- = + = -
A death without the spill of blood,
A stretch away from battle’s mud.
To witness an oath broken, to hear a lie told,
From a little boy who once thought himself bold,
The tale of a soldier who would not grow old,
From a youth who could be so easily controlled.
A coward's death, yet still unfitting,
A traitor's end, yet still submitting.
Once upon a time, in a land of war,
A boy on his knees, another vow swore,
Prayers on emptiness, prayers washed ashore,
But it didn't matter; what more could he ask for?
A clove of poison in his beer,
A final word no one would hear.
How lucky was he, in his mother's love,
A homeland and it's home thereof,
Stars, cloth and a commander's glove,
Behold; his gaze, set above.
A single crime...
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From her perch in the rented wagon, Cieli could see nothing but grass. It reached over the simple dirt road, brushing the edges of their transport. Her and her company, a yet unnamed group of mercenaries, were on their way back to the stone towers of Unta’aslur after a successful job. The object of their desire was securely fastened in the rear of the wagon, and nothing was left to but travel. It was still some days until they reached the jungles, and any danger would be visible for miles around. In theory, anyway. But for now, it was time for some well-earned rest.
Cieli lazed in the rear of the wagon, two of her peers on either side of her. They were currently engaged in some card game or another, and a lively debate regarding...
"ABOUT BACK!"
The sergeant ordered,
"AMBUSH POSITION"
The sergeant ordered,
"ABOUT RIGHT"
The sergeant ordered,
and the Cielothar complied
This was the first drill the Imperialised Nelfin had undertook;
to comply was necessary,
to succeed was a requirement to advance
The Cielothar breathed, and blinked, as the patrol began
As his eyes opened, they were met with his commanding officer pointing the barrel of what seemed like a cannon to a woman exiting the sewer, on account of her eyes
As he blinked once more, he recalled, he had flung himself off a ledge in pursuit of this creature
In the next moment of recollection, he was cuffing the stranger, a smile of adoration plastered over his lips
He felt it, this smile, it persisted
It...
Sunflower
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Gentle, warm gusts of wind paraded about the small, broken-down farm. Almost like a routine, it twirled ever so gracefully with the wheat, then pulled the loose, brittle leaves from the trees. Just behind the home whose walls were filled with mold and bugs lay a field of sunflowers, all facing towards the blistering sun that battered the windowless back of the home. The thin, peeling paint only further flaked away as the sunlight had by now damaged it beyond repair.
A young man tended to the fields, no older than fifteen. Despite his scar-ridden skin, he was clearly just a boy; nothing more, yet nothing less. The boy’s lion tail whisked behind him as he walked, upright and prideful, wearing a...
Frieden und Segen
The Modern Pontiffs
By Dictation of His Holiness, Reverend Jakob Hendrik Ludevar
Scribed by Brother-Curates Jan Pieter Schanserd & Hugo Neri
PREFACE
During my tenure as the Reverend of Hawthe, I have seen many different High Reverends come and go, some of them I have known, some I’ve never heard of, but one thing is certain. They are all notable persons with exceptional personalities, which oddly enough has never been recorded, until now. This document has been penned to capture the childhood, life and reign of the recent High Reverends. I cherish the idea of a Synod with a history that has been written down, to allow our young Curates and even future Exarchs to read and observe and learn what the past leaders of...
“I, Cesar of the House Martinez have committed a crime of the soul.”
- From Cesar Martinez’s confession to the White Order
…
The water blanketed his naked feet as the waves made their dedicated attempt to swallow the coast. Foam gathered between his toes as the water receded from the shore, brazing itself for its next charge. It was a silent day at the beaches of Farah’deen.
It had been a lonely year.
Blonde hairs glittered under the intense desert sun, making a dull mimicry of the floating amber orb. His pale skin had started to pinken as it burnt under the light of the celestial object. There were no clouds in the heavens. Still, with every breath that he took, a bone-white smoke would offend the blue sky. The opium offered him...
