Death and Killing!

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Iliana, Jun 15, 2012.

  1. Parting is such sweet sorrow. Or so they say.

    For some role players, death is actually a very fun subject to work on! There are so many things you can do when working on the death of your character or another. Intricate ways to die, maybe a monologue before their last breath, maybe even a tragic and romantic scene like something out of the play Macbeth. For other role players, it is a very touchy subject, one very reluctant to follow through with but is necessary to make the role play as interesting and golden as it could be.

    Killing other characters is usually the fun part of role playing. Just like the Battle and Villain exercises, try to tie the two in to each other, except actually ending someone's life! You don't necessarily have to be the villain, and you don't necessarily have to have an all out battle. You can do something so simple as poisoning a glass of wine! The point is, details and imagery are VERY IMPORTANT when explaining how a character dies! You have to get gruesome! You have to get morose!

    Many people have their own views of role play deaths, especially when it comes to their character. They figure, "Man, I have worked my ass off on this character just to kill them off or have them killed off? Man, what the balls, man?! D:<" They believe that killing off the main character would basically be ruining the story. Well, no, not entirely. There are enough NPCs in a role play to keep it going even after the main character is gone. It also gives room for another main character to stroll in and take their place. usually deaths have some significance, and, depending on the genre, sometimes, they don't actually die. The posters just make it seem like they did!

    Sneaky Sneaky. >:3

    Your Job is To: Write a post in which your character DIES or you KILL someone else!

    You may pick the scenery, location, and add any other people in it as you wish! And remember: Length does not matter! Detail does!

    Lastly, and most importantly, Have fun with this! :D
     
  2. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    Her hands were cold and numb, drastically different than the last time I held them. Her face, which was so full of life before, was bleak and her lips were pale and chapped. "Don't make me do this," I begged, barely audible. I received no response, and I sighed. This year was supposed to be special. She was going off to college in less than a month, and instead of spending our last few weeks together as a family, here we were; sitting in an all too clean hospital, one of us with tubes and machines hooked up to every limb, just to keep them alive. I looked over at my wife who hadn't said a word since we entered, instead staring at one of the monitors that displayed our daughter's vitals.

    I watched her for several minutes, but she didn't return the look. "I'm going to do it." I announced, the words getting caught even as I was saying them. "I-I know it's the right decision." Hot tears began to well up in my eyes, and I had to try not to choke on the lump forming in my throat. I needed to stay strong. I was doing what was best, but as I let my gaze fall back on my little girl, doubt nearly overtook me.

    "How is letting our child die the right decision?" Voice shaking, my wife turned sharply and stormed out of the room. I wanted to console her, but I couldn't move. I stayed by the side of the hospital bed, refusing to budge. On it was a girl, barely eighteen, who did not deserve this. I sat there, and wondered if the driver who had hit her knew how important one girl could be. I bet they didn't know her favorite color, or what school subject she got the best grades in. They weren't there when she took her first step, or felt the pride I did when she said her first word. What about losing her first tooth? Or when she announced her first crush? Did they drive her to her dance recitals and support her when all the other dads were watching football?

    I inhaled deeply, finally letting my emotions and memory overtake me. I cried and squeezed my little girls hand, every day I spent with her, even ones that I had thought were forgotten, flooded back to me in a single moment. I reached out to stroke her strawberry blonde hair, and stood. Time slowed as my tears stopped and sometime during my break down, my wife had returned with the doctor. He began speaking but the nothing registered. I remember nodding, but not actually hearing his words. When all was said and down, we knew what was going to happen.

    The doctor moved over to the end of the bed, his face serious. He felt bad, but he was distant. He had seen this a thousand times before, and by now had learned not to let these types of things get to him. I could see it in face and I wondered how a man could be so detached from death. He looked at me expectantly.

    "What?" I blurted, mind reeling.

    The doctor shifted uncomfortably, obviously not enthused about repeating himself. "Sir, would you like to...." He paused, searching for the right words, "Turn it off?" Turn off the machine keeping your daughter alive. Turn off the machine that would end her life. Turn off her existence.

    I said nothing and walked over to where he was. He pointed to the right switch, and in the background my wife began to wail. I became highly aware of the soft beeping emanating around the room as I let my finger flick the button. The beeping ran a few more times until it slowed down and finally ended in a long, agitating note. As my only daughter laid in that hospital bed, body bruised from head to toe, various bones broken and with little sign of mental activity, I couldn't turn away.

    I couldn't say good bye.

    OOC: Another rough post by me! :D I decided to go down a softer route than my last RP Academy reply. I'm not really that great with emotional scenes, but I thought I'd at least give it a go. I like to switch things up. lol
     
  3. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    I may have a go at this challenge later but at the minute I'm too teared up ._. (thanks V)
     
  4. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    The skies were black and the clouds were booming, a storm was on the way. But, this wasn't going to stop Kah from fighting his arch nemesis, Guivancio. The two had been in locked combat for about two hours now. The battle had begun in the kingdom of Larenta and was now taking place somewhere deep within the forest outside of the kingdom. Even though the confrontation was no longer within Larenta, the citizens could still hear the sounds of clashing and magics colliding. These two were far above average magic users. Kah was everything that represented Nature and Life while Guivancio was everything that destroyed what Kah was. The time to stop the world from this impending doom was now..Kah would not allow it to fall.

    "You've grown soft...What's the matter? Can't kill me, brother?"
    Guivancio chuckled while changing stances for his next attack. The dark bladed sword he was using, filled with darkness, rose up so it was near his face. The tip of the sword was facing towards Kah.
    "I will not kill you, Guivancio..You know I am the protector of life, and I avoid killing anything at all costs."
    Kah closed his eyes and tightly grasped his staff. Raising the staff so it was blocking his face.
    "Damned fool..Your kindness sickens me!"

    Guivancio leaped forward. Holding the blade over his head, ready to cut down. The blade began to glow strangely, looking as though it was empowered of the sorts. The blade collided with the staff as the two men resumed their fight. whacks and clangs, thwacks and clings..Neither of them would let up or lower their defense. Though the brothers were trained in different styles and techniques, the way they fight was flowing like a well-orchestrated symphony. The blood pumping, sweat dropping, and amount of focus could be well placed and highly noticed. The outcome was basically which brother can outlast the other?

