Post by BuffyFanOne on Feb 22, 2007 10:43:19 GMT -5
I decided that I should make a thread for a few of my fan fic attempts and other writings instead of posting a bunch of seperat ones.
Here is my fan fic that was written in the style of Tales of the Slayer. It was written for a customs/fanfic contest over at btvsfigs.
History
Name: Roseline Henslow
DOB: 1538
DOD: 1562
A very attractive young woman, aged 24 years, wandered slowly into a cemetery. She moved with the subtle grace of an aging cat, once limber and spry but now slow from to many midnight hunts. Her light hair fell half way to her waist and was riddled with random ringlets of curls. Her soft hair clashed with the tattered garments that it rested on. Her apparel bordered on scandalous. She was obviously a part of high society, or that was what her elegant corset top would have suggested. A casual onlooker might have suspected that this beautiful young girl might be a prostitute but upon closer examination they would have seen that her black skirt, while torn up one side to reveal a leg up to the thigh, was made of the finest French silk. While this mysterious woman’s attire was somewhat startling on its own, it was made even more the ghastly by the fresh blood stains on the front of the girl’s threadbare corset. Any other woman wondering into a graveyard late at nigh wearing nothing but a corset and a tattered skirt, her slip showing at the waist and thigh, would have been immediately arrested and taken to the queen for judgement but something was different about this girl. Aside from the fact that nearly no one was on the streets at four in the morning besides prostitutes and the seedy men that seek their services, no one approached this ailing stranger to help her or chastise her clothing, or lack there of clothing.
As the young woman sluggishly wandered deeper and deeper into the center of the cemetery, her gate began to diminish into something of a limp. Her posture became less feline and more haggard.
Finally reaching her apparently intended destination, the young woman collapsed on the cold earth directly in front of a very large sculpted grave marker. The epitaph was scribed with the family name of Henslow. In the ground at the feet of the monumental angel were two grave markers. Both of the headstones read “survived by a loving daughter” and one of them reading “survived by her husband.” These were the graves of the woman’s parents.
It was a dark night in more than one meaning of the word.
Not only was it a dreary rain soaked evening but it was also a night of sorrow. On this cold night in March, Nicholas Henslow would gain a daughter but he would also loose a beloved wife. Marilyn Henslow would give life to a daughter, Roseline, but in the process she would forfeit her own. As a result of her mothers passing, Roseline would become very attached to her father.
Before Roseline’s conception, her parents both served at the castle of king Henry the VIII, her father Nicholas as an officer in the kings guard and her mother as a maiden to princess Mary.
During her childhood, Roseline would pay frequent visits to the palace with her father. The palace servants took to helping raise her while her father was busy guarding the king’s chambers. Roseline took a particular liking to the palace priest, a stout French man named Elyot Guise.
While she was busy during the day roaming the halls of the palace or listening to Elyot tell stories of his past adventures as a missionary all around the world, she would spend every night with her father. He would read to her from her mother’s journal. Throughout her pregnancy, Roseline’s mother kept a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Roseline must have read her mothers journal 5,000 times. She could recite it from cover to cover. The journal was a beautiful leather bound book with a flower burnt into the front of it. Roseline’s father had given it to her mother when he found out she was pregnant and he had again gifted it to Roseline on her fifth birthday. Again on her tenth birthday, her father gave her a locket that had belonged to her mother. The journal and the locket were Roseline’s prize possessions.
On a night not unlike the night that she was born, tragedy would once again strike. After the death of king Henry, his daughter Mary was named queen. On this cold and dank night, Queen Mary had succumbed to cancer and her half sister Elizabeth was sworn to the thrown.
Elizabeth’s succession to the thrown was not taken lightly because of Elizabeth’s intentions to rule over the catholic land as a protistan. The people rose up against the queen in a gory clash of religion. Elizabeth’s soldiers won the fight against her subjects but not before many of the royal guards had been killed.
