Young Writers Society

The Plot

Once, a long, long time ago, an Oracle of the Mother gave voice to a prophecy. A tale of seven lines who would journey to the Hungry Isles and slay a beast. The prophecy foretold of children born under a red moon, rising to great power--and to great fear, causing chaos and sufffering wherever they went.

Or so the old rumour went.

Of course, you don't believe in prophecies. Never really did. Not until you run into the other six and realise that yes, that prophecy people mutter about in dark corners of taverns and inns and various other places of ill repute was about you. You and your new companions.

Thrown together by fate, the seven of you embark on a journey across Melnar and into the unknown. There's pirates, undead, shapeshifters, fighting and maybe a dragon or two ahead. Are you prepared?

Character Sheet:

Code: Select all

[b]Name:[/b] (first and last, if possible)
[b]Age:[/b] (17+ please)
[b]Gender:[/b] (Male/female/other)

[b]Race:[/b] (human, elf, others, etc)

[b]Profession:[/b] (thief, hunter, etc! Please include the associated skills!)

[b]Bonded Dragon:[/b] (Applies ONLY to Dragon Rider! Name, age, appearance and maybe personality if possible)

[b]Appearance:[/b] (a brief appearance will work; you can include a picture)

[b]Personality:[/b]
[b][i] - Strengths:[/i][/b]
[b][i] - Weaknesses:[/i][/b]

[b]Magic:[/b] (If applicable)

[b]History:[/b] (brief history will work)

[b]Up For Love:[/b] (y/n, orientation?)

[b]Other:[/b] (anything that doesn't fit above, such as personal missions/goals, any secrets you might be keeping, etc.)

Characters Slots:

The tavern was loud, full of drunks and drunker singing, overpowering the poor bard on stage to Ryn's left, who was starting to look increasingly incensed by the disrespect. He smirked a little at the look on the elf's face, tugging his hood a little lower, further casting shadows over his features. It wouldn't do to draw attention to himself, especially considering the very stupid thing he'd done a few days ago. By the Mother, he was still hearing murmurs about it. Ryn needed to get out of town, and soon.

"Did you hear?" one man said, voice low but still easily heard over the music and murmur of other, low conversations. Ryn thought they were stupid to be discussing it so openly. "Lord Ravoris is still complaining about being broken into the other day."

"Of course he is," the other hissed back. It sounded like he knew him. "Ravoris will take this complaint as far as possible and you know it."

Ryn snorted, eyes dropping to his drink. Oh, he knew exactly why the lord was still complaining. He'd stolen the orb from the man. He flicked his gaze back up to watch the two men at the bar talking about the theft. They both looked like nobility, which had him wondering why they were in such a disruptable place like the Octopus? Who knew, to be honest. There were plenty of nobles in the city that had their hands in the darker, more dangerous parts of the city. Like the Thieves' Guild, and the Orphanges, the fighting pits at Valir and the ones in Sarea, or the underground slavery trade that was supposed to be banned in Melnar. Ryn only knew these things because he ran in similar circles, mainly on the fringes of the Guild--which was a much smaller branch in Sarea than elsewhere.

He turned the mug about in his hands thoughtfully as he listened to them a little longer--more rumour and gossip and speculation. Something about Ravoris being more involved in slave trading than people thought, something else about how cruel he was. More on just how upset he was at losing his special project. Ryn snorted again, rolling his eyes. Honestly, the man was frankly over-doing it with the complaints.

Suddenly, the door banged open. Ryn glanced up, watching as a hooded figure darted inside. He watched them look around for a moment before slinking towards the bar. They settled on a stool and waved down the barmaid. He dragged his eyes away and happened to catch someone watching him from the far side of the tavern. Ryn blushed and immediately ducked his head. It had been an older man with deep blue-green skin--it was hard to tell exactly what shade it was in the low light of the Octopus, but he was tall and broad, and Ryn happened to like both those things. Damnit. Not now, Ryn!

