Write Away | Creative Corner

@Karika

We quietly gathered outside the elder’s tent and lowered to the ground, jostling each other for room. Our rites of passage had finally come to a close. All of us sat there as adults, our childhoods nothing more than memories to cherish later in our lives. We all knew there were sacred stories, stories only passed on by the storyteller to the new adults, stories that we would only hear once, but would remember forever.

The ten of us fell into a reverent hush as the Storyteller pushed aside the canvas that sealed her tent away from the outside world. She was old, perhaps the oldest in the entire tribe. The stringy silver remnants of her hair twisted and coiled about her shoulders. Her legs shook as they carried her slowly to her seat, a simple log that she favored, one that we brought with us whenever we migrated just for her.

With a breath of relief, not too unlike the rustle of fallen leaves in the autumn, she settled upon the log. Her keen dark eyes then passed over each of us in turn. Her smile was toothless and deep wrinkles segmented her face into tiny portions.

“Congratuations,” she started, her voice dry, but soft and gently. We leaned closer as her presence drew us in.

“Tonight, I will tell you of our lands.”

We glanced briefly to one another. Such a boring subject did not seem plausible for the great story.

“When the worlds were young,” she lifted her hand to motion to our sister plant who was hanging as a crescent in the night sky. “Both worlds were green and life flourished. Oceans covered a great amount of our world and a moderate amount of our sister. This land on which we live,” she nudged the rocky ground with her toe, “did not exist.

“One day, a very long time ago, a pair of dragons lifted from the oceanic depths of our Sister. They were huge, large as mountains, and they roamed the world causing terror and grief wherever they went. When our Sister was on the verge of dying, the dragons looked to our world. But each dragon knew that they both wanted it, and they were selfish beasts.

“They raged a war, long and deadly, against one another on our sister world. The oceans evaporated and cast the entire planet into a shroud of mist and clouds. The people here could only watch in horror as the beauty of our Sister was masked in the fury of the dragons.

“One fell. It does not matter which, for both were vile. The other flew here, but was too wounded to wreck its desired vengeance upon our homelands. It collapsed upon the world and fell into a deep slumber.

“Since that day, both dragons have slept, and both dragons have grown. You wonder at our disappearing forests, at the mountains we call the spine of the world, we rest on the body of the victor.” She leaned forward and patted the ground firmly. “This, this is the hide of a dragon, and one day, it will rise again. We pray day to day that day is not today. When one rises, it is prophesized, so will the other, and they will clash again, perhaps between the worlds. We will ride our host unwillingly into battle.”

We stared in silence at the Storyteller as she fell quiet for a moment staring into the night.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she said. “It does seem rather outrageous. But I am sorry, I am sorry you were born in these times, that your greatest day will be marred by horror.”

She lifted a hand and pointed to our Sister. We all followed her gesture obediently. One of us cried out in dismay. A great cloud was passing over the barely visible rocky continent. The cloud coiled and expanded, soon filling the entire expanse of the crescent.

Beneath us, the ground trembled as shouts of terror erupted from the rest of the camp.

Chrisondra

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September 15, 2017 16:38:33

@Karika

We quietly gathered outside the elder’s tent and lowered to the ground, jostling each other for room. Our rites of passage had finally come to a close. All of us sat there as adults, our childhoods nothing more than memories to cherish later in our lives. We all knew there were sacred stories, stories only passed on by the storyteller to the new adults, stories that we would only hear once, but would remember forever.

The ten of us fell into a reverent hush as the Storyteller pushed aside the canvas that sealed her tent away from the outside world. She was old, perhaps the oldest in the entire tribe. The stringy silver remnants of her hair twisted and coiled about her shoulders. Her legs shook as they carried her slowly to her seat, a simple log that she favored, one that we brought with us whenever we migrated just for her.

With a breath of relief, not too unlike the rustle of fallen leaves in the autumn, she settled upon the log. Her keen dark eyes then passed over each of us in turn. Her smile was toothless and deep wrinkles segmented her face into tiny portions.

“Congratuations,” she started, her voice dry, but soft and gently. We leaned closer as her presence drew us in.

“Tonight, I will tell you of our lands.”

We glanced briefly to one another. Such a boring subject did not seem plausible for the great story.

