As Ila writes up her story idea AND we begin to write up Wrathgate, I think its time for a new exercise that will help both endeavors.
Take your character: Give them a beat down. Not just a mugging or a lost fight, but a beat down. I want to see fear, loss and defeat.
Wrathgate is a pivotal moment for most, if not all, of us. It is where the Heroes approach the villian and get their asses handed to them. Consider this ficlet a practice round for the bigger Wrathgate story.
Entries will be judged by:
Originality, level of beat-down, integration with current personal story lines and how much empathy you can evoke in 2,048 characters.
I'll pick my top three. These folks will win gems AND a favor from Bricu. AS in: permission to use Bricu, reserving my time for RPness or some other thing to support their RP.
Please post your ficlet in this thread.
Due date: 4/9/09 (11:59:59 pm)
Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
Moderator: Guild Officer
Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
I drink to keep you pretty
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Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
Just so I can be totally clear on your goal - do you mean beat down in the more literal sense (physical beating beat down) or just some case of personal defeat beat down/emotional beat down/other means of physical 'beat down'?
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
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Itanya_blade
- Posts: 638
- Joined: Thu Nov 13, 2008 4:08 pm
Dorri - Bricu said I could
((Not anywhere short enough for a ficlit, but I asked Bricu about it. This is what set Dorri on the path she is on now.))
Nervous little butterflies fluttered around in her stomach interrupting yet another nights sleep. She stood on the open walkway between her room and her brothers. The early spring air was chilly, but the enchanted smooth tiles warmed her feet through her slippers. She paused at the railing and looked over the family garden, grinning impossibly large.
She had been waiting for years, years longer than most Sin'dorei mages did, to be apprenticed. Even her younger brother already had his mentor, but the chance to learn from Keladryn Winterspell was not to be passed up. In two days, she would be his newest apprentice. It was practically an invitation to join the top ranked Magisters. She would be among the elite.
Without much thought, she created an illusion of silvery phoenixes and sent them flowing over the garden. She knew enough magical theory but the chance to learn real magic, to go beyond the silly little baby things she had done all her life was exciting. It was also frightening. This would be the first time that she would have to be on her own, no father to tell her what to be interested in and no little brother to follow her around. She would succeed or fail on her own merits and if she succeeded...
"Should I tell your father that you are wandering the halls?" Vreldor's soft voice gave her chills. Dorri turned to look at the older Sin'dorei giving him her best disdainful look. She hated the way he looked at her, hated the way he talked to her. The way he fawned over her when her father was present and the way his lips turned so easily to a sneer when father left.
"Tell him what you like." She turned away from him, flouncing her hair to express her displeasure. "It makes no difference to me." She took a few steps and then an hand wrapped around her arm. "Let go of me!" She would have said more, but something wrapped around her throat, choking off her air.
"Too late for that now, I'm afraid." Vreldor smiled at her, as her blood pounded in her ears. This couldn't be happening, not here.
Fade to black
Voices pierced her brain. Dorri'tow felt an odd touch of embarrassment as she realized that she has drooled on herself. She tried to lift a hand to wipe her mouth and panicked when she found that her hands were tied behind her back. Her legs were restrained. A gag was in her mouth. Vaguely, as she began to recognize how wrong things were, Dorri'tow thought she should have pretended to be unconscious, to scope her surroundings. That is what people in books did, that is what heroes did, but she was not a heroine in a book.
She struggled, vaguely registering that she was tied to a sturdy wooden chair. The voices she had heard as she woke grew quiet.
"The time for second thoughts has come and gone, Faylen." Her brother's voice drew Dorri's immediate attention.
"Raz? What's going on?" Well, that is what she would have said, except she was gagged. Her brother barely looked in her direction.
"You said she wouldn't be hurt!"
"Faylen, stop being an idiot. Did you think she would come willingly? A few bruises, easily explained away. She won't remember what happens, that's all that really matters, isn't it?" The voice of another one of her brother's friends, but she did not know his name.
"I'm not so sure about this..." Faylen did not even turn around to look at her.
"You're pathetic." That was Garreth Duskwalker; she had heard that scathing disdain before. "Ready to crawl back and beg forgiveness already? Are you going to sit at home and play house to your screaming brats while she does what she wants?" She stared at Faylen's back, confused, scared and angry. Is that what this was all about? What was going on. "We've been working towards this for months. None of the rest of us are ready to chicken out."
