Magical Writing Prompts (Seeking F Only)

Started by MagicalPen, June 22, 2013, 05:43:19 PM

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Ragnar was fighting for his life.

Flames licked up around him, singing his hair, singing his furs, filling the air with the smell of burning flesh.

His shoulder ached and burned where the arrow lay buried in it, half of the shaft now broken off. His lower back was much the same, though the arrow as not embedded as deeply as the one in his shoulder.

Blood leaked from his broken nose and countless cuts across his bared torso. His people never fought with armor beyond padded leather and fur. His kilt was the only thing protecting his modesty. His blue tattoos - on face and body - caused fear in his enemies and provided him with the power of his Ancestors.

His sword was bloodied but still reflected the light of the flames that were consuming his peoples village. Several new notches scarred its surface. His spear was in a similar state, its shaft now stained a darker color as fresh blood coated it, even making its grip hard to hold.

And still they came at him, arrows arching through the air, the fire reflecting off armored bodies. He left a trail of bodies in his wake but his muscles were starting to protest, his legs starting to grow weak, his lungs gasping for breath that seemed to escape him.

Ragnar had been out hunting in the nearby woods. A fresh deer was slung across his shoulders, brought down by his spear in a single strike. Darkness had settled in as he had walked back, but the smell of smoke on the air and the glow peeking through the trees had alerted him that something was not right. He had dropped the deer at the edge of the treeline, his padded feet sprinting across the open ground as he came to the aid of his people, his clan, his family. It was too late though and he knew it. But he wasn't going to go down with out a fight.

There were just too many of them.

His brain became heavy and labored as his energy wavered. A searing pain registered as a blade slashed across his arm. The wind was knocked from him when he crashed into a solid shield. And then the blackness came when a blow cracked across the back of his head.

My On and Offs
When the Ink Runs Dry

Looking/Available for New Games


Sole Survivor

The King was Dead.

Sir Konrad Roht had witnessed it with his own eyes. There was nothing he nor the rest of the Kings Guard could have done. The thought still haunted him.

The Battle had not gone well from the start. The King was certainly no tactician but he didn't listen to his advisers either. Konrad would know - he was always at the Kings side. The King had sent the troops in to attack. After a brief engagement, the enemy troops in the center had broken rank and retreated - at least the King thought so. Against better judgement, he poured more men into the gap. Konrad had closed his eyes then, shaking his head. He didn't need to have eyes to see what happened next.

The retreating troops suddenly stopped, turned around, and reformed in a ploy that was quite obviously planned all the while. The flanks had then closed in, reinforced by additional troops, cutting of the Kings Army that had rushed into the gap. They were surrounded on all fronts and pincher movements of heavy Cavalary slammed into their sides. It was a blood bath, a murder hole. And the battle was lost in that instance.

But King Baldimere was blind. He was enraged and instead of sounding retreat, had led a charge down to try and break through to the trapped men. Admirable, if not for being Baldimeres Folly. Konrad was by his side the whole time, hacking and slashing at everyone who approached. Konrad was perhaps the best swordsman in the Kingdom after all. His Kings Guard armor was intricately decorated with Silver. It was often that the Kings Guard were called into combat, but under King Baldimere they were certainly paying their dues.

Wading into battle had been a fatal mistake. For King Baldimere, for the Kingdom. For Konrad.

The chaos of battle surrounded them. The ground was slick beneath their feet, covered in blood and corpses. Rivers of blood now flowed over the ground, turning the nearby river red with gore. The Kings Guard, under Konrads orders, now disobeyed the Kings order to attack and started to try and extract the King from Battle, forming a ring around him as they carved their way through the army that surrounded them. But there were just too many in their way and their progress was halted until they were backed up against the river. Men in armor could not swim and there was no time to remove such things with a battle raging around them.

And then it happened.

A crossbow bolt slammed into the side of the Kings neck before another punched through his armor and into his chest. Baldimeres eyes rolled into the back of his head and he didn't have time to utter a single word before his legs collapsed, the life escaping from his lips with a last exhale as he fell dead. His Army - or what was left of it that hadn't fled already - threw down their weapons or fled into the hills. But no such option existed for the Kings Guard. The press intensified seconds later and one by one they fell. Konrad would know. He was the last. A Giant of a Man bearing a war-hammer bore down on him. The impact against his chest sent him flying off his feet, backwards, and into the murky water of the river he was pressed against.

Konrad sank like a rock before the current tossed and turned him. Darkness soon claimed him, his lungs burning for air.

Konrad slowly awoke, finding himself strewn about the roots of a tree in a Swamp. Where he was and how he got there, he had not the vaguest of clues.

My On and Offs
When the Ink Runs Dry

Looking/Available for New Games


The deck of the ship disappeared beneath Richards feet. He floated in midair for what seemed an eternity, before the deck rose up and slammed into him. His legs buckled and he slammed onto the deck. He had just enough time to grab onto the railing of the nearby staircase before it heaved again, allowing him to hold on and not get nearly as battered.

Water poured down the hatch and quickly soaked him. Thunder roared overhead but all he could hear was the pelting rain and crashing waves as the ship was tossed around like a rag doll. He didn't have time to think about being sea-sick anymore either. He was hanging on for dear life.

A sickening crash overhead let him know that something -probably a mast- had broken. Splinters filled the air as the hatchway disintegrated. He had no idea what had destroyed it. The next wave poured down the stairway and nearly made him loose his hold. A body - a sailor no doubt - thudded down the stairs too, lifeless, one shoulder pulverized. Richard started up the stairs. He needed to lash himself to the deck. He'd surely drown below decks. The ship was clearly sinking.

My On and Offs
When the Ink Runs Dry

Looking/Available for New Games