forum Writing Blips as I try to hop back into creative writing (gore warning)

Started Jun 16 by @Bunty group

tune

Hello! Thanks for visiting!
I'm going to be making posts here of snippets and things from a storyline in my head from like 2 years ago. I'm trying to dip my toes back into writing. Feel free to follow along with me

Yurul, a planet with no shortage of magical beings and mystic arts, relies on an ancient hierarchy of lineages. Many families gain and fall out of power through planned marriages and business deals. Some families have done away with betrothals and worries about power, but the custom is a large part of all cultures in Yurul. The planet is divided into five regions: Pillax, Qéo, Varesia, Hykno, and Islilia.

Pillax is a desert wasteland, just sand for miles and miles. This region is inhabited by demons, cursed bloodlines, centaurs, dragons, Pillaxian ox, Esokan, and some specialized magic users. Most non-native creatures avoid the area, as it is easy to get lost in the endless dunes. Qéo is filled with dense rainforests and plants. Botanists flock to the region, and 36% of the planet's oxygen supply is produced from the forests there. Fae, fairies, elves, fauns, nymphs, sprites, ents, and other magical creatures inhabit the area. Varesia is the typical story book fantasy land with stone castles and quaint villages, but a handful of cities in the region are much more modernized with skyscrapers and huge electrical plants. Electrical sprites and other technical beings live in the large cities -along with some non-magic beings and magic users aspiring to start something for themselves- whereas most magic users, non-magic users, unicorns, healers, Elmards, witches and wizards, alchemists, house dwarves, and enchantresses live in the rest of the region. Hykno is filled with ice caverns and tunnels that burrow into the mountains. Along with some non-magic miners, golems, orcs, mountain dwarves, dragons, Cretians, some scientist's labs, and lesser ice beings reside in the region. Islilia is the oceans and scattered islands that cover the rest of the planet. Serpents, mermaids, sirens, kelpie, krakens, hippocampus, and pirates traverse these waters.

Kené Eoiali is the younger of two brothers from a substantial, feared family from the Pillax region. When a much more powerful family from a different region proposes a betrothal, the Eoiali family sends Kené and his older brother, Sars, to the other family to "feel out" the betrothal. The two brothers meet the potential bride, and Sars is automatically on the defensive. However, as they stay and get to know each other, the Sars and the potential bride grow to like each other much more than expected…

Kené Eoiali

Sarsönil (Sars) Eoiali

"Come on! Kené keep up!" Sarsönil Eoiali called down to his brother as he waited at the top of the dune. He didn't exactly care that his younger brother couldn't match his pace, only that he wanted to go farther, and he didn't want to get in trouble for his brother getting lost. This was the furthest they had ever gotten from the tribe, and Sarsönil was alive with the adventure. His parents sent him and his brother to go check on the herd, and even though Sarsönil didn't realize it was a task that wasn't expected to be completed by the eleven and five year old Esokan, he felt like an outlaw as he neglected his instructions in favor of this. The two boys had been wandering for quite a while now, and here was his reward.

A stone castle rose out of the sand like a hand reaching into the heavens. It was submerged in the sand- an untold story of the castle's architecture left to be explored. The visible stone was dark, unnaturally dark, especially in comparison to the deep red sands of Pillax that went on for miles. It only made the winding pillars and ominously open hatch more appealing to the naive little boys. "Kené! Look look look!" Sarsönil grabbed his brother's arm just before he crested the dune. The younger lit up at the sight.

"Let's go let's go let's go!" The boy giggled, his tired wobble turning into a run down the dune toward the submerged castle. Sarsönil wasn't too far behind. He didn't consider what his parents might think, both of their unsanctioned expoloration and their distance from the tribe. Afterall, they didn't have anything to worry about- Sarsönil had brought his father's dagger. It was lucky, or at least that was what the boy was convinced of.