She watched Faylen, hoping for something; she was not sure what. He merely shrugged and said nothing. The girl looked around at the six people that stood around her and realized that she had no idea where she was. She was surrounded by enemies, people that she had either dismissed as harmless or considered friends or both. She could not use her voice to form magic and had no way to get out of these bonds. Dorri'tow screamed into her gag and struggled. Then she stopped. Her body stopped responding to her.
That's enough of that. Vreldor's voice, but it was more than his voice. It carried a touch of him with it, like a smell. No amount of struggling or eye-fluttering is going to change what is going to happen now. She could suddenly move her eyes again and she looked towards the older man, accusingly. He smiled back at her and then turned to whisper to Razkiel.
Her little brother walked towards her, smiling. His smile no longer seemed congenial, friendly. Suddenly, she saw something mocking in it, like the look one might give an idiot or a puppy. "You don't deserve what you have. I'm going to take it." He held a crystal in front of her eyes. She was drawn to it, even though she could no longer move or speak of her volition, she still felt the urge to lean towards it. She barely heard the words he spoke to shape magic into the force he wanted to take, instead she watched the crystal flare into a bright blue light and felt the loss of something in herself.
"Now, the rest of you. Everyone takes some. All in." Razkiel turned away from her.
They took what they wanted from her and left, even Faylen. She had never felt so tired before, so empty. The ropes cut into her flesh, but Dorri could no longer summon the strength to keep herself upright. What was the point of it anyway? Whatever answered her plunge into darkness was not magic, but she began to argue with herself. The ability to store magic inside oneself was only one measure of a mage, or a person. Her reserves would refill themselves.
"And you said she would never fight back." Razkiel smirked at Vreldor. They were the only ones left, staying to mock her misfortune. Vreldor's mind control had long since faded, but her strength and will were slow to return.
"Who would have expected so much fire in such a pampered beauty?"
Razkiel turned to her. His eyes actually acknowledge her existence, her sentience. "I'm going to leave now. Matters of the mind need a delicate touch. It would not do for you to be suddenly rendered an idiot. That is not easily explained as say a complete lack of ability." He brushed her hair out of her eyes and she flinched back away from him. In her mind, she imagined all the things she would do to him. "In a few hours, you won't remember any of this, my dear sweet sister. You'll wake up excited. You'll go for your apprenticeship and when Magister Winterspell brings you home, I'll be here to console you." He patted her on the head, like she was a dog.
"I'm not going to fail!" She screamed against the gag. She might not be able to impress the Magister with her power, but she had skill. She had been practicing! She glared at them both definitely.
"No, After tonight you won't ever use magic again." She looked at Vreldor, torn between horror and anger. "Good night, Vreldor." Razkiel walked past without another look.
The rest was all pain.
Nervous little butterflies fluttered around in her stomach interrupting yet another nights sleep. She stood on the open walkway between her room and her brothers. The early spring air was chilly, but the enchanted smooth tiles warmed her feet through her slippers. She paused at the railing and looked over the family garden, grinning impossibly large.
She had been waiting for years, years longer than most Sin'dorei mages did, to be apprenticed. Even her younger brother already had his mentor, but the chance to learn from Keladryn Winterspell was not to be passed up. In two days, she would be his newest apprentice. It was practically an invitation to join the top ranked Magisters. She would be among the elite.
Without much thought, she created an illusion of silvery phoenixes and sent them flowing over the garden. She knew enough magical theory but the chance to learn real magic, to go beyond the silly little baby things she had done all her life was exciting. It was also frightening. This would be the first time that she would have to be on her own, no father to tell her what to be interested in and no little brother to follow her around. She would succeed or fail on her own merits and if she succeeded...
"Should I tell your father that you are wandering the halls?" Vreldor's soft voice gave her chills. Dorri turned to look at the older Sin'dorei giving him her best disdainful look. She hated the way he looked at her, hated the way he talked to her. The way he fawned over her when her father was present and the way his lips turned so easily to a sneer when father left.
"Tell him what you like." She turned away from him, flouncing her hair to express her displeasure. "It makes no difference to me." She took a few steps and then an hand wrapped around her arm. "Let go of me!" She would have said more, but something wrapped around her throat, choking off her air.
"Too late for that now, I'm afraid." Vreldor smiled at her, as her blood pounded in her ears. This couldn't be happening, not here.
