I'm only going to put up part of it for now because the rest is under serious editing. I'm trying to make it sound really good so please help me make it sound less awkward in parts. Serious critiquiing is fine but please no flaming it to the point where there's no story left. Also, sorry if the whole layout of the story's wrong, res is doing something weird to it. Well, here it is:
Nightshade’s Story
“Blast!” I yelled. The person I was talking to, a young man, looked nervous. “Sorry, lady, but you don’t have enough money to stay the night here,” he said. He drummed his fingers nervously on the wooden counter. Because, I thought to myself, money isn’t my top priority. Finding him is. I scowled.
“Very well then,” I muttered, turned around, and walked out the door. Outside it was cold. Winter was near. I pulled my black cloak closer around me.
“Curse all inns and their outrageous prices. Ten Faces for one night,” I grumbled. Now I’d have to either spend the night in an old barn or the stables, or sleep outside. I didn’t like the smell of stables, though, and the tiny village I was in was barely populated, mostly made up of wooden huts. I sighed and made my way toward the nearby forest. At least it offered peace and quiet.
WARNING: this part will get a little rough writing wise:
I found a suitable tree to sleep on, a large oak with a huge branch. I didn’t bother taking my cloak off and using it as a blanket; it was doing just fine wrapped around me. I snapped a twig off of a tree branch above me, pulled a throwing dagger out of my belt, and started whittling. As I did so, I thought back to a long time ago.I was about twelve years old. My brown hair was long and in a tangled mess. I had a smile on my face. I knew where I was; I was in large spacious field with green gr*censored* all around and wildflowers swaying in the wind. A small village was in sight, just down the hill. “Catch me if you can!” I yelled to a boy about my age. He had black hair, soft brown eyes, and a lopsided smile.
“Oh, I will!” he shouted back. He ran across the field, chasing me.
“You know you can’t catch me! I’m faster than-“ I was interrupted by a very inconveniently placed rock which I tripped over, enabling the boy to catch up and tag me. I pouted.
“That’s not fair, Visco,” I complained. Visco laughed and helped me get up from the ground.
“You, Terra, should have been watching where you planted your feet,” he said. I sighed.
“Fine. You win this time.” He smiled victoriously. He knew I hated losing. I turned around and started to walk back to the village in a very huffy manner when I stopped walking abruptly. There was red flickering light coming off of all the houses. Fire. The whole village was in flames. But something was wrong. Screams could be heard and then suddenly silenced. What was happening? The only thought I had was to get home, to see if everything was okay and to make sure my house was still standing. I ran toward the burning village.
“Terra, no!” I heard Visco yell to me, but I didn’t stop. I had to help, to find out what was going on.
The sight I saw when I opened the wooden door to my house would give me nightmares for a long time. My mother and my father, lying on the dirt floor, not moving. I rushed over to my mother, shaking her, trying to wake her. Something wet and sticky got on my hands. Then I noticed it, the pools of crimson blood that they laid in.
“Who would do such a thing?” Visco murmured. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “We have to go, Terra.” I nodded, wiping tears from my eyes.
I remember Visco practically dragging me into the dirt streets that lead toward the field. I stumbled along behind him. Dead, I kept thinking, they can’t be dead. Suddenly a figure appeared right in front of us. The stranger had a black cloak on but didn’t conceal his face. Red eyes that had an insane look to them, a sword stained with blood in one hand, and a dagger dripping with poison in the other. He looked at us and smiled cruelly.
“So there were survivors?” he wondered aloud, amused. I shook with fear, anger, and sorrow. He must have done it. He was the one who killed my parents. Visco and I didn’t answer him. We were both paralyzed by his gaze, so it seemed. The stranger laughed.
“Scared? Angry, are you, that I killed your parents?” he said coldly. I wanted to ask him why he had done it, but my mouth would not open. He laughed again, and then turned his gaze to Visco.
“So, you’re her friend, are you?” he smiled. He drew his sword, but instead of running Visco through with it as I thought he would, he suddenly appeared behind me.
I felt something heavy hit me on the side of my head, and there was a sudden explosion of brilliant color and pain. Before I blacked out, the stranger whispered into my ear, “I am Melianor the Dark Mage. Remember me.” Visco, I thought, run. But as I fell to the ground unconscious, I barely heard a cruel laugh and the scream of a boy-
“No!” I yelled in frustration. I threw the twig far away. I was shivering from cold and something else, fear and anger. I always remembered and had dreams of that day over and over again. Curse him, I thought. May his soul be condemned forever. He would pay dearly for what he had done. My parents were dead because of him, and there was no way Visco could have lived. A question kept on coming up in my head: why didn’t he kill me too? I wanted answers from him, and I wanted his life. He would die at my hand, not by anyone else’s. I tried to fall asleep but couldn’t. Instead I climbed down the tree and started traveling down the road, heading north, searching for more news of where he might be. I touched the belt that held my weapons: five throwing daggers which I could use quickly and easily. I had two other daggers I always kept with me and considered the most important out of them all. One was a dagger which I used most often which I called Shiro. It had a wicked sharp blade and though it looked plain it had never failed me. The other was a beautiful dagger with a sapphire embedded in the handle. The blade itself was made out of diamond. Its sharp edges were dipped in a deadly poison. If I so much as scratched somebody with it they would die quickly. I had only used this dagger once, just once. And I will use it again, I thought, when I finally find Melianor. This dagger I named Regret.
By the way: If you steal it, I have a way to prove it is mine (hehehehe). Plus I'll haunt your soul forever.
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