Young Writers Society

Long before the Kingdom of Reiland rose and mankind moved away from magic, there were eight clans. These clans were collections of the most powerful, ambitious, and possibly savage magic users across the land. Their leaders were legendary, their magic just myth. Each clan constantly proclaimed themselves the best, the most powerful, and they always fought for land, power, and sometimes bragging rights. War was common. Manslaughter was not.

Of the eight clans, one struck fear into the hearts of the rest: the Blood Clan. The powers of these witches and warlocks were unrivaled, uncommon, unnatural. They were too powerful with their seemingly savage rituals and hexes that lasted generations. The others saw only one way to stop them. In a war to end all wars, the other seven clans turned on the Blood Clan and destroyed them by murdering every last member. There were no survivors; it was genocide.

Soon after, the seven clans turned on one another and bloodshed ravaged the land. But from the rubble, one last Blood Clan member rose to take his revenge: Leader Tarquin.

Tarquin bestowed a curse upon those who'd slaughtered his people, a curse which turned the witches and warlocks to merfolk. It was a curse that would never fade, being passed on through their generations, only to be broken when their sins were atoned. These beginning merfolk came to be known as the Originals. Most of the Originals were mortal just as any other creature, but Tarquin felt the other clan leaders didn't deserve the finality of death. As all the others lived their lives and died, the seven leaders were left to age and forced to feel the pain of death hovering over them without its peace ever falling. Eventually, their bodies rejuvenate and the cycle begins again. These seven are what is left of the Originals.

The other members of the clans that were spared from the curse were still stripped of most of their magic. They were left with mundane powers so another war like this would not occur (despite the rumors that linger today about witches and warlocks left with extraordinary powers).

In the aftermath, humanity stepped up to fill the space left behind by the clans. Strong leaders stepped up as a light to chase away the heavy darkness above everyone. This became a dark age, but still an age of prosperity as the kingdom rose as the first nobility were established within Reiland. Tarquin assisted this change of power every step of the way, and it should be noted that he shared a close relationship with the future queen before she married the first king.

From then on, history becomes cloudy and there are no certain descendants of Tarquin's. Of the myths passed down, he never married or announced an heir of his own. Other than the queen, he never grew close to any women. He even grew apart from her very soon after she announced her first child -- the first successor of the throne. This child was noted to have unusually strong powers for the family, since neither the king nor queen practiced much magic.






As of two weeks ago, Prince Alastair was kidnapped by - you guessed it - mermaids.

For the centuries following the royal family's ascension onto the throne, it became a dangerously paranoiac superstition to never visit the sea, out first indeed in fear of the wrath of the mermaids; but as the years rolled on, and magic became more mundane, the original source of their fear became muddled. Luckily the custom prevailed enough so that no one of direct royal bloodline neared the sea and the royal family got by with sending representatives to the coast when needed instead.

The prince had supposed to be on a hunting trip, a good couple of day's travel from the coast, when the news of his kidnapping spread. His hunting party claimed that they had gotten lost and wandered farther than they had thought when questioned, and that the prince had been dragged off of land by strange human-like sea creatures. To their testimonies, they had been unable to save him in time.

Search parties scoured the ocean, to no avail. A few days after his disappearance his clothes had washed up on the shore, but they were completely unmarked, with no sign of struggle. Finally, the royal family resorted to entrusting the use of Old magic.

Relations with the remaining magical beings, including witches and warlocks, dwindled down to barely restrained disdain on both sides of the spectrum. Whenever a human encountered one from the Old World, it was not uncommon for the human to end up dead or ensnared into some sort of endless curse. Needless to say, the royal family were skeptical when a witch from the wastelands offered her services, and requested that a select rescue party be sent to her home. As the few letters from the witch remained stubbornly vague, and the desperation of the nation was rising, the royal family obliged.

This is where you come in.






Now, contrary to the medieval human social and political constructs where the males are dominant, in the merfolk world the mermaids are the ones that hold the power. They are the leaders, the strategists, the authoritatives and the supreme sex to their male counterparts. While the mermen are gifted with their physical strength, the mermaids wield all of the magic, because it was much more common for the females in the former clans to posses it and also because the few mermen who were Originals died out a long time ago.

