The Not-So Austen Bookclub discussion
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Swap and Share ~ A Creative Writing Challenge
Mod
You always have AWESOME ideas!!!!
Name: Lily Luna Potter
Age: 11
Type: Witch
World: Hogwarts
Quick bio: Lily Luna Potter is a descendant of Syltherin. Both her parents were killed in a car crash when she was younger. She grew up with her uncle and attended Hogwarts like everyone else at the Age of 11. She has brown wavy hair which is quite long and brown eyes. She is quite short. She is strong and sly like any Slytherin descendant but hates anything to do with her family tree and previous descendants of Slytherin.
Wishes to lead a normal life without problems ... but it never happens.
-Name:Deliah Krowns
-Description:
On the short side, mid-length ordinary brown hair, hazel eyes, pale complexion
-Age:
15
-Type: Human
-World: Earth - 100 years in the future where the sea has covered most of the mainland and there are just a few small islands left for the rich. Everybody else lives on huge ships provided by the government.
-Bio: Deliah lives on one of the islands with her parents who work as researches for the government to find more suitable land as there isn't enough left. She has an older brother Adrian who is 18 and isn't happy with the way that the poorer have to live confined on ships all day every day. He is planning a rebellion.
Take it from there!
Booknut wrote: "This isn't a writing task for the faint of heart!The task is as follows:
- CREATE a character. You'll need to post up their: Name, Age, Type (e.g. Werewolf, Human, Cyborg, etc.), World (e.g. Ear..."
How many words should the piece be?
Mod
The task is as follows:
- CREATE a character. You'll need to post up their: Name, Age, Type (e.g. Werewolf, Human, Cyborg, etc.),..."
As long as you like but it should be over 500 words.
Mod
E.g. Post up a post that says:
_______________ (character) TAKEN.
(This sounds like a fantastic idea Booknut, and quite inspired! I look forward to having a go soon).
Name: Anastasia Cartier Age: 17 years old
Type: Fairytale character/ Vampire
World: Storybrooke (town frozen in time)
Quick bio:
Anastasia has lips as red as blood and skin as white as snow, her hair is as black as coal and she really is ‘the fairest in all the land’.
However, this beautiful girl assumed to be pure of heart harbors a deadly secret. One night as she is out riding her grey stallion through the long fields, she stops at the Troll Bridge where she is meeting Prince Charming. They kiss…
9am and the Sheriff of Storybrooke together with the Mayor, Regina, make a shocking discovery when Prince Charming’s lifeless body is found on the Troll Bridge. He has bite marks in his neck where blood has been drawn…
Lucinda wrote: "Name: Anastasia Cartier Age: 17 years old
Type: Fairytale character/ Vampire
World: Storybrooke (town frozen in time)
Quick bio:
Anastasia has lips as red as blood and skin as white as..."
Has anyone got a character whom i could 'Swap with' so that i can write a story?? x
Mod
@Lucinda you can take my character if you want no one had taken it.
Oooooh! This sounds like fun! Name: Bethaine Delark
Age: 17
Type: Human
World: Earth (specifically, olde England)
Quick Bio: Bethaine has mousy brown hair and is rather plain. She sports a few freckles and a ready smile. The only thing striking about her is her eyes. They are a deep, dark brown, and show exactly what she's feeling.
She is an orphan raised in Mrs. Dalrymples Asylum for Girls. She left the orphanage at the age of fourteen and has been working at a small inn ever since. She has an independent streak, but can be easily persuaded by pretty words. Her personality is cheerful. She is kind and sweet; rather naive, but not stupid.
Okay, whoever wants her can have her.
Mod
Isabelle's character "Lily Luna Potter" is taken. x
Mod
Yep!
Lily Luna Potter“Ahhh, Miss. Potter!” Septimus Snape sneered, as his beady little eyes fell upon my receding form. I observed his snake-like features and beaky nose whilst tipping back on the creaking stool, until it nearly toppled over.
“Why, another ‘troublemaker’ within my class” he declared, as he examined my rather plain features and wavy auburn locks. “Unless you prove this assumption wrong…of course.”
As the cloaked figure swiftly marched back to his dusty, chipped chalkboard to write down more ingredients, I could not help but feel a shiver running down my spine. The dimly lit chamber resided within the depths of Hogwarts Castle, deep down near the dungeons where lack of air and sunlight added to the ancientness of the chambers.
“Now” all of a sudden the greasy haired potions master spun around to face his class of youngsters. “Turn to page seventy-four” he snapped, as sharply as an Acromantula’s pointed pincers.
As I flicked open (with my Dragon-heartstring, Yew wand) idly the tattered book, I took note of the sleeping draft potion that we were instructed to create.
“You have one hour to make this potion. Proceed” Septimus Snape commanded, as he made his way over to the granite stone lectern to sit.