    A loud scream came...It was over..

    The brothers stood close together, exchanging looks. Guivancio frowned at his brother, who had his eyes closed. Kah was biting his lip and his clenched fists loosened dropping the staff. Kah slowly opened his eyes, seeing his brother's seeming disappointment, then lowering his gaze down to see the sword lodged into his chest. The pain was excruciating, Kah could feel the evil of sword scraping through his insides slowly. He had to remove the sword quickly..If he was to die..It would not be of the entity of nature tainted with darkness. Placing both his hands on the hilt of the sword, Kah began to attempt to pull the sword out.

    "Arghhh.."

    It was worse trying to remove the sword himself. What was scraping at his insides before, dug into him more when he tried to pull the sword out. Kah released the hilt, wincing in pain. Guivancio grunted as he swiftly removed the blade from his brother's chest, causing blood to coat the grass. The blade in Kah's chest was the only thing that kept him alive for that period of time. Kah fell to his knees looking at the ground, covering his open wound with his right hand; which was now covered in blood. Guivancio turned away, sheathing his sword.

    "I expected you to end me..But, you couldn't allow yourself the guilt of killing someone, especially your own brother.."
    Guivancio looks over his shoulder.
    "Even though you're my enemy...You're not going to hell..."
    Looking away once again, as Guivancio walks off. Disappearing into bits of darkness that floated in the wind.

    The brewing storm, now unleashed its rain upon the land. Kah struggled to get up, but just didn't have any energy left. His blood was still escaping through the wound; even though it was covered by his hand. Kah could feel himself fading, and the sound of his heartbeat pounding loudly, but slowly. Everything around him began to blur, and the sound of the downpour was completely gone. He fell onto his back, staring up at the dark clouds. Kah took slow breaths, trying to make them last. He knew he was running short on time and there always had to be a defender of nature..His hand was dead-paced as he moved it to the ground, covering the one spot of grass with blood. Trying muster his last bit of strength so his fingers dug into the dirt..Hearing his heartbeat felt like a countdown..Each second growing longer and longer..Kah closed his eyes. Darkness was he saw, and the raindrops were all he felt..Kah's final thought was how he was able to protect his land for so long and how well he..did...so. A sigh of accomplishment, which was his last.

    Moments after passing on..The ground under his body sprouted out roots and vines which began to wrap over and cover the deceased protector until none of his body showed. The giant clump containing his body slowly began to sink back into the ground covering the holes with patches of fresh grass growing in place. The ground had returned to normal, but there was a small hill indicating that someone was buried there. One last vine seeped out grabbing hold of the abandoned battle staff and forced it into the dirt at the head of the mound.

    This was the end of one protector..But another would soon rise.


    I did my best with this one..Spent almost all day on it.
     
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  5. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!


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mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> The man wandered through the empty air vents, the booming voices below covering any sounds he could make as a tornado would drown out the rain. He was running out of time. The President would be making his speech soon, and after him would come other heads of state. He was far from worried, though. No one knew he was there, except the others with a similar assignment to him, and he intended to keep it that way as he made his way to the vent he wanted. He chanted a quick few words, as the grate dissipated into smoke without a sound. He looked out into the room, and saw the layout, exactly as the scouts had reported.


    The room was…plain, for the most part. The modern world certainly lacked the decorative flair that the Circle of Orion tried to retain. No matter, that made it easier to see, and unfortunately also easier to be seen. However, the Yellow Arrows were known for their discretion, and he managed to get to a position where he could not be seen. People from perhaps fifty countries filled the room, heralding a new treaty that would help to bring about world peace: The abolishment of the standing army. It had taken the Circle quite some time to get this bribe going, and the exact details of how they managed this were unknown the bowman, but that was not his concern anyway.


    No, his worry was the current leader of the Catholic Church, Pope Alexander II….or something like that. His name was unimportant. What was important, however, was that he was about to speak on behalf of the Church about how important this day was in brining everlasting peace to the world. The old man was a fool if the archer ever saw one. The roar of applause led to the drawing of a heavy bow from the man’s back, it was sleek and polished, designed for accuracy, and for beauty as well. As the pope took the stage, an arrow was nocked. As the man began speaking, the arrow was drawn, leveled with his heart. The seconds passed. One…two…three…four…the archer counted to seventy, and loosed the arrow. In seconds, the entire room was in chaos.


    The ornate robes of the man were now stained with blood, and three arrows protruded from his body in different directions. The elder fell to the ground, still gasping for air, as per orders, He was to die slowly. The first half of the assignment was done…and the second was just beginning. As security forces began ‘securing’ the area, red spurts began gushing from random men and women in the room. The mage that had been sent with them was doing his work. People were not dying, yet, but they were receiving cuts and blows across their bodies without explanation. Then the next rain of arrows came, these landing the killing blows, as the dignitaries of lesser nations were ended. Arrows landed in foreheads, arms, legs, hearts, lungs…everywhere, but the dignitaries of the powerful nations remained untouched. I smirked at the odd order, but her ‘majesty’ would command as she willed. This was the Circle’s first move…seeing how effective it could be in the modern world, how much chaos and confusion it could cause. It looked to be very promising.
     
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  6. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    Part 1 Here

    Part 2 Here

    ___________________________

    Lucian watched as the winged lizard rained fire down on his army, hands balled into tight fists. How? How had these... these children managed to summon down a dragon?! Even he, one of the most powerful mages known in all the nine worlds, had not been able to successfully bring down a dragon from Altheria. And all he could do was watch as the great beast roasted his army. Scowling, the cloaked man turned back to his seat, setting himself down to watch the events unfold, fingers tapping irritably against the arms of his chair. This was not meant to happen. How could the fates, who had been so kind as to grant him the power to access the lands of the orc, end his campaign before it even began? He hadn't even been able to lead his army into the Kingdom of Men. He didn't care if it would make him seem a child throwing a tantrum, he let out a discharge of magic, taking half of the opposite mountain face clean off.

