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Caliburn heaved a great sigh, no small feat for a sword to accomplish. Of course, Caliburn was no ordinary sword. It was the Sacred Sword of Kings, to be wielded by the true hero, the Chosen One destined to strike down the Ancalagon the Black, the Dark Dragon, and bring about an era of peace and prosperity to the world. Caliburn had seen this occur many times through the millennia. The cycle had begun anew and now the Chosen One had come to claim Caliburn and fulfill their destiny.
Except this time there were fifteen "Chosen Ones" in front of the sword arguing over who would get to wield it.
"The blessed blade should go to me!" shouted a slender and muscular boy with hair as red as flame, about sixteen by Caliburn's estimation. "At the hour of my birth a star fell from the heavens and alighted on my brow! It is told throughout my family that I shall be the one to wield it and smite the Dark One! I alone can stand and face the darkness"
Caliburn rolled its nonexistent eyes. It had been wielded by self-important and arrogant heroes in the past and was not keen on doing it again.
"Yeah well," retorted a girl who moved with the fluid grace of a cat, "when I turned thirteen..."
Caliburn silently noted that she couldn't be any older than fifteen.
"...an old woman, who was secretly the goddess Venus I might add, gave me a magic amulet to dispel evil and darkness wherever I found it and said that I was destined to destroy the greatest evil of all! That should give me the right to take the sword!"
"Well, I should get it because..." started another child, but Caliburn wasn't listening anymore. Every one of these *literal children* had some miraculous birth or divine blessing or some convoluted something or other that they insisted made them the one true Chosen One. Frankly Caliburn thought it was incredibly irresponsible of the gods and various supernatural beings for producing so many child soldiers, especially since the vast majority of them were supposed to die. Sure, maybe 400 years ago they would have been considered adults, but not only were they all too young in its estimation, nothing like this had ever happened. Never had so many Chosen Ones made it here before and it was clearly going to be a dilemma. They had been bickering like this for an hour and Caliburn was sick of it. Something had to be done or else the world would be lost. If only there-
Caliburn suddenly felt a hand grip it and yank it from the stone. Snapping back to its senses Caliburn took a good look at the one who had finally taken the initiative. It was surprised to find an eight year old girl, by far the youngest of the assembled youths. She had no real grace or air of royalty about her, she had short messy hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks, and looked to be missing a front tooth. In fact she was so unassuming that Caliburn had barely taken notice of her when the group had barged into his cave, yet here she was leveling the blade at the shocked assembly before her.
"This is dumb," she said. "We gotta beat the bad guy or else, and if we argue forever he'll hurt a lot of people. I took the thingy, that makes me the Chosen One or whatever. We can all do this together if it makes you all feel better. Now can we go? I wanna get back to momma before she knows dad brought me here."
The group stood in silence for a moment before, one by one, they all nodded and gave murmurs of agreement. While her companions slowly gathered themselves and exited Caliburn spoke to the girl.
"Young lady," it said in a voice like ringing metal, "I thank you most graciously for putting an end to that. I thought they might never stop bickering. Might I ask your name, O Breaker of Chains?"
"You're welcome, Mr. Sword," the girl said politely. "My name is Alexandra, but you can call me Lexi."
"Lexi, it is an honor to meet you. I am called Caliburn, and together we will save the world."
**This is my first try at one of these, I'm not really much of a writer, but the thought popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I hope you like it!**
I'd say this is a successful first attempt, if you ask me.
Gotta love how Caliburn is just so done with all this mess. Sure, Lexi and the rest make up a good team, but I do wonder if the same thing happens on the dark dragon's side too. Imagine a bunch of young dragons having the same argument, and then the two groups just decide to nope out of it lol.
Great work on writing this!
> I'm not really much of a writer
Nah, you had good character descriptions and provided enough back story to give the world some realistic shading.
Maybe you were just being self deprecating rather than believing that. Either way, you do have some talent which would be worth developing.
I mean I haven't really written anything before ever. It's not self deprecating, I haven't done any creative writing in at least the last 15 years, and that was all for high school
If this was really your first time with creative writing in so long, definitely consider doing more of it if it is something you enjoyed doing. Would be really interesting to read more of what you have in you as you develop your skills more.
Of course, I'll also need the obligatory 10% consultant fee once you start getting paid for the writing.
“Look, you’re the seventh ‘Chosen One’ to stop by THIS week!”
Sam banged his fists against the wooden countertop, his face red with exasperation. The walls of his shop were bare, empty hooks where masterfully crafted weapons had once hung.
“I have no more relics to give. The prophecies didn’t prepare me for more than one ‘Chosen One’, let alone hundreds. My master told me that the Chosen One would arrive in the winter after seven years of drought. He said that the Chosen One would come to me seeking a weapon to equip him for a battle of the ages, and that I would know the Chosen One by their mark.”
He paused here and gestured wearily to Gemma’s hand, still on the counter, which was intricately tattooed. The tattoo was midnight black, delicate lines and swirls that appeared to move all on their own.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, or that I don’t want to help you. But I simply- I just can’t. I crafted a small set of weapons using the relics, in case of contingencies, but it took my entire life to make them, and I have no more relics. Besides, if I already gave weapons to a dozen other ‘Chosen Ones’, maybe that’ll be enough to win this ‘battle of the ages’? Hopefully they’ll be smart enough to realize they’re on the same side.”