Glancing down at the faded, yellowing piece of parchment I instantly detected the complexity of this quite exquisite potion, including the detailed list of ingredients of some of the rarest plants, herbs and entity’s known to all magical beings. Sighing, I leaned across the Oak table to take hold of my pewter cauldron when a shrill, piercing cry echoed throughout the chamber.
“Eeeek!”
The once deathly silence was unexpectedly penetrated by a deep rumbling of animated chatter, hysterical behavior and almighty uproar that unsettled Snape so as to provoke him. He strutted down from the dais to face the class and began shouting at the top of his voice, whilst a lot of wand waving and improper incantations were ensuing amidst the total chaos.
As I surveyed the chamber I noticed out of the corner of my eye a great pool of thick, congealed black gloopy liquid that had been spilt onto the cold stone floor. Near the upturned cauldron, of which belonged to Seamus Diggins, I noted how his left hand was swollen out like a puffed-up Golden Snidget.
“Ahhh, it hurts!” he cried, wailing like a baby so as to catch the gaze of our slippery potions master and deputy headmaster of Hogwarts School.
It took Snape about half a second to spot the source of the screams, whereby his stern, piercing gaze met that of Seamus’. All too soon the students became silent as they observed his formidable form marching towards the cowering young, freckled boy as if he was about to go to War. His austere, frightening façade remained resolute as he looked down his long pointed nose at the boy and took note of his hand (which had now swelled up to the size of a Quaffle).
“Alright Thomas take our invalid to Madame Helga in the hospital wing, he might need some Bowtruckle leaves to take down the swelling” he barked at a tawny-haired young girl who was perched upon a vacated bench resting her head in her hands. As a member of Slytheryn she dutifully did as she was told without question and, might I add, with a rather large smirk upon her face. This was no surprise to me for despite being head girl for Slytheryn, to the disgust of many of my fellow pupils, I was not at all characteristically a ‘pure-blood, parslemouth’.
As the two individuals scurried out of the classroom, order was then restored and with a quick flick of his wand the stone floor was clean once more. Septimus Snape’s eyes as ever were acute for Hawkish as he was, he did not fail to catch a glance at my empty Cauldron as he whisked past with a swooping of black fabric trailing behind him.
“Come on Potter…potion making time!” I jumped in my seat to this ironic remark, as if the professor had been reading my mind, and so I quickly set about to my work.
All hopes of this lesson continuing to run smoothly for me was hopelessly flawed, for as I glanced intermittently out of the small window behind Snape’s head, located at the top of the chamber, my mind wondered…I longed to be outside in the sunshine and be swooping through the air on my Nimbus 2001 but instead I was forced to sit behind a boiling hot, bubbling cauldron as it constantly changed color; from pale blue to a sickly green and then finally to the color of dark treacle.
After half an hour I decided to lean forwards and take a look into the murky depths of the potion, only to be met with the most horrendous looking mixture I had ever encountered. It was now a dark shade of violet (the same color as Rita Skita’s appalling, outlandish spectacles), and as I sat staring into the liquid’s depths contemplating on what I could do in the next half an hour to rectify the situation – I then herd distinct taps of someone walking towards me.
“That is the WORST attempt at a sleeping draft I have EVER seen!” exclaimed Professor Snape, with a cold blank expression upon his gaunt face. Showing neither pity nor sympathy, as he then barked at me those dreaded words which one considers being a worst nightmare in your first year at Hogwarts.
“DETENTION POTTER!”
Words – 922
Mod
“Ahhh, Miss. Potter!” Septimus Snape sneered, as his beady little eyes fell upon my receding form. I observed his snake-like features and beaky nose whilst tipping back on the cr..."
Brilliant!!
Mod
YOWZAH!!!
You captured my character perfectly. Brilliant!
(Character) Bethaine Delark taken! :)
Mod
"Pure of heart, they say. Hair as black as coal, they say. Lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. She's the fairest of them all, they say" I mimicked, looking at my image in the mirror. If only they knew. If only they knew, I thought as I put on my blue dress, that went just below my knees, which complimented my pale skin, black hair and red lips.
Why. Can't. I. Just. Be. Left. Alone, I thought. Then I wouldn't feel so bad harboring a deadly secret. Everyone thinks I have a pure heart, but they're wrong. My heart is not pure. It doesn't even beat. I have no heartbeat. I have no blood. I'm not human ... and I'm not pure. I'm as foreign as a Polar Bear in the Sahara. If I were to die, the wolves would not bathe in my blood and gorge on my carcass. Because I have no blood, and I can't die. And wolves fear me.
But maybe ... just maybe that might change ... tonight. When I meet my prince.
If he found out the truth, he would understand. He does love me after all. And he trusts me. He's told me everything about him. So, I should too. It's only right of course.
I let my hair out and picked up my sword, heading out of the house, silently. I quickly made my way to the stables and prepared the horse.