Fade to black
Voices pierced her brain. Dorri'tow felt an odd touch of embarrassment as she realized that she has drooled on herself. She tried to lift a hand to wipe her mouth and panicked when she found that her hands were tied behind her back. Her legs were restrained. A gag was in her mouth. Vaguely, as she began to recognize how wrong things were, Dorri'tow thought she should have pretended to be unconscious, to scope her surroundings. That is what people in books did, that is what heroes did, but she was not a heroine in a book.
She struggled, vaguely registering that she was tied to a sturdy wooden chair. The voices she had heard as she woke grew quiet.
"The time for second thoughts has come and gone, Faylen." Her brother's voice drew Dorri's immediate attention.
"Raz? What's going on?" Well, that is what she would have said, except she was gagged. Her brother barely looked in her direction.
"You said she wouldn't be hurt!"
"Faylen, stop being an idiot. Did you think she would come willingly? A few bruises, easily explained away. She won't remember what happens, that's all that really matters, isn't it?" The voice of another one of her brother's friends, but she did not know his name.
"I'm not so sure about this..." Faylen did not even turn around to look at her.
"You're pathetic." That was Garreth Duskwalker; she had heard that scathing disdain before. "Ready to crawl back and beg forgiveness already? Are you going to sit at home and play house to your screaming brats while she does what she wants?" She stared at Faylen's back, confused, scared and angry. Is that what this was all about? What was going on. "We've been working towards this for months. None of the rest of us are ready to chicken out."
She watched Faylen, hoping for something; she was not sure what. He merely shrugged and said nothing. The girl looked around at the six people that stood around her and realized that she had no idea where she was. She was surrounded by enemies, people that she had either dismissed as harmless or considered friends or both. She could not use her voice to form magic and had no way to get out of these bonds. Dorri'tow screamed into her gag and struggled. Then she stopped. Her body stopped responding to her.
That's enough of that. Vreldor's voice, but it was more than his voice. It carried a touch of him with it, like a smell. No amount of struggling or eye-fluttering is going to change what is going to happen now. She could suddenly move her eyes again and she looked towards the older man, accusingly. He smiled back at her and then turned to whisper to Razkiel.
Her little brother walked towards her, smiling. His smile no longer seemed congenial, friendly. Suddenly, she saw something mocking in it, like the look one might give an idiot or a puppy. "You don't deserve what you have. I'm going to take it." He held a crystal in front of her eyes. She was drawn to it, even though she could no longer move or speak of her volition, she still felt the urge to lean towards it. She barely heard the words he spoke to shape magic into the force he wanted to take, instead she watched the crystal flare into a bright blue light and felt the loss of something in herself.
"Now, the rest of you. Everyone takes some. All in." Razkiel turned away from her.
They took what they wanted from her and left, even Faylen. She had never felt so tired before, so empty. The ropes cut into her flesh, but Dorri could no longer summon the strength to keep herself upright. What was the point of it anyway? Whatever answered her plunge into darkness was not magic, but she began to argue with herself. The ability to store magic inside oneself was only one measure of a mage, or a person. Her reserves would refill themselves.
"And you said she would never fight back." Razkiel smirked at Vreldor. They were the only ones left, staying to mock her misfortune. Vreldor's mind control had long since faded, but her strength and will were slow to return.
"Who would have expected so much fire in such a pampered beauty?"
Razkiel turned to her. His eyes actually acknowledge her existence, her sentience. "I'm going to leave now. Matters of the mind need a delicate touch. It would not do for you to be suddenly rendered an idiot. That is not easily explained as say a complete lack of ability." He brushed her hair out of her eyes and she flinched back away from him. In her mind, she imagined all the things she would do to him. "In a few hours, you won't remember any of this, my dear sweet sister. You'll wake up excited. You'll go for your apprenticeship and when Magister Winterspell brings you home, I'll be here to console you." He patted her on the head, like she was a dog.
"I'm not going to fail!" She screamed against the gag. She might not be able to impress the Magister with her power, but she had skill. She had been practicing! She glared at them both definitely.
"No, After tonight you won't ever use magic again." She looked at Vreldor, torn between horror and anger. "Good night, Vreldor." Razkiel walked past without another look.
The rest was all pain.
Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
More the latter than the former; but elements of a physical beat down can surely contribute to the emotional beat down.Nykkolaia wrote:Just so I can be totally clear on your goal - do you mean beat down in the more literal sense (physical beating beat down) or just some case of personal defeat beat down/emotional beat down/other means of physical 'beat down'?
I drink to keep you pretty
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Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
Disclaimer: This is too long.
