Ashildr leaned against

Chatterbox: Inkwell

Ashildr leaned against

Ashildr leaned against the car, trying to keep up a calm facade while staring at her cell phone. She had gotten it precisely for this purpose, really: that when the time came, she would be able to lean against something, plug in her earbuds, and text like she was some high schooler in Starbucks.

Luckily, it was only about nine o'clock, and nobody was asleep at that time. Ashildr was able to have a very realistic conversation as she waited. Hey, Ash, what's up? U shud come over tomorrow: we're having spaghetti.

Nah, won't be able to make it. We're going to a movie.

Cool, which one?

Dad's an Emma Watson fanatic.

Say no more.

Well, at least she had appropriate friends.

"Honey, are you doing okay?" Ashildr looked up at the officer, who was bending slightly to be face to face with her. "I know this is rather traumatic for you."

"I'm fine," she replied, shrugging with a teenage air.

"Good. Then you won't mind if I ask a few questions."

"Fire away." She had prepared for this.

"What's your full name?"

"Aishling Luna O'Brien. I'm Irish."

"What about your father's?"

"Michael William O'Brien." That wasn't true. His name was Áed.

"Where were you two headed?"

"We were going to the movies in the strip mall up ahead, to see Beauty and the Beast." That was, technically speaking, true. They were going to hide in the movie theater.

"Thank you. I'll come back if I need to ask you anything else." Ashildr noticed the obvious lack of what happened? She, of course, had an answer ready, but it wasn't needed. The smashed driver's-side window, cowering daughter, and beaten father showed it all.

They hadn't made it. Somehow, their chasers had missed Ashildr, but there was still the matter of her father. Dead, the medics had said. Rediculous, Ashildr knew. All she had to do was get to him and everything would be fine.

Everyone there was very distracted. The flashing lights and CAUTION tape sent even the policemen into a panic. This was a small town; nothing like this had ever happened before, and there was only so much you could do. That made it much easier for Ashildr to sneak right up to her father's body and wrench his jaws open.

 "Taispeáin dom má tá sé ina chónaí," she whispered. "Ostende mihi vivit."

A thick white smoke billowed from her mouth and down his throat, spiralling and contracting, writhing as it entered its new host. But it soon billowed, overflowed, and poured out of his mouth again. "No. Impossible. Taispeáin dom má tá sé ina chónaí. Ostende mihi vivit. Ostende mihi vivit!"

No matter how many times she repeated the spell, it was painfully obvious.

Her father was dead.

 

Ashildr wrenched open the backseat door, crawling into the car and hefting out one of the cushions. There was a messenger bag there, smushed from being hidden so long, but ready if she ever had to flee. Ashildr snatched it up, slung it over her shoulder, and got out of the car again, sprinting into the woods.

When she was far enough away, she pulled out a flashlight from the bag and rummaged around for the notebook. That was the most important thing, bigger than even the map. If the notebook was not there, all was lost.

She breathed a sigh of relief as her hands closed around its hard leather surface, pulling out the brown-binded book and flipping it open. Her father's handwriting had not changed in thousands of years: it was still almost impossible to decipher. Still, she only needed to refresh her memory, not learn anything anew.

____

THE CONTENTS OF THE NOTEBOOK

On your travels, you will encounter many creatures, and it is essential that you know how to recognize them, and battle them if need be. Know that all magical creatures are either immortal or undead, so the methods for defeating them must be followed to the letter. The rarities are from one to five, one being the rarest and five the most common. Please be careful, my darling. Remember, every magical creature can transform themselves to look human, so be alert at all times.

Species: Dragon

Rarity: 1 - there are many of us in this world, but almost all are hibernating and healing. I doubt you will come across another waking dragon on your travels.

Types: Riding (that is you, my dear - designed for others to fly on, red-scaled); hunting (as I am, made to seek out prey and capture it, blue-scaled); fighting (the most dangerous of all, I pray that you do not meet one of these vicious creatures on your quest, black-scaled); breeding (like your mother, made purely to keep the species alive. Beware - they have a violent streak, purple-scaled).

Powers: Fire-breathing, flight, impenetrability (do not let anyone get under your scales or you shall be truly doomed).

Identifying features: long, claw-like nails; wild hair; short build. It is possible they may show you their wings, but unlikely.

Weaknesses: If you ever find yourself fighting a dragon, get your claws under their scales before they get under yours. You are agile and quick, like all of your type; most other dragons are slow, but harder to breach the defenses of. Fighting dragons do not have scales on their stomachs, so if you do find yourself battling one, get under them. Just remember: this lack of scales makes them the quickest of the dragons, so beware.

