Reserved

Mass ping!

I am doing the Angst Fantasy genre.


Warnings: Major Charcater Death, Angsty Themes

Icy Waters

A thick blanket of snow bathed the usually mossy ground of Alcova. The lake frozen over, all fish long gone. The winter was lasting forever. More elves dying of frost virus or the freezing flu each day. However, two little elven children were not deterred by the weather. Seeming to enjoy it while it lasted, skating on the lake and making snow angels. The boy, Sans was in love, the girl, Vettie was dazzled by the snow. This story is about those children.
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"Come on Vettie! Mama gave me an entire day off to play. Wanna go to the lake?" Young Sans asked as he knocked on Vetties window.

"Yeaaah! Lemme ask father if I can go." Vettie rushed downstairs and promptly out the door and raced towards the forge, Sans racing after her.
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Finally, the little elves raced to the ice, picking up their wooden, handmade skates and swiftly pulling them on, excitement to skate making them rush and trip into the abundance of fluffy snow. They picked themselves up whilst giggling and stepped stiltedly onto the ice. They started to skate, low speeds at first until they were chasing each other and moving dangerously swiftly, unbeknownst to the cracking sounds below their feet or the small flowers growing through the melting patches of snow. On they went, skating in circles, trying their skills in the occasional jump. Finally, exhaustion gradually came to them and they bent over, heaving in air.

"Hey Vettie, is it just me, or are you feeling a bit hot?"

"Its probably from moving around so much, you silly goo-"

Her words were cut out by a gasp as she felt the ice beneath her crack. Sans looked around, trying not to panic, looking for anything he could use to help her as she stood as still as possible. The procedure her father had drilled into her becoming effective. But alas, good luck doesnt always prevail, and she slipped, falling through the icy hole her mistake had made. Sans rushed over as she disappeared into the icy water, water that would kill her if she didnt get out very soon. With no care for his wellbeing, he jumped in after her. He swam down through the depths, his clothes freezing to his body as he searched the darkness for Vettie. The one who he loved. Getting desperate for air and warmth he made a decision. If Vettie was to drown, so would he. He let himself float to the bottom of the lake, black clouding his already darkened vision, when he felt movement next to him, a skin-like rubbery and slimy substance on his arm. He smiled very slightly and clasped Vettie's hand as he closed his eyes and his heart stopped.
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Vettie panted as she climbed out of the hole, surprised that Sans wasn't at her side helping her get up. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body as she searched the ice for him. he was nowhere in sight. Carefully, she trotted off the ice and jumped around to try and warm her up before she started to run back to the village, assuming Sans had gone there to get help. As soon as she arrived, she made her way to the forge, knowing it guaranteed warmth and help from her father.
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After talking with her father and searching nearly the entire village, she concluded that Sans wasn't here. A troop of her father's friends as well as her father walked back to the lake with her, hoping that he would be hanging around there. When there was still no sight of him, the men carefully got on to the ice and she followed them, worry blooming in her chest. They approached the hole that she has fallen through and she fell to her knees, not caring about the further cracking of ice. Floating in the water, were a pair of wooden skates. Sans skates. She was shaken out of her shock as two of the men dived in. She anxiously waited an entire minute until they surfaced again, grim faced, and pulled the limp, pale, waterlogged body of Sans. In his hand, a patch of water weed clutched in a death grip, and an eerie smile on his face.
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I apologise.

This is an angsty fantasy.
There is a couple mentioned in here. It is a gay couple. I'm just giving a warning for those who don't.... care for that. Also, the death includes blood and there is demon possession stuff.