    His army had run. The one's that could, anyway. The valley below was littered with burnt and maimed bodies, a perverse mix of black, green and blue. The remaining orcs that had not run were those too maimed to move, their screams echoing between the two mountains. They drowned out the sounds of approaching footsteps until they were right behind him. He didn't acknowledge the person they belonged to, his eyes trained on the dragon, the proud creature circling the valley.
    "It's over, Lucian." The voice was light, calm. And greatly annoying. Of course it would be the priest. "How did you do it, Viserus?" The words were quiet, with a soft undercurrent of despair. "How did you summon the beast of legends?" There was silence for a moment, growing and swelling between the two mages. Finally, it grew strong enough to prompt Lucian to turn in his seat to give the priest a glance. The look on his face said it all. I hadn't been just him.

    The mage gave a sneer, standing and coming up to the young priest.
    "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I strike a nerve?" His tone was mocking, wanting to get in the last few blows before he left. It earned him a hard smack across his cheek, a red mark flaring across his skin. Lucian laughed. "Really, brother? You still can't bring yourself to truly attack me?" His smirk widened as he turned back to see the fury in his brother's eyes. "Leave Lucian. And if you return, know that I will end you." The cloaked male sneered, walking past the priest. "Of course, you realize I will not be coming back alone?" He received no answer, and didn't feel the need to stick around to wait for Viserus to think of something to say. He tore open a portal, stepping through, back to the now empty lands of the orc.

    Or, that had been where he intended, but that wasn't where he ended. A look of shock crossed the mages face as he took in his surroundings. It was a world of black oblivion, a world of nothingness save for the platform he stood, and the six thrones that sat around him. In each throne, there was a cloaked figure, their features covered by their hoods. The fates.
    "Why...?" One raised their hand, and Lucian felt his mouth shut. "It seems we overestimated your skills, Lucian." The voice was whispery, and ageless. It seemed to come from everywhere, yet he knew exactly which one had spoken. "No matter. We now know what they are capable of. We shall find someone who will end them." There was a sound of cracking glass, Lucian looking down to see the platform he was on was beginning to break. He looked up, trying to plead with the fates, but his lips refused to open. "You were a useful tool, Lucan. For that, we shall make sure your next life is peaceful." The mage took a step back, and the platform shattered. He fell into the infinite blackness, silent and terrified.

    The fates were silent for a moment, before one turned to another.
    "Are we truly planning to bring filth like that back into the world?" There was a shake of the head. "You wound me! Do you truly believe I would care so much to bring someone so pathetic back into the realms of the living?" A hissing laugh echoed through the blackness, resounding. Never ending.
     
  7. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    On her spaceship, the prophet looked into the murky depths of her own future, but she saw nothing except pain and unending, eternal torment. There was no mistaking it, her fate was to die here, on her own ship, to be slain by an uknown who wields so much power that he could crack the entire known universe with one snap of his fingers. She knew everything about her opponent, his name, his past, his present and even his future, but more importantly, she has seen into the depths of his soul, and there she saw nothing but emptiness. He had no emotion. He had no fear. He had nothing but his vow that kept him with this world, a vow of revenge against the species that destroyed his home.

    Suddenly, she felt his presence behind her. Turning back, she saw the man she was expecting: a ruthless killer in the shell of an ordinary human, a perfectly logical existence that knew nothing but his own plans. Death itself was wrapped around his body, yet the killer did not pay attention to it, treating Death as a mere companion evan as his steps echoed Death's voice. Upon seeing this, the prophet was overcome with fear and used all of her powers to focus on the man so that she may predict his next move, so that she may dodge his attack and return one of her own to destroy him once and for all. However, for the first time in her life, her precognition has failed her.

    All the man had to do was to raise his twin pistols to the line of the prophet's neck and pull the trigger. The bullet exploded from the chamber, gaining momentum and kinetic energy, making its way towards the helpless prophet. Then the bullets mercilessly tore into her neck, tearing through her vocal chords with ease, tearing all the tissue to pieces, and then exiting on the other side of her neck.
     
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  8. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    "So, this is where it ends, huh? I can't say I'm too thrilled. I was expecting something a little more flashy."
    Drifting amongst the wreckage and debris of the battle, was a single man - bloodied, beaten, cut.
    Dying.
    The mech battle had been arduous and hard fought, with both combatants suffering injuries that were, no doubt, mortal wounds. While one had simply been finished off, his remains now scattered indefinitely amongst the stars, the blackness was yet to engulf the other, the darkness of space already making its move. His suit was heavily damaged, and even in the event of him being able to keep his wounds from destroying himself, its life support functions would fail within minutes. Unable to move, he glanced at the particles that meandered by his line of - rapidly fading - sight, noting that some where droplets of his own blood, now leaking from part of the suit. Communication was impossible, and nobody was around for an incredulous distance - it was safe to say that he was to perish on his own, gazing upon the wreckage of his own mech, staring at his own lifeblood as it mocked him to his face. He was simply talking to himself, and though not socially acceptable in most circumstances, he decided to make an exception, on the grounds that it did not matter what he did at that particular moment.
    The pain in his body had long since numbed, being so great as to stop him from actually feeling anything, though he knew what was sticking into him, and what was bleeding. He coughed, even spluttered - forcing more of the dark, warm liquid to eject itself from his body. A smile played on his face as he accepted his own mortality, understanding that he was finally leaving. That the world of strife he had been forced into was no longer his to fight for, that the vice that had clamped itself upon him no longer held any power over his actions. He was liberated - the only true liberation he had ever known.
    Death.

    It's been a strange life, my one. I've loved, I've lived, I've hated. I've smiled, I've laughed, I've cried, and I've grieved. I've made friends, enemies, and maybe she loved me... But that doesn't matter now. I'm knocking at the pearly gates, and it looks like somebody's answering the door. I honestly can't say I don't feel content about what I've done. I did what I could, I lived how I liked, and even the shackles society places upon us all were loose upon my ankles. Death was an inevitability. Life was just the road to it. I've been a fool to fear death. And, while I may have been a fool to believe in peace, I still needed some sort of dream.
    Humans are fickle beings. The need to fight is in our nature, but so is the need to love, and be loved. Hate flows in our veins, but what is it but the result of prior hate? What is anything, but the next link in a chain reaction? Is my death yet another link in the chain of destiny? What will become of this world, with all who inhabit it? What will become of the future? I guess I won't see it, but I guess I'm fine with that.