Immortality: It is impossible to kill a dragon, as you know. But we can be mortally injured, and fall alseep to heal our wounds. This happened to you when you attempted to join the American Revolution, do you recall? You slept through much of the Western Expansion. Remember that dragons are one of the oldest species on this planet, and can come from as long ago as Ancient Greece.

 

Species: Pixie

Rarity: 5 - they normally travel in packs, and there are many around this world.

Types: Flying (Flying Pixies are often called fairies by the humans because of their wings and small shape); shape-shifting (one of the trickiest, as they use these powers to pass off as anything and then wreak havoc); spell-casting (the most dangerous, as they are tiny, powerful targets); boogieman (terrifying pixies, ones that prefer scaring humans as opposed to their other, prankster relatives).

Powers: Invisibility, changing their height (each type of pixie has a separate set of powers.)

Identifying features: A small, skinny build; short hair; freckles; a light, common laugh; pointed ears in some cases.

Weaknesses: All pixies cannot resist a good joke, and will fall over laughing; they especially appreciate slapstick. Flying Pixies' wings are incredibly delicate and can be harmed simply by touching them. If you can find a way to silence a Spell-Casting Pixie, they are completely harmless. Boogieman Pixies detest the light, especially sunlight.

Immortality: Pixies are easily confined, and it is difficult for them to escape almost any cage, but they cannot die, as they don't have blood in their veins or a heart to pump it. Remember that Pixies are generally not more than a few hundred years old, as they first started appearing in the sixteenth century.

 

Species: Mermaid

Rarity: 3

Types: Selkie (shifters, though they are limited to mer-shape, sea creature-shape, and human-shape), Siren (the most beautiful, with singing voices that will lure anyone towards them - but beware, for they are the singular carnivorous species of mermaid); Maiden (the ones most commonly seen by humans, and a completely useless breed in my opinion).

Powers: They do not breathe, resistance to pressure, inhuman strength, communication with sea creatures

Identifying features: Very long hair, an attachment to water, flirtatious nature,

Weaknesses: Mermaids dehydrate if they are out of the water too long, and become weak and susceptible. In order to shift into their creature-shape, Selkies need their skin (often a piece of clothing), and are stuck as a human/mermaid without it. Sirens admire voices as beautiful as theirs and will let you free if you impress them. Maidens are flirtatious and weak, though they have a tendancy to befriend other, stronger sea creatures - beware of those.

Immortality: Mermaids do not breathe, and therefore do not need lungs; they have no blood to react to pressure with. They can feel pain, but are not damaged by attacks. The best thing to do is render them incapable of whatever they are attempting. Remember that mermaids are creatures that first came about during the Reconaissance, though ones that old have generally retired to the middle of the ocean by this time.

 

Species: Vampire

Rarity: 4

Types: Pack (travel in groups and are very vicious when together. They are very loud and blend into crowds, trying to isolate groups to attack.); Lone (travel alone, very bloodthirsty. Usually hunt in small areas, blend in with the background, and attack singular people).

Powers: Turning into bats, knowing their exact location at all times, a limited teleportation, night vision

Identifying features: Overlarge canines, a goth dressing style, overly pale skin

Weaknesses: Vampires dislike garlic, and enough of it will make them hesitate before attacking you, though it is not the best weapon. They are not susceptible to holy water or crosses, so DO NOT USE THESE. Wooden stakes are the best, though they are also injured by silver. They detest sunlight, though it will not kill them, and lightbulbs/flashlights have no effect.

Immortality: Vampires are undead. They do not have blood, but they do have a heart. Piercing this heart will cause them to return to their grave - the time depends on the severity of the wound - before they can walk the Earth again. Remember that vampires average at about two hundred years old, though they first began appearing in the eighteenth century.

 

Species: Werewolf

Rarity: 3

Types: Hybrid (can turn into a wolf at will, generally very bloodthirsty and dangerous creatures even as humans); Moon (only turn into a wolf at the full moon, though they still have dangerous qualities as humans); Lycanthrope (can turn into a wolf at will, though also turn into one at the full moon; at this time they have no control over their actions, and tend to be rather docile otherwise).

Powers: Shifting into wolves, inhuman strength, inhuman agility, night vision

Identifying features: A lot of hair, scarring, a tall stature, sharp teeth

Weaknesses: Werewolves are injured by anything silver, and even touching it against them will make them cry out in pain. Other weapons don't even harm them, however. They detest getting wet and will avoid water at all costs.

Immortality: Werewolves can die. However, if you kill them, they are not destroyed; a hundred years after dying, they return as an Undead, and the only way to fend them off is returning them to their grave, similar to a vampire. Remember, werewolves can be ordinary humans with their lifespans, but once they die they can be hundreds of years old - I once meta 567-year-old Lycanthrope when I was searching for your mother.

