Illustration for the Erlking's Daughters

Will probably color this later. I wanted him elflike, but he just turns out feminine each time I draw him. Anyhow, the Erlking and his daughters.

The Erlking's Daughters

A story I wrote, based upon Goethe's poem/Shubert's song Der Erlkonig, I put the poem in the comments and I would suggest reading it before the story. Oh, and I couldn't find an English version of it where it said who was talking, so I made my own with the names before the dialouge. Thus, in the comments is the literal translation from German in script form.

Anyhow, on to the story. It's told from the view of the Erlking, whom the best descriptions I've heard of him are simply 'the Elven king' and 'a force of death.'

I do remember at least one thing. The first time I saw them… They were absolutely beautiful, golden lilies shining through the foggy night.

When I appeared to them, it was still in a time where I wore a cloak of dusk—darkness cascading off of elegant shoulders in waves. And I wore a crown of white, searing stars, gathered from the blackest night, and placed upon my brow. The children were enamored with me to say the least; how could they help it?

Yet I also noticed them, and the first thing I noticed about them was their golden hair, it was a color that matched my own, as did their eyes and skin. They could have easily been of a race created from my form, or I from a being like them. The second thing I noticed is that they were probably twins, or at least sisters; but whatever they were it no longer mattered, as they were so alike that they would forever more be sisters in my eyes.

I smiled and held my hands out to them, and said in a voice like a chorus of silver bells, “Come, I have waited for you. We will play together, you and I.”

The two took my hands readily, and I felt that pang in my essence that I did not quite understand. But all the same, I led them unknowingly into a vision, a dreamworld of sorts, and dressed them in the finest fabrics of my mother, and I danced with them in my grove on the soft grass beneath the moon. And they sang, and they laughed, and they braided flowers in each other’s hair, and they were beautiful and so full of life. And I loved them for that.

Yes, I loved them, even as they spun each other around in the Fae realm, and even as they strolled towards the cliff in the waking world.

I had stopped dancing and was leaning against a tree, my eyes becoming distant as I watched the twin pairs of feet making their way across the rocky crag of a different plane. Occasionally one would stumble, but the other would help her up as they walked towards their oblivion.
Suddenly a voice broke my reverie; both of the girls were in the grass, one lying and the other sitting up looking intently at me. Even her voice sounded like mine, with a bell-like quality to it. She asked, “Father, what is the matter?”


Father…


The word pierced me like nothing had before. But it was true. They might not be sisters, and they might not be born of my blood, but they were my daughters.

In an instant, a moment’s decision, I snatched the fragile bodies from the cliff and joined them to their souls in my grove. They did not even bat an eye at this.

“Nothing is wrong, my daughter. Nothing.” I replied. I had disobeyed my purpose, betrayed it. But for once in my timeless existence, I felt something beyond duty.


----------------------

I stood (after being torn away from my land) before seven beings; I no longer know what they were. Perhaps heavenly judges or the elusive elven gods, and I think I knew once, but that was a long time ago. All the same, I had upset the balance; Death had spared two children, this could destroy every order they knew. But the action had been done, and I refused to undo it. They were mine, and I would raise them as my own until they could live their own lives. To live a life of their own, I had never wanted that for anyone before. I had never cared.

We argued for a long time, the judges and I. I am not sure for how long, perhaps days, or centuries. But it does not matter, I was able to keep my two prizes because there was no being to replace something like me and loosing me would destroy their order. But I was made to swear never to spare anything else.

Satisfied at the outcome, I made my way to my grove in my human form and saw two figures, dressed in the white of lilies, dancing in the moonlight and laughing. I sighed fondly, standing in the opening of the trees, and spread open my arms.

“Father!” two petite voices called out in unison (I felt some semblance of what mortals call ‘joy’ spread throughout my heart) and my daughters rushed to the grove’s opening and embraced me.

For a moment I was happy with just them in my arms… but then I frowned, and in a soft voice asked, “Why are you so cold, children?”

Indeed, they were as cold as ice. One of my offspring answered quite cheerfully, “I don’t know, Father.”

I knelt down before them, and they looked with mirrored golden eyes at me expectantly. I stroked one’s cheek, which was still deathly cold, and she smiled. I then moved my hand to below her jaw… there was no pulse.

My daughters were dead.