Roseline received word of her father’s death from Elyot. Elyot also brought news of his dismissal from the queen’s council. He told her that he had to leave immediately and that he wanted her to come with him. Still in a state of shock and grief, she agreed to go with Elyot. Roseline and Elyot left Elizabeth’s palace amidst a sea of dead guards and peasants.
Once away from the palace, safe in the surrounding woods, the pair took shelter in one of the queen’s abandoned cottages.
The next morning Elyot told Roseline that he had another one of his stories for her. Realizing that Roseline was still grieving her father, Elyot felt it unkind to do what he was about to do but it was necessary.
The story that he unfolded before her was the most far fetched tale Roseline had ever heard. Had the story been told to her by someone other that Elyot, she would have immediately dismissed it as a fairy’s tale but she trusted Elyot and she knew that he would not spin her such a yarn at a time such as this unless there was some heir of credibility to it.
Acknowledging that her calling as a slayer could not have come at a worse time, Elyot still insisted that Roseline start her training immediately.
Elyot did not hold back anything. Roseline’s training was very rigorous. The dainty frame that was Roseline before her training had begun a rapid transformation into a strong body adorned with sleek muscles. Roseline’s swift transformation made Elyot’s story even more believable. Roseline was no longer the meek daughter of a palace guard, after a few short weeks of training she had become a strong warrior of the people.
Night after night Roseline and Elyot would stalk the local villages, killing vampires and various other creatures that terrorized the fogy nights of Elizabethan England.
Roseline had not found one creature that she could not defeat.
Unfortunately, death and tragedy had become a theme in Roseline’s life.
At the age of twenty-four, Roseline was a seasoned killer. An activity that had once set such a fear into her had now become a professional, systematic duty that she could execute quickly and stealthy without an ounce of the apprehension that had at first held her back.
It had been years sense Roseline was unable to protect unsuspecting prey from a blood hungry predator but one particular fall night was different from the rest. There was a chill in the air that Roseline had never noticed before. Earlier events had left Roseline unsettled. For the past month, murders had been taking place . . . gruesome murders. All of the victims had identical injuries on their bodies but they were like nothing Roseline or her watcher had ever seen. The wounds on the dead were not typical vampire marks, nor were they the marks of a werewolf. The victims had not come back from the grave, they stayed dead.
Not being able to find what had been doing this to innocent people was really getting under Roseline’s skin. She had made it somewhat of an obsession to catch this psychotic killer, rather he was a demon or man, Roseline didn’t care. She would stop him!
Roseline had followed the killer’s body trail for weeks. Currently, the gory trail led to a dark cave near the edge of the royal grounds. Several corpses had been found near the mouth of this cave and Roseline had a hunch that was not a coincidence.
Warning her watcher to remain outside of the cave, Roseline preceded into the side of the mountain. Immediately she knew she had found her man, or at least his home. Bodies littered the floor and bones lie strewn about. Half way into the depths of this makeshift mausoleum, Roseline heard a dreadful scream coming from the entrance of the cave.
Reaching the exit of the cave, her worst fears were confirmed. Not two feet away from her laid the pummeled body of her watcher. Hunched over the slain man was a creature unlike anything Roseline had ever laid her eyes on. This monster was more man than beast. His size alone nearly doubled Roseline’s five foot four inch frame. His pale skin was riddled with purple veins, his mouth filled with blood-covered dagger sharp teeth.
Without hesitation, Roseline attacked this murderer that she had been relentlessly hunting for nights on end.
Roseline could handle the nightly death at her own hand to the already un-dead beast that she was forcibly pitted against but the loss of her only companion was something she could not bear.
She attacked the beast with all of her strength. Steak in hand, Roseline plunged her fist at the creature’s heart. To her surprise, she made direct contact on her first attempt. Perhaps this beast had not been as strong as she had been anticipating.
