Young Writers Society

He studied his hand as Rio left for town. His hand was wet, almost clammy. He eyed Rio questioningly, sizing her and studying her form. What caught his eye was her hair. It looked almost like...
Kelp, he thought finally. Rio has hair like kelp. That's a relief. Dana smiled warmly to himself. He never seen something like Rio in his life except males like her. All his life in his old country, he's been friends with the males of Rio's kind but never saw the females. To him, this was just his good luck. He decided to take the friendly approach before revealing his true self. He raced to Rio and matched her pace to keep up to her. He was ready to use his false voice. He said calmly, "My apologies, Rio. I was thinking of my husband. That happens to me every time I walk in the woods."
Rio said, "I never knew your husband, Goody Darkrai. How come he's never out in town?"
Dana was taken aback at this. He hoped to God that he would avoid that question, but this time his luck just struck out. Without a second thought, he lied, "My poor Jack's been deceased before I ever came here. He was killed by witches for some unknown reason." He felt his knees lock. He never lied in his life, but here his true self was known as some demonically powered man so Dana had no choice but to lie for sake of his life. "I loved him so much, I could almost see him walk through the woods like some spirit. He was always a man full of grace and love for the woods. From what he told me the night he and I wed, he used to live his whole life in the woods." Dana's knees stayed locked, which was noticable to Rio.

Querp sniffed at the molded piece of bread. He scratched at the blue puffs of fuzz with a thin claw, which promptly popped off and fell onto the pavement.
“Cripes,” he muttered. Tossing the bread aside, he knelt on his knobby knees and searched the ground for his lost nail. A pair of boots strode past him, almost stomping on one of his slender hands.
“Oi! Watch where yer goin’!” But the owner of the boots did not hear him. His burgundy coat floated behind him, his long ponytail whipping in the frigid wind. Querp crossed his arms and rested them on his protruding belly. Lilin Lohsael. Querp had seen him around Cela Fretamori before, though it would be safe to assume Mr. Lohsael had never noticed a poor imp such as himself.
“Oh, goody!” Querp plucked his claw from the street and brushed it off affectionately and stuck it back into place. A biting breeze stung his skin, and he desperately tugged on his vest, but it simply wouldn’t fit around his swollen stomach. He chewed his upper lip like a bulldog and frowned. He glanced down at his navy cotton shorts and his chilling green flesh.
It was time to look for some warmer clothes.

[Yeah, this post is a little late, so it's kind of flashing back a few posts...Sorry about that, guys. ]

"... Hideous creatures," he said as his lip curled. "She made a very pretty flame, though. Bright blue." Arose felt her nails bite into her palms, and she could feel the warmth of blood escaping the crescent-like puncture wounds. She flashed him a cooled smile, before nodding and pulling over a mask of intrigue.

"It certainly would have been a sight," she agreed readily. "I should have liked to see it, perhaps an invitation on one of your hunts will be in order," she responded and added a titter of laughter as though a joke. She, however, knew how serious her words had been; she had known that young girl. Little Jinny Cross, she had been a good student though now she was amongst the stars for her unprecedented death. She met his gaze with her own, but she could feel the wave of caution that swept through her making her eyes dim in their usual brightness.

"Well, considering you've had such a day at hunting perhaps you'd best come to dinner tonight, I'd be glad to cook up a meal that should help you in your hunts," she offered once more, not daring to fall across his plans at running off to the King. She'd rather have the time to stall and plan for something lest he soon find out her identity. Arose Gadrielle swallowed, her throat going dry at the prospect of burning at the stake. She coughed lightly, clearing her throat before taking a step towards the merchant's cart and grabbing the items that he passed her. She placed it within her woven basket and turned back to Lilin.

He was watching her with his raptor-like gaze, as though he could spot even the tinniest bit of perspiration should it appear on her flawless face but she knew as well as he that she would betray nothing - it was well known around Cela Fretamori that she kept many a secret and never let slip a single word.

"My apologies, Rio. I was thinking of my husband. That happens to me every time I walk in the woods." Said Goody to Rio as she cought up with her. Rio hadn't know of any husband, this confused her. Marriage usually did. Why keep your spawning partner for life?
"I never knew your husband, Goody Darkrai. How come he's never out in town?" Goody seemed caught off guard by this question but answered quickly.
"My poor Jack's been deceased before I ever came here. He was killed by witches for some unknown reason." Her knees locked.
"I loved him so much, I could almost see him walk through the woods like some spirit. He was always a man full of grace and love for the woods. From what he told me the night he and I wed, he used to live his whole life in the woods."
Her knees stayed locked but Rio nodded.
"I'm very sorry for your loss." Said Rio, more out of habit rather than compassion. She had learned that humans generally care when one close to them dies. She frowned.
"Yes, sorry. Thats very sad." She repeated herself.
She continued walking into town.