Before that moment, I had never felt sickness. But now it came in waves of nausea. The judges had killed them. They had killed them while distracting me in a trial.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

No… the trial. It was not the counsel who had killed my children. After all, the trial had taken place for what felt like days, centuries. The judges were not the ones who killed them… I was.
I was shaking now, and I would have retched had there been anything in this stomach… I could see them in my mind—in the grove, starving, cold, dying. No one to take care of them as they huddled together and cried from pain. And then another wave of sickness came with the second realization; they would never grow older. They would never blossom into womanhood, and, ah gods, they would never live their own lives, and it was all because of me and my-

“-Father?” one asked again, more worriedly.

I stilled my shaking, then smiled and placed a hand on their shoulders, “Children,” I started pleasantly, though my heart was breaking, “how would you like to stay here forever with me? And never grow old, and always play, and sing, and dance? I may have to leave sometimes, but would you like that?”

They both looked at each other excitedly then looked back, one replied, “Oh yes, Father! We would like that very much!”

I smiled again, though I wanted to rip that wretched organ out of my chest. My daughters continued on,

“And we shall dance every night!”

“Only, do not leave us alone for so long again, we got rather cold last time.”

“Oh! And we could try plaiting flowers into your hair!”

“Of course,” I said fondly as I took them into my arms, “whatever you wish.”

“I love you, Father.” The one on my right said sleepily. I kissed her and her sister’s head.




They were mine. And they would be mine forever. Nothing would change that.

Making it Official

So, I know I've mentioned this out loud several times before. But I am now officially, (in a post, because that's official) making this THE STORY BLOG. [insert appropriate dramatic music here] That means that it doesn't have to have anything to do with me or the Spectral Lands. If you have a story, plot, comic, pictures, characters, or just vague idea of any of the above and have the desire to post it anywhere; here's the place. Your posts can be for review and feedback of whatever you posted, it can be to get some more ideas on your creation, or it could be just so you don't have that story rotting away in a notebook where no one else will never know of its existance.

So far we've had a plot idea, question, character description, and short story (and I plan on posting PRP's and my script rp on here too) but don't let that limit you. If it's creative in any way, shape, or form then it's all good.

-P.

Character Design: The King of Rain

First off, the King of Rain is a character from the aforementioned story that I... aforementioned?... in a comment on this blog a while back. He's not a main character by any means, but I like him... so enjoy.

Name: the King of Rain (he can't remember his real name.)
Physical features: He is over eight feet tall. Very slender, but not skinny. His long black hair is always matted down and looks soaking wet. His clothes are always drab and dark. He also has perfect posture. :)
Quirks: Because he loves the rain so much and because the rain loves him, he has the ability to summon the rain at anytime and anywhere. Also, because he loves the rain so much he has taken on some of the characteristics of rain and that is why he cannot remember a vast majority of things. He has a notebook with him to help him remember, but he sometimes forgets that he has the notebook. He was also given a tablet of stone by his mother (he can't remember her name) that was imbued with a remembering spell. Anything that is carved on the stone tablet, he will never forget, but he forgets that he has that too. The only thing he can remember (without the aid of the remembering tablet) is his love of the rain and the rain remembers that it loves him.

Midnight Murder

So I found this old short blurp that I wrote to go along with a picture. And I knew exactly what was happening, but upon rereading it, I realized that it wasn't exactly clear. And my roommate didn't get it. I would love for anyone to read it, and just tell me if they know what the bloody heck is going on. The only things you need to know is that p.Jesse had long black hair and has red eyes, and that the tarot card that predicts death is a skeletal rider on a horse:


She knew her death months before it happened. But, eventually, she convinced herself that she had read the card wrong (Then why did she keep glancing over her shoulder? (surely, it was just because it was halloween... but in a few minutes more, it'd be midnight and technically no longer halloween))...

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p.Jesse's hair billowed slightly in the cold autumn night air. He came to stop the pain- What he was about to do wasn't really his fault. (Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.)
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She was about to close her fortune shop when he walked in... Though she hoped... well, she still wasn't suprised.

"I suppose you're not here for a fortune." she stated.

A melodious laughter danced eerily upon the air, "No," Jesse leered, "No, I'm not."

She sighed, staring at the card displaying the skeletal rider sprawled on the table. "Will... will it hurt?"

Jesse shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "I wouldn't know." But perhaps her expression sparked some fragment of sympathy within him, because he felt compelled to further explain, "I wouldn't have come if you hadn't predicted your own murder."