How are there even mermen right now, then, you ask? While mermaids are born, mermen must and can only be made. Mermen are obtained through the killing or drowning of a human male by a mermaid's hand, and as long as he remains in the water and intact, he'll soon be literally swimming with the fishes. Instead of an actual fish tail, as the mermaids have, mermen have webbed feet, since they were originally human; and, well, two feet can't magically merge together without reconstructing the entire lower half of the body for a permanent amount of time, right?

Because of the way mermen are made and come from, there are obvious physical differences, and their treatment is akin to how slaves are treated. The mermen are a labor force and an instrument to produce more merfolk, and they live in a lifelong servitude. Their masters are called Mistresses and are typically the ones that killed them, though it isn't uncommon for them to be traded. There are those few unlucky ones that become Serviles, typically the mermen that rebel and those handful that are created unintentionally, and they are for public use: for a small sum, they can be leased out to be used in whichever way the mermaid that leased them sees fit. Serviles, as you probably guess, live the shortest.

Usually, though, the amount of mermen that belong to a mermaid falls under the mermaid's social status, and the creation of a merman typically must be approved. The status of a mermaid is exhibited through the amount of bone jewelry and the type of bone that the mermaid wears, and things such as earrings, piercings, and arm bracelets are the most common types of jewelry to show status. Human bone is regarded as diamond and a nod to superiority in the merfolk world.

Instead of keeping to seven different clans, the merfolk merged under one society, their immortal leaders forming a council of seven. From there, the power trickles down - literally, because status is dependent upon the mermaid's magical strength and tact, not on birthright. Besides that, the merfolk govern themselves similar to humans, except in the aspect of religion.

Their religion is a very prominent aspect of their culture, a faith they very strongly adhere to. First and foremost, they worship an enormous but dormant sea god known as Itluthu. In their search for the correct bloodline to free them of their curse, they sacrifice captured humans to this god and hold frequent rituals in his greatness. Their main city is even thought to be built upon his heart, and tremors throughout the city are said to be his pulse when he is displeased.

Aside from the one large city, the merfolk normally have small communities on the ocean floor that surround their capital. These communities are often focused around one specific person that will benefit the aristocrats and Originals back in the city. These communities are left unregulated and are often created of makeshift materials that can be moved whenever needed. They are constantly changing, like the ocean's current. Ountside the main city are many guards that regulate entrance in and out.






You can convince anyone of anything with your words alone. This is one of the most reliable magic out of the five, as long as your audience is unaware of you practicing on them and as long as evidence that can refute your words isn't present. Besides that, you can convince a farmer that yes he is indeed the inheritant of a great fortune, and should therefore give you his money since he won't be needing those measly coins - given that you have enough time to do so. The bigger the lie, the greater resistance your audience has, and the more people you have to convince at one time, then the longer it will take you to persuade them of anything.



You are able to become nearly completely unnoticed, but only when you are submerged in water. You become a dark spot, and nothing more than a shadow and a trick of the light. It works more in the sense that people do not perceive you because your magic has convinced their brain that you are not there. However, if someone knows that you are there, or if someone looks directly at you for too long, or if someone is ardently looking for you, your magic hidey hole is up. You can cloak one more person with you as long as you are both touching, but it greatly reduces the power of your blind spot, and you are much more likely to be seen. It also depends on the size of the person you are trying to hide with you, and the larger the person is the harder time you're going to have. The longer you hide the more drained you will be and you are only able to sustain yourself and another hidden for a few moments at a time before you're completely used up.



You can speak and understand any language. This is the most reliable magic out of the five and it does not drain you to use it. Once a language has been spoken to you or you have spoken a language or have read in one, whether it be one word or a speech, you can instantly retain the entire tongue and can recite it whenever you wish. This includes the language of all magical creatures and animals. Though, while you can speak it, you do not have the same capabilities of someone with Persuasion, and some magical beings might not appreciate a human speaking their native tongue.