“When the worlds were young,” she lifted her hand to motion to our sister plant who was hanging as a crescent in the night sky. “Both worlds were green and life flourished. Oceans covered a great amount of our world and a moderate amount of our sister. This land on which we live,” she nudged the rocky ground with her toe, “did not exist.

“One day, a very long time ago, a pair of dragons lifted from the oceanic depths of our Sister. They were huge, large as mountains, and they roamed the world causing terror and grief wherever they went. When our Sister was on the verge of dying, the dragons looked to our world. But each dragon knew that they both wanted it, and they were selfish beasts.

“They raged a war, long and deadly, against one another on our sister world. The oceans evaporated and cast the entire planet into a shroud of mist and clouds. The people here could only watch in horror as the beauty of our Sister was masked in the fury of the dragons.

“One fell. It does not matter which, for both were vile. The other flew here, but was too wounded to wreck its desired vengeance upon our homelands. It collapsed upon the world and fell into a deep slumber.

“Since that day, both dragons have slept, and both dragons have grown. You wonder at our disappearing forests, at the mountains we call the spine of the world, we rest on the body of the victor.” She leaned forward and patted the ground firmly. “This, this is the hide of a dragon, and one day, it will rise again. We pray day to day that day is not today. When one rises, it is prophesized, so will the other, and they will clash again, perhaps between the worlds. We will ride our host unwillingly into battle.”

We stared in silence at the Storyteller as she fell quiet for a moment staring into the night.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she said. “It does seem rather outrageous. But I am sorry, I am sorry you were born in these times, that your greatest day will be marred by horror.”

She lifted a hand and pointed to our Sister. We all followed her gesture obediently. One of us cried out in dismay. A great cloud was passing over the barely visible rocky continent. The cloud coiled and expanded, soon filling the entire expanse of the crescent.

Beneath us, the ground trembled as shouts of terror erupted from the rest of the camp.

_________

@Karika

They were brothers, the two emperors. Sibling rulers of divided empires. The Dragons of Wind and Sea, they were called, for their ferocity went unmatched. To each, the mighty empires they ruled were of the utmost importance. They would do anything for their people, twin rulers of passion. Perhaps this was what made it so easy for the war to start, each seeking righteousness for their own reign.

The Dragon of Wind was a man devoted to his family, the success of his dynasty. To him, it was of the utmost importance that he not fail his father, long dead, or else he would be haunted at night by clawing visions that scratched across his soul. As the eldest, he was born with responsibility already on his shoulders. He would die this way too, he knew.

The younger brother, the Dragon of the Sea, was not as bound by honor. He sought to make a legacy of knowledge, of making his realm a cultural haven where wealth came in the form of things learned. He was bound by passion, by the urgent need for growth. He felt tied to the arts, to philosophy, to seeing his people thrive in the light of a world of erudition. To have anything else would be to fail.

It began with the Sea, and a garden. The garden was one of cherry blossoms and ivory walls. Red and black speckled the ground in the form of sculptures and ribbons. A breeze blew, and the sea sang its song of might.

“You seek power too hungrily, my brother.” The Dragon of the Sea was not one to hide behind hidden meanings; he spoke truthfully and without remorse for whatever sting the words promised.

The Dragon of Wind did not immediately reply, and he thought on his brother’s words. If it had been any other man, it would have been a grave insult. Here, now, it was only a minor insult. “And you do not seek enough. Where will your empire go when you are gone? Melting into the sea, unremembered? You care so little in the face of time.”

“Time cannot touch me now, in this moment,” the Sea said. “And where my empire may falter, the things we have created will live on. Perhaps longer, even, then the legacy of your reign.”

“My legacy will outlast the mountains, and even they will recall the time where I was king.”

The brothers were both certain in their words, in the truths they so ardently believed in. Was it not art that they remembered from their ancestors? Was it not honorful deeds that came to mind of past emperors?

This is what they planned: when death at last swept in for them, they would allow their spirits to linger in the mortal realm. They would watch, and wait, as time ate up their empires, as future rulers lived and died. They would then see whose touch lasted the longest.

But things did not play out so peacefully. The Dragon of Wind did not wait long before he allowed his insatiable desire for strength to creep into his heart. No other knew of the brothers bet, but he would be dishonoring himself if he did not do everything he could to best his brother. So the Wind struck up his own plan, and the wheels of war began to turn at last.