A young elven adult stood outside, breathing in the sweet scents from the garden. That is when his father came to him with good news. "The Great Elf King has invited us to a ball tonight! Isn't that great?!" The older man said. He seemed rather thrilled.
Troy frowned at his father. "Why are you informing me so late in the day? Was this invitation last minute?"
"No, but I forgot to tell you. I thought your mother would have told you. I guess she didn't."
"I will go and prepare then."
It took many hours for the noble family to prepare for this special event. Troy walked out to the carriage that would be transporting them. He saw an familiar person there. "Hey, Armin, what are you doing here?"
Armin's wavy, blonde hair shown like gold in the sun and his crystal blue eyes glinted in the light as well. His eye shape and complexion, though, would suggest he was a Mage from the kingdom of Mae. Mae was the country of magic to the east of the elven kingdom of Sodor.
The servant whirled around, eyes wide. He had obviously been startled. "I- I'm just here because your father thought, well, that I would be useful. I- I am not sure why he thought that. I am to travel with your family to make sure things run smoothly. At least, that's what he told me."
"That is odd. I have never heard of Father bringing a Mage along because he thought they were "useful"." Troy sounded a bit biased towards the Mage when he said this, which made the boy lower his head.
"My apologies," he muttered.
Troy felt really bad for insulting the young man and went to apologize. That's when his parents joined them. As soon as they had boarded the carriage, they were off. Troy sat awkwardly across from his parents. He couldn't help but notice that his mother appeared a bit cross. He was trying to decide how he should ask her what was wrong when the carriage lurched to a sudden halt.
"What in heaven's name-" the duke growled, throwing the carriage door open. He stepped out and motioned for Troy to follow.
Angry villagers had surrounded the carriage and the driver had been shot in the neck with the bolt to a crossbow. One exceptionally gruff looking man stepped forward, armed with an axe. "We have tired of how you rule over your jurisdiction. You have abused the responsibility given to you by the monarchy. We have gathered to end you and your house."
Troy drew his sword as the villagers drew closer. He waited for one of them to make a move. They didn't have to. Another crossbow bolt whistled through the air. Troy saw it and tried to dodge. It embedded itself in his gut. He collapsed, gasping for breath. He had never felt such pain; it was like a fire eating away at him from the inside out. He had never felt his heart slow down like this, getting closer and closer to stopping.
"TROY!!!" a muffled voice screamed.
Then everything went black.
When color once again flooded Troy's vision, he was at home, in bed. His father was sitting there, smiling with relief. "You're okay!"
"Yeah, but.... why am I not dead?" Troy asked.
His father plunged into the story, telling him how Armin had saved his life and healed him. Then he told him how the Mage had faced the whole group of rebels and scared them off. Armin was a hero in the duke's eyes. He said he would reward him someday. He then got up and left.
In the mean time, Troy called for Armin to come to his rooms. He smiled sweetly at the Mage as he entered. "Greetings, Armin. I just wanted to ask you a few things."
Armin bowed respectfully. "Ask away."
"Why did you take the time to save me?"
"I could not ignore the fact that you were dying, my lord."
"Please, call me Troy. It's just that.... well, the servants tend to stay clear of me. I don't know why. I've never hurt them before. I just found it odd that you would so willingly help me."
"I do not want to avoid you, Lord Troy. I see you as you are. I am just afraid."
"Of what?"
"My emotions. What may blossom between us."
Troy smiled softly at Armin. He gestured for the Mage to come closer. When he obeyed, Troy sat forward and brushed some of his blonde hair from his face. "I am curious. What is it you see in me?"
Armin blushed lightly. "A kind and gentle young man with beautiful, warm, brown eyes that express everything you are thinking."
The elf smiled. "And I see a cute little Mage who is shy, generous, and compassionate, whose eyes are bluer than the sky."
And so, a new bud grew upon the rose bush. The two could never have been a better match. As the months passed, the bud began to bloom. However, not every plant can be healthy. Some plants come with vermin eating at the roots.
"Armin," Troy said in surprise, "why do tears stain your face?"
"Do you think I am foolish?" Armin asked. "Do you think I am stupid and uncreative?"
"Where do these questions come from?" He gently soothed the Mage.
"Oh, Troy, dear," a woman called. She was the spitting image of Troy: curly, cinnamon hair, warm, brown eyes, and a doll-like face. In short, she was Troy's mother.
"Mother, have you been feeding Armin lies again?" Troy demanded.
"Feeding him lies? No, I have been feeding him truths." The duchess looked at Armin coldly.
"Well, enough. I have chosen my mate as all young elves must do at some point. Just be at peace with it already."
