Hey all, this is my newest story. (Just chapter one this post.)
Chapter Øne
Mark rose from his deep sleep. It had been another calm night in the village, no zombies to be seen. He slowly pulled himself out of bed and over to the nearby kitchen. His feet were freezing as they plodded across the cold, wooden floor. He shuffled over to the furnace and placed some pork into it.
“Ugh, another long and tiring day of patrolling the village.” He mumbled to himself as he walked to the fireplace. He through in a log and kindled some of last night’s ashes to start the blaze. Mark sat down at his kitchen and yawned. Life hadn’t always been so dull and wearying for Mark. In fact, his life started rather turbulently.
You see, Mark was born as the son of Steve and Chriselda. Steve was a brave adventurer, the “hero of the world” if you will. He had come from a far away land that no one had ever seen or heard of, and that has long since been forgotten. The time at which he came was most convenient, because the world itself was in jeopardy. Swarms of terrible creatures plagued the lands (some from other dimensions), and the people were scattered into little pockets of civilization. Every night, unspeakable horrors went on in the darkness that pulled many in, and let none out. The worst though, was the terrible Wyrm of Death, Dracomortis. Known as the Enderdragon by the common folk, it lived in a dimension of desolation and despair. Periodically though, the dragon would break from its realm and lay waste to the world, killing thousands and destroying entire continents.
Now when Steve first came to this humble little world, he had no intention of being its savior. In fact, he had little idea of how he arrived in the first place. His only goal was to survive, and survive he did. He endured endless hours of work: building a shelter, collecting food and water, mining in dark caves for resources. All of these things he did without one complaint. He knew nothing of the people’s peril until the day he ventured into the Nether.
The Nether is a despicable, hellish plane. It burns and screams with the agony of a thousand lost souls, some embodied in the hideous, vile bodies of ghasts (creatures stitched together from parts of those long dead). The landscape is scarred with fire and lava, and the endless terrain is shaped of some unholy rock that garnered the name of netherrack. There is no light save that of the fire and another strange material indigenous to the dimension, glowstone. Mindless creatures wander the layers of netherrack and through old, demonic fortresses. These fortresses are the ones that Steve sought, in order to obtain rare ingredients for potion brewing (the next logical step in his survival). To make a long story short, Steve became lost in the Nether and from extra supplies he had, created a new portal to escape home.
This is where the stories of Steve and the other people of the world intersect, and where Steve met Chriselda. Indeed, the twin of the portal that he made to flee from the nightmare of Hell opened in our little village. He fell face first right onto the roof of the town’s library.
The village crier burst into the main office, “S-S-Si-Sir!”
“What!?” the mayor yelled, unhappy to be disturbed during his lunch hour.
“A-a man has appeared on the roof of the library!”
“A man? Let me see this!” The mayor rose from his seat and placed his half finished sandwich on his desk.
He slowly followed the crier out into the afternoon shade. When they had arrived at the town square, the crier pointed upwards to the roof of the library. Sure enough, the figure of Steve was clearly visible laying face down. However another figure, silhouetted in the setting sun, knelt beside him.
This figure was Chriselda, the loveliest lady in the whole town. Many of the locals called her “angel”, yet in a serious manner, for they perceived her to be of divine nature. She had an extraordinary talent in healing and in making others feel loved. Indeed, she was favored wherever she went, and in whatever she did. And today, she had seen a soul in need.
Chriselda gently rolled Steve onto his face. He was covered in wounds, some already infected or burned. His bloodied clothing clung to his skin with a mix of blood and sweat. Chriselda felt his pulse: faint.
“He’s gone into shock, his head is cracked open, I don’t think that there’s much I can do to save him,” she said to the anxious crowd.
“At least bring him down from the roof!” yelled the mayor. He was more concerned about the bloodstains in the wood than the man. After all, who was he anyway, and where had he come from?
Chriselda, with the help of two of the village’s men, managed to carry Steve down the stairs and into a vacant house. They laid him on a bed and immediately went to get some water for him. Chriselda knew that if she didn’t stop the bleeding and clean the wounds immediately, the man wouldn’t last another hour. One of the men hurried back with bandages and a bucket of water from the well. Chriselda began her work.
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Tell me what you think so far! Weekly chapter updates if y'all like it!