Betraying his brother, the Wind took his army and desecrated one of the minor cities within the Sea’s territory. He stole away with his brothers beloved culture, slayed the artistic hands that had created such beauty, and left nothing to be remembered.

The hurt over the treacherous act left the Dragon of the Sea’s heart stung. If he did not have his brother, did he truly have wisdom? Who was he to claim intelligence when he could be bested by his own kin, so easily and without warning? He struck back, quick and venomous, a serpent to a snake.

Many years passed as the brothers warred. Time was a promise, and it ate the world one day at a time. A garden turned sour beneath the sun, a ruined city was soon forgotten, and power rippled over the land as two dragons tugged on the ends.

When at last death came to sweep over the brothers, the land had been scarred with their dispute. They had been earthquakes in their life, and even in passing the ground seemed to tremble. And what did the brothers find in the afterlife? Their touch, where once it had been gracious on the world, had instead tainted it. There was no art to be found in war, and power was bloodied when it was stolen. Honor, culture. It had all fallen short with the hubris of the brothers. It melted in the coming years, and with it went the emperors.

They faded, and faded, until nothing remained.

Mypilot

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September 15, 2017 19:14:32

@Karika

They were brothers, the two emperors. Sibling rulers of divided empires. The Dragons of Wind and Sea, they were called, for their ferocity went unmatched. To each, the mighty empires they ruled were of the utmost importance. They would do anything for their people, twin rulers of passion. Perhaps this was what made it so easy for the war to start, each seeking righteousness for their own reign.

The Dragon of Wind was a man devoted to his family, the success of his dynasty. To him, it was of the utmost importance that he not fail his father, long dead, or else he would be haunted at night by clawing visions that scratched across his soul. As the eldest, he was born with responsibility already on his shoulders. He would die this way too, he knew.

The younger brother, the Dragon of the Sea, was not as bound by honor. He sought to make a legacy of knowledge, of making his realm a cultural haven where wealth came in the form of things learned. He was bound by passion, by the urgent need for growth. He felt tied to the arts, to philosophy, to seeing his people thrive in the light of a world of erudition. To have anything else would be to fail.

It began with the Sea, and a garden. The garden was one of cherry blossoms and ivory walls. Red and black speckled the ground in the form of sculptures and ribbons. A breeze blew, and the sea sang its song of might.

“You seek power too hungrily, my brother.” The Dragon of the Sea was not one to hide behind hidden meanings; he spoke truthfully and without remorse for whatever sting the words promised.

The Dragon of Wind did not immediately reply, and he thought on his brother’s words. If it had been any other man, it would have been a grave insult. Here, now, it was only a minor insult. “And you do not seek enough. Where will your empire go when you are gone? Melting into the sea, unremembered? You care so little in the face of time.”

“Time cannot touch me now, in this moment,” the Sea said. “And where my empire may falter, the things we have created will live on. Perhaps longer, even, then the legacy of your reign.”

“My legacy will outlast the mountains, and even they will recall the time where I was king.”

The brothers were both certain in their words, in the truths they so ardently believed in. Was it not art that they remembered from their ancestors? Was it not honorful deeds that came to mind of past emperors?

This is what they planned: when death at last swept in for them, they would allow their spirits to linger in the mortal realm. They would watch, and wait, as time ate up their empires, as future rulers lived and died. They would then see whose touch lasted the longest.

But things did not play out so peacefully. The Dragon of Wind did not wait long before he allowed his insatiable desire for strength to creep into his heart. No other knew of the brothers bet, but he would be dishonoring himself if he did not do everything he could to best his brother. So the Wind struck up his own plan, and the wheels of war began to turn at last.

Betraying his brother, the Wind took his army and desecrated one of the minor cities within the Sea’s territory. He stole away with his brothers beloved culture, slayed the artistic hands that had created such beauty, and left nothing to be remembered.

The hurt over the treacherous act left the Dragon of the Sea’s heart stung. If he did not have his brother, did he truly have wisdom? Who was he to claim intelligence when he could be bested by his own kin, so easily and without warning? He struck back, quick and venomous, a serpent to a snake.

