Creative Writing Wednesday: “The Epic Legend of Damien Fell”, Part 4

Posted: July 18, 2012 in Creative Writing Wednesday, The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

When I woke up about eleven today, I went downstairs and opened the front door to look around blinking in the blinding light of a burning star.

When I looked down, I saw that the papers that contained this week’s chapter of The Epic Legend of Damien Fell were on the doormat, weighted down with a rock. I blinked in wonder and confusion, and then looked up. Behind a nearby tree, a young man’s face peeped out: a face, that is, hidden by a gas mask…

I waved, and the face disappeared, as if startled that I had seen it.

Wow, I thought. He’s starting to go a little crazy, isn’t he?

I took the papers inside, and began to read…


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter Four: A Night of Fire and Shadows

An icy cold wind blew screaming and howling out of the frozen waistlands of the Eldorn Wastes as Damien Fell came to the Fiendfang.

The golden full moon was rising high above the shadowy blue-green ice-swept plains, casting an eery yellow pall over the ten thousand-foot high needle of green ice and black rock that was the Fiendfang. It stood out upon the snowy plains like a nose, a single razor-sharp needle that rose high up into the heavens, a lone and solitary tower that split the sky like a dagger through soft cheese. This was the most desolate place in the mortal realm. No mortals, save for the ice gnomes and the occasional northern barbarian, dared to come within five hundred miles of the Fiendfang.

Except for Damien Fell.

He rained the majestic black Daenovar stallion that he’d stolen back in the merchant city of Sh’kayar to a stop at a ridgeline and gazed out over the darkened plains that led up to the base of the Fiendfang. Pulling a spy glass out from his saddlebags, he looked out over fifty miles of bare ice and rock to a small point of firelight in the distance. The spyglass was traditionally used by assassins to scout out camps of enemies off in the distance, and Damien Fell was an assassin. This was a camp of enemies, and it was in the distance.

He felt he had a right to use it.

“Let’s see… I count twenty cookfires,” he muttered to himself. “Logically, hat must mean that there are five hundred people in the camp. I don’t know whether they’re all members of the Conclave of Blood, but if I have to, I’ll kill everyone in the camp to save the Princess. Nothing will stand in my way.”

Damien fell muttered, “Emeest’nacuoy,” and he was cloaked in shadows, an invisible warrior. Spurring his horse, he rode across the darkened shadowed plains, covering the fifty miles easily in an hour as he drew close to the Conclave of Blood’s camp. Finding a convenient hollow, he parked his horse, and drew his beautiful wood aelfynn longbow Forestsong out of the sheath on its back. Drawing an arrow from its quiver, he nocked it to his bow, and the arrow flew easily two hundred paces towards the watchman who looked out over the plains.

The arrow landed squarely in the chest of the watchman. His companion, a long-bearded dwarf with a beaky iron helmet, turned to look out over the plains and yelled, “Hey! Is there somebody out there?”

That was when the arrow exploded.

Damien Fell smiled. It was a long-kept secret of the assassins that you could make exploding arrows by combining a flame arrow with a gunpowder bomb. The watchman’s corpse was blown to bits by the shock of the explosion, and his companion was first showered with blood and entrails by the explosion, then killed by the shockwave.

The noise attracted everyone in the camp, and they all came running out to the front to see what had happened.

So Damien Fell snuck around the back entrance of the camp and went in that way.

Coming past one of the main cookfires, Fell noticed a large, ornate tent with lots of silk and majestic flaps embroidered with dragons and other suchlike things. “That must be Hateshadowe’s tent,” mutted the assassin. “I’d guess that that is where the Princess is being held prisoner.

He went into the tent, and found that, yes, someone was being held prisoner in there. But unfortunately it wasn’t the princess. It was a woman, yes, and a beautiful woman, but unfortunately she didn’t have quite the innocent goddess-like radiance of the Princess Amberella. She was held to the ground by tendrils of shadow, and seemed to be asleep;

As soon as Damien Fell entered the tent, her eyes opened alertly and she glanced around the tent wildly. “Who’s there?” she exclaimed. “I know that you’re there. I smell manflesh.”

She stared directly at the spot where Fell stood. “Wait a minute……. I’ve smelled you before. You’re the one who was in the tavern, weren’t you? The one who chased me through Kar’ae’thaluun! The one who brought that jewel to Blackthorne!”

Damien’s eyes widened. “You’re the woman in black!” he cried.

“I know that voice,” said the woman. “Show yourself, now.”

Emeesuoywon,” incanted Damien Fell, and he faded into existence, showing himself in his visible form.

