Archive for the ‘Creative Writing Wednesday’ Category

During the month of November, while I’m doing NaNoWriMo, there will be no updates to Creative Writing Wednesday.

I really don’t have time at the moment other than write The Lotus Imperiate, so therefore I’m not going to be sharing anything else at the moment.

(I could share snippets of tLI with you… but no. It’s in seriously rough shape, so I’m somewhat embarrassed about it. Maybe when I finish Draft 2.)

~ Ian


Happy All Hallow’s Eve, everyone!

Or actually, it isn’t really Halloween while I’m writing this. In actuality, I am writing this at 7:43 PM on October 30, a time that many of you may know as THE PAST. But, through the magic of WordPress’s “Schedule” option, I’m making this entry post automatically when it reaches noon on October thirty-first!


(that was a ghost sound, not a party sound, by the way)

For this edition of CWW, we have yet another poem. This isn’t any ordinary poem, though. A couple weeks ago, I was thinking about a special poem to post on Axolotl Ceviche on Halloween, and I started thinking about what the creepiest form of poetry is. And once I considered the answer, it was obvious:

Children’s skipping rhymes.

Seriously. Picture it. You’re all alone in a creaky old house. Night has fallen, and a chill mist blows in from the moors. The house is dark, and as you head up to bed, you hear it: the tinkling sound of a girl’s laughter. Unsettled, you tell yourself it was just a trick of the wind, and then you see her: a little girl, dressed in a pretty blue pinafore, her face shrouded in shadow. In a voice like the tinkle of windchimes, she recites:


Pocket full of posies,

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall DOWN!

As she says the last word, a flash of lightning illuminates her face, and you can see that she has no eyes…

If that didn’t wig you, I don’t know what will.

Anyway, I wrote a creepy children’s skipping rhyme. And then, because the rhyme itself suggested a whole rich history, I decided that I’d write some of that history up, creating a fictional explanation for the fictional rhyme.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Wherever you are, may your night be filled with tricks and candy, and may shadows always cross your path.

~ Ian


Ten little girls walked out of town, 

One little girl went tumbling down. 


Nine little girls went out at night, 

One little girl didn’t feel quite right.


Eight little girls went looking for eggs, 

One little girl had broke her leg. 


Seven little girls stood on their heads, 

One little girl just woke up dead. 


Six little girls squished through the mud, 

One little girl got covered in blood. 


Five little girls would dance and shout, 

One little girl couldn’t find the way out. 


Four little girls cried out for their mum, 

One little girl was just struck dumb. 


Three little girls played silly games, 

One little girl got caught in the flames. 


Two little girls flew through the sky, 

One little girl caught the Devil’s eye. 


One little girl went and cried for help, 

One little girl was burned in Hell. 


No little girls came back that day, 

Wonder what their mother will say?


Ten little girls walked out of town,

and ten little girls went tumbling down. 


The preceding children’s rhyme is dated as having originated around the year 1705, possibly in Philadelphia (it was certainly common by 1790, when British folklorists Wycombe and Tully, in their first trip to the new United States, recorded it being sung by children in Newton, Massachusetts, and a Georgia lawyer and slaveowner Geoffrey MacAnder noted in his diary a variation of the rhyme “which a Negro girl learned me as a boy”. It spread to England in the 19th century, and has been a popular skipping rhyme for generations, common up until the 1940s.

Like many children’s rhymes, it is claimed that the rhyme is based on historical events (such as the oft-cited and possibly spurious claim that “Ring Around the Rosie” dates back to the Black Death). However, as far as I can tell, the rhyme is based on a very old story: that of the Maids of Shrewsbury.

Shrewsbury, New York, was a village of about five hundred inhabitants located on the Hudson river, near the location of Poughkeepsie. In the year 1684, eight full years before the Salem Witch Trials, the people of neighboring villages reported that several young women between the ages of twelve and seventeen (the accounts differ as to the number, although it is usually given between five and fourteen) were running naked through the woods, cavorting with Indians and making noises like animals. The men of Shrewsbury, fearing witchcraft, allegedly locked the girls up in a cellar. However, shortly after midnight on the night of Saturday, August 16, 1684, neighboring villages saw a number of “huge winged beasts” rising from above Shrewsbury, which “screamed like women”. These beasts took off in all directions. Shortly after this, at around 3 0‘clock in the morning, there were a number of bright flashes from above Shrewsbury, visible for twenty leagues around, which looked like “colored lightning”, in the words of the contemporary minister from Kingston. The next morning, when a number of locals visited Shrewsbury, found that the village had disappeared– not burned to the ground or destroyed, but simply vanished, as if it had never been there. The visitors found a number of burned, dismembered female bodies in the nearby woods. For years to come, it was believed that the area where Shrewsbury had disappeared was haunted. Reportedly, the same phenomenon of “colored lightning” has occurred on the night of August 16 several times in the same part of New York, the most recent in 1891.

Whether the story of the Maids of Shrewsbury is true or not is not for a historian such as myself to decide. However, it is known that the vanishing of Shrewsbury was a key influence on the town fathers of Salem, Massachusetts, during the witch trials, and perhaps began the witch-burning craze in America during the late 17th century.

(from Marcus Amesbury’s Life in the Colonial Hudson Valley, 1967)

It’s getting to be Halloween, that time of the year when identity goes out the window, when our darkest subconscious urges come to the fore and we are released from mundane life for a while, and for one night, we revel…

Halloween is my favorite holiday, as you may have guessed.

A few weeks ago, I sent a ghost story in to a contest that Patrick Rothfuss was judging. If I’d won the contest, I would have my story read on the public radio. In Wisconsin.

Don’t question the logic of my entering. It made sense at the time.

Sadly, my story didn’t win, but I still feel like sharing it. So, here it is: “Songs of the Lost”. My flash-fiction space-opera ghost story.

~ Ian

Songs of the Lost

Ian Johnson

When I was a child, my grampa and I would sit in the fields outside our cabin and watch the rockets take off from the launchpad down in the valley. I always liked watching them, thinking about where they were going: to Alpha C, or Niobe, or Terra, or Väinämöinen, or even the Outer Worlds. I wondered what wonders they’d see, what passengers they were carrying, if they would be lost in transition between the stars, like so many other ships had been in the past.

One day, when I was eleven, my grampa asked me an unusual question.

“Can you hear them?” he said. “The ghosts?”

“What are you talking about, grampa?”

He smiled, placing his broad leathery hand on my cheek. “No, I guess you wouldn’t.  You’re young. But me…” My grampa looked off into the distance, off towards the jagged mountains red with alien vegetation. “When I was a kid, and folks first came out here, this world was already occupied. Not by people, y’hear. But by strange creatures, tall and hairy: peaceable enough, if you were on their good side.”

He paused, took a long drag on his cigarette.

“But we weren’t on their good side, boy. They took a dislike to us when we first came here. Tore through our settlements somethin’ fierce, I tell you. They had four arms, and when they grabbed hold of you, they’d rip you to little bitty pieces…”

My grampa smiled his crooked, rakish grin. “But that’s not for young ears to hear,” he said. “To make a long story short, I joined the Earthling Defense Unit. And we made sure that they wasn’t going to bother us no more. Not a single one of them still walks on this world. Not anymore.”

My grampa gestured, cigarette in hand, its burning orange tip cutting a wide arc through the air. “But even though they’re all gone, the old folks like me who remember them… when the wind is right, I can hear them, still echoing through the hills. That’s how they talked to each other, boy. They would make the most beautiful, howling music that would freeze you where you stood with fear and awe. Like wolves, only lower, and sadder.