Many years passed as the brothers warred. Time was a promise, and it ate the world one day at a time. A garden turned sour beneath the sun, a ruined city was soon forgotten, and power rippled over the land as two dragons tugged on the ends.

When at last death came to sweep over the brothers, the land had been scarred with their dispute. They had been earthquakes in their life, and even in passing the ground seemed to tremble. And what did the brothers find in the afterlife? Their touch, where once it had been gracious on the world, had instead tainted it. There was no art to be found in war, and power was bloodied when it was stolen. Honor, culture. It had all fallen short with the hubris of the brothers. It melted in the coming years, and with it went the emperors.

They faded, and faded, until nothing remained.

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"When dragons fight, the world trembles."

It's the buffeting winds raging inside my head, sending leaves of thoughts racing across in blinding swirls. The percussive wingbeats send force rocking through the air into the ground, so that the racing, twisting, sickening swirl of thoughts carries out it's ugly dance above a shaking, unsteady, breaking base. When they roar it obliterates my ability to hear the soft sounds that belong the my landscape, when they set their breath weapons against each other it sends lightning and fire and water and ice scarring across the land. The chasms do not quickly or easily heal.

They have no care for me. It's a love-hate performance of violent proportions, the grating, sharp sterility of bleach and florescent lights in a hospital against the molding, dank darkness of a crumbling alleyway, against the just-too-dim uncertainty of a place you know so well during a liminal time. It's not that I don't have my own dragons to stand before me. They are afraid to hurt me but I am so wounded and fearful that I hold no such qualms against them. They forgive me. They let me. But in doing so I further am spilling my own blood, fighting against myself and my guardians, I am doing the work of the great winged and flamed beasts that seek to destory me and each other all at once. Destory. Destroy. Are they not the same thing?

I retreat outward to the shallows of myself, stuffing the dragons into the most vulnerable part of my soul and locking them away to destroy me where I can't see. I can, indirectly.

Because when I grieve, when I wail, when I scream so raw and real that my dreams become night terrors and my sanctuary of sleep, my one refuge, becomes plagued with utter terror and pain that even the dragons quail before, when I cry tears of acid that creep slowly into my veins until I die

She was loved. She is missed. She sent an incredible earthquake ricocheting across all of us so that people she never touched felt the aftershock. The amount of pressure stored in the fault lines of her heart - the offspring of her dragons she sent to us - I -

The world has trembled. It's core is cracked and it's axis has shifted, balancing precariously on a pinpoint of misguided hope. This should not have happened. It cannot have, yet it did.

When dragons fight, the world trembles, but if we step up as people to fight, the world will not just tremble. We are beasts fiercer than fire, stronger than flight, with claws sharper than words. Dragons will flee before us. The world will not just tremble. It will be remade.

FeralFaeborn

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September 15, 2017 22:52:16

"When dragons fight, the world trembles."

It's the buffeting winds raging inside my head, sending leaves of thoughts racing across in blinding swirls. The percussive wingbeats send force rocking through the air into the ground, so that the racing, twisting, sickening swirl of thoughts carries out it's ugly dance above a shaking, unsteady, breaking base. When they roar it obliterates my ability to hear the soft sounds that belong the my landscape, when they set their breath weapons against each other it sends lightning and fire and water and ice scarring across the land. The chasms do not quickly or easily heal.

They have no care for me. It's a love-hate performance of violent proportions, the grating, sharp sterility of bleach and florescent lights in a hospital against the molding, dank darkness of a crumbling alleyway, against the just-too-dim uncertainty of a place you know so well during a liminal time. It's not that I don't have my own dragons to stand before me. They are afraid to hurt me but I am so wounded and fearful that I hold no such qualms against them. They forgive me. They let me. But in doing so I further am spilling my own blood, fighting against myself and my guardians, I am doing the work of the great winged and flamed beasts that seek to destory me and each other all at once. Destory. Destroy. Are they not the same thing?

I retreat outward to the shallows of myself, stuffing the dragons into the most vulnerable part of my soul and locking them away to destroy me where I can't see. I can, indirectly.