You are able to know if someone is speaking the truth. This is by far the most ambiguous magic there is, as you are unable to tell if someone is lying, only if they speak truth, and if someone is both lying and telling the truth then you're going to get mixed signals. You are unable to decipher what is true and what is false and you can only know that something is true but you cannot tell what it is without figuring it out by your own. You feel it when something is true, and the stronger the feeling the truer it is, while in comparison if someone has both lied and told the truth then the signal will be duller. The signal will be dull if someone is omitting information. However, this magic has an extra dagger to dance with: if the person who is speaking believes in what they say, then the signals will tell you that what they say is true. With this magic you are given extra resistance against someone with Persuasion and a higher chance of seeing someone with Blindsight, though they both could still work their magic on you.



Your body is resistant to just about anything anyone can throw at you. While that doesn't mean you're particularly "unbreakable", it just means that it's a lot harder to break you physically. Your pain tolerance is inhumanely high, which helps when doing anything taxing in regards to labor. As well, you find it easier to bounce back from exhaustion as well as any blow that might've taken you off your feet. A magic like this is quite handy when you find yourself resorting to fisticuffs faster than you can use your wit.



You are the soldier, the weapons master, and the honor and pride of your country. While you don't have a lick of magic in your body, your military skill and experience makes you a must on this rescue. You will gladly throw down your life for your prince and bask in the glory placed on your name from the afterlife.



While you may or may not have military experience, your street and hunting smarts are renowned. Instead of relying on your nonexistent magic, you draw strength from your resourcefulness. You are both the thief and the hunter, willing to do whatever it takes to survive at whatever cost, as long as you can still walk free the next morning. You may or may not have the best relationship with the government (up to you), but they cannot deny your essentiality on this mission. Your profession is left up to you, whether you are the lord of cutthroats or the prized hunter.



You are the crafty to the powerful and the genius to the brute. While you may not be gifted physically and magically, you can outsmart just about anything. At least, that is, when you are deep in a political debate. Actual application of all your reading on things that would help you practically might be a bit dusty. Nevertheless, it's always good to have someone with the booksmart brains when going on a perilous journey to rescue the King's son.



This is a very essential role to the story, and so therefore we have agreed to give this position out on the condition that anyone who wants this role must give us a pitch to how you want to approach this character. Since this character will have a particularly important part later on in the Storybook, so much so that we thought it'd be unfair if we played it ourselves and so much so that it would become too open to interpretation if we left this as an NPC, we would like this character to be particularly well done. The condition is that this character must have a supremely close bond to the Prince, strong enough that they are willing to sacrifice themselves for him and to whatever end to ensure his safety. The makeup of the bond can be anything, from cousin to uncle to sister to best friend to even lover. This character must be hardy. Besides that, kudos for creativity. We willingly allow you to blow our minds.

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b] (Please not anyone too young or too old.  Preferably we would like this in the 20's-30's range, but you may contact us if you have an idea in mind.)
[b]Gender:[/b] (Please note that if your character is genetically male that there will be some obvious problems that will arise when we enter into the merworld.)

[b]Appearance:[/b]  (Pictures are allowed but please no anime and etc.  Details are nice.)

[b]Personality:[/b] (Include both good and bad things.  For instance, a character can be bold and confident, and can also be rash and arrogant.)

[b]Backstory:[/b] (Try to err on the side of being detailed.)

[b]Skillset:[/b] (This is where you explain your character's given skill or magic and how it will aide in the rescue.)

[b]Other Details:[/b]

"Ahem, may I have your attention."

Tink tink, and glasses and knives and forks and spoons tapped down upon the table, white gold twinkling like stolen sunset upon the blood of the wood; a discreet reminder of the governing family and their colors of gold and crimson. Heads and arms and legs moved in the wake of the jagged dagger of an unanticipated break of rule - that is, the assumed rule to not speak at all - and it shot through the cutthroat silence that had gripped them all in a rather overwhelming rage of brewing thoughts and anticipation. The scattered attention of the room zeroed into a singular keen beast that watched the little man at the door with a daring interest.

The little man shifted and the curve of his nose dipped down with his protruding thyroid cartilage, and his heavily pored skin shone from some unknown exertion. Still, he lifted his dimpled chin and continued, staring down the beast with grim determination of someone who had been given a grisly task to do and there were no one else that would do it.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he said with as much pride as he could muster, "the King would like to remind you of the importance of your mission tomorrow before your early departure."