The sky was as black as my hair as black as coal, as I made my way to Troll Bridge. And there he was waiting. His goofy grin, perfectly, tousled hair and signature jacket. I never could resist that goofy grin.
"Hello, my prince"
"And to you, Anastasia." His grin grew wider and I laughed.
"Oh god, Anastasia. I could never resist that laugh." He smiled, his teeth as white as my skin, as white as snow.
"And I .. my prince" I spoke as I inched closer and put my hands around his smooth tanned neck and looked into his sky blue eyes "I could never resist that grin."
The moonlight shone on our figure as we basked in true loves kiss.
A hungry moan left my mouth as we parted. I was hungry, I realised. I looked into Prince Charmings eyes, so, so blue. And his skin, so tanned. How it would feel to drink his blood. The ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate sign of true love.
"Another ... my prince"
"Anything for you"
It was oh so nice, I thought as he froze, paralysed as I sank my teeth in, not able to stop, and not wanting too.
The next morning.
Prince Charming's lifeless body was found on Troll Bridge by The Sheriff, Mayor and Regina. I watched from the bushes.
What would I do now? My hunger was growing. Outdated blood from the hospital wouldn't do. I needed human blood, and lots.
I could already feel myself growing hungry. I had never been human, I'd never experienced emotion. So, I never truly loved Prince Charming. I was attracted, was all. So it wouldn't matter would it, if I had another snack. After all, I'm not exactly human. In fact, I'm not human at all.
My eyes lingered over Regina, from afar. Her skin was pale, but not as pale as mine. I pounced.
Isabelle wrote: "@Lucinda YOWZAH!!!
You captured my character perfectly. Brilliant!"
Thank you so much! I certainly had a lot of fun with it, and after all that is what writing is all about - having fun! :)
Isabelle wrote: "Anastasia Cartier"Pure of heart, they say. Hair as black as coal, they say. Lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. She's the fairest of them all, they say" I mimicked, looking at my ima..."
That was FANTASTIC!!! Isabelle, you too captured my character perfectly. :)
Bethaine DelarkI woke early to the sound of twittering birds and carriages leisurely rolling past on the cobbled street below. My room at the Holdery Inn was closer to the size of a broom cupboard than any of the others reserved for guests, although I was thankful to have a roof over my head and a soft bed to rest my tired body on at night. I had been working there for all of three years now, and the bustling environment was a welcome change to the sombre orphanage I had been living in for the previous fourteen years of my life.
If you were to define Mrs. Dalrymples Asylum for Girls in one word it would be ‘grey’. Everything about it was washed-out, shabby and ultimately gave the institution a dismal and gloomy atmosphere. The only good thing that I ever got out of that wretched place was learning how to sew and make my own clothes, which I grew quite skilful in. Yes; I was definitely glad to be out of that place and was never going to look back, however much my back ached from being hunched over cleaning tables or serving customers for hours on end.
Walking down the stairs I could already hear the usual morning commotion was underway. The traveller from Dersingham was there, chatting away with my boss Mr Fornton. He treated me well enough, and the pay was sufficient to sustain life’s necessities. My roommate Bessie was already busy serving and sweet-talking a few extra pennies out of the wealthier-looking men.
I sighed inwardly; Bessie had such charm and ambiance surrounding her that she could get anything she wanted. Add her black wavy locks, dark blue eyes, pale skin and it was easy to see why she had all the men wrapped around her finger. I just felt so plain next to someone like that. I looked overly ordinary with my lank mid-length brown hair, petite features and those few irritating freckles just along the bridge of my nose.
Sure, I was handy with a needle but what use was that doing a job like this? Of course, I wanted a change and an escape from the endless monotonous routine but knew better than to think my dreams would be answered and served on a silver platter.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I continued to take in my surroundings: ‘Crazy Jim’ was there as well, savagely attacking his poached eggs while simultaneously jamming some bread into his mouth and carrying on: "King James I!?– Whoever said a man like that should be running this darn country anyhow!". It was obvious that the ale had already been flowing for a while…
With my eyes scanning the room for any new patrons I noticed someone different; relatively well dressed, with dark brown hair, and small beard. He was sitting at a small table at the far side of the room, scribbling frantically on a piece of parchment. As it was my duty to serve and become accustomed with every customer that walked in the door I approached the man and said in my most self-assured voice "Fancy any ale on this fine day sir?".
He hesitated for a moment, looked up from what he was writing and hastily said "No, thank you", before continuing on with his work. There was such a look of concentration on his face that I was reluctant to interrupt again, however I was not one to let a possible buyer walk out the door.
"Are you quite sure? You must be at least a little thirsty after all that work you are doing Mr…", I trailed off, curious as to just who this mysterious man was.
"That would be Shakespeare my dear – William Shakespeare and well… I suppose I could allow myself one ale and a thick piece of bread if you don’t mind".
