The Inkbound Order

Light is a Myth​

Dawn.

We often take it for granted, what if there was a world where it was non-existent?

Replaced with artificial lights, a mocking imitation.

I’ll bring you to a world where Dawn is but a myth, something that disappeared long ago.

The quaint little town of Durnshire, surrounding by a beautiful forest, plentiful plains of wildflowers and to the east there lies a ruin, left untouched for a few hundred years, and avoided since the incident that left world without a dawn and dusk cycle, forcing the light that covers the world to only blink in and out at an irregular though roughly twenty-four hour period.

No one can be sure when it will blink on or off, and as such no sane person dares to enter somewhere that is covered completely, lest they leave at the wrong time and are left to face the horrific uncertainty of where they are in the pitch darkness that is night.

Of course, the young and stupid have no fear that they would speak of aloud.

Thus begins our story, of a young and stupid man, fearless in his own way, out to prove that the darkness is not something that should be feared. Leaving his home in the town of Durnshire, through the incredibly beautiful, fragrant forest outside our town, past the clear plains.

Under both the cover of night and the unnatural light of day.

Haggard and starved, both wounded and desperate from his travels, our young friend arrived at the ruins, many entrances blocked, goblins prowling the grounds of the ruins, scouting for weaker beasts than they to hunt. Knowing himself more than a match for the pathetic green mongrels, the boy wandered about, searching about for an entrance to the Godforsaken ruins.

Eventually a hole, small as it were was discovered.

Whilst he crawled through the dusty hole, strange noises emanated from the darkness in front of him, apparently echoing through what could only be a large, open chamber.

The ground fell from under our friend, leaving him squirming on the stone tiles underneath him.

Soon, before he could bring himself to his feet he heard something in a strange, archaic tongue.

Having lain still to prevent attention to himself in the pitch-dark room, he heard no more of the odd language. He struggled to his feet and staggered forward, apparently headed up a ramp, as judged from the upwards slope. His foot struck a stone, knocking him back down onto his stomach, the crunch of cartilage being broken resounding from his face as his nose shattered, eliciting a yelp of pain from him.

Reaching behind him angrily he grasped onto that which tripped him, he felt that the object was indeed not a rock, but a stone tablet, flat with several different runes carved into it.

As his hand was placed upon the tablet a crackle of electricity filled the air, shocking the young man. Yelping, he pulled his hand away from the tablet. The strange language filled the air once again, echoing throughout the room. Strange forms appeared near the young man, slowly moving towards him in a menacing gait. Struggling to his feet with no avail, he started to crawl away. As one of the creatures got closer he recognised the features, creatures of Chaos and magic: Slaadi.

The creature started to cast, tapping into the weave as it did so. Though before it managed to finish its casting a large claw passed through its chest, along with another, ripping the creature into two meaty, bleeding chunks. The other form around him ending up in similar shapes, being torn apart in one way or another, all done too fast for any sort of the Slaadi to be able to cast.

Grasping the stone tablet he picked himself to his feet, running in a direction, praying to whatever Gods would listen to him that the monster that destroyed the Slaadi did not catch up to him.

He could hear its growls behind him, growing louder and nearer by the second.

Bursting out into the sunlight from an entrance that seemingly appeared infront of him, the light blinded him, he continued running, through the pleasant plains, past the beautiful forest, all the way back to his small, peaceful town of Durnshire.

His muscles severely strained from the past days of work and movement, the young man collapsed on the ground outside his town. Over the hours he passed in and out of consciousness, vaguely recalling being dragged around. By the time the young man had fully regained consciousness, the only thing he could feel was the comfort of a straw bed, all he could hear was the noise of birds, and far off in the distance the howl of a wolf.

At that moment, his door swung open, and an old man barged into the room that our young hero was in. “Friedrich you idiot! Where have you been!? You’ve left the entire town worried sick about your stupid hide!”