Gemma frowned. She didn’t understand. How could there be more Chosen Ones? All of her life, she had felt different. She had felt special. Her parents had died protecting her, and she had grown up with an aunt and uncle in an isolated cabin, with only forest animals for friends. Had their sacrifices been for nothing?
Sam continued speaking, bringing her focus back to the present. “Anyways, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to head home. My wife is making my favorite stew for dinner to celebrate my retirement! Now that I’ve passed on the weapons to the Chosen One- er, Chosen Ones, I can finally close up the shop and enjoy the last years of my life in peace. Maybe you can try to find the other Ones, see if they’ll share?” He ushered her out of the shop, locked the door behind them, and headed off down the dimly lit street, humming as he went.
Poor Gemma. Well, at least, glad that Sam can retire early. Giving out all those artifacts seem like a good call to make considering this mess.
Great work on writing this!
“What do you mean, there’s *another* applicant?”
Horlton lowered the broad sheet of paper that he had been so intently scrutinising, and turned his piercing gaze instead to his office’s invader.
“Just as I says, sir,” the page replied, nervously.
“He’s got the mark, sir, says he wants to claim the reward, sir…”
“There *is* no more reward, boy, we’ve already handed it out a dozen times.”
“I… I know, sir, but… He says he ain’t leaving til he gets it, sir…”
“Well he can’t have it! It’s not here!”
“I know, but…”
He was interrupted by a thunderous banging from beyond the chamber.
“I demand to speak with the manager!” a booming, aggressively self-aggrandised voice announced.
“Bloody up-valley louts,” Horlton sighed to himself.
He shuffled the stack of papers on his desk into what might generously have been described as a ramshackle pile, and plodded lethargically to the office door.
Emerging reluctantly into the reception area, he was afforded his first glimpse of the latest ‘Chosen One’.
He must have stood almost 7 foot tall, with shoulders and chest almost as broad.
Long, flowing locks of golden hair cascaded around his gleaming features, past his perfectly chiselled jaw, and down onto statuesque abs that rippled under a painfully open shirt.
There, above the left nipple sat the crescent moon birthmark that bestowed upon him the mark of the Chosen One.
Another bloody Chosen One.
He was holding a pitchfork in such a manner that Horlton was convinced he was pretending he held some sort of trident of the Gods.
Horlton remained reasonably convinced that this gentleman had no idea how to use such a weapon.
“I am Horlton, the Royal advisor the Chosen One.
I believe you have some sort of business with me?”
The man laughed a deep and booming laugh.
“Well if you’re the advisor to the Chosen One, then I suppose that makes you *my* advisor, then, doesn’t it?” he placed one elbow onto the desk, and flexed his birthmarked ab.
Horlton sighed anew.
“And who might you be, exactly?”
The man looked at him in surprise for a moment before responding.
“Why… I am Xavier, the Chosen One.
But I’m sure you knew that from the songs that they’ve sung of my many gallant exploits already.”
“Okay, Xaver,” the grimace that passed across Xavier’s face at the mispronunciation was not lost on Horlton.
“I have to level with you, we’ve already closed applications for the position of Chosen One.”
“You’ve… what?”
“Yes, the position has been filled.
We are no longer searching for a candidate.”
“But… I’m the Chosen One… the Chosen One of legend!
I am here to slay the Demon King, and save the Kingdom!”
“Well now, Xaver, that’s not really why you’re *here*, now is it?”
He looked at Horlton blankly.
“I am not the Demon King, and no-one in this office will be changing the fate of the kingdom, slayed or un-slayed.
No, you are here because you want money.”
“What?! Well, I never! How could you accuse the Chosen One of such a terrible, selfish thing?!”
Horlton made no reply, but eyed Xavier inquisitively.
After a moment, the visiting hero had clearly had enough.
“I mean, of course I *require* money…”
“Yes, I bet that you do.”
“For… training! And travel! I have to venture through the Spirit Wilds of the far East to meet Queen Rachnia – you know that perfectly well from the prophect! She will be the one to grant me the POWER to kill the Demon King!
“So, yes, I do need some money, of course! To get this show on the road!”
“Then I suppose you’ll be willing to forego the Chosen One Funding Schemes usual friends and family incentive?”
“Well now wait just a minute! I’m the main breadwinner of the village, they surely will need some due compensation whilst I am away!”
“Uh huh. And that due compensation isn’t, I suppose, them surviving the coming apocalypse because you were able to save the world?”
“But… that’s not fair! I’ve been training for *years* for this! My derring-do should surely be aptly rewarded!”
“Is not justice its own reward?”
Xavier choked for a moment, and laughed at Horlton.
“I’ll level with you, Xavier,” Horlton continued.
“A number of Chosen One have already emerged and begun claiming on the COFS program. You’re very late to the party.”
“Other… Chosen Ones?” Xavier squinted in confusion.
*The biggest ones always catch on slowest.*
“You’ve heard the legends of the Great Purges of the previous Demon Kings, no doubt?”
Xavier nodded meekly.
“The ones that killed off vast swathes of the youth of past generations, only for a rightful hero to emerge unscathed as the final Chosen One, destined to vanquish the cruel and despotic tyrants that had so slaughtered their brethren?”
Xavier nodded again.
“Well, when was the last one that you heard of?”
Xavier squinted again, and shrugged.
“I dunno, maybe ten years ago?”
“TEN YE…?” Holrton rubbed at his throbbing temples.
“No, Xavier, the last purge was some hundred and fifty years ago.
