Naushe wiped at his freckled browline with his forearm as he forced his body fully upright, looming over a box he had successfully relocated to the basement of the tattoo parlor. The lights in the cellar were anything but bright-- candles upon their holders flickered dully in the darkness while shadows slipped in and out of view. With a frown, he pressed both hands into the lower portion of his back in an attempt to crack his aging back. A small click called out from beneath his palms, not loud enough to warrant any sort of echo against the stone walls, but coincidentally brought about a subtle wince to his haggard facade.
After extinguishing the flame on each candle, he proceeded to scale the steps, leading him into the main floor...
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The sky, the realm of the Gods, was darkened and shrouded with monstrous clouds. They lit up every few seconds or so, rippling across the sky accompanied by the mighty shout from the Gods. The wind started a powerful dance across Northern Gallovia. Eloquently spinning around and around, picking up leaves to join the dance. Tears from the Gods slowly started to drip from the sky and soak into the ground. The dry grass, which had some patches of green but was mostly a lifeless white color, savored these tears. But the ground thirsted for something thicker. Blood.
A young boy stood by the window and watched as the storm started to grow. His face was young and he looked to be about five, maybe six. He short and slender, his skin pale and...
"I was looking for a breath of life.
A little touch of heavenly light.
But all the choirs in my head said no."
"You should wear armor."
Said Amelina as she ran her petite hand along the chestplate. "It suits a man of your worth..." She whispered while observing every fine detail of the silver. "A body as beautiful and strong as yours, my love... deserves nothing less than armor." Her emerald eyes searched for his hazel ones, coming eye to eye. At her words, she reached to peck her lips upon the center of the chestplate, kissing his armor. Rodrigo brought a hand upon the back of her head, fingers caressing through the wavy locks of blonde as he put her forehead against his chestplate, holding her.
But how did it come to this? He...
Cael paced the length of the first floor, back and forth, lost in thought. His left arm sat on the kitchen counter, leather straps undone so his stub could breath. His worn purple jacket was thrown across the back of a chair by the door, the wood stove keeping the small space warm enough. He remembered very little of the 'Dream'. A small chamber. The smell of wet dirt and moss. Crumbling stonework in the walls and worn pillars in the corners. Somewhere people once dominated, retaken by nature. The Door felt the same, smelled the same even.
He had spent a long time considering the monsters inside the chamber. Shambling things, mirroring those present, and he presumed loved ones, given his took Raven's face. He flexed his right hand...
-- And there’s a sudden flash of light that overwhelms her thin figure. Her white, droll robes bathed in white light. Figures illuminated, crowding the hallway. She could fear their footsteps, the exhale from their nostrils crawling down on her back and the stares - oh - Spirit - she could just feel their eyes like frosted metal poking her flesh and her hair stands on her skin and threatens to pulverize her misplaced beating heart. It’s cold, it’s the first reaction she gets. It’s too noisy, is the second. The third is one she wished she never felt. Her numbed, freezing hands turn as she feels liquid slither down from her palms like snakes wrapping around their dinner before dropping to the ground, beheaded. Just like that. Maybe it was...
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“Our dearest Kamirah,
Your Father and I have received word of your little “fling” with the Half-Kathar.
… How long did you intend on keeping this a secret from us?”
The silence of late evening was shattered by the obnoxious crunch of icy snow underfoot as Kamirah approached the Temple of Baskarr. Twin guardian lions stood vigil at it’s entrance, clad in desert-red stone brick and wielding the most decisive weapon of their judgemental silence. The petite, snow-dusted Rakrran paused at their feet. She instinctively rose a hand to grasp for the golden beads that encircled her neck--a nervous tic that had become a rather nasty...
Everything was too bright. That should have been a giveaway.
Nevermind that his mother was there, bent over a counter and cooking some sort of meal, it was the uncanny brightness that almost broke the illusion every time this happened. It was as if the sun was right outside their house, peeking into their window and making it impossible to see anything outside except that blinding light. But to look at it didn't hurt, and he did look, coming closer and closer to lucidity by the second. So close to tearing away this entire facade.
But there was his mother's voice, high pitched and far sweeter than he ever remembered, "Dinner's ready." she would call, and Hillie's growing suspicions died immediately, a grin plastered onto his face as...
-=-
“But why do I need to give her my nice things?! I got these all on my own!”
A soft yet pronounced voice echoed through the dimly lit sandstone ruin. Cobwebs had taken over along with various chunks of stone and scraps of fabric tainted with sand over the dry years that the desert offered. Two figures soon came into few after maneuvering through the dusty old halls, both noticeably Varran. There stood a feminine figure and what could only be assumed to be her child by her side, both looking up to the prominent night blue cat-like statue that stood center in the chamber with its piercing white eyes. Despite the shape of the temple around them, the statue was seemingly untouched bar the many trinkets which sat at its feet and adorned...
