Creative Writing Wednesday: “The Epic Legend of Damien Fell”, Part 2

Posted: July 4, 2012 in The Epic Legend of Damien Fell
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Our guest novella continues here on Axolotl Ceviche…

I recieved this portion of The Epic Legend of Damien Fell from the author. He’s apparently displeased with my introductory paragraph at the beginning of the previous installment (which can be found in the CWW installment for June 13). Apparently, I was a little too mocking of what he considers to be an “epic work”. Honestly, I didn’t see what was wrong, and told him so in my reply email, but he simply replied with an ASCII drawing of a gigantic middle finger. So, I’m going to keep this intro paragraph short. The gods know I have a tendency to ramble.

So, in any case here’s Chapter Two of The Epic Legend of Damien Fell, which is a chapter that might as well be subtitled: In Which There Are Many Tits. I mean– crap. I did it again, didn’t I?

~ Ian


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter Two: A Night of Shadows

In the golden-pillared halls of the Palace of Karass Mor, the most noble and majestic of the Nineteen Human Kingdoms of Evershyria, Princess Amberella slept madly, dark and shadowed dreams filling her beatiful head while she slept.

A person looking in through the window at Amberella’s lithe, naked body (for the princess slept nude in the summer heat of tropical Karass Mor, her beautiful breasts left unburdened by any under wear or sleeping-clothes) would notice that she was beautiful. The most beautiful of all women alive, in fact- only seventeen years old, she had a mass of tumbeling red gold hair that fell in a deliciously sweet-scented mass down her smooth, golden neck and framed her sweet, young, plump, brown-nippled breasts. Her legs and buttocks were formed like that of a goddess, and the place where her legs joined was met with a soft downy wisp of tawny fur that no man had ever penetrated— Amberella was a virgin, unspoiled, and unlike the many slutty daughters of the other human kings. Her eyes were the gray-green of a southern sea in storm, and her ears were delicitely pointed—- for her father, King Estuvi, had wed a wood aelfynn princess, who had died in child birth bearing Amberella, youngest and most beautiful of all the kIng’s daughters.

Amberella was not only beautiful, though: a kind heart beat beneath her perfect breasts, and not only that, but due to her half-aelfynn, half-human lineage, Amberella was a mistress of Lyghte Magycke: more gifted in magycke than any of her jealous sisters, who were more slutty and not quite as beautiful as her, Amberella was the queen of all she surveyed: the desire of all men, the jealousy of all women: she was perfection, incranate.

But tonight her heart was troubled, and shadow lay over her. Amberella was to be betrothed to the prince of the neighboring kingdom of Rayvenhawke; Prince Travyss Hawke. Though his skill in battle was undeniable, and he was truly handsome, he was a foul slime: a more disgusting example of human sludginess that did not look fair and beautiful on the outside had never been born.

Amberella lay naked in her bed, haunted by dreams……………………………..

An outside observer would notice Amberella writhing in her sleep, contorted and maddened, her full pert lips spread murmuring, “No, no, no!” The vains in her slender neck popped out and strained against her smooth skin, and despite the hot whether and 100 percent humidity outside, her nipples stood out from her tits like spigots. She squirms and squeals; she is a study in terror and delight.

But inside her mind…….

Inside her mind………..

The darkness surrounds her as she stares into the maddened face of oblivion……. A voice speaks out from the heavens, and it makes a noise like thundre……..

Princess Amberella….. Maiden of Lyghte…… The Darkness comes for you……. You must meet it and join with it………

No! cries amberella. I’ll never join with the darkness!

You will join and merge with it…… says the voice. You’re children will be born of Lyghte and Darkness, a mixture of Good and Evil….. You are the mother of a new race………

And then the clouds part, and a shadowed man in a cloak of shadows appears before the princess. She cannot see his face, but his eyes burn like supernovas, and his body is like the embrace of the night. 

Come to me, Child of Lyghte……. the shadowman says. 

No….. murmurs Amberella. No……

But deep within her desire burns, and the princess can feel her sheath honeying and she is pulled by desire, strong desire, to see this shadow mans arms around her and feel him inside her, feel her belly grow swollen with his heavy children, be consumed and destroyed in his rage……….

He throws his arms around her. Come to me, my beloved, my mate. 

No, she says, but she thinks yes, and as he presses close to her, his insubstantial lips pressing against hers, she feels a wave of pleasure coarse through her body, and knows that this is her destiny……………………………..


Inside the palace of Karass Mor, a fight was going on.

“Sound the guards!” cried the footman. “Have them come!”

But the guards would not come, because they had been murdered in their sleep.