 

_____

I actually get to talk now.

Okay, so, that was a big info dump, but please read it - everything there is important, and stuff you need to know. There's actually stuff I didn't even mention, which I will clarify in the actual writing when we get to that.

First things first. This is a solo write, not an RP. Sorry, everyone. However, in this solo write, I am requesting that you do not, actually, base your character off yourself. Design it like you would in an RP; make it anything you want. However, I need you to be REALLY SPECIFIC. I don't want to mess up anything while writing this, so I need as much info as possible on your charries.

As much as you needed to read, I had to write. I don't think I can stand writing another creature bio right now. So, if you notice that I'm missing an obvious one, poke me and I'll decide if I want to include it. Got another creature in mind? Give me the name and I'll decide if I want to have it there! If I do, I'll give you a bio for it - if not, you can choose one of the ones above, or request a different one.

I'll accept ten people in this, maybe a few more if I feel generous.

Here's the charrie sheet! Please keep the characteristics of your species in mind while filling it out. I'll correct you if something doesn't line up.

Name:

Age:

Species/Type:

Gender:

Appearance:

Clothing:

Personality:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Hobbies:

Family:

Background:

 Other:

 

 

submitted by St.Owl, age Recarnated, Everywhere
(April 16, 2017 - 5:40 pm)

@Stryllr: I honestly have no idea where they are! Maine works, though.

@Epic Fangirl: We've been studying the American Revolution in school, so I know quite a lot about it, and I've read enough WWII historical fiction to get along. (why does Ashildr not fight in WWI? Because St.Owl is too lazy to do research on it. Sssh.)

. . . I just realized that Ashildr shouldn't be talking about independence. The colonies don't consider independence until after Concord. Shoot.

@Curio: I guess I imagine her more in her late teens, but looking older than she actually is. Haha, I just realized I actually don't have a clear picture of what Nocturna looks like. That should change . . . 

Also, shoot! I was calling Myane Raven! I'm sorry, everyone. Two fighting dragon charrie sheets right on top of each other was throwing me off.

Part 5 - Something To Be Filled In Later

The five clustered around the table, plus a bandaged Myane, excited Henna, and a nurse still tutting over Myane's wings. It was much too cramped, the circular tabletop built for four people, maximum. The nurse placed a few bowls in the center, lining smaller ones along the edge for every person sitting. Ashildr grimaced when she saw the contents. The food was all salads and rice dishes - completely vegetarian. Sighing, she pushed her bowl away. "Sorry, I'm on a strictly carnivorous diet."

Instead, Ashildr rummaged inside her bag for a moment. She'd unpacked most of her stockpiled food into Argen's truck, and the meager amount she had left was best to be saved for emergencies. Still, there was plenty of valuable stuff inside, and soon Ashildr unearthed a map.

"Here we go," she said, rolling it out. At a glance, the map seemed to be the regular, modern sort - a nice, detailed one, but not incredibly special. But, in fact, literally everything on it had been labeled - sanctuaries, cities, woods, even the smallest creeks. Ashildr pointed to a symbol resembling a treble clef in the region of Canada. "We're looking for a place in between Quebec and Montreal, probably on the water there. See the big mark? Talamh na Tearmann is unplottable, so Father couldn't show where it was exactly, but he can give me a general radius."
"Right," said Sorrel, leaning over. Her voice was muffled by lettuce. "That just leaves, what, three hundred miles to search? We'll be at the Land of Sanctuary in time for tea."
"Please. Father did his best," Ashildr snapped. "You can leave any time you want to. No one's stopping you."
"Are you hungry?" asked Argen suddenly, pushing his chair out. He'd heartily eaten his portion; strange, considering usual Morphling diets. "You're getting crabby too, Ashildr. When was the last time you ate?"

She paused to consider. "Oh, geez. Not since yesterday. But that's okay, I'm not really hungry."

As the words exited her mouth, though, Ashildr became aware for the first time of an emptiness in her stomach. It seemed to flop around loosely, falling down and down and down but in no real hurry to get to its destination. Fortunately, her body wasn't growling; she had some dignity left. "After this, I think we should head out. No reason to stay here, I mean, we have work to be done, and - wait. Where's Henna?"
They all glanced around, but the giggly pixie was conspicuously missing. Then, Sorrel cried out. "Adelaid's gone too!"
The pit in Ashildr's stomach grew deeper as she remembered. The hunters. The ones who had killed the unkillable. Could they be here, now? Behind a tree, watching, waiting? She'd just given them Talamh ne Tearmann's secret location!

