I was trying to type up something worth looking at for my fanfiction and I decided that I'd make this thing as a side note :'D I like it, but I mean, angst was never really my thing oo;
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Written By: Khanh Nguyen
Story Format: Original
For: Meh Luffs Traico ;O
Warning: Nothing much :3
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The ground slowly blackened as energy seemed to build. A twisting mass of snakes and rodents rose up from the small patch of earth. Hissing and faint tortured cries drifted on the breeze as a tall form began to take shape. Soon tattered black and white robes were visible, skin pale and creamy as if it never saw the light of day. Yet it had a sick gray pall to it.
Wings of black hung in morbid shreds upon his back looking to be of little use. As if decay had warped them and made useless appendages of once perfect glory. He snapped them out as he fell to his knees several feathers falling to lay in lazy contentment about him. If one were to watch they soon formed into black serpents and slithered off to create mischief of there own.
Lungs burned with the first breath of air it had taken in ages. How much time had really gone past? Slender fingers dug into moist soil as his tortured breaths soon evened out and he lifted his head to peer about. He had come. And woe to any that had incurred a Gods’ wrath for now plagues were to be set upon them. And oh he had not played in so long.
Finally he was free from his chains of confinement where he was put to keep him in line. He hissed then slowly rose to his feet and arced his back, slim arms flexing above his head as he stretched in a graceful curve. Wings were spread wide then he scraped his waist length silver hair back and tied it with a tattered piece of his own robe.
The breeze carried a distinct scent to his finely chiseled nose and bare feet wrapped in long shreds of gray cloth soon turned in that direction. People... Not far and he could hear babies crying and women singing. What had these people done? That was not his concern. Each step he took he left a blackened footprint. A step of death as things wilted and died at a touch.
That wasn’t to say he couldn’t create life but it was not his persona. Not his make up and he walked further until was in the midst of them. Deep onyx irises were speckled with silver and if one were to ever look into his strange shimmering eyes they would see secrets; ageless wonders that only he knew of, a night sky with shining stars, enchanting and captivating as death itself.
A sword hung from his back, settled against his spine and seemed to be held up by air alone. He drew it forth and his lips parted weaving a song that floated on the wind and mingled with the sounds of the small village, as enchanting as any sirens.
Come Beloved
Caressing hand
Kiss my lips
Immortals stand
Gentle lover
Peace it reins
Come to me
Meet your grave
The sword was then rammed into the ground and it sunk in to the hilt, an unearthly cry rent the air as he screamed and from that perfect mouth a black fog hissed forth and soon rolled and coiled about feet. Yet none but his kind, the demons and spawn of dead would see such a thing. It twisted and entwined up bodies and soon the sounds of screams rent the air and he finally fell silent.
He watched without compassion as figures tried to run. As skin rotted and fell off bones, shriveled and shrunken. Like the walking dead they stumbled about and finally succumbed to death. Yet others were harder to destroy and a simple word brought the Delian’s. Flesh eating worms that ate the eyes and tongues from the living until screams were muffled and garbled.
They then burrowed into the brain and those that were graced with this would fall into convulsions with crimson rivers running from empty sockets where eyes once were. Grotesque and gory death was. And nothing was spared down to the littlest child. And their death was special.
They would not rot away or be eaten alive. No for they would be left as flawless in death as they were in life. Innocent faces with sweet smiles. They would simply sleep and never again wake to a cruel world.
Soon the tortured cries ceased and an eerie silence hung upon the air. Death and decay was strong. Once finished the sword was retrieved and flipped back to hang down his spine once more his robes billowing about him as a stiff breeze picked up. A hand lifted and the gale winds swirled about him threatening to toss him to the crimson and death covered ground. Then he began to chant the language harsh and without beauty.
“Streea doer kissa. Mir pholor renor alti'ui.” He muttered his voice sounded like rushing grains of sand. Gravelly, deep and commanding growing in volume as did the winds until they were howling. “ Elgg jal dos kyorl lueth mal'rak ol anthes. Streea doer kissa. Morfeth i'dol ussta menvis." The last was shouted and piercing lights lit the heavens then faded as he dropped his arm.
Then before him the dead began to crumble into dust and ash, soon swept away. And everywhere that blood soaked the ground a tumbling vine of red roses sprouted. The village would look like death no longer. Bringer of plagues he had the right to get rid of them as well. “Death will not haunt dreams.” He murmured and wind died down to a gentle caress that seemed to flow over him alone.
What power this was. And should he decide he no longer liked serving a living God who passed judgment then surely the world would be in danger. Yet none had ever convinced him to change and more than likely he wouldn’t.
Tattered wings folded and he strode away leaving behind death and roses. The vines curled about now crumbling buildings. Yet in the center was a perfect circle of blackened earth where nothing would grow.
And so was the use of Velrose, Angel of Plagues; created to bring death and vengeance. Yet such a thing could not always turn out good. He did not look back as he disappeared into the deep canopy of the forest allowing it to welcome him with comforting arms.
He was to return when his mission was complete and yet… it had been centuries since he had been chained. He had no wish to return to such so soon. The calls of an angry God went unanswered.
-
Lots and lots of critique, please.
Be as harsh as you want, as long as it is with reason.