“I know there ain’t any of them left to walk this world. But I still hear ‘em. In my gut, I can hear the music they make. When the suns go down in the east, that’s when I hear the ghosts. Calling to each other. Mourning the loss of their world.”

My grampa had a stroke and died three months later. I’d always thought that there’d been something wrong in his brain, that the songs had been his breaking-down brain imagining sounds that nobody had heard in decades.

But I’m an old man now, and the red-forested mountains have been strip-mined away to nothing. Even so, when the wind is right, just after the suns have set, I can hear them far away, howling, mourning.

And when I see a rocket lift off, a red-orange flower of fire as it flies into the black, I think of my grampa, and the times we had, in the fields outside our old cabin.

This poem had its origin in the fact that I wanted to write a poem in a verse form that I’d never used before, the Rondel (a kind of repeating verse, like the pantoum or the sestina, but different in its own unique way).

It’s not bad, by which I mean I don’t loathe it. I wish I could have rhymed the word strange properly, but there you go. I happened to get the first line of the poem stuck in my head at one point, so I wrote down the rest of the poem. And I will say this: I love faeries, and I don’t care if society considers them girly. The old-school faeries are completely dark and badass in a way that Tolkien’s elves never even came close to, and they tend to be my preferred type of faerie. Even so, I still kind of have a softness for the annoying buglike little bastards that faeries have become in our modern day. Say what you will about them, I’m sure that if you pissed them off enough, they’d go right for your eyeballs.

Not much else to say, I guess. Ah, well. Enjoy.

~ Ian

I’m Going Into Faerie Where The Stars Are Strange

I’m going into Faerie where the stars are strange.

The autumn leaves are falling underneath an evening sky,

I go now to the place where my bones shall ever lie,

There forever lying, nothing save dust shall remain.

And should I walk forever down beneath this falling rain,

I’d never lay my burden down, never slumber, never die;

I’m going into Faerie where the stars are strange.

The autumn leaves are falling underneath an evening sky.

I’m passing now forever far beyond you mortals’ pain,

beyond suffering and madness. Now my child, don’t you cry:

I’ll never be returning, and before you ask me, “Why?”

Know that my body weakens, like the summer-drying grain.

I’m going into Faerie where the stars are strange.

This is actually a poem that appears as part of The Lotus Imperiate!

Or it will. Eventually. Once I actually write the scene it appears in.

Basically, at some point in The Lotus Imperiate, the characters summon one of the Elemental Powers, who can be thought of as being like gods– but in The Lotus Imperiate, the Lotus Lords (the equivalent of gods) personify abstract concepts, like justice or beauty or strength, while the Elemental Powers are all about the physical. One of them, Sharaasha, is the Elemental Power of the Sea. She is the personification of both the bounty and rage of the ocean, and believe me, when she appears, there’s no bounty anywhere near this shit. The summoning of Sharaasha will, in its turn, kick off many of the main plots of Books Two and Three of the trilogy (which I haven’t named… so sue me, I can’t come up with titles to save my life), and have Long Term Repercussions™ over The Length of the Saga®.

This is also an interesting poem because it’s in iambic tetrameter, which is by far the most common poetic meter in English poetry, and yet I’ve rarely used it in my poems. I wanted to convey the feeling of the rhythm of waves and tides and currents. I don’t know what an invocation to any of the other Elemental Powers would sound like. They would probably use different verse forms. I just haven’t thought out what they’d be.

~ Ian


Beneath the moon, the rise and fall

Like heartbeats rushing with the waves

And to the sea we live in thrall

To its sweet brine, we are its slaves.


For from the sea we crawled in times

When time itself was fresh and new

Our bodies, foam, our blood, its brine

We still remember, we the few. 


Lady of salt, we call to the thee

Where you lie dreaming in the deeps

Come to our aid, we set thee free

Awake, Sharaasha, from thy sleep. 

I have chronic insomnia. This means that occasionally, I can’t fall asleep. No matter how hard I try, it’s impossible.

This poem was written on the day after a night when, no matter what I did, I couldn’t go to sleep. I was trying to convey the sensation of being low on energy, yet always needing to keep going. The poem itself is based a number of times when I had insomnia. It’s a composite of events– not one specific night.

I also liked playing around with non-linearity. I think the poem’s pretty good, anyway.


~ Ian


The Long Dark


by Ian P. Johnson





It’s not whether I want to sleep.

It’s whether I can.





I have entered the Long Dark, the place

where time is distorted. Nothing exists

save those three blinking numbers

on the bedside table, blinking endlessly,

watching over me where I lie.

(Not while I sleep. I should be so lucky.)


Time seems to lose all meaning here: I’m lost

on a sea of errant thoughts and drifting throughout

the universe, time’s arrow forgotten, entropy seemingly

halted. There’s nothing here but shadow and



I have things to do tomorrow, classes, friends,

dragons to slay and demons to repress

but there’s still nothing, nothing save the darkness

and the endless stream of nothing

that I float through.


I cannot get out.










I try to use stories to fall asleep.

Endless episodes of Doctor Who and Red Dwarf,

funny, witty British shows

streaming 24-7 on the laptop beside my bed,

a small square of light, a fire

to keep out the Long Dark.

There’s nothing for it.

The stories of Daleks and GELFs take on a dreamlike intensity in my head,

strange images of prancing madmen

dancing in the back of my skull.

Suddenly I know what it was all about.

I know what Grant and Naylor were trying to tell the world.

I pull out my notebook, turn on the light

but there’s nothing there, nothing

but a dying ember.

(Was that a dream? I think it was a dream.)

I don’t know. I can’t know.







Huh. Okay.


That didn’t work. Let’s try going forwards.





Now I’m listening to music, headphones on

so as not to disturb my roommate,

since he’s a light sleeper

and easily irritated.

It’s a form of sublimation,

of losing myself in a song.


It doesn’t work.

I am lost in the Long Dark.


David Gilmour sings about kicking around on a piece of ground.


I stare up at the darkened ceiling.





What are the laws of cause-and-effect? I don’t know. I’m thinking things before they even





I decide that, what the hell, as long as I can’t sleep

I might as well go see the sunrise.

So it’s down, down to the rugby field

where I sit, a fool on the hill,

the eyes in my head seeing the world turning round,

the stars dimming, Venus rising,

a herald of morning, a child of light,

eala earendel engla beorhtast.


The sun comes up in a blaze of violent purple-red.

The world lightens. Birds sing.

The darkness outside has ended,

yet I still haven’t left the Long Dark.


I don’t know if I will ever leave.





Now it’s breakfast, and time still hasn’t stopped slowing.

Everyone’s speech is distorted and weird.

The lady cleaning the yogurt machine says puuuuuuut yooooouuuur baaaaackpaaaaaack ooooooon the raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack.


I blink. I’d forgotten I was wearing it.





Morning lecture. I want to sleep. I can’t.


I’m looking out at the world through a plate-glass window

slicked with rain, all the people distorted and fuzzy,

swimming in a haze of watery color.


I don’t think my body is my own anymore.


I cannot break free.


I’m lost.


The Long Dark continues.





Everything is perfectly sharp and crystal-clear.

My body is so full of energy that it’s like an exquisite pain,

filling me up so much that I can taste it

like battery acid on the back of my tongue.

I have come to a realization: nobody I see is real,

nobody exists, we’re all just atoms and space dust

and balls of entropy that think we have souls,

and if I were to just wind up and punch someone

then it wouldn’t matter, because it would be just like

hitting a rock.