It's something I wrote back in November, immediately after Aely fought at the battle of Wrathgate. I scratched it out way before any of the "guild wrathgate" stuff had even emerged, so it's not really appropriate for that particular thread. Anyway, this is both a beat down and a catalyst - this was the event that pushed Aely back to Holy from Retribution, and brought her back to the hospital tents.
*****
The room was small, little more than a bed, a tiny table, and two chairs – though it had all the markings of two people having stayed there for at least a few nights. A disheveled pile of plate armor lay violently discarded by the door, and anyone that came in would likely trip over it if they weren’t careful.
Not that the light wasn’t good – even in the sunlit late afternoon the fire was stoked high and burning brightly.
Standing barefoot in front of it, a tall, red haired woman peered into the depths of the flame, holding a greatsword in front of her, point facing down, wearing little more than a loose shirt and woolen pants. Her face was torn with cuts and bruises, hair caked with grime and mud and who knows what else, hands bloody and blistered. Still, she managed to hold the sword with some strength, staring at it for several long moments, as though trying to glean something from its battered hit.
I was s'posed t' die t'day. I dinna ken how I dinnae get caught, bu' I was s'posed t' die.
I stood in th' burning ruins a' my home an' killed th' risen dead I once ken and call'd kin. I walked th' burning shores a' far off worlds, an' fought wi' many whose strength I cannae help bu' wonder a'. I've seen many things in th' las' 8 years, an' nae before have I seen th' likes a' t'day.
She closed her eyes, the sounds and smells of Angrethar rushing back, causing the nausea she’d been fighting to ooze back up into her throat again.
So many died t'day – died fightin' t' reclaim 'is bitter land for … for sommat. For us? Mayhap. For our children – fair likely, if th' fightin's ever ended.
Threnn’s face rose in her mind, and she quickly pushed it away, her thoughts instead filling with shouts of battle – her own voice raised along side those of the many she fought with, orcs and men – she’d sung the lines of an old song, using it to keep her pace with the sword, watching the undead fall around her. But those shouts had turned to stony silence, and then fear, death and retreat. Looking at her hands, she couldn’t remember how many had fallen around her – so many whose names she didn’t know. Would they haunt that gate like the spirits of the men she once fought with now haunted the burning ships on the southern shores?
There had been red and black on that field - weapons, spells, and tabards flashing, yells of "Nivver Agin"...
So many wen' down – coughin' th' bitter green smog spewing frae th' wagons, eyes filled wi' despair. An' I could do... nothin' - jus' run t' save my own hide an' pray for them wha' dinnae.
She shook her head.
An' Wrynn. Th' grea' bloody King return'd t' lead 's i' war. There was a time when I'd thowt mayhap this'd be differen', tha' I'd be swearin' t' his service 's King, afore tha' Ligh' forsaken sewer – glad now tha' I dinnae, an' I owt t' kept th' damn shield. Fecking bastard.
She looked down at her hands wrapped around the hilt of her sword, her eyes gingerly glancing at angry wounds on her arms where the Blight Worm had bitten her, throwing her around like a toy until it finally slammed her into the ceiling, crushing several of her ribs and rattling every ounce of confidence she had. Someone had healed her, getting her back on her feet for the rest of the battle, but it was a weak, ineffective patch job and even a few minutes in the mouth of a Blight Worm is too long.
I should’ve died t'day – an' must be some reason why I dinnae. I'd be damned if I let i' go unanswer'd, bu' i' willnae be like this.
With a harsh growl, she flung the sword to one side, letting it slide with a clatter into the pile with the rest of the armor, tears sliding unchecked down her face and leaving blood-stained spots on her shirt, while the fire flickered away gaily in her cold room in Northrend.
It's something I wrote back in November, immediately after Aely fought at the battle of Wrathgate. I scratched it out way before any of the "guild wrathgate" stuff had even emerged, so it's not really appropriate for that particular thread. Anyway, this is both a beat down and a catalyst - this was the event that pushed Aely back to Holy from Retribution, and brought her back to the hospital tents.
*****
The room was small, little more than a bed, a tiny table, and two chairs – though it had all the markings of two people having stayed there for at least a few nights. A disheveled pile of plate armor lay violently discarded by the door, and anyone that came in would likely trip over it if they weren’t careful.
Not that the light wasn’t good – even in the sunlit late afternoon the fire was stoked high and burning brightly.
