The following is a rough draft chapter from a book I’m working on. It definitely needs revisioning but I like to write the whole story first, then do the revisioning. This way, I will eventually finish writing the book and gain a sense of accomplishment. To me, revision entitles shearing useless words (overuse of adjectives), peppering it with verbs, re-working dialogue, adding descriptions where needed, and adding plot twists.
Book 1: Chapter 1
Written by: Ben Marroquin
Over the next few weeks, the Fadey painted leaves were being carried away on salty winds. At nights, the nearing season of Dara touched the air as the flowing winds became cold, sending shivers coursing through the bodies of those lightly dressed. But the shivers which assaulted Lord Darkthorn’s body at night were born not of cold, but of fear for the battle to come with a great unknown being of darkness and of anticipation for the great power to be gained: the Soulstone.
Over and over and over again he went over the plans in his head and focused on the glorious power that soon would be his. “Soon,” he would often say to himself, “soon.” So focused was he on his plans, his soon to come battle and victory, that they permeated his very dreams… soon he thought to himself as he leaned Souldrinker, his dark ancient oak staff, against the cold stone wall by his bed. Stroking Souldrinker once more before retiring for the night he whispered “soon.”
As he closed his eyes (and consciousness) for the night, a strange dream began to take shape, an odd dream, a dream which was not centered around him and the Soulstone… but upon his staff. A dream he had had countless times, but which would vanish from his mind with the opening of his eyes. A dream in which he was hovering on charcoal colored bat-like wings over an endless labyrinth of decayed ruins and dark jutting buildings a washed in greenish flames. Foul fumes of brimstone and burnt flesh scented the humid air and the piercing wails of tortured souls rang out as cruel dark storm clouds rained down water that never touched the ground. This strange land was but a small portion of the horrific realm of Blazengard.
A realm ruled by lurid demons and unknown beings of horror.
Gliding over the smoldering labyrinthine lands on currents of steamy winds he saw countless varieties of vulgar and garish horrors and demons; beings of jaundiced flesh, clattering damp mouths, cruel clawed hands, and worse feasting with great pleasure on the salty eyes, supple soul flesh, and marrow filled bones of an endless sea of anguished souls; soul flesh and limbs and organs which would regenerate themselves only to be ripped and feasted on again and again and again in an endless cycle of pain and misery.
He even saw a group of gangly horned horrors playing a strange type of card game within the ruins of a building. A game his dream self remembered playing eons ago. One horror or demon would bet body parts from its stack, the others would either match it or fold; the strongest hand would win the pot. The point of the game was not to win the most body parts, but the right body parts so that they could be put back together again. The one with the most completed bodies by the end of the match would win. They would then tear apart the poor souls and begin a new… it was great fun! This was just one of the thousands of great games one could play with the cursed souls like severed head bowling, tag and rip, dodge head, stalker, hide n seek and eat, hangman, piñata fiesta and so much more. But these anguished souls were the lucky ones in this realm for that was not the worst these demons and horrors could do…
No, not the worst he thought to himself as a fanged smile split his brackish dream face. There were thousands of different types of demons and unknown horrors taking the vilest forms of pleasure on the cursed souls; pleasures which would have driven Lord Darkthorn mad and haunted him until his dying days had he remembered them upon waking… but luckily for him he did not.
Onward his winged dream form traveled, over the endless city of the tortured towards an oddly shaped dark protruding mountain on the distant horizon. A dark mountain which gradually transformed into a great ashen green stoned castle of dread and despair, a castle in which dwelled a being of immense dark power: a Demon Lord.
His winged dream form approached the massive blood onyx gates, but did not stop. No, his winged dream form went onward through uncounted stained walls and through doors of supple flesh until he entered a great chamber within the castle. It appeared to be some sort of great hall, eerily lit in greenish red lights by the bodiless heads of various beings, which hung on dark chains from the high vaulted ceilings on hooks, doomed to spend their afterlife in this cursed place. Peering closely, he could see the writhing limbs and body parts, of the magically lit heads, embedded in the ashen green stone walls and oak sized pillars.