Because when I grieve, when I wail, when I scream so raw and real that my dreams become night terrors and my sanctuary of sleep, my one refuge, becomes plagued with utter terror and pain that even the dragons quail before, when I cry tears of acid that creep slowly into my veins until I die

She was loved. She is missed. She sent an incredible earthquake ricocheting across all of us so that people she never touched felt the aftershock. The amount of pressure stored in the fault lines of her heart - the offspring of her dragons she sent to us - I -

The world has trembled. It's core is cracked and it's axis has shifted, balancing precariously on a pinpoint of misguided hope. This should not have happened. It cannot have, yet it did.

When dragons fight, the world trembles, but if we step up as people to fight, the world will not just tremble. We are beasts fiercer than fire, stronger than flight, with claws sharper than words. Dragons will flee before us. The world will not just tremble. It will be remade.

Sneaking in before rollover just cause.

@Meddlesomedragon
I love the build-up in this, the way they hesitate in their daily tasks and then go back to what they were doing. I like that you’ve given the perspective of those humans that aren’t noticed by the dragons, but whose whole world is affected by their battle.

I also love the way you make the dragons realise what they’ve done, after their battle is finished. I like the way they pause and look at the damage they’ve caused, and show regret. It’s very well written.

(also that signature icon is great, but like C says, a little big to actually fit in the signature.. any chance you could shrink it a little, for us?)

@Chrisondra
Rites of passage are one of my favourite things, and I don’t even know why. I like the description you use for the old lady, too. I liked the start of her story, and the end.. but I found the middle a little lacking. Not a lot, it just needed a little something extra to it, I think. I like the way you ended with the destruction about to start all over again though, that’s great.

@Mypilot
I don’t know if it was on purpose or not, but this sounds like something out of Chinese mythology/legend. I’m picturing dragon emperors full of honour that for some reason look like samurais.
Okay, as I’m reading through more of it I’m thinking the chinese vibe is definitely intentional…

…

*hands you a gold star and walks away*

@lessthan3
Interesting that you chose to take the prompt as metaphorical dragons, rather than literal ones. I like the mental chaos that you’ve presented, and then the echo of strength at the end, where your character rallies their thoughts and prepares to fight for what they believe in.

Well written!

Winner: Mypilot
Runner up: Chrisondra

Mythantos

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September 15, 2017 23:59:14

Sneaking in before rollover just cause.

@Meddlesomedragon
I love the build-up in this, the way they hesitate in their daily tasks and then go back to what they were doing. I like that you’ve given the perspective of those humans that aren’t noticed by the dragons, but whose whole world is affected by their battle.

I also love the way you make the dragons realise what they’ve done, after their battle is finished. I like the way they pause and look at the damage they’ve caused, and show regret. It’s very well written.

(also that signature icon is great, but like C says, a little big to actually fit in the signature.. any chance you could shrink it a little, for us?)

@Chrisondra
Rites of passage are one of my favourite things, and I don’t even know why. I like the description you use for the old lady, too. I liked the start of her story, and the end.. but I found the middle a little lacking. Not a lot, it just needed a little something extra to it, I think. I like the way you ended with the destruction about to start all over again though, that’s great.

@Mypilot
I don’t know if it was on purpose or not, but this sounds like something out of Chinese mythology/legend. I’m picturing dragon emperors full of honour that for some reason look like samurais.
Okay, as I’m reading through more of it I’m thinking the chinese vibe is definitely intentional…

…

*hands you a gold star and walks away*

@lessthan3
Interesting that you chose to take the prompt as metaphorical dragons, rather than literal ones. I like the mental chaos that you’ve presented, and then the echo of strength at the end, where your character rallies their thoughts and prepares to fight for what they believe in.

Well written!

Winner: Mypilot
Runner up: Chrisondra

Aw man, it was actually meant to be two different characters because the first narrator died. Hmmmm I really don't know how to fix that. @Karika thoughts?

FeralFaeborn

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September 16, 2017 09:34:59

Aw man, it was actually meant to be two different characters because the first narrator died. Hmmmm I really don't know how to fix that. @Karika thoughts?