They’re not real. I’m not real.





A friend asks me, looking concerned, Are you on drugs?


I blink.


What is a “drugs”? I ask.


What is a “you”?





Night two of the Long Dark.


I don’t know how long I can take this.

At least I have my two friends, Bertram the Hyrax

and Abdul the Egyngolia (the last of his kind,

a genus of trilobite that went extinct in the Paleozoic)

plus my secret favorite, Helena the Harmonica-Playing Ukelele.

They sing little songs to me, all through the night.





I know how to control time. I can go back to the beginning

and stop this from happening. I can control the timestream.

I am become God. I can save





Echidna and the Coconut went to a Sunday Fair,

Echidna and the Coconut wore ribbons in their hair.

Echidna said to the Coconut: “My sky has but one star:

For you, my lovely Coconut,

yes, YOU, my lovely Coconut,

is the loveliest ‘Nut there are!”










Finally. Sleep.


Blessed, blessed sleep.



The Next Day


I go about my business, going from class to class. Even though I only got about three hours of sleep, somehow I’m able to function well enough without drooling or falling face-first into the baked ziti at dinner, which I count as a success. Finally, when the day is done, I lay my head down, close my eyes, and wait for sleep.


But it won’t come.





I have entered the Long Dark.



august 30, 2012

“He’s driving me completely crazy,” Amber said. “He’s everywhere. I mean, everywhere. I can’t even go to the bathroom in peace. Somehow he seems to be always following me. Even to my house. How can he be in so many places at once?”

“Still not sure about that,” I replied. “Personally, I suspect witchcraft.”

“Hes always sending me love notes and things. Like, really crappy poetry. And he always wears that gas mask around. What’s the deal with that? I mean, it’s not like his face is that ugly!”

“He has a face? Wow… I’d assumed the existence of one, but there was no evidence to prove or disprove my theory.”

“Yeah, the teachers make him take it off in class,” said Amber. “But everywhere else, he always has it on.”

I was curious about this. The opportunity to probe into Gas Mask Lad’s life with someone who was in the same position I was in… I have to admit, it was tempting. So I seized the yoke of my opportunity (mixing a few metaphors in the process).

“Has he ever mentioned mind-controlling gas, or possibly toxic spores?” I asked.

“What? Why?”

“Because I want to know if your young Mr. Felman wears that mask because he thinks it’s some kind of cool and edgy fashion statement, or whether he’s just batshit fucking loco.”

“I don’t know…” Amber said. “I think a little bit of both.”

“Well, you’d have to be a little bit crazy to think that that thing’s appropriate headgear anywhere outside a trench in Flanders about 1917.”

She glared at me. “Can we get back on the subject that we were originally talking about?” she snapped. “‘Cause, I’d really like to get my life back.”

“Have you actually talked to him? Maybe he’d understand.”

“Tried. Didn’t work.”

“Threats of physical violence?”

“I tried to get my boyfriend Travis to beat him up. He just stared at Travis, and Travis got freaked and ran away.”

“Do you suspect that David Felman has latent psychic abilities, then?”

She looked puzzled. “Huh?”

“Sorry. Off topic again. So, you’ve tried hiding from him, reasoning with him, and threatening him. Have you tried humiliating him?”

“Will that work?” she exclaimed.

I smiled. “Well, judging from what I’ve heard of his interactions with you, and his own writing, David Felman has insecurity as big as the planet Neptune. He thinks he’s worse than anyone else, and this knowledge has pretty much driven him crazy. So I’m thinking that the way to finally cause him to break down is to exploit those insecurities. I’m thinking of some sort of cunning trap. Possibly a dinner date… Do you own a low-cut halter top?”

“You’re crazy!” Amber said. “I’m not going on a date with that little freak!”

“My dear girl,” I said, stroking my beard in what I assumed was a most dastardly fashion, “you only have to go on one. And I’ll be standing by the whole time. Ready to spring. Believe me, nobody knows more about humiliation than I do.”


“How do you think I got my freshman-year roommate to drop out of college?”

Amber Marconi picked at her turkey sandwich for a few seconds. “So you can really do this?” she asked. “Will it cost me anything?”

“Nothing whatsoever. I want to see that little shit put in his place just as much as you do.”

She thought this over. “All right. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

A plan was already forming in my head, a masterful plan that would end with my adversary’s complete and utter annihilation. The pieces were all falling into place. I could practically taste revenge, and it was so sweet…

“Let’s get started,” I said.


Creative Writing Wednesday resumes business as usual next week. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter 12: Epilogue of Shadow

Damien Fell was ready to take on the final battle. ANd he knew it was the final battle. He knew it in the core of his being, knowing it knowingly like nothing he’d ever known before. It was time for the end to begin.

It was time for the showdown.

“cOmE aNd ClAiM hEr, DaMiEn FeLl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” screached the twisted, malformed entity that was Lord Hateshadowe’s malformed and twisted soul. “CoMe AnD cLaIm YoUr LoVeR, bEfOrE i FeAsT oN HeR sOuL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“I will destroy you, you know,” Damien Fell grunted, flapping his wings and hovering in the suspended sea of not-air that made up the world of Chaos. “I’ll rip your spine out and snap it in half before I let you kill my Ambaryssa.”

“aH, sO yOu SaY!!!!!!!” shouted Lord Hatesdhaow. “bUt I aM sTrOnGeR tHaN yOu In ThE eNd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Just watch me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Damien Fell exploded.

And with that, he beat his mighty wings, bird feathers and bat leather cacthing on the immiterial substance of Chaos as he flew forward, drawing his two pistols. With a noise like bottled thunder, the pistols exploded in his hands, shattering into a million peaces. The pieces then turned into tiny, delicate green beetles and flew away.

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1” cried Damien Fell. “Those were the only pistols in all of Evershyria!!!!!!!! I made them with my own hands!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He raised his arms and shouted “KCOHSREDNUHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Inteding to send a mightly gout of lightening at Lord Hateshadowe. But instead of delivering the correct amount of electricity, two multicolored snakes shot out of his arms, and stuck their tongues out at him before melting into sunlight-colored snow.

“How is this possible!!!!!!!” roared Damien Fell. “I can’t believe this!!!! It must be………. that on the Plane of Chaos magic doesn’t function properly!!!!!!!!!!”

“YoU hAvE jUsT fIgUrEd ThAt OuT, dAmIeN fElL????????????????????????” the soul of Lord Hateshadowe grated. “yOu MuSt Be StUpIdEr ThAn I tHoUgHt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Then I’ll have to kill you the old-fashioned way!!!!!!!!” Damien Fell raged, and he drew Stormshadow, swinging it about his head like a deadly whirlwind of sharp steel.

“CoMe AnD tRy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

After that, Damien Fell wasn’t sure what had happened.

Time seemed to shift and change, melting about him like so much string cheese.

And it seemed to Damien Fell that he WAS Lord Hateshadowe, just as he was Ambaryssa, and he was everything else in the world, an all-consuming darkness that lurked at the hearts of stars.

He was nothing.

He was everything.

He was a god, creating multiverses out of pure fermament.

He was a jeelyfish floating on the ocean tide.

He was a warrior.

He was a mayden.

He was suddenly every soul that had ever lived.

An eternity of souls, stretching for millions of years into the past, and the future (for what is the future, if not an alternate past?).

And he seemed to lose himself on the shifting sands of everything that made up all worlds, passing through trillions of years in a single heartbead, falling through eternity so softly that you could hear a pencil drop, screaming his mind out with madness and pain and anarchy……………………………………………………………

And then, after all that, he rememebered who he was.