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==══━━━━━━━━══==
Thirteen years ago…
══━━━━══
Danny never quite realized how much he hated the ceiling until it was spinning above him. He didn’t even see the punch that had sent him reeling to the oaken floor, but he sure as hell could still feel it. Two marks from the man’s ring finger just below his right cheekbone, by the feel of it, probably gonna bruise in the morning. He’d been down for a good fifteen minutes now, face blooded with a red trickle still flowing down his cheek. No one had bothered to get him back up again, by now they all knew what a lethal blow looked like and this was far from it.
And so he lay there, staring up at the ceiling wondering how he’d been a fool enough to get himself into...
((OOC note: This is a two part series since I couldn't combine two different stories. Before you start, Velruin is Connak. Also, this takes place on April 14th. Feel free to respond ICly or OOCly if you see it fit. As I always say: If you feel that the weight of this is too much to handle, please leave. For those who think they can brave through, please continue as you have been warned.))
Music
The Return, Part 2
It was just another night and Velruin would be in his house. He'd think he'd be alone so he spoke.
"They have my name, they clipped my ears, they know where I work, they labeled me as a jacobist and they think they can contain me." Is what Connak says to the four walls of his bedroom. He begins to pace about his room as...
A tune.
I trudged along a lonesome forest path, using my small dagger to cut through the ragged brambles and grasping a few to snack on as I passed by- making my usual missage to the Fae Shrine far beyond the reach of Duntot’s town walls, deep along the overgrown and weathered cobbles and toward the Grove of the Gallant, a fabled site upon which the hero Gaelfrey was said to have come to rest as his adventures came to an end. I cut my way through one final layer of brush and bramble before stumbling into the peaceful site, a place where the sounds of silence rang loud in your ears and hardly a bird sang from the trees above. Tugging my skirting free from a bramble that pleaded me to stay, I finally stepped into the Grove more properly...
At the edge of the Holy City, there was dense, thick underbrush, that was the home of whatever beastly creatures you could imagine. The moonlight and starlight combined, illuminating the dark forest, as not a single hint of wildlife could be seen, but something emerged from the shadows. Something, stepping through the underbrush as not a single creature dared to stir from their hiding places. It looked like a man, or so it seemed at first glance.
The man was tall and could almost be mistaken for a mythical creature or wildlife himself. His goat-like legs carrying him through the tall grass, his form giant with broad shoulders and tall stature. As he walked through the forest, the furs of his clothing keeping him warm from a passing...
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Narration - Coming Soon!
Trigger Warning: Light gore, torture, and verbal abuse
“Why couldn’t I break him?” Kabili whispered to himself.
The Kathar sat on the stone ground of the tip-top of the Red Spire. He was alone and allowed to explore his own thoughts. He looked out at the mountain close by and watched the sunset. Kabili sunk into the ocean of his mind and swam down to the earliest memory he had of torturing someone. He thought of the man who taught him and could hear his voice clear in his head.
--
“The trick to breaking someone’s mind is by assaulting them on a physical and mental level, son,” Erran started, “Physical pain weakens the mind. And allows you to slip through the...
Standing impassively above the open steppe of a plain yet unnamed by man stood a mountain, built tall with gray rock. It did not reach so high as to crest the heavens, but it stood at a respectable grandeur, its jagged top crowned with a thin dusting of snow. When one looks up at the sky and stares into its blue depths, they do not first think of the fact that air has weight. But it does, vacuous and empty as it is. Stacking boundlessly into the distance upon infinite pillars of itself, it bears down on roofs and shoulders, on the boughs of trees in summer and winter, infinite in quantity but nonexistent in substance.
Once, there was quiet. Soft tones spread in their hushed whispers through the heart of the land, redoubling the rock in...
Final Acceptance
(Hey, this is a snippet of my characters turning, from isladar to an Alias bloodline. Hope you like it! First time story writing so tips are appreciated)
Jason was kneeled down, lashings on his back and blood trickling down his arms. As he looked up before him stood the man he would one day call family. Achranack, standing with his devices in one hand, ready to lash and destroy his body further. If he failed to comply. Jason, with his pride still in tact spoke "You won't get me to break. I still have the leverage. I still am the only one here who can make shit for you." Achranack only laughed at his words, raising his hand and cracking the whip on his chest. "You are going to be family. The Shade family. Now...
