Post by Kender Bard on Mar 31, 2012 23:21:43 GMT -5
The contest is simple! I will submit a theme, key word, or similar and everyone must write one mock post/paragraph with any character of choice using the word/theme of the day. Please don't go overboard; we're not looking for fics here. 5 points for each entry (one entry per keyword) and a bonus 5 points for the one I like best.
Post by Northen Light36 on Apr 1, 2012 10:13:21 GMT -5
It was strange that she was such an Etafian, when she so utterly loathed the concept of fate.
Or was it? Was it Etaf or Soahc who'd gifted humans with free will? Maybe she'd ask Amaro. History and myth was the only thing her brother loved as much as swordplay. Well, sword play and her, of course. But that went without saying.
Of course, if she went to her brother, it would mean a lecture on her lack of any form of scholarly abilities and the threat of another attempt at lessons. But now that the question had sprung to mind, her curiousity demanded an answer. And Amaro was the only person she'd swallow her pride for and admit her ignorance to. He didn't get that faint gleam of sympathy that Talon did whenever she slipped and revealed a lack of what was for most people basic information learnt in childhood.
Acqua looked towards the Etafian and Soahcian wings of the temple and wondered why she'd come here. It only ever put uncomfortable thoughts into her head. Picking up Pixie, she turned and walked hastily out again.
Jonathan breathed in deeply of the cold night air and glanced upward briefly at the moon and stars before quickly snapping his gaze back down to scan the perimeter of their camp again. To the left of him, Rosa and Frost lay curled up together, Erik nestled between them, sleeping fitfully. To his right, Kleio had his head resting lightly against Jonathan's leg, forehead creased with the nightmares he was suffering from.
And resting against his own back was the prince. Twilight had nodded off sitting upright and his chin rested against his chest, his weight resting back against Jonathan. Jonathan considered standing and letting Twilight fall over, but he didn't bother. The Anarlinan had fought hard and well this day and deserved the rest.
Jonathan was taking his turn on the watch to try and come to grips with everything that had happened that day. It was so surreal.... He felt more like he was asleep now and dreaming. After all, what were the odds that the prince of Anarlina would come to deliver him and his friends to salvation? Or death. But both were freedom, of a sorts.
It must be fate, he thought, his gaze trying to pick out the chains constellation in the sky, mouth quirking. If so, it was nice to not have Etaf dumping unescapable misery on him for once.
Fate. Destiny. A predetermined chain of events. In hindsight, it was usually easy to see what past instances had led one to this moment. With foresight, however....
Crawford stretched his mind forward, reaching toward the nebulous future, pathways and events spreading, diverging, and intersecting before his eyes. All were likely, some more so than others, and he traced the most likely path to its conclusion. Plan for that first, then the second most likely, all the way to the least. He might have been able to avoid having to consider so many contingencies, but....
"What are you doing in here with the lamps out?"
Schuldig. Their wildcard. Even if he were to lay out a plan, there was always something the telepath would do differently. He saw things his own way, and he'd act on his own intuition in an instant, hang the plan.
"Signwork. I prefer having the lights out to do it; visions can give me a headache sometimes."
They were careful, very careful, at this stage of planning not to speak of things in any but the vaguest of terms. If the others got so much as a whiff of what they were planning, it was all over. Even Schuldig agreed with that consensus.
"Paths and events. Cause and consequence. Nothing to give alarm." Translation: we're still in the clear.
"If there were, could you avoid it?"
Crawford snorted softly. "Of course. All it takes is a change, and the paths all shift."
"So much for fate," Schuldig laughed. "The only reason Etaf is Force of fate is because it's too fucking hard to pronounce possibility backwards."
Talon's breath misted slightly. It was a cold, damp morning and the fire had long since died. He didn't bother building it back up, even though the heat would have been welcome. They would be on the move as soon as everyone woke up, which wouldn't be long now.
For the time being, he was on watch. For Clears... And their army of course. Talon figured he could spot a marching army fairly easily, so he kept his eyes peeled for scouts.
Or maybe the Clears themselves. It was unlikely that they'd leave the safety of their captured 3-signers, but you never knew. And how far did their ensnaring aura reach? Were they out there now, trying to ensnare him? His friends?
He shivered. Mayyyybe he would build up that fire after all.
Post by Northen Light36 on Apr 5, 2012 1:53:16 GMT -5
Acqua padded barefoot down to the kitchen, biting her tongue to keep silent as her scarred leg and feet protested the cold of the stone floor and the movement. She knew in time those scars would learn to soften and give, but for the time being, she could only force herself to move around despite the pain. She'd felt worse anyway.
