Creative Writing Wednesday: “The Epic Legend of Damien Fell”, Part 6

Posted: August 1, 2012 in The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

I saw the boy in the gas mask again today.

He’s been following me. I know it. Today I went out of the house, and I saw him there, not hiding, not doing anything really, just standing there and watching me. He glanced at my feet, and I saw it: another chapter of The Epic Legend of Damien Fell.

I’m starting to get nervous. I think this boy in the gas mask is driving me crazy.

Last night, I had a dream. I was in the trenches of World War I, and all around me were men, men in gas masks, staring at me, watching. I knew the mustard gas was coming, and I had no gas mask, and I was going to choke, choke and die in horrible pain…

And then I realized I was naked.

Am I going crazy?

~ Ian


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter 6: City of Shadows

The city of Shadouwegaard was the largest city in the frozen waistlands of the North. Standing alone at the crossing point of six long and trackless roads, the city was thousnads of miles away from any other major citadel or habitation. Home to mainly humans, with a smattering of dwarvyn miners and warriors and a few dark aelves, the land around Shadouwegaard was covered in snow twenty-seven months out of the year (the year in Evershyria has thirty-four months).

Because of the bitter freezing cold that dominated the land around the city most of the year, the city was built into a vast cavern at the heart of a great mountain that stood alone on the plains. There were six entrances to the mountain’s heart, guarded day and night by elite dwarvyn warriors who manned the city’s patrols of clockwork statues that would act as guards at the gates.

As Damien Fell and Amberlae were coming in from the North, they came in through the Polar Gate.

The road into the mountain was crowdad with travelers, who were desperate to get inside the mountain, because a massive blizzard was blowing in from the North, and would soon choke the land around the mountain with snow. As Damien Fell and the Princess came through the Polar Gate, Amberlae hazed with wonder around her, at the short, bearded efficient little men, clad in thick heavy armor and weilding sharp axes and stout hammers.

“Iv’e never seen dwarves before, she said.”

“They are common up here in this part of the world,” said Damien Fell. “Where you live, in the Human Kingdoms of the far South, there are barely any of them. It is too hot, and their beards get very sweaty and smell like a dead goat. So they stay up here, in the frozen North,n where they are better suited for the environment.”

“Still, it seems strange that I’ve never seen one in my life,” said Amberlae.

One of the little men, who had a thick sable beard and a stranged spiked helmet, glared at her coldly. She shivered at the look in the dwraf’s steel blue eyes, and unconsiously huddled closer to Damien Fell.

“Don’t be afraid of them,” said Fell in a somewaht reasurring voice. “They’re just as unackustomed to the sight of a half-aelfynn maiden like yourself as you are to the sight of them.” And he spode to the dwarvynn warrior in his own tongue: “J’rbra’ad z’liqq tp’nizz uffa zypplikh’tikh g’taa.

F’qaa y’tu, ezw’p,” said the dwarf in reply.

“What did you say to him?’ asked the Princess.

“Mearly a greeting in his own native tongue,” replied Damien Fell.

They made their way through the great Polar Gate, and came out in the main cavern of the underground city of Shadouwegaard. Amberlaes mouth fell open with shock and wonder as she stated around her. The great bowl-shaped cavern depression of the hollowed out inside of the mountain seemingly stretched for miles in front of her, and in the light of torches and blue mushrooms, it looked like a great field of stars was spread out below her. The underground towers of the city stretched up towards the ceiling, and high above her, she could see the roof of the cavern stretching into endless darkness.

“I’d never think that anyone could build a city underground like this,” said Amberlae.

“In the wilds of the great Northlands, there are many perils,” repiled Damien Fell. “This place is a refuge from them. In the pampered South, you are immune from the harshnesses of the world. Here in the wilderness, people must make do with what they have.”

Damien Fell parked his horse in front of an inn, and the two of them went inside.

Inside the tavern it was dark and smoky, and dozens of poeple of all sorts of different races crowded around the bra, drinking thick mugs of heady ale, as well as the famous brew of the city’s stills, the black, tarry liquid that was called Shadouwegaard Blacktar. A fire burned on the hearth, and a large stew pot filled the room with a stewy aroma.

The inkeeper, a tall scarred human man with long flowing read hair, nodded curtly to Damien Fell. “Rooms is it you’ll be needing, Damien?” he asked.

“Aye, that’s true,” said Damien Fell. “Two rooms. One for me, and one for the lady. And make sure the lady’s room stays unmolested.”

“Yuh, that’ll be good,” said the innkeeper. “Rooms mine in be the rooms the safest the city.”

“Why does he talk like the way he does?” asked Amberlae in a hushed whipser.

“I knew him twenty years ago, when he was an adventurer,” said Damien Fell. “Unfortunately he had to stop that when he took an arrow to the knee. The trauma of that incident scrambled his brain’s speech processors, and he hasn’t talked normally since.”