Satisfied that I did not let a customer go astray I replied "Certainly Mr Shakespeare, I shall be back in just a moment". Still, I wanted to know what a man like him was doing in the Holdery; it certainly wasn’t the best inn around and was known for attracting the courser types. Furthermore, I was interested in what he was writing on that paper – it looked awfully complicated even to me, who had been taught how to read and write well enough.
Coming back with what he had ordered, I sweetly said "I must say, we certainly do not attract many patrons of your calibre here Mr Shakespeare, and so I can only wonder as to what you do as a profession?"
A dreamy look passed over his face and he took a sip before saying "One that doth make words dance and come alive on the page, that when performed to a full audience captivates the hearts and minds of all and takes them into the magic world that is the theatre". Looking at my stunned expression he hastily added, "More simply said – a playwright".
A playwright! I thought, how intriguing. And so began the unlikely acquaintance between the plain inn worker and the supreme master of words himself.
Over the next few days I got to know more about this Mr Shakespeare and spoke to him when I had the time. He was travelling with his theatre troupe ‘The King’s Men’ all around England. Taking a break he had decided to stay at the inn for a while. He was just finalising his draft of a ‘tragedy’ (‘Romeo and Juliet’ I think it was called). My only reservation concerning his character was that I couldn't get a word in between his seemingly endless supply and it was only when I heard the phrase ‘costume maker’ that I awoke from the daze I had fallen into. At the risk of sounding incredibly imprudent I said "Sorry? Could you repeat that once more?"
"Oh I was just saying that the woman who was in charge of sewing and maintaining the various costumes for the plays has recently resigned and I just cannot seem to find a worthy replacement - the whole scenario is a most frustrating inconvenience you know".
I couldn’t believe my ears, had they deceived me? Here opposite me was the possible answer to my prayers; a new life, a fresh start and a chance to explore another world outside those four grubby walls. A place where my skills would be showcased to the masses and used for such an exciting purpose!
I dropped my voice so that it was barely a whisper, in case Mr Fornton was nearby. "Well Mr Shakespeare sir, if you may consider it…I-I would be interested in taking up a position such as your description".
"My dear girl, you cannot seriously be thinking of travelling in my theatre troupe! You are much too young", he chuckled.
I was defiant that this opportunity would not go amiss; "Granted sir, but I am mature beyond my years and needless to say am very handy with a needle".
I suppose he must have been stunned by my sudden outburst and said "Very well, although you must prove that you are worthy and fulfil my expectations.
Understandably I am taking a hefty gamble in taking you on but I am hoping you will not let me down. I am leaving in two days’ time on Wednesday evening at nine o’clock sharp".
I could barely suppress a squeal! I quickly gushed out a million words of gratitude before running up to my room, where Bessie was already preparing for bed.
"What a grin you have on today Beth, what on earth is going on?"
What now? I thought. If I tell Bessie she won’t be able to keep her mouth shut our boss would surely find out. If that happened he’d never let me go; hardly anybody would want to fill my position in a place like this.
"Oh nothing at all Bess, can’t a girl be happy, for goodness sake?"
That shut her up and I was left lying on my bed, with my head spinning and dreaming of what lay ahead.
The next couple of days went by like any other and I acted normally so as not to arouse any suspicion. An hour before my planned departure I quickly slipped away to my room and packed a suitcase full of clothes. Then, tip-toeing down the stairs I looked into the main room of the inn to see if Bessie or Mr Fornton was about. Luckily they both seemed far too occupied to see a simple girl with mousy brown hair sneak out the back entrance to where a carriage was waiting. Mr Shakespeare was already inside.
"Ah, so you made it then"
"Yes sir and I am ready for anything"
And with that the carriage went into motion and we were driving away into the night.
THE END
Mod
Jefe Linden once uploaded a set of files to the CDS (Central Database System), after his speech on history preservation and education. I'd managed to get a glimpse of the files thanks to my older brother Adrian, who'd set up a wireless receiver in his room - far away from the prying eyes of the world and our parents.
The files turned out to be scans. Scans of what I once heard Ole Maggie, the trade merchant's wife, call 'books' - made of paper when we had land for trees to grow upon. Maggie said that they used to contain stories, tales of imaginary lands...but this one the Jefe had uploaded was filled with tales of this world. Of our land. When land was endless, water didn't cover every inch of the globe and people didn't live on ships unless they were doing so for leisure or trying to steal treasure.
I remember finding them fascinating. Adrian and I, by the harsh glare of the computer screen, had stayed up long into the night, reading of 'skyscrapers', 'roads', 'parks' and (my personal favourite), 'aquariums'. Places where the water is contained behind glass. Where the ocean and its inhabitants are like precious jewels, to be put on display to stare in awe at.
