An original story I am working on...

jkrmnj · Mar 14, 2015

This is something I threw together once the inspiration hit. It isn't completed but I feel like it is in a good enough state to share.

This story isn’t about me. No, I am but a messenger, a fleeting figment of the imagination. My only goal is to tell the tales from a world far from me. A world I no longer belong to. The tale I tell to all who find me is one about a hero, although a hero is an ambiguous term to use. What is a hero to one could be the enemy to another, but this man lived as a hero to the empire of Strandlhood, and the Strandles had more say than anyone else for they represented the world. They represented a world I would gladly see burn but that isn’t up to me anymore. You could say I knew our hero personally, although our companionship was never on friendly terms. Our hero’s story begins with him buying something I have never needed: a coffin.

“This is the third coffin this week!” shouted the disgruntled coffin maker. His home was filled with items only necessary to one in such constant proximity to death. Assorted books, hammers with three heads, and stone which were a sign of evil here all sat on the desk. Various objects normally considered rare or valuable were scattered about with the slightest of care. Even with the disregard for the worldly possessions, he wasn’t charitable either. Anyone who was caught stealing was never seen again although there are people who claim they hear faint scratching from some of the display coffins. All business is done in the lobby but there is a large black door. The black door was never seen open and always remained locked.
“Can I just get one, Darpen?” asked the hero.
“Listen Femor, I can’t give you another until you tell me what is going on. No one sees this much death in a week. These coffins are special. They can be used for evil purposes. I was generous when I gave you two but three is too many.” Darpen’s craft was known only to him. His coffins were rumored to be capable of holding back any vengeful spirit within. His coffins were world renown and had even been used to seal the dark beast of Ghamaga away forever. Buying a coffin was the highlight of a death since the burial process was quick and easy. His trust was thin and no one could befriend him. Silence filled the room and Darpen whispered quietly to himself and Femor felt a pain in his mouth. Femor slowly realized that his tongue was growing. The spell continued to work on him and he could barely hold his mouth closed. It was becoming hard to breath. In one instant he gasped with his mouth wide open and the truth began to spill out. Femor found himself shouting the secrets inside of him at the top of his lungs.

“They are cursed with a dark spell. Everyone in the house has been cursed and they are all dropping dead with no symptoms at all. The coffins are for them.”
Derpen jumped back and yelled something incomprehensible. Femor’s mouth closed shut and wouldn't open.
“You fool! Do you understand what is really going on? Curses are beasts unlike any other and ones such as what you described are the worst of all. They aren't dying, but being replaced with evil. Now, you have put living evil inside of MY coffins. Where are the coffins now? Have they already been dropped?”
Femor tried to speak but the spell was keeping his mouth shut.
“We have no time for this. Be gone child. I will find them myself.”

Femor was thrust out the door by the power of something feeling almost evil and his mouth was thrown open. At once every blind in the house closed and the door came crashing close with a deafening bang. The clicks and clanks of machinery came from inside the house followed by the closing of another door. Standing just outside, Femor looked behind him and off into the infinite sky which surrounded this floating island. He could see the bakery on a separate island and the prison on another, all connected by levitating stepping stones. Below him, the eternal storm raged on and flashes of lightening could be seen in the lower layer of clouds. The upper layer of clouds were calm as usually. On farther investigation, Femor thought the clouds below seemed to be closer than they normally were. A loud voice boomed from the house, “Get off this island if you want to live!” Femor looked on and in the distance saw the house of death he had been living in. Everyone who had once lived there was dead. Femor knew he would be dead too if he went there also. The sun was going down and the enforcers were coming out to enforce the curfew. Anyone outside was assumed to be evil and killed. Would the house of death offer more for him than this island, wherever it was leading? A telescope began to rise from the ground and inspected the area. Femor jumped into the bushes and hid. He hid even when the telescope went back down and when the island began to sink. He hid quietly as the paths connecting this island to the others fell away and Derpen’s home began to fall faster. He hid quietly, holding on with every ounce of strength he had as the house plummeted at the full speed of gravity. He held on as the island entered the clouds. He let go when the lightning bolt struck him and his consciousness dimmed.

Leave any feedback you want.

BlinkyBinky · Jun 2, 2015

I give it a thumbs up!

Femor	0 vote(s)	0.0%
Darpen	2 vote(s)	40.0%
Strandlhood	2 vote(s)	40.0%
Ghamaga	1 vote(s)	20.0%

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An original story I am working on...

Best name I came up with on the spot

jkrmnj Dedicated Member

BlinkyBinky Dedicated Member