Standing barefoot in front of it, a tall, red haired woman peered into the depths of the flame, holding a greatsword in front of her, point facing down, wearing little more than a loose shirt and woolen pants. Her face was torn with cuts and bruises, hair caked with grime and mud and who knows what else, hands bloody and blistered. Still, she managed to hold the sword with some strength, staring at it for several long moments, as though trying to glean something from its battered hit.
I was s'posed t' die t'day. I dinna ken how I dinnae get caught, bu' I was s'posed t' die.
I stood in th' burning ruins a' my home an' killed th' risen dead I once ken and call'd kin. I walked th' burning shores a' far off worlds, an' fought wi' many whose strength I cannae help bu' wonder a'. I've seen many things in th' las' 8 years, an' nae before have I seen th' likes a' t'day.
She closed her eyes, the sounds and smells of Angrethar rushing back, causing the nausea she’d been fighting to ooze back up into her throat again.
So many died t'day – died fightin' t' reclaim 'is bitter land for … for sommat. For us? Mayhap. For our children – fair likely, if th' fightin's ever ended.
Threnn’s face rose in her mind, and she quickly pushed it away, her thoughts instead filling with shouts of battle – her own voice raised along side those of the many she fought with, orcs and men – she’d sung the lines of an old song, using it to keep her pace with the sword, watching the undead fall around her. But those shouts had turned to stony silence, and then fear, death and retreat. Looking at her hands, she couldn’t remember how many had fallen around her – so many whose names she didn’t know. Would they haunt that gate like the spirits of the men she once fought with now haunted the burning ships on the southern shores?
There had been red and black on that field - weapons, spells, and tabards flashing, yells of "Nivver Agin"...
So many wen' down – coughin' th' bitter green smog spewing frae th' wagons, eyes filled wi' despair. An' I could do... nothin' - jus' run t' save my own hide an' pray for them wha' dinnae.
She shook her head.
An' Wrynn. Th' grea' bloody King return'd t' lead 's i' war. There was a time when I'd thowt mayhap this'd be differen', tha' I'd be swearin' t' his service 's King, afore tha' Ligh' forsaken sewer – glad now tha' I dinnae, an' I owt t' kept th' damn shield. Fecking bastard.
She looked down at her hands wrapped around the hilt of her sword, her eyes gingerly glancing at angry wounds on her arms where the Blight Worm had bitten her, throwing her around like a toy until it finally slammed her into the ceiling, crushing several of her ribs and rattling every ounce of confidence she had. Someone had healed her, getting her back on her feet for the rest of the battle, but it was a weak, ineffective patch job and even a few minutes in the mouth of a Blight Worm is too long.
I should’ve died t'day – an' must be some reason why I dinnae. I'd be damned if I let i' go unanswer'd, bu' i' willnae be like this.
With a harsh growl, she flung the sword to one side, letting it slide with a clatter into the pile with the rest of the armor, tears sliding unchecked down her face and leaving blood-stained spots on her shirt, while the fire flickered away gaily in her cold room in Northrend.
[5.OOC] Beltar: Hammer of What The Fuck Were You Thinking
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Alonora
- Posts: 137
- Joined: Thu Nov 13, 2008 10:24 am
- Location: Hiding in those trees ahead, to the left. No. Your other left.
Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
~
This was not how things were supposed to end.
This was not the happy ending she had wanted. The happy ending she deserved.
Alonora looked the small nook in the earthen wall over again. The roots were bent to her pleasure, keeping the walls from falling. At least for now. She didn't know why she had bothered with the leaves. They were symbolic more than anything else, she supposed. They would soon be dried and crumpled, but at that point she wouldn't care about comfort. She would be deep asleep.
It was not her fault, what had happened. The druidess carefully rejected any and all blame to be had.
~
"I should have known!" she roared as she paced the room. Feathers appeared in the air around her and slowly made their way to the ground, despite her being in elven form.
"Should have fucking known! From day one! You didn't want to get married. You didn't want a family." She sent an especially nasty glare his direction. "Warning signs. But did I listen? Oh no. And the mageling? WHY did it have to be the mage?"
Halton said nothing. He sat defeated on their until-then shared bed, as if cut in stone.
~
She had cried and all the while Adelas had held her close, his cool skin and soft touch soothing to her burning temper.
"I dun know love," he whispered. "I just dun know. We should both think about it?"
"What is there to think about?" she spluttered, "You have said you wanted this since the first day we met? For us to be together? Now there is no reason not to!" Her voice filled with desperation but she didn't care.
He just closed his eyes and held her tighter.
