Ophelia Tyrannian woke up in her dark room at the Tyrannian estate with the windows covered with curtains, suggesting neither night nor day from the outside. Her head was already swelling by the time she managed to open her eyes. She immediately closed them when she awoke, regretting the fact she even dared come awake. As the Holy Spirit or fate would have it, she could not return to the bliss of sleep. She rose from her bed in damp clothing and her body completely overheated from the blankets. That did not much matter to the thirst creeping into her thoughts, to which she responded by keeping her eyes closed and walking over table across from the door to drink some water that was left by Verona. The thirst was satisfied, but the...
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A lack of rain had made digging the grave hard work. Before he started digging the boy chose a willow tree next to a creek to shelter him from the sun, after an hour the shade retreated leaving him exposed to the harsh summer heat. Sweat and humidity caused his shirt to stick to him and a smell started to creep from Ser Rodrick which made the task that much grueling. Another hour passed before the grave was dug low enough to keep the wolves from digging up their rotten meal.
Ser Brandon sighed an exhausted sigh as he looked down on the blanket hiding the foul smell. After a surreal moment staring down at the cloth he shook his head and started to drag the body into its new resting place. By then the crows gathered. The blanket...
Maybe it's time to let the old ways die
Maybe it's time to let the old ways die
Milo ran a hand through his ginger curls in an attempt to tame them, being somewhat tossled by the late summer winds, flowing free around his face. Dark bags rested beneath his eyes and yawns seemed to be constantly attacking the young man.
It takes a lot to change a man
Hell, it takes a lot to try
Maybe it's time to let the old ways die
Leaning back Milo let his hair fall from his face, eyes gazing out from the tree he sat in at the people entering and exiting the tavern he was watching.
Nobody knows what awaits for the dead
Nobody knows what awaits for the dead
Most importantly he was looking for Amber. She had disappeared without a trace one day...
This happened during the Season Two of Treason Noble Progression, and was never posted due to my exodus. I decided to post it now to not waste the time put into it, whether it was a good read or not. Enjoy.
(The Progression): https://forums.massivecraft.com/threads/season-two-of-treason.74819/
Darkness, a complete abyss of all feeling. No sound, no sight, no touch, no taste, and no smell. An abyss of nothing, would be all Harric van der Veer could feel. For how long he was in this abyss would be unknown, but the first thing to bring him out of the Void would be the itching of grass at his hands and neck. Seems he’s on the ground. More feeling begins to come back, a warm spring breeze, and the feeling of armor upon him and a...
"All I see is your lies.."
"We've been through hell and back so who are you
To make me feel attacked?
I've found myself beginning to change
I'm turning into someone I can't take
I thought we could put it all to rest
Let the past go but I can't forget
Aaa-ha-ha."
Rosana and Saff were standing at opposite ends of a meadow. On Saff's side - flowers were dead, it was gray and deathly like. The only thing that showed colour was his green eyes - and the women at his feet praising him.. Oddly looking like his wives and countless lovers.. However his gaze was trained on Rosana - the one thing he seemed to want but couldn't have nor reach.
Rosana's side depicted in high volume of colors of florals, from Roses to lavender, to...
Themesong: Falling inside the black - Skillet
My biggest fear...
Warning label: Violence, Death, and Angst below. You were warned!
“Mother Death - may you never come to the day when you take my beloved away.”
It was midnight and Rosana placed her head down on the cot. Letting herself think for a few moments until sleep overtook her and her dreams began. It began sweet enough with her sitting on a particularly grassy patch of land. A smile forming on her face - that started to fade as the plants started to wither, and it became darker - fear going in her eyes as she saw Paeral stand tall on a ledge alone - sliding up to the ledge beside him - was when the voice ranged out. “You’ll kill him.” Shock crept in her eyes, his voice was...
"Well I'll stay honest, you do the same."