“Lady muchly pretty Damien that you having there, m’boy,” said the Innkeeper, and a fowl leer came across his scarred face. “For sale is she?”

WHAT?????” snapped Amberlae. “I’ll have you know—–

“Hush,” said Damien. And he said to the innkeeper, “No. She’s not for sale.”

“Pity,” siad the innkeep, and he produced two iron keys from under the table. “203 and 204 your rooms upstairs, floor second door on the sixth left seventh. Nice a have day.”

“Thank you,” said Damien, and he lead Amberlae away before she could protest again.

“How could you let him insult me like that????” Amberlae said angrily. “I am a princess of Karass Mor!!!”

“Not here, you are’nt,” said damien, and his scarred handsome face grew dark. “Look, Amberlae. I know that in the human Kingdoms you would be expected to be treated like a goddess. But you’re not in the human kingdoms. You’re in the Wildlands now, and we have enemies. I know that I destroyed the Conclave of blood, a while ago, but there are still dangers. And I fear for the worst. You must not show your face. You must not leave this inn. I fear for your life, Amberlae. And I fear that you will be taken away from me—- after all I have worked for—– if you leave the inn. Enemies are here, Amberlae, and I fear for your life. Do not leave this inn.”

A strange looking frog man stepped out of the shadowes, and said with a rasping voice, “Damien Fell……………?

Damien looked at the frogman. “What?” he asked.

A woman in black is looking for you, Damien Fell,” said the frogman.

“Good,” said Damien. “She’s here.” He gazed softly at Amberlae. “I have to go, Princess. But I will come back before sunset. You will not be taken on my watch.” And he turned to go, the frongman going with her.

Amberlae stared at his smooth, perfectly muscled ass as he left, hating herself for enjoying the view so much. Then she turned into the room and lay down on the soft down bed, closing her eyes and simking into sleep……………………………………..


Amberlae awoke from her dream with strange emotions and tubulent chaotic feelings seething through her head. She had strange dreams, dreams that she couldn’t quite remember but when she awakened, her loins were wet and her stomach slightly fluttery. She didn’t know what to feel. Amberlae felt so confused.

Amberlae felt hungry. She didn’t know how long she had slept for– there was no natural light in the dark carverns under the mountain of Shadouwegaard. So she went out of the room which Damien Fell had gotten for her, and went down the stairs, where there was a crowd of people—- mainly humans with long scraggley hair and thick beards, but there were also dwarves, squat and hairy like moss covered rocks, and in addition to that there were even a few dark aelves, who sat in the corners and spoke softly to each other in thier own tongue in quiet, smooth voices. And there were even more members of the other races: two orcs, each one eight feet tall and with skin the color of a pickle, who drank huge qauntities of Shadouwegaard Blacktar and sang nasty brutish songs in loud gravelly voices; a couple Frog men who ate plates of giant insects, statching them from off their plates with long distended blue tounges, and gazed around the room with huge bulging yellow-brown eyes; Crab Men from Karshamyr, who clicked and clacked with their clicking clacking mandibles; and even (it looked like) a cambion, one of the cursed race of half-demons born from the mating of an incubus or succubus and a mortal. The cambion sat in the courner of the room. He had long, flowing silver hair, and burning yellow eyes, slit like cats. He watched Amberlae with his cat’s eyes, sipping gently at his ale, his face an unreadable mask.

“Hello, barkeep<“ Amberlae said to the inkeeper, who regarded her stonily with his deeply scarred face. “I was wondering—- if you maybe knew what time it is?”

“Be it of the late evening morning early maybe,” said the innkeeper in his strange accent. “Not day-folks time for out goings. Miss, bed in you being sleeping should this time of night.”

“have you seen Damien Fell?” asked Amberlae. “I’ve been wondering if he has returned from where he said he was going.

“Mister Master Damien Fell here being isn’t, or iffen he be, I’m not of the knowing,” said the Innjeeper. “Be he maybe outings and gone for time maybe twelve hours long, so there.”

“I see,” said Amberlae, who didn’t. “Do you have any food?”

The innkeeper nodded, and went to the back room. He brought out a large bowl of stew, which Amberlae regarded with some suspicion. She was a Princess, used to dainties and trifles served to her on platinum plates. She wasn’t used to eating stew served in wooden bowels, with a horn spoon to eat it with and a crust of moldy bread on the side to mop up the juices.

Still, she started eating, and she had to admit, it was pretty good— thick and hardy, and heavily spiced too. She ate it with all manner of enjoyments, and when she finished it was a lot less hungry.

A man sat down next to her at the table, and she realized that it was the cambion that had been watching her earlier. ‘Can I buy milady a drink?” asked the cambion, and his voice was as oily and smooth as a greased pig.

SHe looked him up and down: he seemed a little bit on the greasy side, but she was thirsty after her big bowl of stew.