~
The frostbolt hit her by surprise, much faster than she had expected. Alonora groaned and staggered. Enough time for the mage to scorch her shoulders. The druidess fell to her knees. Suddenly she realized she didn't care anymore.
Pride had made her accept the duel. She had none left now.
In the corner of her eye she saw the shimmer of more ice headed her way.
She slipped into darkness.
~
Fandral was angry. For once she didn't care. The light of the moon played on the opposite wall, filtered through the moving leaves of a tree. She had a hard time focusing. Her recovery had been slow this time.
~
The druidess lied down on the bed of dirt, roots and leaves. This barrow-den was one of the forgotten ones. It was no longer tended to and this fitted her purpose perfectly.
Alonora closed her eyes. She stumbled through the darkness of her mind for a long time until finally she saw what she had been searching for.
A flicker of green.
~
This was not how things were supposed to end.
This was not the happy ending she had wanted. The happy ending she deserved.
Alonora looked the small nook in the earthen wall over again. The roots were bent to her pleasure, keeping the walls from falling. At least for now. She didn't know why she had bothered with the leaves. They were symbolic more than anything else, she supposed. They would soon be dried and crumpled, but at that point she wouldn't care about comfort. She would be deep asleep.
It was not her fault, what had happened. The druidess carefully rejected any and all blame to be had.
~
"I should have known!" she roared as she paced the room. Feathers appeared in the air around her and slowly made their way to the ground, despite her being in elven form.
"Should have fucking known! From day one! You didn't want to get married. You didn't want a family." She sent an especially nasty glare his direction. "Warning signs. But did I listen? Oh no. And the mageling? WHY did it have to be the mage?"
Halton said nothing. He sat defeated on their until-then shared bed, as if cut in stone.
~
She had cried and all the while Adelas had held her close, his cool skin and soft touch soothing to her burning temper.
"I dun know love," he whispered. "I just dun know. We should both think about it?"
"What is there to think about?" she spluttered, "You have said you wanted this since the first day we met? For us to be together? Now there is no reason not to!" Her voice filled with desperation but she didn't care.
He just closed his eyes and held her tighter.
~
The frostbolt hit her by surprise, much faster than she had expected. Alonora groaned and staggered. Enough time for the mage to scorch her shoulders. The druidess fell to her knees. Suddenly she realized she didn't care anymore.
Pride had made her accept the duel. She had none left now.
In the corner of her eye she saw the shimmer of more ice headed her way.
She slipped into darkness.
~
Fandral was angry. For once she didn't care. The light of the moon played on the opposite wall, filtered through the moving leaves of a tree. She had a hard time focusing. Her recovery had been slow this time.
~
The druidess lied down on the bed of dirt, roots and leaves. This barrow-den was one of the forgotten ones. It was no longer tended to and this fitted her purpose perfectly.
Alonora closed her eyes. She stumbled through the darkness of her mind for a long time until finally she saw what she had been searching for.
A flicker of green.
~
Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
They came for him in the night. Making excuses to stay away would have made him suspicious, so she'd lied, poured wine, and lain beside him, waiting for the clatter of boots while he trailed kisses down her neck.
Splinters flew as they kicked in the door. Two soldiers rifled through his things. Two dragged him out of bed; two did the same for her. They bound her hands behind her back and pulled on her arms until she cried out. "Traitor bitch," one hissed in her ear.
Despite the wine, his eyes were clear. Clear and accusing. He knew -- how could he not? Threnn made connections others didn't.
How many died because of me? How many felt the Legion's fires because I teased out meanings from cryptic messages for him like it was a game?
They pulled her along, making her stumble. When she fell to her knees, they cuffed her so hard she saw stars and yanked her to her feet again. Something in her shoulder tore. "You'll hang by morning," one said, as she ground her teeth against the pain. "I want to be the one to tie the noose."
Hewen walked with his guards ten paces in front of them, looking like he was on a pleasant evening stroll with his men even thought he wore only his smallclothes. The few soldiers who had emerged from their tents dismissed him; it was Threnn they saw, knees scraped, hair disheveled, her linen shift torn.
They shoved her through the town hall, pushed her roughly into a waiting chair. Hewen sat beside her, back straight, defiant, not a drop of sweat on his brow.
Five men sat on a dais, expressions ranging from mild disgust to stony hatred: the commanders and generals who would decide their fates. One seat stood empty.
The exiting soldiers brushing past a sandy-haired man. The one who'd called her a traitor didn't bother whispering. "I'll let you skip to the front of the line when she's in her cell. Otherwise, it'll be a long wait."
