Seth Cross Writing

[DM Cross]

The Fear Act

Spoiler

They’ve told me that the only thing to fear is fear itself…
But I’ve always had a lot to fear, myself…

Born into the world of two Demons, I had no reassurance
Nothing to shield my soul from this entire disturbance
I started my fear that very first instance

I woke in fear, slept in fear, and walked in fear
Afraid so much, I was afraid to even shed tears…
And so I was damned, to grow afraid for all these years

A sign of weakness would just make them press me harder
They would just see it more fun to push me farther…

There was no point in fighting because there was no way to win
No way to stop them in their hideous sin
I would just wait and brace myself to be stricken
After all this fear and pain, my soul began to sicken…

They broke my soul, crushed my will, and stole my sanity
All with these never ending acts of inhumanity…

And so I go on, a shell of a child from here on out
Too afraid to do anything; too afraid to shout…

The Depression Act

Spoiler

Ever have a day where you just don’t know how to feel?
You’re so completely zoned out; you forget what’s real…
And you get stressed, because all this, you’re trying to conceal?
Do you ever just wish someone would fucking tell you how to feel?

Depression, obsession, add a little insanity
Days like this, I wish I could destroy all of humanity

Break it down, blow it away
I just can’t figure out how to feel today…
What do I do, to make this all okay?
This is one of those days; you just wish you could run away

What the fuck, why do I have to feel like this?
So confused, and pissed off, and wishing I didn’t exist…

It seems as though the fabric of my life has begun to rip and tear
And I’m so lost, and confused…that I don’t really care…

The Rage Act

Spoiler

Fuck you and all that you call real
I hate how you always tell me to deal
What’s your problem, why’s it my joy you have to steal?
I don’t care what I say anymore, or how it makes anyone feel…

So you wanna slap my face?
Try to put me in my place?
Just leave me alone, and give me space
And I promise I’ll disappear without a trace
Because I know I can’t win this race...
All because of my slow, methodical pace

So you’re gonna beat me down?
Scatter the shards of my heart around…
Crush me beneath this weight, pound by pound
Deafen my world, and rob me of sound
Move over Satan, a new devil be crowned…

I just can’t take what you’ve done to me
You’ve ripped out my eyes so I can’t even see
And you’ve broken my soul, so I don’t even want to be
I know what I am, don’t fucking call me crazy

All this shit you want to put me through
Can’t even let me do what I want to do
Just leave me alone, and forget me, too
Just fuck your life, fuck your opinion, and fuck you!

The Calm Act

Spoiler

The curtain goes up for another act
I stand on stage with my courage intact
Something’s changed, but I can’t figure it out
Have I lost my rage, the desire to shout?

People told me that life goes on, I ought to deal
I remember my wonder at how such a thing could be real
Now I have to admit that I feel at peace
All the pain, hurt, and hate seems to have ceased

I can’t help but laugh at how things have changed
Once upon a time, my life felt so deranged
It was like a bad nightmare from the mind of a madman
It was a Hell that I could barely stand

I guess I grew up, matured and now I’m alright
I can’t get over the fact that I no longer have to fight
It felt like just yesterday that my world was all black
My life was pulled taunt, not given an inch of slack…

The show must go on, and now I can smile
It feels good to feel good for longer than just a little while
I guess it was a long time coming, these feelings that crept in
And now I look forward to the kind of person I’ve stepped in

The Broken-Heart Act

Spoiler

I’ve written letters to God and staged a play
I’ve listened to strangers just to hear what they say
I have loved and I’ve lost
I believe I’ve paid the ultimate cost

So now we fall from the sky
So now we break down and cry
We’ve dropped the ball
Lost it all

We learn to forgive and forget
We remember to think back, not regret
Just because we’re moving on
Doesn’t mean the love is gone

Things will always change
And for awhile, feel a little strange
But pain goes away
While memories tend to stay

We adapt, keep living and proceed
Even when we falter, we strive to succeed
Things may not be perfect at the end of the day
And we may not always have the right words to say

But we never stop, never give up the fight
Even when there’s no ending in sight
We never give up, never back down
Even when hope’s nowhere to be found

 

[thewrongvine]

The citadel of Stonebridge has never been destroy. It has never been breached, nor has it been infiltrated. It has stood, untouched by it's enemies since the days where battles and wars were fought only with the blade and bow, before such a thing as magic came to be. The gates of Stonebridge have never wavered.

Until now.

Hunted and killed to the point of endangerment, Stonebridge's greatest enemy, the Goblins are at a breaking point, they are broken, disheartened.

Desperate.

Enough, it would seem, to push them into an unholy alliance with a dark figure. Now, allied with what can be described only as pure evil, they are coming with vengeance in their eyes and hate in their hearts.

The Goblins are at the gates...

Brief Summary​

Spoiler

Stonebridge has never been destroyed, let alone breached. But that record may become tarnished when the Stonebridge Dwarves push the local Goblin clans to do something truly unholy. Calling on their own Entiri, Gorcalik and another, they make a pact with the dead. Or rather, the Undead. Taur'Amandil was once a laughable apprentice to a great wizard. Until the evil Terek corrupted his mind with promises of powerful (and forbidden) magics. Turning on and killing his master with these powers, Taur is now known as the Necromancer, a Demi-Entiri of the Undead. Promising them an invincible army, the Necromancer raises thousands of Goblins slain by the Stonebridge patrols and they lay siege to the town. As the famous impenetrable gates shatter, a gruff but battle-seasoned Dwarf named Grout must try to save the city and destroy those Goblins that are given control over the unstoppable army from beyond the grave.

Brief Character Bios​

Spoiler

Grout, age 459
An old and stubborn Dwarf, Grout is both fearless and overly proud. His pride becomes his downfall when he refuses aid in his fight against the Goblins. Luckily, Grout has good friends and with friends like his, the army should be worried.

Grok & Grik, age 32 & 33
Two of the craziest Goblins you would ever hope to meet (and who hopes to meet a Goblin anyway?) these two are the right (and left) hands to the Goblin King, Gobokig. As both his closest "political advisers" and clinically insane, it's no surprise that the idea to team up with the Undead was their idea. They may regret it by the time this war is over, as the Necromancer's concern for the living is far out-weighted by his lust to create more and new kinds of Undead.

Amund, age 738 (from death)
Taur'Amandil has many favorite undead, but most pale when compared to Amund. Once an Orc warrior, Amund is lean-muscled and far more intelligent than his living kind, a side-effect of living centuries. With his skin spell-stitched over a dozen times, this natural raw power and trained speed and agility are amplified five fold, making him an utter killing machine. Eager to sink his blades into the living, Amund cares only for his loyalty to the Necromancer, ready to turn on the Goblins the second Taur commands.