    "Captain Charles Browning, signing off. God bless each and every one of you magnificent buggers."
    And, with those parting words, his eyes closed, and the darkness finally closed in.
    Browning died with smirk on his face.
     
  9. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    [I need a hug so badly right now. T.T ]

    Two armies had raged over Hellebore field for the better part of six hours, from dawn until the noonday sun had risen overhead. Neither side had given quarter, not King Ethelred or Duke Gheralt and his rebels. Both armies had dwindled from thousands to less than a hundred each in the brutal melee and neither could consider it a true victory. The usurper was grievously injured and his brother had been cut down hours before, felled by a peasant-wielded partisan that caught him in the throat. All but one of his champions were dead or captured and she, the youngest of them all, was just slipping away.

    Calanthe stared upward, slowly feeling the pain leech out of her limbs and chest. She could see Talca looking down at her, cradling her head in her hands. She had taken off her gauntlets, and Calanthe could feel her old friend stroking her long, golden hair. She'd always loved it when Talca had stroked it, deflecting her self-deprecating comments about her own dull, brown braid. Like this, at the end, she couldn't really be angry. Nothing really mattered now.

    The two were clad head to toe in plate armor, steel sheets encrusted with gore and churned earth. So many had died on Hellebore field that day that their blood had turned the ground to mud, though the sky was blue and clear. Talca glared at a crow that landed on a dead horse just a few feet off. "Get away!" she shouted. "There's plenty for you elsewhere!"

    Talca let her eyes flicker away from the scavenger, focusing on the long sword sticking through Calanthe's breastplate. Her sword. It had been the best thrust of her life.

    "I remember teaching you that," Calanthe murmured, "The feint that's not a feint, to slip through your enemy's guard. You never could get me to fall for it, could you?" She tried to laugh, doubling up in pain as the blade dug into her.

    "Save your strength," Talca begged, trying to choke back tears. "You'll be okay. It looks much, much worse than it really is. The duke treats prisoners well. We'll get a surgeon and I'll take care of you, I promise." She ran her hands over her friend's cheeks, trying to bring a little life back into them. Calanthe looked so pale, like one of the Duchess' china dolls with her long tresses and half-lidded, blue eyes.

    "I always loved to hold you like this," the dying girl sighed, reached a hand up to touch Talca under the chin. "You got to return the favor." The words were kind, sing-song, the sort of thing that lovers were supposed to say to each other on pretty, summer days like this one. Birds were still singing, and there was something about the stillness of it all that made it perfect for the two of them. "Calanthe," Talca breathed. "I love you. I always have." She swallowed, waiting, praying for a reply.

    There was no response. The sprawling, mutilated girl was beyond speech. Her face was cold, her open eyes glazed and unseeing. Her blood pooled on the ground, slowly becoming one with the slime that held them all down. The rebel knight gritted her teeth, eyes finally overflowing. What did freedom matter to her, or justice, or the Duke? All that she cared about was right here, mangled and broken by her own hands. "I didn't want this," she moaned, her voice lost among the putrid stink of the dead and the dying. The crow, startled at this, flapped away cawing and screaming. Teardrops ran down Talca's cheeks, streaking through the filth and falling onto Calanthe's dead, upturned face.

    Talca leaned in and kissed her on the mouth, trying to breathe life back into those soft lips. "I just want you." She tasted blood and dust, but none of the warmth she had longed for since they parted ways. Sobs wracked her body as she rocked back and forth, clutching the girl she had run through. Talca could feel her heart breaking, almost as though she had pierced her own breast with that rigid blade of hers. "Please come back," she begged. "I didn't mean it, Calanthe. Please don't leave me all alone." Her pleas dwindled into nothing as she embraced her lover's corpse, kneeling and mourning in the mire.

    She knelt there for a long, long time.
     
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  10. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    (This is a rather short and not-too good first try, but here goes.)

    With a final rattle of thunderous gunfire, it was all over.

    The blood-soaked, torn body of the great man lay on the floor, his long tailcoat spread about him and his walking cane rolling slowly to a halt in a gutter nearby. The crook who had shot him down so mercilessly lowered his Uzi, and sprinted off into the night.

    Jinx dropped to her knees at the man's side, tears spilling from her eyes. Here was the man who had taken her in when no-one else would, who had lead her around the world and shown her so many wonders, the man who she had known as her mentor and an almost fatherly figure to her. Edgar Verne was dying, and she could do nothing to stop it.

    He held his eyes open, staring into hers with a powerful gaze full of love. " Don't worry about me. My journey was set to end soon anyway... I was only delaying the inevitable." This was true, Edgar was an elderly man by now, his skin growing pale and his antics becoming less energetic. But she didn't want him to go. Not now.

    "But Mister Verne.. What will I do when you're gone? I can't possibly live normally again without you there to watch over me.." Edgar reached up a shuddering hand, pressing a thin finger to Jinx's lips. "Hush now. Everything will proceed as it has done. You will have my manse, my belongings and my funds. All will be yours. " She stared down into his twinkling, happy eyes and could not hold back a watery smile.

    "It's time." The man said, his voice growing hoarse. He lay his head back, his grey hair flowing back to touch the pavement below as he moved. Jinx stared at her mentor silently as he shuddered, and suddenly stopped dead. He ceased to breathe, ceased to live and lay motionless. And so Jinx was left there, clutching the man who meant so much to her in her arms, his blood pooling on the pavement below. New tears ran freely down her face, dropping onto the great man's coat and staining it with dark spots. There they stayed until the police arrived. Jinx was pulled away from the elderly figure on the crimson-stained paving slabs, fighting the officers in a desperate attempt to return to his side. But the men were strong, and so that was the last that Jinx saw of her closest friend that day.
     
  11. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    "Hey, human..." Teur barely managed to choke out, her fragile frame quivering with the effort to stand her ground. She wore naught but her own pelt, it starting at the neck and ending just above the legs. The cold soft black of the earth soaked up her crimson blood almost as if the earth craved to slurp the remains of her life span as quickly as the blood had been spilled. Mother Earth had filled her self leaving only what appeared to be nutrients for her trees.