The duchess turned on her heel and walked away at a fast clip. She had her nose high in the air.
Troy looked at Armin. "Do not listen to her. Look, I got you something." He held up a circular shaped locket of gold, hanging from a fine chain of the same material. "I would've gotten the heart shaped one, but I did not think you would fancy it."
Armin sniffles, staring wide eyed at the gift. "Troy, you shouldn't have!" He said. "I-I can't accept this. We had an agreement-"
"To not go out of our way to please the other with gifts. I know. But I saw it and thought it would look good on you."
Armin blushed heavily as Troy took the honors of adorning him with it. He opened the locket and found it already had Troy's portrait inside. "What of my picture?"
"Beatrice offered to do yours today, if you would like?" Troy replied.
"Yes, please."
They rose together and headed off to Beatrice's quarters. As they walked, Troy got an idea. "Armin, let us make this locket a symbol of us. As long as you keep it around your neck, we will stay together. But if you remove it, then it will symbolize the end of our relationship. Does that sound good to you?"
Armin did not hesitate to nod. He was eager to prove that he really did love Troy and that he was worthy of Troy's love in return. He grabbed his lover's hand as they walked together.
Meanwhile, a womanly figure watched the couple stroll on. The duchess smirked, a plan coming to her closed mind. She would end this vulgar relationship once and for all.
Two nights passed. Armin climbed into bed after saying his prayers. He cupped his pocket in his hands as it helped him sleep. The Mage was out like a light soon after, the locket slipping from his hands; though, the chain was still about his neck. A shadow stood over his bed and slowly unclasped the piece of jewelry. Then they were gone.
The next morning, Armin awoke and slid out of bed. He prepared for the day and was soon on his way out to do his chores and get them done so that he may see Troy later. As he passed a window that had been earned the day before, he paused. He turned to look at his reflection in the glass. His hands flew to his throat. "My locket!"
He took off to Troy's rooms. "Troy!" He called desperately. "Troy!"
"Armin?" Troy asked as he opened his door. "What is the matter?"
"My locket! I-I think it has fallen off somewhere!"
Troy's face became grim as he helped Armin search for it. They searched high and low, but it was nowhere to be found.
"I am so sorry, Troy! I am not the perfect match for you after all," Armin cried, tears now burning his eyes.
"Armin, the chain probably just broke. We will find it."
"No! This has to be an omen. I cannot let you be fascinated by me any longer. Pursue someone else, please!"
"Wait, are you- are you-"
"Troy Evans, I release you." Armin then whipped around and ran away in tears. Troy tried to stop him, but he couldn't keep up.
Troy, not knowing what else to do, went to his mother.
"Oh, you poor boy. The Mage broke your heart?" The duchess asked when he arrived. "Well, we can certainly put him in his place. Then we can find you a suitable soul mate."
"My heart isn't broken yet. I am just so.... I don't even know," Troy replied. His eyes drifted around the room.
"It is alright not to know. But are you sure your heart isn't broken?"
Troy looked at her, then just broke down. "I-I should have seen this coming. Armin is so shy and eager to please! At the first sign of it going wrong, he runs and hides!"
His mother took him into her arms. Troy allowed himself to be comforted. Then he pulled away and rose to his feet. That's when the glint of gold caught his eye from the duchess's nightstand; he glanced quickly at it to find it was Armin's locket. Rage boiled up inside the young elf.
He turned and stormed out, not caring if it was rude or not. His mother had meddled in his affairs for the last time.
Once Troy was in his rooms, he gathered many things needed to travel a one day journey. He recalled something Armin had told him awhile ago. ' In the forest just east of here, there is an old shaman. Not just any old Shaman, either. This one is in a close relationship with the devil himself. If you go to the shaman and offer up your soul and a fee of gold, you will be granted powerful magic.'
Troy did not delay to head east on his horse, clad in a black cloak and a bag of gold tied to his belt. "I will have you, Armin. Once my mother is out of the way."
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It was evening and the duke was hosting a great number of guests. There was no special occasion, but the elven noble had felt like a party. He took his wife out onto the floor to dance.
"Scott, my love," the duchess said, "where is Troy? Shouldn't he be here?"
"Oh, Lenina, you worry too much," Scott replied. "Troy will be here with his usual-"
"Father!" a loud, melodious voice declared. Troy had returned, hanging the doors wide open. He still wore his black cloak, the hood up and watching his face in shadow. "I am here!"
Scott laughed as his guests cheered. "My son! I'm so glad you could join us! Your mother was worried!"
Troy strode confidently towards them. His gaze rested on Armin's locket, now resting against his mother's throat. He felt a wry smile twist on his lips.
