Lurcolm's Misc Writings

Something I thought up with me and @The Mood is Write 's character interactions.

"Alright," Grigor started, placing the candle between the two beaten figures. Natalia and Ivan didn't dare meet the eyes of their uncle. Green eyes glowed like venom in the candlelight as he eyed the two bruised figures in front of him. While Natalia was smaller than Ivan, she was faster, and that little advantage showed with the amount of discoloration on Ivan's body, while Natalia's left arm hung limp from her side.

"I don't care who started it." Grigor spoke, eyeing the two of them. Even without looking directly at the alchemist, both warriors whithered under his venemous gaze. Ivan seemed to shrink, incredibly large as he was, until he was somehow even smaller than the crumbling Natalia

"I don't care who ended it." He hissed, then leaned forward "All I care about is: Why?"

Neither of them responded. Neither of them could. Under Grigor's gaze, even Margorie sometimes whithered.

"It was Margorie, wasn't it?" Grigor asked, and the flinching on Ivan's side and the blush on Natalia was all he need for an answer. The alchemist sighed, shaking his head in disappointed. Both of them crumbled even more with the sigh as Grigor dragged his hand across his face. He took a deep, fortifying breath, before giving both of them a level stare.

"Look: I'm not going to lecture you on envy. Gods know Margorie gave me a few smacks when I was younger and more foolish, but I am going to lecture you on confidence and trust. Margorie is a powerful woman. She is strong, confident and intelligent. If she had thought one of us was replacable, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. I want you two to think. Think long and hard about what Margorie finds endearing about you. Think about what you have that the other two don't. If she wasn't keen on you, you wouldn't be one of her lovers, do you understand?"

Neither of them responded, though Grigor could see the confusion in their minds. Neither of them wanted to kill each other, and he supposed that was all he could've done in this situation.

"Now, if I ever see you fighting again, I'm going to stop giving you the Family Discount on all those potions you two so eagerly guzzle down. Are we clear?"
 
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So, something different this time. A poem I thought up just after I was pushed to my utmost limit

Everything hurts.
Pain and fire
Muscles spasm and spurt
and your feelings grow dire

"Push Harder!" He says,
Goading you into more
You feel like a mess
yet you do your chores

Then suddenly

You feel it in your core
Your muscles begin to fight
A Warg inside gives a roar
and you charge with new might

It gnashes and gnarls and howls and bites
and claws and kicks and screams and fights
It's the monster that you never knew you had
And now you've met this God-Given thing

The world suddenly became a lot less complicated.

A lot less scary.

Hello, my savage ally. My primal companion

How I love to see you, even only once.
 
A story based on my two characters I made: Norak and Azshara

WARNING: Dem Feels, Bruh.
Pain.

It's been a while since Norak's felt it. Arrows, swords and spears couldn't cause him pain. The troll's fist that crushed through his chest, bursting through the shell that helped him pretend. That hurt. It hurt a lot.

The beast was confused, having probably reached for a heart that wasn't there. All he found was chitinous limbs and another exoskeleton, he grabbed one of Norak's hidden legs and tore it off

PAINNNNN

A shriek came from the giant's throat. His jaw split in to and his venom flung out from the force of his scream. His mandibles, disguise laid bare, tried to rip themselves off his face as the eyes on Norak's forehead opened the bone shells they hide behind.

Bite. BITE.

Mandibles sunk into the flesh of the troll. The pain was too much, Norak couldn't tell where. But the troll screamed. It screamed and its fist slammed into Norak's head.

He felt the crunch before he heard it, and he was flying off to the side.

Get up.

GET UP.

Agonized muscles forced broken bones to work as Norak got onto his quivering legs.

Pain was a warning. It was a warning.

The troll's roar was more of a threat. He couldn't stop.

The beast charged at him, and the blades in Norak's arms plunged into its chest as it slammed into him.

Pain. Pain and screams.

His arms were gone.

PAINNN.

Why did his hands hurt? He had no hands why does it hurthurthurttttt

Norak slowly got to his feet, seeing the limp creature that hurt him, that broke him.