It was only a matter of moments before the climbed to the castle's surface and peered down into the open hatchway that led into nothingness. A ladder that was much too big for the younger to climb down was all that stood between them and untold treasures. "I have an idea," Sarsönil started, seconds before scooping up his younger brother to latch on to his back. It was awkward and clunky for the small Esokan, but his papa carried him like this many times when he was young. He shifted, nearly falling over with his brother's weight on his back, before scrambling to get on the ladder. He reached his foot down, once then twice before moving one hand too, while the other supported the younger Esokan on his back. Sarsönil made his was awkwardly down one, two, three, and four more rungs, the light from the desert sun slowly becoming isolated to the hatch that was now above his head. He was climing into the abyss.

Into Death waiting with open arms.

His bare feet carefully found the next ladder rung, toes scraping against it. Odd. The other rungs were stone, a built in part of the castle, but this one was made of splintery wood. Sarsönil frowned as he gently put more weight on it. He moved his other foot down. Rocked on his toes a bit to tested the weight. "Sarsönil… it's really dark in here," Kené complained, tugging on his brother's shoulder. The movement was small, but it was enough to tip off the balance. Sarsönil felt his shoulder tilt back, and suddenly his fingers began to slip. His eyes widened, self preservation kicking in, and he used his other hand to sturdy himself. Leaving his brother to hold on for himself- something which the boy was not doing. The small weight was ripped off Sarsönil's back with a cry, and not even a breath later, there was a thud. Following by extreme wailing. Panic jolted through Sarsönil.

"Kené!" Sarsönil hopped off the ladder, earning himself a few splinters in his feet from the wooden rung. The ground was a bit farther than anticipated, and the action came at a price. "Ow…" He mumbled, brow furrowed in pain. He could understand why his brother was crying so much. He turned to face his brother, who was curled up and crying not a few feet away. Sarsönil, again, felt that panic jolt through him. There was blood. "Kené, it- it's going to be alright- uhhh- umm," Sarsönil's eyes began to well up with water. He didn't know what to do. They were far from home, too far from home for him to go get Mom. Where was Mom? She was always here for these kind of things. "I- I- I don't know what to do," The boy whispered, a sentence that was drowned out by his brother's cries of pain.

"Looks like you are in a predicament, youngling," A voice, cold and smooth as water drawn from the earth, came out of the shadows. Sarsönil tensed up, eyes wider than the full moon.

"Looks like you are in a predicament, youngling," A voice, cold and smooth as water drawn from the earth, came out of the shadows. Sarsönil tensed up, eyes wider than the full moon. He couldn't figure out where the voice came from- it sounded as if it was everywhere, but at the same time, entirely inside his head. "The little one seems to be injured. Quite badly, I mean, look at all that blood?" A dark chuckle. A sound that made Sarsönil's skin crawl. "I can help you… for a price." Sarsönil was about to shake his head, about to insist that he would go get Mom and things would be all better, but with a loud clang, terrifying, all the light from the hatch above was extinguished as it closed on its own accord. terroroverwhelmed Sarsönil. Terror, as he lost sight of his brother and all he could see was the inky blackness of nothingness. Terror, as a chill set in the room and he heard the shuffle of one footstep. Then two. "Come now boy, you are safe here with me," The voice echoed in his mind and the chamber. Unnnatural, cold, silky- this was very, very wrong.

Sarsönil couldn't hold in his tears just as the sand couldn't hold any water. "Pl-pl-please d-don't hurt- hurt- hic- K-Ken-" The rest of his words were left to incoherent blubberings as his legs buckled and he fell to the cold stone floor. What was he to do? Where was mom? Why was he here? Who was talking to him? Why-

Sarsönil was pulled out of the panic and terror that was trapping him within his mind as a candle was lit at the far end of the room. Then another. And another. The whole room sparked to life, wax candles against the stone walls and scattered on the floor. It was a triangular shaped room, with the ladder behind him on one wall, and the other two walls adorned with doorways leading to more darkness. At the point of the room, opposite to the ladder, was something like an altar. It was made of stone, decorated with many carvings and a large bowl -big enough to bath a small child- at the base. Behind the altar was a man in black robes. His chest was exposed to reveal tattoos, in the same style as the carvings on the altar. It looks to be depictions of stories, images of man and beast fighting, dying, and yet, living again. The man's skin was something Sarsönil had never seen before. It was a darker color, similar to Sarsönil himself, but at the top of his torso, it faded to a white that was paler than the clouds. His neck was thin, almost hollow looking, and his face- Sarsönil's eyes widened and the fear was instantly renewed. The skin was falling off, hanging along his face like a tattered cloth, to reveal patches of bone. This… this was a necromancer. Something even Esokan feared from time to time. Something that his mother told him to stay away from. As far away as possible.

