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    • CommentAuthorFarsightX3
    • CommentTimeAug 11th 2017 edited
    Hey guys!

    So I just threw this map together in 10 minutes lol. I suppose I just did to have an excuse to post my story. If you're familiar with my recent map I posted "Known World of Mahdran" thread and enjoyed my lore, I hope at least a few of you will take the time to read my first draft of the main story line of the game Knightstone. This is just the beginning of the story so far.

    Follow two character scenes, Seridan Wyk and Jon Omber. The map below is simply just a very simple battle route map for Seridan's Encounter.

    Below the map is the story. Enjoy!

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    The old forest of the great Malderook stood still, wind could not rattle the leaves below the umbrage. Often stags would eat the feathered grass in tiny meadows while Midnight Wolves prowl in the bushes. A thousand bugs croon in the depths of the dense forest. These familiar sounds gave Seridan comfort.

    All Knights dressed in Throbossian crafted plate armor, the finest rare metal of the Four Kingdoms, durable and light. Dyed in the essence of their liege Lord of House Wyk who claimed the forest of the Malderook when tribes roamed free, before the dawn of Kings. The one holding their banner had their House colors but a different sigil. A white cross made of four interlocking swords with the first letter of the founding Houses on top of each pommel and on each side of the hilt, twelve in all. A white circle is nested in the center of the four interlocking swords symbolizing unity of all twelve houses that make up the Knights of the Divin’rah. They are the Crusaders of Light, devoted Divinite’s to the One True God to unhinge the strangle that House Seserax has on the realm.

    The Crusades have been waging war for two hundred years under the command of House Wyk. The Knights of the Divin’rah nearly drove the Seseraxian forces out of their Kingdom of Malderook. Hemnar Wyk, Seridan’s father made great strides in favor of winning the war. The common folk, to the nobles of the Four Kingdoms, to the Knights in Seridan’s ranks put their utmost confidence in him to finish the war. But Seridan had a different endeavor to partake. An endeavor that will change the course of war into a hunt against a dark cabal called the Shar, which worships the Deceiver Vainspire who conspires behind a curtain of shadows.

    And that curtain of shadows will no longer drape in the Malderook Forest.

    Seridan and ten Knights from his 4th regiment made haste on their chocolate mane steeds towards the northern glen of the Malderook Forest.

    “There in the distance,” Seridan spoke confidently while pointing towards a meadow of white fawns, a rare flower with nine pedals used to make the poison Long Tomorrow.

    “Careful, men. Ride slowly.” While Seridan and his Knights warily trotted through the meadow, one Knight’s eyes met a pyre of smoke emitting from the east. “Look,” said the Knight as he beaconed his commander over.

    “You four, flank the west. We will hit them head on,” murmured Seridan as tightly grabbed the reigns of his loyal steed.

    His horse started to gallop towards the pyre with his Throbossian sword drawn with his helm covering his face of forty years. While encroaching towards the blaze, Seridan’s eyes widened as two Ritualist began their chanting in demonic tongue to summon dark spirits for their bidding.

    “For the Divine, the One True God!” Shouted Seridan as the edge of his blade beheaded one of the Ritualist while he rode passed the pyre. The other one attempted to escape but was greeted by Seridan’s flank.

    “Take this one captive. Others will look for him. This isn’t a camp for two. I suspect more will come. Five of you control this camp and bring this Ritualist back to me after first light,” instructed Seridan before he was escorted back to his encampment. He was hopeful his second hand man Balwyn Exard will bring him good news of swaying the Marble Knights of Wislock Keep in his efforts against the Shar.


    Fresh morning dew swept the forest floor as the five Knights returned with their captive.

