Merc's Virtual Storybook

Discussion in 'Terraria Literature' started by Mercenary Lord, Sep 30, 2012.

  1. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Welcome, children, to Mercenary Lord's book of stories. It is not only a collection of his writings, but also a marvelous delve into his inner psyche. Here we find all of his thoughts, ideals, and style. I, his inner consciousness, have been given the pleasure of writing this first entry, and enchanting the book to add whatever finished writings Mercenary Lord may come up with.

    We'll be obtaining almost all of his finished short stories, so be not alarmed if a story does not reflect Terraria in some way. Many stories will, but not all.

    As of writing this, Mercenary Lord only has one finished story, although he is currently hard at work on another.The storybook functions as follows:

    A finished work is updated in his writing program, which is then added to the book. A table of contents will be in this thread to allow easy navigation. Thank you all, and enjoy the world of Mercenary Lord's mind.

    (Hey guys, I don't want each of my stories to be a separate thread, so I made this.)
    /----------\
    \----------/
    Table of Contents
    -Orbis Pirata: A Tale of the Terrarian High Seas. (Separate thread.)
    -Letale Aurum: A repost, but the only finished short story I have as of now.
    -Flight: A new story written because of a song inspiration and a desire to write about flying.
    -Courage: A little piece of a pre-battle speech. Not much to say here.
    -The Battle God's Kingdom: A poem written for school, but turned into a real piece one inspired day.
    ***
    AyeAye12 likes this.
  2. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Letale Aurum: A tale of Gold and Riches.

    "Aye, Jack, there be a reason all them old boys went out into the wild, at this god-fersaken hour. They was fixing to get themselves some gold, no doubt about it!"

    The old man waved his half-empty mug around carelessly, spilling some of the frothy drink onto the dirt below. I clung to the man's every word, enraptured by his tale.

    "Them morons was impatient, aye, they were. I told 'em to get stronger, so I did. They ain't had nothin' on dem monster out there, no sirree! I says to them, I says, 'My friends, stay here in the town 'til mornin' comes. Them monsters be of scary stuff!' They ain't listen to old Barney, though. Out they went, lookin' for their fortunes. And ya see! They ain't came back yet!" The man finished his point with a grand gesture, hurling his mug into the air.

    "But, Barney, surely some of them must have made it. You said there were twenty of them!"

    "Aye, so I did, so I did." The man sat up straighter, hiccuping violently as his fifth drink entered his blood-stream. I empathized with the old man, even though I despised drinking. After a long day of selling and buying to thankless 'adventurers', I could understand why he would drink his stress away when the sun went down. "But listen here, Jack. Them monsters ain't anything near mortal. You could blast 'em with a star, and they'd still be comin' back fer more. There ain't no chance of survivin' on your own, not until ya get yer proper equipment."

    I turned away, glancing toward my hastily constructed shack on the edge of the town. I had only recently come to the place, after waking up with the fleeting memories of a life since past. They weren't the most kindly of hosts, but I managed to get myself on my feet once again. I suppose I got into their good graces by sticking around for a while, and not traipsing off around the wilderness in a vain attempt to get my hands on what folks around here called the 'devil's money'.

    It was a small town, thanks to the sudden rush of amnesiac gold-rushers. Half the population had dried up and left with the wave or fortune hunters, and those who stayed behind were trying to pick up the pieces. Barney, Scott, Bazdin, Kathryn, Andre, and Amy. They sold goods to the rushers, and bought things from them, for the right price. The food came from Faye, some kind of nature-lady from the near south. A tiny town.

    "Thanks, Barney, I enjoyed..." I looked back at the man, only to smile in exasperation. He lay there on the ground, near the dying fire, snoring away without a care in the world. In a way, I envied him. But I couldn't follow his lead. There was something in my mind that screamed protest if I sat still for even a second. I knew I'd never be happy with his life. I had a far more important goal in mind.

