Astaroth
[*screaming into the void intensifies*]
Original poster
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- Invitation Status
- Not accepting invites at this time
- Posting Speed
- Speed of Light
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- It varies a lot depending on my schedule, unfortunately.
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Psychological horror
Body horror
Supernatural
Giallo
Splatterpunk
Dark fantasy
Historical
Low fantasy
Magipunk
Weird West
Noir
Thriller
Gothic horror
Southern Gothic
Gaslamp fantasy
Cyberpunk
Space saga
Clockpunk
Space Western
Space opera
Paranormal
Modern fantasy
Dieselpunk
Post-Apocalyptic
Crime drama
Medieval fantasy
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a wise and benevolent king. In his youth he wrested power away from his corrupt uncle and married a young and beautiful princess. Together, they brought the land to a new age of peace and prosperity and were much beloved by their people.
This is not their story.
Not far from the royal castle- a mere few days travel through the Darkly Enchanted Forest- stood the tower of a great and renowned wizard. He wandered far and wide, winning the hearts of fair maidens and honing his sorcerous arts, collecting knowledge long buried. Many travelers braved the journey to his tower in search of wisdom or instruction in the arcane.
This is not his story either.
This is the story of the successor to the throne, the young and reluctant King Roland; of Princess Amelina Carrowen, the long-lost daughter of the neighboring kingdom; and of the strange and remarkable circumstances which brought these two together. A long quest awaited these unlikely heroes, and our tale begins in the most unlikely of ways, with the unlikeliest of characters.
This is the story of a dragon's kiss.
The procession of princesses on Friday afternoon had been the last straw.
"Your Majesty," Wentworth had begun, for the fifty-fourth time that week, "you really ought to be thinking about these things. You won't be a young man much longer, and the future of the kingdom depends upon you providing an heir."
"Wentworth, I'm twenty-five," Roland had pointed out sharply, tugging the equally sharp point of his sword out from the practice dummy's chest. "I turned twenty-five last month."
The Castle Steward remained unfazed, stubbornly lifting his grizzled chin. "Precisely, Your Majesty. Why, when your father was twenty-five-"
"Yes, yes, I know. He'd already overthrown a tyrant, captured the heart of a princess, and made damn sure that I was on the way. And look what good it did him. He and mother both succumbed to Dragon Flu by the time I was ten. But as you are so fond of pointing out, Wentworth... I'm not my father."
The man went on as if Roland had never spoken. "I've arranged for several very suitable matches to grace us with their presence this afternoon. If Your Majesty would please, they will be arriving just in time for tea in the rose garden."
Roland turned to stare in abject horror at the man who had been his only true parental figure for the last fifteen years.
"Tea," he repeated, sheathing his sword. "In the rose garden. With princesses. Plural."
"You cannot expect to simply go gallivanting about the kingdom however you please for the rest of your life, Sire. You must begin to think of your duty and responsibility to the throne you sit upon."
That was quite a stretch of the truth, in Roland's opinion. When he thought of "gallivanting about", it did not conjure images of his occasional strolls around the estate or clandestine fencing practice behind the stables. The last time Roland had been more than a mile away from the castle, it was on a diplomatic visit to Barthoff. He'd been buried in paperwork and court "pleasantries" the entire time, and could scarcely breathe, let alone gallivant anywhere.
"Show me a princess that is more interesting than gallivanting, Wentworth," Roland announced, "and I might be inclined to give her a chance."
And that, really, was the crux of it, more so than simply not wanting to marry some twitter-patted, dimwitted, mincing princess. He certainly would rather marry a woman with a brain, if not for love. He didn't really know whether he wanted to get married to anyone. But most of all, Roland wanted an escape from the drudgery of court life and politics. He wanted adventure. He wanted to actually explore the kingdom that he was supposed to be ruling. He wanted to be something other than, well... a king.
He wanted to learn magic.
There was a tower that could be seen from the ramparts of his castle, and Roland knew- everyone knew- that this was where the great wizard Egon dwelt. Building a tower that could be seen for miles was sort of an odd thing to do when you wanted to discourage visitors, but Roland supposed that the trials of the Darkly Enchanted Forest helped keep unwanted questants at bay.
It was a shame that maps were utterly useless when the trees didn't stay in one place, as Roland himself was swift to discover later that afternoon.
"Hell and damn," he swore, squinting at the bleak-looking trees before him and then down at the useless map. According to this map (which was at least an enchanted map, but all it did was show where places wound up once they'd shifted 'round and did nothing to help him actually navigate), he was hopelessly lost.
