2.1
As the sound from the gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realised it wasn't his imagination.
He started hearing voices calling out to eachother. What they were saying, he did not know.
Cornelius closed his eyes as he heard someone walking towards him. He couldn't move, he could barely think. Suddenly, Cornelius felt a cold metal cylinder like object against his neck.
It was probably a firearm. He realised what was happening and quickly tried not to move.
"Trá madat szad!"
One of them shouted. It was another language. An unknown one he didn't recognize. He didn't speak it, nor did the raiders from before.
Out of no where hands gripped Corneus shoulders and lifted him. He was then put on a vehicle, some kind of car. The man threw him into a potato sack and sealed it.
The engine started and the vehicle started moving.
Cornelius could barely see through the small holes in the sack. But all he saw was ruins and destruction.
The road was bumpy, but then it smoothed out.
It was smooth for a long time, but the texture switched here and there.
He didn't recognize where he were. Though, Cornelius couldn't see very well through the holes of the sack.
Suddenly, the air filled with a salty smell coming from outside the sack. The smooth ground was now replaced completely by something that sounded like when you drive over planks.
"Did I zone out? Fall asleep maybe?" Cornelius thought. Since the switch from the smooth ground to whatever this is was unnaturally fast and instant, it would be the most logical answer.
But, Cornelius knew logic wasn't what he needes right now. He was probably being kidnapped and treated like spoils of war whenever they reached their destination.
The car stopped. The sack jerked into one of the cars walls and Cornelius hit his hear into the handle. Due to his already weakened state from not eating or drinking for a long time, he lost his conciousness.
When Cornelius regained his conciousness he was swaying forward and back. Still in the sack, but it was open now. He could hear waves, but he didn't dare to look out from the sack he was put in. He still didn't know if the people were friend or foe, all he know is that they're armed.
Suddenly, there was a loud horn noise. In that instant, Corneus realised he was being shipped on the sea. The horn noise came from a boat, probably a cargo boat due to the lengths they can go.
Corneus knew the closest point with water was to the north of his village, the lake of Mornia. He knew the kingdom of Athilia had a lot of control in this area. Though, there was also the possibility Corneus is on the sea.
Due to the salty stench, he was most likely on the ocean. He knew there was ocean between Plaleen and the Mardisian mountains. But, the language the men were talking wasn't one he heard during the raid.
The words "Trá madat szad" echoed in Corneus's head. He wanted to know whag language it was. Corneus knew it wasn't plaleenian, could it be Sarsian?
Sarsia is the kingdom right under Plaleen. Located in the Sarsian desert and is one of the biggest kingdoms in the world, only falling short from number 1 due to the northern kingdom of the east continent, Esmetria being slightly bigger.
Thanks to Corneus's dad's books, Corneus knew more than many in his village about the world.
A pang of guilt and sorrow quickly filled his heart as he thought of his father. The thoughts expanded to his mother. Eventually, he thought of his village. His village and everyone who died during the brutal raid.
ChatGPT said:
Your passage paints a vivid and tense picture of Cornelius's disoriented and terrifying journey. Here are a few suggestions to elevate clarity, pacing, and emotional depth, along with a lightly edited version that keeps your style intact:
Edited Version:
As the crunching of gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realized it wasn't his imagination.
Voices echoed in the darkness, calling out to each other. What they were saying, he couldn't tell.
Cornelius shut his eyes as footsteps approached. He couldn't move—could barely think. Then, cold metal pressed against his neck.
A firearm, most likely.
He froze, forcing himself to stay still.
"Trá madat szad!"
One of them shouted. The language was foreign, one Cornelius didn't recognize. It wasn't spoken by the raiders from before.
Out of nowhere, rough hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him. He was tossed onto a vehicle—some sort of car—and shoved into a coarse potato sack. It was sealed shut.
The engine roared to life.
Through tiny holes in the fabric, Cornelius glimpsed a world of ruins and destruction.
The road beneath them was bumpy at first, then suddenly smooth. The texture shifted again and again, though never as harsh as before. Cornelius didn't recognize the terrain, but then again, he could barely see.
Suddenly, the air grew thick with a salty scent.
The smooth ground gave way to something else—planks, maybe. The change was abrupt.
"Did I zone out? Fall asleep?" Cornelius wondered. The transition had been too fast. Sleep seemed the only explanation.
But logic wouldn't save him now.
He was being kidnapped—transported like spoils of war to some unknown fate.
The vehicle screeched to a stop. Cornelius slammed into the side, his head striking a handle. Weak from hunger and dehydration, he passed out.
When he awoke, he was swaying.