The soldiers left in early Spring, when the air was clear and the rains short. They returned amid the heavy snows of Winter. In that time, the trees had bloomed and died again, the birds had come and gone, and the rabbits nestled down. And my Lisse celebrated her seventh birthday. What little money I had, I spent lavishly on the occasion. She much enjoyed her new gown, I hope. When the soldiers left, she made a great sport of trying to count their number. But, young as she was, she could count no higher than two hundred and sixteen. There were many more besides that. They rode proudly on snorting stallions, who nickered ferociously as they marched along in neat orders. They gleamed in the pre-summer daylight; swords and lances, helms...
From the journals of Marius Viarma
I huddled close to the fire, trying to take the edge off the winter bite. Around me, other recruits milled about with their own attempts to stay warm. Androse spit out a hunk of tabacca next to me- his method for heat.
"Marius, you look cold. Take some." He offered his bacca- which I politely refused. "I wouldn't touch 'at stuff... I don't get paid enough t' cover an addiction."
Androse shrugged and doubled the amount in his own mouth, chewing ferociously. I stamped my feet as the Commander took his spot upon the wooden stage in the training ground. He congratulated us for volunteering; commended us for our bravery; extolled our virtues. I found it all to be very melancholic...
(Hey y'all! This is now Part 2 of the Crimson Lock, where this mainly explains Lathlaeril's turning, how it affected him, etc. And I will do my best to try and specify why it's called what it is, aka, The Crimson Lock. I will put as a Note afterwards in case none of you got it and specify my intentions. As always, thank you all for the support, I've heard from many people how much they enjoy this. Though remember, if it ever gets too much, please do not read it. Again, thank you all and hope you enjoy!)
Lathlaeril's eyes widened, finally realizing what he had just said and done. His gaze traveled around the room, watching the relatives cry out with joy and relief with the answer. It was more worry-some at the fact he couldn't see their...
(Hey y'all! This is Part 2 of The Turning, I did indeed let it be a series. As always, if this ever gets too much for you in any way, shape, or form, do see yourself to not reading it. Thank you, and hope you enjoy!)
Lathlaeril's heart seemed to skip a beat with the man's words, skin paling even more. His eyes glossed over, he felt as if he couldn't move, he wanted to disappear, he wanted to escape. The sweat at his forehead from before had returned once more, but more heavier. His eyes squeezed shut once more, a small terrified yelp escaping his throat, but it was choked, "Velethuil! Please! My Elder, you have to forgive me! Please do not do this to your poor Grandson! I am still not ready!" Lath cried out, the grip on his shoulder...
(( Dreams of Flora takes place on the night of April 7, 308. Mares of Flora takes place on the night of April 9, 308.
This is my first time writing and sharing my lore stories with the forums; I hope you enjoy them. ))
Dreams of Flora
As the night came to a close inside an estate filled with silence and dreams, there remained one who stayed awake. There was one disturbance of the silence that remained beyond the departure of recent company and guests; beyond even the sound of the wind blowing through the many trees in the surroundings. It was the carefully soft and melodic sound of a certain young elf as she gently held the soft petal of a rose by the building’s exit.
. . .
She softly whispered the words of a lullaby in this...
(Hey y'all! This is my first Lore Story so, so sorry if it's not written well. I don't know if this could turn into a series but possibly would. However, with certain parts, if it becomes too much, please do not continue reading if it makes you uncomfortable, etc. As always, hope you enjoy.)
It was quite a normal day within the Dread Isles for Lathlaeril, simply helping around the big house his family had owned. They weren't rich but they had some wealth in certain matters, just because everyone worked. If anything, it was a bit... boring, that day.
