Post by anilaurel on Jun 22, 2009 7:24:59 GMT 10
These are slightly late but I wrote them a few days back.
Title:Interruption
Rating:G
Prompt:#4 Food
Summary: The Riders need help.
Thayet heard the messenger coming a few minutes before he appeared in the dining hall. He was in the red and gold riders uniform and looked ready to drop. He stood at the end of the banquet hall, filled with nobles, looking around wildly. His eyes alighted upon her and he gestured wildly.
The Queen, left her fine wine and rich food and ran to the man.
“Bandits, in the marsh,” the Rider pointed East.
Before he could say another word she had left, tearing her pink gown so she could ride easily. The Riders weren't dying on her watch.
Title: Violence
Rating: T
Prompt #4
Summary: Even stormwings need to eat.
He flew, not borne by the mighty winds like other birds but a touch of crimson magic. The sun reflected off of metallic wings, blinding the pitiful creatures below.
They were stupid, humans; fighting over menial things. Maybe it was land, a marriage gone wrong, maybe it was a slight comment taken the wrong way. Not that it mattered, the hatred wafted off of the battlefield, calling stormwings from miles around. The scent tasted sour and metallic, it signified violence.
The immortal wheeled in another turn, high above the bows. Drinking in the fear and hatred that was his nourishment.
Title:Interruption
Rating:G
Prompt:#4 Food
Summary: The Riders need help.
Thayet heard the messenger coming a few minutes before he appeared in the dining hall. He was in the red and gold riders uniform and looked ready to drop. He stood at the end of the banquet hall, filled with nobles, looking around wildly. His eyes alighted upon her and he gestured wildly.
The Queen, left her fine wine and rich food and ran to the man.
“Bandits, in the marsh,” the Rider pointed East.
Before he could say another word she had left, tearing her pink gown so she could ride easily. The Riders weren't dying on her watch.
Title: Violence
Rating: T
Prompt #4
Summary: Even stormwings need to eat.
He flew, not borne by the mighty winds like other birds but a touch of crimson magic. The sun reflected off of metallic wings, blinding the pitiful creatures below.
They were stupid, humans; fighting over menial things. Maybe it was land, a marriage gone wrong, maybe it was a slight comment taken the wrong way. Not that it mattered, the hatred wafted off of the battlefield, calling stormwings from miles around. The scent tasted sour and metallic, it signified violence.
The immortal wheeled in another turn, high above the bows. Drinking in the fear and hatred that was his nourishment.
Love the second one particularly. ^.^
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!