Proud Of Tag Game - Tumblr Posts

Proud of, Tag Game

Thank you so much for the Tag, @pluttskutt (here)!

Rules: Post a snippet you’ve written that you’re proud of and tag 5 people

This is a long one, my folks! But oh, boy am I proud of it. We have here a duel scene in our hands and a bit of revenge (Rylisan's gets justice against his friend who betrayed him) (:

✨Spoilers for the first draft of Tales of Wilted Flowers below the cut.✨

Masquerade -

"Enough, Kallas." Rylisan declares, standing firmly between his brother and the sorry excuse for a knight. He leveled his sword, the diamonds of his mask glimmering in the room's light.

The past years' worth of pain boiled into the freezing rage that seeped into his words right now, echoing over the busy ballroom. Shocked gasps and hushed murmurs buzzed at the sight of the weapon, but Rylisan paid them no heed.

Kallas chuckled darkly, reaching for his rapier with smug confidence, almost careless, tilting his head.

"Truly? And what right does an outsider have to tell me what to do?"

"You'll find out soon enough." The elf answered through gritted teeth, satisfied with his rival's inability to recognize him. They circled each other now, weapons ready, like dire wolves in the snow.

The crowd slowly parted away from them in a large circle. From the corner of his eye, Rylisan worriedly watched his frail older brother scramble to get up, before focusing back on the fight about to start.

"Oh, so you're a proud one! I'd usually have the guards make you regret this insolence, but I'm in the mood to have some fun. I accept your challenge!"

At that, the knight lunged, aiming the tip of his blade at Rylisan's heart, a move the other sidestepped gracefully and swiftly, parrying the blow. Kallas glared through the raven feathers of his mask, earning a sharp smirk from Rylisan, who pushed him back.

Kallas remained the same brutal, but predictable, fighter he'd always been, and though Rylisan didn't have nearly the same raw strength, he made up for it in agility, dancing through Kallas' every devastating blow with effortless ease. After a while, he could see frustration piling up behind the other's eyes - good.

Rylisan jumped away from a stab at his side at the last second, and with a swirl, landed a strike of his own, the tip of his sword ripping at the other's cheekbone, drawing blood and sending Kallas' mask flying.

There was a collective gasp, and Rylisan stepped away with grace, admiring as his rival froze in anger. Kallas reached for the cut with outrage, and Rylisan quipped, mocking "What was it about you making me regret this, again?"

Kallas growled, blood plastered on his pearl white robes as he glared up, a truly wild look twisting his features. His knuckles turned marble white on the hilt of his blade.

"I'll kill you for this. I'll kill you and mount your head on a pike, you insolent wretch!"

The man shouted in blind fury, losing his fake composure as he swung at Rylisan. The younger elf blocked it, though with no lack of difficulty, answering his opponent coldly. "I highly doubt that".

Now that Kallas was all riled up, he'd be exactly where Rylisan wanted him - reckless. He could feel it, as Kallas placed all his weight on his flurry of attacks, which became increasingly difficult for Rylisan to dodge but would eventually cost Kallas valuable energy.

It was a a game of waiting, now. Bidding his time, and surviving, until Kallas would become more and more exhausted, less focused on where his strikes would land. Both were equally matched, on different talents, and as the duel dragged on, the ballroom remained in suspended silence, except for the clank of sword against sword.

Eventually, steel met marble with a scraping shriek, as one of Kallas' more lucky strikes broke through Rylisan's carefully crafted guard, the blade cutting through the side of his leg.

Rylisan cried out, and the nobleman smiled, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he yanked the sword from the stone to try and strike again. But Rylisan was faster, having moved out of the way a second sooner. Kallas' rapier met nothing but empty air, causing him to stumble, exhaustion catching up to him.

And that was all the chance Rylisan needed.

He struck like a viper, in the blink of an eye, slashing at his opponent's exposed side, surgically - Rylisan wanted a cut deep enough to make him suffer for all the pain and betrayal he'd put him through, but he also needed Kallas alive for now. Fortunately for his rival, Rylisan still held on to a knight's code of honor.

The other elf screamed in fresh agony as Rylisan's strike landed, his rapier clattering with an accusing thud before Kallas himself fell to the ground.

Rylisan stood there, not saying a word. He only watched, unreadable, as his worst, most loathed enemy crumpled at his feet.

Kallas keened, hands grasping at the open wound, but still glancing up at the young man with burning disdain, though now tainted by the edges of fear. "... Who are you? I demand to know!"

He was still as haughty as ever. Still just as fake. Kallas would never dare admit defeat in front of his adoring followers, much less other nobility, who were all gathered there, spectators of the grandiose show that would stage his very downfall. Rylisan limped slightly as he moved closer to his rival.

"You know me." His voice was impassive, nearly emotionless, but he couldn't help but betray the hatred behind it. "Just as you know exactly what you did, what you stole, don't you?"