Goblin King Gobokig, age 44
Ancient by Goblin years, Gobokig dreams of the day when Goblins will overthrow Stonebridge and it's Dwarves. Greedy and a bit of a coward, the Goblin King lets his soldiers do the fighting, and makes Grik and Grok do most everything else. While he fears the Necromancer and his minions, Gobokig is just as fearful of looking weak in front of his people in a society where the biggest and strongest rule.

Sleera, age 50
Almost no Goblin lives past 45, making Sleera almost legendary. As the "seer" to Gobokig, she is his magical council. Though, the sexist Goblin King shows little regard or respect for her when she tries to warn him against drawing the attention of the Dead Entiri, Taur'Amandil. She tries to prove herself right that the Undead are not true allies and almost dies for her answer at the hands of Amund. Surviving by distraction, Sleera abandons her clan, a punishment only taken in the form of death.

Gabe, age 142
While Gabe isn't as old as Grout, the gnome is in the similar age range by Gnome years. A techo-wiz (and failure) Gabe looks up to the strong Grout, feeling that his life was pointless when compared to the Dwarf's. While Grout may appear unfriendly, Gabe believes he can aid Grout, if only his machines and personal inventions would work. Gabe's only claim to fame is his invention of the Automated Flaming Crossbow, which uses specifically crafted bolts that are hallowed out and filled with liquor and a small candle on the tip (protected from the wind by glass sides) to light them. He later modifies this to create Kranin's first flamethrower (Which Grout deems "a wondrous waste of good ale)

Looks awesome! I like goblins!

It reminds me of Batman: The Dark Knight.
They became desperate. And in their desperation, they turned to a man, that they hadn't fully understanded yet.
-Alfred

~Hai-Bye-Vine~

 

[DM Cross]

Hmm, I guess the concept is similar, although I never thought of that.

 

[DM Cross]

Unfortunately, I doubt it. Of course, I do wanna re-work some of Corruption in order to make it flow better. Writing such a story over so long I think affected some of the plot.

 

[DM Cross]

Angel of Undeath

The gates of Stonebridge… Still stood. In the final battle, the Dwarves, Humans and Elves of the great bridge city, lead by the Dwarf Grout struck hard into the heart of the Goblin army. Grout himself drove his axe into the skull of Gobokig, the Goblin King as he was betrayed by the Undead Amund and his magical consultant Sleera has deserted their clan.

But not all endings have become happy. Gabe, the Gnome inventor and possibly Grout’s only friend has fallen. Still barely alive, the still form of the Gnome is dragged into darkness by none other than Amund, the Undead Orc general in charge of the Undead who had previously had a false alliance with the Goblins. Having seen the Gnome’s flamethrower, Amund believes Gabe to be capable of powerful magics. And the Undead Orc knows what he’s to do with magical creatures of such sort.

His master… The dark Necromancer… Always has room in his army for one more.

Brief Summary​

Spoiler

The story picks up where Goblins at the Gate leaves off. Grout has kill Gobokig, Sleera has left her clan, the Undead has betrayed and killed most of the Goblins around Stonebridge. The city still stands and Grik and Grok are apparently dead… But only one body goes missing in the count after the great battle. Gabe has disappeared, not just died, but disappeared. Amund, seeing his technology, mistakes it for magic and brings his near-dead body to Taur’Amandil, the infamous Necromancer, Demi-Entiri to the Undead, hoping the Gnome will give his magics up to his dark master. The only problem?

There is no magic. Gabe knows no magic. He invents things with machines, not magic. As the Necromancer pries into his mind and finds no magic, however, he believes more and more that Gabe is a great sorcerer, fighting him magically. Finally, as a last resort… The Necromancer burns Gabe alive, promising to stop the pain if Gabe will tell him of his magic. Naturally, without magic to explain, Gabe can do little more than die a very painful death.

For the moment. The Necromancer cannot lose. He’s never lost before, and he’s not about to start now. Using his evil magic, he brings Gabe back to life… After a small… Medical procedure. During his digging into Gabe’s mind, the Necromancer discovers many things about Gabe. His true name is Gabriel, named after his adoptive human father when he was found in Stonebridge, abandoned. And his greatest dream was to invent a flying machine, something never heard of before in all of Kranin.

Allowing his surgeons to work on Gabe’s dead body, the charred creature is brought back to life with the wings of a Harpy [which were ripped off of said Harpy] His mind and body blackened, Necromancer tries a new tactic, promising Gabe [who he dubs Gabriel] a life of immortality and power over those who have ever doubted or mocked him. He dangles the option of becoming Gabriel, Angel of Undeath in his army and it seems Gabriel has accepted. Or has he?

Using his new Undead powers, a magical pick/scythe named Plight, his new wings and the abilities granted to him by the spell-stitches [similar to Amund’s stitches] he escapes. But his mind is still scarred. He is still an Angel of Undeath. And he is loose on the world of Kranin.

Meanwhile, during all of this, we switch back and forth as Grout continues to look for Gabe, unknown by the former Gnome. We even see the Dwarf team up with Revean, a famous Elf ranger who appears in many Kranin stories.

Character Bios to come...​

 

[DM Cross]

Sage

God knows when I'm going to complete my next novel... But this is a little piece about one of my favorite Kranin characters... Sage. Sage is the half-Elf destined to bring the world to the doorstep of the Reaper, the demi-Entiri [god] of Death and the Guide of Souls, servant to Raz, the Entiri [god] of Spirits. Sage is a master swordsman, a wizard in training, clever, witty and resourceful.

And he is utterly insane.

Enjoy!

Spoiler

“He’s still alive,” came a voice from somewhere above the creature’s head. His eyes were closed and as he tried to open them, he discovered he had been blindfolded. Apparently, his captors, whoever they were, had no intention of giving him any information of where he was or who they were.

But that’s alright, the half-Elf thought to himself, possibly more over-confident than a sane person would have in this situation. Lightly, he moved his arms and legs, testing not only to see if he was bound, but if his limbs still worked properly. While he could feel some bruising here and there, nothing appeared to be broken. Of course, his ankles and wrists were tied together, his hands behind his back. His captors continued their conversation of how to murder him without notice.

“Persistent bastard, innit ‘e?” came the question from a deep voice, this one sounding closer to the half-Elf then the former voice.

Probably a dwarf, he thought to himself, wishing the cloth around his eyes wasn’t so thick. With the proper light, he’d have been able to at least see faint shadows beyond the blindfold and would at least know how many captors there were and would have a better chance if he chose to resist.