Then he glared at the woman in black, placing his hand on the hilt of his broadsword Stormshadow. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” he snarled menacingly. “You’re a member of the Conclave of Blood. You deserve death.”

The woman in black smirked. “I’m no cultist, warrior. I’m an assassin, a member of the Shadow Syndicate. I commit criminal acts for hire.”

Damien Fell nodded. The Shadow Syndicate was a more recent guild imported to the continent from the Western land of Ixtept’laan—- not quite like the fabled Assassin School that dominated the continent’s murder-for-hire business, but similar, and fresh.  “Ah. I’m in that line of work myself, although I’m a freelancer at the moment.”

“A rogue assassin?” said the woman in black, her full rubescent lips quirking into a smile.

“I’d assume all assassins were rogues of some sort.”

The woman in black grinned. “True. As you can see, I’ve been imprisoned here by Lord Hateshadowe. I was hired to kill the traitor Drako Blackthorne by Lord Hateshadowe. He was certain that Blackthorne would betray him at one point. I came back here to claim my reward, but alas, Lord Hateshadowe betrayed me. I told him to give me my payment. He entrapped me here in his tent.”

“How are you called, woman?”

“My name is Shaira. And you, man?”

“Damien Fell. You might have heard of me.”

The smile fell from Shaira’s face, and her eyebrows arched into two perfect semicircles. “You….. I thought you were legend.”

“I am legend,” said Damien Fell. “That doesn’t mean that I’m not real.”

“What are you here for? Were you sent to kill someone?”

“No. I’m here to rescue the Princess Amberella.”

“You are? You don’t often see assassins going on rescue missions. Were you hired by that tiresome King Estuvi?”

“No. I’m working………. for my own purposes.”

“In that case, I propose a good old-fashioned teamup, Fell,” said Sharia. “If you free me that is.”

“Why should I do that?” questioned Fell.

“You want to rescue the princess. I want to murder that ugly sack of slime Hateshadowe. The two goals aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“I see your point.”

“And besides, two deadly assassins on a team can do alot more than one working alone.”

“Hmm….. will you kill me once I let you free?”

“Ive already shown that I can’t do that. The last time we fought, you nearly bested me. I had to escape using Magyck, and that’s the only reason I survived.”

“Swear to me that you wont try to murder me.”

Shaira sighed. “Fine. I swear it by the moon, evermoving, ever changing, that watches over us that go by night. I sware it by Golgatthu, god of death, the first of our proffesion and the grandfather of all assassins. I swear it by my blood, may it never be spilled, and by my dagger, may it never be blunt. I swear it in the name of all those who walk in shadow that I, Shaira of the Shadow Syndicate, will not try to murder you, Damien Fell, once you free me.”

Damien Fell’s rugged, handsom, be-stubbled face broke into a faint smile. “That brings me back,” he said. “I have’nt heard the Oath of Shadow in a long time.”

“How long have you been away from any Guild?” asked Shaira.

“More than I care to remember”, said Daimen, and he drew his long, sharp broadsword Stormshadow, and with one sweeping, precise cut, severed the tentacles that held Shaira to the floor of the tent.

The tentacles melted into the ground with a quiet hisssssss like the air being let out of a tire, and left nothing behind but a puddle of inky-black muck.

“That was impressive,” said Shaira, smiling. “That cut was perfect—– theres not a scratch on me.”

“Like I said,” grunted Fell, sheatheing Stormshadow. “I didn’t become legendary for no reason.”

“Well, if you can fight like you cut, then I’d be glad to have you at my side,” Shaira said.

“Don’t worry. I can.”

“Good.” And Shaira drew her long, elegant aelfynn chain. “Because there’s murder on the menu tonight, and I’m the waitress.”


Princess Amberella’s beautiful blue-green eyes fluttered open. As she awakened from her slumber, she gazed out over a vast stone circle, its black stone trilithons covered in mysterious dark stains that were the color of rust. She struggled, and tried to get away, but she was tied to a stone alter covered in similar dark stains. The black spike of the Fiendfang rose high up into the heavens, and the moon was reaching its zenith.

Looking down at herself, Amberella noticed that she was wearing a shear white silk shift, with a swooping neckline that allowed easy access to her heart. Her beautiful perky round breasts were magnificently dispayed, and her nipples were poking out in the chill northern wind, as erect and proud as pencil erasers.

In front of her, in the golden moonlight, there were about five hundred or so people, each of them wearing a black robe.

Lord Hateshadowe came up to her, and smiled. His robes were the red of fresh blood, matching his horrifying albino-red eyes.

