The Dark World

This is an original writing of mine.

To give you some background, I wrote this for a job application to be a content writer for the new The Lord of the Rings video game. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out, but I thought I’d share this with everyone. The objective was to put together a 500 word short story. After I applied I made a few tweaks to it, so it might not reach 500 words now, or it might be over, I didn’t count.

Dark. Cold. Black. Bitter. Years ago the world changed.  Darkness spread from the depths of the Earth and exposed its inhabitants to the cruel and brutal Age of Despair. One by one the races of elves, men, dwarves, and other beings fell into decay. Leaderless and scattered, the races of the world gave up hope. Those who remained decided to submit themselves to the darkness, for it had become easier to live in the darkness than to fight for the light.

Darkness. From darkness this evil spread and filled the hearts of the pure with anger, fear, hate, and suffering. From darkness, despair was born, and from darkness appeared The Warlok. It had been an age since Warloks were strong enough to protect the lands, now there are too few to lead the beings of this world.

This Warlok was different, he came from darkness when most Warloks are born of light. Some may be born during the Odd Times of dawn or dusk but a Warlok has never been born in darkness. He carries himself in a peculiar fashion, walking in garbs traditional for commoners and caring little for the riches of the world. His travels are erratic, coming and going as he pleases, and yet, he always helps those in need.

In the days of old, Warloks were appointed Trials, their life’s tasks, to prove themselves to The Order. Most Warloks completed many Trials in their lifetime and after doing so became branded, thus proving themselves faithful to The Order and displaying their experience. This Warlok, however, has received no brands and has never followed any order. He travels the land with one sole purpose, to defy the darkness.  

Cold. “Walking the world alone leads to many travels in the cold.” Feran remembers his master’s words well, this night is no exception. Feran feels the change.

“The cold is spreading,” thought Feran, “it won’t be long now.” Settled into a clearing in the woods, the Warlok stoked his small fire.

The colder the world gets, the easier it becomes for evil spirits to prosper. On nights like these, one should expect a spirit to interrupt the stillness of the night, hunting for remnants of pure souls. Warloks’ souls are natural beacons of light, but in times of despair, a young Warlok’s soul can quickly turn against them and become cold. Cold against the world, cold against hope, and cold against the Order. The growing despair caused young Warloks to defy the Order, and with no Order to protect the lands, the cold began to spread like wildfyre.

Black. Exhausted and sore from his travels, Feran peered into the black beyond his fire’s small flames. Even the dimmest lights can attract unwanted beings in the dark, he understood the risks but he needed a break from the cold.

“Just a few more minutes,” Feran thought.

Preparing, he shifted his stance to a meditated position, calm but focused. In that moment everything became silent, he took a deep breath and the black overtook him.

Bitter. “Bitter are the moments when we wake. The world ahead of us is never the same as the one behind. It’s easy to despair, harder to remain hopeful.”

Feran’s master rambled on, “Things always get worse before they get better.”

So there you have it, let me know your thoughts. Feel free to tear it apart or provide constructive criticism, I’m no pro. Also if you wish you find out what happens next to Feran I’ll expand the story further.

Thank you for your time and remember, a light from the shadows shall spring.

– The Wandering One

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