Elfen High 2 (OOC 4, Closed, No Morals Allowed)

[Seshephe]

Reading up on some norse mythology, tell me if you recognise any of these names of Dwarves
Durin, Dvalin, Gandalv, Torin...

Gandalv sounds like Gandalf, .

Even more so if you consider that alv - alf is just different ways of spelling elf... elve

[Nightkill the Emperor]

This is adorable.

[Norvenia]

First one-shot. There'll be at least one and likely two more detailing the rest of this twelve-hour period; this is a coherent story, but told in serial form.

Făgăraș, Principality of Transylvania, December 1621. Friday.

They hanged the priest on Christmas Eve. The snow fell heavy down from the forbiddingly rocky peaks of the southern Carpathians where they loomed up above the little town, and it coated everything in a magical blanket of white, so light and delicate that Daniel almost didn't want to step in it, as if it would be a terrible sin to defile something so fragile and pristine with a dirty boot-print. Daniel hopped from root to stone, moving with an almost inhuman agility and grace, smiling as he went. He was ninety years old, and he felt - for a single, precious moment - like a young child again, back before it all went wrong.

* * *

He stands in the village square, the snow cold on his bare feet, and he reaches one little hand up to the drifting flakes, and to what lies beyond. The colors swirl in the night sky, like smoke, like an aurora, but Daniel cannot name them, could not even if he knew the words. There are no words. From somewhere up in the mountaintops, up where the lights are swirling, there comes a distant, terrifying shriek - a sound like a giant hawk, or shredding steel. The villagers tuck their heads down against the snow and hurry to their houses. A young woman, her beautiful face smudged with dirt and already worn with care, drops to her knees beside Daniel in the snow. "Come," she whispers, bundling the child in her arms. "Come inside."

Daniel points up to the mountains. "Dra-kon," he says. "Dra-kon."

His mother nods. "You heard the cry, little one?"

Daniel shakes his head, snow in his curls. "The lights told me." He looked up again. "It not come here."

His mother studies him with an expression that he does not understand, will not understand for years: there is anguish in her love, and awe. She takes him in her arms and picks him up. His head rests on her shoulder; she smells of dark earth and fresh-baked bread. "Come inside, little one," she whispers. Above her head, beyond the slowly falling snow, the colors without names shine like far-off fire.

* * *

Daniel heard the priest screaming when he got within a block of the town square. For a moment, the Sabbatanos felt the cold hand of dread seize his heart. Not tonight, he thought. Oh, please, Lord. Not tonight. Just give me tonight not to have to see Your foes, and shield Your flock, and be hard as iron. Let me be soft just for one night! Just for Christmas Eve.

There was no reply.

Two of the prince's men dragged the priest into the town square. He was a young man - they all looked young to Daniel, now - dressed in a grey homespun robe. The soldiers clubbed him to the ground with halberd butts, and dragged him up the rough wooden stairs of the scaffold. In Spain, they burned the Luteranos at the stake, their skin splitting and oozing out their juices to fry and crackle in the flames. But those who followed the true teachings of Jesus Christ knew that such wanton cruelty was not his way; theirs was the stern justice of Solomon. The priest wept, phlegm running over his lips, as his head was forced into the noose. No drop for him, no knot placed to snap the spine: just a slow ascent, hands bound, feet flailing, as the soldiers hauled the rope over the crossbeam and hoisted him inch by inch into the air.

* * *

"I don't want to," Daniel says. "Please, Father, don't make me. I don't want to kill anyone."

The priest sighs. "Of course not, Daniel. But this is your destiny, your duty to us all. You are a Sabbatanos: you can see things which we cannot. You can hunt the creatures which hunt us."

"But I don't want to hunt them!" Daniel cries, almost in tears. "I just want them to leave us alone! Why can't they leave us alone!"

The priest sighs, and shakes his head. "They are the enemies of God, Daniel," he says quietly. "They will never stop hunting us."

* * *

The captain of the guard read out the sentence: by order of Prince Gabriel Bethlem, etcetera, any man found to be willfully in violation of the law of God, etcetera, papist superstition, pagan holidays, illegal Christmas services, death. Death to the enemy of God. The priest had time for one shriek before the soldiers gave a mighty heave on the rope and his feet left the scaffold, kicking as if he were dancing a hornpipe, and his sobs were choked into softly wheezing silence.

Papist plotter, Daniel thought. He closed his eyes, crushing the screaming child within. Such a death is too good for those who would pervert the Word of God. Warm blood trickled between Daniel's fingers where his nails had cut into his palms. The Sabbatanos' hands had clenched involuntarily as he had watched the hanging, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to squeeze out weakness and purge the soul. Blood dripped slowly into the snow at Daniel's feet, and drop by drop the pristine white turned red. Daniel looked down at it for a moment. He felt that he would die if he did not weep. His eyes were dry.

