Tag: Writing

The First Battle

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Picking up the sword and shield and rushing into the fire and dust of the extremely one-sided battle that was happening before him, Damien searched inside himself for his courage. All the guards that were present were fighting, attacking the demon’s ankles, whilst the demon picked them up one by one and consumed them with little resistance. Not even caring to decant the soldiers from their “tin” suits.

Seeking the advantage of gaining the high ground, as the area below the Demon’s feet was essentially the death zone, Damien sneaked behind the demon from up on the rafters of the fort wall.
He prepared for an attack.
During his time in the war he had always been the lead tactician, this meant that the obvious advantage he had was of course obvious. Although, despite his many years in battle, nothing like this had ever happened. Giant demons being summoned from nowhere, it wasn’t right, nor was his arm, but the summoning was a worse issue altogether. He prepared himself, a deep breath to calm his nerves, finding footholds in the cobbled walkway to steady him.

With a quick burst, he lunged at the demon from above, swinging the sword down into the demon’s shoulder. The sheer force of the strength of his cursed arm caused the demon to fall to its knees. The guards, noticing Damien’s attack, regained a new confidence and started striking at the demon’s face and chest now that it was close to the ground.

Standing upon the Demon’s shoulder blades, Damien dragged the sword through the Demon’s shoulders towards the base of its head, rendering the demon paralysed. Collapsing to the ground, it was not long before it was unconscious, lifeless. Despite this, most of the guards still poked and prodded at its body, afraid that it would rise again.
Jumping from the demon’s back to the ground, the dust parting at his feet amidst the spilled blood of both human and demon, mixing to make a dark and tainted red. He wiped himself and the sword clean of the demon’s black blood and stood at attention when the guards investigated him in awe. As a swell of congratulatory celebrations from the guards began to brew, it was quickly quelled by the guard captain. Thought to be dead, he appeared out of nowhere and, tackling and pinning Damien to the ground, holding a dagger to his throat.

“Don’t congratulate this demon!” He demanded, spit flying from his mouth on to the dry dirt courtyard below. “This demon is part of the cultists that summoned the beast here!”

The crowd grew silent, and another weapon unsheathed, the glint of a sword shone beside the guard captain’s neck. A knight, armour-clad in golden raiment was behind the captain holding the sword to his neck. “I don’t think the reward of killing the demon is enough to pay him for the massive favour he has done by saving your troops. Don’t you think you should be a bit more grateful and show him some mercy?” The voice from the knight echoed inside his golden suit.

The captain got up off Damien and scurried towards his troops, insisting that they go back to their barracks and take the wounded with them. The Golden Knight chuckles, “That was easier than I thought.” The Golden Knight’s appearance changed from a heroic face-less metal suit to a young, fat man wearing monk’s robes. He outstretched his hand towards Damien in an effort to pull him up, “I’m Derkeethus.” He said with an awkward smile. “You know, the Golden Knights could use someone who could actually fight like you. I, however, am just a monk training to be head priest of the Magestry. I offered to help them out, but I think you’d be a lot better.”

A little confused over the situation before him with the whole transformation and the offer of joining an elite ‘anti-demon’ faction seemed a pit peculiar as it was notorious for its strict policy of not even accepting people afflicted with the curse.

Derkeethus looked at Damien’s arm, “You know you should not worry about that, Golden Knight Captain insisted that I get you specifically as he values your experience throughout the war of the kingdoms.”

Damien, feeling relieved, relished in the fact someone had actually mentioned his time in the war. It had seemed like an age.
After he came back from the war, no one had mentioned it to him since. Most just assumed that because he was afflicted with the curse, his choice to join the army was only part of that demon bloodlust that consumed so many that let themselves go to temptation.

Joining Derkeethus on his journey back to the embassy, in which the Golden Knights based their faction, seemed like the appropriate and right thing to do. It’s where they were conducting all their support and sending aid to nearby settlements, and that’s what Damien wanted to be part of the most.

Defending You From You.

Realms of Tanerila is a Choose Your Own Adventure story written 5 years ago by myself for my HNC Games Development course. I started well… then I wrote the rest in a couple of hours at 4am because the deadline was too long, and I forgot about it.
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Ball and Chain

Of course, he didn’t feel guilty. Why should he?
They locked him up in a prison cell with all these undoubtedly questionable people, and threw him in the same pot with a bunch of cultists. These people that Damien had been locked up beside were disgusting. Murders, thieves and captured war “heroes”, to be compared to, who he assumed, were the very people that were responsible for almost being killed by both the guard and the demon. He was not happy with the cultists, and he wasn’t taking crap from anyone. He was leaving the guards to perish alongside those stupid cultists. Apparently, they hadn’t foreseen that summoning a demon the size of the fort meant that they would be the side dish along with its main course.

It’d been hours since Damien had been mindlessly following the others, and there was honestly no other place to go. He thought that if they were all walking in unison for a reason, it had to be because they had a place to go to. So, he continued to follow, his leather shoes getting sodden and ruined with the wet mud along the track, dragging his feet behind him as he walked.

