And oooone more, because I felt really bad that the first story wasn't really too relevant to the avatars.
...well, this one I kinda went off tangent too. BUT I SWEAR it's more relevant!



Inconsolable was the king of the kingdom when his beloved queen died. Both nearing old age, the king many times tried for a child as heir, and only when the couple started losing hope, the queen proved her fertility with a possible son in her womb.

Unfortunate it was when the queen died during childbirth. Indeed, the child was born, but these were days when complications with children were common, and thus the child lived for only a few hours before breathing its last breath.

Sorrowed was the king at the bedside of his dying queen, holding the baby in her arms and cuddling him close to her breast. Alas, everyone in the room, from the maids to the midwife and the couple themselves, could tell the baby was small in size and wasnt going to live, and due to complications, neither was the queen. All she could offer was her head resting gently on the shoulder of her beloved king, whispering mixed apologies and cherishing the moments she had left.

Various rumors spread, ones where the royal family was to be passed on to the kings brother, fruitful because that side of the family had many wives and many sons. Others questioned why the king couldnt have picked another wife for the sake of an heir. Some even made a point that the king was actually sterile and the queen had an affair which resulted in the only child she would ever have.

One part distressed and many parts traumatized by his losses, the king went to great lengths to find an heir and peace to his situation. He asked his advisors to come up with ways other than finding a new wife or going to separate branches of the royal family for finding a son to take the throne. But even the kings royal staff saw him as a hopeless old man who simply had all the wrong cards and couldnt fold his hand because of his pride.

Desperate was the king when a suspicious sorcerer gained audience in his hall. The sorcerer said that he may be able to bring back the child that had died at birth to the queen. The king gasped, thinking this must be the solution, and asked what the price for the resurrection of his son was. The sorcerer replied, I only wish to help the despairing king, but he must find fresh blood which can revitalize the dead.
Stoic was the king when he commanded mercenaries in the shadows of the kingdom to find the fresh blood of which the sorcerer required. The fresh blood had to be that of living humans. The mercenaries sought out the easiest of prey, weak children of poor farm villages from the outer walls of the kingdom. Swift was their sacrifice, as the process to reawake the dead heir was carried out in the underground dungeons of the kings castle, away from royal prying eyes.

And so, the child was born again. By magic, its premature body grew into normal proportions, then to a normal, able-bodied child. Relieved was the king at first, but as he brought news of the heirs resurrection to his people and family, people were skeptical of the magic of the sorcerer.

It came with time that the child grew with distinguished features; the doting, gentle eyes of his mother, the queen, but no semblance to the king whatsoever. The king was pale and white and had naturally black hair, while the boy had lively tanned-peach skin with brown hair. The king also knew that as a child, he was lanky and weak, but the boy started to display strong arms and legs, much more able than the king could ever be at any time of his royal life. The king started to fear that his wife did indeed have an affair, and thus the heir would not be of true blood.

Regretful was the king at his decision years ago to resurrect his son, only to see that he may not be his son at all. The sorcerer, who resided in the castle after his work for the king, responded, perhaps the late queen suspected her husbands sterility, and had an affair for the kings sake so that his line would not end. The king still did not like looking at his son, feeling no fatherly bond with him, and asked the sorcerer to make his son at least look like the king before others suspected the heir of being illegitimate.

The sorcerer did not require any sacrifices for this deed, however, the son was taken into the dungeon and cuffed in iron links upon a stone table. With harsh magic, the sorcerer commanded the sons body to take on features of the king, and the young boy started to scream in agony as his skin shifted from the toned peach body to a skinnier white form, and his hair changing from the warm chocolate brown to black. The screaming did not stop for hours, nor was this process short. In the end, the young heir fell unconscious, but indeed he looked more like the proper child of the king and queen that would become the next king of the kingdom.

Jovial was the king as he reared his son into being the throne prince. He taught him swordplay, read him all the scholarly works, and encouraged him to be a diplomat and a charming man that would help the kingdom prosper in peace. He finally found peace from his loss, and could now love the son that his wife had delivered.

But vengeful were the eyes of the throne prince, which used to have the softness of the queen. The prince could remember the pain inflicted upon him by the sorcerer by the interests of his own father, the king, all for the sake of not looking like what a son under him could be. He hated his father, and one day he would find a way to inflict such pain that he had felt for such unnatural living upon his father.

