Any remaining nausea from Vaughan’s brutal death along with the bodies of the guards disappeared replaced by cold disbelief. This was not happening. I stepped into the room, ignoring the splinters of wood and broken glass under my feet; intent on finding something—anything—that could send me home. My scars on my arms itched as I noticed the mage still held on to his knife, even in death. Seeing the deep cuts on his hand, I could feel the familiar control he had over me, like a grotesque puppet, unable to scream or move on my own. Did you try to control Cousland and the others as you did to me? Use your knife to call on your magic, only to fail– Wait. Looking down at the knife, a thin thread of hope grew in my chest. The mage never …show more content…
My body never quite recovered from the mage’s sessions even after his spell was broken. The potion soothed away all the aches and pains I endured until they became nothing but a minor annoyance. The potion even healed the cuts on my feet from the broken glass in the mage’s study and clotted the cuts I inflicted on my arm. Ignoring Soris’ smug smile, I took a piece of cheese from the platter, feeling more ravenous than usual. “Now, that is out of the way,” he began, pushing the platter towards me indicating I should eat more. “We need to talk about how we are going to explain to my family about you…besides having to hide the fact you’re not from Thedas.” I swallowed too quickly in order to speak and wound up choking on the piece of cheese. When I recovered from my small coughing fit, Soris held up a hand to stall any of my attempts to talk. “You told me the mage kidnapped you. I believe you. Where he kidnapped you from remains a mystery, but I know it’s not in Thedas. Denerim is the capital of Ferelden. I’ve heard nearly all the languages spoken in Thedas - except Qunlat and Tevinter, but from how it's described, it wasn’t what you used when we first began to talk.” He paused to take another drink of the
It has been too long since I last wrote to you, so I thought I would inform you on momentous events that happened in my life in the last little while. The previous time I heard from you was when Gabriel turned three. I can’t believe he is about to become a teenager now. My goodness, time flies by so fast. I was so ecstatic when I saw your prior letter arrive in my mail.
He pressed his hands firmly to his stomach to try and slow the bleeding, yet the hole in his back bled freely, making his magic, even as he tried to heal himself, have a hard time keeping up. His mind was fuzzy, thoughts coming slowly to him, the only clear two being 'thank god he's gone' and 'thank god he didn't hurt Amaimon too' as he slumped fully to the ground, face pressed to the wood floor. It was cold and made him sleepy, though that was honestly probably the blood loss, which was slowly beginning to taper off as his body worked overtime to fix the gapping hole in his torso. Belatedly he wished he could see Amaimon from where he lay, wanting to hold him and say sorry like he had intended to. But he hardly thought he would be able to speak
fighting and bloodshed could continue, A. . . ill sheathed knife . . . @
"Put your swords back in its place. All draw the sword will die by the
Listening, I could hear them, the persistent sound of chatter and laughter. The roar of ambient joy rang from the house and into the ears of everyone behind the scene. You never know what to expect when you're standing backstage; you never know what's going to happen. Thousands of thoughts and worries are bouncing around your head. What if I mess up my life? What if I miss my cue? What if I forget how to speak? It isn't until that very precise moment when the audience's voices have hushed to a whisper and directly before the curtain has opened that your mind becomes clear. You forget all about the hundreds of people that came to see your show. You forget all about the friends you have in the audience just waiting for that moment when you have to do some embarrassing stunt on stage to capture it on film. You even forget all about who you are and all your worries. In that moment, you are an actor.
Arthur's raised brows snapped together. "You said you did not know your father. Is everything you say a
“Get up!!!” The whistle of the bullets flying past my head was like nothing I have ever heard ending anything and everything in it’s path. The roaring sound of bombers Echoing down roads and through homes Like a song of the devil himself. My life flashed in my eyes. And now to think it was over was nerve racking. Fire’s blazed in homes like a flower blooming in mid spring… The year Is 1944. Me and my men are going to a place where happiness Was imprisoned and not to be let free for it would be executed at once.A place Where the sky was black as coal.a place I’d never call home.The ekos of family's cries over gone loved ones for to them there end was also there beginning. The smell of gunpowder, mud ,and maggots in my food was not what
The sun lingers brightly on a summer morning. A small seven year old girl stands and loiters by the window, eagerly waiting, as the television mumbles the morning weather is recited by the meteorologist. “Later today, we will experience quite a bit fogginess ...” The man informs with a deep defined voice. She presses her round nose on the glass window and scans through the view of their front yard.
Valiant, peerless, noble. Banquo was a father nobody can replace. I, Fleance, stand here before you to pay tribute to our humble friend three months after his tragic passing. He was but a young sapling who planted a legacy of perspicacity and integrity. The green of his sleeves and his ripe mind were in full bloom, to then be harvested by the reaper himself. Now that the Macbeth is deceased, it is finally safe for me to come out of hiding to formally commemorate the short but prosperous life of this great man. We all mourn the loss of our great friend who is to be remembered for his admirable honour to his country, his intelligence and his compassion as a father, all of which made him a kinsman, friend and father that one may not surpass.
Every Single Person has good and evil within them, as for me I'm just evil. I have embraced the devil himself, his power has taken over me and i feel more powerful then ever, more free than ever. Yet one human can stop me in my task to become immortal and have my name remembered throughout the ages of history.
Soon I am left by my self surrounded by soldiers everywhere. I know what must come next. I pick up the sword with my right hand as my left hand still emits a blue smoke from my earlier attack. No time to dwell on that for as I pick up my sword the guards rush me with sheer numbers, their weapons drawn.
Bella Lucas was the best horse rider Lucumucapuca ever saw, that’s why Pegasus had grown so fond of her. If you were to ride Pegasus you would know that you steered with your legs when you took a leg off one side Pegasus would turn to that side. Unfortunately Bella wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed,that’s why she tried to do and spin move and land from Pegasus to the ground. Well yes she could not do a “360 no-scope” as she called it. Instead she did a 180-break a leg and she couldn't ride. At first Pegasus was understanding but he kinda sucks so he wasn’t very patient, Pegasus told her of a great wizard and she would have to follow the yellow brick road. Though he was wrong at first cause Pegasus also isn’t very bright and he realized
A soft darkened sky draped across a blossoming landscape riddled with life that were homes to more than one.
The Edge is a cracking clay pot. Flowers of red and golden lillies lay on lavender roses. The cold wind blows softly as if to caresss the flowers. Down below the patchey Edge is an abyss, dark and haunting. The site of it leaves me feeling daring,and impulsive.
I REMEMBER NOW. HE MADE ME DO IT! HE made me kill them… He will pay. All of a sudden my pupils changed (ii) to 135 fold around, and my fangs shot out, accidentally cutting my lip, blood dripping out.