Mark rose from his deep sleep. It had been another calm night in the village, no zombies to be seen. He slowly pulled himself out of bed and over to the nearby kitchen. His feet were freezing as they plodded across the cold, wooden floor. He shuffled over to the furnace and placed some pork into it.
“Ugh, another long and tiring day of patrolling the village.” He mumbled to himself as he walked to the fireplace. He through in a log and kindled some of last night’s ashes to start the blaze. Mark sat down at his kitchen and yawned. Life hadn’t always been so dull and wearying for Mark. In fact, his life started rather turbulently.
You see, Mark was born as the son of Steve and Chriselda. Steve was a brave adventurer, the “hero of the world” if you will. He had come from a far away land that no one had ever seen or heard of, and that has long since been forgotten. The time at which he came was most convenient, because the world itself was in jeopardy. Swarms of terrible creatures plagued the lands (some from other dimensions), and the people were scattered into little pockets of civilization. Every night, unspeakable horrors went on in the darkness that pulled many in, and let none out. The worst though, was the terrible Wyrm of Death, Dracomortis. Known as the Enderdragon by the common folk, it lived in a dimension of desolation and despair. Periodically though, the dragon would break from its realm and lay waste to the world, killing thousands and destroying entire continents.
Now when Steve first came to this humble little world, he had no intention of being its savior. In fact, he had little idea of how he arrived in the first place. His only goal was to survive, and survive he did. He endured endless hours of work: building a shelter, collecting food and water, mining in dark caves for resources. All of these things he did without one complaint. He knew nothing of the people’s peril until the day he ventured into the Nether.
The Nether is a despicable, hellish plane. It burns and screams with the agony of a thousand lost souls, some embodied in the hideous, vile bodies of ghasts (creatures stitched together from parts of those long dead). The landscape is scarred with fire and lava, and the endless terrain is shaped of some unholy rock that garnered the name of netherrack. There is no light save that of the fire and another strange material indigenous to the dimension, glowstone. Mindless creatures wander the layers of netherrack and through old, demonic fortresses. These fortresses are the ones that Steve sought, in order to obtain rare ingredients for potion brewing (the next logical step in his survival). To make a long story short, Steve became lost in the Nether and from extra supplies he had, created a new portal to escape home.
This is where the stories of Steve and the other people of the world intersect, and where Steve met Chriselda. Indeed, the twin of the portal that he made to flee from the nightmare of Hell opened in our little village. He fell face first right onto the roof of the town’s library.
The village crier burst into the main office, “S-S-Si-Sir!”
“What!?” the mayor yelled, unhappy to be disturbed during his lunch hour.
“A-a man has appeared on the roof of the library!”
“A man? Let me see this!” The mayor rose from his seat and placed his half finished sandwich on his desk.
He slowly followed the crier out into the afternoon shade. When they had arrived at the town square, the crier pointed upwards to the roof of the library. Sure enough, the figure of Steve was clearly visible laying face down. However another figure, silhouetted in the setting sun, knelt beside him.
This figure was Chriselda, the loveliest lady in the whole town. Many of the locals called her “angel”, yet in a serious manner, for they perceived her to be of divine nature. She had an extraordinary talent in healing and in making others feel loved. Indeed, she was favored wherever she went, and in whatever she did. And today, she had seen a soul in need.
Chriselda gently rolled Steve onto his face. He was covered in wounds, some already infected or burned. His bloodied clothing clung to his skin with a mix of blood and sweat. Chriselda felt his pulse: faint.
“He’s gone into shock, his head is cracked open, I don’t think that there’s much I can do to save him,” she said to the anxious crowd.
“At least bring him down from the roof!” yelled the mayor. He was more concerned about the bloodstains in the wood than the man. After all, who was he anyway, and where had he come from?
Chriselda, with the help of two of the village’s men, managed to carry Steve down the stairs and into a vacant house. They laid him on a bed and immediately went to get some water for him. Chriselda knew that if she didn’t stop the bleeding and clean the wounds immediately, the man wouldn’t last another hour. One of the men hurried back with bandages and a bucket of water from the well. Chriselda began her work.
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Tell me what you think so far! Weekly chapter updates if y'all like it!
~~~Øbdurator
Yes.