    I was no different from those other fortune-hunters, in a way. The thought of such a powerful precious metal send a shiver through my veins the likes of which nothing else could possibly match. And yet...I would be different. I would prepare, train, work hard. I wouldn't be like those other fools, who set out as soon as they arrived. No. I would find my fortune out there.

    I was sure of it.

    *
    Notes (open)

    No idea what prompted this. A bit of insight into the story: I had the idea for a pre-boss Terraria story where most of those who arrived left instantly to look for gold, the 'best' metal, and were all promptly destroyed. The merchant makes an appearance as a bad-ass drunkard who just makes me chuckle, and other NPCs are mentioned.

    It's more of a short idea, rather than a full story, because I just had the inspiration, so I let it out.

    Thanks for reading it.
  3. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Flight
    -
    He cursed, vehemently, as his left boot slipped off the rock, shaking his very grip of the cliff-side. It took all his strength to not let go and fall, four hundred feet straight-down, to his death. Twice now, his shoes had slipped from the wet stone, and each time, he had hung on by a single hand. He’d waited months for this day, and nothing was going to stop him.

    With a groan of effort, he pulled himself up another few feet. The rope around his waist was cutting off his circulation, but that didn’t matter, as long as he succeeded. His arm snaked up to the next handhold, and his foot lodged itself firmly in a new crack. Almost there. He climbed another foot higher. Almost there.
    He barely realized he had made it; his hand simply fell over the edge, rather than finding the next hold. He hardly cared, really: every muscle in his body screamed in agony.

    Acting on instinct alone, he rolled onto solid ground moments before his legs cramped, and he lost all control of his appendages. A reflexive laugh clawed its way out of his throat, more a method of dealing with the pain than anything.

    He could have lay there for hours, oblivious to everything but his pain, but he became acutely aware of the rope still crushing his waist, so with massive effort, he rolled onto his stomach, and grabbed the rope. Slowly, painfully, he pulled the cord up, lifting the heavy box tied to the other side to the top. His arms were going to fall off, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, he kept pulling. The box was his entire reason for coming here, after all- losing it now would invalidate all of his suffering.

    He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have lasted, but suddenly the bag was beside him, and he was on his back again. This time around, he couldn’t move at all, and blackness flickered on the edges of his vision. A tired grin flickered across his face, and he welcomed the dark, with its soothing embrace and peaceful bliss.
    -

    He woke abruptly at dusk. Parched and tired, he sat up, grunting as his sore muscles clenched up again. The full moon shone down on the little mesa, illuminating everything almost as much as the sun. He waited for a minute or so before he moved again, attempting to get some semblance of response from his limbs.

    Eventually, after much consternation and painful stretching, He managed to get to his knees, and crawled over to the box. Flipping the latches, he opened the lid, and a warm multicolored light washed over his face. He instantly felt lighter, and his aching alleviated, somewhat. Thus was the power of the materials he used. He pulled a leather bag from the box, and looked inside, counting the number of metal ingots inside. He checked the side of the box as well, where a number of blue feathers were stored in separate ‘sheaths’.

    Satisfied, he shut the box, and stood, albeit awkwardly. He turned to the other edge of the cliff, where a large, metallic rock sat slightly back from empty space. His reason for coming up here in the first place. He lifted the box and limped over to the green-tinted rock.

    Setting down the wooden container, he pulled a strange, glowing hammerhead of gold and silver from the box, along with a short rod of metal. Connecting the two pieces, he tossed the hammer into the air experimentally, pleased with the balance. It was a surprisingly light tool.

    From there, he pulled the bag of ingots from the box, and emptied it onto the metallic rock. He grabbed the glowing materials from the box as well, and spread them out evenly over the green surface. He twirled the hammer thoughtfully, then took a light blue orb and a pink orb, and placed them side by side, next to one of the silver ingots. He drew back his hammer-arm, and slammed it down onto the materials.