He tapped the insignia upon the other's bloodstained robes with the tip of his sword, leaning down towards Kallas, their eyes truly meeting for the first time. The nobleman's face suddenly twisted, scanning the other's merciless, strangely familiar eyes.

"No, no - It can't be." He shook his head, a desperate laugh to his voice as disbelief morphed into pure dread, face as pale as the marble underneath him. Rylisan narrowed his eyes.

"So, you do remember me." He pulled the other up by the collar of his robes, placing his sword's edge at Kallas' neck. "Say my name, and tell them what you did."

Kallas scrambled for an excuse, powerless now that the tables had turned, spitting out the words. "You're still the same lowborn vermin as you were back then."

Rylisan shook his head, pressing his sword against Kallas' throat, cutting a thin line of blood, before releasing him onto the floor. "That's not what I asked." He reached up with his freed hand, sword still aimed at his rival, silky blond hair framing his face as he slowly pulled away the diamond-encrusted mask, and threw it away.

The room erupted into hushed chaos. In the absence of the mask, he was the ghost Kallas thought he would never have to deal with again. And now here he stood in the royal ballroom once more.

"Tell them the truth."

And cliffhanger! Tagging (gently): @memento-morri-writes, @meerawrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @little-peril-stories and @tabswrites

"Proud of" Tag

I was tagged by @pluttskutt, (here), for this one! I'm catching up with my tags after taking a bit of a break the past few weeks (due to health reasons, which I've now recovered from), so here we go!

Rules: Post a snippet you’ve written that you’re proud of and tag 5 people. This snippet can be from today, last week, last month, or five years ago, it doesn’t matter! Show us what you’re proud of 💗

[...] "What are you doing?" Teivel peeked through the bars of the cell, suspicion written in his features as he watched Lucian shakily fumble with a key bunch.

"Getting you out of here."

The young man answered with fierce determination, already moving to unlock the rusted lock. Teivel couldn't help but gasp, horror dawning on him at this recklessness - he reached through the gap, holding onto Lucian's wrist and stubbornly keeping him from turning the key.

"Oh. No, no, no." He shook his head, lowering his voice after his words echoed around the hallway "You're a fool, they'll catch us before we're even out of the dungeons and then we'll both be stuck here. Please, just go back, and we'll just pretend this never happened. It's not worth the risk, not for me."

Lucian looked up in disbelief but did not pull his wrist away from the other's grasp. Instead, he spoke with a reassuring smile.

"It is worth it because of you, not the other way around. We need to try. I'm not letting them kill you - I couldn't care less what my father thinks, and even if I end up tried for treason, at least that way I'll know I'll never be like him."

Teivel sighed, dejection and exasperation mixing in his voice. "We're going to regret this. Even if we escape this place, something will go wrong - that war out there kills everything in its path. I won't be able to keep you safe, and neither you me."

"What if I told you there's a way to stop that war? You know the old tales as well as I do - the curse out there isn't just that, it's a prophecy. 'The Dead God's heir will be flame that'll spark a new dawn', that scroll said." Lucian spoke, hurriedly, like an anxious scholar with too much to explain and not a lot of time. He looked over his shoulder and down the hall, checking if the guards hadn't come down for their usual patrol.

He took a deep breath before continuing. "My father's soldiers are seeking him, and he hates wasting troops. If they are making such an effort to find this guy, then it's because the prophecy is real - and if we find the prince before they do, we can change things, maybe even stop the war."

"So you're suggesting that we put our fates in the hands of your people's fairy tales, and hope we won't just get captured or worse?"

Teivel asked, nearly angry, though there was a glint of something else in his eyes - something that showed that he, as much as he feared to admit it, wanted to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of a chance that things wouldn't end in bloodshed this time.

"No. What I'm saying is that we take this chance, we don't know when another will show up." Lucian gestured around, their bleak surroundings emphasizing his point. "Maybe the stories are true, maybe they aren't, but that doesn't matter - my point is, I'd rather put our fates on the uncertainty of what's out there, than on the certainties we have here, certainties like the executioner's blade that's waiting for you tomorrow morning."

Just as Lucian paused, a telltale creak echoed through the hallway - the iron door atop the stairs slowly swinging open. The guards must've realized the keys were missing, and they'd be here any minute. Lucian felt Teivel flinch, tightening his hold on his wrist for a second, before letting go.

Lucian turned the key, opening the door. "If we're going to do this, the time is now. What do you say?"

Teivel looked at him and then up the hallway, where the guards would inevitably appear in a blink. He shook his head, almost not believing what he was about to do, before stepping out of the cell. "You'd better have a spectacular plan." [...]

Tagging (gently): @little-peril-stories, @oh-no-another-idea, @clairelsonao3, @i-can-even-burn-salad and @starlit-hopes-and-dreams