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Author Topic: A Flexing of the Literary Muscles  (Read 696 times)

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Offline Professor EiranneTopic starter

A Flexing of the Literary Muscles
« on: October 26, 2009, 10:09:24 PM »
((Feel free to hop in. No direction, no purpose this time. Train your adaptability skills))

With a hush and a sigh, a medium sized blackwood bush stood up from its position nestled against the trunk of an ancient oak tree, kicked some sickly-looking mushrooms that appeared to have been growing from the tips of both its boots, which appeared from apparently nowhere) and released a massive yawn, stretching a pair of wiry, muscular, human arms up and out into the air, originating from somewhere within the now standing erect shrubbery. The man-flora then began to walk.

As it strode through the woodland at a healthy gate, though disturbingly quiet, capable of avoiding snapping even the quietest of twigs with an ancient's expertise, the leaves and branches of the plant began to withdraw inwards, as if being vacuumed by some miniature force. As the bush began to disappear, though, it was replaced by more human anatomy. Branches evolved muscles, leaves narrowing into hair strands and falling against his green-tinged flesh to remain only as intricately drawn tattoos.

Eventually, in the bush's wake, continued striding a man of modest handsomeness, fawn-flavored freckles spotting his arms and face, his hair a mane of curly earth brown and his eyes as green and ancient as the earth itself. He was armed with an immature, dimple-tipped smile and a rusting weapon tied to his hip by a belt of vines. The forest child tilted his head up at thrush bird's panicked warbling cry from above and pinching his lips together, replied in a series of whistles and chirps that appeared to immediately satisfy if not outright calm the tiny beast.

It had been a nice nap, the last half century, but if he'd been awakened it meant someone or somethings were disturbing his wood. The Wren did not like disturbers of the wood. Not one bit.

Offline Starlequin

Re: A Flexing of the Literary Muscles
« Reply #1 on: December 29, 2009, 02:11:07 AM »
Mother called them all, summoned them back to the Den, and mostly they went. All Brothers and Sisters turned tail and hurried back to Mother, but not him. He caught something on the wind, a scent, something strange. A tree...a tree was...moving? Hm, Mother and Father never said anything about trees that move. If it moved on the ground, Father said, it could be hunted. Father would know; Father was a great hunter. Everyone in the pack was. He turned to look after Brothers and Sisters, wondered if they smelled the moving tree. It was getting closer. That was VERY strange. Nothing in the forest came closer to the Den; everything knew to go away, away was safe. Did moving trees hunt? Perhaps the moving tree couldn't smell the Den. Stupid tree. He would hunt the stupid tree. He bolted through the forest, quick and graceful and only a little noisy. Did trees have meat? He slowed, listening hard for the moving tree. He could smell it, oh he could smell the tree but it was quiet but the smell was moving so fast now and it was close! He dropped to his belly, his long, sharp ears pricked up, fierce teeth bared in a silent snarl. He was ready. He'd hunt the stupid tree, and it would learn not to come near the Den. He waited, waited like Father taught and tightened his legs. The tree walked into view, short and spindly and--wait. It didn't look like a tree. Trees didn't have legs and paws. It looked like a bear. And it moved like a bear. An angry bear. Oh, no, Mother told him to stay away from angry bears. Would it notice him? Could it smell him? He crept backward, low on his belly, away from the angry bear that smelled like a tree. The angry tree bear walked on, paying him no mind. He leapt back to his legs and sprinted back to the Den, eager to tell Brothers and Sisters and Mother about the tree bear.

Offline noekula

Re: A Flexing of the Literary Muscles
« Reply #2 on: January 10, 2010, 04:31:41 PM »
Awakened by a rustling in the forest, Adelaide let out an annoyed grumble and emerged from a tiny hole, covered in green moss and thick brown mold, to see what was the matter. There was a woodpecker, of a similar height, but twice as wide as her, voraciously pecking away at her tree. Her sparkling cream colored wings fluttered violently behind her shoulders, her face fixed in frustration. Usually, the sight of an angry fairy was enough to make any animal scurry away, but this was a brave woodpecker.

Adelaide tugged on her shimmering lime green skirt while letting out a high pitched cough. For a tiny woman, she sure was loud. The woodpecker looked Adelaide, confused as to why this annoying little nuisance was interrupting the construction of his new home. His gray feathers ruffled quickly, sending a puff of air in her direction. The wave of air sent her back three feet, but the fairy was unshaken.

She approached the woodpecker, crossing her arms over her chest, letting out a grumbling sound. He chirped at her angrily, noting the expression on Adelaide's face shifting from frustration to pure anger. Huffing, she pulled a pinch of dust from her shoulder canister, only to blow it into the woodpecker's face. A struggle occurred, until it was completely quiet and the pink fog had disappeared. She laughed loudly, nearly forgetting to flap her wings and falling to the branch, at the sight in front of her eyes. Instead of a woodpecker, a confused looking beetle stared at her. Finally, some peace and quiet. Or so she thought.

From only 20 feet beneath her feet, Adelaide noticed a dark figure swiftly moving along the forest floor. Curiosity flooded her mind, causing her to swoop down to a nearby tree. From here, she could see the figure. He was somewhat like her, only much larger and not a fairy. Not many humans are present in this forest; This was her first encounter with a human being.