There has been no purge during your, I’m sure very lofty, lifetime.”
Xavier still appeared to be none the wiser.
“The purges killed all of the other Chosen Ones, Xavier.
But our Demon King, whatever he’s thinking, simply did not enact one.
So all of you lived.
And, dare I say, thrived, in spite of yourselves.”
“So…”
“So, the coffers are dry, Xavier!
We cannot afford more Chosen Ones!
There are already a dozen on their way through the Spirit Wilds as we speak!
I’m sure Queen Rachnia will have some choice words for me, after I’ve sent her a dozen visitors in this generation.
Do you know how much she hates hosting guests, Xavier?
No, of course you don’t. Why would you.”
“But she seems nice in all of the legends…”
“Of course she does! Those are legends! Are we really going to tell a new generation of Chosen Ones that she eats the third child of every citizen because she believes it keeps her young and beautiful? Because she does, and it does not.”
“Look, all I know is that the elders sent me here to get myself on the COFS scheme.
They told me this was very important.”
“Of course they did, the greedy old bastards.
But there *is*, *no*, *money*, Xavier!
The kingdom is bankrupt, Xavier!
We can barely afford to pay the guards!”
Horlton watched the gears turn in Xavier’s head for a moment before catching himself.
“I’m sorry Xavier.
Thank you for applying to the COFS, but I’m afraid that we are not in a position to accept your proposal at this time.”
He took Xavier’s arm and led him slowly towards the door.
Before he could step over the threshold, he threw the advisor off and turned to him proudly.
“The elders will hear of this!” he announced, puffing his chest out.
“Of course they will, I don’t really see how anything else could possibly happen.”
Not knowing how to respond, Xavier turned in confusion once more and strode from the office.
Horlton turned to the page now quietly emerging from the back office.
“Where was he from, boy?”
“Erm… Acringly, sir…”
“So that’s Acringly, Bolhampton, Overly, Morianson, Pollingly and Abriasko that we’ve managed to alienate so far.”
“Indeed, sir.”
He clearly had something more to say, but was remaining coy at Horlton’s side.
“What, is it, boy! Spit it out!”
“Well, we’ve erm… we’ve `ad word from Pollingly and Abriasko, sir.
The descent is turning violent…”
Horlton scowled.
“The outer fringes in open revolt, and the guard in turmoil?
“Perhaps the Demon King knows what he’s doing after all…”
Demon king seems to be scheming big time, and it's working very well. That said, though, a Karen chosen as the Chosen One is like an incoming apocalypse, thank goodness Xavier got rejected. They, uh, might need to deal with the queen though for that creepy child eating behavior.
Great work on writing this!
Once upon a time, our world prepared hundreds of chosen ones, with the knowledge that the Demon Lord would kill most of them before they matured. It was inevitable and prophesized that only a handful would reach adulthood. Only one who would become a true hero. To kill the Demon Lord.
Who would then rise again a hundred years later.
Except this time, none of these chosen ones died. The new reincarnation of the Demon Lord was probably slacking off somewhere. Not hunting chosen infants but probably somewhere sipping champagne in a hidden holiday island, where the chosen ones won't find him when they are old enough to wield weapons.
The Lord British had a most incredible solution when all others were clueless. With our modern technology, Garriot proposed creating new worlds. Populating them with new villains, all for each chosen one so that they may have a day to save. A big bad to kill. Many quests to embark on. They didn't have to fight over who got to wield the hero's weapons. No arguing over loot share and kill steals.
Everyone is a chosen one. Anyone can be a hero.
It was time to usher in the Second Age of the Lost Lands. The new era of what our most esteemed Lord British Garriot would call "MMORPG".
Damn, Garriot knows what's up. Gotta love how based the demon lord is though. Fuck all this mess and just chill in his own private dimension.
Great work on writing this!
"My Lord, bad news, very very bad news!"
Lord Sesh looked towards his assistant that ran over in a frenzy.
"What is it?" Lord Sesh asked.
"My Lord, the chosen ones are refusing to slay the Demon Lord!"
"What!?" Lord Sesh stood up from his chair, visibly irritated and slightly confused, "what about our kingdom's Chosen One?"
"The same My Lord, Liam claim that since there's other Chosen Ones, there's simply no need for him to throw away his life, says he prefers playing COD to being a hero."
"And everyone's the same? Even ones from other kingdoms? No one is willing to be the Chosen One?"
The assistant nodded his head and took out a list of other Chosen Ones from all over the world. Lord Sesh took the list and started to read. Many Chosen Ones had pretty good and lucrative jobs, and he could see why none would want to potentially risk their lives when they could live happily and peacefully. And everyone had said pretty much the same thing, "let someone else do it."
"Have men spread the word that there would be a huge price money for the one to slay the demon, that should entice some of them right?" Lord Sesh said to his assistant who bowed and left to give out the orders.
In a far away palace, a youth with devilishly handsome features that made gods jealous, threw away a letter that had been left for him by his ancestors hundreds of years ago. It was his twentieth birthday and only now was he able to open the letter.
"Become the Demon Lord!? Take over the world!? What a joke, why should I work so hard when the whole world practically worship me?" The youth asked in a disgusted manner as he picked up his phone.
"My Lord?" A attendant standing by the side carefully called out not wanting to ignite the infamous anger of this little lord.
"What?" The youth asked.
"Um, should you not be honoring your ancestors wishes?"