He was the Warrior of Darkness.

He was Damien Fell.

With a single mighty swing of his sword, Damien Fell attacked Lord Hateshadowe, cutting the ten-eyed three-mouthed head from its shoulders……………………………..

The realm of Chaos disipated around him.

Suddenly there was nothing left but the cave walls and giant statues.

The Womb of Shadow and Light.

He was home. And Ambaryssa was in his arms.

She stirred delicately. “Damien?” she said. “Where was I………………….”

Damien Fell kissed her on the lips. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Your safe now.”

Slowly, tenderly, the Warrior of Darkness began to make love to the Mayden of Lyghte.

The world stood still.


A week later, when they’d finally finished their lovemaking, the two of them stood overlooking the lake of lava outside the Womb of Shadow and Light, holding hands.

“Are you sure that you have to go, my love?” asked Ambaryssa.

“I must,” he said, kissing her on the top of the head. “I made a promise, remember, to Jorquim, King of the Griffons. And I fulfill my promise. I am an honorable man, above all else.”

“But for a year and a day………………………..” said Ambaryssa. “What will I do until then?”

“You can go to Karass Mor,” said Damien Fell. “I’m sure your father misses you greatly.

“My father…………………………………….” Ambarssa said. “I barely remember him. It was so long ago.”

Damien Fell smiled. “I’d like to meet him,” said Damien Fell. “And when I return, we can get married. And go to that little house by the mountain lake where the Keeper of Darkness said we would live.”

“That would be lovely,” said Ambaryssa. “I want to be at your side forever.”

“Me too,” said Damien Fell. He kissed her, one last time.

“I must go now,” Damien fell said. “Jorquim awaits me.” And he spread his angel-demon wings wide, and took to the sky.

My boyfriend is the coolest guy ever, Ambaryssa thought.

She watched and waited until he was nothing more than a tiny black dot against the blue sky, and then until he’d finally disappeared. Then she turned to go. It was a long way to Karass Mor, and she had to tell them the tale. Of how Travyss died. Of how the world was saved.

And deep within her belly, Ambaryssa could feel new life stirring……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

THE END??????????????????????????

Help me.

~ Ian


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter 10: Shadow Falls


We have served our purpose, said Jorquim, majestic King of the Griffons, greatest of all the beasts of the air.

“I thank you both,” said Damien Fell.

You will thank us when you journey to Ma’a’ka’la’uun, and act as my servent, replied Jorquim haughtily. You owe us a debt, Warrior of Darkness, and if you do not repay us, we will travel to wherever you are and disembowell you, no matter where you are, no matter how you try to hide. 

“I will not try to hide,” Damien said. “I will serve you for a year and a day, and I will do so whith honor.”

Swear it, Jorquim commanded.

Damien fell raised his right hand and, drawing his great broadsword Stormshadow, cut a gash in his hand. Dark black blood flowed from his open palm.

“I so swear,” Damien Fell said.

Good said Jorquim in his booming deep voice, then we are appeased. I will see you again, Damien Fell, when you come to Ma’a’ka’la’uun to serve me in my war against the other mosters. And with that, Jorquim and his two mates spread their wings wide and took off into the brooding bloodred sky.

“Farewell, most nomble of beasts,” Damien Fell said, raising his hand in salute to the griffons.

“They’re such beautiful creatures,” princess Ambaryssa murmered.

“That’s the truth,” exclaimed Shaira, “but where is the Womb of Shadow and Light? I had thought that it was a cave deep into the ground.”

“It is,” said Damien Fell. “In fact, it’s right over—–” and he gestured to the waterfall of lava———- “there!!!!

And with his gesture, the waterfall parted, spreading wide like the legs of a gorgeous dark-aelfynn prostitute, only huge and made of burning liquid rock.

“Beautiful” whispered Ambaryssa.

“ANd how are we supposed to get across the lake of fire to get to the Womb of Shadow and Light?” Asked Shaira. “The lake is easily a mile wide. How are we supposed to cross it? I’m good at jumping, but not THAT good.”

“Simple,” said Damien Fell. “Ambaryssa. You know what to do.”

“I do,” said Ambaryssa, and lifting her head, she began to sing.


The darkness is dark and the night be cold

And I’m borken and tired and feel so old

But I will not stray from shadow and pass into endless night

I’ll walk the path of goodness, I’ll take the road of Lyghte.


And Damien Fell lifted his voice to answer her:


The light it is blinding and the sun shines so hot

And I never want to try and be the thing I’m not

I’ll take to the shadows where everything is best

I forsake all sunlight and go into the Darkness.


Finally, the two lovers, Mayden of Lyghte and Warrior of Darkness, lifted their perfect golden voices to the dark read heavens, singing a duet.


And we will walk to gether, the sun and the moon

We will walk across the world, across the darkened room

We will create a Fusion, we will concieve a world

We sing the endless saga, the tale of man and girl.


They came to the final couplet, and their voices rang out over the lava:


We will not let Evershyria vanish into endless night

We will come here together, to the Womb of Shadow and Light.


As they sang the final couplet of the song, it seemed to Shaira that tendrils of silvery white light and inky black darkness came and rose up, like tentacles on a cosmic octopus. The tendrils danced and spun and spiraled and rithed, in time to the music of Ambaryssa’s and Damien’s song, and joining together, they seemed to wind themselves into a braid, a braid made of mingled Darkness and Lyghte. The braid laid itself down at their feet, and it was suddenly a bridge: a bridge that was maid of what looked like glowing marble: white marble, with streaks of black. Or was it black marble, with streask of white? Shaira couldn’t tell, and didn’t think there was any point in trying to figure it out, for the substance of the bridge shifted and changed. It was the mingling of Lyghte and Shadouwe. A fusion of Good and Evil. It was a bridge made from the contrary opposites of Heaven, Hell, and Mortality. It was, in essence a bridge that was Evershyria, and Evershyria was in it. This was the point of no return. They were going into the Womb of Shadow and Light, and there was no turning back.

Shaira swallowed nervously.

Let’s go.” Damien Fell said decisively.

They set foot on the brigde, and as they did, it seemed as if the entire earth shook, like a giant at the moment of orgasm.

“LOOK OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” shouted Damien Fell……………………………………………………………………………………..

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….but as he did, a giant head broke the surface of the water…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

It was huge. It was serpentine It was scaled with obsidian glowing redhot with head, and had massive giant sharp pointed fangs the size of small trees. The eyes were easily the size of the common room of your average-sized disreputable tavern, and they burned with golden-red fire. The head had massive horns as tall as towers, and nostrils like vast gaping holes that steamed and smoked and gave forth noxius yellow gas. And it rose into the air, higher and higher, on a giant serpentine neck, until its shoulders breached the water and it unfurled its massive batlike wings, wings that were the size of a city………………………………………………………………

The Dragon of Shadow and Light had come to defend its territory.

“ςηατ τηε φθψκ αρε υοθ δοινγ ηερε” it said. “βαψλ οφφ, ν00βλαρ, ορ ι ςιλλ βε φορψεδ το ποπ α ψαπ ιν υοθρ πθνκ-ασσ ασσ”

“It speaks the ancient and nobel tounge of the Dragons!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” exclaimed Ambaryssa. “I speak Draconian, my love! It was one of the skills taugth to me as a Princess of Karass Mor!”

“Speak to it!” cried Damien Fell. “Tell it that we mean no harm!”

