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Post by ♔ RISA on Jul 31, 2013 23:01:57 GMT -5
Generate a prompt involving any of your characters.  It can of any mood or of any length, just be sure to abide by Proboard's TOS. <3 Each month we'll have a new winner. Rewards include money for the site shop where new powers, abilities, and other such things can be obtained. PM a member of staff with any questions.
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Post by YGRITTE BLACKBURN on Aug 4, 2013 23:24:59 GMT -5
WIP [/b] SETTING: utopia.
THEME: serial killer story/transformation story
It takes three tries for Gritta to stand up.
Three excruciating tries. The first sends her spilling to the ground, face pressing into the blood of her own family. Her husband’s dead eyes stare at her, terrified and so very ,very blank. The second try forces her on her back, screaming out a pained cry into the air.
It’s only on the third that she forces herself up on trembling arms, pain roaring away at her stomach as fresh blood spatters anew on the already stained linoleum tiles of her home. This time, it’s her blood—not her husband’s or brother’s or mother’s or father’s.
They no longer have any blood left to spill because they’re dead—dead dead dead and god—god, if that—that---
Breath hitching as she forced herself up those last few inches until she was resting on her knees instead of splayed out all across the floor like the corpse she’d been left for, Gritta grits her teeth.
“They’ll pay.” She whispers to herself, voice broken and cracked and god if it doesn’t hurt to speak. It doesn’t top her from hissing again, eyes burning with tears that won’t come, “They’ll pay.”
That night, Gritta pulls herself onto wobbly feet and drags herself towards the first aid supplies spilled out across the tiled floor. She cauterizes her own wounds with a fire poker and screams her rage and pain into the empty air.
And that I am afraid; is where this story starts.
---
The elf was a mad one—Ygritte was sure of that.
Inching back against the Plexiglas wall behind her, Ygritte did her best to tune into the man’s babbled garbage. He wasn’t one of her usual clients, but money had been hard to come by and from the talk of the town, he paid a lot. Of course, with a reputation like his, the hefty price tag was almost necessary. He was after all, known for destroying an entire regiment of the Nostra Corp in a fit of paranoia—apparently, the man really was mad about his tea. Then again, if the rumors about the way the elf had voices in his head due to his considerable skill in sorcery, the tea might not even be the reason for his psychotic breakdown. Still, it was of no concern to Ygritte—that she was sure.
Either way though, she was going to get back at that human informant for sending her here. Good as the pay was, she valued her life more than she valued her wallet—a marked difference between her and Duquette, she was sure.
Arms crossed as the elf made another aborted movement in the background, muttering to himself in a manner that seem to ebb and flow in volume and pitch, Ygritte grit her teeth. Yes—yes, she certainly was going to give that greedy informant a thorough thrashing. Watching as the elf—Raeggos, if the rumors were true—finally picked through the file cabinets in the near decrepit office (a far cry from the pristine room’s she’d frequented in the higher Noredge District back when she used to work for the nobles and their ilk)
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Post by LADY YSADORA OF OSTLEA on Sept 13, 2013 21:18:22 GMT -5
Setting: cyberpunk Theme: tragic conflict story Ysadora paid little heed to the smudge within the door-frame. Dragon-tongue flames swallowed the blade, held tight in her wavering grasp. A tremor shook her lips. The humming of machinery muted the erratic pulse splitting rib bone. Thump. Thump. Thump.
WIP
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It can of any mood or of any length, just be sure to abide by Proboard's TOS. <3 Each month we'll have a new winner. Rewards include money for the site shop where new powers, abilities, and other such things can be obtained. PM a member of staff with any questions. 