High above the town, in the window of the ancient stone tower clinging to the craggy peak above, Daniel saw a swirl of light, of nameless color. Though it was miles away, Daniel thought for a moment that he could see a pale, forgotten face. His fists clenched again. They will never stop hunting us.

It was time. Daniel turned his face to the mountain, and it was as hard as iron. Father, I am coming.

Behind him, his boots left muddy wounds gouged into the soft white snow.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

First one-shot. There'll be at least one and likely two more detailing the rest of this twelve-hour period; this is a coherent story, but told in serial form.

Făgăraș, Principality of Transylvania, December 1621. Friday.

They hanged the priest on Christmas Eve. The snow fell heavy down from the forbiddingly rocky peaks of the southern Carpathians where they loomed up above the little town, and it coated everything in a magical blanket of white, so light and delicate that Daniel almost didn't want to step in it, as if it would be a terrible sin to defile something so fragile and pristine with a dirty boot-print. Daniel hopped from root to stone, moving with an almost inhuman agility and grace, smiling as he went. He was ninety years old, and he felt - for a single, precious moment - like a young child again, back before it all went wrong.

* * *

He stands in the village square, the snow cold on his bare feet, and he reaches one little hand up to the drifting flakes, and to what lies beyond. The colors swirl in the night sky, like smoke, like an aurora, but Daniel cannot name them, could not even if he knew the words. There are no words. From somewhere up in the mountaintops, up where the lights are swirling, there comes a distant, terrifying shriek - a sound like a giant hawk, or shredding steel. The villagers tuck their heads down against the snow and hurry to their houses. A young woman, her beautiful face smudged with dirt and already worn with care, drops to her knees beside Daniel in the snow. "Come," she whispers, bundling the child in her arms. "Come inside."

Daniel points up to the mountains. "Dra-kon," he says. "Dra-kon."

His mother nods. "You heard the cry, little one?"

Daniel shakes his head, snow in his curls. "The lights told me." He looked up again. "It not come here."

His mother studies him with an expression that he does not understand, will not understand for years: there is anguish in her love, and awe. She takes him in her arms and picks him up. His head rests on her shoulder; she smells of dark earth and fresh-baked bread. "Come inside, little one," she whispers. Above her head, beyond the slowly falling snow, the colors without names shine like far-off fire.

* * *

Daniel heard the priest screaming when he got within a block of the town square. For a moment, the Sabbatanos felt the cold hand of dread seize his heart. Not tonight, he thought. Oh, please, Lord. Not tonight. Just give me tonight not to have to see Your foes, and shield Your flock, and be hard as iron. Let me be soft just for one night! Just for Christmas Eve.

There was no reply.

Two of the prince's men dragged the priest into the town square. He was a young man - they all looked young to Daniel, now - dressed in a grey homespun robe. The soldiers clubbed him to the ground with halberd butts, and dragged him up the rough wooden stairs of the scaffold. In Spain, they burned the Luteranos at the stake, their skin splitting and oozing out their juices to fry and crackle in the flames. But those who followed the true teachings of Jesus Christ knew that such wanton cruelty was not his way; theirs was the stern justice of Solomon. The priest wept, phlegm running over his lips, as his head was forced into the noose. No drop for him, no knot placed to snap the spine: just a slow ascent, hands bound, feet flailing, as the soldiers hauled the rope over the crossbeam and hoisted him inch by inch into the air.

* * *

"I don't want to," Daniel says. "Please, Father, don't make me. I don't want to kill anyone."

The priest sighs. "Of course not, Daniel. But this is your destiny, your duty to us all. You are a Sabbatanos: you can see things which we cannot. You can hunt the creatures which hunt us."

"But I don't want to hunt them!" Daniel cries, almost in tears. "I just want them to leave us alone! Why can't they leave us alone!"

The priest sighs, and shakes his head. "They are the enemies of God, Daniel," he says quietly. "They will never stop hunting us."

* * *

The captain of the guard read out the sentence: by order of Prince Gabriel Bethlem, etcetera, any man found to be willfully in violation of the law of God, etcetera, papist superstition, pagan holidays, illegal Christmas services, death. Death to the enemy of God. The priest had time for one shriek before the soldiers gave a mighty heave on the rope and his feet left the scaffold, kicking as if he were dancing a hornpipe, and his sobs were choked into softly wheezing silence.

Papist plotter, Daniel thought. He closed his eyes, crushing the screaming child within. Such a death is too good for those who would pervert the Word of God. Warm blood trickled between Daniel's fingers where his nails had cut into his palms. The Sabbatanos' hands had clenched involuntarily as he had watched the hanging, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to squeeze out weakness and purge the soul. Blood dripped slowly into the snow at Daniel's feet, and drop by drop the pristine white turned red. Daniel looked down at it for a moment. He felt that he would die if he did not weep. His eyes were dry.