A servant rushed in, panic quickening his movements. He bowed to Scott, then said, "My Lord, your son! Your son is.... is possessed!"
Before the duke could respond, Troy made a shooting motion with his hand in the servant's direction. A flash of red energy sent the servant tumbling. A guest knelt at his side to take a pulse. "He- he is dead!"
"Demon!" The large group of guests cried. "Kill it!"
"Hold on!" Scott yelled.
They charged with angry shouts. But Troy simply smirked, completely unconcerned. As the attackers drew closer, Troy clapped his hands together while shouting something in a foreign language. A blast of red light swept through the ensemble of noble elves.
They all froze, eyes wide, mouths open mid-shout. Their eyes could move, glancing around frantically as Troy stepped closer to his parents.
"Mother," he said calmly, "please return that locket to me. It is not yours."
The duchess reached up to the locket hanging from her neck. She was too frozen with fear, though, to remove it.
Troy made a motion with his hand and the locket broke away from his mother. He caught it as it flew towards him. After examining it, he then looked at Lenina. "You have such a closed mind and such blind eyes," he snapped. "But those things will not matter soon."
"Son, what has gotten into you?" Scott demanded.
"No, Father. What has gotten into you?"
"What do you-"
"Mother, you have meddled in my affairs for the last time. I will be wed to Armin; but first, you must die. As of you, Father, you will suffer the loss of your mate and live in misery, for you did not stop her."
"You are not the devil. You cannot deal out judgement as evil as this."
Troy 's eyes flashed with crimson light. "Watch me," he hissed. He held up his hands and prepared to chant.
"Troy!" Someone called.
Troy turned around. His eyes widened when he saw the blonde haired figure in the in the open doorway. "Armin?"
"Troy, what have you done?" Armin asked, rushing to him. His blue eyes were filled with horror.
"What I had to."
"And what was that?"
"Getting the power to wipe out my mother so we could be together, Armin. I am succeeding.... for you!"
"Oh, Troy," Armin murmured as he came to a complete stop before his lover. "You are not doing this for me. You are doing it for you. You are mad because I- because I hurt you. I'm so sorry." Tears brimmed in his beautiful eyes.
Troy embraced the Mage. "No, Armin. I am sorry. I am no longer my own man. I have given my soul to the devil. I must kill my mother and plunge my father into eternal misery. I- I have broken my promise to you." It was the young elf's turn to tear up.
Archers lined the perimeter of the room, catching the gossip of the havoc at the party. They took aim.
"Hold your fire!" Scott yelled. He was willing to talk sense into Troy. He just needed everyone to stop and calm down.
"No!" cried Armin, flinging his hands outward. A green wave shot outward, freezing the newcomers. But it froze the archers far too late.
One of them had already fired before the spell was cast. The spell did not affect inanimate objects. The arrow flew true.
The projectile sprouted from Troy's neck with a wet smack. Troy's eyes flew wide as his knees buckled. The duchess screamed with horror while the duke searched for the archer who had shot his son.
Armin fell to his knees at Troy's side. He did not want to remove the arrow for fear it would make everything worse. He felt helpless. This wasn't as easy as the crossbow bolt that had struck Troy in the gut many months ago.
He waved his hand over Troy's face and green wisps seemed to soak into the elf's flesh. He watched his lover cling to life. Then the Mage cradled him, giving him a quick and gentle kiss on the lips. "Troy? Don't leave me. We will never see each other again."
Troy held out a fist, as if offering something to Armin. Armin held out his hand; a golden locket was dropped into his palm. Then Troy placed a hand on Armin's cheek. "I am so sorry, Armin, my love," he breathed. Blood dribbled from his mouth.
Then he glared at his mother, his eyes turning red. A voice that definitely was not his escaped his bloody lips.
"May the generations after you be cursed. Every child you give birth to shall love someone deemed unworthy of their love. If you will accept this, then the curse is broken. But if not, let it befall to your sons and daughters, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. You have given me pain, Mother, great pain."
Troy's eyes returned to their usual brown color. A final breath leaked from his lungs. His eyes then became glassy, staring blankly at the duchess.
Armin clutched his locket tightly and began to sob. His lover's last words weren't even for him! It hurt him deeply. "Troy?! Troy! Please, please, do not leave me! Troy!" He wailed with despair.
Around him, everyone became animated again. With Troy dead, the spell had broken. Armin silently released the archers, too. "It is my fault! I am so sorry! It is my fault!" He cried.
"I am so glad you agree," the duchess sneered. Her voice was cold and full of hatred as she took her husband's sword. Scott just watched nimbly.
"And since it cost my son's life," Lenina, the duchess, continued, "it will also cost yours. Go to hell, Armin."
Armin bowed his head and let the sword fall upon him.

