A collection of multi-genre stories.
From turbulent skies and stormy seas to magical lands and wintry forests, this is a journey which will awaken some of your deepest emotions. Mysterious creatures and peoples from a myriad of worlds, including...
A/N - Written for the Descendants 2018 Contest where we had to write a piece about a descendant (kinda obvious, I know, sorry) of two fanfiction characters from a fandom of our choosing. The spec was to describe how their heritage influenced their actions; did they follow in their parents footsteps, or chose their own path. It was one of the winners by the way.
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The young woman crouched, terrified of the robed figure in front of her. She'd undergone hours of torture from this fiend. She was chained; the iron links having been pulled taut, forcing her into a permanent kneel. At the wave of her captor's hand, life was being gradually drained from her. Lacerations bit into her skin, her blood trickling from the wounds coating her attire in the sticky, coppery fluid.
Although she had lost track of time, she guessed she'd been left for hours to recover in the rank little cavern. It was a pattern of events; to allow her cuts to knit together sufficiently until her captor decided to inflict more torture. A most revolting gruel was served to her by shuffling minions who hovered in the immediate vicinity. The food allowed a fraction of her vitality to be restored.
From deeper within the cavern, came whimpering, a sign that others were also subjected to torture. But, thankfully - she supposed - they were all placed out-with each other's line of sight.
She knew there was no way she would survive, yet her curiosity was not conquered so easily. She had sensed nobility in her torturer, or at the very least, some form of precedency going not only by the reverence awarded from those serving the sorcerer but also from certain things she heard uttered. She had deduced her jailor was female and suspected the next visit from the vile creature would be the last. So what else did she have to lose other than that which was a guaranteed certainty?
"Who are you?" she panted.
A cruel laugh answered her, but no words accompanied it. The tall figure merely circled her, the laughter and rustling robes echoing throughout the stone passages.
The semi-dark prison was suddenly illuminated in an eerie green glow, its light rippling off the walls as if a pool were located close by catching the reflection.
"I know you are going to kill me, so why remain incognito? Do you not wish for the alliance armies still fighting out there to fear the very mention of your name?"
Another laugh, but this time there was also a hint of calculation. "You wish to boost my notoriety?" The voice possessed a velvet mordancy which was more chilling than the powerful thaumaturgy this individual exercised.
"I know I will die this day, but there are others who have and will survive your slaughter. They will carry your name through the ranks, instilling not fear as you wish, but a cold, hard determination to bring you down and all those like you."
"All those like me?" The tone sharpened, laced with an acidic objection. "There is no-one like me!"
"There must be!" The woman argued bravely. "You are no apparition. You are flesh and blood. You have lineage; I sense nobility in you."