Strung across a large canyon deep in the heart of the jungle is an old bridge, one of wooden planks strung across the chasm that sways in the slightest breeze. Wispy ropes, that seemed as if they could break at any moment, connected the thick rope handrail to the planks and strung the planks together. Though the planks look strong and sure, some have rotted out and any weight could break them. The only modern touch to the bridge is two steel bars running across, lending a slight level of safety to the treacherous crossing. Locals call it the bridge to nowhere; standing at one edge, the other fades from sight, lost in the sun. It is a bridge locals will not cross as they know what lays on the other side.

A young man stands at the edge of the bridge, staring across its wide expanse, trying to see what he had traveled halfway across the world for. He took a deep breath, gathering up the nerve to cross. The local man who had brought him here looked at the bridge with fear, running like the devil himself was chasing him when the young man stepped onto the bridge. His warning echoed in the silence of his absence. The young man quickly shoved it aside and started his journey; the doctor on the other side was his only hope to live. He took only five steps before his foot found a bad board and he nearly fell through. Somehow, he managed to hoist himself back up. Panting from the effort, he continued his journey with great care. The closer he got to the other side, the brighter the light around him, obscuring the path and blinding him. By the time he reached the other side, he had been forced to crawl, collapsing in relief once he was back on solid ground.

Once recovered enough to stand, the man glanced around, finding nothing different about this side of the canyon, nothing except what he had come so far for. Nestled in the wild jungle was a small house that both stood out against its jungle setting and blended right in. The man was quick to run up to this little hut and hesitantly knocked on the door which swung open soundlessly.

The door opened into a tiny room that seemed to be the only space devoted to living. Here was a small fire-fed stove with a beat-up kettle on its only burner, a little cabinet next to it the only other kitchen this home provided. A long, thin bed stood in a corner with a small dresser next to it near a low table with two pillows alongside it, functioning as chairs. The grandest thing in this living space was the beautiful wooden desk though it was hard to see it under all of the papers. Even the surprisingly modern desk chair was buried in papers. The walls were bare except near the desk where papers were pinned up, a strange collage of print. Coming off this little room were three doors, one of which surely had to be the bathroom, the other two a mystery as it seemed the occupant's life was lived purely in this little room.

Curious, the young man started across the room but stopped dead in his tracks as the door in the middle opened and a man stepped into the room. He was tall and slim, handsome, certainly, but there was something unnerving about him, something in those crimson eyes, that had the young man shivering, heart racing from fear.

"Odd, I was not expecting a visitor," the man whispered. His voice was raspy as if he rarely spoke and eerily calm despite having just found an intruder, no emotion to be found in crimson eyes. The young man stumbled through an apology and introduction but the man just waved a dismissing hand. "I only have one type of visitor, sit," he whispered, nodding to the pillows at the table.

The young man was quick to obey, watching as the crimson-eyed man put on a pot of water before coming over. Instead of sitting across from him at the table, he cleared off the desk chair and sat in it. Being such a small room, they were still close enough for easy conversation.

The young man opened his mouth to introduce himself and explain his disease but the man again dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I care not for your name or how you have come here as I know why. You are dying, sooner rather than later, and want to live, he whispered. The man opened his mouth to respond but the doctor began talking again before he could, "I can heal you, now if you want, do the surgery right here. We will talk price later."

The man blinked eyes wide in awe as he slowly processed what the doctor had said. It all felt too good to be true. He could really be saved? Without devoting as much thought to it as he probably should, he nodded and exclaimed, "I want the surgery, please!"

The doctor stood up to get the tea from the whistling kettle and poured it into a large mug, walking to the table. "Then drink. Your ordeal will be over by the time you wake up," he whispered softly, handing the mug to the young man. The tea within was an odd green color, the pungent herb smell making him woozy. He could not say what it tasted like as a single sip knocked him out.



The young man had no idea how long he had been out as he slowly came to. His eyes snapped open but the room was too bright and he quickly shut them. He was surrounded by hospital scents in an eerie silence, propped up in a bed and dressed in a hospital gown. He was not in pain nor did he feel stiff. He tested each limb, wincing when moving his right arm shifted an IV there. He had full mobility except for his hands which were stiff and hard to move from how his palms were puffed up and hard to the touch. His fingers still moved perfectly and he used them to continue his sightless search. He had grown a beard, his hair was long and shaggy, covering a scar along his skull, and his ears were pointed. A tug showed it was no prank. There were healed scars across his chest in a Y shape, almost like the incisions made during an autopsy, the thick black thread that had closed them still there. As he touched the scars, he felt something soft, surprised at first that the doctor would leave his chest hair but it wasn't hair, more like fur. His heart was not beating, no pulse to be found. What was this?