Friedrich sighed, leaning back into the bed. “Oh, it’s only you Tallus, I thought I was in trouble again.”

The old man Tallus grumbled. “You shouldn’t be going out getting yourself into danger, what if you got killed?”

“Oh stop worrying Tallus, it’s not like I’m going to die or anything out there, and I found something too!”

“Well, show it here then you dolt.”

Friedrich groaned, moving into a sitting position so that he could grab the tablet that had been conveniently placed on a bedside table near him. As he handed it over to the old man, Tallus gasped. “This.. This is.. I think this is what caused our day and night cycle to have changed.”

Friedrich looked up from his bed, staring curiously at Tallus.

“I’ll tell you the story, the one that we all know at least...”
***
Our first Inkbound-Sanctioned Story! Published anonymously due to the original creator's request.

 

Welp, here it goes.

A Short Story​

In an age far removed from our own, an age where the Earth was still young, a golden summer reigned. This eternal summer had been given to a race of people so beautiful that their appearance would make a strong man weep, knowing that he had seen perfection. The name of this race of people has been lost to the ravages of time. These people, long limbed, lithe, skin glowing with health, knew not war, nor sickness, nor famine. The many evils that cause humanity such strife were wholly unknown to them. These people loved and lived, laughed and dance, with not a care in the world, for the darkness that has come to smolder in the hearts of mankind had not yet come amongst them.

As the Wheel turned and the years rolled slowly past, two children, both male were born within days of each other. As they boys grew they became fast friends, bonded by all but blood. In their community, there was none who could best the boys at any task. Indeed, the only equal to either child was the other. The boys grew into most handsome specimens in their community and their physical forms, in a land of near perfection, were the very image of beautiful proportion and thoughtless grace.

As was the custom in their time, upon reaching their majority, the boys were sent out into the world, undertaking a journey to widen their horizons. The boys saw a great many wondrous sights. They became wise in the turnings of the world as they matured. But, their journey, wondrous as it was, ended as they stood at the edge of the earth. They turned for home, eager to tell the others of the wide world and what they had seen and learned, their long strides carrying them home with quickness.

As they walked they heard snatches of song in the lightly blowing wind, a song as light as the birds of the morning, as happy as the giggling stream. Their walk turned into a run, off from the path and into the forest. Finally, great chests heaving, they stumbled into a clearing where they stood in wonder at the sight before them. It was a woman, her voice pealing into the wilderness like the sounds of a thousand bells, as beautiful as the stars in the night sky, clothed in a robe of purest white. The boys hastened to her side, pleading with her to return to their village with them. After a great deal of discussion, she agreed and began the journey with them.
Their homecoming was a joyous occasion, as they told stories of their journey and spoke of the sights they had seen. The boys were now greeted as men and many songs were sung and the sweet summer wine flowed like water. The woman sang her song and was greeted as a wonder and the men counted the boys wise for bringing such a great treasure back to their community.

As the wheel turned and the years rolled slowly past, the two men, fell in love with the beautiful songstress. The woman loved them both in return and was unable to choose between them. She set forth a number of tasks but, alas, the men was too evenly matched in all things for there to be a winner, there was no way to separate them.

Finally, at her wit’s end, her heart aching, she entrusted her heart to the wiles of Fate. The men each marked a side of a golden coin. In the view of their village, the closed her eyes and spun the coin high into the air. Each revolution sent golden flashes of the future and what might have been amongst the crowd. The coin seemed to hang at it’s apex for all eternity, as if Fate was were holding it in the air, before crashing down to Earth. The woman, her beauty shining like a thousand splendid sunsets, clothed in a robe of purest white, knelt down, grabbing the coin that held her future. The crowd waited with bated breath. She opened her palm and ran to the man that Fate, in it’s wisdom, had chosen.

The other man sank to his knees, his hand splayed out before him. In that moment, he was the first to know anger, the crashing crescendo of fury that blocks out all else. His fingers closed around a sharp edge rock. He stood and let fly, aiming for his brother in all but name. As the rock left his hand, he came to his senses, trying to somehow call it back.