The End

Pinging self as reminder :P

Angsty Fantasy

**Warning: Blood, gore, miserable death, etc. etc...**


The dragon was alone, so alone.

A whisper against the clouded night sky, the silhouette of the creature faded in and out of sight. His wings were only an echo of the wind that carried them, his tail only a wisp of the night air. A ghost, he had been called, a silent wraith of the night.

But a ghost he was not, nor was he a spirit, for he had no spirit left.

He had been broken far too many times. He had seen others broken far too many times. There was nothing left in the dark eyes that were the remains of a moonbeam. Too many times they had seen, and now they saw without seeing. His heart beat without feeling and his wings carried him without purpose, but to wander alone in the dark, scales the color of the navy blue sorrow of the sea.

The dragon dove swiftly like a falling raindrop towards the edge of a cliff, slowing his fall as he opened the tattered, weary wings that had carried him too far. Remanents of the deaths still hung in the air there, still clung to the jagged rocks. Far away in the silence of the empty darkness, the dragon could hear the scrape of chains ringing out over the cliffside. It was a distant sound, a memory that plagued his shattered mind.

He could still see them falling, wings shredded by jagged claws, down towards the daggers of stone reaching up from the bloodied ground. He could still see the body of a hatchling striking the earth, her chains in pieces from the drop, her remains twisted and mangled, nothing but blood and splintered bones in an unrecognizable heap.

He could still hear their screams.

He felt the weight of his own chains around his limbs, heavy and cold. He remembered watching them all be thrown over the side, one by one. He remembered straining hard against his bonds, thrashing and throwing himself against the restraints, trying to escape this horror, mad with rage and trembling with terror. He heard his anguished cries as he was left on the rocks to rot away with the dead down below. He remembered the one that survived, writhing, shrieking in agony. The horrible, wretched sound came again, and the sight of the dying dragon flashed behind his eyes. He heard him calling out to his daughter, dead somewhere with the others, a hapeless carcass of silent pain, of violence, of stolen life.

He could not shake the putrid smell of death from his nostrils after being imprisoned on the cliff edge for so many days, so many weeks, raving mad, desperate to get away from the blood, the torment of watching them all die, again and again, seeing their remains reduced to ashen bones, listening to the memory of their screams for eternity.

He remembered when he escaped those chains, remembered when he had finally won his freedom after his timeless struggle. He recalled the sound of the rain falling as the sky mourned, knowing he was never truly free of the nightmares he had witnessed.

He had flown for days until he found the shelter of a small cave tucked away in the mountains in solitude, and he had at last lain down to rest. His soul had eaten away at itself, the images and sounds consuming him until he dwindled away into this saddened, beaten state, this empty body in which nothing stirred but the weak beating of his heart.

The dragon looked down into the face of the dark, stone grave. Perhaps, he thought, he should join them. Maybe he could throw himself down, down, down into the black abyss and lay there until it all ended, until forever faded away. Would it be enough, to join the death that plagued him day and night, every second, every piece of his conscience?

He continued to gaze hollowly into the dark as a warm night breeze brushed his frail existence. He could just see the tips of the stone teeth illuminated in the soft, sad moonlight. Would it be enough? Would it be worth it? Would throwing himself in the face of his deepest nightmare save what little he had left of himself?

The moonbeams danced on the deep, saddened scales as the dragon stepped forward and spread his wings out to the empty, unforgiving landscape one last time.