"Shit," he muttered and took a deep drink of his disgustingly watered down ale. Sarea was well-known for good ale, so this crap the Octopus was selling was quite foul and a discgrace to the art of good alcohol. He shook his head, disappointed, and set the mug down. There was better ale in other taverns--the Dragon, the Dead Seal, the Hag. He could've gone to any one of those, but the Octopus was the most likely to not give him up to Sarea's Royal Guards or the Saltiers--Sarea's city guard.

For several minutes, Ryn felt the man watching him before his attention shifted. Ryn took the risk of gancing up and found that he was no longer being watched. He exhaled and pushed the mug away, ignoring the barmaid when she glanced his way and seemed to give him a look, as if asking if he wanted more. He most definitely did not. It was very poor quality and watered down. It wasn't worth the three brass coins they'd asked for it.

The door slammed open a second time, cutting through everyone's conversations and the poor elf's attempts at music. Ryn sighed, glancing up. He froze at the sight of the Saltier uniform--light blue with creamy white waves on the left lapel of their jackets. Several peoples' hands went to various weapons--swords, daggers, a flintlock or two--and the two guards peering in offered sheepish smiles and gingerly closed the door.

There was silence for two beats and then conversation and music picked right back up as if they hadn't been interrupted. Ryn chuckled and went back to his sulking. He still needed to get out of the city, especially with the orb on his person. But for now, he should probably lay low. Just until the Saltiers stopped searching for him--or anyone else causing trouble. Which may take a while. Damn, it seemed he was going to be hiding in the Octopus for a while, didn't it?

The door opened again, startling him into looking up. Someone in a hooded cloak strode in, let the door close with a slam and headed for the bar. Ryn sighed deeply, a soft exhale of relief--at least it wasn't the Saltiers again. That would've been most annoying. Besides, it wasn't like they knew who they were looking for, was it?

Bryly had to admit, the thrill of running away from the palace guards was much more exciting when he was out of the palace. Inside, especially in his younger years, it had only taken them a few minutes to find him--particularly because most of the staff already knew his shenanigans and would rat him out. As he'd grown, he'd gotten the record to a few hours. There'd been nearly an entire day when he'd stayed inside a cupboard, and listening to them run by had been so funny that he'd barely stopped himself from giving away his location and laughing. But here, in an exciting, dangerous tavern (he liked the sound of that), he imagined that he could hide for years before they found him, especially since they'd walked in for one moment, changed their minds, and left again.

He grinned, glancing around the tavern from beneath his cloak--which made him feel both mysterious and ten times more impulsive. He could order another drink--despite the fact that he was already carrying one--, he could find a place to sit, or he could explore a bit. On second thought, despite how tempting the last option was, he could see at least ten open weapons around him, and he wasn't that stupid.

There were so many people. So many--what were people who weren't nobles called? Not-nobles? Un-nobles? Whatever they were, they were there, and so--interesting. Drinking, and just existing, but inside of an exciting, dangerous tavern. Just hanging out with their buddies. Bryly tried to imagine explaining his excitement on this to his father or his mother, and he could picture the precise look of pure horror they'd have upon realizing he was drinking ale-- ale!-- instead of a fancy wine. The ale tasted horrible of course. Which, in turn, would make them even more horrified! A win-win, honestly. Bryly felt like a man of the people.

Well, not really, because he was definitely not a man of the people, but still. He felt like he had entered an entirely new world.

Bryly tilted his head, listening to the chatter nearby. People talking about their horses, their horrible wives, how unhappy they were in their jobs, and--oh. He felt a twinge of disappointment. So apparently they did still talk about all the boring politics of nobles, after all. That was unfortunate. Why would they want to do that when they could talk about--oh, he didn't know, misty octopuses, and ale? He hated to hear his cousin Hagre's complaining about the break-in at the dinner table, when it was first-hand and he was already half-drunk on a bottle of Reisling. He couldn't imagine how utterly boring it must be to hear from another regular person.