As the black-clad assassin-warriors poured into the palace, one man strode confidently into the room. He was tall, quite tall, and his hair was long and white. Infact, everything about this man was white: save for his burning red eyes, and his painted black fingernails. He was an albino, a master of Darke Magycke like none the world had ever seen. Clad all in shimmering black robes that were as dark and form-fitting as the night itself, he was in complete command of his environment. As evil as the depths of Hell, and ten times ad badass, he was ten thousand years old, a remnant of the long forgotten Death Aelf race that once ruled over the land with an iron glove. His name was Lord Hateshadowe, and he was hate and shadow incarnate……..

“Have we located the princess?” he said to a minion.

“We have my lord,” said the minion, a blubberous fat man wearing the purple robes of an acolyte.

“Good,” said Lord Hateshadowe. “I will go to her chambers.”

He lifted his hand, and spoke a word of power. “Rekcufrehtom siht llik,” he said, and gestured at the minion.

Immediately the minion screamed, a strangeled gasp coming from his throat, as he clawed madley at his face. “My head!” the man cried. “By the power of Hell…… MY HEAD IS IMPLODING!

There was a loud schluuuucking sound, and the man’s head disapperared in a blast of blood, a gushing fountain of red slimey liquid gushing from his severed aorta.

Lord Hateshadowe grinned. “See that this man’s corpse is cleaned up,” he said, and strode up the stairs to the royal bedchambres.


Princess Amberella woke up from her slumber, panting and heaving. Her soft pale perfect skin was slicked with sweat, not from the humidity but from the frighteningness of her dream…… or was it a nightmare? she thought. Terror had rarely intruded into her peaceful life, but even so she’d had bad dreams as a child. Even so, none of her nightmares were quite as terrifying… or quite as exhilerating as this one. Her whole body thrummed with a combination of passion and fear.

The door to her bedchamber creaked open, and a man walked in.

At first Amberella thought that the man who entered her room was the shadow man from her dream. But no, while the shadow man in her dream was horrifying and beautiful, this man was different. His skin was purest white, the soft white of snow— no, not of snow, but of ash. His eyes gleamed demonically as he strode into her room.

“Who are you?” cried Amberella fearfully yet assertively. “Come any closer, and– and— I’ll call for the guards! They’ll have you arrested, you’ll see!”

“Your guards won’t come,” said Lord Hateshadowe (for it was he who entered).

“My guards are loyal to me to the last,” exclaimed Princess Amberella. “They will serve me until their deaths.”

“And will they serve you past their deaths, Princess?” asked Hateshadowe.

“…….What are you saying……?” asked the Princess.

“Your guards will not come for you, because they are all dead,” smirked Lord Hateshadow. “And they are dead because I killed them.”

“No!” cried Amberella. Her beautiful blue eyes widened in fear. She would have burst into tears, if she had not been so afraid.

“Yes,” said the demonic-eyed man that stood before her. “Now, you will come with me.”

“Who are you?” exclaimed Amberella. “Where are you taking me?”

“I am the leader of a group called the Conclave of Blood,” said the man who stood before her. “And as for where I am aking you……… well…. youll soon find out about that.”

He snapped his onyx-nailed fingers and two men in black-and-red robes came up on either side. They grabbed Princess Amberella where she sat, hauling her up on her feet. One of them took the opportunity of touching the beautiful naked girl by rubbing his hands over her right breast. She shuddered—- the cultist’s palms were greasy and sweaty, and his eyes ran over her freckled shoulders and back like a slithering lizard.

“You know what to do with her,” said Lord Hateshadowe. “Take her away. We shall hie ourselves to my ship at once, and from there, go on to…. the Fiendfang…..”

Even in the peaceable kingdoms of the human lands, Amberella had heard the name of the Fiendfang. It was a place far to the north, in the Eldorn Wastelands, a place ravaged by cold winds and scarred by volcanic activity. Allegedly this was the land where demons walked…….

“No!” screamed Amberella fearfully. “I won’t go with you! Never! Help! Father, guards, Travyss, someone help m—”

Lord Hateshadowe rolled his eyes. “Estiéfyu,” he murmured, and Amberella fell suddenly silent. Though her lips moved and her lungs breathed under her pert young breasts, no sound came out. She could not speak.

“That’s MUCH better,” said Lord Hateshadowe. “Now come, my minions. We must away to the Fiendfang. We certainly wouldn’t want to miss the next new moon, would we?”

As the Conclave of Blood left the palace of Karass Mor, there was nothing to be heard throughout all the halls but the resounding echo of Lord Hateshadowe’s hateful, shadowy laughter………….



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