Snowflakes fell like suicidal angels from the sky, dying by the hundreds in Elene's shuddering breath. She didn't dare leave the rags she slept in back in the alley - they were draped around her small figure, hunched from the freezing winds sweeping the city streets. She had been walking on a side street next to the frozen river flowing through the centre of the city, and quickly turned onto an old iron bridge, crossing over to the other side, where buildings winked with warm lights from within their windows.

There were small herds of people in long coats walking on the main street, most chatting, some laughing, others leaning on each other. A typical late Friday night, as it were. Elene, however, walked closer to the bridge rather than among people. After all, she was going against the flow-- where most people were returning home from bars, she was heading towards one.

The Three Fools Inn lived up to its name - a large mural of what the artist ostensibly intended to resemble three drinkers at a table graced the broad wall. Either due to age or the ineptitude of the commissioned artist, however, the image showed what could only be interpreted as a coven orgy of three people, or some bizarre sacrificial rite. Though the last one was more than fitting.

Elene slid into the building after a pair of rowdy patrons were-- persuaded by a nearby guard to leave. She moved quickly, even though nobody was looking at her anyway. The inn was spacious in comparison to other inns, and had a large bar with an equally large barman at the back end. It was well-lit by several lanterns dangling off the ceiling, and a band of travelling musicians squawked a spasmodic melody out of their instruments. But Elene wasn't around for the drinks-- she shuffled around the side of the bar, and, without stopping, continued into the back room. She deliberately but very lightly glanced the side of the barman's shoulder with her index finger as she walked.

The back room was warm and dark and smelled strongly of spirits. The cooks and dish-maidens all left, so there was no-one there, save for Elene - who found a small crevice between two wooden barrels, and sat down on the stone floor. It was much warmer than the ground outside. The only soft glow in the room came from the not-quite extinguished embers in the spit-roast oven across from Elene.

The barman barked some order to his aide, and went into the back-room. In anticipation of this, she took out the roll of vellum.

"Eleandra?" he said upon entering, and looked around. He had a gruff voice. "Sneaky trick. Maybe this time they finally sent someone bit more resilient than the last three. Where are you?"

"Yes, it's me," she half-whispered, looking straight ahead at the embers. She wrapped herself even tighter in her rags.

"You're behind there? The hell you're doing? Helping yourself to some free wine?" he asked, and started towards the wine barrels. "Let me see--"

"Please don't," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't touch your wine. I'm sorry." Her voice shivered. She took a deep breath and let it out inside her rags, warming her a little.

"Got a bit of a stage fright, don't you? Just as long as you don't burn me or whatever the hell your kin does," he said. She slid the roll of vellum underneath the barrel, and he picked it up. She heard a whistle. "Now that's a list. But then it's his fault for sending useless snobs as assassins. Only worth firewood, they were. I guess he tried something new for a change."

"Ah," she breathed out.

"Tell you what," Albeirde replied. "It's late, and I've still got patrons. Haul your ass back here tomorrow, and I'll fill you in."

"Yes," she said, and the barman started towards the exit. She kept looking at the embers. "Um."

"What?" he asked, turning around. "Spit it out."

"No," she said, and shook her head, mainly in dismay at herself. "Nothing, sorry." He continued walking, and was almost out.

"I was wondering when the cooks come back," she squeaked. "I was wondering if I would be a bother here to you while they're gone."

"They'll be here again in eight hours. No, you won't be a problem, as long as you stay put. And don't touch the damn wine, that's reserved for the paying customers."

"Thank you so much," she said, and moved ever so closer to the oven. Its shimmering breath settled on her face, numb from cold, and she felt herself drifting off -- but only for a matter of minutes.

Casual, heavy footsteps intruded the silence and the background din of the inn's dining floor. Her eyes opened wide, her muscles tensed. She would say something, but she did not know whether it had been Albeirde or not. She had no weapon, too - she sold her last dagger two days ago, to buy bread and salt. The footsteps continued towards the barrel. She imagined the attacker in front of her, estimated his height by the heaviness of steps and approximate position of the solar plexus to deliver a leaping strike at - if her frost-bitten legs allow such sudden movement, that is--

The footsteps stopped only a short distance away from where she hid, and there was a metallic clang. And then, in her view, pushed by an unseen hand with the sound of scraping against stone, there appeared a tin platter with freshly roasted chicken and two whole potatoes; and next to the platter there was a tankard of wine. The footsteps nonchalantly returned to the inn's main floor.