The young man opened his eyes and sat up in a fluid motion, feeling stronger than ever as he looked around. He was completely alone in a small, hospital-like room, all white and completely sterile with a long counter on the wall opposite the bed with a large sink and storage underneath. There was nothing to monitor him or any medical equipment beyond the IV in his arm. His eyes caught the large whiteboard on the left side of his bed, filled with strange drawings and notes in another language. The only English words were blazoned across the top in large, bold print; Experiment 106.

As he continued his search of the room, his gaze fell on a mirror and he blinked calmly as he took in the reflected image. There were all the things he had noticed as well as something he had not felt. His lips were black and it had nothing to do with lipstick. What was he? What was he becoming? Shouldn't this be scary somehow? It wasn't. Taped to the mirror was a note and the young man grabbed it calmly, noting but not computing how hard it was to pick up. The note was handwritten in red ink, simple and poignant.

You must have noticed your changes by now. You see, your payment is very simple. There is a very fascinating experiment I have wanted to try and you will be my test subject. For saving your life, it now belongs to me. Your next surgery is at 9.


In the heart of the jungle is a bridge locals dare not venture near for fear of who lives on the other side. People make the perilous journey chasing hope but this bridge is one-way only. No one ever makes a return trip; it is the bridge to nowhere.

At a time, in the beginning, Senath and his brother Raski were fierce warriors. The two were close, and they shared their wealth and women evenly. But Raski grew tired of Senath being rewarded more richly by their master, even though Senath did let his brother reap in his rewards. Raskih was jealous of his younger brother, who was faster, stronger, smarter, and won more ladies hearts. None of this mattered to Senath, who had only been fighting his best in love and war. But Raski could not let go of his jealousy, even when Senath vowed to help him become their masters favourite. Such a title was not so important to Senath, especially if it meant his brother was happy.

But Raskis jealous mind had become twisted and bitter, and he mistrusted Senaths intentions, believing his brother was trying to trick him. When the others slept one night, Raski snuck into Senaths tent as his brother was sleeping, a vorkid blade in his hand as he leaned over his slumbering brother to pierce him through the heart. Luki, Senaths nephini, screeched as she saw what was happening, leaping off her perch and landing on Raskis shoulders, pecking and clawing at his face. Senath awoke to the commotion, seeing his brother and the special weapon in his hand.




Getting up, Senath grappled with Raski, the two of them struggling on the ground, rolling over and over until they finally stopped. Senath pushed his brothers body off of him, quickly getting to his feet as he looked down at the bloody corpse on the ground, the crudely fashioned weapon protruding out of Raskis unmoving chest. The rest of the warriors woke to Senaths loud sobbing and a few of them entered the tent, seeing him kneeling on the ground and hugging his brothers dead body to him.

Angry shouts cried out and their master was summoned, who looked at the bloody scene with a nasty gaze. Blaming Senath from the stories of the other warriors, which were untrue; but nevertheless convincing, Senaths master ostracized him, forcing him out of their land. Forced to wander alone, Senath became twisted and evil, fighting those who crossed his path.

This is Rose, but most call her Dark Rose the Fallen
Nice Version:
Evil version:
She used to be a loyal General of the the Elven army, and no matter what she never turned her back on her home, the Sanctuary of Saerielle. One dark day her heart became corrupted. This story takes place the day she became corrupted.

"How many times have I told you NOT to lure moncids to our doorstep!" Rose yelled " Next time your getting punished!"
" Thats a little harsh dont you think?" It was her best friend, Ella.
" Well, he needs to learn that we dont show monsters where we live."
" He will learn eventually, just give him time." Ella had always been more of a troublemaker than Rose but, had always stood up for the littler ones, especially Nico her younger brother.
Rose raced to the big iron door that blocked the entrance to the Sanctuary, and called for them to open the door.
" Where do yrrou think your going, we have a meeting with the high council in 10 minutes." Rose turned around to see Lady Saerielle hovering over her, her feet floating at least 2 feet off of the ground.
"Im going to check on the Spear of Midnight, I bet monsters are just anxious to get it in their filthy hands."Rose excused herself and zipped out the door. " phew! Im glad thats over! I cant believe I was chosen by the high council to become the Royal guardian of the Spear of Midnight!"Rose whispered to herself. She trudged through the dense forest, until shes finally came to a clearing , and there lay a casket. She searched through her bag , looking for the key to open the Casket that holds the legendary spear. When she opened the casket the spear glowed with a ominous light, and she felt a sudden urge to touch the shimmering spear. She leaned forward and the spears light diminished and a crooked grin spread across her face, she let out a laugh, one so twisted the very ground shook.A screech echoed through the forest andRose laughed even more than ever, her smile reaching even farther up her face. An ogre appeared from the shadows wide eyed from the horror that he saw before him.
" Come with me if you wanna build an army, and destroy the Sanctuary of Saerielle!" Rose laughed once more and vanished into the forest, and still to this day she lives gathering forces to destroy Saerielle.