And now, a Wintertide's Tale:
Gather round children and sit by the hearth,
To hear a Wintertide's tale well suited in farce.
For this evening I'll tell you a poem to hear,
The story of Hengest-Clause and his evening of fear.
@Jonificus
'Twas the night before Wintertide, when all through Vissinghelm,
Not a peasant was stirring, they rested quite well;
The work day was long and the Duchy was thriving,
Knowing that Ol’ Hengest-Clause would soon be arriving;
The children were nestled all darkly in bed;
While fears of swift Winter justice replayed in their heads;
And mamma had left out some rum and a locket,
Knowing the best way to graces was to line a man’s pocket,
While I tried to feign sleep on a bed made of hay,
But...
"You are ill, what you do and who you love. It is wrong, we will fix you, you’ll see."
The sound of hooves upon the wet cobbles pounded almost as loudly as the rain, above the drizzle, men barked out insults towards the back of the wagon towed along behind two black horses that trotted towards the town square. Citizens heaved rotted fruit towards the walls of the cart and some even managing to make it through the small, barred window in the back. Following along behind the prison carriage was a slightly larger carriage, led by four white horses. It was decorated with golden gilding and a lovely coat of purple paint had dried very brightly on the wood surround of the carriage.
Slowly, it came to a halt in the town square aside a...
Closing hours. The quietest and darkest time of day, with empty streets, passed the Azure and the quiet redhead still lingering in the building despite telling employees and family she would be home before closing. Little did they know that she would be the one to close, wandering about the Azure in these late nights quite often. Not the safest for a young, weak, and high titled woman hanging about in quiet and dark streets at this hour. But it wasn't like she cared anyhow,
On these nights she'd usually sit on the counter after cleaning up, and doodle about in her messy and paint splattered journal she often carried places. But tonight was different, for some odd reason her joyous attitude had since washed away from her features...
Murmurs echoed between the stone walls of the church hall as guests were getting seated, curiously peering around. To anyone not invited, it would appear as if any other regular day in the church. ‘No flower arrangements’, one lady remarked to her accompanying friend, ‘And no music’ was the response. The only ‘decoration’ seemed to be the setting sun that shone through the stained glass, projecting beautiful images upon the hall. Some of the guests were wearing weary frowns, others smile, and some were smirking as if they were thinking of an inside joke that no one else was invited to enjoy. From the first row, Larasviel Silevon peered back at the people behind her, squinting slightly as she tapped her fingertips to the back of the...
------
"Hope is the only thing stronger than fear."
------
Taken by surprise was a good way to describe the majority of the events that the young Claith often encountered. The adopted noble could often be found hovering over her hand mirror after she'd been brought safely home following her attack. Her fingers had traced her bandaged neck, brushing so lightly across the wrappings that she couldn't feel it. Though, perhaps, that could just be numbing from her treatment for the Sanguine bites.
Recalling the events of her kidnapping had been a difficult task, especially the second time. The second being far worse than the first as she barely had any sense when she had first explained the capture. She hardly remember even telling it...
°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°l||l°
Theme
In those final moments, there are only thoughts of the good times. Everything moves in slow motion and those who did this are as far from his mind as the last star in the universe. What flashed through his mind were the only things that mattered. His last dance, she was a pretty girl someone he did not know well but when she’d been in his arms they’d put the world behind them for a truly magnificent dance. His last feelings of affection and caring, which was spent on the half-kathar with the floppy hat. His last exchanged word fight, with the strong woman who had managed to find herself able to breathe once more. His last question, which went to the man that he both loathed and...
The dive into the dream state was a gift few Isldar were given. But those untouched by their Frostweaver's hand, located outside their frozen Hold, were granted it; the only blessing they owned when they could not receive visions from Her, endure Her cold, or enter Her sheer kingdom of cold.
Wind blew against the azure curtains draped over the open windows, whispering her name in an almost song-like lulling. If she listened carefully, she could hear it. A wooing wind channel which wove its way into her quiet room, her private chamber, and wrapped around her horizontal form.The Fallen mind slowly succumbed to the seduction of sleep and rest.
A murky ocean greeted her on the other side, its colors as dark and dreary as long-lost hopes...