At least it was also well into teatime, and therefore he was safe from princesses.
When Roland looked up again, it was to find himself standing just before the drawbridge of a tall tower. It was crumbling and ancient, with ivy growing up one side and scorch marks on the other. It looked desolate, abandoned. But in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, he knew, appearances were almost always deceiving...
"Well," he said. "That was just a bit too easy, wasn't it?"
Hand going to his sword's hilt, Roland slowly set foot upon the drawbridge and began to inch across.
This is not their story.
Not far from the royal castle- a mere few days travel through the Darkly Enchanted Forest- stood the tower of a great and renowned wizard. He wandered far and wide, winning the hearts of fair maidens and honing his sorcerous arts, collecting knowledge long buried. Many travelers braved the journey to his tower in search of wisdom or instruction in the arcane.
This is not his story either.
This is the story of the successor to the throne, the young and reluctant King Roland; of Princess Amelina Carrowen, the long-lost daughter of the neighboring kingdom; and of the strange and remarkable circumstances which brought these two together. A long quest awaited these unlikely heroes, and our tale begins in the most unlikely of ways, with the unlikeliest of characters.
This is the story of a dragon's kiss.
"Your Majesty," Wentworth had begun, for the fifty-fourth time that week, "you really ought to be thinking about these things. You won't be a young man much longer, and the future of the kingdom depends upon you providing an heir."
"Wentworth, I'm twenty-five," Roland had pointed out sharply, tugging the equally sharp point of his sword out from the practice dummy's chest. "I turned twenty-five last month."
The Castle Steward remained unfazed, stubbornly lifting his grizzled chin. "Precisely, Your Majesty. Why, when your father was twenty-five-"
"Yes, yes, I know. He'd already overthrown a tyrant, captured the heart of a princess, and made damn sure that I was on the way. And look what good it did him. He and mother both succumbed to Dragon Flu by the time I was ten. But as you are so fond of pointing out, Wentworth... I'm not my father."
The man went on as if Roland had never spoken. "I've arranged for several very suitable matches to grace us with their presence this afternoon. If Your Majesty would please, they will be arriving just in time for tea in the rose garden."
Roland turned to stare in abject horror at the man who had been his only true parental figure for the last fifteen years.
"Tea," he repeated, sheathing his sword. "In the rose garden. With princesses. Plural."
"You cannot expect to simply go gallivanting about the kingdom however you please for the rest of your life, Sire. You must begin to think of your duty and responsibility to the throne you sit upon."
That was quite a stretch of the truth, in Roland's opinion. When he thought of "gallivanting about", it did not conjure images of his occasional strolls around the estate or clandestine fencing practice behind the stables. The last time Roland had been more than a mile away from the castle, it was on a diplomatic visit to Barthoff. He'd been buried in paperwork and court "pleasantries" the entire time, and could scarcely breathe, let alone gallivant anywhere.
"Show me a princess that is more interesting than gallivanting, Wentworth," Roland announced, "and I might be inclined to give her a chance."
And that, really, was the crux of it, more so than simply not wanting to marry some twitter-patted, dimwitted, mincing princess. He certainly would rather marry a woman with a brain, if not for love. He didn't really know whether he wanted to get married to anyone. But most of all, Roland wanted an escape from the drudgery of court life and politics. He wanted adventure. He wanted to actually explore the kingdom that he was supposed to be ruling. He wanted to be something other than, well... a king.
He wanted to learn magic.
There was a tower that could be seen from the ramparts of his castle, and Roland knew- everyone knew- that this was where the great wizard Egon dwelt. Building a tower that could be seen for miles was sort of an odd thing to do when you wanted to discourage visitors, but Roland supposed that the trials of the Darkly Enchanted Forest helped keep unwanted questants at bay.
It was a shame that maps were utterly useless when the trees didn't stay in one place, as Roland himself was swift to discover later that afternoon.
"Hell and damn," he swore, squinting at the bleak-looking trees before him and then down at the useless map. According to this map (which was at least an enchanted map, but all it did was show where places wound up once they'd shifted 'round and did nothing to help him actually navigate), he was hopelessly lost.
At least it was also well into teatime, and therefore he was safe from princesses.
When Roland looked up again, it was to find himself standing just before the drawbridge of a tall tower. It was crumbling and ancient, with ivy growing up one side and scorch marks on the other. It looked desolate, abandoned. But in the Darkly Enchanted Forest, he knew, appearances were almost always deceiving...
"Well," he said. "That was just a bit too easy, wasn't it?"
Hand going to his sword's hilt, Roland slowly set foot upon the drawbridge and began to inch across.