Still inside the sack—though now partially open—he could hear waves. He didn't dare peek out. He didn't know whether these people were friend or foe. What he did know: they were armed.
A deep, resonant horn blasted.
A ship. A large one, likely a cargo vessel, judging by the sound.
Cornelius guessed they were heading north. The nearest body of water was Lake Mornia. That region was under Athilian control. Still, the salty air hinted at something more.
The ocean.
Perhaps they had crossed through the lands between Plaleen and the Mardisian Mountains. But the language… "Trá madat szad"… it wasn't Plaleenian. Could it be Sarsian?
Sarsia lay just south of Plaleen, a vast kingdom stretching across the desert. It was one of the largest in the world, rivaled only by Esmetria to the far northeast.
Cornelius's father's books had taught him more than most in his village knew about the world.
A pang of guilt and sorrow twisted in his chest as he thought of his father. Then his mother. And, finally, his village—burned, ravaged, left in ruins by the raid.
Everyone was gone.
Let me know if you want help continuing this story, tightening character arcs, or creating a world map or timeline.
You said:
Make it a little longer
ChatGPT said:
Absolutely—here's an extended version of your scene, preserving your voice while deepening atmosphere, emotion, and worldbuilding:
As the crunching of gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realized it wasn't just his imagination.
Voices followed—distant at first, then clearer, calling out to each other in urgent tones. He couldn't make out what they were saying. The words felt twisted, unfamiliar, like echoes from another world.
Cornelius shut his eyes as the sound of footsteps closed in. His heart thumped erratically. He couldn't move—could barely think. Panic clutched his chest like a vice.
Then, something cold pressed against his neck.
A firearm, probably.
He froze, breathing shallowly. Any sudden movement could be his last.
"Trá madat szad!" one of them barked. The harsh syllables hit the air like broken glass.
It was a foreign language—one he didn't recognize. Not the same guttural dialect the raiders had used when they tore through his village.
Rough hands seized him. He was yanked up off the ground like a sack of grain, his limbs too weak to resist. Before he could process what was happening, he was hurled onto a vehicle—some kind of transport—and shoved into a coarse potato sack. The scratchy fibers bit into his skin as someone tied it tight, sealing him in.
The engine rumbled to life.
The vehicle lurched forward.
Through tiny holes in the sack's weave, Cornelius caught flashes of the world outside—shattered buildings, scorched trees, crumbling roads. The remnants of civilization.
The road beneath him bounced and jostled at first. Then, gradually, it smoothed. The constant vibration faded into a low hum. Occasionally, the texture would shift beneath the tires, switching between asphalt, stone, and something he couldn't place—like reinforced metal.
He didn't know where they were going. He didn't even know how far they'd gone.
Suddenly, the air changed.
A salty, briny scent crept into his nostrils—thick and unmistakable. Sea air. Strong enough to make him gag.
The smooth road gave way to a new surface that clattered beneath the tires. Wooden planks, maybe? Or some kind of dock?
"Did I zone out?" he wondered. "Fall asleep?" The change had been too fast—unnaturally so. Time no longer made sense in the sack. Minutes could be hours, and hours could vanish like smoke.
But logic wouldn't help him now.
He was a prisoner, kidnapped and stowed away like plunder. A piece of spoils from a raid that had turned his entire world to ash.
The vehicle stopped.
A hard jolt threw him against one of the metal walls. His head smacked into a handle. Pain flared behind his eyes. His already starved, dehydrated body couldn't take much more.
Darkness claimed him.
He awoke swaying.
Forward, then back.
Forward, then back.
Still inside the sack—but the top was now loose, air flowing through. His fingers curled around the frayed edges, but he didn't dare lift it. He could hear the rhythmic crash of waves outside. The groan of wooden beams. The slap of water against a hull.
They were on a ship.
A loud horn blared, deep and long.
Cornelius's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't a small vessel. That was the sound of a cargo ship—a vessel built for long distances and heavy loads.
His heart sank.
The salty air confirmed it—this wasn't the lake north of his village. It wasn't Mornia. He was on the ocean. That meant they had traveled far—very far. Perhaps even beyond the borders of Plaleen.
He thought about the geography. To the west lay the inland kingdoms. To the north, Lake Mornia and the borderlands. But to the east and south—oceans.
Oceans that led to strange lands.
The words echoed in his mind again.
"Trá madat szad."
Not Plaleenian. That much he was sure of. The raiders hadn't spoken it either. Could it be Sarsian?
The Kingdom of Sarsia was massive, stretching across the vast Sarsian Desert just south of Plaleen. A dominant power, rivaled only by the far northern empire of Esmetria, which ruled much of the East Continent.