Necromancers were magic users, but somewhere along the way they crossed a line that should not be crossed. They were rotten down to their souls, only a sliver of who they once were.

Necromancers were magic users, but somewhere along the way they crossed a line that should not be crossed. They were rotten down to their souls, only a sliver of who they once were. Very few of them existed on Yurul, and the few that did were outlaws to many civilizations. Hence, many made their home in the deserted land of Pillax, if not in some underground market Varesia. They were beings to be feared, never to be reasoned with. Never to be intereacted with, according to his mother. "Boy, tell me," The necromancer said softly but not sweetly, "what are two Esokan boys doing so far from their tribe?" Not a question that Sarsönil was going to answer, the necromancer found after a few moments. It didn't seem to bother him all that much. The man shifted his robes as he pulled Kené into view- blood was dripping down the side of the crying boy's face. "Aw hush now, child," The necromancer added, and at Kené's continued crying, his face turned rageful and he spat out in an unworldly voice, "Somortem."

Sarsönil felt like the life was sucked out of him as his brother's small body went limp. It was as if his mind went white, something deep inside his blood awakening, a feeling stretching from the back of his neck to his fingers and toes. He couldn't form words, he couldn't even react-

"Don't worry, your friend is still alive," The necromancer said nonchalantly as he set the younger Esokan down on the table. The hot white feeling from the back of his neck slowed. The man glanced up at Sarsönil before flicking his wrist to gesture behind the older boy. "Fetch me the blood and emerald bottles, obedium." Sarsönil didn't have control over his body as he turned to face a roughly cut log shelf -the wooden 'ladder rung' that he had stepped on- and picked up a thin vial filled with a deep red color and a jar full of a metallic green material. His legs brought him, one painful and stiff step at a time, around the altar to the man's rotting feet. A maggot had made its home in one of them. Sarsönil's body betrayed him as he presented both liquids to the man. The necromancer smiled as he looked down at the boy. "You… you are a peculiar one. Not many try to resist my magic." He swiped until the two containers, leaving Sarsönil to stand and watch. He could see his brother laying on the table, blood crusting over his face. His eyes darted to the ladder- too far and too hard to climb quick enough to escape without trouble. That wasn't even factoring in the time and strength required to open the hatch at the top. His eyes travelled to the necromancer. While Sarsönil was looking for an escape plan, he had been talking. "…and a splattering of oxyoto juice, and he could dissolve in front of your very eyes- but we wouldn't want that, now would we? So I will do you a favor. I will save his life, he will just be a bit different." The necromancer crouched down, an unsettling crunch coming with the movement, so he was eye level with Sarsönil. "However, as I'm sure you may know, necromancers need a willing sacrifice to be able to reimbue the body of another with the life of old. So, all I need from you is-"

With a swift movement, Sarsönil gave in to what his blood wanted. He reached behind him to draw his father's dagger, shimmering in the candlelight, from his back- underneath the folds of his tunic. His instincts took hold of his movements and he slashed the dagger into the necromancer's throat. It was as if he'd done it a million times before- as if the weight of his ancestors guided not just his arm, but his torso, his wrist, his fingertips. He moved with the strength a mere boy should not have. Sarsönil. Sarsönil. We see you. Sarsönil. We know you. Sarsönil. We are you. Sarsönil. We are your brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers. Sarsönil. We are your blood. Sarsönil. We are your fate. Sarsönil. We are- Sarsönil let out a scream so fierce that he never knew he was capable of.

The necromancer garbled, his remaining face filled with dying rage. He was trying to choke out words as his blood, black as night, splattered over Sarsönil. It got in his eyes, his mouth, his nose- it smelled like an ox that had been left to rot in the sun for days.