The rule of silence dissipated a bit more as a few of them scoffed and then turned back to eating. Most of them, the Doctor noticed, with their hands again. She carefully rearranged her napkin in her lap and then turned her full attention upon the man, folding her hands in her lap.

"The witch you will be travelling to lives in the wastelands, and the royal family has sanctioned four horses to share between the eight of you excluding the Pri-"

"What?" Alysse snapped, slapping her palm upon the table. Her feline face contorted in outrage beneath her hood. "You expect me to share?"

"I'm not going to be sharing with bloody anyone." Adame crossed his thick arms across his chest and his face assumed a more intense version of its spiteful self, with all of the righteousness of a self-declared bigot.

Similar declarations echoed across the unnecessarily large and intricately detailed dining room, and the Doctor memorandumed it as the first instance of mutual agreement.

"I, of course, am bringing my own, correct?" the Prince articulated smoothly, looking upon the others with pleasant amusement, as if they had all equally shared in the telling of a silly joke, before turning his gaze upon the man at the door.

"I- Of course, Your Majesty." The man replied gratefully.

"What?"

"We're all equally on this mission, why does His Majesty get his own horse?"

"We should all share equally."

"Fuck the horse, he's gonna make us carry his bloody beauty products."

"I'm the leader of this mission," the Prince replied, a bit confused at the other's affront. "Of course I get my own horse."

Adame scoffed next to her. The Doctor straightened her already rigid back, and looked degradingly upon the little bit of spittle that landed a bit too close to her plate for comfort.

It was an unquestionable fact who was the official superior of the mission. Whether the Prince would actually prove himself to not be a total waste of royal blood on this harrowing journey was yet to be determined, and if the Doctor herself had been given a say as she should have been (given that she was the only one with any proper education in the group) she would have deemed the possibility of bringing another Prince along a rather enormous risk casualty, should something unfortunate happen. Especially since any other direct heirs were not in line.

But, of course, it hadn't been her place to have a say.

Things would be very much different if it were.

The Doctor scrutinized the man at the door. He was nervous, younger than she, and had the telltale signs that he had been given an explicit message that he was not to veer off of. He shifted upon his feet and looked eager to leave. The Doctor was eager to have the message relayed so they could all move on with their lives. The Doctor did not like wasting time.

"What else did you come to say?" The Doctor spoke up, punctually louder than the bickering in the room to silence it. She did not bother to meet the derisive gazes of those at the table that didn't like her - which was essentially all of them, save the few that didn't care where they were or what they were doing at all.

"The witch does practice Old Magic and it is important that you all keep your wits about you," he continued warily. "The witch is the best lead on recovering the prince, and our trust has been put into all of you to bring him to his rightful home."

A few of the group snickered. The Doctor quickly reevaluated their chances of success and found the percentage much less appealing.

"The witch has sent the rescue party a way in which to find her." He paused and stepped back, twisting his head around the door to motion to someone who must have been waiting just outside of it. A much older and much shorter man hurried in, his face wrinkled and folded and chapped like cheap leather, with the finery of his clothes at par with his physique. In his knotted hands rested a small pillow of the deepest purple, and upon the pillow nestled a stone that seemed to breathe its own internal golden flame.

It was cut in a jagged cylinder no bigger than her palm, and the burst of gold seemed trapped in its center. Its edges were scorched black and streaks of grey ran through the stone like smoke. The Doctor watched as bright specks swirled down its thin veins of light like blood cells before fading away.

The elderly man bowed to the Prince and offered the pillow to him, and as he placed it on the table she saw that it came with a small indistinguishable black purse.

"The witch claims that the stone will become cooler the closer you arrive to her." As he spoke, the Prince delicately touched the stone, and then jerked his hand back with a hiss. He glanced around him, discreetly shook his fingers, and then coughed. He carefully began to egg the rock into the purse by scooping it up with the purse's lip.

"The King reminds you all to remain cautious on your journey and that your sole mission is to return the prince, at whatever cost."

The man gave a short bow, and before anyone could grill him for any sort of solutions, he excused himself to the prince and left with the old man hurriedly on his heels. The guards quickly closed the door behind him.

"Well, fuck," Roark stated insouciantly, the first words the Doctor had heard him say all day.