    Rather than smashing into the rock, the hammer went right through the three things, as if a ghostly apparition. It passed through the rock as well, and swung out at his side. He looked at the result, content. The green rock underneath the former materials glowed with energy, and the ingredients were separate no longer. In their place, a shining bar of metal pulsed with newfound power. He lifted the ingot appreciatively. It was far lighter than it had been previously. He reached into the box, and pulled one of the feathers from its spot on the side. Adrenaline rushed through his veins as he worked, all of his previous pain defied and ignored. He was so close.

    He touched the feather to the glowing ingot, and watched in fascination as it was literally sucked into the metal. Instantly, a change occurred: the bar weighed next to nothing, as if it was barely heavy enough to stay down on the ground, and not float into the sky. He grinned, exhilarated, set the finished bar back inside the box, and pulled out the next set of materials. With a light heart and a fierce grin, he set to work.

    He finished the creation of the almost-floating metal as the moon began its descent across the sky. From there, he pulled a chisel made of the same material as the hammer from the box, and began the detailed work of creating his dream. He would succeed. He knew it.
    -

    The sky was lightening when he finalized his work. With a sigh of exhaustion and contentment, he sat, cradling the massive jumble of pieces in his hand. They didn’t look like much, yet, but there was one final piece of the puzzle to be completed. He arrayed the parts on the green, metallic rock in a confusing pattern, one that made sense only to him. He grabbed the chisel again, and started the second to last step, etching a pattern into the metallic rock. A circle, one he had memorized from a book in the library. A fusion circle.

    Once completed, he pulled the last item from the chest: a flawless, many-faceted diamond. The final piece. Setting the jewel in the middle of the circle, he settled down to wait for sunrise, when the reaction would occur. He didn’t wait long before the first ray of light cleared the horizon.

    The diamond lit up with the morning sun, and launched the light in all directions. As he watched, the entire stone lit up like a lantern, and tendrils of energy slowly fizzled into the air, one by one obscuring the metal pieces and parts. He watched in awe as it flashed blindingly in the dawn light, sparking and flashing rapidly. He had to close his eyes to avoid losing his sight.

    When he finally opened them again, his jaw dropped open a little. There, sitting on the rock, was a pristine pair of metallic, feathered wings. He moved as if in a dream, slowly approaching the device and lifting it off the stone, and examined the work of art. Aside from the perfectly shaped, almost weightless wings attached to a main frame of sorts, two pairs of straps- obviously to secure the mechanism to the user’s back- branched off from the frame.

    The spell broke suddenly, and he slipped the wings onto his back, excitedly securing the straps and slipping a loop around each of his fingers. He clenched his fingers experimentally, and the wings whipped downward, nearly blasting him off the cliff. He laughed in delight, and steadied himself. This was it: his dream for years, and his project for months. He grabbed the hammer and chisel, kicked the box off the edge in his excitement, and took several steps back.

    Without a second thought, he dashed toward the edge of the cliff, and hurled himself off the edge, spreading his arms and clenching his fists. The wings flapped once, twice, three times; and then he was lifted into the air, riding the wind. He shouted jubilantly into the air, his voice echoing over the hills. He unclenched his hands, and the wings stilled, unfurled. The wind caught him, then, and sent him gliding over the world.

    He quickly became accustomed to the new ‘terrain’. A simple lowering of the shoulders caused him to descend, and a simple twitch of the fingers caused him to rise. He soared over the earth in happiness, spinning, whirling, and diving as he became accustomed to the wings. Up down, left right. He veered toward a cliff-side and stretched out his feet. They hit the wall and he started running, up the side of the cliff. As his speed waned, he kicked off, and flipping backward into open space once again, and whirling down, picking up speed again.

    He sped toward a forest, smiling savagely as he reached out with a hand. He glided across the tree tops, plucking leaves from the trees as he wove in and out of the taller ones. He’d finally done it. After years of dreaming and months of planning, he’d done it. He was the first man to play with the birds on their own turf, the first person to ride the wind.