The necromancer garbled, his remaining face filled with dying rage. He was trying to choke out words as his blood, black as night, splattered over Sarsönil. It got in his eyes, his mouth, his nose- it smelled like an ox that had been left to rot in the sun for days. The necromancer's body jerked and twisted, convulsing as blood spilt on the floor beneath the altar. Sarsönil wobbled backwards, unable to find his voice, as he watched the body twist and crunch in supernatural ways. The skin seemed to melt off as the bones bent in on themselves, the black blood oozed and clotted instantly, and the organs seemed to pop and squish and seep out of the figure.

In his horror, Sarsönil was frozen. As the necromancers body went limp, all bits of sound seemed to disappear and the weight of the emptiness in the room pressed in on him. Sarsönil. We are here. Sarsönil. We are you. Sarsönil. You are us. Sarsönil. You are our blood. Sarsönil. Listen. Sarsönil. Feel. Sarsönil. Let us guide you. Sarsönil. Sarsönil. "Sarsönil!" The boy flinched at the appearance of light. He hadn't noticed the hatch had been opened, and there was already a figure jumping down. "Sarsönil, Sarsönil what happened? Sars-"

"Do not call me that name, woman!" The boy screeched, anger and fear and something deep within him swirling to the surface as he stared into the face of his mother with cold, rageful eyes. He hadn't realized his drew the knife towards her. She stared back at him, taken aback for a moment as she slowly absorbed the situation. The already rotting body on the floor. The knife in her child's hand. The smaller boy on the altar- His mother's face became devoid of emotion as she turned her attention back to her older boy. He didn't know how to handle what he was feeling, only that there seemed to be only one thing that could solve it. Blood. He needed to shed more blood. He needed to kill. He needed to follow what his body wanted him -screamed at him- to do.

She took a long, very controlled breath. "Boy," She started, focusing her attention on the wall behind him. Her voice was like ice. "Take a deep breath. Do not listen to it. You need to step back and rest now." She took another, very controlled breath. Sarsönil's body tensed and untensed. Sarsönil. She is wrong. Sarsönil. She is a killer. Sarsönil. You must- Sarsönil dropped the knife as if it had burned him. He looked down at his hands. They didn't feel like his own. It felt like a dream. None of this could be real, could it? He looked to his mother, and it was as if it was the first time he saw her.

"M-m-mom?" His voice wavered and his body began to shake. The woman's emotionless face turned into an expression that only a mother could have. She immediately scooped him up into her arms, away from the world, away from this. "Wh-what hap-happened to K-Kené?" He spoke into her shoulder, words barely forming. She shushed him gently, her arms clutching him tighter than she ever had before. She just held him. A minute passed by. She still held him. Another minute.

"Saraih?" A deep voice called from outside the hatch. Father. "Should I come?" Sarsönil peeked his head up to look towards the hatch, but his father was not in view. He squirmed, but his mother held him tighter.

"Nevique." She called back, pain coming from her voice, "don't." Very rarely did his mother tell his father to stay away. Sarsönil had yet to know what this meant.

"Saraih?" A deep voice called from outside the hatch. Father. "Should I come?" Sarsönil peeked his head up to look towards the hatch, but his father was not in view. He squirmed, but his mother held him tighter.

"Nevique." She called back, pain coming from her voice, "don't." Very rarely did his mother tell his father to stay away. Sarsönil had yet to know what this meant. He squirmed again, and his mother loosened her hold on him enough to look at him. Her voice turned to cold again when she spoke, "Tell me what happened." The boy looked at his mother, fear edging its way back into his bones. Her eyes held care in them, but they also seemed empty. He squirmed again, but his mother's grip was tight.

"Saraih," His father again, voice filled with caution. "Send our boys back up to us now," It was a gentle but firm statement. Firm enough that his mother let go of him, and Sarsönil scrambled away. His feet led him towards the ladder, which he scrambled up while fear dashed at his heels. His hands were still shaking as he made it up to the sand- to his father's feet. And the feet of six others in their tribe. At the sight of the young one, two of their tribe immediately knelt down to tend to him, while his father took a step back. A moment went by, a pregnant silence growing between them all. "Where is Kené?" His voice was icy, the same iciness of his mother's. One of the other tribemembers murmured his father's name. Nevique didn't seem to hear it. "Where is my other boy?" He asked again, taking a large breath. "Where-"

"He's alive!" His mother's voice echoed out of the chamber beneath them. "He's alive!" Joy, relief, happiness, peace… all things that seemed to wash over the group. Everyone in the group but Sarsönil, who felt like his had a shadow of something hanging on his back now.