Themesong:
"I'm gonna let you in on a secret, I'm so afraid
Of letting my skeletons out, so I bottle them in
But I know it's gonna get out in the worst way, so I gave in
Now I'm gonna be an open book for you to read"
Rosana was standing in the middle of the room screaming at her father - age 13. Tears streaming down her face as it was the same fight again. Always of him drinking - spending there regals wrong. Him spending his regals he earned to get alcohol instead of feeding them. He was yelling at her he didn't need a lecture from his daughter. So instead she screamed at him. "I NEED YOU HERE AS A FATHER! I WANT SOMETHING TO REMEMBER YOU BY! NOT JUST DARK MEMORIES OF A FATHER WHO DOESN'T...
The High Reverend’s Recent Travels
____________________________________________________________________
The sound of the galloping horses could be heard throughout the Anglian Countryside as a carriage was pulled along the dirt paths which lead towards the sparse settlements within the plains. The light of the moon dimly illuminated the crop which swayed as the fast moving cart swept a light gust due to its speed. Inside the intricately crafted carriage sat the elderly Aelfric, adorning a black coat, his legs covered by a heavy blanket. At his feet, his Anglian Shepherd accompanied him, albeit not very actively, a gentle snore emitted from his snout.
With the call of the coachman, the horses halted in their run at the door of a...
The days grew long in that basement under Allar District. The once mighty Undercro sat there, having a small punching bag secretly installed above her bed so she had something better to do than watch her legs regrow. She sat there, a single limb, her gauntlet limb whacked the punching bag every couple of minutes. She was pissed, no beyond that, once she recovered her wrath would be great, though it had to be contained. First on her list would reclaim her status, that shouldn’t be too hard, she thought, it was fabricated anyway. The fucker had no pieces of evidence, nor even the name of the victim, she though, he would be the first to go. But for now, she could do nothing, staring to her reflection of her Black-steel encrusted gauntlet...
Percival clasped the door frame of the pub door as he ambled in. The room was dim, and as the bar was swept by his rather riled up twin a cloud of dust filled the air. The Loyal Leutzman was an old pub, it had ran for a decade, owned by the once Lord Anton Ravenstad. The air wasn't the only thing dusty, a thick layer of faded brown dust littered the place from table to pitcher. The conversation was as equally aged as the old establishment: Percival walked in upon an argument, one over the pub's last period of open door service.
"So what?" Anton spoke with a splutter from his lips as he almost spat his words from his mouth. Arthane sat in a nearby booth face grinning wry as he wound up the old barkeep. "You know I hadn't the choice in...
-=-
=-=
As promised, the visit to the Maritime region of Daen was arranged for and luggage packed. Partially as a novelty, partially for the practicality, Elyon and Cyrillian Aredeth prepare to embark upon an airship for the trip. Elyon spent most of her time staring out below the deck on to the waters or land mass before. Consequently, she also used this as a tool to forget about Cyrillian feeding off any injured crew mate or passenger. These precious opportunities for sustenance were few and far between for the Sanguine, much to his discomfort and painful struggle for control. To the best of his ability he avoids worrying his daughter's head with the matter.
---
After a somewhat long yet comfortable trip, the duo make it to their...
For so many years Milo had forced the memories of playing piano into the back of his mind. Though his fingers yearned to dance across the keys and his voice wished to be accompanied by the light melody of the instrument he refused to give in to them. Of course, he had played a few times since he was younger, but had never thought much of it. Nobody had heard him when he did play either, it was his little secret and he wanted it to stay that way. He missed playing it though, almost as much as he missed playing the guitar or other string instruments, so when he was sitting on the rooftops and spotted a piano through somebody's open window the boy did not hesitate to slip through it and lower his body onto the seat. The muscles in his...