"Fan out. They can't be far," Argen ordered, taking charge when he saw the panic on Ashildr's face. Everyone did so, looking around but finding nothing.

"Were you guys looking for us?"
For the first - and most likely only - time, Ashildr was actually relieved to hear the giggle that pierced the air. "We just went out for a walk! Adelaid wanted to see the camp."

There was a collective groan as everyone slumped back down into their seats.

Then, in shock, they jolted up.

Myane's head was lolling to the side, mouth slightly open, tongue hanging out. Ashildr's heart stopped for a moment as she went over.  "Taispeáin dom má tá sé ina chónaí," she whispered. "Ostende mihi vivit."

White smoke billowed into Myane's mouth, spreading into the new space, then settling comfortably, slipping down her throat, leaking out her ears. Ashildr grinned in relief. "Well, something put her to sleep, but she's certainly not dead."

"To sleep?" Argen hurried over, the others not far behind. "That's insane! How could it happen?"

They all turned to the nurse.

"I can't do an examination on her," she snapped. "She's a dragon! I don't know their biology! Besides, she's asleep, and all of her organs are shut down. Myane's basically dead by pixie standards."

"Hey," said Sorrel suddenly. "Weren't you cleaning out Myane's wings with something? Maybe she has a really bad allergy. Or, y'know, something else. It's worth a shot."

The nurse titled the bottle of alcohol towards her, then uncorked it and sniffed. "That's odd. It smells off." She let a drop of the liquid fall onto the table, where it sizzled and started to tear away at the wood.

"It definitely should not be doing that," the nurse muttered, stepping away from the table. "Someone tampered with my medicine!"

~~~~

"So, this is good-bye, I suppose."

Ashildr clasped her hands behind her back, trying to look saddened as she faced Henna. She couldn't get out of there fast enough. "We'll miss you, but - "
A giggle from Henna interrupted her monologue. "Miss me? Didn't they tell you? I'm coming with you!"
Ashildr almost groaned aloud. "Really? Why?"
"Adelaid's my friend! My parents said it would be okay for me to go on a trip, I just can't stay - so five is going to be six now!"

Was it rude for Ashildr to turn and bang her head many times against a tree? With twenty-first century rules, she actually considered it. Instead, she forced a smile on her face and said, "Well, welcome to the group! You know pretty much everything already, but I should let you know - we're going to go to the city near here for the night before heading out to Canada tomorrow."
"If we make good time," Argen supplied, "we should be in Canada by tomorrow night. Probably not Quebec, though."
Ashildr grinned. "Well, that's good news."

Before she could see Henna's response, Ashildr had already twirled on her heel. "All right, move out! The car's at the edge of the woods."

~~~~

Click. Click. Click.

What was it in the spray paint cans that made them make such a noise, like there was a little ball rolling around inside them, clashing against the edges? Where did the noise come from? What was its purpose?
The thoughts ran through her head like they did every night as she began shaking out fresh bottles of paint. She didn't like to think of what she did as vandalism. Surely, it couldn't be. She was creating art, beautiful art, that people would marvel at for ages to come - until it was painted over by the disrespectful loons who couldn't see the difference between work and teenagers getting drunk.

Finally, when all the cans were properly warmed up, Falleg held the first up to the brick wall she had chosen to paint that night. It was in an alley that nobody looked in; it was possible that this piece would stay untouched for months before the kids trapped in community service duty dutifully painted it over in sloppy strokes of white. She was a master of abstract art, which some didn't seem to understand, and the use of the universe inside it. It was slightly ironic, she always thought, because the universe was the thing that was so against her.

The painting did not take a while, and soon Sterker with a crescent moon was written on the corner. Falleg rocked back in her heels, considering it, tucking a loose strand of curly brown hair out of her eyes. It was lovely. Not her best, of course, but nice to look at. She allowed herself a smile.

A hand clapped over her mouth.

Falleg sucked in a breath, eyes widening in a silent scream. A voice above her whispered harshly, "Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe."

Falleg was a log, a stiff board, an unyielding bar of metal like the ones on the deserted railway tracks she so loved to paint. She did not move, she did not speak, and her breathing was soft and shallow.

When her captor stood, so did she.

