Young Writers Society

Before We Start...

I. Guidelines
____a. Manage as many characters as you wish.
____b. This is inherently a fantasy, though other genres of characters are welcome.
____c. Abide by RR rules.
_______i. Swearing is allowed.
_______ii. Gore is allowed.
____d. No word count max or minimum is in place.

II. Plot
____a. You emerge from stupor in a dank marsh.
_______i. This is Styx.
_______ii. You will meet the others almost immediately.
____b. The exploration of Styx will lend to encountering the mythical monsters and gods/demigods inhabiting Styx.
____c. Eventually we will arrive in Hades.

The Start...

Valon Balessan dreamt of standing amid a field of brilliant flowers. His rapier was clutched and extended, a soft red glow of heat radiating from the blade. He thought it beautiful. He thought it wholesome and welcoming. It was upon the sudden coverage of clouds and abrupt wind that he first felt something was awry.

Lightning crashed in the middle of the field, and from the smoke of scorched earth rose a titan of debris and smoke--red in the eyes and towering above the elf. He began to feel faint; he held his head as the flowers around him began to rot.

There was a pomegranate in his hand, crushed unwittingly and bleeding scarlet juices in his palm.

He awoke in a stupor, tear-stricken face and palm stained pink as a burn wound. The field smelled of a quagmire, and not his home in Espergale. Attempting to raise his head, he groaned out for his roommate to help him, but the name was jumbled, the reality of his face wouldn't come to Valon's mind.

He cast his eyes up to the sky and watched souls roll by above the canopy line. It reminded him of a place seen on his adventures in Alanaar, where the souls of the departed were ushered into the next life by the god Zhaelle. Was this Zhaelle's realm? And why could he remember this, but not...his...name?

Simply put, he had to find answers, and for that, he needed other people. Impaling a tree nearby him was his rapier, which he fetched as he rose. "I suppose this is as good a start as any..."

Bo felt as if his head had a heartbeat of its own - that is, if the heart thumped at the rate of a hummingbird's but was the size of that of a mammoth's. With great difficulty, he pried his eyes open, only to discover his vision to be blurred and impaired by... (he lifted his hand to his face, feeling the warm liquid running down his brow) ...blood.

As he ran his fingers over his head he gingerly felt for the source of the bleeding, finding a gash on his temple that would likely need stitching, and would result in another scar. He hissed in pain when he touched it, drawing his hand away like one would from venturing too close to a flame.

He groaned, letting out noises instead of words as he sat up, feeling as if his skull now apparently inhabited all of his body mass. Though in great frustration and confusion, he sat still, waiting for his eyes to regain their focus, and only then, did he begin to truly asses the situation once he could see it.

When he looked around, the first thing he noticed were scorch marks on the ground around him that very much resembled that of a lightning strike, which was... odd. He knew lightning. And he used lightning magic. He would've sworn he would've remembered doing something like this...

Then again, he did have a severe wound to his cranium, so that could probably explain the lapse in memory. He shrugged to himself at the thought, and finally pushed himself to his feet, looking at the environment surrounding him. It didn't take him longer than a second to realize he didn't recognize or remember any of it, so with a sigh, he trudged forward through the trees. It was only a few seconds following that he actually noticed the person just ahead of him, with a weapon, it looked like. He wiped blood out of his eye just to be sure.

Essence spilled out of a wide gash in his side. Head reeling at the sight of the unfamiliar injury, Maahes managed to push himself up into a sitting position. The world swayed around him. His essence stubbornly decided to cling to his...trench coat? He tentatively touched the fabric. It felt both soft and wet underneath his trembling fingers. He couldn't remember changing guises, and couldn't remember what prompted the change.

He had lost too much essence. Even though his mind was foggy, he could assume that much. It was the only possible reason for his current mental state. He had to bandage the wound. He could adjust to the change in body mass, but losing more would only make the situation more difficult.

His bag. Where was his bag? He looked up from his wound. He felt more nauseous than before; he was sitting in the middle of a marsh. A place of water and earth was not good. He somehow managed to find his bag several feet away from him. Unsteadily getting to his feet, he attempted to take a step towards it. His attempt failed. He slipped and went crashing back to the ground.

His fingers dug into the muck. Fine. He'd do this the hard way. Mud coated his clothes as he crawled over to the bag. With a childish sense of triumphant, he grabbed onto the strap and pulled it close. He fumbled for the roll of bandages. When he finally found it, a smile began to dance across his lips.

