Stolen Virgin's Wings [Scribble Journal]

[Slairlayh]

Stories are fine things, really. The more you try to write them, the more they disappear.

I write about interactions. I write about chemistry.
I write about the shapes and colors of a creature's behaviour.
I write about the moment and what comes to me as peculiar.
I write about the mundane as I ponder its abnormalities.

What do you write about?

Let us not be one who rules over the other, or have the latter follow the first.
To trust as we write; is that not the hardest?
Let us not hold each other's tongues but inspire each other's pens.
It is our ink that will weave our imaginations together.

Try it with me.

~-~-~-~-~

Nothing but the tower on a moonlit night.
Pitter patter pitter patter roar thunder roar

Nothing but a lightning bolt tearing half the sky.
Zipper zapper crickle crack spark me red

~-~-~-~-~

Do you see the irony of your own conceptions being broken by those of others'?
One limited conception followed by another,
each one clashing against someone else's
and eventually finding a breaking point where the pieces scatter.

Yet no matter what we do or where we go, these pieces are regathered.
They are never truly whole again, for the glue we use to reunite them may allow us to follow the blueprints,
but the cuts, the tears, and the smudges will be left imprinted upon the paper
and there is no way to erase them.

New ideas are old ideas broken and repaired in this manner.
What once was is melded with the present,
thus presenting us with what is now.

Can you break your conceptions?

~-~-~-~-~

[Kamila; The Witch]

Imbeciles. You'll all die. Arrogant creatures. Filthy creatures. Rotten creatures.
You're dead. You're all dead.
Touch me and I'll burn the flesh off your bones and feed you to my dogs alive.
As if you can comprehend the meaning of pain anyway.
Imbeciles. Demons. Horrific creatures. God's worthless, spoiled children.
He abandoned you so long ago, pitiful orphans. So long ago.
Such meaningless pride. Such aggravating grief. Such despicable heartbreaks.
Idiots. You never had emotions to begin with. Stop bickering over yourselves.
I've lost everything, and look at me. I'm not a tad sorry for myself.
Imbeciles. How dare you hate me. How dare you love me. How dare you.

~-~-~-~-~

[Charlotte; The Savage Slave]

You came to our lands, pillaging, raiding, killing.
Pale-skinned monsters, you could not be content with having slayed my father and raping my mother.
You could not be content with her hatred-infused love of me, her terror's offspring.
You could not be content with my village's pity for my mother and their fear of me.
Pale-skinned demons, you had to sweep through our village a second time and burn down our straw.
You had to burn down our homes, behead our elders, and chain our parents for labor.
You had to steal our children for your armies, and take my generation's people for your profits.
You had to take women like me for our youth, our health, and our beauty.
Pale-skinned devils, you have enslaved me for your pleasures and embedded your sperm in my womb.
You have taken my freedom, you have taken my duties, and you have taken my family away.
You have given me a child to be my joy, my sorrow, my rage--then stripped the child of birth.
Pale-skinned beasts, you shall regret my wrath one day.​

-SVW

 

[Slairlayh]

[The Hokey-Pokey Graveyard]

Somewhere in an isolated corner of the world there is a village. This village is small, but it prospers well on its own. It also lives in fear of the road that leads away towards the misty cliffside above.

What lies beyond those earthly clouds, you ask? Why, the Hokey-Pokey Graveyard.

Of course, the villagers just call it a haunted graveyard. All day and night there are lights seeping through the mist. The fog never goes away, no matter what sort of weather befalls the village. Nature's phenomena don't seem to effect the cliffs.

If someone tries to walk the faded path up, the villagers either pretend they're a ghost, or they try desperately to keep them from going.

But the choice is yours, no matter what they do. So will you stay? Or will you go? After all, the place is haunted. And everyone knows that the haunted eat your soul.

~-~-~

So they say.

But the Hokey-Pokey Graveyard is nothing more than the humble home of a simple man named Loky.

The path leads you up to the cliff and through the mist. Everything is dark and foggy, but at least you can see the road in a one-foot radius. So unless you leave it, there's no danger of getting lost. There is a point, however, where the road ends and you suddenly come upon a space clear of fog entirely. A graveyard full of headstones and a dusty old church.

The graveyard is very dark because of the fact that light is blocked from all sides. Fog encompasses the place like a dome, too thick to even let in sunlight during the day. To make up for this, little marbles float around in different colors, each one infused with a relatively large amount of elemental energy, causing them to glow. There's a great number of them, so the graveyard is illuminated well enough.

There are also paper lanterns hanging between the larger statues of headstones of the graveyard, also colored differently, each with a globe of light placed inside them.

Around this clearing are several rings of skeletons holding hands and dancing the hokey-pokey as they circle the area. They're somewhat slow and the hokey-pokey is all they do, so it shouldn't be too hard to get past them. You should also feel free to blow them to bits if it so pleases you.

Built like a lean-to to the side of the church facing the graveyard is a bar. This bar is small and made out of bones--no seats for customers. There are drinks of all kinds, and a variety of odd potions for sale. Several skeletons take orders and serve the drinks while a raven-possessed zombie works as bartender. All payments lead back to the bartender no matter who takes the money. And the bartender eats it.

There are some skeletons who pretend to be waiters(they all look very much the same, so it's rather hard to tell the difference)but are really only there to kill the customers. They come up with a large variety of pranks. Poisoned drinks, claw sandwiches(they pull your tongue out when you bite), attempted sneak-attacks, pushing people into graves and burying them alive, neck-severing axes...the works.

By the way, the bathroom's inside the church. It's advised you go there instead of doing your business in one of the open graves because the owners will throw tantrums.

That, and those prank-pulling skeletons enjoy dumping your urine over your head. Or throwing feces.

If you walk into the church, you'll find that it's not as bad on the inside as it looks on the outside. The pews are clean and they're adjusted so that they make decent beds. The mattresses are comfy enough and the blankets are cozy. If you walk down the velvet carpet in the middle, you'll come to the front of the church(opposite of the entrance)where a gold fountain sits on a marble pedestal. At first glance one might think 'holy water'. Really its crystal water. There is a sign in front of the pedestal that says 'free to drink'. There's plenty, so don't hold back on this wonderfully refreshing, energizing, and soothing liquid; sweet to taste and clear to the senses. It also removes or reduces migraines and stomach aches.

The bathroom is to the left of this fountain.

To the right is the Caretaker's quarters. There is a silver-colored wooden door with no knob but a door-knocker in the shape of a dragon's head made out of mythril. Unless mentioned otherwise, this room is always locked. The only way in is through this door, and the only way to open this door(sadly, it cannot be destroyed)is through Clara, Loky's draconic pet.

Oh, and there are no windows in the church. But there are more marbles.

-SVW