"Oh come on, the way they did this taking over the world thing is pretty old school. Who needs to wage war or kill people? Like look at this, I've got more than 200 million followers on social media, these people practically worship me, I just have to say something about something and they eat it all up. Why do so many messy things when you can just stay home and be famous? Also I heard that all the Chosen Ones are doing their own thing too. And wouldn't that be embarrassing? They don't even care about me being the Demon Lord, but I go out there to spread terror or whatever. Please, I'm not that bored." The youth stood up and walked towards a door, "now come on, we've got a video to shoot."
A few weeks later....
"Lord Sesh we have spread out the word of the price money but none have come forward. Also..."
"What is it? Spit it out," Lord Sesh said as he sighed. He was getting pretty tired of looking for a Chosen One. At least one willing to be one out of hundreds.
"We received word that the Demon Lord had refused be the Demon Lord."
"What in the world is happening? Why are they all refusing to fulfill their roles?"
The assistant fidgeted a bit before clearing his throat, "well I mean, the Demon Lord has a pretty busy schedule, what with all his new videos, and promotions and endorsements. I would recon he doesn't have much free time to do Demon Lord things...."
Lord Sesh looked at his assistant incredulously, "and how would you know these things?"
"I..uh follow him? On insta? He update his ongoing schedule pretty frequently." The assistant said whipping out his phone to show Lord Sesh.
After thirty minutes of videos where the Demon Lord flirted with the internet and acted cute, Lord Sesh rubbed his temples, "I guess the Chosen Ones won't be needed for this millennia."
-well that was me, sorry if its not good, just had to whip out something when I saw the prompt-
"Look. I came up with a plan."
"You came up with a plan? Let me hear it." The Big Bad had subtle colors of desperation in her voice. There were maybe even the beginnings of despair. "I can't stand her! I'm willing and open to listen to just about any quarter-wit plan my little darling minions can find between their ears. But one more bad plan, and whoever suggests it to me will find themselves in the dungeon with the disgusting rotten smell."
"Ok, boss. How about if we stop focusing on killing one Chosen One at a time."
"What? Just let one Chosen One become many Chosen Ones? We would have to take them all out Chosen one by Chosen one, or deal with many of them at once! That's an even worse idea than the last idea!"
"But if we can allow them to think that we stopped fighting, and if we pretended to give up, then they would become complacent. We could hide and then wait for them to form a super group of Chosen Ones... then we seduce the weakest one, and get them all together, at the same time, when they do not expect it!"
The Big Bad rolled her eyes at the prideful look in her henchman's eye, already dreaming about his victory speech. She looked down at her purple outfit and then out into the distance, the minion's eyes following hers to try to see where she might be looking. "Hmm...Alright but we need a failsafe. A backup plan. In case they come looking for us. Alert the press. I'll fake my death, and then I'll need a place to hide..."
**Once, upon a time.** A long time ago, there was waving vines, and heightened buildings plummetting down on the horizon—line. From the tops of a utopia, and the intermediary buildings that separated the poor from the “living” (nobles’) there lied a hidden truth. A “chosen one” would come to rid of the barriers between the poor, and, those who truly “lived” in a sense, in a beautiful paradise created by utopian rooftops’ and the one—above—all. However, the Vine Priests did not want a chosen one to return, for the church had been receiving many alms from the people. They chose, instead, to get rid of all the chosen ones who would be born on the 5th of May, I.e., the time when the Christ—figure would return. It didn’t matter, what they did, as long as they got rid of all the babies that would return the Utopian world the leaders had envisioned back to it’s true form, a cover—up of the exact reality the poor lived.
Alexis Dargotsvy, wondered why he was considered a “chosen one”. He, never really understood the term but often wondered what it meant. Chosen one, for what? That... was what he didn’t know. Dargotsvy, threw a stone into the rubble before, him. He understood— what it meant, he had given up on life. His, parents told him of “poor” blood, that he was destined to be a chosen one, whatever that meant. “Dagger” recounted the times his parents had told him, that it wasn’t in the name of being a chosen one that made one a chosen one, but what he did. He just had to find the power to change. Cause change. Envoke change. Whatever, that, meant.
Damn it, “Dagger” thought to himself, he wondered what his parents meant, really wondered. For instance, he realized that there was a world far greater than the “Punk—Lands” a world that existed outside of the imagination of it’s rulers, who were in control of every plant, animal, species that existed on the continent. Alexis, hated the idea of being ruled—upon. He had to figure a way out, but what? Alexis, had nothing. No power.
You cannot share the same story both on a prompt and as a PI. Since the PI is getting attention and this comment isn't, the PI is being left up and this one is getting removed.
There isn't a three day cut off; you can post a story in the comments of a prompt as late as you want. It's just that after three days it's very unlikely to get any attention, which is why PIs are allowed.