As she leaned forward to examine him closer, she tumbled, lost her footing, and fell with a small crash to the twigs on the floor. She stayed as still as she could, hoping not to catch the attention of this mysterious creature, because she was scared, very scared, of him.

Offline Rainsinger

Re: A Flexing of the Literary Muscles
« Reply #3 on: January 10, 2010, 05:06:44 PM »
Tucked away in the hollow of an ancient oak tree, the owl slept peacefully with it's head tucked under one wing.  It appeared to be a very normal owl, it's feathers a silvery gray.  Scattered about it's small den were a few scattered tiny bones, remnants of it's meals, along with an assortment of twigs and leaves.  Interspersed throughout these, however, were a few little items that stood out as being very atypical for an owl nest.  A shard from a broken mirror, large enough for the owl to view itself whenever it wished.  A few brightly colored beads with intricate carvings.  Even one or two faceted gems.

The silver owl stirred a bit as it heard the noise of someone passing nearby.  Lifting it's head, it opened it's wide eyes, which were an unearthly deep blue.  Clicking it's beak a little, it shuffled to peer out of it's nest, wondering what had awakened it from it's slumber.

Offline Black Orchid

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Re: A Flexing of the Literary Muscles
« Reply #4 on: January 21, 2010, 12:42:27 AM »
Mist covered the stilling water as the man stumbled off his horse and walked closer, he was fatigue, but not wounded as he moved from his horse; just getting out of battle—his country the victor—he was returning home. No, not to the castle, he's been there, that's where he came, he was returning home to his wife and children, until the thick forest began to confuse his war racked body. He was happy to find a large lake, he was quite parched, he could use a drink. He stumbled to the water and looked into it, it was crystal clear, and not just from pollution and filth, but from fish as well, the only life he could see was the little kelp leafs that wished and washed in the water. It was hard to tell if the water even moved if it wasn't for the fact that the lake flowers danced in it.

The man took off his helmet—it was hot—though the forest was cool and calming, he proceeded in removing his chest plate and arm guards. His tan tunic was soaked in sweat, it felt good to feel the cool air; just imagine the cooling water! He lowered his hands into the water, it was amazingly cool, he cupped the water and quickly brought it to his lips, it was ice cold in his mouth. He was suddenly hot, leaning down, the warrior scooped the water onto his face, splashing it freely onto his neck and shoulders. His horse winded as it stumped in place, turning to the animal, he walked over to it and pulled on it's reins—it must be just as tired and thirsty as he was.

But the horse would have none of it as it resisted and threw a fit, before it was pushed to run away, the man stopped pulling and shrugged. The stubborn horse grunted, but made no move to go further as the man turned back to the relaxing water. He reached down in the water again and gave himself another luxury splash; he watched as the water sparkled from the sun as it's ripples caused it'll rainbow like mist to form above it.

As if it was a mold, the water settled back down into it's stilling form; he was amazed at how the lake settled as he looked down into it. The mist began to thicken, but the man didn't notice as he stared at his reflection, but when his squared rugged face began to form into a heart shape effeminate type, he gawked. Once his face became drastically different, he pulled back from the water, but wet hot hands grasped onto his face.

He didn't have to look at the fingers to know they were inhumanly disfigured, he could feel the smooth like scales, and the silken thin webs between them as the the moist skin held his cheeks, the biggest give away was the the woman staring up at him; she had purple tinted skin, with snake like patterns on the side of her eyes and a little onto her forehead, her ears where pointed as she had many of them that fanned around her head—skin like fins were laced between them—her iris was a misty lavender and she had black sclera. Her hair, her hair was something different entirely, even though she was once submerged in water—and was even still wet as proof—her hair was very thick and luscious, it was a porcelain white and shined multicolored; like and white opal stone, she had black pearls strung threw out it.

The man would have struggled, but he was sure this thing was a mermaid, and it was touching him! She closed her eyes and pulled his face forward, he tried to turn his head but she had a sturdy grasp on him—he was a married man—mermaid or not, he couldn't! She opened her eyes as her rounded thulian pink lips pouted desirably, he couldn't, he wouldn't, would he? His stance went slack as she was able to pull him back into her, this time their lips meeting in a kiss. He was unresponsive at first, but when his body started to pulse with energy, he gladly kissed her back.

The horse began to buck, and without a second thought, it ran off into a random direction. The man heard the horse, he was melting into the kiss, but he new his horse was his only strength in this forest, the man pulled back to see it running further from the lake. He turned to call after the horse but his arms were grasped tightly as claws began to dig into his shoulders, he turned back shocked ad reached up to push on her shelled chest, but was shocked to see wrinkled, old fingers. Letting out a cry, the man was then pulled into a crushing kiss as his body set aflame with burning energy.

He helplessly fell into the kiss as the feeling was too enticing; even though his body was quickly withering away, he fell into the vixen as she pulled him from the land and into the water. Once she released him, the warrior's boney corpse fell into the lake as the water began to ripple again, quickly burying his form under dirt, rocks, and sand. The mystical woman collected the man's discarded armor, and slunk back into the middle section of the lake—the mist gone now—her scaled legs kicking under her, the toes was webbed like her ears and fingers. She could have drowned the man, and feast on his flesh, but that was what mermaids did, not soul eating sirens.