“He is,” came the first voice, still unaware that his prey had awoken at his feet. “Apparently the knives weren’t as effective as we thought they’d be. Either that, or he’s used to pain and punishment. His lot typically are, in these parts.”

“Aye,” the Dwarf retorted with a bit of a snort of humor. “Half-Elves ain’t much welcomed ‘ere, that’s certain! Willow ‘o’ Wisp never was much of a welcomin’ place for ‘alf bre-”

Suddenly, there were sounds of activity above the captive. Thuds and groans and large metallic sounds echoed in wherever it was they had him held. A small crash and what sounded like the collapsing of something large and possibly wooden could be heard a moment later, maybe a dozen feet to the half-Elf’s right.

“I would advise not revealing where or who we are at this time, gentlemen,” spoke a third voice, this one lighter, but seemingly more deceptive in its tone. A third man had either entered the room or was just now speaking for the first time.

“’Ey!” the Dwarf shouted, his voice cracking slightly and his tone more than simply irritated. The captive realized that the Dwarf’s voice was now off to his left, where he had heard something break. Apparently, the Dwarf had been thrown across the room for revealing that wherever they were, either the place was named “Willow ‘o’ Wisp”, or that was a person’s name.

“Yes, my good Dwarf?” replied the third sickly sweet voice.

“No one throws Gilgamersh!” he shouted. Rapid footsteps, heavy footsteps came closer and closer to the half-Elf and the Dwarf let out a deep, rumbling battle cry. Creaking and clanking of metals knocking together told the captive that he was probably well-armored and probably wielded some kind of weapon. The Dwarf was just about to where the third voice had originated from when…

A sound, an erupting boom like none the sharp half-Elves ears had ever heard echoed through the space above him, and despite feeling as though he was going to be deafened, he could feel things shudder around the room, probably from the strength of the noise. The pain in his ears shocked him into a quick yelp and footsteps could be heard turning toward him.

Damn, he thought. He’d just given away the fact that he was awake. It might be time for round two of “Torture the Half-Elf”.

“Well, well,” the sickly voice said. Slow footsteps made their way toward the half-Elf. “He’s joined us, at last.”

Before the captive could think of what to do, a strong hand that ended in sharp points had wrapped itself around his throat and he was lifted in the air, his feet dangling in mid-air, his throat squeezed almost completely closed. His breathing was instantly struggled and he gasped at the air he was able to fill his lungs with. A finger or a claw slid under the blindfold and pulled it away swiftly, jerking the captive’s head to the side. The sudden light blinded him.

“Hello, my friend,” said the creature holding him up. “Welcome to the fun.”

His eyes adjusted slowly and he was able to take in his surroundings. Despite being blinded by the light, there was actually little light in the room where they were. Lanterns, only maybe three or four of them, hung from the ceiling while maybe two torches hung from their fixtures on the walls. Walls which were made of dirt, a dark color that told the half-Elf he was deeper underground then the casual inn’s basement. To his right was a destroyed wooden table and a few splintered pieces of wood that were probably once chairs. A few feet away from the table laid a body, the body of the Dwarf from before. The armor and axe at the Dwarf’s hands seemed untouched, but the body had been twisted in some kind of demented spell. Spikes had erupted from within the Dwarf’s skin, as if someone had force fed him needles until his entire body had filled up with them and they pushed out through his skin. On the other wall, a human cowered, his hands over his mouth and what appeared to be vomit soaking through his fingers. He wore dark brown leather clothing and knives hung from his belt, giving him the look of a thug or would-be assassin.

His eyes having taken in his surroundings, the half-Elf finally laid eyes on the thing holding him. The first thing he noticed was the creature’s mouth. The reason he noticed it first is because it raised the question of how a creature who’s mouth had been sewn shut could possibly have spoken. Thread kept his pale, charred and chapped lips together and dried blood covered most of the threads and his mouth. His eyes were covered by goggles and his nose had obviously been broken, as the goggles were sideways on his face. His ears were lopsided as well, with the right one missing about half the back end of his ear. His left ear, however, was full and pointed back, showing he was a full-blooded Elf. His hair had either been shaven or burned off as there were dark scarring lines that ran back over his skull.

“You’re curious, I take it, why I look the way I do,” came his voice, though it came without him moving his mouth. “You see, you’re not alone here, cousin. I, too, once found this place to be my home. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll make you much prettier than I did. After all, you’re famous. Aren’t you, cousin?”

Struggling against the hand covering his throat, the half-Elf managed to spit in the creature’s face as his response. Instead of appearing angry, however, the twisted Elf merely smiled, wiping the saliva off his face with his free hand, showing his “cousin” that his hands ended in dark claws that looked as if someone had taken the point of a spear and seared it to the end of his fingers.

“Take him back to his room for now, please,” it said, lowering it’s captive to the human, who slowly moved forward, wiping his hands on his trousers. The man took the half-Elf under his arms, dragging him around roughly instead of allowing him to walk. The exited the room and made their way down the dirt hall, torches spaced so far apart that the light barely gave anyone the ability to see.

“Here,” the man said as they came to a barred door which was left open. “Enjoy the room, half breed.” Without another word, the man muscled his captive into the room, pushing him forward. Without his legs free, the half-Elf had no choice but to fall, turning his back to the other wall to keep from smashing his face against it. He landed roughly, the bruises on his arm and the side of his body screaming at him in pain. He glared up at the human as he merely looked back, still looking sickly from what he’d seen happen to the Dwarf. He quickly and quietly moved off, away from the bars of the door that opened up to the half-Elf’s room.

In the silence, the lone captive smiled. And then he chuckled. Finally, he began to laugh uncontrollably, his voice echoing off the walls of the room and down the hall. The silence was eradicated by the noise and all that could be heard was the seemingly insane laughter of a captive half-bred creature.

“You fools,” he said, mainly speaking to himself but imagining saying the words to his captors, them on their knees and begging for forgiveness and mercy. “You have no idea what you have done. You have no idea who I am. You have brought the ends of your lives upon you and you don’t even realize it yet. You’re already dead. I just haven’t shown you the truth. No one can hold me! No one can contain me! My name is Sage, and I will bring you to the Reaper’s doorstep!”

Spoiler

Thunder clapped in the air over the bar, but it was barely more than a rumble to those inside the bar. Men of all shapes, sizes, colors and ages were cluttered on the inside, stuffed around tables with barely any room to move. When someone did need to move, it was done with many bumps and elbows jabbing into other people. Even still, very rarely was an apology ever uttered from one mouth to the next. Only occasionally did the bumping and jabbing erupt into a fight which would almost always evolve into a brawl that consumed the entire room.