    Ivory white bone, bathed in the moon's light and tinted with crimson, peeked out from the deep gash on her throat. Pride, such a fickle thing, she thought ruefully. Even if dead, she would not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her lower her head in defeat. Strands of short pure white hair covered the ground. Her hair. Her life force.

    Dull crimson red eyes stared at the 17 year old ironclad boy peacefully. He was only five feet away from her, yet he stood there unmoving. She had no regrets, yet he wouldn't make the final move. He was quivering, and tears were forming in his light blue eyes, dripping on to the ground.

    Poor thing. Having to kill at such a young age. He clutched his sword so hard blood dripped from his hands, not looking at her." Hey, boy...why don't you finish me off?" Let the last swing of the sword end me, she thought hazily, as she let herself lean on the tree trunk. Dark bugs began to crawl over her wound, getting no response from her. The breeze is nice, she decided.

    Saying nothing, he took a step forward. And another. The blade he held shone eerily, seeming almost alive, called out for blood . The blood crystals on it hummed with immense power. He could not do it, so maybe it could. It had helped him though so many assignments that he started relying on it whenever he needed to end a being's life.

    Kill her, let us feast on fresh blood tonight, it whispered to him silently in his head. As if in a trance, he walked up to the silent but alive girl, holding up his blade, readying himself to swing it downwards.

    " No..you shall not kill me. Only humans can kill monsters..yet you are human no more.." She sensed his change. The sword had already devoured his freedom of will.

    With every last bit of strength she had left, a needle, formed from her flesh was thrown at him. It was small, but was more than enough to kill him. Before he could react, the needle had buried itself into his skin, burrowing, burrowing, until it found the heart. Right at that time, it exploded into black flames, robbing him of life. As its host died, the blade also shattered, the remains scattering into the wind.

    " I've said it before...only humans can kill monsters.." She laughed, standing over the corpse, her hoarse voice resounding throughout the dark forest. Never ending..
     
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  12. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    Everyone had to die at some point, some died young, some died old. Björn Bergvid were an old viking, the most didn't reach such an high age. Only skilled warriors could reach such an high age, he had succeeded. He had survived one of his sons whom died in his twenties, he had also survived many of his childhood friends. Hopefully he wouldn't have to survive his second son, after all, a parent shouldn't have to watch their children die. Maybe it was his fault that his son died, he could have trained him better.

    The old man looked out over the water. Not too far away were land, the land that they had just invaded. The land where Bergvid had become gravely injured. Even the best of fighters became injured, he would be fighting again in some days. At least so he thought.

    "Father, you should rest or else your wound won't heal." Tor told his father while putting a hand on his fathers shoulder.
    "I couldn't keep my promise." Bergvid said, mostly to himself. He had promised his wife a great fortune when he returned, but it hadn't gone as planned. They had gotten gold and silver from the village but after being divided between the over twenty men it wasn't that much that everyone got. Never had so many gotten so hurt during one of their journeys, not even once had they been forced to surrender before. Maybe he were too old to keep being a viking, maybe it was time to join his son in Valhalla.

    "Father, come in and rest for a bit"

    He walked with his son beside him, he stumbled a couple of times and first then he noticed how badly injured he actually were. When he laid down he started to feel the pain in the wounds and it got worse for every second. Even though they didn't know about it the wounds were gravely infected, that night would be his last night alive.

    The sweat didn't stop pouring down and soon he started to cough. The coughs had started before they had started their invasion which failed, but now it seemed to get worse. It only took a couple of hours before he couldn't even move anymore. Not only were the wounds infected, they also couldn't stop bleeding and the sickness he had caught before the invasion only got worse. At some point he started to talk, Tor could barely make out fathers words as they came as a wheezy whisper.
    "I will join your brother in Valhalla soon, I'll be waiting for you there."
    His hand fell down from his sons shoulder which he had grabbed as he started to talk. He still were breathing, but not for long.

    Even though it was a long journey back and the men wanted to get rid of the body fast because it would start to rot, they still had their honor as vikings. To just get rid of the body of their leader would be shameful for both the crew, the family and Bergvid himself. So they let the body stay on the ship the whole journey and when they got home with his dead body they put him on a smaller viking ship which then his wife went into.

    Eva, his wife, looked at her son a last time "I will join your father and brother in Valhalla, we will all wait for you there. Become a great viking as your father, and Oden will let you meet us again someday." She laid down in the boat beside her dead husband, the rotting body smelled awful and were barely recognizable anymore but she didn't mind. Soon she would see him in flesh and blood again, on the other side.

    As they put the ship on fire Tor could only stand there and watch as his mother got burned to death while the boat were pushed away from the shore. One tear fell from his eye as he lost his family, now he were alone. At least until he got married and get a new family.
     
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  13. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    Doraine had just killed her best friend over such stupidity on a subject. Anger. Tears were rolling down her bruised cheeks. Some were dry. Her eyes seemed cracked from salt in her corners. The blood in her hand faint was fresh, being both faint yet plentiful. Her chest was having a pain shoot right into it, even though she never gave access to it. So why was she happy? Why was her head throbbing? She was at a mix of emotions- and fazed at the moment. Her conscious was telling to angry, yet be joyful, though some sadness leaked through as well. She got up off the floor, examining her surroundings. Ainteline's mom would be home soon. She had to think of something. Get rid of the evidence goddammit! Clean up...the 13 year old traisped over to the kitchen, washing her knife. A sound of the door opening reached her ears as she put the knife in its original place. She walked over to her friend's room, to be stopped by an adult female, a shocked looking on her face.My fist took contact with her cheekbones as I dashed out of the door and headed for the park. --Gawd I fail!
     