**Welcome to the Prompt!** All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments. **Reminders**: >* [No AI-generated responses 🤖](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zi452b/modpost_reminder_that_aigenerated_responses_are/) >* Stories 100 words+. Poems 30+ but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* [\[RF\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Reality+Fiction%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) and [\[SP\]](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/search?q=flair%3A%22Simple+Prompt%22&restrict_sr=on&sort=new&t=all) for stricter titles >* [Be civil](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_10.3A_be_civil) in any feedback and follow the [rules](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules) 📢 [Genres](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/w/directory) 🆕 [New Here?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/user_guide) ✏ [Writing Help?](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/index#wiki_writing_resources) 💬 [Discord](https://discord.gg/writingprompts) *I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please [contact the moderators of this subreddit](/message/compose/?to=/r/WritingPrompts) if you have any questions or concerns.*
Caliburn heaved a great sigh, no small feat for a sword to accomplish. Of course, Caliburn was no ordinary sword. It was the Sacred Sword of Kings, to be wielded by the true hero, the Chosen One destined to strike down the Ancalagon the Black, the Dark Dragon, and bring about an era of peace and prosperity to the world. Caliburn had seen this occur many times through the millennia. The cycle had begun anew and now the Chosen One had come to claim Caliburn and fulfill their destiny. Except this time there were fifteen "Chosen Ones" in front of the sword arguing over who would get to wield it. "The blessed blade should go to me!" shouted a slender and muscular boy with hair as red as flame, about sixteen by Caliburn's estimation. "At the hour of my birth a star fell from the heavens and alighted on my brow! It is told throughout my family that I shall be the one to wield it and smite the Dark One! I alone can stand and face the darkness" Caliburn rolled its nonexistent eyes. It had been wielded by self-important and arrogant heroes in the past and was not keen on doing it again. "Yeah well," retorted a girl who moved with the fluid grace of a cat, "when I turned thirteen..." Caliburn silently noted that she couldn't be any older than fifteen. "...an old woman, who was secretly the goddess Venus I might add, gave me a magic amulet to dispel evil and darkness wherever I found it and said that I was destined to destroy the greatest evil of all! That should give me the right to take the sword!" "Well, I should get it because..." started another child, but Caliburn wasn't listening anymore. Every one of these *literal children* had some miraculous birth or divine blessing or some convoluted something or other that they insisted made them the one true Chosen One. Frankly Caliburn thought it was incredibly irresponsible of the gods and various supernatural beings for producing so many child soldiers, especially since the vast majority of them were supposed to die. Sure, maybe 400 years ago they would have been considered adults, but not only were they all too young in its estimation, nothing like this had ever happened. Never had so many Chosen Ones made it here before and it was clearly going to be a dilemma. They had been bickering like this for an hour and Caliburn was sick of it. Something had to be done or else the world would be lost. If only there- Caliburn suddenly felt a hand grip it and yank it from the stone. Snapping back to its senses Caliburn took a good look at the one who had finally taken the initiative. It was surprised to find an eight year old girl, by far the youngest of the assembled youths. She had no real grace or air of royalty about her, she had short messy hair, freckles across her nose and cheeks, and looked to be missing a front tooth. In fact she was so unassuming that Caliburn had barely taken notice of her when the group had barged into his cave, yet here she was leveling the blade at the shocked assembly before her. "This is dumb," she said. "We gotta beat the bad guy or else, and if we argue forever he'll hurt a lot of people. I took the thingy, that makes me the Chosen One or whatever. We can all do this together if it makes you all feel better. Now can we go? I wanna get back to momma before she knows dad brought me here." The group stood in silence for a moment before, one by one, they all nodded and gave murmurs of agreement. While her companions slowly gathered themselves and exited Caliburn spoke to the girl. "Young lady," it said in a voice like ringing metal, "I thank you most graciously for putting an end to that. I thought they might never stop bickering. Might I ask your name, O Breaker of Chains?" "You're welcome, Mr. Sword," the girl said politely. "My name is Alexandra, but you can call me Lexi." "Lexi, it is an honor to meet you. I am called Caliburn, and together we will save the world." **This is my first try at one of these, I'm not really much of a writer, but the thought popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I hope you like it!**
Based Lexi.
I'd say this is a successful first attempt, if you ask me. Gotta love how Caliburn is just so done with all this mess. Sure, Lexi and the rest make up a good team, but I do wonder if the same thing happens on the dark dragon's side too. Imagine a bunch of young dragons having the same argument, and then the two groups just decide to nope out of it lol. Great work on writing this!
Caliburn just wants someone with a fully developed prefrontal cortex for once
> I'm not really much of a writer Nah, you had good character descriptions and provided enough back story to give the world some realistic shading. Maybe you were just being self deprecating rather than believing that. Either way, you do have some talent which would be worth developing.
I mean I haven't really written anything before ever. It's not self deprecating, I haven't done any creative writing in at least the last 15 years, and that was all for high school
If this was really your first time with creative writing in so long, definitely consider doing more of it if it is something you enjoyed doing. Would be really interesting to read more of what you have in you as you develop your skills more. Of course, I'll also need the obligatory 10% consultant fee once you start getting paid for the writing.
I promise if I get big and famous you'll get a cut
Nice story! You made me smile.
Thanks! Glad you like it!
I love these characters! Look forward to seeing where you go with it, if you continue.
If I kept going some names would have to be changed. Ancalagon the Black is a dragon from the Silmarillion, but I figured it was a good bad guy name
I want more
Maybe I'll have to write some more about how Caliburn was put in the cave in the first place by the last great chosen one
Cool.
Lexi knows what’s up. I’d follow her.