Tonight was quiet, though. The storm that raged against the bar’s wooden walls had kept many of the usual customers at home. Even with this fact, however, the room was still packed tight and the rumbling outside had been overwhelmed by the roar of drunken voices inside.

Crash and clanking came from the doors as they swung open and a man stumbled in. The bar grew quiet at this sudden, noisy interruption to the loud calm of the night. For a few moments, the stranger just stood there, hunched over in what was almost a menacing stance. A few hands moved toward belts, where weapons could easily be slipped out, should this intruder be there to cause trouble.

The man was not a large specimen. As a matter of fact, he was a foot shorter than Boar, the bartender who stood an inch or two above the average-sized man. His figure reflected his stature as he had a slim frame. His facial features were impossible to see, hidden underneath the veil of his hood that attached to the cloak that flowed down his shoulders and back, clumped around his feet on the floor. It looked as if the garment had been made for a bigger man and wherever this man had gotten it from, it hadn’t crossed his mind to cut the excess from the cloak. The bottom of the cloak almost completely hid the large fur boots that gave him a slightly disproportionate look, making his feet look bigger than a man of his size ought to have. His proportions were further distorted by the large, seemingly roomy animal skin trousers he wore. Unlike the boots, which were left their natural garble of brown colors for the different furs, the trousers had been dyed black. His shirt, if that’s what you could call it, resembled black straps wound tightly around and around his torso, chest, shoulders and arms. Whether or not he wore an actual shirt underneath the “bands” was impossible to tell as they were that numerously layered. His hands, like his face, were covered by the cloak. The only part of his face and head anyone could see were the strands of dirty-looking black hair that dripped rain water onto the entrance of the bar floor.

The inhabitants of the bar stared for a moment longer before, slowly, the rumbling of the storm outside was once again drowned out by the loud, drunken voices that were so common in places like these. Slowly, step by step, the stranger hobbled over to the bar. He walked as though in great pain. His knees buckled as he walked, threatening to send him falling to the floor. Somehow, he managed to make slow, methodical steps until he reached out with a hand, grabbing the edge of the bar and pulling himself the rest of the way. His other hand slapped onto the bar, pushing himself up another inch so that he could comfortably, albeit suddenly seat himself on one of the few open stools. Within the next few seconds, the two larger men sitting on either side of him picked their drinks up and turned away from him, hopping off the stools and making their way away from him, quickly.

Boar walked over to the man, a glass in one hand and a rag drying the glass out with the other hand. With a raised eyebrow, Boar slapped the rag down, clunking the glass down next to it on the bar’s surface. The stranger jumped slightly at the loud sound so close to him, but said nothing.

“What’ll ya have, then?” Boar asked. No one expected polite manners out of Boar. At least, not if they knew him. The man may have noticed, but he said nothing about it.

“Water,” he croaked out. His voice was deep and gravelly, as if his lungs were filled with smoke. Boar said nothing, but took a step to his left and turned to push a glass under the faucet. Water poured into the glass, filling it quickly. Boar kept his eye on the man, though, pulling the glass out from under it without even having to look to know when it was full. He’d been working at this place since before he owned it. He’d started by cleaning the tables time after time every night, even though the bar never closed and was never actually clean. When the original owner had passed away, Boar had been the closest thing to a son the man had ever had and left the building to him. Since then, he’d run it the same exact way on his own.

“Mind me asking ya yar name?” Boar asked him. Normally, he wouldn’t care what this man’s name was, but he was strange. Boar didn’t appreciate strange people in his bar and he was going to take every precaution to protect what was his.

“Sage,” the man croaked again, between huge gulps of the water. “My name is Sage.” He’d scooped the glass up impatiently, splashing water on the bar and floor, which Boar glared at him with irritation. It was hard enough to keep this bar clean with everyone in it; he didn’t need someone he didn’t know contributing to the mess. The man went right on, though, gulping the water down so fast the bartender wondered if he’d drown himself.

“Well, Mistah Sage,” Boar said in his heavy accent. Not many people knew about Boar and he liked it that way. “I’d appreciate it if ya’d watch what yar spillin’ and where it’s goin’! Where ya from, the Valley?” The Valley was the name humans had given a huge valley far south of Boar’s bar. It was the only level ground in the entire Bollor mountain range that stretched across the southern part of Kranin. Most people referred to it as a curse because it was where the largest Orc clans dwelled, constantly at war with the Bollor Mountain Dwarves who lived deep in their stone city of Dregend.

The man didn’t take offense to the assumption, though. Actually, he laughed which sent him into a coughing fit that caused a few more of the bar’s patrons to collect their drinks and make their way farther from the stranger. Leaning away from the bar, his head turned to keep from coughing in Boar’s face, the man made horrible sounds, as if he was hacking up something he was choking on.

“No, my friend,” the man known as “Sage” said. “I’m from much farther north, as a matter of fact. You see,” the man continued, pulling the hood of his cloak back. Boar gaped at the man’s face, suddenly realizing what this stranger was. His black hair framed his thin face that was almost beautiful, despite being a man. His ears poked out from his hair. His eyes were oval shaped and oddly angled. They looked to be too big for his head, but that was normal with his people. They were a deep brown color with a golden lining around the outside. His lips and skin were smooth and pale, like most of the people of his race. “I am from Elessal.”

Boar had, of course, known this from the man’s face, but that didn’t stop his gaping from getting worse. The glass he’d picked up a moment before to clean slipped from his grip and smashed loudly on the floor. The sound seemed to cause Sage pain, as he winced at the suddenness of it.

“Aye!” he exclaimed. “What’s the matter, my friend? You’ve never seen an Elf before?” Sage smiled weakly. Whatever had been causing him pain since he’d walked in the door was clearly still inflicting him. As he turned to glance over his shoulder, Boar caught a glance of something. There was a tear in his banded shirt where a glimpse of his skin escaped. But what also escaped was the broken shaft of the arrow that should have pierced his heart.

What is this Elf? Boar wondered to himself. Sage’s head snapped around and Boar got the feeling he’d either accidentally said the words without meaning to, or the Elf was some kind of magician who could read minds. Magic was rare in these parts, but that didn’t make anything impossible.

“Elf, eh?” Sage repeated, confirming that he had heard Boar somehow. “I’m not an Elf, my friend. At least, not completely.” Boar wondered what he meant by that, but with the stern look the man had taken on upon hearing the word “Elf”, the bartender didn’t want to push the topic any farther.

