#prologue.

[tempestclan-dev-clangen-comic]

Prologue.

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[inthemiddleofficial-blog]

prologue.

1767 Lab Corp

Approximate time 3:35 pm

Date: Unknown

Journal: entry code:

2,544,480

2,544,480

2,544,481

That’s right, I’m still counting.

They found you last time and I won’t let that happen again I promise, I promise, I promise. I didn’t know how to write to you again after the incident. My thoughts, my words, my emotions were torn to shreds in front of my eyes. There was so much I needed to remember to feel human. It was all there. Everything they took. But they can’t let me remember how to feel anything anymore-it would ruin 099.

I don’t know why I continue to put myself at risk now when I have such little left when I’m running so low. I couldn’t tell you why I still write-they could easily take that away from me any day now again.

They call me mikado, experiment 099. That’s all I know about who I am. It’s printed on my neck. I wasn’t supposed to see it but the ink left an imprint on my sheet the night it happened.

“Experiment  099; the slow retraction of human emotion.”

I did not know what that meant then.

I try and remember who I really was, but I only see shadows form in the back of my mind trying to put together some semblance of who I was before 1767. It’s been almost five years now and I still can’t remember. I don’t know what I look like, how would I know what you I look like, who am I?

They haven’t been very good to me lately they take more and more- faster with each one now. I’ve heard the whispers behind the wall day in and day out. Little clips to try and find clues or an answer.

“Are you sure we are ready to take that, it could end the experiment.”

“It’s time.”

That was the last thing I heard. Something big is coming and I wish I could say I was terrified but that was the last emotion they took away from me. I don’t have many left. I am not ready for the day where they take the rest of me, but I know it grows near.

I hear them coming now. I have to go or they will find you too. I won’t let it happen again.

-099

[cehostclub-blog]

Prologue || TWELVE || Emperor’s New Clothes [ATTN: Nines]

The opportunity to win a hundred million dollars had seemed like a good idea at the time, but TWELVE was beginning to have second thoughts. It wasn’t the lavish interior that aroused his suspicion, nor was it the fact that all of them were only now regaining consciousness (although that certainly didn’t help matters, considering the most likely explanation was that they had been drugged). No, what tipped him off was the fact that he had been shackled to a chair like a fucking hostage.

...But considering the alternative, being held captive in an extravagant mansion wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. Really, it beat listening to old ladies prattle on about their newest aches and pains, and besides, he hated to think what would happen if he returned home without the prize money.

So while intellectually, he knew that he was probably in over his head, TWELVE kept a positive attitude. There was nothing he could do about the situation at present, anyhow, which meant he needed to occupy himself with the next two most important tasks; getting to know his fellow contestants, and getting plastered.

That was how he found himself in the lounge, standing behind the bar and perusing the selection (and what a selection it was; for a moment, it almost felt like he was back at the club). Before he could pour himself a drink, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of the door opening.

“Welcome! ♡”

Old habits were hard to shake, apparently. TWELVE leaned forward, resting his elbows (and, more or less, his entire upper body) on the bar as he sized up his present company.

(And, okay, the first word that came to mind was ‘nice’, because it wasn’t every day a full set of abs was just on display like that.)

Straightening up, he flashed the other man a wide grin, revealing rows of sharp teeth.

“If you were looking for a hundred million bucks, you could have just looked in a mirror.”

[thievurry]

PROLOGUE:  MARY DORSET PLAGIARIZES A BIRTH CERTIFICATE (OR TWO)

on a soggy, dreary, terribly awful september afternoon, mary dorset wrote a letter:

i've given birth to a pair of coyotes, alistair. they look just like you. the doctors asked me who their father is and i said i was the virgin mary. they've got your hair. they came out doing cartwheels. the doctors asked me who their father is and i told them it was evel knievel.

she hadn't given birth yet, of course. neither did alistiar whitacre respond, of course. he had a real family, he'd told her nine months prior. a wife and two children, an older son and younger daughter: the apples of his eye, jaime and bonny, the inheriting progeny of the whitacre lineage. he had a real family, he told her, and surely she must understand that.

mary dorset, who grew up with an empty armchair for a father, did not.

one week later, mary sat with her feet twisted furiously in the sheets of an unattended hospital bed. the mattress threatened to swallow her whole, but she was a mother now. she had her own, real family to take care of. so she elbowed it in the gut, kicked the blanket into submission, and rocked the babes swaddled in her arms.

when the nurse came in, the twins were too busy babbling to each other in secret code to notice. well, dearie. thought up some names? she asked neither kindly nor unkindly, smiling a pitying smile, of the sort that people reserve for downtrodden women who are secretly and unanimously believed to deserve their lot.

jamie and bonnie, mary dorset told her.

when the nurse asked if the names were short for anything, she said she had no idea.

[facepeeled]

continued from here | @milkandsins

HOUSE PARTIES NEVER HAVE MUCH PRIVACY. everyone on top of each other, everyone fighting for a corner of privacy, horny and drunk but still no intimacy. cricket prefers barn parties. it's always so easy to slip away UNSEEN from those. to surrounding corn fields and wooded areas, to backseats of cars and beds of pickups parked out in the fields.

cricket returns nora's pout. this party is LAME. just a kegger, cricket and nora are probably the only ones here that even do coke. she follows nora's eyeline to the staircase, nodding her head.