High above the town, in the window of the ancient stone tower clinging to the craggy peak above, Daniel saw a swirl of light, of nameless color. Though it was miles away, Daniel thought for a moment that he could see a pale, forgotten face. His fists clenched again. They will never stop hunting us.

It was time. Daniel turned his face to the mountain, and it was as hard as iron. Father, I am coming.

Behind him, his boots left muddy wounds gouged into the soft white snow.

Magnificent.

Also, I will work on updating the third post with the latest oneshots.

Eventually.

[Individuality-ness]

First one-shot. There'll be at least one and likely two more detailing the rest of this twelve-hour period; this is a coherent story, but told in serial form.

Făgăraș, Principality of Transylvania, December 1621. Friday.

They hanged the priest on Christmas Eve. The snow fell heavy down from the forbiddingly rocky peaks of the southern Carpathians where they loomed up above the little town, and it coated everything in a magical blanket of white, so light and delicate that Daniel almost didn't want to step in it, as if it would be a terrible sin to defile something so fragile and pristine with a dirty boot-print. Daniel hopped from root to stone, moving with an almost inhuman agility and grace, smiling as he went. He was ninety years old, and he felt - for a single, precious moment - like a young child again, back before it all went wrong.

* * *

He stands in the village square, the snow cold on his bare feet, and he reaches one little hand up to the drifting flakes, and to what lies beyond. The colors swirl in the night sky, like smoke, like an aurora, but Daniel cannot name them, could not even if he knew the words. There are no words. From somewhere up in the mountaintops, up where the lights are swirling, there comes a distant, terrifying shriek - a sound like a giant hawk, or shredding steel. The villagers tuck their heads down against the snow and hurry to their houses. A young woman, her beautiful face smudged with dirt and already worn with care, drops to her knees beside Daniel in the snow. "Come," she whispers, bundling the child in her arms. "Come inside."

Daniel points up to the mountains. "Dra-kon," he says. "Dra-kon."

His mother nods. "You heard the cry, little one?"

Daniel shakes his head, snow in his curls. "The lights told me." He looked up again. "It not come here."

His mother studies him with an expression that he does not understand, will not understand for years: there is anguish in her love, and awe. She takes him in her arms and picks him up. His head rests on her shoulder; she smells of dark earth and fresh-baked bread. "Come inside, little one," she whispers. Above her head, beyond the slowly falling snow, the colors without names shine like far-off fire.

* * *

Daniel heard the priest screaming when he got within a block of the town square. For a moment, the Sabbatanos felt the cold hand of dread seize his heart. Not tonight, he thought. Oh, please, Lord. Not tonight. Just give me tonight not to have to see Your foes, and shield Your flock, and be hard as iron. Let me be soft just for one night! Just for Christmas Eve.

There was no reply.

Two of the prince's men dragged the priest into the town square. He was a young man - they all looked young to Daniel, now - dressed in a grey homespun robe. The soldiers clubbed him to the ground with halberd butts, and dragged him up the rough wooden stairs of the scaffold. In Spain, they burned the Luteranos at the stake, their skin splitting and oozing out their juices to fry and crackle in the flames. But those who followed the true teachings of Jesus Christ knew that such wanton cruelty was not his way; theirs was the stern justice of Solomon. The priest wept, phlegm running over his lips, as his head was forced into the noose. No drop for him, no knot placed to snap the spine: just a slow ascent, hands bound, feet flailing, as the soldiers hauled the rope over the crossbeam and hoisted him inch by inch into the air.

* * *

"I don't want to," Daniel says. "Please, Father, don't make me. I don't want to kill anyone."

The priest sighs. "Of course not, Daniel. But this is your destiny, your duty to us all. You are a Sabbatanos: you can see things which we cannot. You can hunt the creatures which hunt us."

"But I don't want to hunt them!" Daniel cries, almost in tears. "I just want them to leave us alone! Why can't they leave us alone!"

The priest sighs, and shakes his head. "They are the enemies of God, Daniel," he says quietly. "They will never stop hunting us."

* * *

The captain of the guard read out the sentence: by order of Prince Gabriel Bethlem, etcetera, any man found to be willfully in violation of the law of God, etcetera, papist superstition, pagan holidays, illegal Christmas services, death. Death to the enemy of God. The priest had time for one shriek before the soldiers gave a mighty heave on the rope and his feet left the scaffold, kicking as if he were dancing a hornpipe, and his sobs were choked into softly wheezing silence.