“Are ya alright, sir?” Boar asked, nodded toward the arrow in Sage’s chest. The man looked down, as if he hadn’t noticed the arrow was there. Raising an eyebrow, he yanked the arrowhead out of his chest with another wince.

“I guess I’ll live,” Sage muttered. “After all, I could have had a lot worse… I doubt most people who try to kill the Elven King don’t even get to walk away, do they?”

Boar gapped again. His mind went blank as he slowly put together what Sage had just said. Rumors had been going around that something had happened in Elessal, but no one had truly known the details. Except Boar, now. He was housing a fugitive from the Elf lands… The man who tried to murder the King of all Elves!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Revean had seen many things in his long life. As an Elf, he’d lived over two centuries and was still considered a younger Elf. As a matter of fact, it would be another century and a half before he was even considered middle-aged, by Elf standards. And yet, he’d seen so many horrible things in his life. But what he saw now may have been the worst thing ever.

Days ago, a man had snuck into Elessal. No one could remember what he looked like, except that he wore a cloak that was too large for a person of his stature and build. Aside from that, he’d kept to himself and wandered the branch-built walk ways of Elessal in a quiet hurry. That is, until he had somehow been able to escape the city after attacking the King of Elessal, wounding him fatally.

The Elven Ranger entered the royal chambers and instantly began to feel claustrophobic. There were so many Elves packed into this room that Revean found it hard to breath. Sorcerers were huddled off to one side, discussing magical tricks to track the attacker while Druids and other natural healers were all huddled and buzzing about the throne where the King sat, sagged deep in the chair’s embrace. Slowly, Revean approached the great chair and kneeled down in front of it.

“Is he going to recover?” he asked one of the healers closest to him. There were so many that they formed multiple layers around the King, making it hard for anyone to move back and forth without bumping into one another. The healer he’d spoken to turned and eyed him warily. Most healers were not fond of the military as they were total opposites in their duties. While the healers were meant to keep people alive, the Elven military was meant to put people down, kill them before they became a threat to the city. Clearly, one of the two had not done their job today. Revean was hoping the other side could accomplish their own jobs, at least.

“I don’t know,” the healer responded quietly, turning back toward the massive hive that buzzed about the throne. Revean caught a few spare words here and there. “Bleeding profusely”, “getting worse”, and “little hope” caught his Elven ears and his heart felt as if someone was pushing it down his torso. Then it flared back up with his rising temper, the anger that was caused by this horrible act.

“What did the attacker do to him?” Revean asked the same healer through clenched teeth. To the Ranger’s surprise, the other Elf shrugged almost casually.

“We don’t know, yet,” he said simply. “Whatever it is, it’s something even the top healers of Elessal have never dealt with in the past. I don’t know who or what this man was, but he didn’t want to leave us the chance of reversing whatever he’s done here. I don’t think the King is going to make it, sir.”

Every muscle tightened in Revean’s body. He’d suspected the possibility that the King wouldn’t survive since he heard about the attack. He had always assumed the worse of any situation, to prepare himself for the shock and pain of the worst news. But even still, hearing it from someone else, especially someone with experience in what was being done to try to save the Elf’s life caused more pain that Revean could have ever hoped to prepare for.

Many Elves saw the King as a figure of authority and some even saw him as a mere piece of order in the city. But Revean and a great number of Elves, mostly including those in the military saw the King as a friend, as a companion in arms. The King had once been a member of the military and a hero of many battles and the champion of more than a single war. He’d saved the city and on one occasion the entire Lortella forest that the city resided in with very little help from others. He was an amazing Ranger who had studied the magical arts as a child. His swordsmanship rivaled that of any Human champion and he was fair and kind to all who showed him respect. Revean had lost his parents as a child and joined the military shortly after while his cousin Keele had joined the Sorcerers in their studies. Ever since then, though, he’d looked up to the King as a father figure, even though they very rarely ever spoke privately. Revean had trained himself to become one of the best Rangers in the military for the king.

And I couldn’t even keep him alive when a single man attacked him, Revean thought bitterly. As a matter of fact, he’d been called away on some kind of useless errand and hadn’t even learned about the attack until he’d returned to a frenzy of Elves running all over the place, screaming that the King had been killed. Naturally, Revean had reported to his superiors and learned the truth. Without thinking, he broke his stance and ran to the King’s home, still half believing it couldn’t be true. The King always had guards posted outside of his doors, usually some of the best in the entire military. Revean had failed twice at the exams to become the King’s guard, so he knew from personal experience how hard it was to obtain this status.

Suddenly, a thought dawned on him. The healer he’d been talking to had taken advantage of the Elf’s silence and had disappeared into the fray of bodies that still buzzed about the King. Revean began to realize that there were less and less healers than before and this worried him more. Had they begun to give up hope, one at a time?

Reaching out, he gripped the closest healer’s arm just above the elbow. Yanking him out of the circular wall the King had, he spun the poor Elf on his heels, almost tossing him to the floor. The healer wore a look of shock and anger, which Revean couldn’t blame him for.

“What happened to the guards on duty outside the King’s home?” he demanded, his voice stern enough to show the healer that now was not the time to retaliate against being pulled from his duty. While the healer’s expression and voice didn’t hide any of his irritation, he indulged the Ranger in response.

“They haven’t returned from wherever they’ve gone,” the healer stated. Revean blinked once, almost fully assured he’d just heard the wrong words out of the Elf’s mouth.

“They what? Where in the nine Hells have they gone, then?” the Ranger demanded, getting more agitated with the Elf’s manner now that he was also confused.

“When the King signaled that he needed help, there were no guards here,” the healer explained, his tone becoming a bit less annoyed. “We found the King in his throne like he is now with the attacker bent over his bo-“

“Don’t you dare say that!” Revean interrupted. To hear the King referred to as a “body” would have sent Revean into a rage that he didn’t think he’d be able to properly control. The healer’s eyes grew as he realized how hard the Ranger’s hands were gripping his arms. Revean could see a look of pain being drawn over the Elf’s face and quickly let go. Shaking his hands and settling them at his sides, he took a few deep breaths before continuing. “Did anyone send orders to the guards here? Did someone call them away for some reason?”