    He was the first man in flight.
    *

    Notes (open)

    Inspired by a song, and the legend of Icarus. Just something I wrote today because I didn't feel like working on 'Pirates'.

    The wings are a representation of Terraria's Angel Wings, in case you couldn't guess.

    Character is unnamed for a reason.

    ....I think that's it. Enjoy.

    Oh, and this was written in about 2 hours with no editing, so yeah, don't expect much.
    Torol likes this.
  4. AyeAye12 Spore Zombie

    I made a short story thread once; it kinda fell a bit flat xP

    Although Dryad: A Deity DID come of it, so... I guess it wasn't too bad.

    I'll read the stories in the morning; too tired right now I'm afraid >o<
  5. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    I get a bunch of not 'major-project' related ideas and inspiration, and if I have the time, I usually write about them.

    Sleep well. :)
  6. AyeAye12 Spore Zombie

    Sleep?! Don't be ridiculous! I shall not sleep for a very long time!

    (The curse of the Internet)
    Torol and Mercenary Lord like this.
  7. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Well, won't be writing much for a bit. I broke my ankle yesterday, currently coming to terms with my sudden inability to move. :/
  8. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Might as well link my 'main story' to my story book.

    It's about PIRATES.
  9. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    [IMG]
    ((Music Linked to Picture))
    -
    A silver-armored man gazed down on the milling mass of soldier beneath him. He had long since abandoned his helmet, chilled ice cold by the intense rain. The droplets had whipped through the plains, stopping the advances of either side- wiping clean the slate of combat. Each side retreated, treating their wounded, and cursing their infernal luck.

    “General Altos!” A young man, a lieutenant, slipped and scurried his way up the steep hill. Altos had ascended the hill without a thought, but others were not quite as limber as he. “Altos, sir!

    Altos glanced at the lieutenant. “Yes, soldier, what is it?”

    “We’ve obtained a general idea as to their numbers, sir. It looks as if our original estimations were overly optimistic. They have a hundred thousand soldiers, General. That’s four times ours.”

    “Are you sure?”

    “Yes, General.” The man shifted uncomfortably. “We cannot hold against such numbers, sir.” A pause. “The men are growing restless, even without knowing the odds. There’s been talk of desertion. No one here wants to die, and, honestly, our reason for fighting seems a bit weak.” Altos was silent for a long while. The lieutenant shifted again. “Sir?”

    “I will speak to them. Do not falter in your efforts, lieutenant. Any and all information you can obtain on our enemies is both useful and valued. You are dismissed.”

    The lieutenant bowed, and staggered back down the hill. Altos looked over his shoulder, to his hastily erected tent. A horse stood there, tied to a post. Inside, his second in command and brother waited. The other man met Altos’ gaze intently. There was nothing else to do.

    Altos gathered his energy, and painfully made his way to the edge of the hill. He was not injured, physically. The battle had been long, and the sacrifices great, and now he learned that it was all for naught. He was not as young as he had once been, either. His arm shook, but he stilled it through sheer will.

    “Soldiers!” Altos roared. His voice carried over the practically flat land, causing all the various people below him to suddenly freeze and turn their gazes to him. “To me!”

    With all attention on him, Altos stepped onto the side of the hill, and descended to the camp. Whispers and looks all hissed all around him. The General rarely descended from his tent during times of ‘peace’. He spent the time planning, and thinking. For him to be walking through the common soldier’s camp was rare indeed.

    He made his way to a scaffold of sorts, where messengers and merchants spoke and traded. Took one heavy step after another, up the creaking wooden steps. He turned to face the crowd. He took in their features, their defeated, bleak looks, and made his decision. They would fight, no matter the cost.

    “Comrades! I have recently been informed of our enemy’s numbers.” He was cut off by murmurings and shifty glances. “They far outnumber us! A hundred thousand men!”

    He was stopped again, this time by outraged cries and moans of fear. He persevered. “We are tired, cold. Our muscles sore, our minds weary. You wish to flee, and I would accompany you without hesitation.” This statement brought another round of muttering.