Lilin frowned without any attempt at hiding his displeasure. He couldn't believe this woman was so persistent in inviting him to dine with her, and on what inclination? He remembered her by face and name only from the past winter, from an encounter during the annual Royal Masquerade at the palace. He had stumbled upon her in the shadows of the sweeping staircase in the ballroom, mask removed and looking a little like a lost child amidst the swirl of color and music. Drink and dance had loosened his tongue, and like a gentleman, Lilin had introduced himself, asking the lovely woman to dance in a moment of carelessness.

Was it the fog of the punch that made their dance difficult to recall or just an unconscious effort to push the experience from his mind? Lilin was not a fool enough to allow himself attachment, not when he had a job to do, not when he had so much at stake.

So after glaring at the woman for a nearly uncomfortable amount of time, he respond with a firm, "No."

As he made to turn and retreat, he paused then looked over his shoulder. Amending his harsh refusal, he said, "Forgive me, Miss Gadrielle. I have business to attend to. Have a nice evening." And with that, he walked off into the frigid night.

As Rio resumed her course, Dana made for his cottage to spend his thinking time alone. Once he was in his cottage, he stripped himself of his disguise and dressed in his black noblemen's suit. He rarely trusts anybody with this, which has been a perfect charade for the past six months since he moved here. His old home was no place for someone with the likes of him. This he had to learn the hard way. All he had left of his old country was his cloak- bequeathed from his mother- and his knife- a secret that only he knew and never dared speak of- to carry with him. He sat down on the floor, his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander off with him.
This is your one chance to live your life, Darkrai, he thought. You never got your chance back at your old country, thanks to your father. Two years at sea and another two years of being a nomad has brought you here, Darkrai. You are one lucky man so far, but you know this luck will not last long. You're still a slow learner, aren't you? Well, at least this time you were smart enough to keep your manhood to yourself.
He opened his eyes and got on his feet. He often hated having to scold himself in his mind, but he knew it must be done. It keeps him away from going mad during his solitude, that's what mattered to him.

"No." the harsh refusal made her blink, but no more. She dare not bother offering once more, but her persistence was rightly deserved considering she had been to poison him whilst they dined. She had known that supposed witch Jinny Cross and her undeserved death would not go unpunished. She idly listened as he said something other but she was far too lost in her own thoughst. She offered a curt incline of her head, turned the other way and then left. She had other businesses to attend to and then later she would finish her job at buying her food items.

Arose Gadrielle forced her way through a barrage of people, she passed by a good many empty buildings whom were closed for the night. Their shutters closed, and doors barred for the night but nothing was off-limits to her. She wondered if perhaps the tavern as well was closed, it would be a good thing should it not be. Her black cloak around her shoulders billowed out in the frigid night's air as she meandered closer to where it was she would go. She pushed back stray hair from her face, regretting it as the cold wind bit her harshly.

Her gaze befell upon the men who scurried home to wives who would not bother questioning them as to where they'd be, for the petty excuses would pour from the men's lips like rotten ale. Arose sighed, her longing could not be sated though. She was something far too... different, perhaps was the correct word but should Lilin Lohsael know of her true being he would certainly enjoy feasting upon the sight of her lifeless body whilst it burned. A pretty color she burned, she thought back to what Lilin had said, bright blue. The thought sickened her but the child had burned blue for her water affinity, and she idly wondered what color she would burn - black?

She looked up and her gaze fell upon the large artists murale, it's three drunks looked to be more like something rather too vile to be depicted. She immediately knew that this was where she should be; the Three Fools Inn. The tavern was closed, however, but despite the twinge in her diaphragm she went to the door and pressed her fingers against the lock, and letting her fingers cool to the touch. The lock grew cold, and colder still until finally with a loud snap it shattered like ice under a hammer. She pushed open the door and walked into the darkness, pausing briefly before closing the door behind her.

The ten foot tall iron gates of the sprawling palace complex opened to Lilin like the arms of a lover. Two white suited sentries with blank faces flickering beneath the torch light stood at either pillar from which the gates hung. Padding through the dirty, pack snow and the slosh of snowmelt and gravel, he crossed the great driveway to the wide flagstone stairs that led up to the palace courtyard.

