on my futile mission. But that didn’t matter to me then, my journey was almost over.

Raising my head against the battering rain, I looked at the Keidran nearest me. A white wolf with his ears flat against his head, eyes squinting to see through the moisture. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. So why did he follow? What made him leave his home and family to join in my insane quest? What made any of them do it, knowing full well that in the end, they would all likely die in vain?

It was the same reason I was marching. We all needed change.

Sensing he was being watched, the white wolf looked up and into my eyes. He blinked twice as if to determine whom I was in the rain. But the moment he recognized me, he bowed his head humbly, and turned back to the path in front of him. They all followed me, but I knew they also feared me. I had heard the rumors, all the different versions. I was known by my enemies as a demon, able to kill with a glance. Others have rumored that I wasn’t a living being at all, but a spirit of the Keidran. When speaking about me, they all refer to me as “Sahra-ki,” meaning “scarred-one” because of the scars that litter my face and body. I didn’t discourage them. I had killed many times in my life, and I quite enjoyed my reputation.

Again I wondered what we were doing out here, marching for hundreds of miles into human territory. We were attempting the impossible. I, a single foolish Keidran, stood up and defied the Templar, a society of people who not only were trying to control the Keidran, but the humans as well. What I had done was unheard of. Nobody dared openly speak out against the Templar and lived. Yet I did, if just barely. And seeing me still alive, the other Keidran slowly began to join me. Only a few at first, mostly the crazed and reckless who could care less about being killed. But more came, and more, until we numbered well over two thousand strong. In our last report, before it all ended, we had one thousand seven hundred Keidran, two hundred Basitin, and a few hundred humans, all sick of being controlled by the Templar.

So this was my mish-match army. “Sahra-ki Army.” The scarred one. That’s who I am now. But there’s only one person alive now who knows what I was before. What I used to be. My one friend, my only enemy. Leader of the Templar.

Trace, do you remember me?

Chapter One: Templar Meetings

The sound of the rain is deafening, but it only helps to attract the crowds that gather inside the TwinGather Inn. Voices can be heard floating out beyond the dull, lantern-lit stone walls, into the cobblestone streets. The rain continues to pound against the rooftops of the buildings as seven men, bound in black cloaks and embroidered with a light blue insignia on their chest, approach the heavy, oak door.

Inside the tavern, most of the tables are occupied. The townsfolk laugh and sing in a chorus of drunken merriment, while others talk in boisterous voices to one another. All these sounds blend together to form a force that even the storm cannot drown out.

The robed figures move to a table at the back of the room and sit down in silence. A harassed-looking barmaid approaches the table and takes there orders. She leaves, but the cloaked individuals remain silent until she returns with their drinks. With an audible thunk, she lays the drinks down and quickly moves away, as if frightened. At the end of the table, a figure dressed in a heavy cloak several times more elaborate then the others lifts his mug and takes a sip. They begin to speak.

“We must do something,” sounds the deep voice of a tall man with bark-colored hair. “According to our scouts, those abominations have been reported crossing the Border more and more frequently. We’ve had six caravan ambushes within the last month. People are starting to become more concerned about their supplies, and our reputation has not been improving.”

A shy-voiced youth from across the table speaks up. “If we do not do something soon, I fear the Border may shift entirely.”

“He’s right,” voices a third, “With supplies being cut off, some towns near the Border are being destroyed and abandoned. And those towns that still survive are quickly falling into poverty with the increase in costs to transport goods.”

“We also have another problem.” A hideously overweight Templar, with twice the girth of an average man, stands up with some difficultly. Wiping sweat from his forehead due to the effort, he continues: “The commoners are becoming restless. All the towns within the Border are unquestionably overcrowded. We simply do not have enough room for everyone, and with all our gold being spent trying to build those – in my honest opinion – ridiculous towers, we simply do not have the money to feed them all.”

“We have more important matters to deal with then overcrowding, Tax Master. Those ‘ridiculous’ towers are the only thing preventing those monsters from coming in here and slitting your bloated throat while you sleep!”

“Typical! All you Borderguard Templar ever thing about are those damned towers! This is the reason our own people are beginning to distrust us! If you would think-“

“No, I believe it is you who isn’t thinking!” shouts the deep-voiced Borderguard, now standing as well, and towering over the short, fat Tax Master. “How do you think our people stay alive with those evil creatures prowling around all the time? You don’t even know the half of it; all you ever see of them are those domesticated slave animals you refer to as Keidran!”

An elder Templar suddenly, and very pointedly, clears his throat, interrupting the two before any bloodshed could be spilt. “I believe I have a solution to this problem… if I may?”

“B-but of course, Armagai. What do you have in mind?” stutters the Tax Master, falling back down into his chair, which groans under his weight, and wiping his brow once again.

“Well, perhaps we can solve both of these… problems… at one time,” he says, in a quiet voice that demands all attention. “What if we were to... take a group of able-bodied men from each town and send them into the Border with a sword and… perhaps a few scraps of armor.”

