The following literature has rated
E / G / PG / M / MA-15+ / R-18+ / X-18+ / RC
M by the author using the Australian Classification Board Rating System for Film, TV and Video Games.
The following contains:
Violence
Mild Horror Themes
Mild Gore and Blood References
The Author Has Deemed This Work Suitable For Most Audiences.
The Painted World.
How long I have waded through the black I cannot say. I stain mine blade with the blood and ichor of those whom hath lost their mind. Slaves to inhibition, they no longer are the master of their own thoughts, and I hold no regret for killing them. I have learned to fear a single thing. Not death, I left that fear long ago, but losing my goal. For that is the only thing that keeps me sane.
How long I've waded through the black I cannot say. From whence I last lit the beacon until this current moment. The length of time I cannot say. Centuries could have passed and I would not notice. Around me stalk the creatures of the black. Rising out of the tar close to me. Though I may walk through their shadowed valley. I am the death that is feared.
I have walked these grounds innumerable in my attempts to kill the corrupted being whom lays at the end. I know I have come close to putting them- Her out of her misery. I continue through the black. In the distance I see the one I need to kill. About me as I stalk through the black are small dustings of red. Not of blood, but wilting petals. I draw closer. She is crouched in front of a headstone. A spattering of snow and petals abound in the clearing. She faces out towards a drop into a sea of the black. She is weeping. A red cloak flutters behind her. Her weapon, a jagged crescent scythe lays beside her. I have felt it pierce into me, rend me in two. I have felt its blade disembowel me. I do not plan for it to do so again. But I have learnt plans rarely work.
I etch closer. The weeping is clearer. I know why she cries. She appears small and meek. But I know her name. She is the Scythe Dancer. And I will have her soul.
I stop, she is ten metres from me now. I have learnt to journey no closer or I'd sooner be walking through the black again. I draw my Ursine Great Sword. And my Vocuan shield. The weeping dims and I know she is aware of me. I retrieve a Yellow Lightning Crystal and crush it along the length of my blade. A wave of electricity sparks up along the tempered blade. I pull out an unstable Red Fire Crystal and throw it at her. It impacts, igniting her in black and red fire. I don't watch her burn, already I've turned around and braced my shield against the jagged blow of the scythe, she disappears again, leaving only wilted petals. I've turned again and braced, she strikes the shield again.
I am thankful that I was able to find her teacher, her uncle, a man who has seen everyone he loves die or corrupt against the tide of the black. He told me how she fights, he begged me to free her of the black, end her life to save her so she could die innocent. Her mother asked that of me too. Only able to watch on and weep from her prison within a drawn world.
She is a hit and run fighter. That was what I was told, she will tire herself quickly, that is when I shall strike. The lightning will lock her muscles. The poisoned knives I possess will hurt her the more she fights.
She falters, a half step and nothing more, but she has tired. I turn again and thrust, the Ursine Great Sword runs across her side. Lightning arcing into her. She scores a glancing hit on my breastplate. I take my chance. I draw three poisoned knives and throw them. Each sink into her flesh. She falters again, and I throw two more. They hit their mark. She dashes again but I am ready for her. I turn and block her blade while thrusting my own, scoring a wound on her leg. If it takes me crippling her, making sure she cannot dance away, torturing her to put her out of her misery, so be it. She moves again but still I am ready. I turn, giving a wide swing with my sword, she appears again. The blade runs deep across her abdomen but still she gets away. She appears behind me but still I meet her blow with my shield. Her hood flutters a bit, and I can see the dead silver sheen in her eyes.
She moves again, and I turn to meet her. She is not there. Like me she has learnt through this fight and has feigned her usual attack. A clever tactic, in my sole minded focus on my plan she had developed a counter. I feel the jagged edges cut through my spine, through my stomach. I glance down to the crimson blade sticking out of my chest. Plans rarely work. She kicks me off her blade. As soon as I hit the ground I roll over and brace my sword, stopping her scythe inches from impaling my head to the ground. The lightning arcs into her blade and forces her off. I roll backwards to my feet and raise my sword again to stop another strike. She disappears from my view to the other side of the clearing. I see her tensing, I know what she is about to do. It will not work.
She dashes at me, cloak flowing behind, hood lowering itself to show her black and blood red hair and her silver eyes. Oh how the Dancer would have looked in all her glory. Her porcelain beauty tainted and cracked. Red petals appear in her wake. She is closer now. Halfway across the field. If I had not poisoned her, crippled her legs, she would have already killed me. I roll forward, under the arcing blade and thrust my sword up, impaling her. Splashing blood over my blade and my armour. I can see her face contort into shock and she disappears again.
I hear the weeping again. I look towards the grave marker and find her there. A bundle of blood and cloth. The taint of the black is gone. I approach, dragging my sword behind me. I draw near her and see that she is reaching for the gravestone.
'Please...' I can make out from her. A pained voice of innocence and sadness. I bow my head and hear a whisper from her, a last request. I heed her and raise my blade. I bring it down through her chest, pining her to the earth beneath. I leave her there and pull out one of my throwing knives. As she fades away I leave her request etched into the stone.
Here lies The Scythe Dancer
Ruby Rose
Born innocent, she gave her life against the Grimm Black
Daughter of the White Dancer
Summer Rose
Prisoner of the Drawn World of Vaul
Thus Kindly They Scatter
She fades away. Leaving behind a cracked silver eye and the Dancer's Soul. I raise my head to the splintered moon above. Holding its reverence within my gaze before I continue my trek and light the next beacon.
Despite the appearance, this is not a story yet. This is the grounds of a work in progress I've been making. They are just small parts I've written for a story I plan to write once I get a computer. Let me tell you, using desktop mode on a broken windows phone is not easy. Nor proof editing on an Xbox One.
These story parts are of the same planned narrative but at different locations of the planned story. Depending on what I write and decide to post, the story ideas could go from the planned middle, to the end, and then to the start. I am posting this as they could currently be classified as short stories, though the argument that these are previews can be made.
The Painted World is a Dark Souls/RWBY fusion crossover using the original Dark Souls as a basis as I have yet to play Dark Souls 2 or 3 as I have actually yet to finish the first game.
Curse you Knight Artorias the Abysswalker
But please, I hope you enjoyed the groundwork for my story and possibly gave an interesting glimpse into how some authors shape their ideas and stories from initial idea, to plan, then execution.
Have a nice day.