  14. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    Terror... Carnage... The sounds of battle-crys, fear, and the clashing of steel upon steel echoing through the cavern... Or what once was a cavern. The roof of it had been exploded, causing giant boulders of rock to rain down in all directions, landing on both friend and foe. Arlemar had never seen such a force before, not in all the nine realms, and unfortunately, his hidden town caused him to have to take sides with the protectors of this land. A few of his trusted friends had been by his side, though they were the most unlikely of people to be together with, they were now unendingly fighting for their own lives. The tribal warriors kept flocking over the hills, they ran down the mountainous hill towards the entrance of the cavern, there sheer numbers causing such an intimidating sense that it was hard for Arlemar to keep his arm from shaking... A parry then lunge, slicing through his stomach, pulling it clear only to spin and block another two lunges. They had formed a front line just before the mouth of the of the structure, to halt the arrows had the roof still been intact. The Nadir warriors were pushing them back, there numbers seemed to never lessen, and the bodies on the floor offered no comfort. Arlemar was like a wedge in the ranks, he refused to move, even with the cuts along his arm, blood dripping from another on his face, and a few cracks in his Obsidian armour covering his chest. His Crystal swords, his Agate Longsword and Jasper Scimitar, swung through the air with the high-pitched whistle of death's promises, felling one after another.

    A large brute grunted and charged at Arlemar, he stood a good seven feet tall, and his muscles was like nothing Arlemar had ever expected from these Nadir. A lance lunged towards his face, and swiping it to the side with Scimitar, he only had one sword to try and halt the large club that swung down to him. His sword raised to meet the club, and was forced down, cutting slightly into his shoulder. He roared at him, echoing and causing a small shock-wave that only made him take a single step back, and he grunted as he ripped his sword from his wound. The brute swung again, and Arlemar ran under his arm, leaping at the great frame as he buried his swords into the giants chest. It stumbled and he jumped from it, ripping only one sword free as he held his shoulder for a brief moment. He continued onwards, picking up an axe that he threw at an oncoming attacker, before charging in again. He was glad that Wulf had the right side of the wall, and Feral had the left, though between the three the Nadir flanked and charged at the soldiers behind them, trying to keep up. This was the sixth time they had attacked, and it felt like attacking an entire continent. His sword buried deep into the chest of another, but locked itself between the ribs. Arlemar cursed, not having enough time for another pull, he kicked the dying man into an oncomer, the ground splitting as his crystals Stave came out. His left side was weaker now, and he had to rely on his right arm more for survival, he switches stances and continued batting them away. He just had to hold it till Nosfentor returned with reinforcements, he was already three days late, and the Nadir were taking every advantage they could get. Another Parry, swinging a kick, ducking a high lunge.

    A spear had been lunged as Arlemar cracked a Nadir head, the spear went right through his calf. He couldn't help but falter, and as he did, a soldier moved to defend an attack made to him. He snapped the spear handle, leaving the spear inside, as he continued combat. His teeth gritted against the pain, he fought to not cry out in pain, he was a symbol to these people. And he felled another ten or so.

    Wulf, a famous Vampyre of age, held his side with much difficulty. He had raised Ghasts by the hundreds to block them off, caused the skies to turn dark from black clouds, summoned spirits and other undead creatures, in hopes of dominating their will-power and courage. He had bats flying above the sky, informing him of the mass of numbers still to come, and he himself was right in the middle of it as ghastly creatures came to his aid whenever he faltered. The Nadir were strong of will, for their leader was famed for his many victories against the most unlikely of foes. They belief in their destiny was strong, and though Wulf tried hard to crush their mentality, they seemed to never fail, and for every Nadir that fell, there were many more tribesmen to take his place.

    Feral, a truly strange man, bent energy of both arcane and force to his aid. His combat style was strange, and his swordsmanship was superb, swinging his swords to send waves of energy into the hordes. He caused the very ground to crack, and recharging his own muscles with his mystical energy, fought on through all weariness to hold his position. It was inconceivable that they would not turn away, and Feral's blade cut through many of them, piling the bodies upon one another as they climbed over. He threw an item that exploded against a warrior, taking a few with its fiery wrath, each time he bent the energy into his sword, he would send them flying backwards, but the numbers were just something that no amount of skill was able to equal to.

    And then Arlemar saw it, and he knew he would not survive this war... Beasts melded into men, through dark magic that not even Arlemar would touch. Bears and wolves, panthers and Crocodiles, demonically merged with humans to create horrifying 'Meldings'. They were more powerful than all three, humans, beasts and Demons, the smallest standing at eight feet. It was not the fact that they wielded such creatures, it was that they'd been able to create these in bundles, they were on the horizon, number over 1,000, with more behind them. There troops could not hold out against these creatures, it would be a few minutes before they got here, and already some of the warriors turned heads in fear. Arlemar opened his mouth, and made one last terrifying battle-cry, summoning some demons to aid him as he fought on. His leg gave way and he fell sideways, another Nadir chanced his death, but the demons launched themselves in the way, dying for their master and their limp bodies falling upon the warriors. Arlemar cursed as he got back up, fighting his hardest, it was not about him surviving anymore, Nosfentor would be here, with his entire army, he just had to hold on. And then they were upon him, The Meldings took out a few demons before it was slain, Arlemar stood and against all things he fought, a tear falling from his eye as a doubt escape his grip. He ducked under a claw, ramming the stave into its chest, falling it. Before leaping to the left, narrowly avoiding another Melding, crying out as his right leg landed awkwardly. He batted his Stave against the beast, granting a few seconds as he stunned it to stand up again. Soldiers were now fleeing, all but the hardened veterans, which were few in numbers. Arlemar stood and defended a claw, then another, and another. He was being pushed back and against all will-power and belief, where the thought alone was enough in the past, no matter what he did, he was driven inch by inch back, another Melding appeared, this one wielded a massive blade that made his eyes widen. It was much larger than a claymore, and as it swung he faltered from the injury in his shoulder. The blade knocked him off his feet, causing him to fly through the air. His Obsidian armour, was shattered into hundreds of tiny shards, and the wind knocked out of his lungs for a moment. He coughed and attempted to stand, their speed was great and if not for his reactions he'd have been dead right there. He swung his stave with all his might, and shattered the sword and struck the beast in the chest, falling that one as well. Unfortunately he could see it crumbling, and with one last swing, he broke it on the head of a Nadir. He heard some shouts, and someone called his name, he turned as he heard a shriek, and a fist pounded into his chest, breaking a few ribs. He flew through the air again, smashing into the gritty walls, before falling to the ground, his last item, a tome of his own making, laying a few feet away from him. He sat there, looking up, he heard something hit the ground hard, as he opened his eyes he thought he saw Nosfentor for a moment, and he smiled, blood dripping out of his mouth. Someone took his hand, and he coughed up some blood.* I... Knew... You.... Would come... *His voice was filled with relief, as tears streamed down his face, his vision clouded and he closed his eyes, finally resting as he felt the pain ease away.*
     
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  15. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    The night is dark and the wind blow eerily. There is a person dragging another using his left hand holding him by the collar of his shirt. "Hehehe, hitting my face twice using a lead pipe maybe good enough but I,m not human but I got my revenge even though I was going to have fun with your lil sister in front of you just to see that sad face of yours but no worries because I'm still going to have fun in front of your cold, dead body." said the killer while laughing and dragging his dead opponent to the building where he left her. The killer's laugh echoed throughout the area, looking at his dead opponent's fresh body made him hungry and even starving after remembering the girl which was going to be his next victim.