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==+#+==
In the bowels of Greygate, a particular prisoner was taking her stay. Not making a sound, she was staring, dead silent, upwards at the ceiling as holy water rose around her. Like a bedtime story’s villain, the child had the features of a stereotype. Her face was pale, even naturally so, and her black hair framed it so neatly, it was a mystery how it was done so gently despite her chained down her hands. Gleaming up barely in the dark gloom that lingered even in the noble cells, ruby eyes locked onto the nothingness above her as if staring straight up through five floors of stone to the night sky.
Haeddi’s breath was slow as if she was trying to force herself to stay calm, despite the ache in her bones that shouldn’t...
The building bustled and hummed as usual, despite the hour the tavern was still full of people. As the people passed and drank, a jolly air filled the air, laughter and jokes flew through the room like arrows on a battlefield. However, at the bar sat one golden locked girl, drinking from a glass bottle of a light brown liquid. It smelt terrible and burned like fire as it trickled down her throat. As she sat that, she stared off into the distance, through the walls and the fields beyond, she stared to a time much earlier than this one. Back before she had the scars upon her face that would remind her of her dreaded days for the rest of time.
“Annie, Annie come on let’s go already!” Cried a hushed voice. As Annelie, crawling from a...
(So a little bit of context prior. Some people don't seem to understand just how mentally scarred Annie is. So hopefully this can help show the tip of the ice berg.)
A darkness crept upon the office, a soft silence to be interrupted by the light scratch of a pen against paper. A rough and scarred hand lightly grips the base as it guides it across the sheet. “What are you writing, Annie?” Hummed a voice from behind her, its tone was soft and silky, lined with a border of adoration. Finally, the Half-Elf looked up from her paper as she peered over her shoulder to see her. There, standing in the dark of the room, was a tall Avanthar woman. Her raven hair and caramel skin seemed to meld into the darkness, as if it was swallowing her or...
I shoulda known it wouldn't happen 'cus it wasn't right
I shoulda known it cus it happens every god damned time
Milo was so god damn stupid. He shouldn't have thought it would be okay, should have just listened to the voice inside his head, telling him constantly that he wasn't good enough for anyone and that he was just a burden.
Almost thought we could've been something
Almost thought we could have tried, but
It didn't happen so I need you to get out my life
The voice needed to leave but, Milo found some sort of comfort in its presence. It was always there, whether he liked it or not, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.
But the other night I had you in my head, called you on the phone
Want you stealing my time even though I...
Water dripped off the woman’s shorts, running her long fingers over the glossy hair that she had just dipped under the scalding water. She then went to attempt to dry herself off and throw a large nightgown over her head. And busied herself with draining the water and folding clothing in the bathhouse.
A tall, muscular young woman tiptoed his way into the room, peeking into the enclosed pool before turning back with a hitched breath. He blinked for a moment, and sighed, relaxing. As the woman returned to the small changing room, dressed in the lace white nightgown he gifted her with for their anniversary.
The woman halted with her laundry, as she had noticed a tall mirror tucked dusty in the corner. She scooted it out with a loud...
https://open.spotify.com/track/33Fcvwkex4XC2ju0JIRg36?si=uNALGAo3QFe_sq7AnSiWUQ
She cried.
She dreamed of a life worth living, breathing clear air, bonding effortlessly with people she hated before. A life, a good reputation, a family.
But then,
She woke up on the streets. She sat there, twisting dirty fingers through her hair, occasionally humming a tune. Right back where she started.
“Why do they keep me alive if I have nothing left to live for? I’ve tried everything.”
I caught sight of you, blurry and distant. My heart jumped as you hurtled towards me, growing brighter. I wished on you, watching you streak across the sky in a blaze of light, flames dancing at your feet. I wished on you with all my heart, pouring years of sadness and longing into you. And for a moment, just a moment, I swear I saw you change course. My eyes wide, heart lighter than ever, I watched you fall down. Towards me.
In that moment, something changed in me. I felt as though I was there with you, dancing among the stars. Sitting at the center of an inferno raging around us, hurtling towards some unknown location. It felt like home, like I finally belonged.