Cornelius's mind raced.
His father's books had taught him much about the world beyond their quiet village. Maps, languages, kingdoms, trade routes. Most people in his village barely knew of the next province—let alone the distant reaches of foreign continents.
He had knowledge. But knowledge couldn't save him here.
A sharp pain bloomed in his chest. It started with his father—memories of laughter by firelight, of pages turned together under candle flame. Then his mother, always humming by the hearth, her hands forever busy with some quiet task.
Then the village.
His village.
Burning. Screaming. Falling.
Gone.
Everyone—gone.
Cornelius lay still in the sack as tears silently slid down his cheeks, the sound of waves crashing against the hull echoing the breaking of his world.
2.2
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ChatGPT
You said:
As the sound from the gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realised it wasn't his imagination.
He started hearing voices calling out to eachother. What they were saying, he did not know.
Cornelius closed his eyes as he heard someone walking towards him. He couldn't move, he could barely think. Suddenly, Cornelius felt a cold metal cylinder like object against his neck.
It was probably a firearm. He realised what was happening and quickly tried not to move.
"Trá madat szad!"
One of them shouted. It was another language. An unknown one he didn't recognize. He didn't speak it, nor did the raiders from before.
Out of no where hands gripped Corneus shoulders and lifted him. He was then put on a vehicle, some kind of car. The man threw him into a potato sack and sealed it.
The engine started and the vehicle started moving.
Cornelius could barely see through the small holes in the sack. But all he saw was ruins and destruction.
The road was bumpy, but then it smoothed out.
It was smooth for a long time, but the texture switched here and there.
He didn't recognize where he were. Though, Cornelius couldn't see very well through the holes of the sack.
Suddenly, the air filled with a salty smell coming from outside the sack. The smooth ground was now replaced completely by something that sounded like when you drive over planks.
"Did I zone out? Fall asleep maybe?" Cornelius thought. Since the switch from the smooth ground to whatever this is was unnaturally fast and instant, it would be the most logical answer.
But, Cornelius knew logic wasn't what he needes right now. He was probably being kidnapped and treated like spoils of war whenever they reached their destination.
The car stopped. The sack jerked into one of the cars walls and Cornelius hit his hear into the handle. Due to his already weakened state from not eating or drinking for a long time, he lost his conciousness.
When Cornelius regained his conciousness he was swaying forward and back. Still in the sack, but it was open now. He could hear waves, but he didn't dare to look out from the sack he was put in. He still didn't know if the people were friend or foe, all he know is that they're armed.
Suddenly, there was a loud horn noise. In that instant, Corneus realised he was being shipped on the sea. The horn noise came from a boat, probably a cargo boat due to the lengths they can go.
Corneus knew the closest point with water was to the north of his village, the lake of Mornia. He knew the kingdom of Athilia had a lot of control in this area. Though, there was also the possibility Corneus is on the sea.
Due to the salty stench, he was most likely on the ocean. He knew there was ocean between Plaleen and the Mardisian mountains. But, the language the men were talking wasn't one he heard during the raid.
The words "Trá madat szad" echoed in Corneus's head. He wanted to know whag language it was. Corneus knew it wasn't plaleenian, could it be Sarsian?
Sarsia is the kingdom right under Plaleen. Located in the Sarsian desert and is one of the biggest kingdoms in the world, only falling short from number 1 due to the northern kingdom of the east continent, Esmetria being slightly bigger.
Thanks to Corneus's dad's books, Corneus knew more than many in his village about the world.
A pang of guilt and sorrow quickly filled his heart as he thought of his father. The thoughts expanded to his mother. Eventually, he thought of his village. His village and everyone who died during the brutal raid.
ChatGPT said:
Your passage paints a vivid and tense picture of Cornelius's disoriented and terrifying journey. Here are a few suggestions to elevate clarity, pacing, and emotional depth, along with a lightly edited version that keeps your style intact:
Edited Version:
As the crunching of gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realized it wasn't his imagination.
Voices echoed in the darkness, calling out to each other. What they were saying, he couldn't tell.
Cornelius shut his eyes as footsteps approached. He couldn't move—could barely think. Then, cold metal pressed against his neck.
A firearm, most likely.
He froze, forcing himself to stay still.
"Trá madat szad!"
One of them shouted. The language was foreign, one Cornelius didn't recognize. It wasn't spoken by the raiders from before.
Out of nowhere, rough hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him. He was tossed onto a vehicle—some sort of car—and shoved into a coarse potato sack. It was sealed shut.
The engine roared to life.
Through tiny holes in the fabric, Cornelius glimpsed a world of ruins and destruction.