The newcomer set his jaw. "You've been dismissed," he said, and got only a knowing grin in return.
Kaven Howell took his seat among her judges, and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Splinters flew as they kicked in the door. Two soldiers rifled through his things. Two dragged him out of bed; two did the same for her. They bound her hands behind her back and pulled on her arms until she cried out. "Traitor bitch," one hissed in her ear.
Despite the wine, his eyes were clear. Clear and accusing. He knew -- how could he not? Threnn made connections others didn't.
How many died because of me? How many felt the Legion's fires because I teased out meanings from cryptic messages for him like it was a game?
They pulled her along, making her stumble. When she fell to her knees, they cuffed her so hard she saw stars and yanked her to her feet again. Something in her shoulder tore. "You'll hang by morning," one said, as she ground her teeth against the pain. "I want to be the one to tie the noose."
Hewen walked with his guards ten paces in front of them, looking like he was on a pleasant evening stroll with his men even thought he wore only his smallclothes. The few soldiers who had emerged from their tents dismissed him; it was Threnn they saw, knees scraped, hair disheveled, her linen shift torn.
They shoved her through the town hall, pushed her roughly into a waiting chair. Hewen sat beside her, back straight, defiant, not a drop of sweat on his brow.
Five men sat on a dais, expressions ranging from mild disgust to stony hatred: the commanders and generals who would decide their fates. One seat stood empty.
The exiting soldiers brushing past a sandy-haired man. The one who'd called her a traitor didn't bother whispering. "I'll let you skip to the front of the line when she's in her cell. Otherwise, it'll be a long wait."
The newcomer set his jaw. "You've been dismissed," he said, and got only a knowing grin in return.
Kaven Howell took his seat among her judges, and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
Dalaran was strangely quiet tonight as Nykkolaia ghosted through the crowded streets. Life had been quiet in general. Jobs were few. Studies were light. The evening gave a cool breeze through the open air pathways that led Nykk past the mouth of the tunnel to the Underbelly and into a lull in the crowd. No one saw the hand snake from the darkness, pull her in... No time to scream.
Thud. A crack... Spreading of pain through the back of her skull. Falling to hands and knees and in a shadowed corner. She groaned and couldn't open her eyes at first, didn't see the man who rolled her on to her back. Moments later, saw the flash of the knife.
"Mister Black," the man growled, "sends his regards."
Magic would not be summoned, as the pain in her head was too great. Legs on either side of her, holding her down. Crushing air from her. Magic... call it! Yet she couldn't. It wouldn't come to her! Breath was short and the world was swimming around her.
"He says... to do as I will. To make his point."
Tip of the blade pressed against her jaw bone... against the vine-like scars that grew along her face. What is he doing? Breath shuddered and her body began to tremble. She couldn't move... couldn't breathe. Nykk tried to call out, use what little breath she had to get help, but a hand slapped her wounds. The world swayed again... The present dropped away. Magic forgotten...
"Shut up," he said coldly.
Blade tip pressed in again, pressed deeper. The flesh seared as it cut. She wanted to scream.
Shut up. She obeyed. Breath... she had no breath. A familiar fire lanced through her face. From toe to hair, pain and memories poisoned her. They over-whelmed swiftly. Not to be denied. On the outside, scars were being cut open inch by inch and warm blood ran down her cheek but it was nothing compared to the fire deeper within.
"You didn't scream," he said in admiration. "And you're not going to, right?"
Nykkolaia didn't look at his face. You never looked at his face unless he said it was okay. She stared at the ceiling. "Yes, Master," she whispered.
Thud. A crack... Spreading of pain through the back of her skull. Falling to hands and knees and in a shadowed corner. She groaned and couldn't open her eyes at first, didn't see the man who rolled her on to her back. Moments later, saw the flash of the knife.
"Mister Black," the man growled, "sends his regards."
Magic would not be summoned, as the pain in her head was too great. Legs on either side of her, holding her down. Crushing air from her. Magic... call it! Yet she couldn't. It wouldn't come to her! Breath was short and the world was swimming around her.
"He says... to do as I will. To make his point."
Tip of the blade pressed against her jaw bone... against the vine-like scars that grew along her face. What is he doing? Breath shuddered and her body began to tremble. She couldn't move... couldn't breathe. Nykk tried to call out, use what little breath she had to get help, but a hand slapped her wounds. The world swayed again... The present dropped away. Magic forgotten...
"Shut up," he said coldly.