    Broken and beat, he was being dragged across the coursed forest ground like a freshly killed boar. A river of blood flowed from the laceration of his right shoulder as he felt the Knights gauntlet crushing his wound. His agony was no match for his pelting heart which felt like a thousand galloping horses on his chest, as the only thought piercing his mind was regret. Turning his head, his blurred vision glanced into the wooden abyss of the Malderook Forest. His sweat poured from his brow clashing against the dirt path towards his end. His eyes begged upward gazing at the steel ridges of a golden cross that slashed across the knight’s helm where his eyes laid. His strength weaned as his head bowed and felt shame stricken. Wondering eyes from the encampment began to dart towards him. Fear engulfed the being of this man as he raised his head to lock his eyes on the slate blue tent.

    As he blinked for a moment the darkness escaped and memories of his innocence flooded his mind before being interrupted by a gruff voice to the left of him, “the Knight Commander will see your fate.”

    He was heaved onto the dirt floor and he met the curve of the root extruding from the ground while his ribs cracked. The Knight who escorted him extended his arm outward showing his prize to Seridan. A man of long black hair, crisp brown eyes and a black beard long as a hilt sat at a musky old table finishing his freshly brewed ale. With a dominant presence, the Knight stood before the lammed man revealing his war-ridden greyish slate blue armor. An elongated black cross with spades at each end rested over a small black circle where each lines of the cross met. The sigil of his royal house was branded in the center of his breastplate. Light from the hole on top of their tent beamed down exposing sliced and hacked marks from his pauldron to his vambrace and gauntlets down to his greaves. His hand confidently rested on the hilt of his Throbossian crafted Longsword, Justice.

    Four ranking Knights, including Balwyn Exard his Knight Lieutenant stood in formation who spoke, “Before you, Seridan of House Wyk, Great Lord of Dreswyk, the Great Man of Honor, Knight Commander of the Knights of the Divin’rah, the Crusader against the Seseraxian Empire and Light against the Cabal of Vainspire.

    Seridan looked down on the marred man. With his deep commanding voice, “stand on your feet!”

    The man stumbled upon his ripped ebony robe before he could gain composure to stand. Surprised by his emotion, this broken man wasn’t overwhelmed with anger and malice but instead his only thought was a petition for his life. Seridan took a moment to examine his captive to see what kind of man he would be. Would he be week at his knees or would he stand confidently and keep his oath towards his contrasting belief? Unfortunately, the appearance of this man did not constitute his rank and Seridan took one step towards him.

    While leaning in, Seridan anchored his eyes into the broken man and spoke to his Knights, “take off his bindings.”

    The sound of plate armor clanked and wrestled of the Knights in formation as confusion swept their minds. The Knight who dragged him in unbound the captive as the Commander took a step back.

    Seridan confidently declared that this man will not be harmed further. Then he began to interrogate him. “Tell me. Did Mathias attend your ritual to the dead?”

    The man coughed up blood before his scratchy voice spoke, “You will not find Mathias.” Confirming Seridan’s suspicions that Mathias, the General of the Thousand Sun’s Regiment of the Seseraxian Empire is in collusion with the Shar.

    With a deep breath, Seridan leaned in again, “fear is the tool they use to control you. I do not use fear. I come in peace to inquire the whereabouts of Mathias.”

    An unfamiliar warmth surged through the body of the bloody, torn, ragged man standing before the Knight. With a stutter, “he trekked south towards the mouth of the Cothtrak Gorge.”

    A simple tilt of Seridan’s head expressed gratitude and commanded that this captive will walk out of his tent as a free man.

    In the corner of the room, a tone of concern quickly came from Balwyn, a stout man with twine like brown hair, with a crescent scar above his right green eye, Seridan’s second-hand man, the Banner House of Dreswyk and his House sworn to Wyk, questioned his commander’s actions.

    Balwyn overstepped his rank, “he’s a Shar Ritualist, and he must be executed!”

    Seridan spun towards Balwyn’s direction and spoke sternly, “Mercy will be granted to this man! He will go from this encampment and you will escort him yourself!” Seridan’s hair whipped around as he turned his head towards the robed man, “one day you will take an account in the courts of the Divine. Will you find favor or will you find eternal fire?”