His aim was marred by the tears in his eyes, his target obscured. The rock flew, striking the woman in the temple, driving the life from her body.

Time stopped. The man who had won her heart caught her as she fell, her long tresses already matted with blood. He cradled her body, waiting for her breast to rise, for some sign of life, for anything. But there was nothing left. There was no spirit left in her mortal shell. He cradled her body until the stars shone down upon them, when he rose and gave her body to the flames. The next day, the first storm clouds were seen gathering at the edge of the horizon. The endless Summer and the golden age had ended.

The man who killed the woman was never seen again. It is said that he ran to the edges of the earth and threw himself off, breaking his body on the rocks below. As for the man who won the woman’s hand, he wandered until the end of his days, seeking something to mend his shattered heart.

 

WE NEEDS A TITLE MANG

 

Nice stories! Here's one of mine. I hope you enjoy it.​

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The Cursed City of Tarnoth​

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In a different prism of reality once rested on top of a hill the emerald City of Tarnoth. Its stout green walls, engraved with countless multi-coloured gems and embellished with depictions of unfathomable events preceding the creation of time as common folk knew it, shaped a perfect hexagram around the metropolis. Several oddly shaped spiral-like structures could be seen from a considerable distance rising from the confines of the town into the cavernous grey skies and their gracious emerald architecture was often surrounded by a chilling enigmatic aquamarine mist. There were many tales regarding the city’s vast treasures, consisting of innumerable precious stones and valuable metals that enticed even the soundest mind. Tarnoth’s origins were unknown and frequently wondered upon – some individuals believed that the emerald city had been built eons before by a race of extinct ethereal creatures, others alleged that the citadel had been cast down directly from the core of a dying star, while others believed Tarnoth to be a product of another plain of existence that due to some unintelligible dimensional anomaly had crossed realms.

However marvellous and astonishing the City of Tarnoth may have been, its residents were quite the opposite. Since the Empire of the Ironites came to be, a result of the unification of the five tribes of Man hailing from the Plains of Haah, the emerald town has been populated by a breed of degenerate, pitiful and decaying ash grey humanoids. Their brittle bodies, shrivelled flesh and feeble joints gave them such a fragile appearance that it was a mystery why the creatures had not already crumbled upon themselves. The dreary ghoulish fiends seldom ventured outside the stalwart green fortifications and whatever actions occurred within them were unknown. Yet, what weighed more heavily was the fact that it was incomprehensible how such a magnificent metropolis could house such wretched looking goblins.

As time went by, the Ironites continuously gazed upon the green citadel from their wood and stone settlements below and wondered about its putrefying occupants’ history and intentions. They repeatedly questioned why themselves, arduous labourers and battle-hardened warriors, among them people who had taken part in the renowned Lone Creek battle, had to withstand underprivileged life conditions while a cast of aloof ghouls they considered to be below them basked in endless riches in the awe-inspiring emerald citadel on top of the hill.

One day, greed and jealously had finally consumed the Ironites’ hearts…

--

Wynreed dipped his index and middle fingers in the war-paint bowl. Afterwards, he dragged the fingertips across his face, painting with the mud-like substance two straight black lines from his left temple to the right side of his chin. He then grabbed his father’s short sword from the weapon stand, a stunningly sharped blade perfectly etched into a silvery hilt, and stepped outside of his hovel. A quick look around confirmed that every other male in the village had taken arms just as he had and that the time to march up the hill, towards the City of Tarnoth, to claim what should be rightfully theirs drew near.

Twilight approached when an army of conscripts and veterans alike, all hailing from the local Ironite settlements, gathered at a previously designated location under the leadership of a skilled swordsman by the name of Damaras, merely a couple of hours march from the emerald city. A battering ram made from the strongest oaks that had been produced during the preceding days was also present and ready to be used in the attack. Wynreed cheered with his friends and greeted his acquaintances. By the following day, Tarnoth would belong to the Ironites, as well as its infinite riches. As a result of such thoughts, the numerous soldiers felt like there was no reason not to celebrate – battle songs and cheering followed.