One of Lathlaeril's little sister's were running around, Naevys, who was doing all sorts of jibberish that Lath didn't understand. He finally put down the rag to look her way, "What are...
Down they streets march, armored men with skin as white as moonlight.
They paint the stone red, invoke fear in the ones who disobey them.
Ashen grey maidens they take in their arms, never to be seen again.
And I here I am, walking down the streets of Paarlaathar.
Waiting to be taken as well, by those moonlight soldiers.
Their eyes burn red with fury and violence.
They want us to be contained, to be their loyal subjects.
The ashen skinned rebellions, all cut down.
We’re just birds in a cage, awaiting to be freed from our confinement.
If you like it or not, believe or cannot not fathom, we’re all chained down.
Crushed by their oppression.
Drowning in dark red, icy cold... water.
Music.
------------------------------
“I mean, I’ve always wanted to tell my story. But how can I do that when I don’t even know where it began?”
'~~~?'
“Sure. I know who my mom is, but there’s still a bit of lingering doubt about my dad.”
'~~~~. ~~ ~~ ~~~~.'
“He had green eyes, you have green eyes- Void, Eleonora has green eyes too!”
'~~~! ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~ ~~~~ ~~!'
“Mine are blue, that’s what! That’s why it doesn’t add up.”
'~~~~~. ~~~~~ ~~ ~~~~ ~~~ ~~.'
“I’m not making a big deal out of this, this is important! Why can’t you understand?”
'~~~! ~~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~! ~~~.'
“What? You can’t send me away, not so soon! I don’t want to go to school for wives, I want to become something better!”
---
To my Leutz-Vixian Wonder,
I hope that our time...
⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙
⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙
The night was rather silent, minus the sound of the occasional chirping of crickets, and the footsteps of late-night wanderers on the street. One of the few that decided to take a late-night stroll was ignoring the sounds and voices of everything, his crimson eye remaining forward. Before he knew it, he found himself in the forest, his hands casually falling from his pockets. He had decided to no longer cover his right hand with a glove or bandages, revealing the branding of the Crimson Lion crest.
“I see this branding as a promise now. Perhaps a reminder that the enemy, him, is still out there. And this is a promise that someday, one of us, maybe both, can change that.”
He recalled...
In a world ripe with war, betrayal, lust, agony and profit - do morals make the man or do the manipulation of the elements? This is an easy question, depending on your composure as a person and speaks a lot about your morals and in question, intelligence to view the world. On one hand, you have the sheer beauty of living; the ability to look into the valley and see the sun shining softly across the trees as they wave gently from the wind unaware of the chaos that runs the world. Birds tweet, deer call and the bear's roar in the distance - sheer beauty from the natural and constant order of life itself. On the other, the profitable nature of the wilderness. Beautiful trees in the distance would look even better on a house, the deer could...
@Ryria [SUBMISSION FOR A MOMENT IN TIME]
A smoldering wreckage remained of the grand halls of the Solifuge Society, all torch-light being exchanged for embers that held a dull glow. Stood within the center of the unstable hall was the self-proclaimed Lich Lord of the Deep, their movement slow and reverent as they now traversed an ashy graveyard. Having once stored a wealth of knowledge, it now played host to the fires of hate: one that burned in the books and in the Lich's eyes. It was not the loss of the library, however, that put a great burden on their hollow core.
It was the empty, smoking bed that lay smoking before them.
Waddling through the darkness, the Lich Lord carried in their grip a pilfered pile of papers that they...
The Knight struck left, and the Paladin struck right.
Ever their blades clashed in open air, greyed steel against burnished silver.
The Knight raised his blade with a practised desperation, his movements born of nerve and regimen as he stood alone against the Paladin- the exhausted rockwall against a rising tide. With every blow that the Knight landed, thrusts with the precision of a surgeon drew the Knight back as he struggled to maintain his footing upon the ashen earth, digging his heels into that which was scarred by void, battle, and time.
But he was not dead, yet.
Rippling seas of steel surrounded the Knight and his opponent, a moving mass of man and elf in combat that taunted his peripheral vision; certain death would be sure...