= Loyalties =
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The pre-dawn frost bit past her clothes and into the Rakrran’s fur as she stalked through the deserted streets of Regalia. Only the eccentric wandered alone at this hour: the night-workers, the infected, and the brothel-goers, all of which Kamirah could be considered respectively. But tonight she wandered not with purpose; but for the contradictory reason that she had no purpose. Thoughts began to chase her every step regardless of how fast she moved.
"You'll have to pick a side eventually, Kamirah."
Saen
Her best friend. Though she had known the self-declared Brood for little more than a few weeks, he had...
"Is it rude for me to ask how old you are, Lliev?..."
"I am older than one hundred and fifty yet younger than three hundred."
The fur-coated woman's words were innocent, yet sunk rather deep in the heart of the Wolond. The duo continued to converse a little more about the lives they live until the Varran had departed. Upon leaving, Lliev rose from his chair, drifting out from the little shop & down the water stained road. The cool breeze was gentle upon his exposed skin, his open coat flickering in reaction to nature's push. As he walked, he pondered his life.
"I once had a beautiful wife... No... I've had multiple wives. Three?... No.. Four?... Yes... Four."
As if it had lost its mind, the mutated creature continued to speak to...
January - March, 306 AC
Harhold and The Angle Veer Coalition
The Angle Veer Coalition
At the turn of the year, as 305 AC gave way to 306, war still raged in the far south. The Regalian Empire fought a bloody stalemate with it’s southern Neflin rival. Meanwhile, in the Archipelago, Anglia saw the rise of a new prominent family, House Harhold. It seems almost out of thin air that Harhold rose to power, rapidly acquiring Imperial favor and land between Kade controlled Anglia and Dragenthal. Angle Veer saw the growth and rise of new and smaller noble houses among its people over the last few years, and by 306 AC, the isle possessed four major houses; Augustat, Artiemus, Carwell and Claudio.
By January, 306 AC, Harhold made...
♩ ♪ ♫
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Heavy laughter filled the halls of the assembly building. A light hearted jab back and forth what it may have seemed to the crowd of blurred faces above was all but too real. Venomous, silver tongued threats and insults. Comedic relief fit the bill to satiate the tense air in the room. Topic after topic was covered before all were sent on their way home, back to their respective business and day.
The teal scaled creature stomped down the halls of conversing assembly goers after the diet. His gaze narrowed down the back of a ginger haired knight flanked by two well dressed noblemen as they took the far corner of the hall. He bellowed a...
Precolonial Era, Late 200s
Regalian Migration and Colonization of New Ceardia
Gateway to the Colonies
Located on the southeastern end of Hinter Calem, on the eastern end of the Regalian Archipelago, the holding of Herbsthafen held a dramatically different appears compared to the port city of today. Herbsthafen was, by the 250s, a coastal fishing and farming village with a meager population. The holding itself held many small villages nearby, though they have yet to collectively establish a town. This began to change with the desire by Regalians to move and make a new life in the colonies of New Ceardia. At first, a handful of migrants would pass by the village, as it had easy access to the east, and an ideal location for a...
The Nervous Night Before
The skeletal Marayan sat upon his study, looking out onto the harbor. He could hear the frivolous shantys of exhausted sailors during the late night, far in the distance. He turned then, to his piano, in attempts to dissuade his mind of such nerve. The man then arose, to pace about the room, abandoning several leaflets and scrolls that were on his desk.
He felt colder as he flushed his mind, halting his movements, and taking a deep breath, before lurching across the attic to shut the shutters on the upcoming fall. The moment aside, he sat at a small stool near his piano, and blissfully played away a tune, as a sadistic smile with shuttered eyes befell his face.
He arose once again, and paced around the...
Inspiration
One
The Ballroom flourished with life. Gentlemen setting the pace of the room, each of them leading their fragile partners into a slow turn, delicate footwork causing a constant drifting motion, all almost in sync. Each individual bared jeweled fabrics, concealing their features from the masses under a masquerade of sparkles.
Two Three Four
In the center danced a troubled couple. The lady, cause of so many whispers to circle through the ballroom as she moved with such little care. Her dress weaved with soft fabrics, taking a ghostly white color with brown decor. The man in a crimson shaded Tunic, patterned in white. The duo wore frowns yet their dance was not hindered, once required their hands would part & they'd...
Submerged
Amelina sat herself on the waters edge, dressed in her nightgown she dipped her feet off of the dock, letting her feet meet the cold waves. For a moment she sat in silence before slipping completely off the edge and wading by the edge, the sharp coldness met her like a harsh slap and caused her to shiver, but she could not pull herself out. Floating for a moment she moved herself to her back, her body rocking with the waves as she stared up at the stars.