With only torches sprinkled about to illuminate the area, only the light of the arched windows and the moon to light his path, his mind was free to fill in the shadows and empty space with caravans of gilded carriages, plumed horses jingling with as much jewelry as the men and women that poured from the carriage doors. A menagerie of costumed figures lit upon the stairs, then decorated with towering candelabras that showered the guests with a warm glow, and they walked up to the dazzling courtyard space where the overlapping melodies of strings and brass fluttered through the brisk air like the delicate snowflakes that had just began to fall. The Masquerade had lasted until sunrise, the party eventually migrating into the ball room indoors to escape the midnight chill.

Why Lilin found himself recalling that night, not even he knew. Perhaps it had something to do with running into Miss Gadrielle, or maybe it was just the atmospheric lighting of the palace courtyard. Whatever the case, he continued onward across the stone courtyard, empty and silent as a vacated battlefield, and from the tension Lilin could sense in the air, perhaps a battlefield was a more apt description than he realized.

When Lilin entered the palace itself, he was struck by the echoing sounds of nervous chatter and cries, the drumming and clacking of hurried footsteps, and the forth and back of servants making beelines across the golden marble floor of the Great Hall. No one greeted him as was customary. In fact, no one seemed to realize he had even entered so preoccupied were they on whatever trouble had ignited this chaos.

As a maidservant, a mousy girl who was practically running in circles, made her way past him, Lilin shot out an arm like the strike of a viper and gripped the maid by her starched collar. With a yelp, she fell back against him, and Lilin glared down into her flustered, blushing face.

"What is the meaning of this madness?" he questioned her, pointing with his free hand to her fellow employees as well as several decorated members of the court darting about.

"Pardon me, Sir," she sqeaked. "It's Princess Amerine. She's gone!"

Lilin's stony face fractured into wide-eyed surprise. "Gone?" he hissed, and the maid flinched out of his grasp, nodding excitedly to appease him.

"Y-yes, she has disappeared! One minute she was in her chambers, and the next, vanished!" the maid cried, holding her hands over her heart. Losing interest in the man and remembering that she still had more useless scuttling to do about the hall, she turned away from him and joined the frenzy once more. Lilin sighed through his nose, blinking lazily in disdain. Useless, he thought. But the princess. Where the devil could she be? Nevertheless, he had business with the King, and if anyone could shed some light on Amerine's disappearing act, it would be her father.



[p.s. Check this out: it's important]

Dana sat on the floor of his cottage, meditating over his decision of ever coming here alone. His cousins begged him to stay the day he told them he was leaving, but he ignored their pleas and left anyway. Getting on a ship wasn't easy for Dana, since he was known as a wanted criminal in the country. He had to stow away to get inside the ship, then keep quiet for a solid two years. That much time at sea made him hungry for anything- including the worst thing he ever did for the first and only time in his life. After he was sure the crew was gone, Dana went to a brothel and things went bad from there. He went on the run and managed to elude witch hunters and local law before he was a mile from the village. He donned himself as a woman and has lived his life that way ever since.
As he opened his eyes, he rose to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror. His own face had the same haunted look in his eye as he had when he left his old country to live life on the run. He asked himself in the mirror, "Why did you throw away the family that loved you before you left for this? Why, Darkrai?" He clentched his fists and smashed the mirror with his fist. The blood on his fist was something he found strangely appealing. Just seeing the blood, he calmed down and bandaged his hand. He went to bed, letting himself free from his anger and allowing himself to rest from the day's stress.

Rio walked into town and looked around. People milled around, some shivvering with cold. She frowned and looked at her arms, nothing. It wasn't cold, not to her at least. Nothing was cold to someone who spent their lives in freezing waters. She realized how different she actually was from the humans. She didn't care. She walked barefoot through town, her hair freezing and cracking. She walked to the tailors and walked in to the sound of a little bell. It was quiet and nearly empty in the shop.
"Oh, Hello!" said a plump, cheery woman.
"Hello." said Rio stiffly. The plump woman approached her and looked into her face closely. The womans face scrunched. Rio felt...uncomfortable.
"May I ask why you are peering at me like that? I don't like it."
"Sorry ma'am." said the woman, her accent thick. Scottish possibly.
"I need a new dress." Said Rio, holding up the hem of her dress to show the woman the holes in the black fabric.
"Of course, my dear. Fabric? Color?"
"Muslin. Black. When will it be done?" Rio didn't want to stand there anyomore. Her gills began to show, and she felt tired.
"About a week, Deary." The plump woman said, sizing her.
"Thank you." Rio left the shop and sat on the street, very tired for some reason.
(Someone can come find her if they want. Or not,)