Unfortunately, he was as strong as she had feared. Roseline’s steak shattered on his chest into a dozen splinters of useless kindling. Grabbing the slayer by her neck, the beast ripper her from the ground and held her at his face level. Before the slayer could launch a retaliation, the beast gored her directly through her rib cage with a large spike that had projected from his arm.
Numb with pain, Roseline reached up to the creature’s arm and took hold of the skewer that was still in her side. Pushing herself away from the beast, she swiftly removed her body from the sharp object and removed it from the monster’s arm with a quick, bone breaking, action. The pain of the broken bone forced the monster to drop Roseline to the ground. Before she landed on the earth, Roseline thrust the creatures own sharp appendage into the bottom of his chin.
Landing hard onto the cold ground, she laid silent for a moment to insure the creature was dead. After a moment of silence Roseline managed to get herself to her feet.
Pausing near her watchers body she stopped to reflect on the past eight years of being a warrior and also to reflect on the past twenty-four years of her life. This man that she had known sense early childhood was gone, taken from her, as were her parents. Roseline had nothing, no one.
As she walked through the forest, wound stinging in the cold air, she wondered if her fate was at all similar to that of the slayers that had fallen before her. Was the true meaning of being a slayer not only to rid the world of the vampires and demons but to also live a life of solitude and loss.
After walking for what seemed like an eternity, roseline reached the entrance to the royal cemetery where her parents graves had been placed.
Roseline sluggishly limped to her parents headstones, marked by a statue of an angel.
There on the ground, with her parents at either side of her, Roseline closed her eyes, just for a moments rest she though. Clutching her locket in one hand and her mother’s journal in the other, she took her last breath.
Dead at the young age of twenty-four, this woman would finally know peace.
Lying on the ground in front of the cold and monumental head stone was no ordinary woman however. This woman was a champion of the people of England. She was a slayer . . .
Roseline the Vampire Slayer.
Here is my fan fic that was written in the style of Tales of the Slayer. It was written for a customs/fanfic contest over at btvsfigs.
“With this kiss take my blessing: God protect thee!
Into whose hand I give thy life.”
-Henry the VIII-
Scene V
-William Shakespear-
Into whose hand I give thy life.”
-Henry the VIII-
Scene V
-William Shakespear-
History
Name: Roseline Henslow
DOB: 1538
DOD: 1562
1562
A very attractive young woman, aged 24 years, wandered slowly into a cemetery. She moved with the subtle grace of an aging cat, once limber and spry but now slow from to many midnight hunts. Her light hair fell half way to her waist and was riddled with random ringlets of curls. Her soft hair clashed with the tattered garments that it rested on. Her apparel bordered on scandalous. She was obviously a part of high society, or that was what her elegant corset top would have suggested. A casual onlooker might have suspected that this beautiful young girl might be a prostitute but upon closer examination they would have seen that her black skirt, while torn up one side to reveal a leg up to the thigh, was made of the finest French silk. While this mysterious woman’s attire was somewhat startling on its own, it was made even more the ghastly by the fresh blood stains on the front of the girl’s threadbare corset. Any other woman wondering into a graveyard late at nigh wearing nothing but a corset and a tattered skirt, her slip showing at the waist and thigh, would have been immediately arrested and taken to the queen for judgement but something was different about this girl. Aside from the fact that nearly no one was on the streets at four in the morning besides prostitutes and the seedy men that seek their services, no one approached this ailing stranger to help her or chastise her clothing, or lack there of clothing.
As the young woman sluggishly wandered deeper and deeper into the center of the cemetery, her gate began to diminish into something of a limp. Her posture became less feline and more haggard.
Finally reaching her apparently intended destination, the young woman collapsed on the cold earth directly in front of a very large sculpted grave marker. The epitaph was scribed with the family name of Henslow. In the ground at the feet of the monumental angel were two grave markers. Both of the headstones read “survived by a loving daughter” and one of them reading “survived by her husband.” These were the graves of the woman’s parents.