The two awkwardly shuffled around, and Falleg only saw a glimpse of a white van before a bag was shoved over her head, and she could see no more.

~~~~

Ashildr turned around in her bed, eyes shooting open once she realized she was awake. Light was streaming in through the curtains. How long had the sun been up?
She stepped over towards the window, pulling away the curtain. The city spread before her like a well-organized maze: so many huge buildings and streets and oh, the smoke! So much smoke everywhere! From the cars driving down the crowded roads, from the huge smokestacks in the factories in the outskirts of town, collecting in the sky like an ominous black cloud. That was why she and her father avoided the city. The pollution was just too much. How did Argen stand it, who had been on Earth so much longer than she had?

She closed the curtains again, perching on the edge of the bed. Training had made her wide-awake as soon as she woke up - which was always, always at sunrise. This was the first time in hundreds of years that she had slept longer. It was amazing, what one day could do.

Later, fully clothed, her wild hair wrestled into its ponytail, Ashildr met the others in the lobby of the hotel, everyone fully packed and ready to leave. "A day's ride should get us to Canada," Argen reminded them, "further if we're lucky. We won't have any problems getting to 'Ard Alharam Alshsharifat that rate."

They all nodded, smiles plastered across their faces. Ashildr wondered if hers was the only forced one. So much could go wrong still . . . 

Argen turned and opened the door to the street.

He toppled backwards, a creature hitched to his chest.

______

Hehe. I told you. Action.

A day early, everyone! Are ya happy?

submitted by 121 New Parts!, actually just one, sorry
(May 16, 2017 - 7:08 pm)

Ah yes! This is like, the highlight of my day! Thank you St! And this new plot twist is so interesting, ooh... excited to see who and what happens next!

submitted by Clouded Leopard
(May 16, 2017 - 9:12 pm)

Thank you, St.Owl! It's amazing and I love the action! I can't wait to read on!

submitted by Cockleburr
(May 16, 2017 - 10:06 pm)

Gah!

I go to a piano recital for 2 hours and I just happen to miss this! My luck must be absolutely horrid today. Anyway St. I loved the writing, especially the part with Falleg. And I can't wait to know who this new person/creature is.  

submitted by Epic Fangirl
(May 16, 2017 - 10:50 pm)
submitted by 122 Thank-Yous, age Yay!, Happily Reading
(May 16, 2017 - 8:21 pm)

Ooo action. I love it! Thanks St.!

submitted by Esquire of Rohan, Playing Xbox with Hawkeye
(May 17, 2017 - 8:45 am)

Cool! I'm a bit confused about the switch between Raven and the Fireburt's dragon. Was that a mistake?

submitted by unsuspectingstrytllr
(May 17, 2017 - 9:27 am)

Yes. The two sheets on top of each other confused me. Raven was not the right name.

submitted by St.Owl, age Recarnated, Everywhere
(May 17, 2017 - 3:03 pm)

Yay! Falleg's seeing some action. I can't wait to read the next part!

submitted by Embers in the Ashes
(May 17, 2017 - 3:25 pm)
submitted by Top u cursed thread
(May 19, 2017 - 2:56 pm)
submitted by Toppity top top
(May 19, 2017 - 2:47 pm)

This thread IS cursed.

Once upon a time, St.Owl wrote one of the best pieces she's ever written. She wasn't done writing it, of course, but she was delighted with it. She was excited to keep writing it. She was sure her readers would love it.

Guess what happened.

Once upon a time, the Demons of Firefox Crashes decided that St.Owl was a little too happy, and they'd better mess with that a bit.

One shut down, one restart, and a lot of desperate pleading later . . . 

St.Owl lost the best writing she's ever done and feels like a pointless failure because WHY DO CRASHES ALWAYS HAPPEN WHEN YOU'RE PLEASED WITH YOURSELF BUT HAVEN'T SAVED WHAT YOU'VE WRITTEN?!
Uuugh.

I hope I'll be able to rewrite all of that by Sunday (plus write the rest), and keep it up to par, but I might not be able to, so y'all might have to wait until Monday for this next update.

In the meantime, please help me smash my computer.

submitted by St.Owl, age Recarnated, Everywhere
(May 19, 2017 - 8:01 pm)

Don't worry St. As long as your writing is still asa amazing as it has been (which it will be) we, or at least I, don't care when we get it. Als, Crashes=Demons.

submitted by Epic Fangirl
(May 19, 2017 - 9:15 pm)

HIYAAAAAAA--

Di! Stop! She didn't mean it literally!!

But I've never smashed a computer before! C'mon, Curio, can't you let me have a little fun?!

NO. St. Owl needs that computer to write on, Di. Go smash a pillow or a training dummy or the virtual personification of Firefox or something. 

Ahem. I sincerely apologize for my AE. I've lost writing that way. It sucks. All of the internet cookies to tide you through the rewrite.

submitted by Curio and Di
(May 20, 2017 - 4:08 pm)

Oh, I am so sorry! I don't care when the post comes out though, so long as it does.

submitted by Pepper Star
(May 20, 2017 - 8:31 am)