    When the killer arrived at a building, he was awed with disbelief in his eyes and his jaw dropped down but then he laughed as if he he had heard the funniest joke. Standing before the killer was the girl glaring at him with fierce eyes and clenching the pocket knife in her right hand tightly."Whats this I never thought you could stand. Oh! that knife so that's why he used a lead pipe. I got a gift for you, a parting gift." said the killer then he threw the dead body he was holding and it landed in front of the girl. It was the girl's elder brother. She looked at her brother as tears began to roll down from her eyes to her cheeks and she was kneeling in front of him. "My only family left... Why..." the killer smirked and said " HAHAHA! Because he's a weakling like everybody else in your family died because you're all weakling! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" he continued his mad laughter.

    She is now angry as she stood up quivering, with her heart full intent to kill she is now ready to strike at her enemy as she closed her eye lid and open it slowly she is now a different person. The killer who was laughing madly now stood silence as he sense a dangerous atmosphere, his instincts telling him to run."No no no no no! Wha- Why are you staring at me like that!? Who- What are you!? Just- like- h- him." "Enough talking. Let's play Kill-and-Killed." He charged at her first and swing his weapon the bowie knife horizontally aiming for her throat. The girl was more quick she leap before he even swing his weapon, her enemy turn towards her now then she plunged her pocket knife aiming for his heart, the blood splattered all around her and her enemy. Not satisfied she plunged her knife even deeper without realizing it her weapon along with her hand had already penetrated his body. Blood is now dripping from the killer's mouth "You really loved and cared for him huh? I should have killed your boyfriend as well along with your brother but to be honest I've fallen in love with you" He smiled widely at her "I cared for my brother, he was my only family but now... It doesn't matter now." she pulled her hand out of his body.""Hehe, I see. Well then goodnight" she raised her knife and decapitate her enemy.

    She was out there watching the moon. Something touch her from behind and embraced her "Didn't I told to run away afterwards?"she knew this voice very well, it is the voice that she had waited and hoped to hear. She turned around her body while being embraced and saw her brother "I- I- I thought you were gone." she cried "I'm sorry. You have a lover don't you? I, your brother cannot be with you anymore as this is where we depart but you still had a lover to depend on so I'm trusting on him to take care of you." he said in a low voice "But, why-" "Please, let us watch the moon tonight, it's beautiful tonight is it." he closed his eyes accepting death. She is sobbing as she began to cry once more "Yes, it is a beautiful night...."

    (I'm not that very skillful or good at this for now *sigh*. I swear I need to improve myself and I need to correct my mistake which I had many....maybe)
     
  16. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    His blade sliced their throats like a knife through butter. Each step a body fell at his feet, tattered and destroyed, while the blood poured from his victims. With only a ghastly smile and devious look in his eye, he looked down upon his next victim with a murderous glint, much like a demon on the fog of the night that surrounded him. The victim cried out in a shriek, and then a gargle while he was slowly cut down the middle like a dog being put down. There was no remorse from the killer himself. He took pride and pleasure standing before his prey, coated in their blood. The wind blew in a tide of cold, swaying his coat, while the thunder raged and the lightning light up the skies. At a time, he was just a humble man who lived a 'normal' life with a family. That was until 'they' took that away from him. Who are they? That was the question that was always asked when it came down to his story. The answer was always the same with his responses. 'Flies that needed to be squashed and exterminated.'

    He looked back at the pile of bodies and wiped his face. He was in the heart of that shit town called Sin City, and there was nothing that was going to stop him from killing the leader of the group. The man known as 'Big Ace' the big nuts in the town. There wasn't an alley, strip joint, or building in general that wasn't hounded over by his mindless followers known as 'wolves.' Just being in Sin City pissed him off each second, minute and hell hour if were to get to that point. Now, I know what your thinking, what's one man going to do against a whole mob squad. Well, the fun part is that he brought something that would leave the city with a surprise that was sure to 'blow' them away. You see, he had a little briefcase with him.

    He had a proposition for the mob boss:

    A- He could give the money to the money and the boss agreed to back the hell off of him and stop chasing him.

    B- He could set off the bomb with the little switch in his left pocket and blow them all the hell up.(That was only if Ace took the money and still refused to back off)

    Where were his manners? He was going on and on about killing those scumbags and how he was doing this to get revenge for his family, but it was much more than that. You see, he had borrowed some money from Big Ace wile he was one of his lackeys and was given a week to pay it all back. We all know how the story ended, based on his family being killed...yeah, exactly his point. Now, it was time to put the leader of the pack down to sleep, or ice him as the mob would say. It was going to be a messy, dirty job, but it had to be done.

    In the moment, right when he finished his thoughts, he was dead center in front of two guardsmen, standing in front of the gate of the mansion. That damned mansion...he remembered it like the back of his hand. Especially the smell of hooker stink lingering in the halls. That was mostly because they were always busy getting their rocks off, those disgusting bastards. The guards said they had to search him, but that wasn't going to happen.

    He went against what they told him to do and they in return, got pissed off. It was enough to make them reach for their pistols out of their back pockets, but he wasn't going to die here. There was an echo of screams that blasted the air like the pistols they went for. That was because one was stabbed in the chest with a pocket knife, while the other had his throat split. Throat splitting, oh, how he loved the sound of their gargles in the air.

