Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Is This Our Destiny?
Frank brushed tears out of his hazel-green eyes as he walked down the cobblestone street with his head hung low. For three days now he had tried to find a way to earn some money, but all to no avail. No one wanted the help of a punky elvish twenty year old boy.
As he turned down the road towards his home, two boys stepped in front of him. It was clear they were drunk and planned on making his life even more miserable than it already had been over the last month since his mother died. Both kids had the look of street thugs, only younger.
The beefier of the two wore a tattered leather vest over a green cotton shirt, and wore a pair of loose fitting denim trousers. His brown hair had clearly not been washed in days and he probably had lice judging by the way he kept scratching his head. A small, rusty dagger hung loosely from a makeshift wood and rabbit skin sheath. His sandals were held together with strips of twine and a couple leather straps.
His buddy had on some discarded studded leather armor that was quite a bit too big for his skinny frame. Several of the bronze studs were missing and the guy had cut slits along the sides of the top so he could adjust it with a rope belt to fit him. The pants were badly cut along the bottom of each leg. It was obvious the previous owner had been, must have stood quite a bit taller than the ginger haired, brown eyed thug who now wore them. He carried a pathetically made bow and had a quiver of four arrows over his left shoulder. At least two of the arrows were missing feathers and none looked really straight.
The beefy one looked over to his friend with a smirk, “Looks whats we haves here! They’ll let virmin in almost anywheres don’t they.”
The thin one snickered, “Yeah Ponda, my pa always said there was nothing worser than the Iero family. Even worser than the trolls. That’s what he always said.”
Frank took a few steps back and to the side hoping to avoid more than a few mean words. By now he was used to them. Very few thought much of his family. The Elves felt they were contaminated by the blood of an inferior race because Frank’s mother was a witch. Elves aged much slower than he did while witches raced by him growing at more than double the rate. For an example, Frank would be considered an adult at the age of 35, while his full Elvish townsfolk would not be adults till 60. Witches on the other hand were adults at 15 or 16 depending on the customs of the land.
Over the course of time an agreement from the higher council of this world decided kids of various ages would kept in similar grouping. For purposes of this a Witch was considered adult at 16. Why this had ever been done was still a mystery to Frank because he very rarely saw interaction between the races. Kids tended to gravitate toward their own kind and was often the case this caused a tension between races that lasted into and through adulthood.
The thinner of the two looked over at Frank, “Where ya think you’re goin halfer. We ain’t done with ya yet.”
Before Frank could run Ponda jumped forward and grabbed him, tossing him to the ground like a rag doll. Frank’s hunger, small size and discouragement just made him too weak to defend himself against a well-fed thug, let alone two of them.
He pinned Frank’s arms behind him and pushed up causing a cry of pain and a few tears from the Halfelf below him.
“Oh, poor halfer is crying.” He taunted while pushing up even harder. “Emroc, bring your dagger!”
Frank watched in horror as the thinner boy unsheathed the rusty Iron weapon. Witches were allergic to Iron, a trait they passed on to their children. Rusty Iron was by far worse than regular iron. “No! Please!” Frank shouted. Only to have the big guy clamp a hand over his mouth and push his arms up to where he was sure they would come out of socket at the shoulder.
“Come on Emroc!” Ponda jerked his head indicating to come over to where he held the halfelf down. “I’ve always wanted to see what iron does to a halfer!”
Emroc knelt down and waved the dagger in front of Frank’s eyes. “What do ya want me to do Ponda?” Emroc sounded unsure, but refused to seem weak in front of his older and tougher friend.
Ponda’s eyes glinted with pure malice as he smiled, “Let’s experiment. See what happens when you touch his arm with it.”
Emroc shrugged, “OK” then pushed the flat of the rusty weapon onto Frank’s arm. Almost instantly the skin under the blade started to turn blister.
Frank squirmed with all his might, but couldn’t get out of the grip of Ponda. Tears flowed as the efforts of his struggles only caused his shoulders extra pain. The burn of the iron on his arm reminded him of the time he accidentally fell on a glowing ember from the fire in his grandmother’s one room hut in the middle of the swamp slums.
“Neat!” Ponda smiled seeing the blistered, red mark left behind, “Try his leg!”
A new flash of pain erupted as the dagger was pushed onto Frank’s calf. He tried to kick, but this only caused Ponda to laugh and sit on his thighs pinning him even more.