"No doubt you are wondering how I found you. Yes? Well I won't tell you, you won't live long enough for it to matter any way." The lady with the dragon wings smirked and her hand started to gather energy. "Don't worry to much. I'll make sure your precious notes find another home." With the look of pure terror that filled the old man's face she struck him in the heart. Lifting herself with silent wings, she flew out the window into the silent; moonless night.
She clutched the notes about the Zanians in her hand. The man had known to much about them. It was her job to get rid of interested minds like his. Her power killed with a quickness and silence that made all her class mates envious. She could make it look like anything had happened. The old man, when inspected, would look like he had a heart attack. This, and her skills in stealth, is why she was chosen for most of the 'extermination' missions. It wasn't that she liked it. No, she hated it and would not take the job unless it was a truly good reason. The survival of her race was one of these reasons. She sighed to herself as if thinking the old man should have been brain washed instead. She knew it wasn't possible, because his research had become his life. When someone like that, who only thinks of one thing, is brain washed it breaks them. It was better that he died and she knew it.
"Yia, that you?" It was her little brother. He stayed up waiting for her again, even after he had been told not to.
"Yes, It's me." Yia answered, not at all surprised to find her brother still up. Even in the dim light of the house she saw his purple eyes staring up at her. They were full of hope for a good story. He looked up to her and wanted to be good just like her. Unfortunately his wings grew faster than him and he was awkward and clumsy with them. In a year or two he would grow to match them, but it wasn't soon enough for him.
"How'd it go?"
"Perfect. Now that you know, get to bed."
"But--"
"No buts, Akio." Yia hissed "I'll tell you more in the morning."
"Okay." Shuffling off to bed, he tripped and crashed to the ground. It was a good thing that their parents were heavy sleepers. Yia flinched at the loud noise and then waited for him to get up to show that he was okay. She would have loved to help him, but he would have resisted. He wasn't a small child anymore and hated to be treated like one. She silently walked up the stairs to her bedroom and after changing clothes, flopped into her hammock. She quickly fell asleep and dreamt that she was a human girl. It had always been a secret dream of hers, to be human for at least a day. It was not possible, even communication with humans was not possible.

It started in the year of the third blossoming or 3B. It happened sixteen blossomings ago. The king's wife had died during the birth of their second daughter. His daughter lived but was paralyzed from her waist down for life. Blinded by grief he needed someone to blame and so, he blamed the Zanians. It was their doing. If they had not come to his castle and interested his wife, she would not have stressed herself and would have lived. If they had shared their medicine she could have gotten better. So he outlawed communications with the Zanians and authorized their death on site, no questions asked.All stories or other things about them was also a crime. In the truth the queen was the one who wanted them to come, and no medicine they had could cure her.
Slowly all traces of the Zanians were erased, all traces except those owned by an interested mind or one who lived in the past. The Zanians moved across a wall of mountains. One that could only be crossed with magic or wings. With the Zanians fading from human minds, humans also started to fade from the Zanians' minds. Only a select few knew about the humans, Yia was one of them. They were called the Unli. This is because to the humans it was legal to kill them and their wings were said to have magical properties. Many were hunted for this false belief and the queen of the Zanians believed that it was better to kill a few humans than having to hide like scared mice in their holes away from the cats. She didn't want to be at war, but a few lives weren't any matter to her.

