- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Transgender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- slice of life, supernatural, modern, romance, mxm, fxf
Anger....
Hate...
Pain...
Arros hated them, he hated them all as they sat upon their plush bountiful wealth, reveled in their soft silks and engorged on the finest of foods. They lived in a heaven while their people toiled in hell. They worked and died and worked some more for these wretches to fill their bellies like needy little piglets. It was a mockery, a farce, of what was good in the world and, once upon a time, this very man had fought to keep their ways in tact. He'd been their guard, their protector, and he'd been the best until the very people he served turned on him. Their jealousy and their lies, it soured his life and blackened his heart. As any grieving man would, Arros wished for revenge, wished to rip the very life from their throats. They had taken everything from him. His life was gone, his lover -- heart ripped from his chest the moment that they were taken from him. He would have his revenge, but first...he needed out.
He knew their schedule, long since memorized it with his years in service. He knew when they'd bring him his food, when they'd switch stations and when Sallot often took his mid shift nap. They pitied him, at least some did, fellow guardsmen who wondered how their leader could have fallen so far from grace. Others were smug, glad to see their competition downtrodden and in pain. They were vindictive souls, green with envy and ripe with anger. Arros wouldn't be surprised if they had a hand in all of this, in his fall from grace.
It was lunch time, a meager metallic tray with a single roll and the scant remains of a turkey leg. The latter was surely smuggled in by the kind eyed man Arros had been training just a few short years ago. He wasn't a friend, but perhaps the closes thing the elf had to one, then and now. He was fine with being alone, preferred it that way, but today, he ventured to reach out. Sitting straight as the younger elf approached, vibrant blue eyes standing out against a pale face smudged with dirt. His gaze was careful, the one set upon him filled with pity, a silent exchange passing between the two. They seemed to have an understanding, one Arros fostered as he slowly rose to meet the man at the door.
There they stood, eyes connected as they spoke without words, an understanding. His peer felt awful and Arros was playing the role of a pitiful man. Hands reached out, passing the tray through the slot between the bars. Reaching for it, Arros bypassed the food to grab a thin wrist and, as much as it guilted him to hurt someone who had no part in his pain, the bent the arm down unnaturally, grimacing at the sick snap of bone. A cry rang out, bouncing against the stone walls as Arros whirled around, fist passing between the spaces of the rusting iron bars and slamming into the mans face. Crumpling to the ground, his guard was unconscious. Arros had to work fast, dropping to his knees to reach through the bars of his cell. Fingertips grazed the metal, listening to it jingle just out of his grasp. Cursing softly, the elf pressed closer to the bars, stretching his grasp as far as he could.
Hooking a single digit inside the ring, Arros breathed a sigh of relief. With a bit of struggle he was able to tug the key ring free of its owner. It wasn't over yet, shaking hands, trembling from hunger and fatigue, shifted through the keys, trying time and time again to find the one to match his cell. He could hear boots coming, the heavy thunk of their uniform slapping against damp stone floors, the way it moved throughout the space distorted the proximity of their owner. "C'mon, c'mon," the disgraced guard hissed, gasping as the lock clicked and the cell door creaked open. Those echoing steps began to speed now as they heard the metal move in its hinges. He had to move....fast.
There was a small nook just after the curve in the hall, Arros stepping into it to mask himself. His heart thumped hard in his chest, mind tracking his plan in his minds eye. He could hear them better now, just one guard to check up on the other. Arros stepped out once the man passed, grabbing a fistful of hair and stopping the man in his tracks. He didn't stand a chance as the elf bashed his opponent's head against the wall. He too crumpled to the floor, sword drawn from its hilt before he took off before anyone could stop him.
They were looking for him everywhere, drawn photos of his face with 'TRAITOR' stamped across its top were posted in every small town in the kingdom. There was no place that he was safe, slipping in under the cloak of night to scavenge whatever food from unattended shops that he could manage. The forest was his refuge during the day, hunting and trapping when he couldn't get to a small town fast enough. Arros was at his wits end, exhausted, hungry. Dirt smeared across his cheeks, his hair was matted and his clothes were tattered at the edges. He needed to find a save place soon, to plan and strategize while he gained his strength back. He would make them pay for what they did to his love.
Stumbling towards a stream, Arros dropped to his knees to splash the clear water over his face. He scrubbed the dirt from his cheeks, attempted to clean the ratted masses from his hair. The water was cool against his skin, soothing and refreshing. His body was tired, his mind fatigued, but Arros couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until he got what he wanted.