Ambaryssa nodded, and spreading her arms wide, addressed the mighty dragon. “οη γρεατ ονε, ςε αρε ηθμβλε τραωελερσ ςηο ςιση το εντερ τηε ςομβ οφ σηαδος ανδ λιγητ. μιγητ ςε βε περμιττεδ το εντερ, μιγητ δραγον”

“νο”, the dragon replied. “πισσ οφφ. ονλυ τηε ςαρριορ οφ δαρκνεσσ ασ τηε μαυδεν οφ λυγητε σηαλλ βε περμιττεδ το ενδερ τηε ςομβ.”

“βθτ ςε αρε τηε ςαρριορ οφ δαρκνεσσ ανδ τηε μαυδεν οφ λυγητ!” exlcaimed Ambaryssa.

“οη ρεαλλυ? ςηο’σ τηε βιντ ιν βλαψκ?”

“τηισ ισ σηαιρα, οθρ μοστ νοβλε ανδ τρθστεδ ψομπανιον.”

“σηε ψαν’τ εντερ. ι’μ γοινγ το ηαωε το κιλλ υοθ αλλ.”

And with that, the Dragon of Shadow and Light attacked.

“Prepare for battle!” Yepled Damien Fell. With that cry, he drew his sword Stormshadow, which glowed with darkness, as inky black and shadowy as the inside of a hole. Ambaryssa spoke a word of power and lept into the air, silvery-blue angel wings forming on her back from nothing as she spoke another word and shot a beam of pure golden energy at him. Damien Fell jumped higher than Shaira had ever seen anyone jump, springing through the air as tendrils fo darkness formed around himself, like lashing tentacels of dark power. He swung Sotrmshadow through the air, and it left a trail of darkness behind it as it cut through the air, humming with arkane power, slicing into the Dragon of SHadow and Light’s neck, leaving a gash ten feet deep. The dragon screamed in pain, and then Ambaryssa shot a second beam of power like a flaming laser directly into the dragon’s eyes.

Shaira couldn’t believe her eyes. The Mayden of Lyghte and the Warrior of Darkness, fighting side by side together, a melding of Lyghte and Dakrness like nothing the world had ever seen. It was incredible. It was magical. It was glorios and terrible and a million other things that she didn’t even have words for.

The dragon screamed and beat its wings, taking to the air. It breathed a stream of superheated flame at Ambaryssa, but she crossed her arms, creating a sheild of force that kept the flame from hitting her.

“HEY!!!!!!!” Shouted Damien fell. “DON’T HURT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

He swung Stormshadow above his head like a helicopter rotor and used it to hover in the air. Then, swinging his legs back around his back, he pulled the two pistols that he’d crafted ages ago, the only guns in all of Evershyria, with his feet, and blasted shot after shot at the dragon using his feet. The blasts stung the dragon’s eyes, and temproarily blinded him. Swinging out with a giant claw, the dragon struck at Damien Fell, and knocked him down towards the burning hot lava.

“Damien!!!!!!!” ejaculated SHaira. “I’m coming for you.” WIth that she sprung off the rock spire, down towards the lava in one giant, perfectly executed leap, right towards Damien Fell. Whirling her chain around her in a perfect figure eight, she whipped it out and caught Damien as he fell, swinging him back up towards her. After that, she adjusted her flight path in midair, so that she landed on a chunk of black obsidian floating in the lava, a floating island in the middle of a lake of fire.

“Thanks for that,” Damien Fell said.

“It’s no trouble,” replied Shaira. “Now go! I’ll hold off the Dragon, you go with Ambaryssa into the Womb of Shadow and Light!”

“Are you sure???” cried Damien Fell.

“Of course!!!” cried Shaira. “Go!”

Damien Fell nodded and leapt to the bridge over the lake. “Ambaryssa!” he screeched. “To the Womb!”

Ambaryssa nodded, blasting the dragon with a final beam of blue energy, and began to fly to the parted waterfall of lava that concealed the Womb of Shadow and Light. Damien Fell followed her, on the bridge.

Shaira smiled, pulling her liquidly-flowing aelfynn-forged chain close to her, whipping it and preparing to attack the dragon. “Well,” she said to the chain, “this is it. The last stand.” And she leapt into the air, uttering the ancient battle-cry of the Shadow Syndicate:

FOR THE MONEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Ambaryssa came down from the air, landing on the brigde next to Damien Fell at the entrance to the Womb of Shadow and Light.

“Damien…………………………………” she moaned, “I feel………… weak……………………………………………………………” And with that, she colappsed to the ground, her angel wings disolving into sparkling flecks of Lyghte.

“Ambaryssa! My love, can you hear me??????”

Damien Fell knelt down next to Ambaryssa, kissing her on the forehead. “Well be there soon,” he said. And with that, he picked her up, entering into the Womb of Shadow and Light…………………………………………………………………………………….


The battle between Shaira and the Dragon of Shadow and Light raged outside, with no clear victor between either side. Just when it seemed like the dragon would kill Shaira with his flaming breath, she would blink out of existance and reappear in a different place, there to strike. And Shaira couldn’t hurt the dragon very well. She didn’t have Damien Fell’s strength; couldn’t strike through the dragon’s glowing red-hot obsidian scales.

Then she remembered the secret that her mentor had told her all those years ago, about how to kill a dragon. She remembered, all of a sudden, what he had said when he trained her in the arts of Shadouwe Magycke, how to disappear without being seen, how to kill without a sound, how to do all the Forbyddyn Artes that the members of the Shadouwe Syndicate knew how to do.

If you want to kill a dragon, he had said, there’s no opening in the scales. You can’t kill it by beating away at the outside. You can try. of course, but you’ll always fail. No, Shaira, to kill a dragon, you have to destroy it from the inside out.

Of course, thought ShAira. Master, you are so wise. May your spirit ever lie in rest.

Steeling herself, Shaira dived towards the gaping, canyon-sized maw of the Dragon of Shadow and Light. It opened wide to recieve her. She flew into the mouth, past the forest of sintillating diamond teeth, past the huge lashing purple tounge, until she landed on the dragon’s uvula: a huge thing thirty feet in length, razor-edged and pulsating.

“Master, I thank you,” said Shaira. “This is for Damien Fell and Ambaryssa!!!!!!”

She opened her mouth wide, and screamed, “EKIRTSEWUODAHS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A knifelike blast of shadow burst upwards from Shaira’s outstretched arms, blasting through the roof of the dragon’s mouth, through the nose and the cavernus sinuses, and directly into the dragon’s brain. Shaira’s world shook, like it was undergoing an earthquake, or really it was going through every earthquake imaginable, in the history of Evershyria, and all the lands that had come before.

The dragon screamed, and fell from the air, landing in the lake of lava with a sound like a turkey falling into a vat of burning oil.

Then there was silence.

For a moment, if anyone had been watching, they would have thought that Shaira was dead. This wouldn’t be a surprise, ofcourse, since she fell from a great height.

But then, there was a renching, squooshing sound, coming from the dragon’s lava-red eyeball. And then, bursting out of it in a blast of orange vitrious humor, was Shaira, covered in filk and sweat, panting with the exirtion of her task.

“I………. I did it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” she cried. “I killed him!!!!!!!! I’m a dragonslayer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

There was a sudden pain in Shaira’s chest, and the happiness died on her lips. She gasped in pain, looking down to her formerly-fine bosom.

There was the point of a sword, sticking out from between her breasts.

The sword was removed with a wrenching sound, and Shaira colappsed, dead.