Night was already ruling over the land when the militia effortlessly tore down Tarnoth’s obsidian gates using the siege engine. The first thing felt once the town had been breached was the powerful stench of sickness and decay that emanated from within. Ignoring the odour, the eager Ironites poured into the tall emerald city and any ghoul encountered was quickly put out of its misery. The poor creatures did not even put up a fight, merely cowering in fear where they stood. Wynreed was one of the last warriors to storm the citadel. Once he had finally made his way in, he opted to take a path that not many had taken, under the belief that he would be more useful where his troops were less in number. He walked through the emerald city on wide gravel roads, under a clear sky covered in countless stars, passing by several corpses of recently slain unarmed fiends. Wynreed quickly realised that not a single dead Ironite could be found and, therefore, the assault was proving to be easier than initially assumed.

As the massacre ensued, Wynreed made his way into one of the green structures that had not been invaded by his fellow fighters yet. As he walked into the doorless building, he spotted one of Tarnoth’s humanoid beasts retreating into another wing, shrieking in fear. Peculiar ceramics and furniture were thrown onto the ground by the trespassing soldier in order to inspire fright into his enemy, as he followed the path that the squirming ghoul had taken. Once Wynreed stepped into the room the beast had run to, he noticed that the creature was attempting to escape through a circular window. Instinctively, he grabbed the beast by its legs and pulled it back into the house, tossing the ghoul against a wall. The creature then fell on its back and moaned in pain. Sword at hand, Wynreed kneeled next to the injured deviation, looked deeply into its green eyes and viciously stabbed it in the chest, putting an end to its life.

Tarnoth had been completely ridden of its former inhabitants by morning and not a single attacker had perished. The Ironites attempted to gather Tarnoth’s wealth on the citadel’s main plaza, but there were simply so many precious gems, trinkets and metals of all shapes and sizes that it would have taken more than a week merely to account for all of the treasures. Festivities took place throughout the emerald city’s roads on the following days, as the locals who had not been there for the fight, but stayed back at their respective settlements instead, joined their fellow Ironites in Tarnoth. People drank, ate and sang as much as they possibly could, celebrating their swift victory over the grey humanoids and, more importantly, the immeasurable rewards they had claimed.

As the revelries decreased, people began transferring their daily lives into their new home and repairing the damage caused during the siege. Wynreed took the house he had invaded and slain one of the goblins in during the assault for himself. After having cleared the mess made by him and other looters, he believed the place to be more welcoming than before, though its frigid green walls still inspired a sentiment of callousness and unfriendliness. However, the Ironites could at last call Tarnoth a glorious part of their Empire.

--

During the following months, the Ironites dwelling in the emerald city mysteriously started coming up with fevers and physical pains, alongside violent coughing. Any type of medicine used proved to be fruitless, as people kept worsening, regardless of how many remedies they had taken. Furthermore, a specific sensation had taken over the residents – a bond between Tarnoth and its population had been established. It was as if a malignant force was binding the inhabitants to the emerald city, holding a grasp over them and not letting go. That sinister power stripped the Ironites from their usual resolve and slowly drained their essence. Regardless of such, a few strong of will managed to conquer that devastating alien force and left the exceptional town that seemed to both weaken and bind its occupants within its walls. Those few who had been strong enough to leave were never heard from again.

When about a year’s time had gone by, the City of Tarnoth revealed its true nature. The once merry and robust Ironites had deteriorated into a state that resembled death more than life. Their bodies had withered, their minds aged at a faster rate and while the need for food and water had grown stronger, they were inexplicably no longer a requirement to sustain life. Tarnoth had taken control over its new occupants and refused to let them perish. The doomed Ironites could not do more but wander the town’s streets in eternal torture. The people had decayed into the pitiful ash grey ghouls they so sternly detested.