Nowadays, the ocean - the endless expanse of water, reaching out its wet, salty fingers to the horizon - was what people feared and hated most. Second to that hatred of the ocean, was their hatred of the ships.
Adrian's hazel eyes, exactly like mine, had lit up when he'd found a page in the scans on something called 'revolutions'. "Look at this, Del," he'd exclaimed, staring at the screen as if it held the answer to every prayer we'd ever sent up to the skies over the last century. "I am telling you, sis - they had it right back then. Changing things. Fighting for the people. Making a better world."
My brother and his ideals...two things my parents hated more than the ocean and the ships.
But lucky for my parents, they worked in the Department of Land Arrangement and Development. What does this mean? To them, it means working fourteen hours a day in a heavily guarded laboratory on the west coast of País. País is one of the few islands left in the world, and as of the last six years, it has been our home.
Whilst my parents slave away in the laboratory, trying to find a way to balance the world's resources, manage land division and maybe even find extra land to distribute amongst the people, Adrian and I are left to our own devices. Mostly we hang out on the various ships that come into País' port to be re-fuelled or stocked with supplies. Sometimes we meet other teenagers our age. But for the most part, I hang out on the decks and sketch what I see and Adrian discusses ship conditions with the men.
Which was why my parents had forbidden us to go to the ships.
"What?!" Adrian flings his fork down, disregarding the clanging noise it made against his dinner plate. "Caca de toro!"
"Adrian Salvadore Krowns." My mother, Maria, stares her angry son down from across the table. "Language, por favor."
Adrian grits his teeth and stares at his fish like it was the culprit of his misery-filled state. Our father, Paul, always said that Adrian got his fiery temper from my mother's side. "It's the Español in him," he'd laugh, ruffling Adrian's unruly curls.
But tonight, my father isn't laughing. He looks stern, his greying hair and eyes with the dark smudges under them adding to his exhausted appearance. "Please hear your mother out, Adrian."
"Why should I?" Adrian picks up his fork, using it to stab the harmless fish. "So I can listen to you blurt out what you hear from those pig-headed idiotas down at the laboratory?"
"Adrian," I murmur trying to calm him.
"No, Del. They need to hear it."
"Hear what, son?" Our mother takes a bite of her fish. "About how you have been reported mingling with the people on the Diosa?"
"Since when has it been a crime to talk to people on the ships, Mama?"
"Since," our father cuts in, "the ships have been swamped with rumours of rebellion against the ARK."
ARK. The Agreement Rendered at Katsura. Katsura was one of the last trees saved when the world was flooded, and it was there that the governments at the time made an agreement amongst eachother. The elite of each of the countries would take up residence on the islands, using their resources to find a solution and to help the others, who would reside on ships. The ships would be allowed to dock once every month to be refuelled and restocked.
The ARK had been in place for more than a century. Why was there rebellion now?
Adrian shrugs nonchalantly. "So? Papa, sooner or later an open resistance to an established government, ruler or strict convention is bound to happen. Jefe-"
"Jefe?!" Now it is my mother's fork that clatters. "Adrian! What did I tell you about reading that basura - garbage?"
"Jefe Linden-"
"Son." My father's tone is unrelenting. "It is too dangerous to play around with things you do not understand."
Adrian's cheeks are stained red. He glances over at me and I give him a helpless look. "What do you think, princesa?" my brother asks me, his eyes pleading. "You read what Jefe wrote-"
"You showed them to Deliah!" my mother cries. "Adrian!"
"-do you think things should be different?" he finishes, ignoring Mama.
I can feel the stares of my family weighing on me. It is too much to absorb. The rebelling against the ARK, my parents, Adrian, the ships...all I want is for things to be simple. Simple blue skies. Simple sketches upon my sketch-screen. Simple waves lapping at the worn docks. All I have ever wanted is simple. Simple, with a capital 'S'.
But Adrian wants justice, with a capital 'J'.
Mama wants peace, with a capital 'P'.
Papa wants order, with a capital 'O'.
And me, with my father's pale skin that burns too quickly in the sun and my hazel eyes that are all too like my brother's - which plead with me to believe in him, in a different future - all I want is for them to get their justice, their peace and their order. But why do they have to fight each other to get it?
"I...I don't know," I say, wishing I were anywhere else, anyone - anything - else. Even the unlucky fish that sits on my plate, getting colder by the second. "The ships are there for a reason. If people no longer live on them, where will they live?"
Adrian doesn't say anything. My mother gives me a relieved smile and says, "Well, Deliah, that is an excellent question. We currently have only 448,824 square kilometers of land, and what with the-"
"Is that all everything is to you?!" Adrian bursts out, seething. He stands, his chair rocking back, glaring at out parents. "Facts and figures. Everything is an experiment to you, but these are people! People who are living shadows of their lives, who long for change!"