Congratulations,” said Travyss Hawke, smiling and wiping human blood from the ancient blade Rayventallon. “Does that make me…………………….. A DRAGONSLAYERSLAYER???????????????????????????


It’s not easy, being crazy.

I stare into the mirror at my tangled hair and my staring eyes and I look back at myself and all I can think is, How did I get to be this person?

And every night, I lie awake, fearing to close my eyes, fearing to even blink– because I know that if I do, if I fall asleep, the dreams will come, and I’ll see it again: the gas mask, impassive and staring, gazing down at me with cold eyes, with no emotion, just a blank, staring mask, like a knife directly into my soul, forever…

There’s a place in my head that I dare not go, for I know that if I do, I’ll hear nothing but the echoing screams, the screams inside my skull, the screams of fear.

I am a haunted man.

I am a hunted man.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I am being consumed.

~ Ian


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter 8: The Tale of Light and Shadow

The three compainions— Damien Fell, Amberlae, and Sharia– sat around a campfire int he middle of the barren northern waists, five hundred miles away from Shadouwegaard. It was cold, and the sound of the Targathian Bloodhawkes screeching and skirling loudly across the moorlands was like the sound of death and destruction echoing across the wilderness.

Amberlae was afraid, of course. She huddled close to Damion Fell, who had one strong muscular arm wrapped close around her shoulders, and held her close to him. She felt comforted by his nearness. The warmth and the smell of his body was soothing, and she wanted to sink into his arms and lie there forever. She had accepted her position as his lover, and knew that she wanted nothing more than to be by his side until the day she died.

“So, can you tell me what exactly happened back there?” asked Shaira, who sat polishing her chain with a dispassoinate expression on her cold and beautiful face.

“It is a long story,” said Damien Fell. “But I believe that you know what’s going on, don’t you, my love?” And he stroked Amberlae’s red-gold hair with his warm, leathery hand.

“I…. I believe I do……” said Amberlae. “Deep within me. I know.”

And she took a deep breath, and began to speak.

“Every child that grows up in  Evershyria knows about the eternal conflict between Lyghte and Darkness. And they also know that there is Shadouwe between then, the darkness that is created by Lyghte, the neutral party in the cosmic conflict that defines the universe.” She picked up a stick and started drawing in the dirt, a drawing that showed what looked like a sandwich, with two slices of bread and a piece of meat in the center.

“There are three plains of existance,” said the Princess. She gestured to the meat in the cosmic sandwich, and said, “There is Evershyria, which as we all know id the mortal realm, the realm that is the home of the living. Evershyria is the plane where mortals dwell, and it is also the battlefield between Lyghte and Darkness that is the defining conflict of the universe.”

Amberlae then pointed at the two pieces of bread that made up the outer layers of the multiverse. “But the mortal plane is transient, and when the inhabitants of Evershyria die, then they go to either Heaven or Hell, depending on whether they have been followers of the Lyghte or the Darkness. And, as we all know, these planes are eternal. They do not fluctuate in the way that the mortal realm does. They are the homes of the immortals, the angels and demons and gods that define the universe. And then outside this all, there is Chaos: the seething vaccume where nothing but darkness and fire rains. These are the realms of unspeakable horror. Chaos is the plane that is not a plane, the realm of madness that exists outside of the multiverse.”

“I’m well aware of all this,” said Shaira gruffly. “But what does this have to do with any of what happened back in Shadouwegaard?”

“It’s simple,” said Damien Fell. “It is known  that there is a ciclical pattern to existence, and these cycles are based around two eternally reincarnated cosmic souls: the Maiden of Lyghte, and the Warrior of Darkness. These two beings are two halves of the same soul. They are like the two faces of a coin. And those are the beings that Amberlae and I are.”

“You’re saying that you’re some kind of powerful uber-souls?” said Shaira, laughing. “I’ll believe it when I see it!”

“But you have seen it, SHaira,” said Amberlae softly. “You saw it back in Shadouwegaard. For as you know, Damien Fell died back there. And I brought him back to life with a kiss. Because, you see, I am life itself, just as Damien Fell is Death Incarnate. And you know that life cannot exist without death, you see?”

“Of course,” said Shaira. “Im’ an assassin, don’t you think that I’d know that death and life are really just the same thing?”

“So it is with me and Amberlae,” said DamienFell. We are cosmic beings. One a mortal, one immortal. One of Lyghte, one of Darkness. We have lived millions of lives in the past, and we will live millions of lives in the future. We are the fulcrum on which the cosmic lever lifts.”

“This all seems very strange,” said Shaira. “But what does this have to do with anything?”

“It is prophesized,” said Amberlae, “that as each cycle of existence comes to an end, the Maiden of Lyghte and the Warrior of Darkness will come together as one at the Womb of Shadow and Light, and join together as one flesh. Then will the Maiden of Lyghte’s belly swell,a nd she will give birth to a child. A beautiful child, a powerful child: half mortal, half immortal.”

“That’s nothing special,” said Shaira. “There are cambions and heaventouched all over Everyshria. “

“Ah, but you see, I am not a demon<“ said Damien Fell. “Nor am I an angel. I am half-demon and half-angel. I am myself a fusion of Lyghte and Darkness. And that is what makes me special. That is what will make our child special. For within her, will be contained a conflux of Lyghte and Darkness and mortality. She will be an incarnation of Shadouwe, and because of this she will bring an end to the universe, and remake it anew.”

“And end to existence????” said Shaira. “That’s horrible! Why would this happen?”

“It must happen,” said Amberlae. “As you know, life is about balance. My child—- our child——— will bring balance to the multiverse”

“And she will make it again,” said Damien Fell. “She will bring destruction, but also creation. She will bring death, but also life. She will be the wheel that existance turns around. Her children will be the gods of the new world that will be forged out of the embers of the last.”

Shaira paused, stairing into the flames of the campfire. “And will this world be better than the last?”

“I hope so,” said Amberlae. “Whatever it will b e like, our child will bring it. But I will never live to see it. And neither will you. And neither will Damien.”

There was a long and silent pause. Finally, Sharia said, “I don’t understand this fully, Damien Fell. But you did me a favor back at the Fiendfang, by saving me from that lord Hateshadowe. I will follow you, wherever you want to go. I will escort you to the Womb of Light and Shadow. I swear it on all gods living or dead. I swear it on the moon. I swear it on my life.”

“You are an honorable woman,” said Damien Fell.

“Of course I am,” said Shaira. “I’m an assassin. Don’t you know that we’re the last honorable people in the multiverse?”


As the companions prepared to bed down for the night, Amberlae snuggled close to Damien Fell underneath their bedroll, which they shared now, having become lovers.

“I meant it when I said it,” she whispered. “I’ve never had sex before, and I’m still a virgin. But I want you to be inside me, and I want to feel my belly grow heavy with our child. I want to make love to you, Damien. And I wanted to from the firt moment i saw you.”

“You know why that cannot be,” said Damien Fell.

“I know it,” she said dismissively. “But I still want you. Now. I want to feel your rough shaft penetrating into my softest place. I want to make love to you until we both scream. I want your babies. I want your sex. I want you to be mine.”

“I know what you want,” said Damien Fell, “and you cannot have it. Not yet.”

Amberlae kissed the nape of Damien’s neck, and nuzzled his cheek with her soft perky nose. “I know that. And I will wait. But I must reward you in some way for saving me back at that inn.”

And her small, nimble fingers quested down to his pants, and she unzipped them, placing her fingers around his already erect penis.