Hate...
Pain...
Arros hated them, he hated them all as they sat upon their plush bountiful wealth, reveled in their soft silks and engorged on the finest of foods. They lived in a heaven while their people toiled in hell. They worked and died and worked some more for these wretches to fill their bellies like needy little piglets. It was a mockery, a farce, of what was good in the world and, once upon a time, this very man had fought to keep their ways in tact. He'd been their guard, their protector, and he'd been the best until the very people he served turned on him. Their jealousy and their lies, it soured his life and blackened his heart. As any grieving man would, Arros wished for revenge, wished to rip the very life from their throats. They had taken everything from him. His life was gone, his lover -- heart ripped from his chest the moment that they were taken from him. He would have his revenge, but first...he needed out.
He knew their schedule, long since memorized it with his years in service. He knew when they'd bring him his food, when they'd switch stations and when Sallot often took his mid shift nap. They pitied him, at least some did, fellow guardsmen who wondered how their leader could have fallen so far from grace. Others were smug, glad to see their competition downtrodden and in pain. They were vindictive souls, green with envy and ripe with anger. Arros wouldn't be surprised if they had a hand in all of this, in his fall from grace.
It was lunch time, a meager metallic tray with a single roll and the scant remains of a turkey leg. The latter was surely smuggled in by the kind eyed man Arros had been training just a few short years ago. He wasn't a friend, but perhaps the closes thing the elf had to one, then and now. He was fine with being alone, preferred it that way, but today, he ventured to reach out. Sitting straight as the younger elf approached, vibrant blue eyes standing out against a pale face smudged with dirt. His gaze was careful, the one set upon him filled with pity, a silent exchange passing between the two. They seemed to have an understanding, one Arros fostered as he slowly rose to meet the man at the door.
There they stood, eyes connected as they spoke without words, an understanding. His peer felt awful and Arros was playing the role of a pitiful man. Hands reached out, passing the tray through the slot between the bars. Reaching for it, Arros bypassed the food to grab a thin wrist and, as much as it guilted him to hurt someone who had no part in his pain, the bent the arm down unnaturally, grimacing at the sick snap of bone. A cry rang out, bouncing against the stone walls as Arros whirled around, fist passing between the spaces of the rusting iron bars and slamming into the mans face. Crumpling to the ground, his guard was unconscious. Arros had to work fast, dropping to his knees to reach through the bars of his cell. Fingertips grazed the metal, listening to it jingle just out of his grasp. Cursing softly, the elf pressed closer to the bars, stretching his grasp as far as he could.
Hooking a single digit inside the ring, Arros breathed a sigh of relief. With a bit of struggle he was able to tug the key ring free of its owner. It wasn't over yet, shaking hands, trembling from hunger and fatigue, shifted through the keys, trying time and time again to find the one to match his cell. He could hear boots coming, the heavy thunk of their uniform slapping against damp stone floors, the way it moved throughout the space distorted the proximity of their owner. "C'mon, c'mon," the disgraced guard hissed, gasping as the lock clicked and the cell door creaked open. Those echoing steps began to speed now as they heard the metal move in its hinges. He had to move....fast.
There was a small nook just after the curve in the hall, Arros stepping into it to mask himself. His heart thumped hard in his chest, mind tracking his plan in his minds eye. He could hear them better now, just one guard to check up on the other. Arros stepped out once the man passed, grabbing a fistful of hair and stopping the man in his tracks. He didn't stand a chance as the elf bashed his opponent's head against the wall. He too crumpled to the floor, sword drawn from its hilt before he took off before anyone could stop him.
They were looking for him everywhere, drawn photos of his face with 'TRAITOR' stamped across its top were posted in every small town in the kingdom. There was no place that he was safe, slipping in under the cloak of night to scavenge whatever food from unattended shops that he could manage. The forest was his refuge during the day, hunting and trapping when he couldn't get to a small town fast enough. Arros was at his wits end, exhausted, hungry. Dirt smeared across his cheeks, his hair was matted and his clothes were tattered at the edges. He needed to find a save place soon, to plan and strategize while he gained his strength back. He would make them pay for what they did to his love.
Stumbling towards a stream, Arros dropped to his knees to splash the clear water over his face. He scrubbed the dirt from his cheeks, attempted to clean the ratted masses from his hair. The water was cool against his skin, soothing and refreshing. His body was tired, his mind fatigued, but Arros couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until he got what he wanted.