So, I tried my hand at writing. Hope you peeps enjoy it.

Well, here it goes.


I wrote this myself.

The sand blew against his plate armor, scratching it with every grain. As he looked out he could see nothing but rolling hills of sand. He had been searching for this place for so long, and he was finally there.

He had heard stories of this place, devoid of all life, a miserable ocean of bleak nothingness, ever changing, doomed to never rest. The sun scorched the barren waste, and the only sign of life was that of the warrior.

The preparations for this journey were antagonizing. The warrior passed through jungles and mountains, valleys and hills, kingdoms of men and monsters, all for this. He was the best the world over had seen.

He walked into the stone temple, wind-stripped that it was by the hazardous winds. As he walked though the ancient halls, long empty from the looters of eons ago, he got a chill.

He entered a doorway to a large room and threw his torch into the center of it. He heard voices in his head, voices telling him to give in, that the power he would possess would rival any mortal, or even immortal, that was in this world.

The warrior brushed his glove against his chest, for he was weary. He started to sweat and his hands began to shake. All he could do was wait; wait for anything.

He picked a sigil from out of his pocket and waved it over towards the fire. The fire calmed, and quickly stopped giving off light. He felt the sands shift beneath him, and he took a step back. He couldnt see anything in the pitch black of the ancient tomb.

"Even the most revered mortal has fallen to me!" bellowed a voice in the black of the room.

"I havent yet" whispered the warrior, who threw up his sigil as it started to shine brightly.

He drew his sword, ran forward, and leaped toward the evil blackness, knowing very well that this was to be his last fight.

Blood dripped down his face, he could feel Death's cold touch; the thoughts that this was the end.

"Foolish mortal, all those of this realm who tried before you have failed: What makes you think you would fare any differently?

The warrior coughed up blood while trying to speak, but only garbled half-sentences came out.

"Your family has failed once again"

The warrior looked up, but his vision was blurry, but he could still make out what was happening; the evil was changing forms in front of his very eyes.

"Your family line has been most...intriguing" said the shadow as it turned into a silver plated knight with the warriors' family sigil on its chest.

"They never stayed the same...ever changing to try to adapt to me.." said the evil as it turned into a hooded mage with the sigil burned into his hands.

"It was always fun to defeat them...to take them.." said the vile black, as it turned into a barbarian with a hammer that showed the sigil.

"And I will take you mortal." bellowed the demon as it changed into the warrior, scars and all.

The warrior stared at an exact replica of himself. He tilted his head back, and all he did was smile. He smiled at the though of everlasting darkness.

Then everything went black.