The road beneath them was bumpy at first, then suddenly smooth. The texture shifted again and again, though never as harsh as before. Cornelius didn't recognize the terrain, but then again, he could barely see.
Suddenly, the air grew thick with a salty scent.
The smooth ground gave way to something else—planks, maybe. The change was abrupt.
"Did I zone out? Fall asleep?" Cornelius wondered. The transition had been too fast. Sleep seemed the only explanation.
But logic wouldn't save him now.
He was being kidnapped—transported like spoils of war to some unknown fate.
The vehicle screeched to a stop. Cornelius slammed into the side, his head striking a handle. Weak from hunger and dehydration, he passed out.
When he awoke, he was swaying.
Still inside the sack—though now partially open—he could hear waves. He didn't dare peek out. He didn't know whether these people were friend or foe. What he did know: they were armed.
A deep, resonant horn blasted.
A ship. A large one, likely a cargo vessel, judging by the sound.
Cornelius guessed they were heading north. The nearest body of water was Lake Mornia. That region was under Athilian control. Still, the salty air hinted at something more.
The ocean.
Perhaps they had crossed through the lands between Plaleen and the Mardisian Mountains. But the language… "Trá madat szad"… it wasn't Plaleenian. Could it be Sarsian?
Sarsia lay just south of Plaleen, a vast kingdom stretching across the desert. It was one of the largest in the world, rivaled only by Esmetria to the far northeast.
Cornelius's father's books had taught him more than most in his village knew about the world.
A pang of guilt and sorrow twisted in his chest as he thought of his father. Then his mother. And, finally, his village—burned, ravaged, left in ruins by the raid.
Everyone was gone.
Let me know if you want help continuing this story, tightening character arcs, or creating a world map or timeline.
You said:
Make it a little longer
ChatGPT said:
Absolutely—here's an extended version of your scene, preserving your voice while deepening atmosphere, emotion, and worldbuilding:
As the crunching of gravel continued, Cornelius quickly realized it wasn't just his imagination.
Voices followed—distant at first, then clearer, calling out to each other in urgent tones. He couldn't make out what they were saying. The words felt twisted, unfamiliar, like echoes from another world.
Cornelius shut his eyes as the sound of footsteps closed in. His heart thumped erratically. He couldn't move—could barely think. Panic clutched his chest like a vice.
Then, something cold pressed against his neck.
A firearm, probably.
He froze, breathing shallowly. Any sudden movement could be his last.
"Trá madat szad!" one of them barked. The harsh syllables hit the air like broken glass.
It was a foreign language—one he didn't recognize. Not the same guttural dialect the raiders had used when they tore through his village.
Rough hands seized him. He was yanked up off the ground like a sack of grain, his limbs too weak to resist. Before he could process what was happening, he was hurled onto a vehicle—some kind of transport—and shoved into a coarse potato sack. The scratchy fibers bit into his skin as someone tied it tight, sealing him in.
The engine rumbled to life.
The vehicle lurched forward.
Through tiny holes in the sack's weave, Cornelius caught flashes of the world outside—shattered buildings, scorched trees, crumbling roads. The remnants of civilization.
The road beneath him bounced and jostled at first. Then, gradually, it smoothed. The constant vibration faded into a low hum. Occasionally, the texture would shift beneath the tires, switching between asphalt, stone, and something he couldn't place—like reinforced metal.
He didn't know where they were going. He didn't even know how far they'd gone.
Suddenly, the air changed.
A salty, briny scent crept into his nostrils—thick and unmistakable. Sea air. Strong enough to make him gag.
The smooth road gave way to a new surface that clattered beneath the tires. Wooden planks, maybe? Or some kind of dock?
"Did I zone out?" he wondered. "Fall asleep?" The change had been too fast—unnaturally so. Time no longer made sense in the sack. Minutes could be hours, and hours could vanish like smoke.
But logic wouldn't help him now.
He was a prisoner, kidnapped and stowed away like plunder. A piece of spoils from a raid that had turned his entire world to ash.
The vehicle stopped.
A hard jolt threw him against one of the metal walls. His head smacked into a handle. Pain flared behind his eyes. His already starved, dehydrated body couldn't take much more.
Darkness claimed him.
He awoke swaying.
Forward, then back.
Forward, then back.
Still inside the sack—but the top was now loose, air flowing through. His fingers curled around the frayed edges, but he didn't dare lift it. He could hear the rhythmic crash of waves outside. The groan of wooden beams. The slap of water against a hull.
They were on a ship.
A loud horn blared, deep and long.
Cornelius's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't a small vessel. That was the sound of a cargo ship—a vessel built for long distances and heavy loads.