“Hey,” Emroc stated, “it is even in the shape of the blade! Now what?”
A pair of men walked by ignoring the whole thing, either not realizing the torture the boys were putting Frank through or not caring. They continued to talk until they turned the corner and vanished from site.
Ponda couldn’t have been happier, “See halfer, no one cares about you. I can do whatever I want and get away with it!” He glanced over to Emroc, “Put one on his forehead right between the eyes!”
Emroc grinned, “Yeah! Good idea!”
By now Frank had given up all hope. He felt Ponda pull his head back with the hand over his mouth and a new burning as the iron was pushed into his forehead. Had he have eaten anything he surly would have lost it, but the nausea came anyway. Next thing he knew he felt Ponda let go of him. His head fell to the ground and he started to sob harder.
Both boys chuckled as Ponda got off him and left him lying in the street. “Bet he won’t forget that fer a while, huh Emroc?”
“Sounds like a baby. Stupid halfer!” Emroc nodded, “Bet he’ll go home and cry to his daddy too!”
Both boys turned the corner laughing with each other.
Frank slowly crawled over to a building and used it to help himself stand. His legs were wobbly and his vision was slightly blurred. Shaking with a mixture of anger and fear he looked at his arm. The marks itched like he had been bitten by thousands of ants and he knew he must not scratch them. It the blisters broke, they would spread.
Carefully he looked around and ducked into a back ally. Making sure no one could see him, he went into thought and recalled the words he would need. The hand movements came automatically as he went through the spell. His hands started to glow with a sky blue color until it was almost bright enough to read by. Satisfied, he put his hands on his chest and let the magic seep into him. The blue glow flowed through him and concentrated on the three marks and his aching shoulders. Only a minute later all signs of his encounter with the boys and the iron weapon were gone.
With the itching all but gone, he looked over where he was. Off in the back corner of the ally a black cat munched on some discarded stew. Quickly he went over and shoed the animal away. Looking at the half-eaten stew he again went into thought. New mutterings emerged from his mouth as he concentrated on the stew. A bolt of blue green light shot out of his fingertips and hit the moldy meal. Seconds later it looked fresh, well as fresh as peasant stew ever looks, he thought to himself.
For a few seconds he debated heating it up with yet another spell, but he didn’t have much magic left. The healing spell drained a great deal and he suspected he had just over done the refresh spell as well. Oh well at least cold stew is better than no stew. He thought to himself as he ate the meal. Even with the magic of the refresh spell, the food tasted terrible. It even crunched some because of sand and dirt. Regardless, he forced down every chunk big enough to pick up.
I wonder what type of meat this is. Oh, bad question. It is probably better that I do not know.
The food, if one wanted to be generous enough to call it that, eased both Frank’s body and mind. Suddenly he felt guilty about not bringing some home to his Father. That was the original reason he had traveled to Abothor. The winter had been hard on all the swamp dwellers, especially for those who lived in what was referred to as the swamp slums.
The swamp slums was considered part of Abothor , but was really an independent village all to itself. Over fifty buildings, most nothing more than one room shacks spread out two square kilometers of swamp and bog. During the summer insects, Goblins, and giant lizards played hell with the residence and during the winter the frozen swamp gave up little in the way of food. Often, during really hard winters, Goblins would come and raid taking food, belongings and once and awhile whole families. This had been the case this last winter.
Speculation centered on the children being used as food for the Goblins while the adults were worked to death in the frigid cold getting wood to keep the vile creatures warm. It was during one of the early attacks, five years ago, that Frank discovered he could use magic.
One Goblin had charged into their hut knocking his mother down. Anger roared through Frank’s small slender frame and instinctively he raised his hands in a thrust like motion. Sparks shot from his outstretched fingers and caused the Goblin’s cloak to ignite. Frantically it jumped out the door trying to get to water, but instead tripped and hit its head on a stone. The impact killed the beast and scared off the other three.
No one had seen what he had done. His mom had been knocked senseless by the Goblin and his father was chasing the Goblins. Scared and weakened by the magic he didn’t tell anyone. But somehow, a man who lived in the swamp slums did find out.