Like the healer before him, the Elf shrugged. Revean was again, shocked at how casual the action was, given the circumstances. However, he began to realize that healers were constantly surrounded by the sick, the wound and the dying. They weren’t miracle workers and more often than Revean would like to imagine, he was sure they couldn’t help a person. It took more will, more conviction than Revean had imagined to be a healer and watch people die when there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. The healer raised an eyebrow, not sure of what the Ranger was sorry for. He didn’t stay there to ask, however and quickly turned and walked away from Revean. The Elf saw the healer join the circle around the King’s throne for a few more minutes before a new expression took over his face and he began to collect his things. Revean’s heart felt that same pushing feeling from before as he recognized the look. It was a look of hopelessness. The look of an Elf who had given up on his task.

This can’t be the end, Revean thought to himself. It didn’t make sense in his mind. The King may have been older than most other Elves in the city, but he was still a war hero. How could someone like that have fallen to some strange, small attacker? Who was this man that had violated the Elf city? Why had he done this?

I’m going to find out, Revean decided, the voice in his mind cold with bitter rage. Many people call him crazy, saying that the man could be anywhere in all of Kranin right now. The attack had happened this morning and somehow, the man had disappeared with only a single injury reported. One of the guards that had rushed the King’s aid had gotten a clear shot in, but said it hadn’t slowed the man down at all. At least, that was the rumor that was currently building steam in the military headquarters. Revean knew what he had to do, though. Even if it was a hopeless chase, even if he’d never find the man that had attacked his King, he had to try.

Swallowing his sorrow, he gazed through the wall of healers and caught a few short glances of his King. The Elf’s eyes were closed, his head leaning to the side as he sat slouched in the chair. For all the Ranger knew, he was staring at a King who had already passed into Laurel’s gentle embrace. He hoped not, but he couldn’t stay to wait for the results of the healers efforts. If the man had already disappeared since this morning, he had taken the head-start. Revean had much ground to travel to come face to face with this vile thing that called itself a man.

The coward hadn’t even showed his face in triumpth, Revean thought to himself. Throughout the chase across the town, everyone who’d seen the man had reported that the hood of his cloak had never fallen and his face had never entered the sunlight. He was, quite literally the Cloaked Man.

Spoiler

The young Elf looked up just as the Zephyr reared, kicking it’s four frontal hooves at the air only a foot away from his face. Without thought, the Elf dashed to the side and rolled as the heavy hooves slammed into the soft ground where he had stood only a moment ago. However, his quick thinking and lack of planning where he had intended to roll came with a price, as the Elf’s nose stung with the smell of horse dung. In his mad attempt to avoid death at the hooves of a noble’s horse, he’d rolled through a pile of the disgusting muck, his apron and clothing beneath now covered in the stuff.

Feeling his temper flair, he glared at the Zephyr’s rider, recognizing the woman as a general of some stature by the symbols on her armor and cloak. Coincidentally, the soldier woman glared back at the Elf, possibly even more angrily than his look to her.

“If I was not in a hurry, I’d flog you where you stand, Elf!” she threatened, the Zephyr horse trotting in place. Like the rest of it’s race, the unique horse stood upon 6 large hooves that were made of white ivory. It’s black skin covered the creature’s muscular form and it’s mane and tail was a curtain of gold threads. The Zephyr was a unique creature, rarely seen anywhere in the world. To have captured and tamed one of the notoriously wild steeds was, in it of itself, a sign of great skill and talent.

“If memory serves, I was not the fool riding through farms and stables, my lady,” the Elf spat, the last words bringing out a sneer on his lips. The noble squinted her already angry eyes down at the uppity youngster.

“How dare you speak to your betters that way?” the rider replied. With a quick kick of her heels and a tug at the reigns, she brought the horse around to face the Elf. “Perhaps my generosity at passing up your punishment was too soft, after all.” Like the rider had, the Elf narrowed his eyes.

“I am not your people and you are noble here only by title,” he reminded her. “Your punishments mean nothing here.”

The rider smirked now. Instead of advancing on the Elf and raising a hand or weapon to him, she did something conceivably worse. She brought the horse around again and offered only her back to the stable-keeper.

“Perhaps you are right,” she began. “But perhaps you are merely not worth the time after all. You are, in truth, a commoner. No one. You were born this way, you will die this way and not even the horses you clean up after will mourn your passing!”

At first, the Elf was in shock of what had been said. Then, as his mind contemplated the words more closely, he felt his anger rising again. The rider began to trot away, not even giving him the respect of hurrying away from the scene. She was showing everyone who had gathered around them, including a few guards who had passed by on patrol, know exactly what she thought of him.

Nothing.

Without thinking, the Elf lunged forward, dipping down to grab a rock that barely fit in his narrow hand. Mustering all the strength he could, emphasized by his anger, he launched the rock at the rider. His aim was true and the rock collided with the back of her skull. The horse staggered to the side under the leaning weight of it’s rider, who held on for a moment before falling to the ground with a clank and a series of thuds.

The Elf, his anger rising with every passing second, was on her in seconds. His hands curling into fists, he brought them down on her as he pounced like a wild animal. His fists met with the side of her head and face, but rose again to strike. He could feel the skin beneath his hands splitting as they struck again and he saw blood drip from the wounds. The color affected him someway at the core of his being, bringing out a greater rage from within him. He raised his arms, lacing his hands together and ready to bring them down together as the final, brutal blow to the woman. However, he had forgotten that they were not alone and felt the guards hands pulling him back.

Possibly out of instinct, he jerked his arms away from their grip, but they were persistent in tearing him from the still form of the noble rider. He kicked and swung his arms, hoping to break free of his captors, but it was futile. This, however, would not quell his rage. Unable to satisfy the lusts of brutality that had risen within him, his mouth became his new means of satisfaction.

“You believe you are better than me?” he screamed, drawing even more attention from the farmers, merchants and other commoners nearby. The guards continued to drag him away and he soon realized they were dragging him toward an outpost that was only a few minutes up the path toward the kingdom’s castle. Still, this did not silence him. “I will kill you, I swear it! I will find you, your family and your entire damn noble kingdom! I will kill you, I will kill all of you! Not a commoner in your kingdom will not know my name! They will always remember me as the one who delivered them from underneath your bloated purses and the iron grip of your punishments! No one in your entire realm will ever forget me and I will never be no one again! My name is Sage! And I will be the death of you!”

 

[thewrongvine]

Just started reading it, looks good. I'll finish it tomorrow since I g2g now. :thup:

~Hai-Bye-Vine~

 

[Krys A Night]

Can't wait to see where you're going with this.

 

[DM Cross]

Notes from the iPhone of Seth Cross

You see, I get a lot of random story and character ideas. I make people up out of inspiration from other characters in books, other books, people I see on the street where I image a character for the way they look... All kinds of silly nonsense. And usually, I don't have a pen and notebook on me because I just typically don't carry that kind of stuff around anymore. Did when I was a kid, but not now. However, I do make WONDERFUL use out of my iPhone's Note feature by recording everything down there. And now, I would like to share it all with you and tease you people with my thoughts.