"So you can sit here and do nothing," he continued into the silence that follows his outburst. "Ban me from going to the ships. Stop me from reading Jefe's files. Brainwash my sister." I widen my eyes and open my mouth to object - I mean, if I was brainwashed, I would know, wouldn't I? But Adrian steamrollers over my protests, too far gone to care. "But I will find a way to bring change. And even if I don't, they will. They all will. And then we will be the ones locked in ships - ships of our own making."
And with that he storms from the room. My parents turn to look at eachother. My mother raises a hand to her forehead and sucks in a shaky breath.
"Dios mio," she whispers to herself. "Dios mio. What have we gotten ourselves into now?"
And I can't help but agree with her.
THE END
Booknut wrote: "Deliah KrownsJefe Linden once uploaded a set of files to the CDS (Central Database System), after his speech on history preservation and education. I'd managed to get a glimpse of the files thank..."
W
O
W
That was so awesome! You used my character so well :)
You are a very talented writer
Mod
Jefe Linden once uploaded a set of files to the CDS (Central Database System), after his speech on history preservation and education. I'd managed to get a glimpse of..."
Aww, thanks!! *blushes* I guess the story's got to be good when you have such a fine character to work with. *applauds Genie* Using Deliah was a treat!
I love how you wove some history into your story and described the people and scene so vividly. Brilliant work :)
Question....what characters are left? I think they've all been taken. Can somebody help me out?@Genie: Wow, you used my character so well! Great job!!!! That was a great twist with Shakespeare. Awesome!
Mod
Name: Anne (Princess Anne of Argedinia)
Age: 17
Kingdom: Argedinia
Occupation: Part-time princess, heir to the Argedinian throne and currently a lying young girl stowing out of Argedinia with a band of pirates. Cure-searcher and notorious reader.
Background: Off the coast of Argedinia's Port Westwick, ships set off to search the unchartered waters for land and more importantly for a cure. Argedinia's King Arten lies stricken with an unknown illness in his gilded palace and his wife, Queen Frieda, has sent out a royal plea - to anyone who dares to take on the mysterious 'beyond' and set sail...to find a cure for what ails her beloved husband.
But that is easier said than done.
The neighbouring kingdom, Mroetiria, has waited for centuries to attack and claim Argedinia - seeing its chance, it decides to stop all who dare cross the stretch of water separating Argedinia from the unknown world. And, being a kingdom known for its vagabonds, thieves, rogues and assassins, its king - King Sven - orders his personal pirates, known for their cunning and brutal efforts and pillaging, to stop all attempts to find a cure.
In Argedinia, a young girl named Anne slips from her home and finds herself in Port Westwick - searching high and low for a ship that will take her out of Argedinia, so she can search for a cure. Laughed at for her age and gender, she is ignored...until she receives an offer she can't refuse.
The only catch? Mroetiria is not the only kingdom with pirates. Argedinia has its own and this ship of pirates detest their king more than the Mroetirians. Lying about her reasons for leaving Argedinia, Anne manages to secure a place on their ship.
The pirates intend to leave Argedinia in order to find themselves a 'lost' treasure buried on a 'paradise island' somewhere in the unchartered waters. Anna leaves with them, wondering whether she will ever find the courage to tell them her true reasons for going - her desperation to find a cure. But they would never understand.
But Anne has another secret. The King of Argedinia is her father. And Anne needs to save him - because if she doesn't her kingdom will be at war and her father's death will leave her, the only child, as heir. And stubborn, wilful Anne wants to do anything but rule.
The cure is her only hope.
Awesome! Thanks! Princess Anne of Argedinia taken.
Anne (Princess of Argedinia)Anne looked furtively around the side of the box she lounged on. The man she watched was making his way through the crowd, obviously searching for something…or someone. Anne smiled smugly as he passed by. The poor guy didn’t have a clue. As the royal guard turned the corner at the next street, Anne stood up and entered the crowd.
Port Westwick was busy. Really busy. Several times as she neared the docks, Anne was pushed so hard she almost fell. She pulled the floppy hat she wore further down on her short brown hair. Only a week ago, her mother had complemented her on her lovely waist-length locks. But when Anne had decided to make this journey, she knew it would be easier and safer to travel as a boy.. It had only taken one swipe with a knife. The result was adequate if not expertly done. Her hair stuck up in all directions when she took her hat off. The beloved Princess of Argendinia was completely unrecognizable in the large men’s coat and trousers that hid her identity.
Anne’s thoughts scattered as she was knocked down once again. This time, however strong arms caught her from behind.
“Whoa there, mate,” said her rescuer, spinning her around.
“Thank ye, sir,” Anne replied, lowering her voice, and her green eyes.
“Wot be a young lad like you doin’ at a place like this?” the man asked. He looked to be in he late thirties. His skin was tanned and weathered, testifying of his time at sea. He had shaggy brown hair that had been lightened by the sun’s rays, and dark eyes with crow’s feet at the corners. A scar ran across the bridge of his nose and onto his right cheek. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and was a little bit scary.