This was true on more levels than one. When she contemplated these multiple meanings Jesse walked up and brought her head gently against his chest... one might think this an act between lovers, but it was just to muffle her screams.

"You know," she whispered softly, now completely at peace, "I tried to stop you. But I guess is was still inevitable in the end." Jesse winced painfully at this.

"Yes... I know."

******

"I wouldn't have come if you hadn't predicted your own murder." Jesse repeated, though there was no longer anyone else alive in the area to talk to. He looked about the chaotic room until he picked up a limp doll. The doll had long black hair and red eyes (Jesse smiled at the familiarity) and three long pins sticking out of it. He pulled each pin out, each pull followed by painful gasp.

"I am sorry," he said to the figure on the floor, after finishing with the doll, "if it counts for anything. But I had to stop the pain. I suppose your trying to stop me was what really sealed your fate..."

And with that, he returned to the night.

The General Idea

So Juanito Bandito pretty much hit it head in so many words. This story will be based on everything that I'm learning in this class, and it's based on two or three dreams that I've had. So, yes, it will probably seem quite remeniscent to our Christmas trip this year. And yes, the below is a poorly written summary.

The story starts out with Eve, a girl of presumeably ten (age will most likely not be mentioned) on a Christmas trip with her parents where they must stay in the spacious and old house of her great aunt, who stays the winter elsewhere, she also mentions how she wishes her brother were there (I have not yet decided whether her brother is off at war or elsewhere). Personality will start out stubborn and bratty, of course, but a bit on the curious side.

She stays in a seperate room than her parents while at her great aunt's house, an old, creaky room with only an old, creaky lamp for a light. And across from the old, creaky bed is a large mirror, faded around the edges from age. As mirrors sometimes do, it catches the light from the room strangely, making it seem as though it comes from another source on that side. Eve as she falls asleep each night starts having half-dreams about the mirror. Dreams that disturb her for no particular reason. Sometimes an earwig will be crawling up and into her hair in the reflection, and she will begin to wildly begin searching through said hair while her reflective self just stares and smiles. Sometimes, the dreams make no sense to her, for example, one time the reflection reaches through the mirror and gives her a Cloak of Midnight, which is, of course, gone in the morning.

Sometime after the dreams this line will be used: "The only thing keeping me from entering the mirror is my own reflection."

Which, following this quote at some time, she will have one of the strange dreams again, but this time her reflection will be missing. In a dreamlike state, she takes the Cloak of Midnight, which is lying on the dresser, and enters the mirror.

The land which she comes out in is cold, grey, desolate; to put it simply- it's completely dead. Far to her left is a hill, probably a small mountain but it's covered in grey grass and is rounded, so it seems a hill. Far in front of her seems a city of marble, beautiful but dead like the rest of this place. But blocking it are miles upon miles of brambles and thorns. Here, she hears a voice to the right just above her head, it turns out to be a spider (who tells her when she's suprised at his ability of speech, "Oh, all spiders can talk, you just must put them up to your ear to hear them. And no one wants to do that.") who agrees to help her to a point.

The spider is Threy, and serves as the 'guardian' archetype, conviniently telling her of the Spectral Lands, and the ruler over it known as the Phantom King. I won't tell much more past this, because there's a few things that I want to keep mysterious about the rest of it, but to really paraphrase it- she meets Nightmare and Reverie, the King's guards, who serve as their namesakes, they tell her that to escape she must play the King's games. Her brother's mind/soul has also been captured as is being held as a prize to ensure her participation. Eve meets many trials along the way, including riddles and facing contagonists (nightmare and reverie themselves, along with Naught) and having continual help from Threy the spider and Mercutial the perpetually hooded/blindfolded violinist of the King.

And I'm too tired to explain any more. Hopefully I'll start posting the actual story soon.

-P.

So, I walked into work one day...

I kind of want to start something on this blog. (If that is OK, Miss Phantom.) I think this blog needs more love and needs some good old fashion brainstorming. That is why I propose the following.

So, I walked into work one day...

Finish the sentence. Write something. You can post it in the comment area, or if it gets too big make a separate post for it. Hopefully this will get the creative juices flowing and could lead to some ideas for Miss Phantom. (I still pronounce your name as Pa Hantom in my head, sorry.)

Bot out.