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Writing Excercise: Prompt #1
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Dealthagar
Certifiable
Certifiable


Joined: 05 Mar 2004
Posts: 1514
Location: Spiritual Nirvanna

PostPosted: Mon Feb 08, 2010 12:58 pm Post subject: Reply with quote

Nice participation folks. Good job all.

Not closed though! If you have another idea or an idea later with this prompt, please feel free to post it.
_________________

The Three Truths of Singularity

Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.

www.adriandrake.com
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Solanaceae
Journeyman
Journeyman


Joined: 26 Dec 2009
Posts: 107
Location: Wisconsin

PostPosted: Sat Feb 13, 2010 12:07 am Post subject: Reply with quote

The man was smiling. Through her half-mast eyes and thick green lashes Solanaceae saw him. He was staring at her, his finger lightly encircling the iron post that supported the glass display case as his gaze moved from her face to take in the rest of her. She smoothed the dark green fabric of her silk dress, allowing her slender fingers to pull the cloth around her thigh, revealing just enough of her shape to feed his desire, but still allowing the long dress to hide her tattoos. As intentional as her movements might be, she made it appear innocent, simply an absentminded, nervous gesture. Solanaceae raised her head and met his gaze. She allowed a tentative smile to play across her lips, hiding her disdain with the doe-eyed expression of a shy child. A bitter laugh danced silently inside her. Though much of her power had been taken when she was banished from the Fae Courts, she still retained a few of her natural gifts, such as a connection to her people’s glamour. Using this tool of multi-sensory illusion, Solanaceae bathed herself in the scent of tender youth and vulnerability. The man smile tightened as hunger crept into his eyes.

Solanaceae dropped her gaze in an air of faux modesty and turned to face the display case. She deftly slipped the stuffed mongbat Lady Ceinwyn had given her when she first joined the order, when they both were no more than slaves, under her arm. A quiet sigh fluttered in her chest. Now Solanaceae was a supplicant searching for her true place among the Skull, and Ceinwym was openly consort of the Herald himself. How nice it had been when she’d been honored to share their secret, when she’d been able to play watcher over their intimate meetings, making sure no one who might betray their secret to the Lich Lord might stubble across the two. She’d never admitted to doing this, unsure such powerful magi like they would take to the idea of someone weaker in power protecting them in anyway. Solanaceae didn’t even know for certain why she’d done it, why she’d taken the risk. Perhaps because it was all so romantic, so thrilling, but more likely there was a third reason for her gamble. It was just nice to be needed, to have a chance at finding people she belonged with, people who wanted her around.

The scent of stale pipe smoke and overused cologne assaulted her. Solanaceae glanced down and saw the man reflected in the glass, just over her left shoulder. Yes, that was right. For a moment she'd forgotten him. She’d come here with a purpose. No time for distraction or doubt. Suppressing a chuckle Solanaceae hugged the stuffed toy under her arm, and was rewarded for her dramatic addition as the man’s scent shifted, his pungent fragrance overtaken by the smell of his heightened need. She lazily tilted her head, and her vibrant green hair slipped over her right shoulder to drape there, leaving the skin of her neck exposed to him. A sound escaped his lips and his breathing quickened. “Yes”, she thought. “He’ll do fine.”

Pretending not to notice his closeness, Solanaceae purchased a few pieces of overpriced chocolate and a small, pink silk hanker chief, careful to keep her movement casual, but innocently sensual. After she paid the shopkeeper what she owed, she followed the counter to the side door, careful to keep her back to the man. As she closed the shop door and stepped onto the cobblestones her anticipation grew. Patience. Patience. Her trap was set. Soon her prey would willingly follow her to his rightful punishment.

Punishment. Vengeance. Justice.

The humans, non-humans, those that lived as parasites upon the land, those who butchered the innocence of childhood for their own selfish desires and greed. Their crimes were intolerable, and for this they needed to be punished. The Fae didn’t understand this. Her people didn’t see how the mortals tainted everything they touched. Even the oldest Fae scholars didn’t seemed to be able to fully grasp the damage that had and was still yet to be done. They did not understand until the humans’ filth tainted the sacred waters, not until the humans’ greed led them to over tax the life the land could create, leaving areas so barren and violated there was little hope of renewal, not until the human children’s suffering haunted the Fae’s minds, tearing at their spirits until many of Solanaceae’s kin simply gave up any will to go on and faded into nothing. Not truly did her people understand what was happening until it was too late. Fae elders and children fell pray to illness none of the healers had ever seen, the women became sterile, and those that could bear children often didn’t survive to repeat the act. No one was willing to take a stand. No one was able to leave behind the ways of the past, and do what was needed for their people to survive.

No one, but Solanaceae.

For the second time that evening Solanaceae was pulled out of her thoughts, this time by the sound of boots on the stones behind her. She chided herself for allowing distraction to claim her once again, and determinedly she refocused her mind on the task. She listened to the rhythm of his steps. They almost matched but not quite. His rhythm was off, as if he was trying to hide his footfalls with the sound of her own, but didn’t have the grace or the control to manage it. Taking a purposeful turn into a deserted side street she picked up her pace, signaling an added element of fear to urge on her pursuer. Just a bit further.

“Wait!” he called out, just as Solanaceae reached a set of stone steps leading down into a tavern cellar. A strip of black ribbon dangled from the iron railing, and she glanced back over her shoulder at him to see if he noticed it. He didn’t. “I just want to talk to you.”

Solanaceae’s eyes met his, and she forced her breathing hard against her chest, allowing a wild-eyed expression to complete the illusion of panic. “Leave me alone,” she simpered. “Just go away.”

He held his hands out to her. “I’m not going to hurt you, lovely. I promise.”

Behind the curtain of innocence and fear, the true predator studied her prey. The hunger had claimed his eyes entirely, and the shaky stiffness of his body told her his hold on his self-control was tenuous at best. In a moment, she thought with grim satisfaction, that control would vanish entirely.

He stood there, his body tensed, and his eyes followed the rapid expanding and contracting of her small bosom. Then, as she had been expecting, he took a step forward. At her cue, Solanaceae turned and bolted down the stairs, seemly trapped at the bottom, no way out. She huddled in corner, appearing to pull desperately on the door handle to the cellar, though in truth really not asserting any force at all.

The man gripped her shoulder, his fingers tightened, and then he spun her around to face him. “I said I wanted to talk to you. I promised I wouldn’t hurt you.” He licked his lips and his fingers dug into her shoulder. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Solanaceae’s glamour fell away, and she sneered as confusion crept into the man’s eyes. “How unfortunate for you that hurting you is exactly what I had in mind”

Her blade flashed, cutting into his arm and neck, forcing him to release her. Anger twisted his face, but only for an instant. Soon surprise replaced the rage, followed by fear as the venom slipped into his blood through the cuts. Paralysis claimed his voice before he could scream, but he face marked clearly the depth of the man’s terror. He crashed to the ground, and his body jerked and writhed in involuntary spasms.

Solanaceae removed a bag from under the stairs and turned back to the man. He was still. No breath in his chest. She crouched next to the body and removed a stone, imbedding it into the wound at the man’s neck. She muttered familiar words, and the stairwell melted away, soon to be replaced by the lush swamp that served at the rood of her home. The first part of her task was complete. Now the real work began.
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