"good idea," she agrees. "maybe we can find a vacant bedroom. it's still a little early..." she stands, slings her purse around he shoulder. "and if we get caught, well, i ain't ever been in any trouble i couldn't flirt my way out of." she extends a hand down to nora, a help up, to pull her along.

[f8foretold]

drafts of the prologue, chapter 1 & chapter 2 of "of magic, steel & stardust are now available. click here to read :)

[f8foretold]

OF MAGIC, STEEL & STARDUST by nika ravenscraft

prologue

OF MAGIC

Alanis Zinmora is a bright eyed magical prodigy famous for for making the impossible, possible. Spellcasting before he could even walk, the elf spends every waking moment researching and experimenting, eager to expand his arcane knowledge and change elven society for the better.

The only child of two working class elves who make a living mending the torn fabrics and broken trinkets of the city's elite, the only power Alanis truly has lies that in his remarkable arcane skill. For years he has studied and for years he has amazed peers and noblity alike. He's done a great many things like developing spells that peel vegetables for you, spells that sew a wound shut just as accurately (if not more so) than a needle and thread, and spells that ensure food never grows cold.

However as tensions have rise between the elves and the humans (better known as the Steel-Born), his spellwork has lost favor of the nobility. What use is warm bread when mage after mage is falling at the hands of a ruthless and unforgiving steel sword? What use is a spell that can stitch a wound closed if the injured bleeds out before such a spell can be cast? Cooking spells, and healing spells are not enough -- not anymore.

Elves have longer lifespans and they have magic. Elves are meant to outlive humans, yet human soldiers are killing elven mages by the dozens. The elven king, Arlen Aregia doesn't need self-peeling vegetables... He needs a magical trump card so he can win the war once and for all.

As army enlistment falls and as elves return to dust never to see their loved ones again, King Arlen Aregia is left with no choice but to take his citizen's choice from them. All adults elves will join the army one way or another. Elves can either fight a never-ending battle on the front lines or they can join military scientists in developing war magic.

Alanis who had vowed to only ever use his magic to help others has no choice but to turn spells into weapons. After all, no amount of arcane medicine has fixed his weak leg, a leg he compensates by using a brace and cane. He feels no shame for his mobility aids because they make him free and self reliant. However he knows his enemies would not feel the same. The humans -- the Steel-Born excel at violence and would cut him down the instant he stepped onto the battlefield.

Idealist turned war mage, he's guaranteed his own survival in the war but at the cost of his own happiness and his own morals.

OF STEEL

King Alaric is a stubborn and vindictful man. Although 65 years old and long overdue to pass his crown onto his oldest son, Bertram, he refuses to relinquish power. He holds a personal grudge against elven King Arlen Aregia because it was Arlen's wife that killed his wife in battle. Although both women ultimately perished in the fight, he blames Arlen for his wife's death. He also blames Arlen and his people for the disease and disaster that has befallen the human kingdom.

Villages have been lost to landslides, water now has to be boiled first in order to be safe to drink, and crops are struggling to grow. Not to mention there is a strange, sickly green glow spreading across the countryside. Anything and everything the sickly green glow touches, dies. It must be a magic induced plague! The elves do not claim the sickly green magic as their own and pretend to be confused. Worse yet they blame humans for the strange sickness. They call it fate because humans have always been jealous of the magic wielding elves. And according to the elves, humans destroy everything they touch. But the humans have no choice. They need stone for homes and woods for fires. After all, they have no magic relics or magic fires to keep them safe and warm.

As the youngest of three royal children, Drustan was never meant to be anything other than the backup for the backup heir to the throne in case his older sister or brother died before being named ruler. However, as the war between their kingdom and the elven mages intensifies, and as eerie green magic causes a strange sickness to spread, he's forced to take a more intensive role in the future of his country. His people need hope and who is better suited to bring hope than a strong, healthy, and handsome prince? He's tasked with not only fighting mages but capturing one, forcing a mage to rid their kingdom of the strange sickness once and for all.

Idealist turned ruthless knight, Drustan has guaranteed his own survival in the war but at the cost of his own happiness and his own morals.

OF STARDUST

Elves and the Steel-Born haven't always been enemies. Eons ago in the time of the gods, the elven pantheon known as the Ancients and the human god the Forgemaster formed an alliance to save their people from dying at the hands of mystical and magic beasts that attacked humans and elves alike.

Although the sickly green sickness is no mythical beast, there is no doubt the elves and the Steel-Born are long overdue to unite once more for the sake of the greater good. After all, what use is there for a war over resources and territory if the strange sickness consumes the whole world in the process?

Elves can cast magic but touching steel burns them, even when wearing gloves. Steel-Born are incapable of wielding magic but wield swords and other steel weapons with expertise. As the sickly green magic spreads and as more resources and lives are lost, it becomes clear there is more to the strange sickness than meets the eye. To save their countries and save their world the warring kingdoms will have to put aside their differences. Will they call for a truce before it is too late?