- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Douche
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, magical, medieval, scifi, romance and action!
ALL THE -PUNK GENRES
He didn't know who, what or where he was.
That was the truth.
He had woken up a month ago, in a ditch with his legs cut off, and crawled out of there. He didn't know how he got there, he didn't know where he was before, he didn't know a damn thing about anything before that day he woke up.
He was quick to learn, however. He learned that one must eat to maintain strength. He learned that the normal creatures who live in the wild fear him wholeheartedly. He learned the civilized creatures, sentient, intelligent and extremely varied, either feared or was fascinated by him. He learned that you needed to piss and shit whatever your body didn't need.
He learned that sleep is a vital part of daily function.
He also learned of nightmares at the same time.
Horrific nothings and terrifying illusions that made him jolt awake and scream awake. Of claws and teeth and blades and fire. Every time he grasped at whatever it was that caused him such terror, it vanished back into his mind, retreating to torture him anew when he tried to sleep.
He learned he was different than the other two legged creatures. He was far stronger, faster and more resilient. He grew his legs back in a week after he devoured an entire herd of black and white creatures that stank and had milk organs on the lower part of their body. The sentients there tried to chase him out with three toed iron claws and digging things. There wasn't a pack living there, together anymore.
He learned the sentients communicated ideas and intentions through sound, and finally, he learned to understand these sounds. He never learned to speak them, it never felt like his place to.
He had improved his lot in life considerably since he had awakened. He had protective steel hides covering his already tough flesh. He had a massive iron claw to cut his enemies. He had taken small iron teeth and ran it through his until it was straight and clean. He even bathed once a day if he could help it. It was going nice.
Until, of course, he started to meddle in a species of sentients called "Humans"
A village had been attacked by rogues, outcasts, petty scavengers trying to prey on the weak. Luckily for them, he had slept close by when they rang their iron things to alert the people. Their little warning cries. Against his better judgement, he decided to befriend these humans. To make them want to keep him by their side as a guardian
He entered the place, forgiving them at first for they thought he was one of the jackals, the vultures. He ignored the arrow that went into his neck, breaking it off of his pale flesh that somehow was also black. Just a bit, just enough to make someone look twice. When he reached the "bandits" as the humans called them, they were sacking the food stores. He simply pulled out his blade and started to attack. He felt a void strike his mind, and he was gone.
Ten minutes of cries of terror, mercy, pain and fear later, he was alone in the town center. Most of the cobblestone roads were soaked red with blood and limbs were scattered all over the place. He had abandoned the sword at the third man, tearing the other six apart with his bare hands and teeth. He seemed to stand perfectly still, in a trance, before he blinked a few times and looked at his surroundings. Strange. He didn't recall killing them, but he did. He glanced to the humans, hoping to find gratitude, but he only saw horror and fear. He was too savage, too bloodthirsty. They seemed to be forming a crowd that slowly edged towards him. Probably sticking close to the protector, whatever that was. He cracked the knuckles of his hand with his thumb, curious as to what they will try to use to kill him
That was the truth.
He had woken up a month ago, in a ditch with his legs cut off, and crawled out of there. He didn't know how he got there, he didn't know where he was before, he didn't know a damn thing about anything before that day he woke up.
He was quick to learn, however. He learned that one must eat to maintain strength. He learned that the normal creatures who live in the wild fear him wholeheartedly. He learned the civilized creatures, sentient, intelligent and extremely varied, either feared or was fascinated by him. He learned that you needed to piss and shit whatever your body didn't need.
He learned that sleep is a vital part of daily function.
He also learned of nightmares at the same time.
Horrific nothings and terrifying illusions that made him jolt awake and scream awake. Of claws and teeth and blades and fire. Every time he grasped at whatever it was that caused him such terror, it vanished back into his mind, retreating to torture him anew when he tried to sleep.
He learned he was different than the other two legged creatures. He was far stronger, faster and more resilient. He grew his legs back in a week after he devoured an entire herd of black and white creatures that stank and had milk organs on the lower part of their body. The sentients there tried to chase him out with three toed iron claws and digging things. There wasn't a pack living there, together anymore.
He learned the sentients communicated ideas and intentions through sound, and finally, he learned to understand these sounds. He never learned to speak them, it never felt like his place to.
He had improved his lot in life considerably since he had awakened. He had protective steel hides covering his already tough flesh. He had a massive iron claw to cut his enemies. He had taken small iron teeth and ran it through his until it was straight and clean. He even bathed once a day if he could help it. It was going nice.
Until, of course, he started to meddle in a species of sentients called "Humans"
A village had been attacked by rogues, outcasts, petty scavengers trying to prey on the weak. Luckily for them, he had slept close by when they rang their iron things to alert the people. Their little warning cries. Against his better judgement, he decided to befriend these humans. To make them want to keep him by their side as a guardian
He entered the place, forgiving them at first for they thought he was one of the jackals, the vultures. He ignored the arrow that went into his neck, breaking it off of his pale flesh that somehow was also black. Just a bit, just enough to make someone look twice. When he reached the "bandits" as the humans called them, they were sacking the food stores. He simply pulled out his blade and started to attack. He felt a void strike his mind, and he was gone.
Ten minutes of cries of terror, mercy, pain and fear later, he was alone in the town center. Most of the cobblestone roads were soaked red with blood and limbs were scattered all over the place. He had abandoned the sword at the third man, tearing the other six apart with his bare hands and teeth. He seemed to stand perfectly still, in a trance, before he blinked a few times and looked at his surroundings. Strange. He didn't recall killing them, but he did. He glanced to the humans, hoping to find gratitude, but he only saw horror and fear. He was too savage, too bloodthirsty. They seemed to be forming a crowd that slowly edged towards him. Probably sticking close to the protector, whatever that was. He cracked the knuckles of his hand with his thumb, curious as to what they will try to use to kill him