    Balwyn brushed his way towards his commander placing his hand on Seridan’s forearm, “I will not disrespect you again and I will do my duty.


    The burning orb in the milky blue sky is beginning to hide as the day escapes. Seven Knights on horseback ride west of Marthoon to the hills of the Bravelands. An open frontier with scattered groves and fields of long grass as high as horses. As the rider’s stride towards their destination their olive-green banners whip in the warm wind.

    The one leading the pack rides his large muscular black stallion known as Stygon. A colossal horse bread by the finest stable masters of Marthoon gifted their Great Lord, Jon Omber, a stoic, tall, large robust bald man with a distinct beard coming from his face to a point. A man of gentleness but his dauntless stare strikes respect.

    “Woah!” Hollered, Lord Omber as he raised his right arm in the air with his fist. His Seven yielded their horses as they came to an abrupt stop.

    “There! In the distance, our enemy awaits!” exclaimed Jon, as he jumped from his saddle.

    The Seven wait until Jon ties his horse to the dead tree before getting off their saddles. The Seven are Jon’s chosen, the Riders of Marthoon, his sworn guard. Respect, honor and dignity must come naturally to his chosen. The Seven are master horseman, elite cavalry and skilled in the Longsword. There are no other men Jon will ride with on high level missions.

    “Where is he?” Asked Drath Bannon, the youngest of Jon’s Banner House and newest addition to The Seven.

    Jon gazed at the cloudless blue sky and suggested to make camp until their ally came. Hours had passed as Drath paced impatiently around talking to himself. He was ready to complete his first mission.

    “Remember, breathe. You’re the finest swordsman of the Seven,” said Jon as he calmly told his young knight.

    Jon looked down at the campfire watching the crackling of the kindle as ribbons of smoke hurl into the air. Moments later, a sliver of Arcanic magic appeared behind the camp no less than three feet above the ground. A slender man wearing a ragged dark green robe breached through the scar shaped rift. His head was hidden in the cowl of his hood holding an oak stave. A wooden flame was carved on top of his staff with a jade jewel placed in the center and ancient markings scratched around the outer edge of the flame.

    “Welcome, Wizard of the Dusk. Seridan said you would come,” as Jon greeted him.

    “I am not one for a sense of time,” replied the Wizard kneeling before Jon.

    Drath inched closer to Jon whispering, “does he have no name?” “Only a title, no one knows his name.”

    The Wizard of the Dusk is a man of great mystery who dwells in the dark forests of the Willow Dusk foiling secret camps of the Shar and driving out Seseraxian men. He abandoned the Veneficium Order and wanted to practice ancient magic. The Wizard is indebted to Seridan for freeing him from the bondage of Seseraxian men during night raids of the northern Willow Dusk, a decade ago.

    All nine men made way to a large tree stump where the Wizard laid a map of the western Bravelands and southern Willow Dusk. He communicated specific plans from Seridan to Jon and his Seven. Expressing three major Shar encampments must be ransacked and destroyed. Starting with the one, a mile west of them.


    A flock of crows sing as they skip on the muddy wooden beam above the iron door into the rocky hillside. Inside the foreboding black room, a single flame on the small brazier dances in the center. Dim light creeps on the captive’s waist to his torso revealing gashes with dried blood in the crevasses of the skin.

    “Daemonium Ignis! Reveal the truth,” lashes from the tongue of the obscure figure from the other side of the room.

    The captive wakes hearing a loud pitch scream coming from the single flame. He could see a small shadowy hand reaching out, pulling his demonic body from the hot coals. Utter dread shrieked across the body of the prisoner, trembling at the sight of the shadowy demon. He could hear higher pitching screams that bellowed from the small demon resting inside the flame. The face of fear gave the demon pleasure.

    A long golden beak emerged from the darkness, the bird mask of a Shar Occultist came forward and bowed before the demon. The mark of Vainspire glowed crimson red on the deep purple silk robe. The prisoner eyes dart back and forth as his head was strapped down by a leather belt to a wooden plank.