“I’d say it sounds like suicide to me,” says the Tax Master. “Those savages would surely make short work of them-“

“Exactly, Tax Master,” interjects Armagai. “This is the beauty of the plan. They will die, no doubt. More then likely, the majority of them will have never even wielded a blade. But a few of them should be able to kill off at least a couple hundred of those demons, taking care of your problem, Borderguard. And with all of them dead, you won’t have your overpopulation problem, now will you, Tax Master?”

The Templar digest this new plan in silence for a few moments. The Tax Master then stands once again and says, “I think it’s a brilliant plan! Killing two birds with one stone! Or should I say, killing a couple thousand unfortunate yet useless casualties in a single battle.” Several of the Templar laugh, both at the thought of the proposal and at the Tax Master’s lame joke.

“What do you think, Grand Templar?” Questions the Borderguard suddenly, and the table envelopes once again in silence. The decorated man at the end of the table slowly reaches out at his mug and takes a few more sips while the others wait patiently – almost fearfully.

When he finishes, the Grand Templar stands and simply says, “Let it be so.”

The table quickly erupts into a cheer, and one of the Templar calls for the barmaid to bring more ale. Eventually the group moves on to less pressing matters. Halfway through a third conversation, the Grand Templar begins to have an irritating feeling in the back of his mind. Noticing the Grand Templar’s discomfort, his Second asks worriedly, “Is there something wrong, Trace?”

“No!” He says quickly. “….nothing is wrong.”



She’s coming. I can feel it...

Chapter 2, Part 1

The rain has finally died down, but the clouds continue to loom overhead. Every now and then a stray gust of wind blows over a poorly-crafted tent or two and ruffles the fur of already agitated Keidran. Even less lucky are those who have no tents or shelter, but only the moist, grassy grounds to keep them comfort during the night. Looking up, some of the Keidran see something they hadn’t seen in weeks – the flickering light of a random star can now be viewed showing past a sea of unending grey matter. To the east, along the horizon, a light from something else can be seen as well.

It was the city. The collaboration of brick and stone they had come all this way to seek out. And at the very top of it all was the tower, the one feared by Keidran, Basitin, and men alike (although the Basitin would never admit it.) At the very tip of the tower glows the fiery mass of energy called mana, which would disappear at regular intervals, being blocked out by one of two massive rotating generators encircling the core. That is the end of the journey. Within those walls lies the single most powerful man alive. And if they could only get to him…

Flora looks away from the soft blue glow in the distance, collecting her thoughts as her servants finish constructing her tent. They look at her for approval, and she nods her head slowly. They quickly bow and scatter, as if terrified. Flora sighs, a smile playing across her lips. It wasn’t as if she wanted the servants in any case, mind you. They simply wouldn’t allow her to do anything on her own (although from time to time she had managed to get away from them long enough to relieve herself… so far.) They where among a group of young Keidran, mostly male, that had taken early on into treating her as if she was some kind of goddess. Not that she minded or anything.

“Probably just looking to try and get in bed with the alpha female,” she mutters, another smile managing to slip past her usually scowling face. Getting inside her tent, her mood quickly darkens as she picks up a small mirror, which is almost useless, due to the half inch of dust that had settled on the face. Wiping it off a bit with the fur on her arm, she raises it up to her face. “All for power, I suppose. They know I already have a mate, but perhaps they hope I’ll choose one of them next.”

Sighing again, this time out of frustration, she throws the mirror across the small room. It doesn’t break. Her looks usually didn’t bother her, but the thought of people just seeing her as an object of power made her more then usually irritated. She had long gotten over the fact that she had become much less attractive over time, at least in her eyes; mostly because of the scars she had won from battle that where still visible, although there was only one on her face. This one went from the side of her forehead, down across her sightless left eye, to the middle of her cheek. She had gotten used to managing with half her sight, but she hasn’t yet accepted the way she looks in the mirror. There was also another reason she hates looking in the mirror; the fact that the scar on her face was given to her by…

“A warrior doesn’t worry about one’s looks,” she repeats to herself for the hundredth time as she began removing her completely soaked clothing. Taking off her undergarments, she looks down at her body. Five years ago, she had been weak and helpless. It was a feeling she hated. Now, muscles could be seen defining her body, making her shapelier and possibly more attractive – if it wasn’t for the scars. They litter her body, mixing with her dulling strips. The fur on her chest, once a brilliant white, is now a muddy grey.

So many changes….

Damply, she sloshes onto her bed and tries to sleep, even with the cloud of thoughts and worries the regularly invade even her dreams. It also didn’t help that her bed was nothing more then a few sheets placed on top of one another, but she didn’t complain. It had been a lot time since she had slept in a real bed, and it was better then what most of the others had.

“Last time I ever remember enjoying a bed…” she muses to herself as she felt her eyes falling with a mind of their own. The day’s journey suddenly beings to catch up with her. “I remember. I remember… Trace…”

She finally drifts to sleep as the wind continues to howl outside.

And that's all folks! :mrgrin:
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Re: Novels?

#6 Post by amenon » Thu Jan 25, 2018 4:45 pm

Dadrobit wrote:
Wed Jan 24, 2018 6:28 am
Here, have this. Original posts date back to February to July of 2004
Source your [censored], yo :P

I'd never actually bothered to read this before. Not a style I would have expected!

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