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Author Topic: Writing Prompts (M-x-F)  (Read 242 times)

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Offline MagicalPenTopic starter

Writing Prompts (M-x-F)
« on: June 03, 2018, 05:56:15 pm »
Writing Prompts. Looking for Female Counterparts.

If interested, please PM me and DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS THREAD.

Spoiler for Violence


Connor heard the cries of a woman in distress   even over the patter of rain coming down on the rooftops. He grit his teeth, trying to ignore her cries for help. It was her fault for being out in a storm like this when the predators of the street had their pick of the game! But he couldn't, he couldn't ignore those cries. They reminded him of his mother as he huddled behind a crate in an alley much like the one below him. It reminded him of the several nights his mother had cried and screamed like that. It pulled at him until he couldn't bare it anymore.

He slid silently down the slated roof, the rain making the tiles as slick as ice. He dropped silently into the alley behind the three men - not boys like him, but fully grown men - the sound of the rain masking any noise he may have made. His well oiled blade slid silently out of its scabbard at his hip and, as if by magic, two throwing blades appeared in his left hand. Water dripped from his hood and his mask was snug across the lower half of his face. He looked like a shadow as he moved silently behind the thugs.

The woman let out another pitiful sound as one of the thugs smashed his fist into her face. Connor didn't listen to what he said to her, blocking out all sounds, surrounding himself in the silence. Then he let the sound of the rain back in. He heard it dripping from the roofs, the patter of it on himself and those others around him. He heard it dripping into a puddle that had formed below a dip in a roof. He heard it dripping down the length of his blade. And then he spoke, shattering the silence.

"Let her go." Simple words but to the point. He always had to give them a chance when he initiated the contact, giving them a chance to save themselves. The two men standing behind their leader gave a start, clearly not having heard him descend moments again. One was armed with a cudgel, resting lazily against his shoulder. He was a real brute of a man, with a crooked nose broken at least a dozen times and thick, bulging muscles. Connor knew the type well, the muscle in a gang, the type of man that lived to fight and nothing else. He liked inflicting pain on people and got joy out of it. His friend was shorter and slimmer, a wiry man with a scar down the side of his face. Blades appeared in his hand from under his cloak - one was a dagger with a sharp curve to it, no doubt used for slicing and gutting a foe. The other was a short-blade, solidly built with a sharp point, a blocking-and-stabbing weapon. The man surely knew how to fight.

Their reactions played, Connor watched their faces sneer as they realized their opponent was a teen boy, a frame still waiting to be filled out with muscle. Connor had lived a hard life on the streets since his family had been caste out of their home. Years of malnourishment had stunted his growth. He was only 5'8" and didn't imagine he would grow much bigger with out some hearty meals. Now that he had been cast out of the Rats, for being too old, too much of a threat to the older boys, and had survived their assassination attempts, he had to scrounge for every scrap of food, every coin he could find. He hoped the men before him were carrying coin.

"Oi, look at this one!" The Brute with the cudgel said, visibly relaxing at the sign of such a slight threat. "Where'd you get that lil knife, runt? Stole it from some alley cat, eh?"

"Boss, let me have some fun with this one..." The Bladed one said, sneering again in Connor's direction. His voice was laced with venom, another man who enjoyed drawing blood for the sake of it. Connor marked him as more a threat than the Brute.

"Ah, shove off already. Take care of the runt and I'll let you all have a turn with this one!" The Boss responded. He fell somewhere in-between the Brute and the Blade in size, with a lean but strong body. He wore finer clothes and was clearly the brains of the operation, smart enough to keep the others fed and coins in their pockets. Connor well knew the type but didn't recognize the man. His body blocked site of the woman beyond him. The Boss raised his fist again, ready to rain another blow down onto her.

Connor flicked his wrist, sending the two throwing blades slicing through the air. The struck the Brute at the same time, just below each collarbone, causing the mans face to contort with surprise. Not killing blows, but designed to cause the man pain while they bled freely. Connor wanted him to feel the pain he surely inflicted on others. Having bought himself a few seconds from facing two at once, Connor stepped in towards the Blade. He thrust faster than the man expected, the Blade parrying at the last second, Connor's blade slicing an open wound across his arm. His look of surprise was quickly replaced by one of grit and he spun, slashing at Connor rapidly with both blades.

Connor parried, his blade dancing in his hand. A quick jab followed by a two handed blow sent the Blades parrying sword clattering to the ground. Fear crept into his face in the brief seconds before Connors blade thrust through his chest. A twist of the wrist brought his blade free as the Blades curved knife dropped to the cobblestones too. As his body collapsed to its knees, Connor ducked and spun, feeling the breeze of the cudgel pass by his face where his head had been only a moment before. In the same motion, he ran the length of his blade across the Brutes stomach, spilling his innards onto the cobbles too.  The Brute fell to his kneed, dropping his cudgel, shock across his face as he tried to hold his insides in. Connor pulled the two throwing blades from his chest, planting a foot on his chest to do so, sending him careening backwards where the life seeped out of him.

The Boss was only aware of what had happened when he looked down to see the sharp end of a sword burst from his chest, holding their momentarily before being withdrawn from whence it came. He looked down in shock at the girl before him before keeling over face first, eyes glazing over before he hit the ground.

Spoiler for Fantasy Elements

Sam coughed and coughed until he retched all the salt water he could out of his stomach. He groaned with pain, his stomach muscles spasming from dry heaving after the contents of his stomach had finally been emptied. He felt grimy, the salt water leaving a residue on every inch of him. He flopped over onto his back and breathed heavily, trying to get his body back under control. He felt like he had fallen out of a tree and hit every branch along the way.

The storm had hit them in the middle of the night. Sam had been tossed from his berth, rudely woken up when he hit the floor. The doldrums they had been languishing in for the last two weeks, drifting aimlessly on the ocean currents, had given way to the worst storm he had ever experienced. Of course, this had been Sams first adventure on a ship, so he didn't have much to compare it to. The ship had been tossed violently and water had quickly began to seep down onto the lower decks. It was pure and utter chaos and Sam had clung onto a support column for dear life. And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, a jolt so violent that it tore him from his perch shattered the ship. The sound of splintering wood and the onrush of water had filled his head and he soon found himself, stunned, half submerged in the rising water.

Deciding he'd rather die on the deck of the ship and not in its bowels, he had some how managed to climb up through the hatch to the deck, whereupon he slid down to the railing with its list.  The rain pelting down from the sky felt like he was being peppered by pebbles and every wave that crashed over the deck threatened to send him overboard. He figured that that had probably eventually happened - he didn't remember much between clinging to the railing and waking up on the shore.

ON THE SHORE!

Sam grabbed a fistful of sand and examined it as he let it spill through his fingers. They had found the WESTERN LANDS! Glancing around, however, quickly revealed that he was very alone on this Western Shore, perhaps the only survivor of his hip. Debris littered the beach and he spotted a body or two, face down in the water, clearly not alive anymore.

Had Sam come all this way to document the discovery of the Western Lands, only to be stranded on a foreign shore, the only survivor of the expedition?
« Last Edit: June 05, 2018, 07:40:31 pm by MagicalPen »