_______________
1538
1538
It was a dark night in more than one meaning of the word.
Not only was it a dreary rain soaked evening but it was also a night of sorrow. On this cold night in March, Nicholas Henslow would gain a daughter but he would also loose a beloved wife. Marilyn Henslow would give life to a daughter, Roseline, but in the process she would forfeit her own. As a result of her mothers passing, Roseline would become very attached to her father.
_______________
Before Roseline’s conception, her parents both served at the castle of king Henry the VIII, her father Nicholas as an officer in the kings guard and her mother as a maiden to princess Mary.
During her childhood, Roseline would pay frequent visits to the palace with her father. The palace servants took to helping raise her while her father was busy guarding the king’s chambers. Roseline took a particular liking to the palace priest, a stout French man named Elyot Guise.
While she was busy during the day roaming the halls of the palace or listening to Elyot tell stories of his past adventures as a missionary all around the world, she would spend every night with her father. He would read to her from her mother’s journal. Throughout her pregnancy, Roseline’s mother kept a journal of her thoughts and feelings. Roseline must have read her mothers journal 5,000 times. She could recite it from cover to cover. The journal was a beautiful leather bound book with a flower burnt into the front of it. Roseline’s father had given it to her mother when he found out she was pregnant and he had again gifted it to Roseline on her fifth birthday. Again on her tenth birthday, her father gave her a locket that had belonged to her mother. The journal and the locket were Roseline’s prize possessions.
_______________
1554
1554
On a night not unlike the night that she was born, tragedy would once again strike. After the death of king Henry, his daughter Mary was named queen. On this cold and dank night, Queen Mary had succumbed to cancer and her half sister Elizabeth was sworn to the thrown.
Elizabeth’s succession to the thrown was not taken lightly because of Elizabeth’s intentions to rule over the catholic land as a protistan. The people rose up against the queen in a gory clash of religion. Elizabeth’s soldiers won the fight against her subjects but not before many of the royal guards had been killed.
Roseline received word of her father’s death from Elyot. Elyot also brought news of his dismissal from the queen’s council. He told her that he had to leave immediately and that he wanted her to come with him. Still in a state of shock and grief, she agreed to go with Elyot. Roseline and Elyot left Elizabeth’s palace amidst a sea of dead guards and peasants.
Once away from the palace, safe in the surrounding woods, the pair took shelter in one of the queen’s abandoned cottages.
The next morning Elyot told Roseline that he had another one of his stories for her. Realizing that Roseline was still grieving her father, Elyot felt it unkind to do what he was about to do but it was necessary.
The story that he unfolded before her was the most far fetched tale Roseline had ever heard. Had the story been told to her by someone other that Elyot, she would have immediately dismissed it as a fairy’s tale but she trusted Elyot and she knew that he would not spin her such a yarn at a time such as this unless there was some heir of credibility to it.
Acknowledging that her calling as a slayer could not have come at a worse time, Elyot still insisted that Roseline start her training immediately.
Elyot did not hold back anything. Roseline’s training was very rigorous. The dainty frame that was Roseline before her training had begun a rapid transformation into a strong body adorned with sleek muscles. Roseline’s swift transformation made Elyot’s story even more believable. Roseline was no longer the meek daughter of a palace guard, after a few short weeks of training she had become a strong warrior of the people.
Night after night Roseline and Elyot would stalk the local villages, killing vampires and various other creatures that terrorized the fogy nights of Elizabethan England.
Roseline had not found one creature that she could not defeat.
_______________
1562
Unfortunately, death and tragedy had become a theme in Roseline’s life.
At the age of twenty-four, Roseline was a seasoned killer. An activity that had once set such a fear into her had now become a professional, systematic duty that she could execute quickly and stealthy without an ounce of the apprehension that had at first held her back.