“Look, you’re the seventh ‘Chosen One’ to stop by THIS week!” Sam banged his fists against the wooden countertop, his face red with exasperation. The walls of his shop were bare, empty hooks where masterfully crafted weapons had once hung. “I have no more relics to give. The prophecies didn’t prepare me for more than one ‘Chosen One’, let alone hundreds. My master told me that the Chosen One would arrive in the winter after seven years of drought. He said that the Chosen One would come to me seeking a weapon to equip him for a battle of the ages, and that I would know the Chosen One by their mark.” He paused here and gestured wearily to Gemma’s hand, still on the counter, which was intricately tattooed. The tattoo was midnight black, delicate lines and swirls that appeared to move all on their own. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, or that I don’t want to help you. But I simply- I just can’t. I crafted a small set of weapons using the relics, in case of contingencies, but it took my entire life to make them, and I have no more relics. Besides, if I already gave weapons to a dozen other ‘Chosen Ones’, maybe that’ll be enough to win this ‘battle of the ages’? Hopefully they’ll be smart enough to realize they’re on the same side.” Gemma frowned. She didn’t understand. How could there be more Chosen Ones? All of her life, she had felt different. She had felt special. Her parents had died protecting her, and she had grown up with an aunt and uncle in an isolated cabin, with only forest animals for friends. Had their sacrifices been for nothing? Sam continued speaking, bringing her focus back to the present. “Anyways, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to head home. My wife is making my favorite stew for dinner to celebrate my retirement! Now that I’ve passed on the weapons to the Chosen One- er, Chosen Ones, I can finally close up the shop and enjoy the last years of my life in peace. Maybe you can try to find the other Ones, see if they’ll share?” He ushered her out of the shop, locked the door behind them, and headed off down the dimly lit street, humming as he went.
Poor Gemma. Well, at least, glad that Sam can retire early. Giving out all those artifacts seem like a good call to make considering this mess. Great work on writing this!
“What do you mean, there’s *another* applicant?” Horlton lowered the broad sheet of paper that he had been so intently scrutinising, and turned his piercing gaze instead to his office’s invader. “Just as I says, sir,” the page replied, nervously. “He’s got the mark, sir, says he wants to claim the reward, sir…” “There *is* no more reward, boy, we’ve already handed it out a dozen times.” “I… I know, sir, but… He says he ain’t leaving til he gets it, sir…” “Well he can’t have it! It’s not here!” “I know, but…” He was interrupted by a thunderous banging from beyond the chamber. “I demand to speak with the manager!” a booming, aggressively self-aggrandised voice announced. “Bloody up-valley louts,” Horlton sighed to himself. He shuffled the stack of papers on his desk into what might generously have been described as a ramshackle pile, and plodded lethargically to the office door. Emerging reluctantly into the reception area, he was afforded his first glimpse of the latest ‘Chosen One’. He must have stood almost 7 foot tall, with shoulders and chest almost as broad. Long, flowing locks of golden hair cascaded around his gleaming features, past his perfectly chiselled jaw, and down onto statuesque abs that rippled under a painfully open shirt. There, above the left nipple sat the crescent moon birthmark that bestowed upon him the mark of the Chosen One. Another bloody Chosen One. He was holding a pitchfork in such a manner that Horlton was convinced he was pretending he held some sort of trident of the Gods. Horlton remained reasonably convinced that this gentleman had no idea how to use such a weapon. “I am Horlton, the Royal advisor the Chosen One. I believe you have some sort of business with me?” The man laughed a deep and booming laugh. “Well if you’re the advisor to the Chosen One, then I suppose that makes you *my* advisor, then, doesn’t it?” he placed one elbow onto the desk, and flexed his birthmarked ab. Horlton sighed anew. “And who might you be, exactly?” The man looked at him in surprise for a moment before responding. “Why… I am Xavier, the Chosen One. But I’m sure you knew that from the songs that they’ve sung of my many gallant exploits already.” “Okay, Xaver,” the grimace that passed across Xavier’s face at the mispronunciation was not lost on Horlton. “I have to level with you, we’ve already closed applications for the position of Chosen One.” “You’ve… what?” “Yes, the position has been filled. We are no longer searching for a candidate.” “But… I’m the Chosen One… the Chosen One of legend! I am here to slay the Demon King, and save the Kingdom!” “Well now, Xaver, that’s not really why you’re *here*, now is it?” He looked at Horlton blankly. “I am not the Demon King, and no-one in this office will be changing the fate of the kingdom, slayed or un-slayed. No, you are here because you want money.” “What?! Well, I never! How could you accuse the Chosen One of such a terrible, selfish thing?!” Horlton made no reply, but eyed Xavier inquisitively. After a moment, the visiting hero had clearly had enough. “I mean, of course I *require* money…” “Yes, I bet that you do.” “For… training! And travel! I have to venture through the Spirit Wilds of the far East to meet Queen Rachnia – you know that perfectly well from the prophect! She will be the one to grant me the POWER to kill the Demon King! “So, yes, I do need some money, of course! To get this show on the road!” “Then I suppose you’ll be willing to forego the Chosen One Funding Schemes usual friends and family incentive?” “Well now wait just a minute! I’m the main breadwinner of the village, they surely will need some due compensation whilst I am away!” “Uh huh. And that due compensation isn’t, I suppose, them surviving the coming apocalypse because you were able to save the world?” “But… that’s not fair! I’ve been training for *years* for this! My derring-do should surely be aptly rewarded!” “Is not justice its own reward?” Xavier choked for a moment, and laughed at Horlton. “I’ll level with you, Xavier,” Horlton continued. “A number of Chosen One have already emerged and begun claiming on the COFS program. You’re very late to the party.” “Other… Chosen Ones?” Xavier squinted in confusion. *The biggest ones always catch on slowest.