    The Shar Occultist spoke, “A Divinite, a spy of Seridan Wyk, a loyalist to the one true God cowers at the sight of demons.” His dagger penetrated the belly of the prisoner. Grimacing in agony the prisoner cried, “no more!” In common tongue, the demon peered at the Occultist and said, “feed him Devil’s Dish!” A liquid, odorless black poison poured into the prisoner’s mouth. Moments later his insides burned like he drank melting lava. Blood boiled, then exploded from his belly making a hole of searing flesh, splattering the dagger on the muddy floor.

    The demon pointed to the left of the corpse, “does this one know the location of the Wizard?”

    The other prisoner had more irons as this one would squirm and fight to be free. This prisoner observed the torment and feared for their life. The Occultist cut the rope binding the mouth of the prisoner. Before speaking the prisoner wailed, “I will never tell you…”

    The metal door slammed open as a torch illuminated the room. Jon Omber in his Throbossian silver laced plate armor barged in, thrusting his Longsword into the back of the Shar Occultist. The shadowy body of the demon dispersed as the flame quenched. In demonic tongue, the Occultist casted a dark bolt of magic severing the arm off one of Jon’s Seven.

    Four Shadow Warriors appeared out of thin air slashing their battle axes at Jon. He parried their blows while shouting for Drath who was last to enter. Chaos burgeoned as eleven men fighting for their lives in the confined room.

    As Drath entered the fray he quickly counterstriked an overcut, thrusting his blade in the throat of his opponent. In seconds, the Shar Occultist healed his wound as his eyes ablaze in black silhouette like fire. One of the Seven snuck passed the three remaining Shadow Warriors to pierce the back of the Occultist. With surprise, his blade melted into liquid metal at his feet. He heard the Wizard shouting abstrusely outside. After many words slung by his ears he finally heard, “Get out!” The knight grabbed the Shar and dragged him from the dark room.

    The Shar fell onto the ground as the knight landed on his knees shouting in pain. His hands turned into blistering boils. Jon and the others quickly ran out to follow. His panicking eyes searched for Drath. He was still inside battling the three Shadow Warriors. Jon grabbed the torch and ran in to save his young Knight.

    Meanwhile the sun was nearly setting behind the peaks of the Rueful Mountains. With light almost evading from the night, the Wizard stood over the Shar Occultist, “you have no power in the light!” The Wizard’s staff glowed orange as he drove it in the heart of the Occultist.

    Upon entering the dark room, Jon saw Drath fending off the last Shadow Warrior. The young knight kicked his opponent into the muddy wall before emitting a scream while performing a swift crosscut to claim victory. Stunned, that Drath could combat three Shadow Warriors with minimal damage to his armor was beyond astonishing. His raw talent could hack down ten men in the open field. Jon knew Drath will become the premier Knight of the east.

    Jon heard a whimper from the corner of the room. His torch exposed a petite Elven woman in plate armor with the sigil of House Galadwyn, a rose with a crown branded on her breastplate.

    “Who is she?” Questioned Drath as he gazed upon the face of the beautiful Elf with silky amber skin and blue crystal eyes.

    Jon sighed, “She’s the daughter of Queen Alanis Galadwyn, the Monarch of the Sea and Kingdom of Parmencia.” Jon carried her out. He looked at his remaining knights and the Wizard, “bandage your wounds and we must make haste to Quarnaria! Her safety is paramount to the realm!”
    • CommentTimeAug 13th 2017
    Posted By: FarsightX3So I just threw this map together in 10 minutes lol. I suppose I just did to have an excuse to post my story.
    Another thing I myself enjoy about CC, how fast it is to create small illustrations and such, and not just full blown proper maps.

    Nice story. Lots of flavor in your writing.
    • CommentAuthorFarsightX3
    • CommentTimeAug 13th 2017
    Thanks Monsen for the only one reading my story lol. But I am editing so. I may post an updated version if others are interested...