Yia woke as the bright morning sun started to shine through her window. She normally would wake up earlier but last night had been a late night. She walked into the kitchen rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Good morning." It was her mother who spoke first. Her mother, like her brother, had light purple hair. Unlike her brother with his dark purple eyes, she had light violet eyes. Yia was more like her father with dark blue eyes and hair.
"Morning." She answered. There was steak and mashed potatoes on the stone table. It smelled delishious. "Dinner for breakfast?"
"Yes, and we will have breakfast for dinner." It was her father who answered, his deep voice rumbled in his chest.
"Okay." She shrugged and sat down to eat.
Breakfast was really tasty but her brother kept bothering her with questions about her night time excursion was like. By this point in time she had already come up with the perfect story. The problem she faced and why she made up stories about what she was doing, is that no one was supposed to know what she did for the Unli. Unless there was a serious threat, she went about her day like a normal Zanian her age. She had a small day job helping out with her father and mother's metal working business. They made anything from swords to jewelry. She also practiced magic, hand to hand combat, sewing, and read a lot.
"So what did you do last night?" I was her brother asking the same question for the thousanth time.
"Not much. Just flew around and hung out with my friend Jion."
"Oh. How come you leave at night if you're so boring."
"You already know, Jion has a full time day job, besides you're in bed by then."
"Okay... Hey! What is that supposed to mean!"
"Nothing." She laughed and stepped to the side to avoid her brothers tackle. A small chase through out the house ensued. She and her brother were next found in the living room on the couch laughing so hard they could not catch their breath.
It was small moments like this that Yia loved. The comfort of family and the joy of just being alive. This is, after all, the reason she excepted her job. Filled with the reassurance that no matter what happened she would protect her family and the things she loved and she had power to do it, she got up and helped her mother and father with their shop.

Why can you not post images?

I can now

I'm curious about the results of this, is this still going to be a thing?

How do you post a picture?

The Guardians were the protectors of the Land of Myth, were all mythical creatures could live in peace. Their only enemy was the humans who were constantly tried to enter the land. They lived arcoss a great divide of barren desert that kept the two species apart. This story is about one of their queens, Tenamu.



An army of human soldiers with shining armor and raised spears approached the forest. Little did they know that they were being watched. Flashes of green streaked from one tree to another. They were the Guardians, believed to be myths and children's tales. One of the Guardians sprang deeper into the forest and leapt onto the back of a white stag. It shot of through the forest until it arrived at the Mother Tree. The Mother Tree was a tiny sapling, for every thousand years, it died and regrew as a young tree. In front of it stood the princess of the Guardians. She had huge wings that glimmered in the sunlight because every thousand years a young butterfly girl comes from the last seed of the Mother Tree. They become the queens until the next one comes. "My Lady," gasped the Guardian as he dismounted from his stag, "Humans! From the north. In full battle gear."

"They must not pass through the entrance to the next world. We must stop them! It is our job as guardians to protect all the animals that these .... these humans have destroyed. The dragon, the unicorn, the griffin."
The princess's eyes were clouded with anger. "They destroyed my forest and I will not let them destroy this one"

The queen had a dark past. When she was young, she had been tricked into helping the humans. They had told her that she must destroy the forest as an offering to the gods. Her people were so angry that she had vowed to protect the Forest with her life and she had kept the vow.

Now she threw herself into the air and speed toward the battle field. To her horror, a great beast with long talons and a fiery breath started to burn the forest, and aiding the humans. This creature was from the legends. Nothing could stop it except for the butterfly girl. The Guardians fought bravely on but they were tiring. Tenamu, the princess, knew that if she sacrificed herself to save the forest, it would be leaderless, but if she didn't, there would be no people to lead. The Guardians knew this as well but they knew that she was so mad at herself for making her horrible mistake that she would kill herself to prevent it from happening again. Her followers loved her so deeply that they grabbed her arms and tied her up to prevent her from sacrificing herself. Despite her screaming and thrashing, they wouldn't let her go. The battle still raged onward until it came to a standstill. Both teams camped for the night. Tenamu snagged her bonds on a sharp rock and they fell around her. She pushed of the ground without so much as a woosh of air. She leapt into the cool air and felt jubilant despite what was happening. The cool winds pushed her forward and she had to stop herself from screaming in joy, She realized that it was rather strange to be happy when you are about to die, but she didn't care. A guard woke and seeing the discarded bonds, he sounded the alarm. Guardians sprang up everywhere and ran to the edge of the forest. There, the butterfly girl was harnessing the last of her powers. She summoned every ounce of magic from the tips of her toes to the hairs on her head except for a tiny bit left in her heart. Then in a burst of power she released the magic. A giant void opened up and swallowed the army and its creature. The forest grew and expanded until it came to to the edge of the human civilization. Then the queen used the last bit of magic and collapsed. The Guardians rushed to her side and surrounded her. Many began to weep for she had died. But then, her hand uncurled and in it lay a seed. The seed cracked open and in it was a tiny butterfly girl.