Out of the blue, a cultist appeared beside him, treading, so lightly it was almost as if he were floating above the badly flooded dirt track. The silence was almost threatening, the cultists wore dark purple robes with their hoods up, covering their faces to such a degree that the dark void where their faces should have been was unearthly. But Damien stared right back. He peered into the abyss beneath the hood and frowned.
In response to Damien’s facial expression, the cultist flips back their hood and smirks at Damien, the cultist was a tanned female, probably one of the refugees that came from the desert lands that Damien’s party went to war against. One half of her face was covered in her native tribal tattoos, whilst the other had cultist symbols burned into her face.

“You know, with an arm like yours, the cultists could really use you. We are at war with the Golden Knights, who aim to crush our freedom. You’ve already experienced it, right? The immediate branding of our fates because of our affliction!”

Damien frowned, should he trust the very people who made his life a misery? The descendants of those who were responsible for the curse he had on his arm?

The woman laughs, “Hey, you will join, right? The only way to ever be accepted in the society with that arm of yours is to create the society. No one will accept us unless we change the way things are for us. That’s what we’re doing! I mean, you’re not going to try to do that again, right? They don’t accept people like us.”

The inspirational talk from this woman really got to Damien, he was shunned everywhere when he revealed his arm. He wants it to stop. So maybe this whole cult is in his favour. Ever since he was a child, children ran, fearing him when he tried to play aside them. Their parents grabbed their children and ran, he has always felt isolated and has always wished to be accepted.

Damien nods, with some reluctance, and agrees to follow her and the other cultists to their temple. Heading for a better future ahead with his life when he can make his own future, possibly.

Letting Out Your Inner Beast

Realms of Tanerila is a Choose Your Own Adventure story written 5 years ago by myself for my HNC Games Development course. I started well… then I wrote the rest in a couple of hours at 4am because the deadline was too long, and I forgot about it.
2

The Fall of Flannigan Fort

Damien awakes once again, startled. Anxious and in a panic, but this time, it was not about being late. This time, he was sitting in a rotten and mouldy cell, on a broken and foul chair, arms clamped into cuffs which were embedded into the table in front of him. Before him were two royal guards, one was guarding the exit to the cell, whilst the other was in the chair across from Damien.

The guard sneered at Damien when he saw him awaken. Standing up, the guard drew his sword, holding it a few millimetres away from Damien’s neck, giving him enough of a jolt to wake him up fully. The guard smirked at Damien’s reaction, holding the sword high above himself in the hair then driving it down with tremendous force into the table, lodging the sword in the table.

The royal guard’s bushy moustache brushed off his bottom lip when he spoke, and he spat when he yelled. He interrogated Damien about the how’s and the why’s of his being on the ship. “Who are you?”, “Why were you on t’at ship?”, “How’d you get upon that ship if you’re so poor, as you say?” 

All the questions he asked about Damien answered were never enough for the guard. Each answer given, no matter how detailed, made the guard grit his teeth so loudly that it echoed through the barren walls of the dungeon. Any idle chatter between the cellmates was hushed as they listened in for the new showdown that was to happen, like a new story being heard through a radio.

It wasn’t until the last question, the royal guard threatened him with, that Damien found himself concerned about his fate. “Your arm is t’e curse of a demon! You’re with the cultists, aren’t you?”

Looking at his right arm, that he so often either kept wrapped up or under his sleeve, it was exposed for all to see. It bulged a dark red, far more muscular than the left. Where his veins would be, thick black lines replaced them, seeming to ooze a demonic blood like liquid around his arm.

This was his arm. He had learned that whoever looked at it would look down on him and cast him out, so that’s why he covered up. He wasn’t sure exactly why he was like this, but he knew not to get angry, or the arm would influence his actions and turn him toxic, then rabid, then bloodthirsty. This, he had found through personal experience. His parents never spoke of it, and when he would ask them they’d turn their head in an attempt to feign ignorance, but their faces filled with shame.

There was a legend that when he was a child, there was this lost city high up in the mountains of the island. The residents prayed to The Creator, the very being that created the realm in which they live. And like any other story of meddling humans, one day The Creator turned upon humanity.
However, before he could do so, the monks of the Magestry combined their powers to destroy him. This only caused fragments of The Creator to burst and cover the entire realm upon his death, and whomever the fragments touched grew dark and demonic. He believed this to be true, as there was no other explanation handy, and his parents had not told him otherwise.

All Damien really knew is that his arm was not his, but even moreso he was not a cultist. He refused once again to the royal guard’s demands. The royal guard’s moustache twitched. He lay his hand on the hilt of the sword and pulled it fiercely, dislodging it from the table, and turned to Damien.

“We ought to have killed every one of you cultist scum on the boat… The commander won’t miss just one of you, especially if they’re a lying piece of sh- “

Suddenly, the roof collapsed in the hallway of the dungeon, almost sealing the guards and Damien inside. Both the guards rushed over to the cell door and swung it wide open and rushed out.