"Got it," he whispered.

He carefully wrapped the bandage around his waist, putting the trench coat on over the injury. The bandages showed through the gash in the coat, but it couldn't be helped.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there. But, after a time, he finally rose. His gait was unsteady, but he did not fall. He was making some sort of progress, at least. In the distance, he could make out blurred forms. Arming himself with his alias and a necessary caution, he started to approach them.

Valon turned face, hearing sloppy footsteps behind him. His boots sunk into the dank mud and shifting waters as he poised his sword towards the foggy figure before him.

"Take one more step and risk it being your last," he demanded.

He then heard more splashes of murky water to his right. He mustered a small (or enormous, compared to his current state) amount of energy to send out a mild heat wave, evaporating the fog. Someone spoke, but his reply was a bluff of survival skill: "I will away my blade if you pose no threat to me in this alien place."

Bo watched as the fog cleared, and looked down at the man with the blade.

"The only threat I pose is to myself, naturally," Bo replied, giving a wave as he took a few more steps forward towards the guy. "That is, if you're cool with also not being a threat to me, as I am to you."

Bo paused a moment, confused by his words, and unsure if his sentence made sense. His hand went to his head, though it did nothing to stop the throbbing.

"Uh... I mean, yes. No threats. We good."

Valon slowly--perhaps too slowly--sheathed his tuck, then picked his tricone from the mud, flecking pieces of blood from the rim. He could feel the trickles of blood that'd swept from his hairline, and his head hurt in a way that screamed concussed.

He wouldn't be sleeping for a while.

"You speak in a tongue unfamiliar, but I appreciate its civil tone." A sigh as he approached. "Do you know how we got here, tall man?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Bo answered. "Though I have a feeling it involved me slinging lightning around at some point. Strangest thing though, is I can't remember for the life of me what I was doing, or where I was beforehand."

((Can I join?))

(@Danni88 -- absolutely!)

The elven mage smirked and looked the man up and down, sizing him up. "A lightning mage is something else to behold...I've met one of your kind before, though I must say our encounter didn't end so..."

He recalled the high-ferocity of the mage's slaughter at the hands of demons Valon had released from a Zhaelle rift.

"...favorably."

...but why could he remember this, but still not the name of his best friend?

"You and I will be strong comrades if we are to be away from this place, lightning mage."

((Thanks!!))
India groaned and lifted her head. She was lying in the mud in an unfamiliar place. Maia sat next to her. "Where are we?"
"I don't know," India replied. She looked up and saw some people a little way off. "I wonder who they are." She struggled to her feet and walked towards them, Maia following. "Hello! Do you know where we are?"

“Call me Bo,” he said, finding it odd to be called a lightning mage. He’d only ever heard such archaic terminology used in old, old scholarly works on magic. Though... he couldn’t remember where he’d read them. Or anything beyond that...

The sound of another strangers’ voice called to them.

“Welcome to the question of the hour!” he called back. “Of which, none of us have an answer!”

India groans. "Great. Who are you guys?"

Valon crossed his arms and closed his eyes. The others hadn't bothered to look to the sky, it seemed. "I am discouraged by the number of us awaking, concussed, in this quagmire of departed souls."

He furrowed his brow. "My name is Valon Balessan, former strategist for the Royal Fire Knights of - of..." His eyes went wide. "...my home nation..."

He cast his gaze to the sky once more and attempted to find the sun. Shadows were faintly being cast against the northeast. Sundown would come soon.

"Is anyone else in favor of finding shelter? Perhaps a hearth to dry our boots?" In all honesty, he was perfectly capable of managing the marsh himself, but there were liabilities on his hands then, and while no bleeding heart, Valon found himself remiss in thinking of leaving them.

Besides, there was still the matter of the titan in his dream. If it were a dream.

“Me, definitely. My name is Maia Silvertongue, and my companion is India Pearl.”

Bo bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the exchange of names. “Finding shelter does seem like the best course of action. Though... I think we should probably wait for that fellow over there,” he said, pointing to a figure a approaching. His gaze then lifted to the skies, and though he was clearly seeing something rolling through the sky, he had no idea what he was looking at. He returned his eyes to the figure in the distance.

“It looks like there might be someone else who’s in the same boat.”