He swirled his cup in his hand absent-mindedly, watching the ale slosh around with a gross fascination. It really was just disgusting, wasn't it? And these people drank it OFTEN! In fact, given the tiny amount of offerings at the Octopus, he imagined at least half the room was drinking this! All of them, bonding over how horrible ale was! And the music was absolutely horrendous, and everyone else seemed to think so too, and yet no one ordered the musician to stop and leave!

Fascinating. Things really were so different.

He took another sip of ale, smiling wide as he surveyed the area. There were several people in cloaks--like him!--all looking mysterious and dangerous and heroic and just so, so cool. And then there were the people actually sitting, faces able to be viewed, full of a wide range of different emotions. Most sitting at tables sat in groups, but there were also several loners, like the tall man in the corner wearing a shirt tight enough that Bryly could follow the shape of his muscles with his eyes. Extremely intriguing. And the small woman, currently pick-pocketing her way through half the room! And then there was the figure at the table, sitting alone with a hood drawn over their head--the most intriguing of all. Just sitting there and drinking ale on their own!

It must be a fascinating person to do something like that, he thought.

On an impulse, Bryly walked towards the table and pulled one of the chairs out, scraping it along the floor and sitting down hard, his cup slamming onto the table as he did so. He pulled his hood back and off his face, grinning as he stared at the elvish stranger. "Hi!"

The stranger jerked their head up, a little startled. He watched him from beneath his hood with pale blue eyes, a white braid laying over his shoulder. He doesn't respond. Just stared at Bryly, gaze narrowed suspiciously.

"You a fan of the guards coming in here?" Bryly asked, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

"No." He jerked his chin back at Bryly, looking away. "Go away."

"I'm not either!" Bryly exclaimed gleefully, conveniently ignoring the last sentence. He sighed, resting his head on his hand as he tapped his other fingers against the table. He glanced around, like he was slightly bored, then looked back at the stranger. "They were looking for me. Which is extremely annoying," he continued, "because I specifically ordered that they don't do that."

The half-elf just raised an eyebrow at him. "And why would the Saltiers be looking for you, specifically?" His voice dripped with doubt.

"Hmm?" Bryly asked, glancing back at the man. He'd already gotten distracted. "Oh, because I'm the prince. Well, one of them. The least valued one," he clarified. He took another sip of the ale. "Gods, this is just awful, isn't it?" He said excitedly.

That made the stranger blink stupidly. "Should you be going around telling people that? They'd try to kill you, you know."

Bryly tilted his head. "Hmm. Yeah, I guess." He shrugged and took another gulp of his drink.

"You're not worried that I'll sell you out?"

Bryly snorted. "I mean, it's not gonna do you much good. What would you get out of doing that? I'm not anyone's top priority."

The half-elf grinned. "I dunno. Third in line is good enough," he said, head tilting. He still kept the hood pulled low over his eyes. "If everyone else is dead, is it not?"

Bryly laughed and kicked his feet up onto the chair next to him. "That'll never happen."

He shrugged. "I suppose not."

"Even if something happened to my older siblings, which it won't," Bryly continued, "there's no chance in hell it would be passed to me. They'd skip over me like a blip." He smiled, miming it out on the air.

That made the half-elf blink slowly again--it seemed to be a habit of his. "Huh. And why would they skip over you?"

Bryly bit his lip to keep from chuckling again, but smiled through it anyway. "Oh, a number of reasons. Dad's not really my dad, for one, and I'm what my parents describe as... unpredictable." He made a grand flourish with one hand in the air, tilting his head with amusement as he watched the scenario play out in his mind.

The stranger huffed. "Thought I told you to go away. Why am I even talking to you?"

"I don't know," Bryly said, eyes sparkling as he leaned forward, watching the man with a sly grin. "Why are you?" He smiled, tapping his fingers against his face. The man was attractive, from the little that he could see with the shadows of the cloak cast over his features.