The rumbling continued, then crashing, followed by swords being unsheathed and screams of dozens of men from the cells. Damien was writhing around in the chair, trying to free himself from the table. Everything had been nailed to the ground. The sound of giant footsteps could be heard moving closer and closer towards the cell door, and Damien was trapped.

“Psst, hey. Over here!” Came a loud whisper from behind Damien. Damien stiffly turned his head the best he could as the voice came from his blind side. A lowly thief shifted up to Damien’s side and picked the lock on Damien’s cuffs, beckoning him to follow. Following the thief and the rest of the prisoners towards the exit, where they all now stand, face to face with an enormous demon intent on consuming everyone in the fort.

While everyone was escaping, Damien stood at the fort entrance and watched as the demon destroyed the courtyard and killed all the guards that dared to fight them. The same symbol of the cultists was burned into the flesh on the demon’s back, it tore into buildings with ease as it threw men into the distance. Damien noticed the guard captain’s sword and shield lying half scorched on the ground. He looked back to see the line of all the inmates escaping, but he felt guilty about letting the guards die, didn’t he?

“Nah, they unrightfully arrested me, with brute force. I’m not only injured, but have been imprisoned for interrogations with threatening methods. Their methods are out of hand, and they deserve their fate.”
>> NEXT

“Yes, I would. What happened over the course of the past hours doesn’t define all of them. From what it appears, the person who arrested me is already dead, and the rest of the guards weren’t even involved in my arrest. Plus, it’s my duty as a former soldier to lend an experienced arm.”
>>NEXT

Realms of Tanerila is a Choose Your Own Adventure story written 5 years ago by myself for my HNC Games Development course. I started well… then I wrote the rest in a couple of hours at 4am because the deadline was too long, and I forgot about it.
2

Realms of Tanerila

Introduction

Damien rushed out the door of his house half dressed, he was late. Pulling on his cotton shirt and fastening his labour britches, he spun round and slammed the door behind him. Picking up his makeshift suitcase with his various blacksmithing tools poking out at either side as he turned, a myriad of sleeves and trouser legs threatening to burst out, almost leaking out of the unfastened openings in.
Today was the day that he was to leave this island, the day that, finally, he would leave everything behind. He would leave behind his job, his apprentice, his only friend and his house, and most likely quite a lot of his clothes too.

Anywhere was better than here. 

Damien hurried down the pathway towards the town with his shoes half on, not to mention also still being distracted by even the slightest abnormality along the way, despite his rush.

He had spent too long here since his parents died, he should’ve moved ages ago. Too many good memories that resonated around the place, those of which just turned sad and grey as he remembered the loss of his parents.

Bustling down the track into the town, Damien panicked about being late and missing a ship could mean that he would never get to see what it was like on the mainland. Surely, it would be better than the miserable years he spent on the island alone. It just had to be. He had become a blacksmithing apprentice after his Dad lost his job due to losing his leg to cellulitis after being bitten by a wild bear. He worked as an apprentice making swords and armour for the massing army which governed the island until he was old enough to join the army at 14. During his time in the royal defence at the border of where the two kingdoms meet, he received news that both parents had died in a fatal accident upon returning from a market trip.

Speeding to the docks, he sees the ship’s steward waiting outside the boat for him. He was maybe the only true friend that Damien had, and he was leaving him behind too. After coming back from the war, Damien automatically became the town’s blacksmith, as his tutor had passed away during the years that he was on the front. With the demand for steel low after the war had been fought, Damien ultimately had no work but crafting spare shovels and repairing things, perhaps the odd bit of jewellery. As expected, he fell onto hard times and his friend was always there to dig him out of his debts, more times than once.

He gave his friend his last goodbye’s and promised him that he would come back and pay off his debt once he had found his true calling on the mainland. He boarded the ship and waved goodbye rather woefully as he sat upon a nearby rusted barrel overlooking the bow of the ship.

After some time, the ship creaked its way out into the middle of the sea, the island was a fair distance by now but not enough so that it was impossible to swim to. Damien was in a world of his own, imagining what was waiting for him when they docked on the mainland. Fresh fruit, market stalls…. They had them here, of course, but they weren’t in abundance, and of course, not really being back for long and being so poor and underpaid, he couldn’t really afford to leave his shop and go travelling.

Hours passed, and he found himself waking from a dream-filled daydream by an unusual sight. A bright purple glow came from the far side of the deck, it being nighttime, the glow was even more eerie as it loomed on the deck and grew and swayed with the rocking of the ship. Damien peered through the darkness, making out a distinct 4 silhouettes, symbols on their hands pulsating in rhythm to their chanting.

Before any dark incantation could happen, a group of the royal guard burst out from the captain’s cabin and made straight for the silhouettes, brandishing their swords with violent intent. Before Damien could react, one of the royal guards noticed him and charged over only to deal a vigorous blow to the front of Damien’s head using the butt of the sword, rendering him unconscious.

The Fall of Flannigan Fort

Realms of Tanerila is a Choose Your Own Adventure story written 5 years ago by myself for my HNC Games Development course. I started well… then I wrote the rest in a couple of hours at 4am because the deadline was too long, and I forgot about it.
1

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