Amberlae whispered, “I have heard that certain courtisannes of Karass Mor perform this action. My betrothed, Travyss of Rayvenhawke, was a frequent patron of brothels, and he would tell me about the acts of love that they would perform on their clients. I will do the same now for you, my love.” And she disappeared under the blankets.

“What are you……..” Damien Fell murmured, and then he knew. “Oh. ……oh.

They lay there for hours, as Amberlae pleasured Damien Fell with her mouth and hands and lips and tounge, sucking and licking at his erect member until she brought him to his full, and she swallowed his seed eagerly. And when she finished, it was his turn to dissapear under the blankets, and use his mouth and hands and lips and tongue, until Amberlae was brought to an earth-shattering orgasm by his skill— the first that she’d ever enjoyed—– and they finished, and lay there under the stars, holding each other, listening the the heartbeat of the earth untill they drifted off to sleep.


A cold wind blew out of the North, and upon it was the scent of blood and hatred.

It passed over field and forest, over city and widlerness. It swept across the world, and upon its black breath was the agonized screaming of a dead soul consumed by anger primordial. As the wind passed over the lands of Evershyria, those who stood by, watching and wondering as the storm roared out of the North could hear a voice on the wind, a voice that cracked with malic, a voice that was tortured with pain and anger and death, a voice that was like the dead ice at the heart of every glacier, a voice that was Evil.

DAMIEN FELL…………………….. it whispered. I’M COMING FOR YOU………………………………………………………………………

The wind sought a vessel, a person to be consumed with its evil, to reek its revenge. Soon it came across a lone rider coming to Shadowegaard, and it smiled, as it could sense fear and anger inside this soul, this man with his flowing golden hair and his magestic broadsword Rayventallon on his back. It was Travyss Hawke, the Prince of Rayvenhawke, whose nostrils were already filled with the scent of revenge.

Travyss Hawke reigned in his horse, patting it’s side as he dismounted. “I can smell her,” she said. “I can smell Amberlae.”

Travyss? came the voice of Amberlae from across the moors. I’m so cold and lonley. Won’t you come towards me? Won’t you warm me with the embrace of your massive arms? Won’t you comfort me with your manhood?

“I will my love!!!!” exclaimed Travyss. “I will!!!!!!!”

She appeared like a shimmering wraith out from the mist, her red-gold hair falling down her back, as naked as the day she was born. Travyss could feel himself stiffen as he saw her perfevt breasts, her long and perfectly hair less legs, and the delicate patch of soft fuzz that concealed her perfect vagina, the place where he wanted to sink into more than everything else, to gaze upon and feel, the place that no man had touched.

Travyss, Amberlae said. My love. and she came to him, and kissed him with her full pouty lips, and put her arms around him. He kissed back. She tasted like wild honey and rose water.

Then from out of the mist, came a warrior. Tall and dark, cloaked in shadow, his eyes burning with heatless flame. The warrior grabbed Amberlae, and renched her from Travyss’s grasp, pulling backwards until the warm bundle of naked softness was gone from where he held her.

Travyss! cried Amberlae. My love! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!

“AMBERLAAAAAAEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!” whaled Travyss, but it was too late. His princess had disappeared back into the mist, vanishing from where he beheld her into the shadows.

“NO!” ejaculated Travyss, and knelt down and wept. “NO! NO! NO!”

Then there was a sound like a whisper at Travyss’s ear, and this is what it said:

You want to find her, don’t you? You want to make her yours. You want to recsue her from the man who stole her from you. 

There is nothing more I want,” said Travyss. “I want to claim her. I want to claim her as my own. I want my kingdom. I want my love.”

I can help you to get that, said the voice on the wind. I can make the man who stole her pay. And I need you to do one thing for me.

“Of course,” said Travyss. “I’d do anything to get my Amberlae back.”

Then let me enter you, whispred the voice. Let me feed on your life, in exchange for unimagineable power. Let me join with your soul. I have strength the likes of which you can only dream of. All you need to do is say the words, ‘I give you leave to enter me.”

“And this will get Amberlae back to me?” said Travyss.

Of course, said the voice. Would I lie?

“Of course not,” said Travyss. “Very well. If it gets my love back to me, I have no choice but to sumbit.”

Travyss took a deep breath, and intoned, “I give you leave to enter me.”

Immediately Travyss felt something peircing his soul, a stabbing feeling like ice entering every orifice of his body. He screamed, but no sound came out. It felt like liquid fire was flowing through every part of his body.

Soon, though, it was over. And Travyss felt stronger than ever before. Magic siffused every vein of his being.

All right,” said Travyss. “Let’s go, then.

He grinned. If anyone had been looking on, they would have known that Travyss’s eyes had suddenly become jet black, the color of the Chaos that seethes outside the universe. His teeth were sharp, and fanged. He was prepared to kill.

What is your name, my new friend?

The voice spoke, and said, Lord Hateshadowe.

Awesome,” said Travyss. And spreading his toothed mouth wide, he spoke a word of power. “Worcmrots.”

Immediately twelve pitch-black ravens appeared, and he spoke to them. “Find Amberlae and her capter. Report back to me if you find them.

The ravens flew off in a blast of black feathers. Travyss remounted his horse.

We ride.

So, I was walking downtown when a homeless guy came up to me.

“Some kid over there wanted you to have this,” he said, giving me a sheaf of papers. And he pointed back over his shoulder, where a young teen in a hoodie and gas mask peeked out at me from an alley.

“Great. Did he tell you not to read it, in fear that you might steal his awesome ideas?”

“Naw. I can’t read, y’see.”


“So… y’got any meth?”

After telling the homeless guy that the kid in the gas mask over there had meth for him, I examined the papers, and saw a Post-it Note affixed to the front.

It said:


My stupid mom said that my stupid little brother had to help me with this chapter. She says that it’s nice to share, and so she made me collaborate. And now I have to give him half the money for the story, because he’s a collaborator. 

Please don’t put the part my brother wrote on your blog. It sucks. You’ll be able to tell which part it is by the fact that you’ll get to the part that starts sucking.


I read the story, and honestly, I decided not to change anything. Our mysterious author’s little brother is a brilliant writer, honestly. I see Pulitzers in his future.

Anyway, here’s Chapter 5.

~ Ian


The Epic Legend of Damien Fell

Chapter Five: Shrouded in Shadow

As morning fell over the foggy shrouded mists of the northlands, Princess Amberlae and Damien Fell came to a secluded valley. A churning, boiling watterfall spewed over the granite rocks in the north end of the valley, and the smell of sulfer came form a crack in the rock. Huge statues guarded the exit to the valley, towering sentinels of stone carved from the living white rock. As Amberlae came to the valley, she could feel Power humming in her very bones. This was a place of great Magycke, she knew that, a place where the earth itself concentrated into a nexus of energy.

Around her waist were the powerful, solid muscular arms of Damien Fell. She found herself wondering at their toch. The feel of his hot humid breath on the back of her smooth alabaster neck was strangely arousing, filling her with a heretofore unfelt mixture of love and dread. This man– Damien Fell, a demonic, angelic assassin straight out of legend– made her feel things she’d never felt before. Amberlae simultaniously wanted to run and scream from him, and also to wrap her arms and legs around him and feel the power of his warm love flow through her. She was conflicted. She was a child of Lyghte, a daughter of humans and wood aelves, but at the same time she was drawn to the Shadouwe that was Damien Fell.

What is happening to me? Princess Amberlae asked herself. Am I becoming evil?

Damien Fell rained his horse to a stop, and helped Amberlae dismount. “Here is a good place to camp, he said.