The half-elf sighed deeply, picking up his mug and squinting at it. Then he put it down again, clearly not sure if he should drink it. "I honestly don't know."

Bryly bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a bigger smile. "I could think of a few reasons," he said suggestively, tilting his head. "What's the hood for? Mystery?"

That made the half-elf look up again, gaze narrowed. He gestured to his hair, then eyes. "Makes it easier to hide," he said, indicating the white hair and pale eyes. "Not exactly something that's easy to disguise, is it?"

"I don't imagine," Bryly replied, eyes trailing down the man's long, white hair, swirling elegantly in its braid.

"And I can't even dye it," the half-elf muttered, clearly a complaint. "It's frustrating."

"Mhm." Bryly made a sympathetic noise.

The other man hummed, ignoring Bryly as he picked up his mug and squinted into it, then put it down again with a sigh. "Why are you really speaking to me?"

Bryly shrugged, then took another chug of his ale. "You looked interesting." Dangerous, he added in his mind. It was exciting, to talk to a random person he didn't know and not have to worry about any political consequences.

"Interesting," he said flatly. "I looked interesting?"

Bryly exclaimed with a smile, "You're a stranger sitting alone drinking disgusting ale in a dangerous tavern! Interesting."

That earned him an equally flat look. "Are you...flirting with me?" the half-elf asked, sounding like he was not entirely sure of that fact. "Here and now? Seriously?"

He laughed hard, drawing several glances their way. "Flirting?" He asked, then grinned. "Why, do you want me to be?"

The laughed earned him a raised eyebrow. "Right now?" the other man asked, sounding annoyed now. "Not particularly, no."

Bryly tilted his head. "Is there something happening right now I should be aware of? Why do you keep saying that?"

The half-elf scowled at him. "No."

"Mhm," he said, swirling his cup around. "Right." The stranger ignored him, looking away and pulling the hood farther down over his face. Bryly stood. As interesting as this interaction had been, he was getting bored, which was never good, and always his sign that he should find something more exciting to do. Maybe he could go find that attractive man and study his muscles a little more. And maybe talk too, he guessed. That sounded very nice.

Hmm. Maybe the ale wasn't worthless after all.

He walked away from the table back to the bar without so much as another glance at the stranger, setting the cup down and drumming his fingers on the counter. He looked around to find something intriguing to do. He'd rather not leave, especially not knowing the guards had already searched here, so it was a doubly safe place to hide from them.

Bryly sighed. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but this time, he was running away from something that was actually important, which meant he wanted more than ever to stay away from home and away from the guards. He'd never run off for more than a few days for a bit of adventure, and while he wanted to keep that light-hearted mood, he knew what awaited him if he went back home. A wedding and a bride and a very depressing life.

No, better to stay here and drink ale and live up to all his parents' disappointments. Have an adventure or two. Maybe he'd change his name and move away and never be seen again. That could be exciting. He leaned against the counter with yet another sigh--one could only dream.

1890 words

Sona was fighting with her staff again. The relationship between them had never been the most stable, but it'd gotten worse ever since Sona left the Taeva clan.

Her eyes flashed lime green. "When I ask you to trap a rabbit, I mean trap it, not burn it to ashes," she hissed. The length of Hawthorn wood that constituted her staff stiffened in her hand. The Mannaz rune at the head of the staff flickered weakly, overpowered by the core Kenaz rune that blazed with defiance. Sona shook her head and kicked dirt over the recently-cremated rabbit. There went her dinner.

How in the world had a simple deleatzo jinx turned into empepremai? Actually, it seemed like half her spells had been turning into empepremai and incinerating their targets recently. Sona pressed her lips together into a thin line and hitched her pack higher on her shoulders. She'd better relegate her staff to being a walking stick and rely on her dagger for future meals, at least until they could come to some kind of understanding. She sighed, suddenly on the verge of tears. How had it only been a few days since she'd set off into the Runewood alone?