Hovering no longer, Lord Darkthorn’s clawed feet and hands touched the pulsating slick red carpet of flesh which led to the other side of the great hall where the shadowed form of a great winged being could be seen sitting on a great throne. The great shadowed being was holding a long thin item in one of its clawed hands.
A strange sensation of delicious pain and stomach churning fear washed over him as he felt himself being pulled forward towards the giant shadowed being by unseen hooks. It was then that he saw that the demon lord’s wings flux in ashen green flames and his primate shaped head, sporting a crown of protruding bone spikes and four onyx red menacing eyes, leer at him.
“Ah… I see you have felt my summons,” the words came crashing down upon him like huge waves from the ocean, “I have a job for you my powerful maelstrom of magic.”
Lord Darkthorn could fill the warm tentacles of elation wash over his dream form, drowning fears of this meeting from him, as jumbled thoughts and images of serving his master filled his black heart with devious excitement. “Yes master. I came as soon as I heard my lord.”
Hideous laughter filled his sharp pointed ears. “Sure you did my little chaos demon. No doubt propelled here by the thoughts of how many demon and horror soldiers you cost me during the last battle with Horror Lord Hesha. Your… chaotic magic nearly cost me my kingdom in this part of Blazengard. It has taken me countless eons to rise from the sea of tortured souls to the ranks of the demons and horrors to becoming the 5th most powerful lord in Blazengard. I will not let that sniveling Hesha take my kingdom and strip me of the power I’ve spent so long acquiring! I will not become a tortured soul ever again! No… I have fought to hard to get where I am… still, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were working with him… ”
“No master! My… my lord I swear by the creator of Blazengard that I’m not! Please master lord you have to believe me… I would never jo…”
“Do not worry Choral. I do not blame you. I should have remembered that your powerful chaos magic comes at a price… due to its unpredictable nature. Still, we were able to repel his attacks but have lost much horror and demon soldiers in the process. My army of soldiers must now be replenished… which is where you come in.”
“Yes master, I’ll do anything for you my lord.”
“Yes, you will. I have made a pact with a necromancer in the world of flesh and bones. He has agreed to deliver more soldiers to my kingdom and I promised to send him a tool that will grant him power and aid him in my task. I want you to go to him and help build our army…”
His dream form eyes lit up with such a dark joy he had never known. To be allowed to enter the world of flesh… of mortals. To be able to feast on real flesh, not the usual soul flesh of the damned, but on real live succulent flesh and drink in the dark pleasures of tormenting and tainting of untouched souls… his body quivered and his tail swished in delicious anticipation. He could hardly wait to sink his claws and teeth into such delectable flesh. “Yes my lord! When do you want me to go? I can leave right now my lord! Just show me to his summoning portal…”
“Good,” replied Demon Lord Necrosis, “hold on to this staff while I prepare you for the journey.” Demon Lord Necrosis handed Choral a dark oak staff adorned with a strange sculpted form of twin headed parasitical creatures. The throne room then filled with the sounds of a powerful language as smoky dark tendrils of pale green, red, yellow, and black energies were ripped from the unseen veil of magical essence and began to encircle Choral and the staff.
Dark joy flooded Choral’s eyes as thoughts of the mortal realm flooded his mind… it was pure ecstasy.
A split second later the ecstasy was replaced with cries of agonizing pain as the tendrils of magical energies violently ripped apart his leathery flesh, his dark chaotic soul and entered his very being, in a vortex of swirling foul energies, into the eyes of the twin headed parasitical creatures adorning the staff. Thus began the imprisonment of the chaos demon known as Choral and the birth of a powerful new weapon: Souldrinker.
Lord Darkthorn awoke in a state of cold sweat and pounding heart, as the horrific images of his nightmare faded out of his mind. Unable to go back to sleep, he spent the remainder of the night staring up out the window towards Necratia, the black moon of beasts, while his mind continuously went over the battle that would soon come to pass…