Blade tip pressed in again, pressed deeper. The flesh seared as it cut. She wanted to scream.
Shut up. She obeyed. Breath... she had no breath. A familiar fire lanced through her face. From toe to hair, pain and memories poisoned her. They over-whelmed swiftly. Not to be denied. On the outside, scars were being cut open inch by inch and warm blood ran down her cheek but it was nothing compared to the fire deeper within.
"You didn't scream," he said in admiration. "And you're not going to, right?"
Nykkolaia didn't look at his face. You never looked at his face unless he said it was okay. She stared at the ceiling. "Yes, Master," she whispered.
"It ain't about how hard you can hit, but how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving forward." ['Rocky Balboa']
Re: Ficlet Contest: Beatdown
This thread just gets harder and harder to read.
*helps make it worse!*
*helps make it worse!*
Personal isn't the same as important.
Stratholme Syndrome
"I didn't know I had so much blood in me."
She watched it dripping from her toes to pool with the rest on the stained stone floor a foot below. The red contrasted sharply with the silvery blue of her skin. The colors were pretty together.
"It's delicious, pet."
The other woman's claws slid up her back, catching the latest ragged lines from the whip. More blood poured down the backs of her legs.
She opened her mouth, expelling breath and nothing else. Screaming hurt too much anymore.
The claws sliced into her shoulders. She fought with herself not to struggle. It would only dislocate them again.
“Why aren't you squirming for me, pet?”
She choked for air. “Hurts...”
“I like it better when you squirm.”
She heard movement. The rope suspending her from the ceiling jerked upward. Blood spilled down her arms as it cut into her wrists. She blacked out at the synchronous wet crack of her shoulders breaking.
Her mouth tasted like copper. She'd bitten through her lip again. She heard hooves on damp stone and opened her eyes. The succubus was standing in front of her now. Bloody claws tore her face as they pushed what was left of her hair out of her eyes. She tried to flinch and felt her arms catch fire.
The succubus watched her intently until she had stopped moving and was hanging limp. It smiled.
“Still no screams for me, pet?”
She shook her head.
“Out of words now too?”
A nod.
“Hm.”
She let her eyes close again and listened to the hooves moving away. There was a metal scrape from one of the trays that were lined against the closest wall. The hooves came back and circled behind her. A hand grasped the remnants of her hair, and twisted. Her head jerked back. She felt the other hand move in front of her face, and looked reluctantly to see what it was holding.
A long pin.
“No. Please. Not again.”
“So she speaks now.”
The pin drew back slowly, teasing along her scalp. It pressed against the base of her right ear.
“Please...”
“Too late, pet.”
It drove in.
Screaming hurt too much. Larra did it anyway.
She watched it dripping from her toes to pool with the rest on the stained stone floor a foot below. The red contrasted sharply with the silvery blue of her skin. The colors were pretty together.
"It's delicious, pet."
The other woman's claws slid up her back, catching the latest ragged lines from the whip. More blood poured down the backs of her legs.
She opened her mouth, expelling breath and nothing else. Screaming hurt too much anymore.
The claws sliced into her shoulders. She fought with herself not to struggle. It would only dislocate them again.
“Why aren't you squirming for me, pet?”
She choked for air. “Hurts...”
“I like it better when you squirm.”
She heard movement. The rope suspending her from the ceiling jerked upward. Blood spilled down her arms as it cut into her wrists. She blacked out at the synchronous wet crack of her shoulders breaking.
Her mouth tasted like copper. She'd bitten through her lip again. She heard hooves on damp stone and opened her eyes. The succubus was standing in front of her now. Bloody claws tore her face as they pushed what was left of her hair out of her eyes. She tried to flinch and felt her arms catch fire.
The succubus watched her intently until she had stopped moving and was hanging limp. It smiled.
“Still no screams for me, pet?”
She shook her head.
“Out of words now too?”
A nod.
“Hm.”
She let her eyes close again and listened to the hooves moving away. There was a metal scrape from one of the trays that were lined against the closest wall. The hooves came back and circled behind her. A hand grasped the remnants of her hair, and twisted. Her head jerked back. She felt the other hand move in front of her face, and looked reluctantly to see what it was holding.
A long pin.
“No. Please. Not again.”
“So she speaks now.”
The pin drew back slowly, teasing along her scalp. It pressed against the base of her right ear.
“Please...”
“Too late, pet.”
It drove in.
Screaming hurt too much. Larra did it anyway.
Personal isn't the same as important.