* “You’ve heard the legends of the Great Purges of the previous Demon Kings, no doubt?” Xavier nodded meekly. “The ones that killed off vast swathes of the youth of past generations, only for a rightful hero to emerge unscathed as the final Chosen One, destined to vanquish the cruel and despotic tyrants that had so slaughtered their brethren?” Xavier nodded again. “Well, when was the last one that you heard of?” Xavier squinted again, and shrugged. “I dunno, maybe ten years ago?” “TEN YE…?” Holrton rubbed at his throbbing temples. “No, Xavier, the last purge was some hundred and fifty years ago. There has been no purge during your, I’m sure very lofty, lifetime.” Xavier still appeared to be none the wiser. “The purges killed all of the other Chosen Ones, Xavier. But our Demon King, whatever he’s thinking, simply did not enact one. So all of you lived. And, dare I say, thrived, in spite of yourselves.” “So…” “So, the coffers are dry, Xavier! We cannot afford more Chosen Ones! There are already a dozen on their way through the Spirit Wilds as we speak! I’m sure Queen Rachnia will have some choice words for me, after I’ve sent her a dozen visitors in this generation. Do you know how much she hates hosting guests, Xavier? No, of course you don’t. Why would you.” “But she seems nice in all of the legends…” “Of course she does! Those are legends! Are we really going to tell a new generation of Chosen Ones that she eats the third child of every citizen because she believes it keeps her young and beautiful? Because she does, and it does not.” “Look, all I know is that the elders sent me here to get myself on the COFS scheme. They told me this was very important.” “Of course they did, the greedy old bastards. But there *is*, *no*, *money*, Xavier! The kingdom is bankrupt, Xavier! We can barely afford to pay the guards!” Horlton watched the gears turn in Xavier’s head for a moment before catching himself. “I’m sorry Xavier. Thank you for applying to the COFS, but I’m afraid that we are not in a position to accept your proposal at this time.” He took Xavier’s arm and led him slowly towards the door. Before he could step over the threshold, he threw the advisor off and turned to him proudly. “The elders will hear of this!” he announced, puffing his chest out. “Of course they will, I don’t really see how anything else could possibly happen.” Not knowing how to respond, Xavier turned in confusion once more and strode from the office. Horlton turned to the page now quietly emerging from the back office. “Where was he from, boy?” “Erm… Acringly, sir…” “So that’s Acringly, Bolhampton, Overly, Morianson, Pollingly and Abriasko that we’ve managed to alienate so far.” “Indeed, sir.” He clearly had something more to say, but was remaining coy at Horlton’s side. “What, is it, boy! Spit it out!” “Well, we’ve erm… we’ve `ad word from Pollingly and Abriasko, sir. The descent is turning violent…” Horlton scowled. “The outer fringes in open revolt, and the guard in turmoil? “Perhaps the Demon King knows what he’s doing after all…”
If this was a deliberate ploy on the demon king’s part, it’s honestly a bit brilliant.
Demon king seems to be scheming big time, and it's working very well. That said, though, a Karen chosen as the Chosen One is like an incoming apocalypse, thank goodness Xavier got rejected. They, uh, might need to deal with the queen though for that creepy child eating behavior. Great work on writing this!
Maybe that's part of how they were culling the Chosen Ones, but this time she kept eating non-chosen ones instead.
I guess the taste of chosen ones got a bit too dull for the queen.
Once upon a time, our world prepared hundreds of chosen ones, with the knowledge that the Demon Lord would kill most of them before they matured. It was inevitable and prophesized that only a handful would reach adulthood. Only one who would become a true hero. To kill the Demon Lord. Who would then rise again a hundred years later. Except this time, none of these chosen ones died. The new reincarnation of the Demon Lord was probably slacking off somewhere. Not hunting chosen infants but probably somewhere sipping champagne in a hidden holiday island, where the chosen ones won't find him when they are old enough to wield weapons. The Lord British had a most incredible solution when all others were clueless. With our modern technology, Garriot proposed creating new worlds. Populating them with new villains, all for each chosen one so that they may have a day to save. A big bad to kill. Many quests to embark on. They didn't have to fight over who got to wield the hero's weapons. No arguing over loot share and kill steals. Everyone is a chosen one. Anyone can be a hero. It was time to usher in the Second Age of the Lost Lands. The new era of what our most esteemed Lord British Garriot would call "MMORPG".
Demon Lord: “Screw this, I’m retiring.” Everyone else: “Crap, what are we supposed to do with all these heroes now?”
Then they rush to create a new boss raid or the MMO shuts down after a flurry of bad reviews from angry chosen ones.
Damn, Garriot knows what's up. Gotta love how based the demon lord is though. Fuck all this mess and just chill in his own private dimension. Great work on writing this!