While Frank’s body digested some of the food and got its strength back, he sat in the back corner. The rest caused his mind to drift back to what had led to him becoming a real spellcaster…
First story, hope you like it so far! All feedback is Welcome!
abbie xo
As he turned down the road towards his home, two boys stepped in front of him. It was clear they were drunk and planned on making his life even more miserable than it already had been over the last month since his mother died. Both kids had the look of street thugs, only younger.
The beefier of the two wore a tattered leather vest over a green cotton shirt, and wore a pair of loose fitting denim trousers. His brown hair had clearly not been washed in days and he probably had lice judging by the way he kept scratching his head. A small, rusty dagger hung loosely from a makeshift wood and rabbit skin sheath. His sandals were held together with strips of twine and a couple leather straps.
His buddy had on some discarded studded leather armor that was quite a bit too big for his skinny frame. Several of the bronze studs were missing and the guy had cut slits along the sides of the top so he could adjust it with a rope belt to fit him. The pants were badly cut along the bottom of each leg. It was obvious the previous owner had been, must have stood quite a bit taller than the ginger haired, brown eyed thug who now wore them. He carried a pathetically made bow and had a quiver of four arrows over his left shoulder. At least two of the arrows were missing feathers and none looked really straight.
The beefy one looked over to his friend with a smirk, “Looks whats we haves here! They’ll let virmin in almost anywheres don’t they.”
The thin one snickered, “Yeah Ponda, my pa always said there was nothing worser than the Iero family. Even worser than the trolls. That’s what he always said.”
Frank took a few steps back and to the side hoping to avoid more than a few mean words. By now he was used to them. Very few thought much of his family. The Elves felt they were contaminated by the blood of an inferior race because Frank’s mother was a witch. Elves aged much slower than he did while witches raced by him growing at more than double the rate. For an example, Frank would be considered an adult at the age of 35, while his full Elvish townsfolk would not be adults till 60. Witches on the other hand were adults at 15 or 16 depending on the customs of the land.
Over the course of time an agreement from the higher council of this world decided kids of various ages would kept in similar grouping. For purposes of this a Witch was considered adult at 16. Why this had ever been done was still a mystery to Frank because he very rarely saw interaction between the races. Kids tended to gravitate toward their own kind and was often the case this caused a tension between races that lasted into and through adulthood.
The thinner of the two looked over at Frank, “Where ya think you’re goin halfer. We ain’t done with ya yet.”
Before Frank could run Ponda jumped forward and grabbed him, tossing him to the ground like a rag doll. Frank’s hunger, small size and discouragement just made him too weak to defend himself against a well-fed thug, let alone two of them.
He pinned Frank’s arms behind him and pushed up causing a cry of pain and a few tears from the Halfelf below him.
“Oh, poor halfer is crying.” He taunted while pushing up even harder. “Emroc, bring your dagger!”
Frank watched in horror as the thinner boy unsheathed the rusty Iron weapon. Witches were allergic to Iron, a trait they passed on to their children. Rusty Iron was by far worse than regular iron. “No! Please!” Frank shouted. Only to have the big guy clamp a hand over his mouth and push his arms up to where he was sure they would come out of socket at the shoulder.
“Come on Emroc!” Ponda jerked his head indicating to come over to where he held the halfelf down. “I’ve always wanted to see what iron does to a halfer!”
Emroc knelt down and waved the dagger in front of Frank’s eyes. “What do ya want me to do Ponda?” Emroc sounded unsure, but refused to seem weak in front of his older and tougher friend.
Ponda’s eyes glinted with pure malice as he smiled, “Let’s experiment. See what happens when you touch his arm with it.”
Emroc shrugged, “OK” then pushed the flat of the rusty weapon onto Frank’s arm. Almost instantly the skin under the blade started to turn blister.
Frank squirmed with all his might, but couldn’t get out of the grip of Ponda. Tears flowed as the efforts of his struggles only caused his shoulders extra pain. The burn of the iron on his arm reminded him of the time he accidentally fell on a glowing ember from the fire in his grandmother’s one room hut in the middle of the swamp slums.
“Neat!” Ponda smiled seeing the blistered, red mark left behind, “Try his leg!”
A new flash of pain erupted as the dagger was pushed onto Frank’s calf. He tried to kick, but this only caused Ponda to laugh and sit on his thighs pinning him even more.
“Hey,” Emroc stated, “it is even in the shape of the blade! Now what?”