Music
((OOC note: When "Velruin" or "Vel" is said, please note that it is Connak Fayden. As I always say: If you feel that the weight of this is too much to handle, please leave. For those who think they can brave through, please continue as you have been warned.))
A Moment in Time: A Flashback like None Other
It seemed like a normal day for Velruin as he worked behind the bar of the Nook and Cranny inn. He was with two friends and an acquaintance when someone brought up the recent clicker attack. Velruin would listen for a moment before finally speaking up.
"Well, it can't be as bad as when the meteor crashed near Petal Court back in October. I remember that day like anything else."
"What happened on that day Vel?" One of his...
Hey! This is my take on the writing competition ‘A Moment In Time’. The intro and the epilogue sections are both a brief recollection of my character’s, Morgan’s, solo interaction with a clicker that happened on March 15th. The middle section is a venture into some projections of Morgan’s mind and conscience rather than actual events. Colour coding in a spoiler below to decrease confusion.
My thanks to @Magivore for inspiration for this little piece
Click for ambience! <3
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Greygate was about to fall, it seemed. People scattered from the bridge - a charter ran in one direction, another in different. Some escorted nobles, some their own lives. In this moment, Morgan’s armour-clad, raggedy-breathed figure clambered on to...
“It was like I saw your soul in the notes of music.”
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“It was beautiful.”
This story was created in light of @Ryria's Writing Contest! Instead of describing a singular event and memory, I decided to write about a string of events that's been happening in my character's life at current. I won't say much more regarding the things that have happened, but I hope you'll enjoy it!
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Moment I
Taendross’s breath scorched her throat with every inhale she took as she listened to the conversation at hand. They sat within the ruins, soggy leaves covering the ground and loose gray stones covered in mold and dust rested near their...
‘Music. That is what I can’t hear.’
There is no melody, no harmony, no song for here There are no trees for wind to billow through to make a tune, no sight of vibrancy with flowers or foliage, and any voice from the soil has been stamped out without another thought.
This silence of life deafens. It deafens all who touch these grounds, whether it be their first or not, whether they have learned to close out the noise of smoke, ash, and finality or to accept it and have it become one with you.
‘I can’t hear. I don’t want to. From the galloping approach to the tearing of their flesh, I have to take it in. Every last bit of it with my remaining senses, because… I cannot hear.’
‘But even if I can’t hear, I know I’m...
“Ser Alexander! You are needed!”
The sounds of armor hitting the Cathedral floor would be heard, a time before the newest evils had arrived within the city. The Bloodcast Knight stepped forward, removing his helmet to show his sea eyes and auburn hair. He’d bow his head in respect to the Reverend Mother in front of him.
“Something wrong, Reverend Mother?”
Mother Henriche had turned his life around from a horrible and angry child into a true man of the Spirit once more. He couldn’t completely understand how she managed to do such a task with a man like himself, but he knew that he could completely believe in the Reverend Mother to guide him upon a better path than one of anger.
“There has been rumored that Void worshipping has been...
Shortly after the event had occurred, a man by the name of Alaric Keen sat in the old premises of the Golden Willow tavern, his mind and body only feeling eternal melancholy. He couldn’t forget what had just happened; the memory had only kept returning. Although the exact format of the memory was slightly distorted, the idea of it remained the same.
“Clickers!”
The many guards and mercenaries held up in the Mercenary Keep unsheathed their weapons to fight the clicker which had only appeared moments before. Together, the forces attacked the demonic creature until it disappeared into its unknown shadows. The guards left the mercenary keep shortly after, leaving the Kreiguard company alone in the keep.
“Kommandant, Offizier, they forgot...
"You smell like something crawled into the sewers and died. When's the last time you bathed?"
There was no warm water in the house. The castles always had an abundance of hot water, but here, in this small slum dwelling shared between at least three or four people, the water was only cold. He wasn't sure it would matter, whether warm water would remind him just the same, but he knew this would. He dreaded it.