[center][img]https://68.media.tumblr.com/ae2def7543cc441cd04c289e8a2e62e0/tumblr_noq1nh8riP1rbq23ko4_1280.jpg[/img] [size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1][size=1]@Chrisondra @TidalMoonrise @Mypilot @PixieKnight3264 @Karika @SamIamLuvDov @Lightshadow101 @humanityxpeople @coyearth @Avanari @demonslayr62 @ladylilitu @acorn781 @Endernil @Arithelia @Sillywinter @inthestars @Annalynn @meddlesomedragon @SocialBookWorm @SolusPrime379 @Zodiac753 @Kattata @Reiyn @Skyeset @lessthan3 @AwkwardAngel @Draxia @MintyDragon[/center] [i]Deadline:[/i] September 18th, 20:00 FR time. [center][b]Want to join this? Self editing pinglist is [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/1dBM6-s4AYOSpYMqzHtyyTD2IGu27hQDf6MlYMGa76uA/edit]here[/url].[/b][/center]

Mypilot

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September 16, 2017 09:49:43

Deadline: September 18th, 20:00 FR time.

Want to join this? Self editing pinglist is here.

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@Mypilot

Nine looked at the two cloaked figures around him, the shadows cast by the lanterns around them practically obscuring their faces. "Four, Eighteen. There's someone following us." His voice came out almost like a hiss, the accent making the words sound clipped and harsh. He shivered through his thick cloak as a car passed by under them, causing the pipes around to clang. This felt dangerous and wrong, and it was the best feeling. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a few seconds, focusing on the lock mechanisms inside the door, and forcing them to click open. Eighteen let out a savage smile, and hissed as he walked forward, light feet gliding over the ground. Small puddles of water formed where the snow rubbed off from his boots and melted, but it was barely noticeable, and would dry soon. Four and Nine made their way in to the apartment after their comrade, gently pushing the door closed behind them. Despite the gentle touch, it made a steely clanging sound, and Nine muffled it on instinct, stopping the sound in it's tracks before it could reach the owner of the apartment's sleeping ears. The shadowed group continued along the hallway, feet making no noise, barely breathing, barely daring to hope that they might get away with this. Nine had chosen this life of villainy because nothing else interested him, or challenged him. With his rare and incredibly power, almost anything was possible, and putting it to use as a hero seemed almost like a waste. Instead, he had decided to join a society of villains called the Shadows, a group of incredibly powerful mercenaries, assassins, and thieves that wanted to band together. There were twenty-three members, each going by their number code. Apparently, One was a legend that no one had really met, and just gave obscure instructions to kill, cheat, and steal. Now, he had instructed them to steal a pyramid-like relic from this apartment. It had been sold to this civilian as a memento of some faraway place, and was apparently of great value and power. Four didn't want the civilian to get hurt, but he didn't really mind if there was a casualty for this operation, eventually another mindless nobody would take this one's place.

The trio turned a corner, into a large room filled to the brim with plush furniture, pictures, and overly-large accessories. Four almost cringed at the bright colors and permeating waft of alcohol, but chose to block the smell out instead, gently pushing it away and redirecting it. Nine walked over to an obscure shelf in the corner and removed a small, light purple object that seemed to be catching the moonlight. It was a translucent purple prism that attracted the moonlight, causing a weird ribbon of darkness around it. Four wondered how the owner had neglected to notice the strange pulsating nothingness around the artifact, unless they were blind, or just completely oblivious. Just as the group turned around to leave, a light shined through the window, catching Eighteen's face and seemingly pushing his hood back. A crop of pale yellow hair spilled out along her shoulders, accentuating her sharp features and cruel, orange eyes. A thin-lipped smile played out over her lips, and she raised her hands and shoulders in what seemed like a shrug. Wordlessly, she opened her mouth, pouring out what seemed to be a living shadow. It swallowed the light and gently pulled her hood over her head. The shadow slowly shrunk under her hood, presumably back into her mouth, and she turned around. "That was odd." She rasped, and turned around, cape billowing out behind her. "Let's get going." Nine said, and followed the young woman, ending their mission. Four smiled under his hood and brushed his long, black hair over one of his shoulders. The smile that played out along his lips was not nice nor reassuring, but the picture of evil, of one who kills because they have nothing better to do. The smile was mirrored across the other two member's faces, and the mysterious One as he watched their progress through a video camera. Everything was going according to plan.