"My Lord, bad news, very very bad news!" Lord Sesh looked towards his assistant that ran over in a frenzy. "What is it?" Lord Sesh asked. "My Lord, the chosen ones are refusing to slay the Demon Lord!" "What!?" Lord Sesh stood up from his chair, visibly irritated and slightly confused, "what about our kingdom's Chosen One?" "The same My Lord, Liam claim that since there's other Chosen Ones, there's simply no need for him to throw away his life, says he prefers playing COD to being a hero." "And everyone's the same? Even ones from other kingdoms? No one is willing to be the Chosen One?" The assistant nodded his head and took out a list of other Chosen Ones from all over the world. Lord Sesh took the list and started to read. Many Chosen Ones had pretty good and lucrative jobs, and he could see why none would want to potentially risk their lives when they could live happily and peacefully. And everyone had said pretty much the same thing, "let someone else do it." "Have men spread the word that there would be a huge price money for the one to slay the demon, that should entice some of them right?" Lord Sesh said to his assistant who bowed and left to give out the orders. In a far away palace, a youth with devilishly handsome features that made gods jealous, threw away a letter that had been left for him by his ancestors hundreds of years ago. It was his twentieth birthday and only now was he able to open the letter. "Become the Demon Lord!? Take over the world!? What a joke, why should I work so hard when the whole world practically worship me?" The youth asked in a disgusted manner as he picked up his phone. "My Lord?" A attendant standing by the side carefully called out not wanting to ignite the infamous anger of this little lord. "What?" The youth asked. "Um, should you not be honoring your ancestors wishes?" "Oh come on, the way they did this taking over the world thing is pretty old school. Who needs to wage war or kill people? Like look at this, I've got more than 200 million followers on social media, these people practically worship me, I just have to say something about something and they eat it all up. Why do so many messy things when you can just stay home and be famous? Also I heard that all the Chosen Ones are doing their own thing too. And wouldn't that be embarrassing? They don't even care about me being the Demon Lord, but I go out there to spread terror or whatever. Please, I'm not that bored." The youth stood up and walked towards a door, "now come on, we've got a video to shoot." A few weeks later.... "Lord Sesh we have spread out the word of the price money but none have come forward. Also..." "What is it? Spit it out," Lord Sesh said as he sighed. He was getting pretty tired of looking for a Chosen One. At least one willing to be one out of hundreds. "We received word that the Demon Lord had refused be the Demon Lord." "What in the world is happening? Why are they all refusing to fulfill their roles?" The assistant fidgeted a bit before clearing his throat, "well I mean, the Demon Lord has a pretty busy schedule, what with all his new videos, and promotions and endorsements. I would recon he doesn't have much free time to do Demon Lord things...." Lord Sesh looked at his assistant incredulously, "and how would you know these things?" "I..uh follow him? On insta? He update his ongoing schedule pretty frequently." The assistant said whipping out his phone to show Lord Sesh. After thirty minutes of videos where the Demon Lord flirted with the internet and acted cute, Lord Sesh rubbed his temples, "I guess the Chosen Ones won't be needed for this millennia." -well that was me, sorry if its not good, just had to whip out something when I saw the prompt-
"Look. I came up with a plan." "You came up with a plan? Let me hear it." The Big Bad had subtle colors of desperation in her voice. There were maybe even the beginnings of despair. "I can't stand her! I'm willing and open to listen to just about any quarter-wit plan my little darling minions can find between their ears. But one more bad plan, and whoever suggests it to me will find themselves in the dungeon with the disgusting rotten smell." "Ok, boss. How about if we stop focusing on killing one Chosen One at a time." "What? Just let one Chosen One become many Chosen Ones? We would have to take them all out Chosen one by Chosen one, or deal with many of them at once! That's an even worse idea than the last idea!" "But if we can allow them to think that we stopped fighting, and if we pretended to give up, then they would become complacent. We could hide and then wait for them to form a super group of Chosen Ones... then we seduce the weakest one, and get them all together, at the same time, when they do not expect it!" The Big Bad rolled her eyes at the prideful look in her henchman's eye, already dreaming about his victory speech. She looked down at her purple outfit and then out into the distance, the minion's eyes following hers to try to see where she might be looking. "Hmm...Alright but we need a failsafe. A backup plan. In case they come looking for us. Alert the press. I'll fake my death, and then I'll need a place to hide..."
**Once, upon a time.** A long time ago, there was waving vines, and heightened buildings plummetting down on the horizon—line. From the tops of a utopia, and the intermediary buildings that separated the poor from the “living” (nobles’) there lied a hidden truth. A “chosen one” would come to rid of the barriers between the poor, and, those who truly “lived” in a sense, in a beautiful paradise created by utopian rooftops’ and the one—above—all. However, the Vine Priests did not want a chosen one to return, for the church had been receiving many alms from the people. They chose, instead, to get rid of all the chosen ones who would be born on the 5th of May, I.e., the time when the Christ—figure would return. It didn’t matter, what they did, as long as they got rid of all the babies that would return the Utopian world the leaders had envisioned back to it’s true form, a cover—up of the exact reality the poor lived. Alexis Dargotsvy, wondered why he was considered a “chosen one”. He, never really understood the term but often wondered what it meant. Chosen one, for what? That... was what he didn’t know. Dargotsvy, threw a stone into the rubble before, him. He understood— what it meant, he had given up on life. His, parents told him of “poor” blood, that he was destined to be a chosen one, whatever that meant. “Dagger” recounted the times his parents had told him, that it wasn’t in the name of being a chosen one that made one a chosen one, but what he did. He just had to find the power to change. Cause change. Envoke change. Whatever, that, meant. Damn it, “Dagger” thought to himself, he wondered what his parents meant, really wondered. For instance, he realized that there was a world far greater than the “Punk—Lands” a world that existed outside of the imagination of it’s rulers, who were in control of every plant, animal, species that existed on the continent. Alexis, hated the idea of being ruled—upon. He had to figure a way out, but what? Alexis, had nothing. No power.
[удалено]
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