It didn't take much more then a spark to relight the kitchen fireplace and she sat as close to its warmth as she could without burning herself. She felt Pixie brush against her thoughts and silently reassured the mind cat. With the mental version of a fond purr, Pixie withdrew again and Acqua was left, mostly, alone with her thoughts. She studied the rings in her hand – her own, gifted by Etaf, and Mat's Soahcian ring (she'd have teased Mat about being able to steal from the lord of thieves but she wasn't in the mood) – and chewed on her lip. She'd been worried enough when Mat had been chosen. But now she, Amaro and Talon had been as well. What would happen to their families if something were to happen to them?
Spice could look after his siblings, probably. And Cass would of course look after Aria... But that wasn't a comforting thought. There'd be a great hole in their families. And what about her and Mat? Who would look after their children? That was a large burden to put on anyone.
She stared into the dancing flames and wished they still brought the comfort they had when she was twelve.
The school was burning. All around him were the screams and cries of students; mostly the very young. The older and wiser among them were using the chaos to escape. The ambitious were trying to restore order so that they could be on top when the riot was quelled. It was a fair plan, he admitted as he jabbed a dagger between the ribs of one such hopeful. Whoever managed to round everyone up and put out the fires would probably stand a very good chance of taking over the entire operation. What they hadn't yet realised, though, was that the fires weren't just literal.
A single spark. That's all it had taken to start it all. Small, unobtrusive, and easily dismissed, dropping into psyches where fear and anger filled the air like dust in a sawmill. The spark blossomed into flame with the slightest bit of coaxing, emotion rushing to the forefront, and then the explosion. A firestorm of hatred for their "teachers," blazing panic, or an inferno of desperation so intense that they HAD to act lit up the minds of over half the school's occupants. Mass hysteria took care of the remainder and fed the fires already set.
They could likely save the building, but the school? The school was finished.
Schuldig gave a quiet growl as one of the Fire instructors loosed a gout of flame that scored his cheek and singed his clothing on one side. He gripped his forearm, both to use and protect his sign, even as he dropped to the plush carpeting to smother the flames. The man was angry, livid. By the time Schuldig was back on his feet, that anger had more than doubled and the Fire was losing control of his own element, screaming wordlessly amidst the flames that were sucking up the air around him.
When the Fire collapsed, the flames kept growing; they had fuel enough without his power. Schuldig didn't stay to enjoy the sight; it paled in comparison to watching someone's mind explode. He ran on, mouth stretching into a feral grin as he saw a small group of school "pets," poised to intercept him up ahead. He thrust his mind into theirs, nearly salivating at the mix of emotion he could taste as he built it to engulf them.
A Fire could do plenty of damage, but a Mind could make the world burn.
Last Edit: Apr 5, 2012 2:31:38 GMT -5 by Darastrix
Post by Kender Bard on Apr 6, 2012 22:24:37 GMT -5
Kaisila sat ont he sand and pulled out a waterskin to take a pull from.
So, this was her heritage. The vast and majestic desert of Naurorod, home of the Fires--a lean, strong people who took pride in their ability to survive in the harshest of climates.
Well, she had to hand it to them; she doubted that she could manage it. One day in and already she was contemplating just teleporting back home. How pathetic.
Her mother said she had fire in her blood. It was a mantra etched in her mind, spoken in frustration and fondness. Once, when she'd taken very ill, her mother had cradled her close and stroked her sweat-soaked hair. You have fire in your blood, she'd whispered to Kaisila. You'll burn this illness out. She'd never really been able to figure out if that had been assurance or a desperate prayer. Either way, she'd recovered.
Despite this, she was more inclined to believe in her best friend, Sawyer. 'We have fire in us enough to light an imaginary candle,' he'd quipped dryly to her once when she'd brought the topic up. He could sympathize with her, at least a little.
She'd told her father what Sawyer had said, and Lukas had just smiled in amusement and replied, "Well, that's all you really need to see you out of the darkness, isn't it?"
Kaisila wiped her mouth on the back of her arm, got up, and started trudging wearily again. Forces, it was too hot to think about fire.
Post by Northen Light36 on Apr 9, 2012 19:16:40 GMT -5
Chaos was simple enough to create.
All you needed was a mistake, a death and a secret to bring into the light.
Regalis Brightmore sat at his desk with his face in his hands. Forces, how had this mess turned into such a nightmare? He couldn't blame Katherine. He'd never been able to blame his beloved for anything, really. And for once, he couldn't blame the boy either.