It must have been a trick of the light. You continued on your path...
Just another day in Regalia, for some people. The typical calling of shop vendors, the birds chirping, the ambient hum of commoners and nobles bonding, all seemed at peace. And it was.
A somewhat large piece of parchment hung exaggerated on the board, covering some other smaller papers. In a dark red, large, drippy print, it stated -
“Spirit help ANYONE who disrespects the Queen.”
OOC Info :
An Old Town Ithanian Queen is rising above, Gathering any and all underrated or neglected commoners or nobles she can. Letter her in the comments to join or reject and respond to the parchment on the board.
The snow was fast, covering every inch of land and dousing all color from the setting while a light and gentle snowfall glittered the air. It was about midday and two sets of footprints flaked the snowy plains that lead into the tundra. Sylas, adorned in his annual hunting gear, was trailing behind and whistling his usual tune as he watched his now one year old Calemberger Beagle, Kindel, trotting through the snow. "Oi, not too far 'head now, Kindel yeh little pup!" the Velheim shouted with a laugh. The pair's goal this weekend was small rodent hunting, Sylas teaching the hound and preparing him to be a fine hunting dog.
In a small area shielded from snow due to a large pine is where Sylas set up camp. A single tent with a fire and...
Elm Underbridge sat in his tavern room papers left about in a piles of ebony and dirtied white.He had the opportunity of a life time, a juicy mouse snapped up into that jaws of a vicious predator.Yet he toiled tirelessly the fear of an opportunity wasted casting boundless shadows of grey and black over the deepest corners of his mind. A trap set, should he wait for his just rewards or let slip those wolves so great and watch as his prey was torn limb from limb.Yet he toiled on a man possessed, this town does not rest for any man much less for an alley cat.
First very short story, tell me what you think.Also there is no way to read to deeply into this.
It was easy to get onto a schedule, and easier still to diverge and go down ninety-two paths, and then wonder where all the time went at two in the morning when the city was asleep.
Maria’s closely-held scheduling began at six thirty, give or take. And the longest shifts were the ones unpaid; often, one thirty meant the ending and some well-deserved sleep for the single mother with work galore.
Six thirty. Dress, make breakfast for the girls.
Seven, wake the girls for the beginning of their day.
Seven thirty, making sure each one is dressed and fed (and hadn’t just dumped their breakfast where the dog would get to it, never mind that the dogs were just ghosts).
Eight, off to P̶a̶p̶a̶ ̶A̶s̶k̶a̶r̶i̶'̶s̶ Auntie Charlie's to watch...
Birds chirped, grass ruffled as a cool breeze passed through the yard. Children’s laughter and singing echoed through the fenced lawn, before being called in. The daughters and sons giggled as they seated themselves at the brightly lit dining table, each mumbling a Unionist prayer of blessing to the tasty and filling beef that was decorated and set before them. A young woman was seated on one front side of the table, a young man seated at the other. They both mimicked the prayer, their words synced as a practice. They then lifted their heads and counted their blessings, taking small and savory bites of the food that was hunted that morning. The young woman smiled, as she was at complete peace. No scary reputations, no incidents, no...
In his dreams, he still had his right arm. Some would say that he is a good man, that there is kindness in his heart, but he himself knew that he would kill another thousands of innocents and even children, if the deal was getting his hand back. Whenever he dreamed, he would see the same thing and be faced with the same kinds of questions. His internalized conflicts would materialize, and lash at him in a futile attempt to shake him to his core, and bring him the reality check that he had seemingly blinded himself to. He would often wake up in the middle of the night, if he had managed to sleep at all, and after a brief scourge of phantom pains, he would remember his handicap, his shameful disability, and in order to survive the night...
ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢs
☀
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
She stepped off that ship as if the dry land had been there for her thousands of times before. It was the start of new beginnings; new outreach, and most importantly, new life. The last time she’d been here was still fresh on her mind. Four, no- five, years ago. Under reigns of terror, and shackles upon the dead. But the past meant nothing now; it was time to turn over a new leaf.
Maria chuckled to herself as she explored the ever-changing city once again, for the self-proclaimed Silver Sea's Banshee had returned to her home.
Though this time without purpose, merely out of grief. Not out of the need for wealth as for the first time, or for vengeance she had satisfied the second. That simply...
Like fluids used to write with, caped in charcoal. The jagged quill, that was formerly submerged under the sheets, once dejected now created presence with azure panache. Emerald green eyes followed the isolated room filled with an assembly of all kinds of precious past relics. Though something in particular stood out from the rest. Chalky, decrepit and auburn: the chest was opened in a single motion by two confidant hands of grey varnish. A single glance was all it took to stir up distant memories, as if they only occurred weeks ago. But these were decades away. Almost a century. Glaring daggers were quite literally weapons of steel, whispering amongst each other, reminiscing about the past gleefully. It was one weapon specifically that...
It was an overcast day, cold and grey and still. Eerie, to say the least. But it only got creepier for bystanders. A pale, thin young woman rested on the cold, hard cement just in front of the notice board in New Town, eyes wide open and mouth slightly open. Her bottom lip was cut, blood dripping down her chin and onto the stone beside her. Her dress was torn on the bottom, as well as the sleeves and tiny bits of the back. Her still freshly wounded back stung in the sun, and the dirt that was kicked up her. Her hair was tangled, some parts cut and ripped. She seemed to be dazed, running a high fever probably. Her chest rose and fell so slowly, she almost looked dead. But, she wasn't, of course.
Above her, planted right on the notice...
Chapter 1 Theme:
"Still can't believe they slaughtered th' damn horse, kin," a wasted Saff slurred, downing another shot of stiff alcohol as tears came to his eyes.
"I know, Saff. My blood still boils," a slightly tipsy Eradlern replied, hunched over the bar with a mug of mead in his large grasp.
The two Avanthar slump somberly at the bar of the Gauntlet tavern, drinking the night away. A hardened look of mourning mixed with rage consume their expressions, the loss of Zeerd having struck both of them deeply. Zeerd, the most innocent and cherished member of the People's Militia, had been massacred and eaten by the very vampires who had been ripping them apart at the seams. The kidnapping and infecting of several of the Militia's most...
A Night on the Town
Luviss Lutthase swam into regalia at about 8 in the morning, and became Louie. He spent the morning leisurely paddling in through the docks, picking up the occasional mollusk from the bottom of a ship. It had been a long winter away, but it was simply to cold to survive as your average street-rat during the cold Regalian winter. He learned many things while away, and he remembered his many attempts to find his lost tribe, failed attempts. The thought of this brought a tear to his eye as he returned to Regalia, the only place left for him to go. Before he knew it, he was down a long road to the tavern. But, he took his time, he had no place to be. He thought of his love, and what she had been up to. He thought of...
Birds chirped and breezes blew as the quiet flowing of curtains hushed the typical town chatter outside her windows. The sun shown in, needing no anxious candles to be lit, awaiting burnout, for the sun never burns out. Neither does her spirit, no matter what.
The tall brunette closed her bottom dresser drawer with the tip of her shoe, clapping her palms together with a satisfied sigh. She dusted them off yet again on a bathing towel that hung up on the back of her door. Her eyelashes fluttered as she approached the old, rotting full length mirror. She stood before it, glancing up and down herself. She wrapped her hands right around her torso, just as she had when she was a little girl with her brother. She remembered. He shadowed her...