I won't take you seriously if you say its crap and not point out the specifics.
-
Written By: Khanh Nguyen
Story Format: Original
For: Meh Luffs Traico ;O
Warning: Nothing much :3
-
The ground slowly blackened as energy seemed to build. A twisting mass of snakes and rodents rose up from the small patch of earth. Hissing and faint tortured cries drifted on the breeze as a tall form began to take shape. Soon tattered black and white robes were visible, skin pale and creamy as if it never saw the light of day. Yet it had a sick gray pall to it.
Wings of black hung in morbid shreds upon his back looking to be of little use. As if decay had warped them and made useless appendages of once perfect glory. He snapped them out as he fell to his knees several feathers falling to lay in lazy contentment about him. If one were to watch they soon formed into black serpents and slithered off to create mischief of there own.
Lungs burned with the first breath of air it had taken in ages. How much time had really gone past? Slender fingers dug into moist soil as his tortured breaths soon evened out and he lifted his head to peer about. He had come. And woe to any that had incurred a Gods’ wrath for now plagues were to be set upon them. And oh he had not played in so long.
Finally he was free from his chains of confinement where he was put to keep him in line. He hissed then slowly rose to his feet and arced his back, slim arms flexing above his head as he stretched in a graceful curve. Wings were spread wide then he scraped his waist length silver hair back and tied it with a tattered piece of his own robe.
The breeze carried a distinct scent to his finely chiseled nose and bare feet wrapped in long shreds of gray cloth soon turned in that direction. People... Not far and he could hear babies crying and women singing. What had these people done? That was not his concern. Each step he took he left a blackened footprint. A step of death as things wilted and died at a touch.
That wasn’t to say he couldn’t create life but it was not his persona. Not his make up and he walked further until was in the midst of them. Deep onyx irises were speckled with silver and if one were to ever look into his strange shimmering eyes they would see secrets; ageless wonders that only he knew of, a night sky with shining stars, enchanting and captivating as death itself.
A sword hung from his back, settled against his spine and seemed to be held up by air alone. He drew it forth and his lips parted weaving a song that floated on the wind and mingled with the sounds of the small village, as enchanting as any sirens.
Come Beloved
Caressing hand
Kiss my lips
Immortals stand
Gentle lover
Peace it reins
Come to me
Meet your grave
The sword was then rammed into the ground and it sunk in to the hilt, an unearthly cry rent the air as he screamed and from that perfect mouth a black fog hissed forth and soon rolled and coiled about feet. Yet none but his kind, the demons and spawn of dead would see such a thing. It twisted and entwined up bodies and soon the sounds of screams rent the air and he finally fell silent.
He watched without compassion as figures tried to run. As skin rotted and fell off bones, shriveled and shrunken. Like the walking dead they stumbled about and finally succumbed to death. Yet others were harder to destroy and a simple word brought the Delian’s. Flesh eating worms that ate the eyes and tongues from the living until screams were muffled and garbled.
They then burrowed into the brain and those that were graced with this would fall into convulsions with crimson rivers running from empty sockets where eyes once were. Grotesque and gory death was. And nothing was spared down to the littlest child. And their death was special.
They would not rot away or be eaten alive. No for they would be left as flawless in death as they were in life. Innocent faces with sweet smiles. They would simply sleep and never again wake to a cruel world.
Soon the tortured cries ceased and an eerie silence hung upon the air. Death and decay was strong. Once finished the sword was retrieved and flipped back to hang down his spine once more his robes billowing about him as a stiff breeze picked up. A hand lifted and the gale winds swirled about him threatening to toss him to the crimson and death covered ground. Then he began to chant the language harsh and without beauty.
“Streea doer kissa. Mir pholor renor alti'ui.” He muttered his voice sounded like rushing grains of sand. Gravelly, deep and commanding growing in volume as did the winds until they were howling. “ Elgg jal dos kyorl lueth mal'rak ol anthes. Streea doer kissa. Morfeth i'dol ussta menvis." The last was shouted and piercing lights lit the heavens then faded as he dropped his arm.
Then before him the dead began to crumble into dust and ash, soon swept away. And everywhere that blood soaked the ground a tumbling vine of red roses sprouted. The village would look like death no longer. Bringer of plagues he had the right to get rid of them as well. “Death will not haunt dreams.” He murmured and wind died down to a gentle caress that seemed to flow over him alone.
What power this was. And should he decide he no longer liked serving a living God who passed judgment then surely the world would be in danger. Yet none had ever convinced him to change and more than likely he wouldn’t.
Tattered wings folded and he strode away leaving behind death and roses. The vines curled about now crumbling buildings. Yet in the center was a perfect circle of blackened earth where nothing would grow.
And so was the use of Velrose, Angel of Plagues; created to bring death and vengeance. Yet such a thing could not always turn out good. He did not look back as he disappeared into the deep canopy of the forest allowing it to welcome him with comforting arms.
He was to return when his mission was complete and yet… it had been centuries since he had been chained. He had no wish to return to such so soon. The calls of an angry God went unanswered.
-
Lots and lots of critique, please.
Be as harsh as you want, as long as it is with reason.
I won't take you seriously if you say its crap and not point out the specifics.