"Don't think of it as a punishment," Magrere said gruffly. The old lady was dressed in a simple green dress, her graying hair floating messily around her head. Her eyes were keen as usual as they flickered between Sona's face and the uneven ground the Taeva were traveling on. "It's an opportunity to learn more magic, and to bond properly with your staff."

A human child ran past the two of them, giving Sona a wide berth. He glanced at her with large, frightened eyes. Ever since Sona had started a forest fire the last red moon, it seemed that everyone but Magrere was hesitant to approach her. Even Aury and Ophelia, who were the closest friends she had in the clan, seemed to be spending more time together than with Sona lately. Although Sona suspected some part of that had to do with feelings for each other-- she knew what those blushes meant.

"Are you sure you won't come with me?" As soon as Sona said it, she regretted it. There was a reason Magrere had left her previous life and joined the Taeva.

Magrere snorted. After another minute, Magrere said, "Follow the river to Sarea. That's your best bet. Try a tavern there to earn some coin; actually profit off your voice for once." The old lady scowled. "But stand your ground. Don't be afraid to chop some fellow's fingers off if they pressure you for anything more."

"And where does learning magic fit in?" Sona's eyes darkened to emerald as she examined her staff, her constant companion and thorn in her side.

"There's a fair amount you can learn from the various magic wielders in Sarea." Magrere sighed, the wrinkles in her face deepening. "But I suppose eventually you'll need to follow the river even further south to Raj Valanis." A shadow fell over her face. "It has its fair share of problems, but if there's any place to help you reach your full potential, it's there."

Magrere had lapsed into silence after that, seemingly reminiscing on memories both bitter and sweet. And the following dawn, Sona was on her way to the capital.

Sona crossed the river west of the village of Lua. The terrain changed to grasslands, and Sona stared in awe at the endless waves of green. She imagined it was like the ocean, although admittedly, she hadn't seen the ocean either. Her heart lifted and she was filled with a sense of optimism. Yes, perhaps this was like an adventure in one of the stories the Taeva elders told! Who knew what other wonders she would encounter?



A few days later, Sona was in front of a wooden sign advertising "The Misty Octopus." She examined the rundown exterior of the building with a critical eye. This didn't look like a wonder, but it did look like a tavern.

Staff in hand, Sona pushed open the door and walked into the dim interior.

It was crowded. And noisy. And none too pleasant-smelling. And Sona spotted an irritated bard already on a small stage. Maybe she should try a different tavern-

Her staff warmed in her hand. Sona gave it a sharp glance; she couldn't recall it ever doing that before. Before she could examine it further, a mug of ale went flying over her head, followed by bouts of drunken laughter. Right. She should probably find a safer place to investigate.

Sona spotted an empty stool and strode over to the bar. Now then, what was her staff up to now? Sona ran her hand over the polished wood. It seemed like the staff was heating up along its entire length. Runes swam to the surface, glowing faintly, then faded again. "Oh, don't tell me it's going to cast empepremai on itself," she muttered. She couldn't deal with a flaming staff. Especially not here, where she could very possibly burn down half the city.

Sona jumped as the elven bard hit a chord particularly forcefully. He was glaring daggers at the patrons, most of whom were paying absolutely no attention to him. Sona raised her eyebrows. You know what? Her staff could do whatever it wanted. For now, it'd be good for her to earn some coin.

Margaret "Magpie" Holmes
The Misty Octopus

“Oh, my bad!” Maggie said as she bumped her hip into the corner of a drunkard’s table. Before the woman could react, she bent down to pick up the dropped silverware. “Here you go! Again, sorry!” Maggie waved goodbye and sped off. The woman thanked her briefly before returning to sip at her ale.

Ha! She didn’t even notice the shiny necklace around her neck was gone! Drunkards were so dumb. Almost too dumb. With so much jewelry and coins weighing down her pocket, she was starting to wonder if she came somewhere too below her skillset. It’s not that she regretted stealing from the poor that could only afford what this place called ‘ale,’ but she needed a little challenge, right? She’d never make her name known by pickpocketing in a dim, old tavern! Still, after her last excursion, maybe easier was better. She was not expecting that dumb jeweler to pack such a punch! She barely made it out before knights arrived!