Field medics were rushing in and out of the tents carrying dead or wounded soldiers. Some of the soldiers couldn’t be saved, but others could. Many Altalar were carried into the medical tents onto stretchers. Mathías Teien was carried into the tent by two medics on a stretcher and set on a cot. One of the medics yelled out. “I need a doctor this man is injured!” A young Anna Caladwen came rushing towards the trio with a satchel in hand full of medical supplies. She stumbled over a couple bags, but caught herself before she fell. She stood straight and brushed it off. She looked down at Mathías and then go the two field medics. “Where is this man injured?” asked the Altalar, one of the younger field medics quickly replied. “He was sliced...
As she opened her eyes, flames flickered around her in a manor she remembered from a long time ago now. Rising, she would find a scene not like what she had expected, a fortress in flames and many unknown to her storming about in an attempt to save people, valuables. All she could do was watch as the fortress burned, the snow beneath her feet cold, if not half-melted from the tumbling embers. A deep pain struck her back, but she was too stunned to check for what exactly hit her in the muddle of heat and snowfall. From within the pounding of her heart grew, rhythmically did it thump, reminding her of the drums she often heard within herself when she was alone.
The cold and heat collided solemnly as storms brewed over head, the deed...
Aleck walked silently about the Pillars of Blessings, tracing his left hand loosely across the stonework as he admired each and every one. He noted the small pieces of paper within the orifices of the pillars, smiling somewhat as he recalled the stories of the wishes and deeds the Emperor Theomar once performed for his faithful citizens. His gaze dragged upwards as a Sermon of Unionism closed to an end and he uttered a small, faithful chant at the end of a communal prayer. Within moments, he stepped aside for the floods of citizens leaving the sermon and once the path was clear, he made his way towards the altar where he was met by an elderly man in priestly robes.
He dipped his head to the reverend, even bowing. “Father Howlester...
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Amelina walked around the empty house, spending time to herself, working on her botanical garden or picking up things that had managed to fall over in the messy office she had. She spent most of her day there, working on new edicts and slowly perfecting things as the hours passed. Soon the sun was setting and her anxiety set in. Normally Amelina would work herself to the point of passing out, making it much easier to fall asleep, but this time was different-she wasn’t nearly as tired, but with how high the moon was in the sky she knew she needed to sleep or else pay for it the next day.
She made her way up to the bedroom, staring at the large...
Silence befell a certain well-known establishment attached to the dragon bend upon the peak of midnight. Dwelling within was the self-proclaimed Stage Master, content on the couch he labeled as his own, lazily laying on his back lost in his own thoughts. The Altalar's eyes curled to a close as he reflected on his life, memories gliding by as if they had been formed just this morning.
Writers notes.
I made this thread so I can write up little short stories of Llomaro's memory for my own enjoyment & maybe others should they wish to peak in now & then... So yeah, I'll update this every so often when I have the inspiration to write up another memory, thanks for reading.
Haeddi went to bed with a sunburn across her shoulders that did the opposite of warming her. After a long day, tramping about the dunes around the Imperial beach and summer festival, one would think the youngest of nine would be excited for the next day. Instead, she had fallen asleep with a scowl painted across her face.
"No fair." She whined as her sister dragged her away from the beach once the friendly common man had appeared.
"Big deal." The Anglian grumbled as she was told not to purchase a lighter from the Qadir merchant on the street (despite the fact it would be her own coin from her brother that she wasted on such a tool).
"Leave me be!" She finally shouted as Inquisitors squashed about her in a formed wall against...
Emotions Are Stupid
The blood flowed thickly from Gaelbhan's wounds… his little brother, the small boy’s chest and left arm practically torn to shreds by the dogs. The dim light seeping through the locked closet door and into the dark space made it appear as a vibrant red but for Everett that moment would be forever gray. He could only watch in horror as an image flickered before his eyes, that of his little brother’s gravestone, granite and cold. It felt as if he would be trapped in the moment forever, his trembling hands stained scarlet as a deep, throbbing pain blossomed in his chest, as if his heart had been ripped from his body. Overwhelming dread bubbled up inside him as he desperately hugged the boy close to him, but he was ice...