A pair of men walked by ignoring the whole thing, either not realizing the torture the boys were putting Frank through or not caring. They continued to talk until they turned the corner and vanished from site.
Ponda couldn’t have been happier, “See halfer, no one cares about you. I can do whatever I want and get away with it!” He glanced over to Emroc, “Put one on his forehead right between the eyes!”
Emroc grinned, “Yeah! Good idea!”
By now Frank had given up all hope. He felt Ponda pull his head back with the hand over his mouth and a new burning as the iron was pushed into his forehead. Had he have eaten anything he surly would have lost it, but the nausea came anyway. Next thing he knew he felt Ponda let go of him. His head fell to the ground and he started to sob harder.
Both boys chuckled as Ponda got off him and left him lying in the street. “Bet he won’t forget that fer a while, huh Emroc?”
“Sounds like a baby. Stupid halfer!” Emroc nodded, “Bet he’ll go home and cry to his daddy too!”
Both boys turned the corner laughing with each other.
Frank slowly crawled over to a building and used it to help himself stand. His legs were wobbly and his vision was slightly blurred. Shaking with a mixture of anger and fear he looked at his arm. The marks itched like he had been bitten by thousands of ants and he knew he must not scratch them. It the blisters broke, they would spread.
Carefully he looked around and ducked into a back ally. Making sure no one could see him, he went into thought and recalled the words he would need. The hand movements came automatically as he went through the spell. His hands started to glow with a sky blue color until it was almost bright enough to read by. Satisfied, he put his hands on his chest and let the magic seep into him. The blue glow flowed through him and concentrated on the three marks and his aching shoulders. Only a minute later all signs of his encounter with the boys and the iron weapon were gone.
With the itching all but gone, he looked over where he was. Off in the back corner of the ally a black cat munched on some discarded stew. Quickly he went over and shoed the animal away. Looking at the half-eaten stew he again went into thought. New mutterings emerged from his mouth as he concentrated on the stew. A bolt of blue green light shot out of his fingertips and hit the moldy meal. Seconds later it looked fresh, well as fresh as peasant stew ever looks, he thought to himself.
For a few seconds he debated heating it up with yet another spell, but he didn’t have much magic left. The healing spell drained a great deal and he suspected he had just over done the refresh spell as well. Oh well at least cold stew is better than no stew. He thought to himself as he ate the meal. Even with the magic of the refresh spell, the food tasted terrible. It even crunched some because of sand and dirt. Regardless, he forced down every chunk big enough to pick up.
I wonder what type of meat this is. Oh, bad question. It is probably better that I do not know.
The food, if one wanted to be generous enough to call it that, eased both Frank’s body and mind. Suddenly he felt guilty about not bringing some home to his Father. That was the original reason he had traveled to Abothor. The winter had been hard on all the swamp dwellers, especially for those who lived in what was referred to as the swamp slums.
The swamp slums was considered part of Abothor , but was really an independent village all to itself. Over fifty buildings, most nothing more than one room shacks spread out two square kilometers of swamp and bog. During the summer insects, Goblins, and giant lizards played hell with the residence and during the winter the frozen swamp gave up little in the way of food. Often, during really hard winters, Goblins would come and raid taking food, belongings and once and awhile whole families. This had been the case this last winter.
Speculation centered on the children being used as food for the Goblins while the adults were worked to death in the frigid cold getting wood to keep the vile creatures warm. It was during one of the early attacks, five years ago, that Frank discovered he could use magic.
One Goblin had charged into their hut knocking his mother down. Anger roared through Frank’s small slender frame and instinctively he raised his hands in a thrust like motion. Sparks shot from his outstretched fingers and caused the Goblin’s cloak to ignite. Frantically it jumped out the door trying to get to water, but instead tripped and hit its head on a stone. The impact killed the beast and scared off the other three.
No one had seen what he had done. His mom had been knocked senseless by the Goblin and his father was chasing the Goblins. Scared and weakened by the magic he didn’t tell anyone. But somehow, a man who lived in the swamp slums did find out.
While Frank’s body digested some of the food and got its strength back, he sat in the back corner. The rest caused his mind to drift back to what had led to him becoming a real spellcaster…
First story, hope you like it so far! All feedback is Welcome!
abbie xo
Sign up to rate and review this story