Maggie sighed and rubbed her jaw. Thank the stars that her hood could shade her face well enough to cover that black eye, plus the red marks across her face. Until Magpie’s wanted posters came down, she’d have to hide in taverns full of drunk laughter and slurred singing. Instead of huffing and puffing, she smiled.

There was no point in dwelling on the past! It was time to find her next target. Everyone had to start somewhere and she had to make her name known, right?

Magpie scanned the room from the corner she hid in. There was a tall, strong blue man by the door. She made brief eye-contact with him, then instantly looked away. Definitely not. She knew better than to mess with muscles. A shadow with white hair sat at the bar with a much more peppy young man. Maggie shook her head. One of them was far too energetic and the other was too observant. It’d be impossible to try and slip something from their pockets. There were a few others that caught her eye, but then she realized she had already nicked them.

Defeated, Magpie searched the pouch on her belt. A necklace or two, some bracelets and rings, and six coins. Well, she could at least get something to drink, right? It was a tavern, and it’s not like anyone here would care about her legality. She brought herself to an empty seat at the bar, smushed between a burly lumberjack and a strange elf-ish person with a long staff. Not the most comfortable seating, but it was better than some of the other spots. She rested her head on her arm, struggling to spot any more easy victims.

When the bartender approached, Maggie slid some coins in his direction. He gazed at her short stature, one of his eyebrows raised. “Ya sure you should be drinkin’?” he asked, polishing a dirty mug. “You look a little… like a lightweight.” Magpie couldn't tell if he was examining her young features or the burns, scars and bandages.

Maggie huffed and put a shiny ring next to her change. The jewel on it sparkled faintly in the dim light. “Do you want my money or not?” she said, smirking.

His eyes shifted between Maggie and the goods, but eventually he grumbled and snatched it from the table. Just like that, a fresh mug of ale arrived in front of her. Magpie tipped her glass to him. The moment he left, she instantly grinned and went to take a chug of it. At first, she struggled to grab to mug's handle with her mutilated fingers. Soon enough, she grumbled and switched to her left hand. It was significantly harder to hold thanks to the angle, but eventually she brought the drink to her lips and happily chugged it.

She’d heard the other patrons whine about how awful it tasted, but it couldn’t be that bad, right? Maggie had many liquors before and could testify with certainty how disgusting those were. How bad could one ale be? If it filled her stomach, it should be fine–

Oh. Oh dear. Maggie’s eyes burst wide open as the taste set in on her tongue. She didn’t even have a chance to swallow it and it was just so… bleh! It was the only way she could describe it! She quickly glanced at those beside her. They weren’t really expecting her to finish it, were they? Ah, screw them! she thought, This is disgusting! Despite the judgmental stare from the broad lumberjack beside her (and from most of the tavern, really), she immediately spit and dribbled the ale back into the cup. They might make fun of her for not having an iron stomach, but at least Maggie had taste! “Yuck! Why does anyone even come here?” she blurted, staring into the mug with horror and slight fascination.

The bartender shot her a nasty glare. Maggie squinted back at him and retorted. “Hey, I paid you and it’s not like I’m asking for a refund! Though, if you’re offering one…” Her words fell on deaf ears. Magpie scoffed and played with the gold bracelet hidden under her sleeves. The clinking of the chains and latch was soothing, especially in a place like this. She gave him money! Why should he care beyond that? Some people…

Magpie spun on the stool to watch the tavern scene play out, and more importantly, to search for some more wealthy pockets. She leaned back on the bar top and counted the exits, the number of people, all of it. There were a lot more nobles here than she imagined. Not like she was complaining. If they were in a place like the Misty Octopus, they were usually the stupider ones.