His heart sank.
The salty air confirmed it—this wasn't the lake north of his village. It wasn't Mornia. He was on the ocean. That meant they had traveled far—very far. Perhaps even beyond the borders of Plaleen.
He thought about the geography. To the west lay the inland kingdoms. To the north, Lake Mornia and the borderlands. But to the east and south—oceans.
Oceans that led to strange lands.
The words echoed in his mind again.
"Trá madat szad."
Not Plaleenian. That much he was sure of. The raiders hadn't spoken it either. Could it be Sarsian?
The Kingdom of Sarsia was massive, stretching across the vast Sarsian Desert just south of Plaleen. A dominant power, rivaled only by the far northern empire of Esmetria, which ruled much of the East Continent.
Cornelius's mind raced.
His father's books had taught him much about the world beyond their quiet village. Maps, languages, kingdoms, trade routes. Most people in his village barely knew of the next province—let alone the distant reaches of foreign continents.
He had knowledge. But knowledge couldn't save him here.
A sharp pain bloomed in his chest. It started with his father—memories of laughter by firelight, of pages turned together under candle flame. Then his mother, always humming by the hearth, her hands forever busy with some quiet task.
Then the village.
His village.
Burning. Screaming. Falling.
Gone.
Everyone—gone.
Cornelius lay still in the sack as tears silently slid down his cheeks, the sound of waves crashing against the hull echoing the breaking of his world.
Would you like to continue from here—perhaps detailing what happens when he's taken out of the sack, or showing more of the mysterious captors?
You said:
Ok
ChatGPT said:
Great! Here's the continuation, picking up from where Cornelius lies in the sack, the ocean rocking beneath him:
The ship swayed harder now, rising and falling with each wave. Cornelius could tell they were no longer docked—this was open water. The sound of the engine thrummed beneath the floorboards, deep and steady, pulsing like a distant heartbeat.
He stayed motionless, listening.
Footsteps. Several pairs, some heavy, others light and hurried. Occasionally, someone shouted in that same strange language—"Trá madat szad" echoed again, though the context shifted. Orders, maybe. Instructions.
Then, silence.
Cornelius's breath caught as the footsteps approached. Closer. Slower.
The sack rustled.
He clenched his jaw, trying not to make a sound, but his heart was hammering against his ribs. Light suddenly flooded the sack as someone pulled it open. Cold air rushed in.
A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him out.
Cornelius blinked against the sudden brightness. He winced—everything hurt. His limbs felt like dead weight, but he forced himself to look around.
The deck of the ship stretched out beneath him, worn and rust-stained. Crates were stacked in rows, lashed with thick rope. A few armed men stood nearby, watching him. They wore rugged armor patched with scraps of different fabrics and insignias he didn't recognize—makeshift uniforms, not official military.
Their eyes were sharp, cold.
Mercenaries.
One of them stepped forward. He was tall, with a shaven head and a scar running across his cheek like a bolt of lightning. He spoke slowly, repeating the same phrase Cornelius had heard before.
"Trá madat szad."
Cornelius didn't respond. He didn't even understand the words.
The man narrowed his eyes, then tried again, gesturing at Cornelius's chest, then pointing to the ship's mast.
Cornelius remained silent, feigning confusion, though he was starting to piece it together—they were asking who he was, or perhaps what he was doing here.
Another voice interrupted.
It was calmer, more articulate, and strangely familiar.
"Speak Sarsian?"
Cornelius turned toward the source. A woman—taller than he expected—stood behind the scarred man. Her hair was braided tightly, her armor cleaner, more deliberate in its design. A commander, maybe.
He hesitated, then nodded.
"No," he croaked, his voice hoarse from thirst.
The woman stepped forward. "Name."
"Cornelius," he rasped.
She studied him for a long moment. "Village?"
He hesitated. "Prumore."
A flicker of recognition crossed her face. Then she nodded to the scarred man, who turned and barked a command.
"Prumore is gone," she said, voice neutral.
"I know," Cornelius whispered.
A long silence stretched between them. Then she spoke again, her tone clipped but not unkind. "You're not a prisoner. Not anymore. But you are not free, either. Understand?"
Cornelius nodded slowly, heart pounding.
"Until we know who you are, and what you're worth," she added, "you belong to the Zarran Company. Remember that." She hissed slightly.
The name meant nothing to Cornelius, but the word company made his stomach drop. He wasn't a captive of a nation—he was cargo in the hands of a mercenary syndicate. And they were taking him somewhere far from home.
Possibly to be sold.
Possibly to be used.
Possibly... to be freed?