“Um, I’m lookin’ fer a berth,” Anne replied, continuing to disguise her voice.
The man’s eyes widened and he smiled, perhaps a little mockingly.
“Are ye now?” he said with that same smile.
“Yus, sir, I’ve asked nearly every Captain in this port and nobody’ll take me on,” Anne said, hoping this man might give her a chance.
“Well I’d agree with ‘em. You be too young to be away from yer mum.”
Anne’s temper flared as she saw her last chance slipping away.
“No, sir! I’m seventeen, and I know me own mind. I may be small, but I can work hard an’ I learn fast.”
“Do ya?” He still looked doubtful. “I’d a guessed that ye were more like fourteen, laddie.”
“Well, I’m not.”
The man laughed, “Spunk. That might keep ya alive at least.”
Anne stood there silently. The man seemed to consider her for a moment, the said, “Alright, you want to work on a ship, you come with me. “
The man turned and walked off, obviously expecting her to follow. Anne rushed after him, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride. She couldn’t believe her luck!
She followed the man to a ship docked at the far end of the port and almost laughed out loud when she saw the name on the ship’s bow: “Queen Anne’s Revenge.”
They walked up the gangplank and onto the ship’s deck. Men ran back and forth and up and down on the ship, making it ready to sail. Near the stern, stood a callous looking man, yelling orders and using very colorful language. Anne fought the urge to cover her ears. Unfortunately, her rescuer marched her straight to the man.
“Cap’n, I found us a cabin boy,” her rescuer said, clapping her on the back so hard it almost knocked her over.
The crusty old man, who despite his years looked solid as a rock, turned in Anne’s direction.
“This scrawny thing?! Bah!” the captain said, disgust written on his face. Anne frowned.
“Sir, he’ll work hard. He may be small, but he looks wiry and he’s got pluck.”
The captain made a noise that sounded like a snarl. “Samson, where’d ye find this whelp?”
“Wonderin’ through the street.”
The captain watched her closely then said, “What be yer name, boy?”
Anne hadn’t thought about that. She spit out the first thing that came to mind.
“Willie, sir.”
He grunted and grabbed one of her hands in his own filthy paws.
“Lily-white. Bah.” He looked at Samson. “Ain’t done norhin’ worth-while in ‘is life.”
“He’s still young, but he’ll work hard, wontcha, boy.”
“Yes, sir.” Anne said, hope rising in her chest. “Please just give me a chance.”
The captain snorted, “ Talks prissy, too.”
Anne bit her tongue.
“Ah, well. Keep him, Sammy, maybe he’ll be of some good.” And with that, the captain stalked off.
Samson smiled. “Yer in, boy.”
The next two days passed in a blur. Anne didn’t think she had ever worked so hard in all of her life. She scrubbed the deck, cleaned the cabins, and assisted the cook, who was very protective of his territory. Then she repeated the process and did odd jobs in between. She felt as is she would faint of exhaustion. And that would be embarrassing even if she wasn’t a boy. She had never been the swooning type. So, Anne forced herself to push the mop, carry the boxes, and peal the potatoes.
To be perfectly honest, though, Anne was having the best time of her life. She had always dreamed of adventure, but the closest he had come to it were the secret tunnels she liked to explore in the castle. The only thing that could make the voyage any better, was if the purpose of it were different. Anne fought tears when she thought of the way she had left her father, moaning and burning with fever. The cure was her reason for flight. She was going to find it, even if it killed her.
Anne looked up from where she knelt, scrubbing the poop deck…again. Samson stood before her, arms crossed.
“Willie, come with me, Cap’n wants ya to carry a trunk from below deck to his cabin.
Anne sighed. “Yus, sir.”
Anne followed Samson to the smelly hold of the ship. It was disgusting how rank men became who only washed…well, never, really.
Anne saw the captain standing by a small trunk. Samson had turned and was speaking with another man standing in the hold; Ninepin, she thought they called him.
“Take it to me cabin, boy,” the captain said with a sneer.
Anne picked it up. Man, was it heavy. She made it to the steps leading out of the hold, when she lost her grip. The filthy trunk hit the floor and burst open, Anne began to shove its contents back in, when she froze. Before her lay the signature skull and crossbones flag known by all Argedinians to be the Jolly Roger.
‘Pirates!’ Anne’s mind screamed.
Samson, who had turned at the noise the trunk made when it fell, laughed at the look she wore.
Anne turned to face him. “You’re…” she gulped, “you’re pirates!”
Samson laughed again, “What didya think we were, laddie?”
Fear and horror caused Anne’s stomach to heave. “I thought you were sailors going to find a cure for the king, like all the other ships at Port Westwick.”
“Hear that, Ninepin? She thought we was going to save the king!”