“Let me go!!!!” cried Amberella bravely. “I am a Princess of the Human Kingdoms, and I will not stand to be sacrificed like this!!!!!”

Lord Hateshadowe grinned evilly, and stroked her arousedly under her chin, sending ripples of revulsion down her spine.

“Ah, but you are more than just that, aren’t you?” he said. “Not only are you a Princess, and the most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth, but you are the Maiden of Lyghte. You are the embodiment of Good on the physical plain, and as the Maiden of Lyghte, you are the cosmic cork that keeps the evil spirits of Chaos in their bottle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” exclaimed Amberella, but of course somehow deep within her she did; her dreams that she’d had in her sleep, so terrifying and erotic, had somehow signaled to her that she was a child of Destiny, and that she was no mere half-aelf princess, but instead was a being with fundamental cosmic power equivilant to that of a Goddess………………………………………………………………………..

Lord Hateshadowe’s black-nailed hand moved lower, and stroked her firm, beautiful young breasts. She squirmed and tossed her hair to try and get away, but to no avail: Lord Hateshadowe was molesting her, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

“I assure you that you do,” mused the albino, and his long black claws tweaked her erect nipple. “I have to say……. I am sorry to see such beauty leave the world, of course, but I intend to bring about the End of All Time, and then I will rule………….”

He turned to the assembled cultists who were gathered all around the stone circle.

“My brothers and sisters!” he cried, and his voice echoed around the Fiendfang with no amplification whatsoever. “Tonight, with the sacrifice of the Maiden of Lyghte, the Conclave of Blood achieves its goal!!!!!! Tonight, with the virgin blood of this girl of immaculate beauty and purity, HELL SHALL COME TO EARTH!!!!!!!!!!!”

The crowd of assembled cultists roared their approval.

“No longer will there be Lyghte and Shadouwe to oppose us!” cried Lord Hateshadowe. “Tonight, we bring Darkness…………. and FIRE.

He raised his obsidian dagger on high, and the golden full moon gleamed on its obsidian length.

The point was posied directly above the Princess’s exposed cleavage, and then directly to her heart………

Amberella squirmed one final time, as if trying to get away………………

An almost orgasmic look of pleasure spread over Lord Hateshadowe’s face……………………………

STOP!!!!!!!!!” shouted a tremendously-loud voice. A woman’s voice.

A woman dressed all in black strode across the stone circle. She was swathed from head to toe in soft black fabric, and carried a long chain in her right hand, which she twirled causally, as if she was preparing to smack Lord Hateshadowe across the face with it.

“Before you end the universe, Hateshadowe, I’d like it if you paid your debts,” said the woman in black. “After all, if there’s no universe left, who are you going to pay your debts to?”

Lord Hateshadowe’s shadowed face contourted with hate. “YOU!!!! he exclaimed. How in the names of the Nine Infernal Dimensions did you escape from my trap??????”

“Don’t play games, Hateshadowe, said the woman. “You should know this—- the Shadow Syndicate always comes back to collect its debts.”

“I don’t believe, this,” said Lord Hateshadowe, and he laughed dramatically. “Do you seriously believe that you can threaten me? You, with your pitiful chain, and your sad little Shadouwe Magycks?”

“No,” replied the woman in black. “But I CAN distracting you enough so that my friend can sneak behind you.”

Lord Hateshadowe’s blood-red eyes widened, and he wheeled just in time to see a majestic cloaked figure pull a pistol and shoot him straight through the head.

The Princess of Karass Mor gazed up at this man. Tanned and rugged, with a strong jaw covered in black stubble, he bore a long sword and wore a bow across his back. His arms were muscular and not at all scrawny, and his chest was as wide as a horse. Long, flowing raven hair spilled out behind his head, and his eyes were as dark as black holes, and they seemed to shine with their own unholy light.

Amberella gasped. She had never seen someone like this man. Was he one of her father’s knights…..? If so, why had she never seen him before? She certainly would have noticed him………..

The man gazed down at her, and when his dark, endlessly-beautiful eyes locked onto hers, she could feel her loins throb. Her nipples erected themselves even more, but not from cold this time, but from dark and erotic passion.

She wanted to wrap her legs around this man’s waist, to feel him deep within her. Though the idea of losing her virginity and purity frightened her, she wanted to feel this man’s seed deep within her belly, to feel her womb quicken and grow heavy with his child……………..

She was so lost in thought, in fact, that she didn’t notice Lord Hateshadowe standing up.

A perfectly round bullet hole, oozing pinkish-red blood, leaked in the center of his forehead.