Querp trotted to the nearest seamstress shop, his long feet slapping the pavement. He tucked his numb ears up into his hat, which he knew wouldn't warm them at all, but he felt he should do something. He had nothing to pay the seamstress, but he had always been rather good at charming people into doing what he wanted.
The people bustling about had chilled red flesh, with their coat collars popped, so when he saw the woman sitting on the street outside the seamstress shop looking somewhat warm, he cocked an eyebrow.
"Oi!" he called to her. She lifted her head exhaustedly and frowned at him in disgust. He scratched at the hair on his stomach and grinned.
"Look, miss. I'm mighty cold. Could you spare something to help me get myself some warmer clothes?"
She reply with a glare and a simple "no."
He tilted his head and gave her the most pathetic pout he could muster.
"Get out of here," she growled.
Querp eyes widened. She had gills.

Arose entered the building cautiously, her gaze roaming the desolate tavern. She licked her chapped lips, spotting the tavern's storage entrance not far from where she stood. Her hood fell back, her red hair fell into her eyes and she irritably swiped it away. She reached up and pulled one of the thin strings that tied the cloak at her throat and immediately she reached to her left and pulled out her arm, following the movement until she had the cloak in a bundle in the crook of her forearm.

The tavern was silent, but she strained to hear if there was any movement. There. She caught the almost inaudible sound of movement, a silent shifting of the feet or perhaps the brush of fabric against wood. Her hand slashed through the air, the shadows around the tavern immediately obeyed her action and slunk back, casting the room in a less darkened sheen. It seemed now, as though the entire place was sheathed in a grey smoke.

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the strange lighting, and she moved forward, footsteps silent as the smoke she walked through. Arose idly stroked the small rabbit's ear that hung at her hip, the charm was meant for goodhearing and the rabbit's hindpaw meant for speed. She looked down at the small black pouch that hung left of her charms on the leather belt, and she unhooked the small clasp and reached inside; pulling free the liquid black sand that she had collected once in the distant lands beyond Cela Fretamori.

She swallowed at the distant memory, wiping her face with the back of her hand as she tried to clear her head of the cobwebs she felt. She slipped some of the sand to the ground, letting it mark her path as she crept closer towards the storage entrance, creeping closer towards where she knew the woman would be. She came here, she came for warmth. She came for a bed and an eats.

As the night welcomed the stars, Dana stalked around in the dark. He hardly spoke a word as he does this. Since during the day he's being hunted down by witch hunters, he's safe for now during the night. He stalked around until he went to a busy tavern. The hustle-and-bustle inside was just what he needed to blend in and enjoy himself shamelessly. He took a seat and ordered himself a drink. At first, he just smelled the drink- which was red wine- for fear of poison. After he took the nerve to take the first sip, he was relieved. He was no stranger to wine, but red wine was entirely new to him. He drained his glass slowly, savoring every sip like he wanted to.
It was after this first glass when he saw Lilin. Dana couldn't believe what he was seeing, but because Lilin is around Dana knew he mustn't linger. If the Reaper is found in Cela Fretamori, then it's to the fire with Dana Darkrai of Melliana. Dana left some gold on the table and started to make a run for the door. He was too scared of Lilin and anyone else who knew of the infamous Reaper. Dana managed into the woods and climbed up a tree, hoping Lilin didn't see him and attempted to pursue him.

Rio tried to catch her breath outside the seamstress'. The cold must have been freezing the water she had in her making it useless. Her gills were showing more and more. A little troll approached her.
"Oi! Look, miss. I'm mighty cold. Could you spare something to help me get myself some warmer clothes?" Rio was tired and didn't feel like dealing with more of peoples emotions.
"No." The troll made sad eyes at her and looked pathetic. Rio, being awful with human emotions didn't know how to handle this situation so she reverted to anger, attempting to get the little thing away.
"Get out of here." The little thing stared at her, his eyes widening. Her gills, he was staring at her gills. She felt uncomfortable again, one of the emotions that humans and watermaidens shared. She put her hands up to her face and looked down.
"Don't stare at my gills. I need them to breathe." She said stiffly. She tried to stand up to walk away but tripped and fell.
You little weakling. You've been out of the water for how long? Half the hour? And already you're to sick to stand. She thought to herself. She scowled and looked at the little thing.
"I'll help you, If you help me." She said through gritted teeth.