“All right,” she said.

“What would milady prefer to imbibe this eventide?” asked the Cambion.

“I believe that a glass of chilled fruit juice would be fine. A glass of pineapple juice, maybe, or fresh-picked mango. Or–” and her eyes lit up at this- “could I have a glass of Harharrakhan dragonfruit juice? I haven’t hda a glass of that since I left the South.”

The cambion looked puzzled. “I don’t…….. believe that they serve fruit juice here at this establishment, milday,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, and her shoulders sank. “What do they serve?”

“Well, they have beer, and firewater, and Shadouwegaard Blacktar.”

“What kind of beer do they serve?” asked Amberlae.

He looked puzzled. “……..The kind with alcohol in it………….?” he said confusedly.

She sihged. “All right. Il’l have one of those.”

He ordered two beers, and they came fresh and foaming. Amberlae picked hers up curiously, and sniffed at it. Then she took a catious sip of ale. SHe’d never had abeer before. The alcohol in it burned like fire on it’s way down her throat. Amberlae gapsed in sudden shock, then covered up her discomfort with a burst of loud coughing.

“Whats’ the matter”? asked the cambion, smirking. “Is the ale not to your liking, wench?”

Amberlae kept coughing, when suddenly, she realized that she could’nt stop. She cultched her throat in sudden terror, then with her eyes wide, she fell down, onto the floor………………………


She awakened in a darkened room, lit only by candles and a small brassiere that flamed in the corner, its embers glowing like the eyes of a jungle cat. She was sprawled naked on a bed, and realized with sudden shock that her hands and feet were tied to the four posts of the bed, leaving her legs sligthly parted, leaving her vagina exposed.

“By the gods…………..” moaned the Princess. “Where am I?”

The cambion appeared fro the shadows. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waste, and his eyes glinted with malevolent delight in the fire light.

“I knew you immediately for who you were when I saw you downstairs………” said the  cambion. “The most beautiful woman in the world, clearly…………… You could be no other than the delectable Amberlae, Half-Aelfynn Princess of Karass Mor and daughter of King Estuvi.”

“Let me go!!!!!!!” screamed Amberlae in petulant anger. She squirmed and thrashed around on the bed, but her bonds only seemed to tighten further. “Let me go, or i’ll—-”

“Nobody can hear you, princess,” said the cambion, smiling a simile of pure malevolence. “The walls of this room are ensorcelled against any sonic penetration. We’re all alone, just you and me.”

“How did you get me here????” cried Amberlae.

“The juice of the Purple Lotus flower,” said the Cambion, “is a highly subtle and deadly poison that causes unconciousness and pliability in people when administered orally.”

“So….. you poisonedme?!?!” exclaimed Amberlae.

“By the Seventeen Hells, you are thick, aren’t you?” said the cambion. “Of course I poisoned you. And now I have you all to myself.”

And with this, he dropped the towel around his waist to the floor, and Amberlae could see his erect phallus bobbing in the air. He came over to her, almost tenderly, almost gently, and slid his fingers into the honeyed crevice between her legs……………………….

At this touch, Amberlae felt something burn inside her. She knew not where it came from, but somehow, deep within her, a Word grew in her chest, a Word of Phenomenal Power, that somehow she’d always known, she’d just never let it out……………………………………………

Like a sneeze, Amberlae felt the word building inside her, and




F’FOKARF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” yelled Amberlae with all her might…………..

………………and the ropes binding her burst in a blast of light, which seemed to eminate from every pore of her naked body, throwing the naked cambion twenty feet across the room, onto the opposite door.

Amberlae’s whole body ached. Though she tried to stand up, she couldn’t. Her limbs were as weak as wet newspappers, and she could no nothing but lye there panting, her breasts heaving, and cry.

And out of the corner of her eye, the cambion rose……………….

Only he was no cambion. He was a tall, dark-skinned man——— no, not a man, for a man could not have skin as shiny and black as a beetle’s carapace. A pair of majestic horns rose from his head, and she could see that his body was covered in a sheen of red sweat…………. not sweat, she realized, but droplets of blood. Between his legs a penis the size of a baseball bat swung. The former-cambion turned its eyes on her, and in their topaz stare she knew what this man was………………… an incubus, straight from hell.

“No…..” murmured Amberlae.

Can the legends be true? murmured teh incubus. Can it be that the Maiden of Lyghte hath returned to the world?

“I don’t know!!!” cried Amberlae. “I don’t know who I am!!!!!!!”

Be that the case, said the incubus, wiping a long purple tongue along his reptilian lips, I will still take your life energy through sex magic and drain you dry before the Warrior of Darkness returns………..

The walls suddenly shattered, and Damien fell stepped in through the wreakage, brandishing his greatsword Stormshadow in one hand.

“Too late,” he quipped. “He’s already here.”



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