The House of Lancaster_Dragon Labyrinth_A Raw Deal with the Devil_Apology unaccepted
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The House of Lancaster
The House of LancasterAuthor's note: This story is based on The War of the Roses. Some of the characters in this story were real people in history, however, the main character is fictional. The story is based on some element of the truth, but much of it is created by my imagination. Enjoy! :D~~~The House of Lancaster. The House of York. I had grown up hearing stories of a rivalry between the two Houses. My mother, Anne, used to tell me it was just the men being ‘frivolous’ and ‘blood-thirsty’, but that didn’t justify the fatalities. My father was Humphrey Stafford. He was the sixth earl of St...
Dragon Labyrinth
Clinking reverberated throughout the cave - a familiar sound that has long since etched into the crevices. Magnus sighs - admiring his reflection has lost its value as has the spectacles he's acquired. The luster of their shine, the sharpness of their cut, some hide in the adorned craftsmanship of mahogany and steel. Any man would covet their splendor - many have but alas their possessions only add to his collection.None escape his wrath - their charred bodies become delicacy on his plate, a now rare commodity. It haswww.onedoor.cc been years since anyone has visited - now he wonders if they still exist. He...
A Raw Deal with the Devil
(Story contains allusions to torture, but no actual depictions of it)“So, what’s the catch?”The demon hesitated. The sulfurous smoke billowing from his form dissipated slightly as his concentration wavered. His wings drooped. The arm he had been holding out lowered; the contract in hand, written in red ink on shining golden paper, dimmed.“The…catch?” He rumbled, bemused. “I thought I had explained it well enough. At the hour of your departure from the earthly realm, you willingly forfeit your soul. Thenceforth it will be entrusted to the care of myself, and by extension my master, the Lord of...
Apology unaccepted
The loud cackling had been going on for exactly four hours and twenty-seven minutes. Locked in the rattling, metallic cage, every sound sounded loud and clear to Cedric’s ears. He wasn’t locked up; no. This was resistance training. Endurance, some said. But Cedric liked to call it ‘resistance’. To him, he was resisting the urge to cut himself to prevent the jarring, irritating voice from penetrating his bleeding ears. His ears were positively bleeding, thick red dripping down the side of his face in small, unnoticed streams.Thirty-two minutes. He had just twenty-eight minutes to go. The day b...