He spread his lips wide, and he smiled.

“So, we meet again, Damien Fell,” said Lord Hateshadowe, and he smiled. “I remember how you thwarted my plans in Gol Xurath, ten years ago. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” said Damien Fell, and when those two short words dropped like ripe fruit from his lips, Princess Amberella felt a surge of erotic pleasure pass through her body, followed by a sudden dread.

It…… it cannot be……! she thought. This man, this beautiful, dangerous warrior, was Damien Fell?

In the Human Lands, Damien Fell was legend, like he was everywhere else. But he was no hero there, but a villain. An assassin, a warrior, a slayer of kings…… cursed spawn of an angelic general and a beautiful Hellish succubus, raised in Hell by his foster grandfather, the legendary Demon Knight Alaxuulaas, and escaped to the mortal realm when he was a boy. He was the slayer of a hundred kings, despoiler of a thousand women, master of Darke Magyckes too terrible for the human mind to comprehend, the bane of gods and the spawn of devils……… this was the man her father sent to rescue her???????

Or else……..

…….no, it was too horrible to comprehend………

………..or else he wanted her, once he killed Lord Hateshadowe.

The cultists in the Conclave of Blood were getting restless. They were drawing weapons and readying spells, prepared to come to their master’s defense.

The woman in black twirled the chain around her menacingly. “Don’t worry!” she exclaimed. “I’ll hold them off! You just kill Lord Hateshadowe!”

“Ah, but you can’t kill me, Damien Fell,” said Lord Hateshadowe. “I am the master of death. You cannot stop me. I’ll just keep coming.”

“I know how to kill you,” Fell said. “Your’re a Death Aelf. I’ve killed Death Aelves before.” And he drew his long, shining sword………

“You just have to cut off their heads.”

And he swung the sword, in a sudden gleaming arc towards Lord Hateshadoe’s neck………………………………………….

Faster than Amberella could blink, a flaming sword appeared in Lord Hateshadowe’s hand, and he parried the blow with a spray of sudden sparks. The sound of sword clashing against sword echoed out across the stone circle as the two clashed, gods of Shadouwe and Darkness, beings that moved with the skill and power of twin demons.

Below Amberella’s feet, the woman in black fought against the cultists, blocking their sword blowes with her chain, matching them spell for spell. Soon a pile of dead bodies was piled up all around the woman, but Amberella didn’t notice. She just stared up at Damien Fell and Lord Hateshadowe’s fight, her body thrilling with erotic tingles and horrific dread.

Lord Hateshadowe cast spell after spell, but Damien Fell blocked them again and again with his sword, in some cases using it like a baseball bat to send the spells rickochaying back at Hateshadowe. The battle raged on and on, and it seemed more and more like Hateshadowe was going to win——-

—–but then, all of a sudden, the Death Aelf stepped wrong, and Damien Fell landed a blow on his neck, severing it.

A massive fountain of pinkish-red blood sprayed from Hateshadowe’s stump of a neck, and Hateshadowe’s still-grinning head went flying over the cultists………..

Then Damien Fell did a sweeping cut towards Amberella.

She screamed…..

…….but then her bonds were loosened, and Amberella was free.

She stood up, dizzy, her legs all pins-and-needles from disuse.

But then Damien Fell picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

“What are you doing?!?!?!?!?” shouted Amberella. “Put me DOWN!!!!!

Damien Fell whisteled, and a majestic black horse came running. Damien threw Amberella over the horse’s ass, and jumped on.

“We have to get out of here!” cried Damien Fell. “Hateshadowe’s corpse will explode at any minute!”

What???” cried Amberella.

“You heard me! Death Aelves store evil in their body like a battery. It releases when they die. With a particularly nasty Death Aelf like Hateshadowe there, the explosion can create valleys! We have to leave!”

“Then let’s go!” cried Amberella.

“Not yet!” And he turned to the woman in black. “Shaira! Can you get out of here?”

“Already done,” said the woman in black, and with a puff of smoke, she vanished.

Damien Fell spurred his black horse forward, and as Amberella watched in the distance as the stone circle receaded behind them at a rate of sixty miles an hour, she saw a sudden flash of light as the dawn rose over the mountains……..

………..and Lord Hateshadowe’s body exploded.

There was a blast of black fire that shook the heavens.

The shock of the blast destroyed the Fiendfang, and the tall black needle of ice crumbled into dust as Amberella watched, ten thousand feet of ice and stone falling into nothing, just a cloud of rubble where the mountain had been.

It was awesome.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s