He shouldn't have let Katherine send those damn letters. But she'd been so happy the pregancy was going smoothly and she'd felt honour bound to inform the boy's true sire of the progress and thank him. It hadn't seemed to be an issue, particularly since steps had been taken to conceal their existance. Sometimes shooting the messenger was the solution to a problem. Arrows buy silence more completely then gold and the dead can tell no tales.
Unless one had Katherine's diary. Regalis opened the hidden compartment in his desk again. Still empty. Alone, that tiny book was dangerous enough. But with the letters, in the wrong hands, it spelt the end of his rule.
No. No. He could bring this back under control. His eyes lingered on the dark haired half blood standing in front of him. "You told me you served the boy."
"I serve Shadow and always will," the half-blood replied, his brown eyes cold.
"Then get the diary and the letters back," Regalis ordered. "And know that if you betray me, your friend will hang." He watched the half-breed nod and leave without being dismissed. Dangerous little upstart. And now with more knowledge then he should.
Soahc, how much blood must it take to wash your taint from my life? Maelstrom needed order. Needed stability. He could not let one bastard boy disrupt that.
When he learned that the Melissan heir, the true heir of Maelstrom, now knew the secret, he could almost hear Soahc's laughter...
He’d lost himself somewhere along the way. He felt rage blotting out his thoughts and only vaguely registered the sensation of his knuckles splitting on another man’s teeth as he punched him in the mouth. He tasted blood and the bitter tang of fear and outrage at being bested. Pain and anger whirled together, reaching ever higher while mindmelt, gloss, smiley smoke, and a dozen more concoctions tried to tug him in the other direction.
There was the pure joy of giving a gift and the pleased response of the giver. Contentment. The toe-curling feeling of fingernails gently scratching at his scalp. Nervousness. Being frozen in place with the overwhelming prospect of having to choose between the myriad of options available. He felt the pressure of a gold coin clutched tightly in one hand, knowing it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. There was the flavour of wine and meat on his tongue and a feeling of fullness that just kept growing. Smug superiority at knowing he was better than them all warred with the desire for what they all had.
And beneath it all: pleasure, rising and falling. Rough, gentle, slow, fast. Denial. Completion. Teasing. Overwhelming. It all spun and overlaid itself over and over in an endless cycle threading through the maelstrom in his mind. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to keep going. He couldn’t tell which desire was his own, which thought was his own.
That scared him.
There. That fear, that was his own. With the realization, it all began to fall away gradually, easing him back into himself. “Forces!” he gasped, once he was once again alone in his mind.
“Mmno,” a voice said, close to his ear. “Just one.” A hand gently brushed sweaty bangs back from his forehead. “How’re you feeling?”
“Everything,” he breathed into a pillow. His pillow. Right. They were in his room. A familiar weight settled on his back and a pair of warm lips pressed a kiss between his shoulders.
“Did you like it?”
“Parts,” he admitted. He thought he wouldn’t mind a repeat, though maybe with just a couple of the Paths. A quiet chuckle let him know his thought had been heard.
“Then we’ll continue after you’ve rested a little.”
~I’m not that tired.~ There was an outright laugh that time, and his chin was lifted so his lover could lean over his shoulder and steal a kiss.
~Well, if you insist….~
Threads of thought and emotion started curling back into his mind, from a few individuals from just a few select Paths this time. He swallowed and relaxed into it, letting the controlled chaos coax him out of himself again.
Post by Kender Bard on Apr 9, 2012 23:31:03 GMT -5
Fausta suppressed a grin as people scattered in all directions. There was a body on the floor, oh my, oh my! Everyone panic!
A part of her wondered how much was feigned and put on. A quick glance around the dinner table showed that she wasn't the only one keeping calm and cool in the situation. Most of the more important, higher-ranked nobles seemed to be fairly carefree on the whole affair. The people panicking were here societal peers, or lessers. Her eye caught that of a fellow noblewoman, slightly of a higher status than her. The woman almost smiled--not quite. It reminded her of her moth- of Cloak. Especially when the other woman gave the barest of nods.
Good; their client was happy with the work. Fausta slipped out of her chair amid the chaos and panic and out of the room. Their agreed payment would be at the drop point, to be picked up at her leisure. She wasn't headed there now, though, oh no. Instead she stole up the stairs, dagger in hand. She would use this pandemonium to her favor and go plant a spy in this household. Just because the head of it had died didn't mean the whole House would tumble.
No, there were more steps to ascend on the ladder to rulership, and each body was a stepping stone to Fausta's ultimate goal. In the chaos of the murder, nobody would suspect a thing. Fausta lived for the chaos of the kill. Here, she was home.