So, I've thought of writing my own story for a long time now, hoping that one day it might become a successful show if it gets enough attention. My toss at the whole thing is pretty serious even if I never actually wrote a story before, so bear in mind that writing the story so far actually exhausted me mentally. Beginning a story is always the hardest part, is what I found out. Im pretty sure that seasoned writers will agree with me. Anyway, here's a portion of the story. Read it and give me professional opinions if you could. Thanks.
In the year of 863 after the Eclipse, when the war against the Bernian empire arose, nations stood on their feet, with a tremble that sent a ripple of dread across the lands. A ripple with a clear message of death and destruction. A war against a powerful militant empire with a vendetta to erase religions from the lands and to enslave nations it deemed inferior all to conquer the world, one continent at a time promising those who stand against its march a horror unseen. For the reason Bernia earned the right to be feared was for the genocides it had committed against its opposing powers, kingdoms were burned and their people were either slaughtered or enslaved until Bernia's cruelty was finally and truly displayed, upon the kingdom of Dunis. A kingdom that suffered the utter and devastating defeat against the Bernian might and after the betrayal of its former ally, MeVarn, the Bernian empire burned down the once impenetrable city and impaled the king and his family at the city gates, along with his closest allies and advisors. Five thousand corpses of his people were nailed to the city walls while the rest of the nation faced genocide. the piles of the dead formed giant hills; hills of blood and carrion. Yet among all the horror, Bernia's abyss of cruelty was displayed in the newly born and the children of Dunis nailed to the lowest row of the crown. Once a kingdom of roses and flowers and green gardens, now a city of death and plague with a dreadful crown of corpses upon its head and a black halo of a thousand ravens soaring above it making it an omenous sight, like a portrait of the blackest nightmare. The count of deaths Dunis had suffered reached the total population of the city itself thus becoming the finest example Bernia had made to be remembered for a time long. A warning of blood, death and the annihilation of an entire nation.
Just as sound follows the toss of a pebble, the news of the horror Bernia had commited ran through the lands, like fire through leaves, reaching the ends of the world. Cities on Bernia's path towards the northern half of the continent offered little to no resistance afterwards, Many of which offered their alliance and support to the empire, few willingly, many others forcefully in fear of a similar fate to Dunis. Bernia was dominent over the southern half of the continent completely and over a few cities and regions at the center of Derena making the empire a step closer towards dominating the continent entirely. Bernia's success in the continental conquest was halted upon a country stalwart in the north. The country of Jarresta, a gate towards the continent of Endis and the white and cold continent of Nebria. Jarresta was a land of mountains and rocks, its warriors souls were like the land, hard and enduring, and in the battlefield against the invading forces, they were valiant and unyielding. The unbreakable spirit of Jarresta gave birth to heroes throughout its history, none more famous than their ancestor, Antaros.
Antaros the giant, whom legends praised and tales sung of his braveries. His greatest feat however was against the tyrant, Maruk-Aad, The terror of Akali, a valley south east to Jarresta. In the stories, Maruk was a demon of old who alone took the lives of travellers and brave warriors alike becoming one of Derena's terrors at the time. Knights and platoons were sent by several cities to end his terror, yet very few returned alive, telling terrors about their enemy. Against such a horrible thing, Antaros, rose to the challenge and travelled on the roads with no more than 2 companions. Days passed by with no trace of the demon then days more, until Antaros felt the gaze of the demon from the shadows. Perhaps the demon knew of his power. And with his companions present, the odds were not in its favor. And so Antaros after arguements sent away his companions all to comply with the demon and to face it alone. Not a full day passed by before the demon showed its visage upon Antaros. The latter was in awe of the first. Size, dread, stench and the very image of the demon. Maruk-Aad was true to his legacy upon the region and his wake sent fear down the spines of men and trembles through their legs. The demon's wake banished whatever greatness Antaros possessed to his kin, be it size or presence. But Antaros was such as none. A heart of steel and a mind calm like a peaceful pond. The battle between the two, was a thing of myth. It took half a day for Antaros to know the difficulty of the fight, even for someone such as him and after some time in the fight, he lost his arm to the demon and was forced to retreat, Antaros, devised a plan. Might fell insufficient against Maruk, perhaps it is time for wit to take place. With the aid of his companions, a pit was made for Maruk. Its bottom was filled with pikes and was greased with fire oil. Covered by a thin platform of wood all hidden well with dirt, the pit was ready and all that was left for the demon was to be lured to it. Antaros succeeded in his goal and his plan finally came to fruition. Maruk fell into it and the pit was set ablaze. But, alas, to fell a terrible demon was no simple ordain. The demon took the life of Antaros before it was finally slain. Of hate, rage and pain, the demon let out a thundering roar marking the end of its reign, and thus Antaros became the demon's unbecoming and the pit, its tomb. Greatest among the heroes he was, and his tales gave rise to heroes after him. For the countless battles Jarresta had fought, heroes rose and fell for their country, protecting the land and passing down the torch of glory that was lit by their ancestors.