Apeirogon

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September 16, 2017 12:00:03

@Mypilot

Nine looked at the two cloaked figures around him, the shadows cast by the lanterns around them practically obscuring their faces. "Four, Eighteen. There's someone following us." His voice came out almost like a hiss, the accent making the words sound clipped and harsh. He shivered through his thick cloak as a car passed by under them, causing the pipes around to clang. This felt dangerous and wrong, and it was the best feeling. He closed his eyes and concentrated for a few seconds, focusing on the lock mechanisms inside the door, and forcing them to click open. Eighteen let out a savage smile, and hissed as he walked forward, light feet gliding over the ground. Small puddles of water formed where the snow rubbed off from his boots and melted, but it was barely noticeable, and would dry soon. Four and Nine made their way in to the apartment after their comrade, gently pushing the door closed behind them. Despite the gentle touch, it made a steely clanging sound, and Nine muffled it on instinct, stopping the sound in it's tracks before it could reach the owner of the apartment's sleeping ears. The shadowed group continued along the hallway, feet making no noise, barely breathing, barely daring to hope that they might get away with this. Nine had chosen this life of villainy because nothing else interested him, or challenged him. With his rare and incredibly power, almost anything was possible, and putting it to use as a hero seemed almost like a waste. Instead, he had decided to join a society of villains called the Shadows, a group of incredibly powerful mercenaries, assassins, and thieves that wanted to band together. There were twenty-three members, each going by their number code. Apparently, One was a legend that no one had really met, and just gave obscure instructions to kill, cheat, and steal. Now, he had instructed them to steal a pyramid-like relic from this apartment. It had been sold to this civilian as a memento of some faraway place, and was apparently of great value and power. Four didn't want the civilian to get hurt, but he didn't really mind if there was a casualty for this operation, eventually another mindless nobody would take this one's place.

The trio turned a corner, into a large room filled to the brim with plush furniture, pictures, and overly-large accessories. Four almost cringed at the bright colors and permeating waft of alcohol, but chose to block the smell out instead, gently pushing it away and redirecting it. Nine walked over to an obscure shelf in the corner and removed a small, light purple object that seemed to be catching the moonlight. It was a translucent purple prism that attracted the moonlight, causing a weird ribbon of darkness around it. Four wondered how the owner had neglected to notice the strange pulsating nothingness around the artifact, unless they were blind, or just completely oblivious. Just as the group turned around to leave, a light shined through the window, catching Eighteen's face and seemingly pushing his hood back. A crop of pale yellow hair spilled out along her shoulders, accentuating her sharp features and cruel, orange eyes. A thin-lipped smile played out over her lips, and she raised her hands and shoulders in what seemed like a shrug. Wordlessly, she opened her mouth, pouring out what seemed to be a living shadow. It swallowed the light and gently pulled her hood over her head. The shadow slowly shrunk under her hood, presumably back into her mouth, and she turned around. "That was odd." She rasped, and turned around, cape billowing out behind her. "Let's get going." Nine said, and followed the young woman, ending their mission. Four smiled under his hood and brushed his long, black hair over one of his shoulders. The smile that played out along his lips was not nice nor reassuring, but the picture of evil, of one who kills because they have nothing better to do. The smile was mirrored across the other two member's faces, and the mysterious One as he watched their progress through a video camera. Everything was going according to plan.

hi, i'm may! nice to meet you. feel free to send a PM if you'd like to say hi!

Okay this time I checked that it fit in my signature first. [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2250075/1][img]http://i67.tinypic.com/v6smqp.jpg[/img][/url] the image url is: http://i67.tinypic.com/v6smqp.jpg and the link is to the first page of this post: http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2250075/1

Meddlesomedragon

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September 16, 2017 13:23:35

Okay this time I checked that it fit in my signature first.

the image url is:

http://i67.tinypic.com/v6smqp.jpg

and the link is to the first page of this post:
http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2250075/1

Thank you!!

Chrisondra

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513

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September 16, 2017 13:37:30

Thank you!!

_________

@Mypilot

Owox skidded down a corner, holding her hood over her head. Her two friends, Shrimp and Ixator were not far behind her, as all three of them ran from a Hunter.

Owox had no more disks left in her diskshooter, and neither did Shrimp. Ixator had two however, but from where he was he wouldn't be able to get a clear shot on the Hunter.