One day, as Wynreed painfully dragged his wicked-self through Tarnoth, gazing at his long lost memories, a sudden loud noise was heard coming from the main gates. He immediately changed his route home and moved there as fast as his feeble legs could carry him. The other decadent Ironites acted similarly, either attempting to hide somewhere or running in the opposite direction from where the sound had come from. By the time Wynreed had reached his house, slaughtering could be heard on a nearby district, drawing closer and closer. He looked around for something to defend himself with, but a malevolent energy ceased his actions. If that were not enough, he was also too fragile to withstand whatever was to come against him, thus Wynreed merely stood there with his own miserable presence. Eventually, the sounds of destruction reached that section of the city, as shrieks of his debilitated fellow Ironites falling victim to the attackers filled the roads.

Suddenly, a healthy looking man bearing a sword walked into the house through the front entrance. Wynreed could not contain a shocked screech and immediately retreated into another division. He could hear the attacker destroying his belongings in the other room, drawing closer and closer, and knew that staying in the house would not fare well for him. The fiendish Ironite tried to escape through one of the windows. Unfortunately, the intruder grabbed the ghoul by his legs and ruthlessly pulled him back inside. The decadent creature was violently thrown at one of the walls and fell on his back, groaning in pain. The soldier kneeled next to Wynreed, revealing two straight black lines from his left temple to the right side of his chin. Wynreed looked helplessly at his enemy’s green eyes, as his chest was viciously pierced by the attacker’s silvery hilted blade…

And there stood, on top of a hill, the emerald city – A place older than life; A place where time does not flow, but swirls instead; A place inhabited by perplexing malicious forces, where realities intersect and give birth to unseen possibilities… There stood, on top of a hill, the cursed City of Tarnoth.

 

inb4 Nababoo rages at the spoilers

 

...

 

A title for what? For me? The Bloody Nine

Thanks for all the support guys. I likes your stories too

 

IndentedJoe Abercrombie?

 

I don't know you. But I like you.

 

I have decided to follow the advice given via Skype and have removed the spoiler tags from my story. Cheers

 

All dem siggies.

 

So hawt

 

IndentedThe only book I've read of Abercrombie's is The Blade Itself, and I didn't even finish reading that because I don't much like his writing style, among other problems. I'm willing to give him another try, though, so I still have him on my to-read list.
IndentedThat said, it's not easy forgetting a name like "The Bloody Nine." =)
Indented(Also, your mention of the "Wheel." Maybe I'm reaching here but it reminded me of the late Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time series. Of course, time-as-a-wheel imagery is a logical choice, so there might not even be a Jordan connection at all.)

 

I read the entire series in a week. It got a little weak at the end there, but I like it. The "back to the mud" attitude of the Northmen was a cool fatalistic touch. The wheel was a both a Jordanian connection and I wanted like the literal forward movement of time. (While I understand the cyclical nature of time itself, I wanted a linear approach for my short story.)

 

Incarnations of Immortality series by Piers Anthony. Read it. One of my favorites book series ever.

 

Animorphs has some intense character development, especially for a children's novel.

I remember it fondly from my dim memories of the past

 

I used to like it quite a lot. In fact, it used to be my favorite series (this was before I found the awesomeness of Piers Anthony and Terry Brooks).

Unfortunately, it got way too weird and 'heavy' instead of the light and comical nature it started with. Still, was an interesting read. And a very easy series.

 

The characters were, and are, very, very real. You could say that they're what drove me into writing.

After all, I did start my first forays in Animorphs fanfiction.

 

I am actually very interested in this.

 

Oddly enough, my first time writing fanfiction was for Terraria, which was the Guide's Story. Before that I had never written a story simply because I felt like it...

Edit: Sure I wrote backstories and descriptions before that, but I personally don't think they count.