It had been years sense Roseline was unable to protect unsuspecting prey from a blood hungry predator but one particular fall night was different from the rest. There was a chill in the air that Roseline had never noticed before. Earlier events had left Roseline unsettled. For the past month, murders had been taking place . . . gruesome murders. All of the victims had identical injuries on their bodies but they were like nothing Roseline or her watcher had ever seen. The wounds on the dead were not typical vampire marks, nor were they the marks of a werewolf. The victims had not come back from the grave, they stayed dead.
Not being able to find what had been doing this to innocent people was really getting under Roseline’s skin. She had made it somewhat of an obsession to catch this psychotic killer, rather he was a demon or man, Roseline didn’t care. She would stop him!
Roseline had followed the killer’s body trail for weeks. Currently, the gory trail led to a dark cave near the edge of the royal grounds. Several corpses had been found near the mouth of this cave and Roseline had a hunch that was not a coincidence.
Warning her watcher to remain outside of the cave, Roseline preceded into the side of the mountain. Immediately she knew she had found her man, or at least his home. Bodies littered the floor and bones lie strewn about. Half way into the depths of this makeshift mausoleum, Roseline heard a dreadful scream coming from the entrance of the cave.
Reaching the exit of the cave, her worst fears were confirmed. Not two feet away from her laid the pummeled body of her watcher. Hunched over the slain man was a creature unlike anything Roseline had ever laid her eyes on. This monster was more man than beast. His size alone nearly doubled Roseline’s five foot four inch frame. His pale skin was riddled with purple veins, his mouth filled with blood-covered dagger sharp teeth.
Without hesitation, Roseline attacked this murderer that she had been relentlessly hunting for nights on end.
Roseline could handle the nightly death at her own hand to the already un-dead beast that she was forcibly pitted against but the loss of her only companion was something she could not bear.
She attacked the beast with all of her strength. Steak in hand, Roseline plunged her fist at the creature’s heart. To her surprise, she made direct contact on her first attempt. Perhaps this beast had not been as strong as she had been anticipating.
Unfortunately, he was as strong as she had feared. Roseline’s steak shattered on his chest into a dozen splinters of useless kindling. Grabbing the slayer by her neck, the beast ripper her from the ground and held her at his face level. Before the slayer could launch a retaliation, the beast gored her directly through her rib cage with a large spike that had projected from his arm.
Numb with pain, Roseline reached up to the creature’s arm and took hold of the skewer that was still in her side. Pushing herself away from the beast, she swiftly removed her body from the sharp object and removed it from the monster’s arm with a quick, bone breaking, action. The pain of the broken bone forced the monster to drop Roseline to the ground. Before she landed on the earth, Roseline thrust the creatures own sharp appendage into the bottom of his chin.
Landing hard onto the cold ground, she laid silent for a moment to insure the creature was dead. After a moment of silence Roseline managed to get herself to her feet.
Pausing near her watchers body she stopped to reflect on the past eight years of being a warrior and also to reflect on the past twenty-four years of her life. This man that she had known sense early childhood was gone, taken from her, as were her parents. Roseline had nothing, no one.
As she walked through the forest, wound stinging in the cold air, she wondered if her fate was at all similar to that of the slayers that had fallen before her. Was the true meaning of being a slayer not only to rid the world of the vampires and demons but to also live a life of solitude and loss.
After walking for what seemed like an eternity, roseline reached the entrance to the royal cemetery where her parents graves had been placed.
Roseline sluggishly limped to her parents headstones, marked by a statue of an angel.
There on the ground, with her parents at either side of her, Roseline closed her eyes, just for a moments rest she though. Clutching her locket in one hand and her mother’s journal in the other, she took her last breath.
Dead at the young age of twenty-four, this woman would finally know peace.
Lying on the ground in front of the cold and monumental head stone was no ordinary woman however. This woman was a champion of the people of England. She was a slayer . . .
Roseline the Vampire Slayer.
_______________
The End
The End