They couldn't let themselves be caught, as they were tasked with bringing the hacker who would be able to clear Exey of her virus back to the base, and if they didn't, Exey would either be shut down permanently or would have her control drive wiped. Both would be terrible fates.

The three of them ran down an alleyway, stopping for a moment.

"We can't rest for long! The Hunter is still out there!" Shrimp chirped up, out of breath.

"Hold on." Ixator said. "If we get the Hunter here, I can land a shot on it."

"What?! That's far too risky!" Owox scolded Ixator.

"Well do you have a better plan?" He fired back at her.

"No." She mumbled.

"That's what I thought. Now, you two go get its attention, I'll go reload my shooter."

Owox and Shrimp both nodded, and started looking for ways to draw the Hunter's attention. Shrimp spotted a can, and threw it. Only when they heard the skittering noises that a Hunter makes did they know it worked.

The skittering noises got closer, and they stod still, not making a noise. They heard Ixator reload his diskshooter, and slightly calmed down, but once they heard the skitters get even closer, they tensed up again.

Suddenly, the noises stopped. "What happened to it?" They thought.

Then, suddenly, they saw it leap towards them, their hearts stopping. They stood there, terrified, as they hoped Ixator shot it before it tore them from limb to limb, and thankfully, Ixator got it just before it could do just that.

Shrimp stepped back as it crashed down, sparks erupting from its head.

"We need to go now." Owox said. "More will be coming after they find out one of them has been destroyed."

Shrimp and Ixator looked at each other, and then started running, Owox catching up to them.

Owox, Shrimp and Ixator all felt the humidity hit them as they entered the cavern.

"This is where she should be." Shrimp said. "Hoax is what they call her."

He lead them up the stairs, and up to Hoax's door. Owox stepped in front of him, and knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Icarus flew too close to the sun." She said.

"There you are." A deep voice answered from behind the door. "I was wandering when you would all get here. Please come right on in."

lovesick

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September 16, 2017 14:51:18

@Mypilot

Owox skidded down a corner, holding her hood over her head. Her two friends, Shrimp and Ixator were not far behind her, as all three of them ran from a Hunter.

Owox had no more disks left in her diskshooter, and neither did Shrimp. Ixator had two however, but from where he was he wouldn't be able to get a clear shot on the Hunter.

They couldn't let themselves be caught, as they were tasked with bringing the hacker who would be able to clear Exey of her virus back to the base, and if they didn't, Exey would either be shut down permanently or would have her control drive wiped. Both would be terrible fates.

The three of them ran down an alleyway, stopping for a moment.

"We can't rest for long! The Hunter is still out there!" Shrimp chirped up, out of breath.

"Hold on." Ixator said. "If we get the Hunter here, I can land a shot on it."

"What?! That's far too risky!" Owox scolded Ixator.

"Well do you have a better plan?" He fired back at her.

"No." She mumbled.

"That's what I thought. Now, you two go get its attention, I'll go reload my shooter."

Owox and Shrimp both nodded, and started looking for ways to draw the Hunter's attention. Shrimp spotted a can, and threw it. Only when they heard the skittering noises that a Hunter makes did they know it worked.

The skittering noises got closer, and they stod still, not making a noise. They heard Ixator reload his diskshooter, and slightly calmed down, but once they heard the skitters get even closer, they tensed up again.

Suddenly, the noises stopped. "What happened to it?" They thought.

Then, suddenly, they saw it leap towards them, their hearts stopping. They stood there, terrified, as they hoped Ixator shot it before it tore them from limb to limb, and thankfully, Ixator got it just before it could do just that.

Shrimp stepped back as it crashed down, sparks erupting from its head.

"We need to go now." Owox said. "More will be coming after they find out one of them has been destroyed."

Shrimp and Ixator looked at each other, and then started running, Owox catching up to them.

Owox, Shrimp and Ixator all felt the humidity hit them as they entered the cavern.

"This is where she should be." Shrimp said. "Hoax is what they call her."

He lead them up the stairs, and up to Hoax's door. Owox stepped in front of him, and knocked on the door. There was no response.

"Icarus flew too close to the sun." She said.

"There you are." A deep voice answered from behind the door. "I was wandering when you would all get here. Please come right on in."

Last edited on Sep 16, 2017 14:52:29 by lovesick