Papist plotter, Daniel thought. He closed his eyes, crushing the screaming child within. Such a death is too good for those who would pervert the Word of God. Warm blood trickled between Daniel's fingers where his nails had cut into his palms. The Sabbatanos' hands had clenched involuntarily as he had watched the hanging, hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to squeeze out weakness and purge the soul. Blood dripped slowly into the snow at Daniel's feet, and drop by drop the pristine white turned red. Daniel looked down at it for a moment. He felt that he would die if he did not weep. His eyes were dry.

High above the town, in the window of the ancient stone tower clinging to the craggy peak above, Daniel saw a swirl of light, of nameless color. Though it was miles away, Daniel thought for a moment that he could see a pale, forgotten face. His fists clenched again. They will never stop hunting us.

It was time. Daniel turned his face to the mountain, and it was as hard as iron. Father, I am coming.

Behind him, his boots left muddy wounds gouged into the soft white snow.

Magnificent.

Also, I will work on updating the third post with the latest oneshots.

Eventually.

Within the next decade. *nod*

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Magnificent.

Also, I will work on updating the third post with the latest oneshots.

Eventually.

Within the next decade. *nod*

Look at the "Asgard" and "Hindu Lokas" part of my OP.

That has been sitting there like that for nearly two years.

[Individuality-ness]

Within the next decade. *nod*

Look at the "Asgard" and "Hindu Lokas" part of my OP.

That has been sitting there like that for nearly two years.

I have, I did that when I was learning about EH.

Shall I adjust the time frame to "within the next century"?

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Look at the "Asgard" and "Hindu Lokas" part of my OP.

That has been sitting there like that for nearly two years.

I have, I did that when I was learning about EH.

Shall I adjust the time frame to "within the next century"?

That's a better estimate.

[Individuality-ness]

I have, I did that when I was learning about EH.

Shall I adjust the time frame to "within the next century"?

That's a better estimate.

I'll probably compile them into a list for you at some point.

[Olthar]

This is adorable.

:3

[Ranbo]

I'll be totally honest.

Due to my on-and-off posting tendency with Kane, I have absolutely no clue, none, about what's going on in the IC. I'm going to have to work extra hard to change that.

[Mavorpen]

I'll be totally honest.

Due to my on-and-off posting tendency with Kane, I have absolutely no clue, none, about what's going on in the IC. I'm going to have to work extra hard to change that.

Welcome to the club. Allow me to show you around.

[Olthar]

I'll be totally honest.

Due to my on-and-off posting tendency with Kane, I have absolutely no clue, none, about what's going on in the IC. I'm going to have to work extra hard to change that.

I've been reading everything, and I don't really know much more than you. Though, I am also incredibly apathetic about it, so it could just be that I don't care enough to try.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Calliel is so confused.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Calliel is so confused.

"Based on the videos Crowley has loaned to me, this part should involve less screaming and more unimaginable sins."

[Nationstatelandsville]

Calliel is so confused.

"Based on the videos Crowley has loaned to me, this part should involve less screaming and more unimaginable sins."

"Unless these are the videos from his 'Too Fucked Up For Me' drawer."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Based on the videos Crowley has loaned to me, this part should involve less screaming and more unimaginable sins."

"Unless these are the videos from his 'Too Fucked Up For Me' drawer."

Crowley laughs at the concept of that drawer.

[Nationstatelandsville]

"Unless these are the videos from his 'Too Fucked Up For Me' drawer."

Crowley laughs at the concept of that drawer.

I imagine it contains romantic comedies starring Sandra Bullock.

[Rupudska]

"Based on the videos Crowley has loaned to me, this part should involve less screaming and more unimaginable sins."

"Unless these are the videos from his 'Too Fucked Up For Me' drawer."

Neither Crowley nor Yuzuki have such a drawer. It's their 'Too Fucked Up For Sexual Mortals' drawer.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

[Nationstatelandsville]

Is it just me, or has the general quality of P2TM degraded since the split from F7?

Or am I just even more of an old man these days?

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Is it just me, or has the general quality of P2TM degraded since the split from F7?

Or am I just even more of an old man these days?

To be honest, it's actually better. Old F7 rps were really bad.

These are also bad, but are a bit better. A bit.

Besides, who cares? We have our little oasis of enjoyment in my shit.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Is it just me, or has the general quality of P2TM degraded since the split from F7?

Or am I just even more of an old man these days?

To be honest, it's actually better. Old F7 rps were really bad.

These are also bad, but are a bit better. A bit.

Besides, who cares? We have our little oasis of enjoyment in my shit.

"We have an oasis in my shit."

[Olthar]

Is it just me, or has the general quality of P2TM degraded since the split from F7?

Or am I just even more of an old man these days?

No, things are significantly better than they used to be. Virtually every RP back then was shit, so much so that I rarely ever even participated in them. Now, I can actually start or join an RP and realistically expect quality posting from most, if not all of the participants.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Another note - Google Translate is allergic to Hindi.