As the tub filled, he pondered his situation. Was this a dramatic irony? A play where he is the star, and the only one unaware of the underlying theme? He was never the star, he thought. No. He had always been a background character. He had always been the sidekick at best, and a face in the crowd most of the time. Whether he was...
As Lym Mirarel began to pass, his eyes showed before him pictures of the heavens.
He saw his life’s dreams pass before his eyes. Flying through the heavens, Lym approached the planet of Oxoron. He felt himself descend upon the surface of the planet, seeing what he always believed he had seen on the planet. Lakes of blue, and white puffy clouds, and an environment hospitable to life. As he walked around the planet, marveling at the unique and alien. He saw life comparable to the life on Aloria, but somehow twisted and different.
He soon approached a strange structure. Written on the walls of the inside were the extent of the history of the Meraic, written in their old tongue. He came upon the central computer of the structure, and...
The interior of the usually-empty tavern opposite the stronghold was filled with faces of many origin today- not just Kreiguard. Bloodied and battled men and women chanted songs on typical genevaud nature, clanking classes and laughing jeers as the bards played a heart tune- one could perhaps even mistake their Kommandant- the one who had led this victory among them in their glee. The man was pressed in a booth with the officer cabinet- all too drunk to cohesively speak lest remember the words of each other the next day.
His own soberness troubled him greatly, scurrying out of the booth with small chuckles as his officer’s patted his back firm, offering to pay for his drink- he wasn’t after any of that- no. Instead he made his way...
“Mama, why do people hate me?”
The young Relveth sat in the corner of the hut, his mother sewing something in the chair next to him. Elyssiel looked up from the embroidery to focus on her son, an expression of pity on her face.
“Child, it’s alright,” she softly said, trying to sound reassuring, “people don’t hate you, they just… they don’t understand you, don’t know how special you are.” She watched as Relveth’s gaze fell to the floor, his arms clenched around his legs. Setting her work aside on a nearby table, Elyssiel crouched and sat down next to Relveth, a hand coursing through his hair.
“W-when I walk into the village, some of the kids call me ‘Kathar scum’ and ‘grey-skin’, tell me to go back to somewhere I’ve never been,”...
This is my entry for @Ryria's A Moment in Time contest
A Bar Between It All
Ambiance:
keep going keep moving keep
Joseph Marini blinked. The disorder of his surroundings had slowed in their momentum, present issues dimming in importance a second at a time. Time stretched. Screaming voices faded.
In front of him, nothing.
The first thing he had noticed was the sudden lack of pain. Wounds that had stung at the brush of his own clothes were nowhere to be found, his skin clean in its entirety. There was little to feel anywhere. No wind, no temperature, nothing. He hung in a space devoid of any sensation, his fingers unable to touch.
Ahead, a present darkness stretched into infinity. Each step took him a little further into...
♪♫♪
In the current days, most citizens of the holy city would meet their end through the disaster that would be named ‘The Clicker Crisis’. Horrid creatures from the gaping abyss that was no doubt connected to the Void poured out en masse, wreaking havoc in their wake and destroying many years of accomplishments produced by the proud Regalians. And whilst most died fighting for their city’s wellbeing and faced the creatures head-on, others were not granted such an honourable end to their lives.
One of such individuals was Valan Hallev. The once renowned cook had been reduced to nothing more than a sickly heap of frail bones and wrinkled skin. His thin legs had proven unable to support the man and had doomed him to spend his last days...
This is for the Moment in Time competition hosted by @Ryria!
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a __t h r e a d__ o f __l o v e__a n d__l i g h t
A t h o u s a n d years ago, the gods died in a country far,far away.
She wondered if it had been anything like this. Stone and wood digging painfully into her flesh, piled upon her too high and too great to even attempt to move from under it, her only option to grit her teeth and wait for what would come. Debris blurred the grey horizon, without even the promise of dawn to either bring her salvation or end the pain that pressed into her stomach and inched toward her heart.
She felt blood, hot against her skin, trickle down her leg, which ached and cried out for supplication, begged...