It was a dark day in Britain. The clouds stuck close to the earth, shrouding buildings in a slate of grey fog. Few carriages lined the rough cobblestone streets, most people having stayed in their cottages or manors to avoid the rain that would surely come. Aristocrats were busily inking important letters, dukes were tending to the work they'd ignored due to the strangely warm weather, and even residents of the famed Lutwidge Academy were locked up in their dorms with books or important school assignments. Students scribbled vigorously at pieces of parchment and had little time for more than a greeting. It is odd how days with unfavorable weather make people realize how much they've missed over the past weeks. This meant school children were bustling about, eager to finish pending reports and homework from months before so they wouldn't miss the next day of sun and warmth. Almost every pupil had some pressing academic matter to attend to. In fact, all but one young woman were trying desperately to finish what they had not.
The singular girl braced herself against the chillingly crisp air by pulling a thick jacket about her. She pulled her lips into a thin smile and pressed forwards through the heavy fog. Elegant drops of silvery rain fell against her clothing, soaking it until it flopped against deeply scarred flesh. The light smile she had donned turned quickly to a frown as memories of the claw marks she wore drifted into her mind. Would she get rid of them if she could? No, because the gnarled and darkened flesh held some tiny sliver of a rough guess of why she was the way she was. The girl flicked her purple eyes back and forth nervously, having lost a bit of sight in the stormy weather. Her second eye offered no help, however. A grotesque scar ran from just above her eyebrow to the tip of her nose in the same manner lighting crackled across the sky. The once gleaming purple orb was now a brutally blackened reminder of what used to be. An eye patch was fitted over the abrasion, trying to keep any passersby from gasping or staring, though the patch's efforts fell flat. The protective slip had been decorated with a large, yellow, circle which was carefully dotted with two black plops of paint and a sharp-toothed grin. It was the child's sign for everything, a smiling face with teeth like those of a shark's. She marked it on things that belonged to her and it took the place of a proper signature, much too many an uptight teacher's dismay. The small tag on the back of her uniform was inked with only that same symbol and the cover of her favorite pocket watch held no more than her signature doodle.
She stepped into a small corner store, the scent of ink and parchment drifting into her nostrils. To her, there was no more familiar fragrance than pen and paper. Most of her time was spent writing poems and children's books and even a few novels. But, unfortunately, she'd run out of ink for her favorite, and only, pen. It had been clutched to her chest as she walked through the storm, safe and sound in her grasp. It's slithering, silver, body was slowly released from her grip, revealing gorgeous, iridescent blue stones and a gleaming, ink stained tip. She smiled at the writing utensil, taking unending pride in it. The older man behind the counter ducked his wrinkled face down for a moment and came back with a pot filled with an onyx black substance. He and the young woman exchanged a beaming nod. She pulled a soggy handful of coins from her pocket and set it before him.
"More ink, hm?" the elderly male chuckled heartily. This was the third time that week his young friend had ordered ink.
"Yes, I've been keeping up with my poetry! I'm on the verge of something genius! But I just can't quite grasp it..." she clapped her hands together enthusiastically before settling them on the cork-sealed well of ink.
"Well, when you have something you like, I'd love to publish it for you." he suggested, secretly hoping his acquaintance would be able to produce something profit worthy. The old man was rather greedy despite his kind disposition. Just as the woman was quite evil when not hiding behind a curtain of innocence and sweetness. They gave each other a parting glance and a effortless wave before heading in separate directions for the night. She pressed the inkwell into her breast pocket, spinning her pen about as if it were air. It was tossed up into the rainy night sky and caught with precision. The once useless utensil morphed into a glittering sword, encrusted with blue and red gems. It's blade was thick yet honed to a slicing point and it's handle wore the same mark as the one on her eye patch. Two snakes of silver metal slithered their way up the bottom of the blade, eyes of ruby and sapphire. Their tongues stuck out and traveled to the beginning of the sharp edges, serrating a small portion of it for extra power. Down the length of the sword laid the same shinning blue stones, set in cups of steel. They were much larger than they'd been on the pen, which made them much more impressive. It's wielder swung it around with care. The woman carried it in it's true form all the way back to the Lutwidge campus.
"Miss Vorpal! Miss Vorpal! You have a letter from a mister... Xerxes?" a middle-aged woman in a maid's uniform went racing forward. She gripped the sword-maiden's jacket, watching her whip around and shove the tip of her pen at the maid's forehead.
"Oh, goodness, you scared me! My apologies, thank you for the letter." Vorpal plucked the yellowed envelope from the maid's hands. She dismissed the woman and headed to a stuffy dorm room.
Only the second fic of done so no flames please! This is the very beginning, but I promise if I get good review and continue, the next will have a lot more of a plot. Reviews and criticism are requested! Thanks for reading!