The necromancer garbled, his remaining face filled with dying rage. He was trying to choke out words as his blood, black as night, splattered over Sarsönil. It got in his eyes, his mouth, his nose- it smelled like an ox that had been left to rot in the sun for days. The necromancer's body jerked and twisted, convulsing as blood spilt on the floor beneath the altar. Sarsönil wobbled backwards, unable to find his voice, as he watched the body twist and crunch in supernatural ways. The skin seemed to melt off as the bones bent in on themselves, the black blood oozed and clotted instantly, and the organs seemed to pop and squish and seep out of the figure.

In his horror, Sarsönil was frozen. As the necromancer's body went limp, all bits of sound seemed to disappear and the weight of the emptiness in the room pressed in on him. Sarsönil. We are here. Sarsönil. We are you. Sarsönil. You are us. Sarsönil. You are our blood. Sarsönil. Listen. Sarsönil. Feel. Sarsönil. Let us guide you. Sarsönil. Sarsönil. The boy let out a horrid scream, not of fear but of anguish, as he fell to his knees. The weight of a thousand years pressed on his shoulders. His mind went in and out of focus. He felt different. He felt powerful.

Sarsönil's eyes moved towards his brother, who was still limp on the altar. He needed to kill him. He needed to kill him. It was the only thing that mattered right now. Sarsönil stepped forward, his mind and body lost to his ancestors. Sarsönil. Yes. Sarsönil- "Sars…" Kené mumbled, a pained groan coming out of him. The older boy stopped, suddenly regaining feeling in his hands that he didn't know he lost. He gasped, air filling his lungs like water filling his stomach. Life- it felt like living again. Kené. And then he was moving.

Sars scrambled up the side of the altar, using strength he didn't realize he ever had. Certainly not the strength an eleven-year-old should have. It felt as if he'd done this thousands of times. The boy grabbed his younger brother and slung him over his back, then dropped to the ground. He made his way to the ladder, using the shelves in the cabinet to pull himself up the rungs. With one hand holding his brother to his back and the other desperately clinging to each rung, his breath was steady but labored, his hands shakey but strong. Each step upwards was accompanied by the threat he wouldn't be able to catch the rung in time. Sars made it to the top of the ladder, the hatch being his only obstacle left. "It's gonna be okay Kené," Sars huffed, grunting as he pressed his head to the cold metal. He forced it open with the help of his shoulder, barely enough strength left to crawl up into the sand, let alone walk back to the tribe. He wobbled forward into the sand, bare feet sinking down, and then he lost his grip. His brother slipped off his back into the sand, and Sars quickly followed as his vision went dark and he passed out.

Yurul is host to various different species, all wildly different from each other, yet over time the planet developed the clasification of 'light' and 'dark' species. Light being creatures who were deemed to have the moral high ground based on nature alone, while dark being prone to unecessary wrongdoing. There are some cultures who take this label very seriously, and often there tends to be many civil disagreements as to the category any particular species fell in to.

Most often, people can agree to label Esokan as a dark species without much discussion, similar to many others who reside in the large desert of Pillax. Esokan are species quite complex. They have rich history and an even richer culture.

The stars were the only thing illuminating her violet eyes, yet she was as dazzling as ever. "What?" She asked with a glimmer of humor as she tilted her head to the side. Sars shared a small smile, which only caused her to lightly shove his shoulder. "What?" She repeated, her lips curling upward with a confused expression growing.