Samson and Ninepin chortled.
“Well, I’ll tell you, laddie,” Samson continued, “Anyone of our crew who would consider helpin’ that no good king would get his throat cut, like as not.”
Anne felt her head swim. Another man with a sabre clutched in his hand ran into the hold.
“That merchant ship what you saw earlier, Cap’n, is comin’ closer. We’d better hoist the flag,” he said.
“Good man,” the captain replied, “ Take it all and leave no survivors.”
Anne thought she might pass out. Everything had changed.
THE END
Mod
Anne looked furtively around the side of the box she lounged on. The man she watched was making his way through the crowd, obviously searching for something…or someon..."
LOVE it!! You captured my character so well and I loved reading this :D
Thanks! It was fun. When will you announce the winner????
Can't wait to see the results - all the stories were pretty awesome :) This challenge was heaps of fun and I hope it comes up again!
I know. It's been great! I honestly have no idea who will win. They were all really good.
Mod
A big round of applause to the others who entered as well!!
The February Swap and Share Challenge will be up soon :)
Can't wait! And congrats to the winners :)
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Congrats And Cant Wait Ill Be In It To !!!!! :D
Is this going to be running again soon?
Mod
Yes it is :)
If you all want to start posting up character profiles you may.
The prize for February will be: Beg for Mercy by Shannon Dermott/Hysteria by Megan Miranda (a choice of either).
Name: Scarlett PetersonAge: 16
Type: Werewolf
World: Earth
Bio: Scarlett was turned into a werewolf when she was only ten. Her shocking transformations terrified her parents, and she eventually ran away from home. Her life was saved by a pack of other werewolves living in Chicago, when they found her half-starved and unable to control when she turned into a wolf or back again. They took her in and taught her how to control the transformations, except for once a month, every month, when she changes involuntarily at the sight of the full moon. She now lives in Chicago with a fake identity, backstory, and family. She doesn't risk getting close to anyone for fear of exposing herself and her pack.
Name: Dehlia BlakeAge: 18
Type: human
World: Earth (or more specifically, Rhode Island, USA)
Appearance: chin length, blonde hair, thick and wavy; green eyes; 5'4''; pretty
Bio: Dehlia is an up-and-coming actress. She works almost constantly at a theater near her hometown. She has just been given the part of Cecily in Wilde's play "The Importance of Being Earnest." She hopes this will lead the way to her becoming a star.
Mod
Age: 13
Type: Demigod
Family Tree: Daughter of Hades
Appearance: Waist-length shiny black hair with one blue streak. Dark brown, almost black, eyes. 5'3". A birthmark in the shape of an ouroboros on her neck right below her left ear.
Bio: Big deal, her dad's the Lord of the Underworld. That isn't going to help Tyra pass mid-terms. Living with her grandma, her mother having passed away in a freak car accident when Tyra was nine, Tyra lives a pretty ordinary life. Until a guy who can control water turns up on her doorstep, along with a horde of monsters.
The monsters are Furies. And they've been sent by her father to bring her to him. But the guy, Lucas - son of Poseidon - offers Tyra the chance to come with him to a demigod haven instead.
What Tyra doesn't know is that the gods will do anything to get their hands on their offspring...especially since the time has come to fulfil and ancient prophecy - a prophecy that the gods can't fulfil on their own. But the demigods refuse to be pawns.
Will Tyra fight with the demigods? Or will she take her place as Princess of the Underworld?
Name: Rachel ClemensAge: 17 years old
Horror novel character/zombie killer
World: A small town infested by zombies
Appearance: Jet black hair wrapped in a ponytail, dressed in a black T-shirt, blue jeans, gym shoes. Has a gun shoulder which holds a pair of revolvers, loaded at all times.
Bio: Rachel Clemens is a fictional zombie killer, who’s brought out of her written page world by Jason Foresters, 16, with the power of magic on his side. He needs her to help save his identical twin sister Abigail, abducted by a powerful zombie before it’s too late.
The Not-So Austen Bookclub
Books mentioned in this topic
Beg for Mercy (other topics)Hysteria (other topics)
The task is as follows:
- CREATE a character. You'll need to post up their: Name, Age, Type (e.g. Werewolf, Human, Cyborg, etc.), World (e.g. Earth, Narnia, etc.) and a Quick Biography/Backstory
- SWAP your character with another person
- WRITE a short piece using that person's character
See, what I've noticed, is that it's easier to write our characters when we've mulled over them alot. We've imagined their features, pictured their expressions and mapped out their pasts. And yeah, in roleplays, we've posted up their bios, name, etc. but we have smaller details that we can't put to words.
This is a chance to break past those barriers and TEACH YOUR IMAGINATION how to ignite and work quickly and effectively. You aren't allowed to ask the CREATOR of the character for more info. What you've got is what you've got!
Good luck!