    “I would leave with you, if only I were able! To abandon this cause of ours and retreat to safety! I would gladly flee!” The rain continued to fall, pouring onto his face, soaking his grey-streaked hair. “This, I would do, and do it happily.”

    He raised a hand. “But consider why we are here! We are not here for some baseless purpose. We are not here on the whim of some warlord or prince. No! We are here for a far nobler cause!”
    There were no more unhappy sounds from the crowd of bedraggled soldiers. They were staring at him with almost hungry looks on their faces.

    “I have come here, today, in the hopes of ending a conflict which has long since run its course! A war which has torn families apart, ripped men from their homes, and crushed the souls of those left behind.”
    His voice continued to rise. “We are here, not because of our own reasons, but because we will not stand these horrors any longer! WE WILL NOT LET OUR ENEMY DESTROY US AND ALL WE STAND FOR!”

    A fierce light burned in Altos’ eyes. “My friends! We are here to protect our families, our livelihoods, and our world itself! Will we abandon our position simply because we are outmatched? NO! We will stand here, and hold our lines! We will fight! Take heart in your purpose, men! Show the enemy that your courage cannot be denied! We will fight! And we will win!”

    It was hastily created and even more so delivered, but Altos’ army bellowed approval. They stomped their feet, banged swords on shields, and shouted.

    As if on cue, the sun peeked out of the clouds, shining down on the silver army. Altos had not even realized that the rain had stopped.

    “Are you with me, comrades? Will you give me the honor of fighting alongside you?” As the sun shone down onto his face, and the sound of victory filled the air, he heard the answer before it came. Slow and disjointed at first, but then more and more powerful.

    “YES! YES! WE WILL FIGHT!”
    *
    Definitely one of my weaker works. I wrote it at midnight and so it isn't really that good. It's just a little bit I wanted to write, like a general giving the most inspiring speech imaginable to his troops. Yes, I know it isn't really that inspirational but that's because there isn't a story to inspire with, nor will there be.

    -It's a one shot.
    *
    Enjoy.
  10. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    Updated Orbis Pirata, finally. Not much, but a little bit.
  11. Mercenary Lord Corruptor

    It's been a while, huh? This time around, I have a poem. One written with much feels.
    *
    The Battle-God’s Gate
    -------
    A thousand shattered stars weep blood, as gentle merriment dies in the dusk,
    Betraying the sun and sky. A million minutes rocket by,
    Never to be reclaimed.


    But days are birthed to die, guillotined violently by the knight they serve. Replaced.
    The high speed spirits that rage and ricochet, unsealed creatures which indiscriminately slay.
    Jealousy, envy and strife, lashing about with untamed haste.

    A master of humanity gleams coldly, at the War-God’s gate. The helm of night rests upon his crown.
    A lord among men, full of undying hate. A hundred corpses piled at his feet, to change his own fate.
    Victims of his boundless wrath.

    Men are born to drill practice, and perish, and their general are more of the same.
    A perfect photograph of conflict imprints in the mind. Their calm, they leave behind.
    Pictures of madness.

    Early night howls ring forth, echoes of the great soldier’s pain.
    Insanity swoops.
    The death-wind blows near.

    Four lights brighten the sky.
    From each, a tender breeze descends, with white paper floating gently in their grips and bends.
    The final chance.

    Master and man alike pen their death-letters to the Battle-God himself.
    Acceptance is paradise; forever freed from judgment. Rejection is agony, an eternal torment.
    A land of eternal snow waits.
    -------
    By: Mercenary Lord
    *
    Poems are a tough spot, for me. It's pretty hard for me to write them, since I tend to put an incredibly deep meaning into them, and I take a long time to write them. For this one, I had the luck of already having a rough draft from a school project, which I liked so much that I decided to rework it. I can't say it's perfect, but it means a good deal to me.

    I hope you enjoy.

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