    Alright, now it was time for the 'big' unannounced meeting. He casually strolled, well more like 'burst through, by kicking the door open, in a blaze of gunfire with an Uzi he had tucked away in the back of his pants.' Even more killing and he loved every part of it. Now that he looked at it, he looked more like the badguy, but he was loving it if he could rid himself of those bastards for good.

    He walked pass the blood stained walls holding the briefcase in one hand, while holding the Uzi in the other. He remembered the bosses room. The gold doors with the diamond handles. Where did the guy get the money to pay for that shit? At any rate, he wouldn't be needing it for where he was going. With a kick of the door with his left foot, that turned everyone's attention to him, followed by everyone, except the boss pulling out their gun, he strolled in and stopped at the table opposite side of the table where the boss sat. The guns cocked and the boss ordered them to lower there weapons. It looked like they were waiting for him. That was to be expected after hearing all the gunfire.

    The briefcase was tossed on the table and it slid to the boss, then he turned away and simply walked out the door. I know what you're thinking, that's it? He just walks in and gives him the money? No gunfights or killing? Just be patient for the moment. He stood outside of the mansion and looked up at the bosses window, pulling out the little device he mentioned earlier, while the boss and his men laughed, probably at the fact that they had their money. They wouldn't be enjoying it long. He pulled out the switch, and then pressed the button in the center and the bomb he stashed under the cashed started to tick away. The boss and his men panicked, right before the bomb blew them and the mansion to kingdom come. While all the people came out to see what had happened, he was long gone, like a ghost in the wind.

    Some people rejoiced at Big Ace's death, while others stood in front of the burning mansion with the 'what the hell happened' expression on their faces. He on the other hand sat by a tree in the shadows with a smile on his face, watching the building burn with satisfaction.
     
  17. Re: Writing Exercise: Death and Killing!

    The air was thin around her. Endora was in her Victorian style home staring straight into a mirror that seemed to go on for eternity. Each second she stared it grew deeper, pulling her far into the depths of her forgotten mind. She had dressed herself in the fashion of medieval times, a long, red, silk dress with golden stitching. She had her hair style as curly and down. She grasped her other hand in front of her tightly as memories she had once blocked from the very core of her mind. Soon enough tears began to form in the corners of her eyes thinking of all the past memories that had pasted her by so easily, though one stuck in her mind right so she could mourn over it. She began to see her old husband who had only out aged her fair amount of years ago. She was sick of her cursed of the Eternity Pendant. She knew what she finally wanted and that was to die. Not many can say they have truly experienced the lust for death but that day Endora had finally experienced it and knew it was enough for her to finally end it.

    She moved herself from the mirror and ran over to her draws, opened it, and began to search for something sharp that she could impale herself with. Nothing came into her grasp in this draw so she then left her room and ran down the stairs. As she reached the final step to the ground floor her foot lost balance from all the lost thinking and she fell to the ground. This was enough to set her off crying as she then began to crawl and pull herself across the floor over to a draw she kept by the front door. She opened the bottom draw and found the sword she kept there in case of intruders. She gripped the swords handle tightly and pointed the blade to her stomach. She breathed in what she thought was her last breath before lunging the sword into the centre of her stomach. Her bodies reaction was for her to cough up high amounts of blood and she did so, yet her heart still stayed pumping due to the pendant effect.
    This made her fury go straight through the roof as she then pulled it out and began to hack away at her insides until it would stop. Blood piled everywhere around her yet it still didn’t work. She screamed out in frustration and this sent in her loyal servants Evelyne and Khora. They grabbed her arms and tried to get her to stop as they wept with thousands of tears just as Endora did. They didn’t want her to die but what choice was there. Endora was never top until she was dead. Endora had finally slipped into madness. This had affected her view on everything. She looked at the two servants and only saw people getting in her way and that was something Endora wouldn’t stand for, that next few seconds would be something that Endora would have regretted her whole life if she was to survive these next few actions. Once the massacre had come to a stop she glanced around at what was left of the two girls and all she could do was smirk at the destruction she had left.

    Endora then began to walk outside, her blood still dripping from her stomach which was still open and weeping. She carried on walking until she got to the edge of the cliff near her home. She stood right on the edge and peered down to the bottom where there was a furious looking sea. She was still grasping the bloody handle as she then threw it into the sea. She then looked up to the sky and yelled at the top of her voice.
    “How many must longer will you leave me to suffer?! I’ll even rip my heart out if it means death!”
    She stabbed her hand into her chest thanks to her sharp nails and turned it around until there was a big hole in it. She then grasped her heart and pulled it up. This caused her to lose a lot of life force and she fell from the cliff into the sea. Her vision began to fade as she hit the water. She could feel big changes in herself. She still lived though as she heart was still beating in her hand. She looked around in the water and then soon enough she was a bright light above her in the water. It was in the shape of what seemed to be an angel. He then spoke to her.
    “Endora… I expected so much more of you. I see past the dark façade you place and see the kind heart that lies within. I know you wish to be with your husband again and I’ll give you that choice. Take my hand and I will take you away… Trust me Endora… Once you take my hand I want you to grasp the heart tightly and crush it… That will relieve you of your pain”
    She slowly raised her hand and placed it into the hand of the Angel. Straight away she felt a strong happiness rush through her which brought tears of happiness to her eyes. She then grasped tightly on the heart and soon enough it stopped beating as she let it go and it fell to the bottom of the sea.

    Endora then awoke in a field she remembered from Aria’s childhood. The weather was nice and calm. She sat up and looked around. It was just like she remembered. She put her hand up to her eyes and wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes.
    “Mummy!”
    She quickly turned around to see a little girl… it was Aria! She was with her father and Endora’s eyes flooded with tears as she stood up and ran over to them. She was met by her husband’s arms which wrapped around her tightly and held her close. She then whispered in his ear.
    “I missed you…”
    He then smiled and replied with the same depth of feeling.
    “I missed you too my angel…”
    Aria joined in on the hug and decided to hug her legs.

    Many say that dreams may not always come true. But that day the biggest dream of all was made a reality. Endora could finally be with her family once again in a placed that seemed to be Heaven. Though no one could ever put a thought to where she was. All they cared about was that she was finally resting in peace with the smile she’d keep on her face for all of eternity.


    (Sorry it took so long. It's hard to think up how a Dark Witch would die :) )
     
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