Calmness took over the woman as she closed her eyes. As she opened them all the woman saw was red. The stars were no longer and the moon gone, a red sky filled her sight as the feeling of a hundred hands crawled over her skin. The hands began pushing, pushing Amelina...
The sound of heavy breathing, and the sound of feet hitting the ground could be heard as young Kathar ran. He was draped in light rags that didn’t provide any warmth in the chilly month of November. The young Kathar turned his head to look behind him to see if he was being pursued when he saw that he wasn’t he turned his head back around only to run into an old man. The pair fell to the ground as the Kathar ran into the man falling onto the man. He was still breathing heavily as he spoke, “Sorry...I didn’t see ye.” the Old Man looked up at the young Kathar sighing a little his tough voice heard as he spoke, “Now need to worry young one. Hmm, who are you running from then?” the young Kathar would seem worried as he spoke, “My slave...
The Common Man.
It had been some time since Álvaro had been seen by any of his friends in the City, the last time he saw any of them was aboard the Pez Globo, on a raid gone wrong off the coast of Ithania... but that is a story for another day, and this is a story about what happened to Álvaro after he washed up on Ithania's white-golden shores. For context's sake this event takes place sometime in early to mid 306 A.C., after the Avanthar invasion of Lusits and before the Vampire crisis in Regalia.
However, as I said, it had been quite some time since he'd seen any of his friends in the Holy City as he was marooned in Ithania, without a penny to spare past what his earrings were worth and the ruined clothes on his back. It took some...
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The spine of this journal is creased. A straight line down the middle, dividing the pages into equal halves.
What was once an enchanting green, is now faded, worn. Loved.
Edges are fraying, a tell tale sign thoughts have been shifted through many times.
- - - - -
. OOC .
Much like the other journals and diaries on the forums, the contents of this thread are unknown ICly.
Unless someone has stolen, been showed, or told specifically of an entry of this journal, your character will not know anything.
Please do not post on this thread, as a way to keep immersion!
The point is to give you a look inside Elijah's...
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It was a quiet night. Aelfric finding himself up out of bed, once more stepping forth towards the bookshelf within his chambers. The elder’s wrinkled hand reached up to the highest points where he usually found the best novels. He pulled one off at random and brought it down to his line of view. There was an odd familiarity about this certain book. The elder emitted a silent gasp, “Mmph. I have not seen this one for a while.” He tottered forth towards his seat in the corner, easing down onto the cushions. The Reverend’s boney hand touched the rough and old cover, opening up to pages matching his age. Aelfric looked over the notebook with a certain fondness...
~* Winter Wings *~
~Themed Music~
~*~
Adeline paced back and forth along the length of her room, the anticipation eating away at her as she awaited her cousin Ana. “Spirit, this is too much!” She exclaimed to herself, halting as she went to struggle her way into her stunning white gown - failing in this and falling flat over, to which a maid came in and helped her into the dress. The dress has been designed for the icy winter months - the silken gloves came high along her arms and he skirt puffed out about her hips, the gown’s fabrics intricate, yet also apparent in their design for the weather. Adeline looked over to the mirror, smiling brightly at her own appearance - the maid returning behind her to style her hair. At this...
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“Goodbye is the hardest thing to say to someone who means the world to you, especially when goodbye isn't what you want.”
✻ Morning mist dominates the Anglian Morasses of Vrowemeerle, the sun trying its hardest to claw through the thick fog. Birds wake up the wildlife with pretty songs, a symphony of caw’s, and with the rooster’s horrific solo, a miller’s widow and her little girl awaken too. The little girl, of six years no less, crawls out of her hay-stuffed cot to get into her hand-me-down clothes. The clothes hardly fit the child, easily able to hold another girl in there.
“Had a good night’s sleep, Sweetling?”
The elderly lady asks warmly, putting on a motherly...
♪ ♫ ♪
The Amelioration.
As the days went by, the chilling snow of winter approached, filling the streets of regalia in a sparkling array of pearly white blankets. It's innocence seemed far too beautiful to ruin, yet littering footsteps of various townsfolk scattered the streets, apparent by the rising sun which seeped through the tall structures like a desperate warm invitation.
No townsfolk were to be seen however, or at least not until the afternoon market rush on main-street. Just the emptied roads of a sleeping city. A cold dusk, pure and silent.
Turning away, a cold blooded figure shivered, painfully wrapped in a wool coat, assisted by warm sizzling charcoals tucked within strategic locations. The figure walked along the...
This diary has seen many years. Oils from its owner's hand have weakened the spine, left the corners frail.
Pages are loose, some are stained with tea. Others have flowers pressed into them, and are stuck together.
But you notice, two sets of handwriting.