Sars cleared his throat and took a deep breath. He could tell she was on the edge of asking him again, so he finally let the words he had been thinking about leave his lips. "I am a firm believer in both freedom and clarity," Sars started, daring to look up at her face. Her curiosity was beginning to turn into concern. This was no longer a light hearted moment between the elf and the esokan. The man cleared his throat again. "So… so I want to be clear with you, I want you to be free to make a decision for yourself." The oh-so-stoic esokan was unnaturally shifty as he moved his weight from side to side. He took another deep breath. "I think you are incredible. I would like to pursue a deeper relationship with you, beyond just a personal guard or a friend." Sars looked into her eyes, her starlight eyes widening a fraction as she stared back at him.

She blinked. Tilted her head to the side. Opened her mouth to respond, closed it, opened it again, and-

An arrow whizzed between them, just a hair's width away from her nose. That was all it took for Sars to shoot up. He didn't even need to conciously pull up the suppressed anger that resided in the back of his head. Sarsönil. He went deathly still as his eyes scanned the darkness beyond them. A moment went by. Then another. Sarsönil. "Sars?" NAME's voice was barely above silent, but it fell on ears that were not listening. He was cued in to the surrounding wilderness. The breeze caressing the leaves, the faint hoot of an owl in the distance, the song of a cricket a stone's throw away… the snap of a twig. In one swift movement, Sars threw up a hand and water fell out of the ground like a downpour returning to the sky. The stream of water was like a viper, striking forwards until it met a man who stood a few yards away, holding a crossbow. The would-be assassin didn't have time to shout as the Sarsönil slowly dragged the water thorugh the man's airways. It was as if he could feel the stranger's lungs, spreading the water to the edges of the organ. He could feel the man's body convulse, and he could hear the strangled, choking noises in the darkness. The sweet sound of the man dying was interupted by another movement, so quiet it was almost indetectable. An arrow being set, coming from directly behind him. To the left of his princess.

He shot around, still maintaining the water in the other man's lungs, and launched at NAME. He saw her tense, he saw the terror in her eyes, he saw her try to move away- but it didn't stop him as he grabbed her and spun her behind his body. Not even a moment later, pain exploded in his shoulder. He took the pain in silence as he threw NAME to the ground for her protection. He didn't hear her shriek, as he was already moving. He could extinguish this one like the other, who was already on the ground clawing at his throat, but Sarsönil didn't want to. In just a few strides he was on top of an elf who was as white as paper, trembling with another arrow. Not that he could blame him. Anyone would think it to be a scary sight if a fabled 'demon assassin' stood in front of you, with knives that materialized as if from nowhere, and an arrow protruding from his shoulder. And a shit eating smile on his face. Sarsönil. This is prey.

Sars' heart hadn't lessening its pounding even as the sun came up. NAME hadn't said a word to him yet. He couldn't blame her. She had barely said a word to her father. Especially after his little declaration that put him in this situation.

NAME sat atop a horse which trotted before him, her long hair like a waterfall down her back, much more beautiful than the uncharacteristic laverdar dress she wore. It was embellished with gold lace to accent the tiara that sat upon her head. Every bit of a queen she was born to be, aside from the blood that was splattered at her collarbone and up her neck.

Sars followed behind on foot, an arrow still pocking out of his shoulder. It took everything in him to keep the itch for bloodshed at bay, each step accentuated by crippling pain. They didn't let him so much as change his clothing or wash his hands after the event that took place only a few hours ago. 'Make an example out of them', the elf king had said, 'let it spread by word of mouth; if anyone makes an attempt on my daughter, there won't be a body to bury'. And Sars was doing just that as he dragged two bodies behind him. One, the first assassin, was only left with a grey and asphixated face, jaggedly cut from the body with a dagger. The other… the head was only distinguishable by the bloodied ear and the hair that Sars was using to carry it, and the trail of shredded organs and skin hanging off it. Sarsönil. Obeying like a little puppet. Sars took a deep breath. He focused on the dawn, as red as the blood that clung to his skin like sand on a tanned hide. The town was just waking up, civilians beginning the usual bustle of small shops, forges, and bakeries. Foreign yet not unfamiliar smells tickled his nose above the metallic stench that coated him, the sound of a hound barking in the window as the only warning to the townspeople that something was array.

It killed him to see that I child saw him -and the two heads dangling from his good arm- first. A scream. A cry. A wail. Noises he was all too familiar with, usually accompanied with a different kind of horror.