Azshara.

He needed to find his Lady.

Broken legs shambled forward as he moved towards the place he left her, finding her cowering behind an old oak tree. The tree was glaring down at Norak, he could feel it. It was asking him why he wouldn't let this all go.

"Norak!" Azsh shouted, jaw dropping and joy turning into shock as she stared at his broken form.

He shook his head, tongue lolling down now that his jaw was missing. It wasn't important. Nothing else was important.

He wanted to pick her up, but his arms were gone. Her ankle had swollen up immensely. She was in pain, just too surprised to know it yet. This was a bad situation.

A roar. From where Norak came from. Angry.

Gods.

The troll's roar made Azsh shrink back into the Oak, the tree providing her more protection that he could.

Damn this tree.

Damn him for needing it.

"Stay." He stated, his already useless tongue lolling about in simulated movement. Azsh didn't like that. She didn't like that one bit.

"Stay." He hissed louder, before she could say whatever she said. Fear was in her eyes. Fear and sadness. She knew what Norak meant even if he couldn't say it. Tears ran down the already slick path down her cheek.

"Norak, I..."

Gods forgive him.

His venom was still useful, even if it wasn't able to be administered by his mandibles. His venom sacks drooled it right into her neck as she hobbled closer to hug him, the paralytic doing quick work as it absorbed itself through her skin. Hurt was on her face before she was too limp to be able to properly explain.

She'll survive. He was her Shield.

"I AM THE FANGS UPON YOUR FLESH IS CUT" Came Norak's roar, his broken legs forced to work as he hobbled away from her. The Troll took the bait, following him as the two sprinted away.

"I AM THE SHELL UPON YOUR BONES ARE BROKEN."

Move. keep moving. As far away from her as possible.

"I AM THE FLESH UPON MY CHARGE HIDES BEHIND"

More. MORE. RUN MORE.

He could feel the beast now behind him. The thing's hot breath stank of rotting flesh and bone.

"I AM THE BONES UPON MY CHARGE RESTS ON"

A hand smacked him to the side. He slammed a tree.

Pain.

Broken legs could only hobble away so fast, and the massive calloused fist wrapped itself around Norak's head as he ran, limp and useless, upon air before the beast slammed him into the soft earth.

Still, he screamed.

"I AM THE SHIELD. THE SWORD. THE ARMOUR. I AM ALL AND MORE."

His legs wouldn't move anymore, and his arms were gone. He could only wait until the beast flipped him over, wanting to look Norak in the eyes as it ripped out the claws in its chest. The flesh closed up just as quickly as it was pulled out.

By the gods, what was this world.

"I AM NOTHING. I AM A TOOL"

The thing tore out a small tree, then buried it in Norak's chest. This time, it actually hit his heart.

"I....I am..."

He was an idiot.

* * *

Autumn came, and the trees slowly dropped their heavy leaves in preparation to withstand Winter. They didn't even feel like they could withstand it, like their pine cousins, they simply let it all go and would try again next year.

Leaves piled upon a corpse that stood there from the start of spring, the half eaten body refusing to dry out or rot, yet was unable to heal itself. The body of a troll was next to it, already dried and sagging, even if its stomach still bulged from the thing he tried to eat.

Slowly those leaves started to rot in the cold Autumn air. Breaking down into the Essence of life, the building blocks upon which these trees will try again. Slowly, the dead corpse stirred. Neither beast, man nor insect, it gobbled up these building blocks like a mould, spreading out, then weakly retracting back into its original form. It grew, then it froze as winter came along.

When Spring came again, a deathly pale fist pushed itself out the thawing mulch that was its deathbed. Fingernails scrabbled along the earth as the seams along his arms started to bend and seperate: Revealing the beast folded behind the shell of a man.

Too weak. Too weak live. Too loyal to die.

The other hand shot out, and the deformed face pulled itself out of the rotting leaves.

Too loyal to die. To angry to sleep.

Azshara.... She better have survived.