“Why are we stopping?” asked Amberlae. “There are still many more hours of daylight left to go!”

“We assassins draw our power from the darkness,” Fell said. “We do not walk in the light. We are shadow-walkers, night-prowlers. I don’t like the daytime. Darkness is my preferred time.”

“Are you trying to convert me to the Darkness?” asked Amberlae snappishly. “Is that what you want? Well I’m a Princess of Karass Mor, you know, and I will not be sueded to the side of Darkness.”

“I do not wish to convert you to anything,” said Damien Fell.

“Well then, what purpose do you have in bringing me here?”

He turned to her, and his eyes flashed like obsidian reflecting firelight. He stroked her cheek, gently, almost tenderly, and murmured in a soft voice, “My purpose is my own”. Amberlae could feel the wave of mysterious fear and longing go through her body.

“So do you want me, then, is it?” asked Amberlae. “You want my body, do you not! You want to possess me, don’t you?”

heck no, said damian fell. im not going to tocuh u u stinky girl. girls are gross and stinky. i dont want to be nere you.


youre a stupid ulgy girl said dammein fell, and i dont want to see you ever again.

so he druwe his long sorde and he stabbed the icky girl prinsese thru teh stummik with the sorde and she was like AAAA U KLILED ME and then she fell down and their was blode evriwear. IM DED NOW ARE YOU HPAPPEY WITH YURSELD she yelled and daimin fel sed go dye in a poop mine you dumb poopy girl.


damian fell sead okay let me just get my ligthsabere. so he toke his sorde and broak it in haff and then litt the broakin haff on fier with som magic. so the fier burnd and daimn fell sed okay now tihs sord is a laitsabur and he jumpd on opitmus prims back and they flow into oater spase.

ther were all these wairwolfs in cibertron and they were all took ovre the hole place, so damiun fil drouw his sord wich was atchully a litesabrr now like i just told u abote. so then their was a big fite and optimos pryme had tow ligthsabers and they fot all the werwolfs. damin fel killd ten milion weirwolffs andoptmus prime kiled five milion. then ther was a wairwofl boss who was the knig of all warewolfs and he yeled I AM THE MOST POWRFULL OF ALL WAERWULBFS AND YOU CANOT DIFET ME. but daimiun  fall was triky and said we need bakkup! and he yeled so loud taht all the poepl in the yunivruse culd here him.

and al these peple shoud up it was like the’re was darth vader and he brout with him ROBOT HAN SOLO whou was like han solo only he was a robto. and then mario waz their an aslo ash wiht all his pokimans and i think so was sord man form the lords of the rigns. and also ange from avatar came and their was prinse zuko and uncel airo and thay were a teme and did ausom fierbendng. and thear was aslo a JIGANTICK TIRANOSOROS REX woh was being riding by wolferin and spidrmane and the trex cloud brethe fier and also asid and his naim  was FIER PUNCH. and their was a bunche of othre gais and also their was ranebou dash from the my litel ponies shou onley she got kiled bacouase she was a gurl an d gurls cante figth.

so then thwy had the ULTIMUTE BATELL and the bose gote his hedd cout of by daaimn flle and thay thru the hed into a jiunt rivre of poop and pee so that the mots pworefol warwollf couldent com back too liffe. so then their was a big feast in cyebrtorn and their was drath vaidr and robot hna solo and then their was also ash adn the pokamon and sord man and ang and zuo and airo and wulverene and spairdman and FIER PUNCH. and thay all aet roste warewulf and also ranebow dach. and potimus preme was so hapey with daimen fell that he lete him be KIGN OF CIBRETORN and wiht an armey of tarnsfromers damine fall conkered the hole yunivrese. and he livde hapiley evre aftur.

THE END!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Princess Amberlae awoke to see the firelight flickering on the rocks and boulders of the deep valley in which they were encamped. “What a strange dream!” she murmured to herself. “I wonder what it could mean?”

A voice spoke from behind her, deep and resonant. SHe could feel it vibrate in every corner of her being.

“There are many strange things that will happen in the coming weeks, princess,” said Damien Fell. She turned to him, and saw him sitting with his back to her, gazing into the valley, staring at the waterfall. His greatsword Stormshadow was laid on his knees, and he was sharpening with a whetstone.

“What do you mean?” asked Amberlae. She wanted to stand up and see his face, but it was turned from her, and their was a strange, sad tenor to his voice.

“I fear that the death of Lord Hateshadowe was merely the beginning of our troubles,” Damien fell said darkly. “I worry that forever Chaos will fall over the kingdoms of Evershyria, unless I succeed.” And his voice was sad, and weary: the voice of one who has spent long years wandering, and may neevr know rest.

“What is your worry?” asked Amberlae, and she wad filled up with a strange mixture of longing and tenderness for this dark shadowy figure who came up out of legend to rescure her.

There was a long pause, a pregnant pause, so pregnant it was already halfway through its third trimester. Finally the shadowy assassin said, “There is an ancient prophecy… a prophecy of the merging of Lyghte and Shadouwe, of the birth of a child who walks in both the darkness and lyghte, who will unite the cosmos and bring balance to this deadly and choatic universe forever……..”

“Is tha tnot you, assassin? asked Amberlae. “Because I heard a legend that said that you were born of an angelic warrior and a succubus. That you were raised in Hell, and that you were expelled from the infernal realms at the age of twelve, forced to make your life in the mortal realm.”

“That story is true,” said Damien Fell in what was barely a rasping whispre. And Amberlae felt a chill run through the core of her being as she understood that she spoke with a man who had lived in Hell.

“But… aren’t you the fullfillment of that prophecy, then?” asked Amberlae.

“I am not,” said Damien Fell. “For that prophecy states that the child must be born a mortal. I am immortal. I cannot die.” He hung his head, sadly. “That is both my blessing and my bane.”

Amberlae rose from her sleepingbag and came to Damien Fell, putting one arm around him. She was surprised to see tears running down his scarred, tanned cheeks— but his tears were not salt water, but blood.

“What was it like?” asked Amberlae. “In hell.”

Damien Fell shook his head. “It was warm,” he said. “And it stunck. There was always fire, and lava, and everywhere the smell of brimstone.” He turned to her, and she felt that strange thrilling deep within her womb as she gazed into his beautiful obsidien-black eyes.

“I came into this world, five hundred years ago, in the depths of winter,” he said. “I’d never felt so cold. I wanted to go home, back to my mother, back to my friends. I was all alone.” And he gazed deep into Amberlae’s eyes. She felt hypnotized by the assassin’s gaze, and she could do nothing but state into his infinitely deep eyes

“But the mortal realm has its benifits,” he said, and all his attention was focused on her.

She felt drawn into Damien Fel’’s eyes, and felt herself being pulled closer and closer to him, as if drawn by a magnet. She felt his breath against her skin, and closed her eyes, wanting to feel his sweet lips against hers…

But no kiss came.

“Come,” said damien Fell. “We must go. I’ve wasted enough time here in this valley.”

“Where are we going?” asked Princess Amberlae.

Damien sheathed his sword. “To the Womb of Shadow and Light.”


A blonde-haired man astride a supple white stallion rode to the ruins of a mountain of ice and stone. He dismounted, and sniffed the air. “Amberlae,” he murmured. Then he examined the ground. The hoofprints of another horse– heading south, he surmised, and at quite a rapid pace.

“So they went south…” he said. Then he lifted his helmet.

“Amberlae, my love,” said Prince Travyss. “I will find you.”

And his eyes narrowed. “And I’ll kill the man who stole you from me.”