That which reminds you of your grandparents; deliberate but shaky still.
And also, that which reminds you of an aspiring scholar; tidy, purposeful.
Many of the diary's entries are in Dai-Li, though a significant amount are missing.
---
ooc
This is one of the books that Elijah has in his library.
You are welcome to reference this material.
But it is only common knowledge if you have checked the diary out, or read it while hanging out in the library!!
As always, please do not...
The grizzled warrior sat down, his two shortswords resting in his lap. He looked down, his mind flashing through his life, memories rushing and flowing through him as he slowly, quietly traced the inscriptions on one of them. "Never Forget." They said, in Daen. The last remnants of an old life he'd had, his times at Turall... Nearly sixty years back. Sobs wracked his body as he began to cry once more, remembering his life, everything he'd done, and everything he'd had yet to accomplish. He'd ascended to become a champion, wielding his weapons in fights, one by one. First, he was a sellsword, and then a mercenary leader. Then, he'd left for Regalia, and become a house guard among the Winsloughs. He remembered his time there, him being an...
---
Solitary, the figure crouched just out of sight; watching and waiting, the hooded being observed as the late night goers promenaded across the harbor dock. Just on the outer edge of the desert continent of Farah’deen, the seaside city sat with its mixture of ships with crews of so many different shades. Light skinned Ailor humans from the Holy City of Regalia laughed as they hung off the railings of their cargo ships, while darker skinned Songaskia sailors could only watch them in distaste as they murmured to their neighbors. Smoke from tucked away hookahs and siggs tasted the breeze around the ships as the midnight crew relaxed. A rare thing was relaxation found for a sailor, though they often were given a short break when they...
{ Theme }
Her hands shook with vibrations, overwhelming emotions flooded her mind and she simply dropped like a bag of rocks, onto her knees in a crumpled mess. Her back hunched over, hiding her face in the shelter of her hands, letting out a loud and pained wail.
The ominous flicker of the candle in the dark, was the only light she had in her bed chambers, everything else was darkness, and it surrounded her like a thick woollen cloak.
Hours past and the woman remained in her corner upon the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. Heaving as her hand clutched to her chest, empty on tears, but nevertheless, the wails continued flowing out.
~
And all she felt was an ever numbing pain, erupting within her chest.
“Like a lighthouse to a sailing ship, your presence is what calls my soul home.”
The waves crashed against the weather-worn ship as it was guided along. At the helm was the captain, a rugged man with salt and pepper hair and a glint in his eyes. This was the type of man one would want carrying precious cargo through even the worst of storms. And certainly the type of sailor one would want if they feared sea travel.
Such was the case for Seraphina as she leaned against the railing of the ship, her knuckles white with tension as she cast her sapphire eyes over the waves. She had faith in the man, and yet it did not settle her old fears of drowning. Drowning, flailing, her lungs filling with water and never to breathe another breath of...
Some music to set the mood.
♫
*A Dragged Crow would be occasionally seen flying around Regalia, delivering six letters over the course of several weeks; each sendee being a close friend or colleague of a certain Dame Freya Aveline.*
*The first letter would be addressed and delivered to William Seidel. A few weeks after the letter was sent, he would receive a parcel. Upon opening it, the box would reveal a blood red cape-- Freya's.*
"My dear Will. I know not where to begin, but I suppose I should start off with an apology. You, of all people deserve that kindness; one I never showed to you after that fated day. I am sorry for lying to you about my past and I am sorry for hiding the knowledge of my daughter from you. I did not think...
The quiet halls of the Cathedral were decorated in vibrant whites, a splash of color decorating the end of each pew with a bright magenta and purple flower, to signify the two parties coming together. The guests gathered in the halls, taking their respective seats, family on one side with the friends of the guests on the other, the low murmuring of them all the only sound that filled the chapel.
The music began in an instant and the large oak doors opened to reveal the man of honor, Reverend Rodrigo Pedrosa, adorned in his robes, though these were far different from his normal preaching robes and were very clearly meant for occasion. The man walked down the aisle on his own, not accompanied by anyone else before reaching his...
[The book is well worn from what could be guessed as many months of use - it's about halfway filled already with many sketches and journal entries. Everything, seemingly, is written both in cheap charcoal and daendroque. The first entry listed here, however, seems to have some significance attached. The start of a new adventure, a new direction in life.]
>-- OOC --<
I've done diaries for characters in the past, and I find them enjoyable. As a fun little project, I'm going to be keeping up with this journal for my character Gawainne. Although I am sharing this publicly on the forums, I ask that people don't meta the information. The only way one would reasonably know any information here is if they stole Gawa's book, read from it, or...