Because Seth thoughts are amazing Like crack.

Spoiler

Allo-Nuada

King of thieves. Against the Guild of Thieves, despite the fact that he helped to build it. Unlike modern Guild, believes in honor amongst thieves. Part Mecca, his right hand. Fingers detachable. Typically weilds claws that appear to be part of a clawed gauntlet. Mecca part is a secret. Short black hair, black leather clothing, scarlet red ribbon belt. Human, brown shifty eyes. Laughs at most problems, rarely shows negative emotion. Trusts virtually no one and stabs people in the back without hesitation to save himself. Overall, has a good heart and typically does things people do not expect from a thief.

Spoiler

The Death of Atlas

In future Earth, a meteorite hits the earth with enough impact to stop the planets rotation on it's axis. This plunges earth into a constant half-day, half-night standstill. Asia is in a constant night while America is in a constant day. Massive earthquakes ravaged the plaet, destroying most tall buildings and sources of electricity. While the dark night freezes half the world, the constant heat and light of the sun fry the other side and people scramble to find suitable shelter from the elements.

Spoiler

Civil War

Huge city split into four divisions, north, south, east and west. Each division either has different classes, ethnicity or perhaps level of poverty. Probably different kinds of jobs found in each division. During the day, the city acts in unison, the jobs of each division complimenting certain needs. Without an actual political leader, the city erupts into massive nightly battles between the divisions, run by gangs and small militias in a secret war where sometimes, the innocent travellers are the casualties.

Spoiler

Bones Begone - Graveyard Crew part 1

The first job of Gregory Hellson's unique detective career is ironically the disappearance of his murdered grandfather [David]'s body. Opening David's journal to attempt to see if he had written anything about possible enemies that could be suspects, Gregory activates his grandfather's "sliver", a record of a person's being before death, locked into the journal. The "sliver" of David explains to Gregory that once upon a time, an ancestor of theirs was a fey that fell in love with and took a human form for a human being, creating a bloodline of magic-wielding half-humans. However, the magic dies out generation by generation and Gregory's father Samuel [missing, lost, vanished] was the last one to experience any kind of magical abilities. However, as Samuel's father, David was able to retain a lot more magic and the "sliver" David believes that is why he was killed and body stolen for it's magical properties. Convinced to look for the body, Gregory meets his first of many allies through the series, a Gnome woman named Abby.

 

[Danny Cross]

Can't wait till you finish 1 thought to go to the next....

 

[Ninva]

Seth, you really should start doing some freelancing if you haven't already. Whenever I see your stuff, I think you should make an effort to get something out. The Internet will get you no where, and it seems like you're comfortable here. I am too, but you should get out there and put these ideas and thoughts into essays and stories. You probably won't make money or become anything, but you can try.

That's just how it is.

 

[DM Cross]

Wouldn't know where to start even if I tried.

 

[Jimpy]

Wouldn't know where to start even if I tried.

Not trying ftw.

 

[DM Cross]

Clearly you missed the part saying I wouldn't know where to begin. I could say I'm trying right now. Without knowing where to start, how far do you think I'm going to get if I don't know where I'm going?

 

[Ninva]

Clearly you missed the part saying I wouldn't know where to begin. I could say I'm trying right now. Without knowing where to start, how far do you think I'm going to get if I don't know where I'm going?

Start here.

 

[Seb!]

Submit to some magazines. A lot of people in my family are published authors, freelance writers etc. and I've been told that this is a pretty solid way to begin (if you write fiction). Freelance writing is a whole different story.

 

[Ninva]

Submit to some magazines. A lot of people in my family are published authors, freelance writers etc. and I've been told that this is a pretty solid way to begin (if you write fiction). Freelance writing is a whole different story.

My cousin sent her poetry to a few magazines. She didn't make a lot of money that way, but it was a start. Kurt Vonnegut sent his short stories to Playboy.

 

[DogOfHavoc]

Lol the "Death of Atlas" sounds like the plot from the Scorcher movies (the fake movies Ben Stiller stars in in Tropic Thunder.)

 

[DM Cross]

Believe it or not; Never heard of it.

 

[DM Cross]

Corruption, version 2.0

For those of you who have been around for awhile, you may remember that I've written a manuscript for a novel titled Corruption. It's a vampire nvel and has rarely ever received anything less than monumentally positive praise.

I am rewriting this from cover to cover. I have re-read it multiple times and always the immature dialog and numerous plot holes have burdened me. Mentally I have begun correcting such things in the archives of my mind and I believe it is finally time to begin anew.

Stay tuned. This will begin shortly.

