A fantasy story generator that writes the whole novel
Most story generators give you a page of fantasy and stop. INKFLOW takes your world, your magic and your heroes and writes the novel: every chapter, from the first map-edge village to the last battle.
Fantasy lives or dies on consistency. Your world's rules go into the book bible (other apps call it a story bible) the writer follows in every chapter, and a continuity record of what each written chapter establishes is carried forward, so a spell that costs blood in chapter two still costs blood in chapter twenty.
How it works
- 1Describe your world and heroA sentence or two: the world, who the story follows, and what they are up against. Name your magic system or kingdoms if you have them.
- 2Choose the voiceLiterary and slow-building, cinematic and epic, or kinetic and fast. Each voice has a sample to read first.
- 3Read your first chapters freeThe first three chapters are written free, with no card. Carry on in the app or have the whole book written.
A real Chapter 1, written from one line
The idea typed in: “In a kingdom where every spell costs the caster a memory, a young archivist must stop a war she has already forgotten starting.” · voice: cinematic. The first lines below are INKFLOW’s output, unedited. The full piece ran to 1,320 words.
"Name," Teodora said, and dipped the pen.
"Corran Ashby. Lieutenant, Ninth Lantern." The young officer stood at the edge of her desk with his helmet under his arm, rain still running off the steel. Behind him, through the arched windows of the Archive's lower hall, the river was the color of old pewter, and the far bank was lost in fog.
"Spell?"
"A ward. Full span of the north gate. Captain wants it up before dark."
Teodora wrote *warding, full span, north gate* in the narrow column and slid the ledger across the oak. Lamplight caught the gold rule lines. A ward that size would not be cheap. "Price?"
Ashby's jaw worked. Twenty, perhaps, with a soldier's sunburn fading out of his skin for the winter. "My mother's face."
Pell, her apprentice, stopped grinding the sealing wax. The pestle hung above the bowl.
"Specify," Teodora said gently. "The whole of her, or the face only?"
"The face. I'll keep her voice." Ashby swallowed. "Mason in the barracks says if you're exact, it doesn't take more than you give."
"The mason is right." Teodora wrote it out in the clear archival hand she had practiced for eleven years until it no longer looked like her own: *The face of Hessa Ashby, mother of the caster, as remembered in all seasons. Voice, name, and deeds retained.* Then she turned the ledger back to him. "Read it aloud. Every word."