Spoiler

A piercing scream shattered the silence of night, as if it were a glass plate dropped and shattered on the ground. This scream came from a young woman who was praying her legs wouldn’t give out from underneath her as they carried her at her greatest speed through a dark, dense forest. The trees seemed to reach out at her, their branches like claws trying to catch and trip her, prevent her from escaping the wrath of the thing that chased after her.
A thing she could not name or fully understand. The brilliant moonlight shone overhead and only a few rare beams of light could penetrate the treetops. In this rare light, with quick glances over her shoulder, the young woman could make out the form of whatever was trying to make her it’s prey.
The beast, as that is the only single word she could think to describe it, was nothing short of huge. Though it was several yards behind her, when she dared to turn her head back, the thing filled her gaze. Standing possibly an entire foot over the woman and at least three times her width, the creature was human in shape. It’s body was muscular beyond any human limitations, however, and it’s fingers were long, longer than foot-long rulers and ended in pointed, curved nails. It was hard to see in such limited light, but it’s skin seemed to be a gray color, cracked and chipped, showing what could have been another layer of skin that was the color of molten lava. The beast’s eyes shone with a blood red color and seemed to stare intense emotions, feelings of hatred, hunger, pain, excitement and anger.
The creature ran on legs as thick as it’s arms, the knees bent backward like a wolf or a dog. It’s feet were almost reptilian, ending in claws similar to it’s hands. In the shadows cast from the moonlight behind the creature, the woman couldn’t see it’s teeth or any more of it’s facial features, but she imagined the wickedly sharp and curved teeth, wet from drool that came from the creature’s insane desire to feast upon it’s prey, the young woman.
While the woman seemed to be able to keep ahead of the creature at the moment, she knew she couldn’t run forever. Whatever was chasing her wasn’t human and might not have the same physical limitations she had, but eventually she would need to rest and catch her breath. Despite the adrenaline of being a mere few dozen feet away from certain painful death, she already felt the ache forming in her chest, the soreness and cramping of her leg muscles, the sharp rasping feeling in her throat as she tried to force air to her lungs. The more she ran, the worse these sensations would become until it was too much and she would either falter, fall and die, or be forced to stop and again, certainly die.
I’m not going to die like this! the woman screamed at herself, in her own mind. The thought seemed to reassure her, to push her onward. She began to believe with this renewed sense of adrenaline, she could possibly find the means to escape her current plight. However, the forest and perhaps her own fate didn’t agree.
Maybe it was a trick of the light, maybe she didn’t see the branch because she was glancing over her shoulder to again see the thing chasing her, or maybe the forest was working against her and sneaked the branch up in just the right spot to catch her foot and send her plummeting to the forest ground. She rolled, the momentum from her run sending her forward. Twigs and branches seemed to leap up to grab at her, slowing her down in her tumble. One branch moved in just a way that she smashed into it, splintering the piece of wood, causing her to cry out in pain from where the branch had connected with her spine. Finally, after what seemed like minutes instead of seconds, her body skidded to a stop, leaving her in a moonlit spotlight, a beam of light shining just right through the trees to all on her. Taking a second to gasp for air, she quickly recovered both from the strenuous activity of her fearful running and the disagreement her body seemed to have with the ground when they collided together. However, not able to forget the beast, she quickly looked up and whipped her head back and forth, looking for the creature, sure it would be upon her in a moment’s notice.
For several seconds, though, she saw nothing. She heard nothing, which may have frightened her even more than she had been when she could see the creature. The normal sounds of a forest were absent. She sat in true silence, with no small birds, the sound of the wind or even the clicking, ticking and songs of insects. She was truly alone, as far as her ears and eyes told her.
I don’t know how, she told herself, silently in her mind. She was too frightened to dare utter a sound and possibly attract her pursuer back to her. But I’m alive. I have to wake up, this has to be a nightmare!
While she would have been more than content to believe she was living a dream, or rather, a nightmare indeed, something in her mind and heart told her that everything was real. It had to be something about her fear. It’s true a nightmare can make a person feel fear, but there is something in the reality of a real-life horrifying experience that no nightmare can ever manipulate.
A sudden crumpling of leaves behind her, under some kind of great weight by the sound of it, alerted the girl to spin around. She wasn’t quick enough, though and her punishment for her sloth was the back of the creature’s giant claw of a hand colliding with her face, neck and upper chest as hard as a wrecking ball swung to demolish a brick wall. The force not only knocked the wind out of her and made her see stars even below the treetops, but threw her from where she sat and into a tree. Partnered with an impressive thud sound, the woman could hear the thick tree splinter behind her. At least, she assumed it was the wood of the tree and not the bone of her spine.
Another claw shot out from the darkness, catching the girl’s throat. The grip was strong, stronger than she had believed possible. With seemingly no effort, the creature lifted her off the ground as if she were weightless. Her back pushed against the tree and the hand clamped hard around her throat, the feeling of not being able to breathe came back to her. As she gasped for breath, her hands came up to try to force the giant forearm away, with no success.
“S-stop!” she cried out, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. “L-leave… me… alone!” To emphasis the final word, her leg that had been dangling two feet from the forest ground shot out, striking the beast in it’s side. She squeaked in pain, as her shin connected with what felt like solid stone. The creature made no motion of pain and barely seemed to notice the kick, which must have felt like a gust of wind, if it felt the strike at all.
While the kick didn’t do anything to stop the creature, it definitely seemed to irritate it. Clenching it’s hand tighter on the woman’s throat for a moment, she suddenly felt herself flung over the creature’s shoulder, another few feet away again. The creature’s great strength caused her to hit the ground hard, kicking up grass, leaves and dirt. Twigs and small rocks tore at the girl’s clothing and then at her skin underneath, leaving cuts and gashes all over her body.
A second later, before the girl could even think to move out of it’s way, the creature was holding her again, this time both of it hands fastened tight around her wrists, her hands seeming to disappear in the huge claws of the evil beast. It’s knees settled on either side of her legs, next to her ankles. The creature lowered itself down to her, the pressure of it’s body making it impossible for her to move her legs, not that she was thinking of trying another kick. With her arms pinned down, she couldn’t think of anything else except to stare defiantly up at her captor.
As it moved in the moonlight, she could see more of the creature’s face. It’s nose was similar to that of a bat, turned up and grotesque. It’s mouth was lined with teeth, as she had expected, but worse than she had imagined. Instead of a single row of teeth behind the upper and lower lip, there were two lines of teeth. She had been exactly right about the drool and slobber, though, like a hound about to consume a steak or attack it’s favorite bone. The creature’s saliva dripped from it’s mouth and onto the ground next to the girl’s head, steam rising up from where the earth seemed to burn underneath the horrible smelling liquid.
The beast leaned farther down, sniffing at the girl. Wanting nothing more than to flee again, and never stop, she could barely keep from squirming away from the creature’s disgusting face. Her mood was not improved when the freakish animal’s giant, long tongue rolled out from between it’s lips and slid itself across her cheek, feeling like sandpaper with still-warm ashes pressed to it. The creature seemed to lick it’s lips, almost as if it was deciding if the woman was good or not something it would enjoy. A cloud passed in front of the moonlight, dimming the light severely, but the woman could still see what looked like a smile of knives appear on the creature’s face.
The blood drained from the woman’s face as she could feel dread creeping over her as the spawn of evil seemed to rear it’s head back, a sound that could have been laughter coming from deep within it’s throat. The laughter was like the sound of metal clashing together, as if a war was going on in the era of knights with swords. The sound made the woman want to cover her ears with pillows, like she was a child and cry. With her hands pinned down by the beast, she couldn’t cover her ears, but her eyes streamed with tears as she realized that her fate had been decided with that laughter, that the sound was going to be the last thing she heard before she died.
Settling it’s eyes on her once again, the creature gazed down at her, it’s eyes still a sea of intense, negative emotions. The hunger in those eyes seemed to concentrate more and more, becoming the whole focus of it’s thought process. Soon, the creature’s wide eyes seemed to be focused on nothing else and the woman began to scream in horror. It’s jaws slowly opened wide, the tongue rolling out again to hang like a dog waiting for it’s master to feed it. This dog, however, needed to wait for no master and within the blink of an eye, dove forward, it’s teeth ready to pierce through the woman’s skin, muscles and bones, sending her into a black oblivion, screaming for saving and finding only-