Deep in the night, a woman with black clothing set foot in Regalia.
Her skin was mocha brown.
She appeared in her mid-20s.
You could hear the ticking sounds of her heels as she stepped further.
Having her Shadow Mask and Feeding Pheromones activated, she'd stay safe.
She looked around, noticing a few citizens here and there.
She couldn't help but laugh; now that she's back, she would surely cause some trouble.
"Juane is back in town," she whispered.
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Player Stories
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Two Ailor children bustled through the Regalian street, the leader being a tidy, Claith girl who strode rather than frolicked- unlike her follower that was a black-haired boy that trotted along like a giddy horse. The two turned off from Main Street to the left, having been coming from the tavern, and chattered with laughter as they carried along.
“Are you sure you know where you're going, Wini?” The boy panted a bit as he rocketed forward a few steps to catch up with her unheeded stride. Despite her lack of energy when it came to jogging, she could certainly march a mile.
“Of course I know where I'm going, Lucien. It's right here.” The ginger girl unclasped her hands to gesture towards their right where large building sat...
A rare sight, chaos in the Grove. The Assembly was a cacophony of shouts and accusations made from both sides of the aisle.
“Inexcusable!”
“We shall not stand for this affront to our traditions!”
“This- this is heresy! Of the highest degree!”
“Hang him, hang the traitor bastard!”
“Bloodthirsty barbarians! Don’t you understand, this is exactly what they want! Disorder!”
“And what would have us do, let him go?!”
“We cannot have mercy! Not now, not with him!”
“The more time we spend debating his fate, the less time we have for more pressing matters!”
“This is the most pressing matter, you dolt!”
“The enemy at our gates, and you want to-”
“-Settle the matter closest to home! Yes, I do, you mangy, overgrown weed!”
“How dare you...
Deep in the small Rosendahl library, well hidden from view, was a musty book. It was ancient by appearance and had a fading black hue to it with a round, purple stone in the center. A large crimson red diamond shape was around it that spanned from the top of the book to the bottom. Inside contained the story of a legend known only to the Rosendahl textbooks.
Chapter 1
He Has Returned
The wooden blade flew past the side of Joshua’s head, nicking his ear. A small spurt of blood jutted its way through the minor cut. His attention flickered to the other guard who had attempted to strike at him. He brought his sword up to parry another blow. The warrior slashed at Joshua’s waist. He barely managed to flick the attack away...
I remember our wailing. Our shouts ringing out into the chilled night air, our bitter tears streaking freely down our veiled faces. Some of us wept silently, still shocked by what had happened. Most of us cried aloud, sharing our pain together as a community. And still yet, a select few howled in anguish, shrieking out to whichever of our Gods still listened. We marched through the winding forest with no rhyme nor reason. There was no light. The stars had forsaken us, and the moon was nowhere to be found. We found many to trip, fall, stumble, but they rose time and time again, pushing our procession of grief onward.
We had lost one of our own.
She laid there with her eyes closed, her face to the sky and her hands crossed soft above...
Ambiance
The cart raddled and the horses knickered as the group made their way through the wilderness. The leader of the group sat slightly slouched in their seat, a thin cloak of grey fabric covering her from head to boot. Their gloved hand rose as she tugged upon her horse’s reins, signaling for the group to halt as they drew to a clearing with a shape that was visible just within the middle of it.
Slowly and with clear pain written upon her features beneath the cloak, the rider lowered herself to the muddy ground, retrieving a cane from where it was lying horizontally on top of the saddle bag. Slipping the hood back, the identity of the rider was revealed: Sera, who glanced over her shoulder towards the other riders and the...
The Skies Fell Then
The Hadarian Archipelago was, by adventuring standards, truly an untouched paradise of the world.
It was storm season. Spotty little monsoons swirled in eddies down the coast, bringing with them sheets of rain - they were there one hour, gone the next, leaving muddied jungles in their wake. For some, the constant rain may prove oppressive. For the land of Hadar, it was revitalizing; a splash of cold water on the face in a sleepy morning. The jungles were never more colorful, the coasts never more alive, than after warm monsoon rains.
White ocean gulls cried. Sweet salt bit at the tongue; a soft welcome to white sandy shores.
“Little friend of all the world” they called him - even in his adult years - in the...
After Recent Conquers off the shore of Hadar, Clan Uruk has decided to expand its kingdom to the down below of the Oceans.
"I, Yazgash Uruk, have decided to share some of my power as Warchief To a Maiar to further my conquers in Hadar. In order to do this I have decided that enlisting a Maiar Warchief would be the best move to further this."
"First order of this is to raid ships of Hadar, Jorrhildr, and Daendroc, once sunk they will bring back their loot to us at our forts. We are to not raid ships from any other states. The Maiar warchief is to over see all of this, if any goes wrong Punishments will be initiated"
"A fort underwater is to be instated, this is to train the younger Maiars and act as a war base
instated. I will entrust...
Sometimes, it's better to break the enemy down from the inside rather than just pointlessly attacking from the outside.
Juane watched with annoyance at the fight that occurred on the bridge that separated the slums from the City.
It was pointless. It took too long. There was, obviously, no well-thought strategy behind this. The vampires were not that much of a threat. Silently Juane observed everyone. It seemed like everyone from the City was there. Guards, mages, nobles, everyone. For an hour, Juane watched with irritation on how the vampires were driven back into the slums.
For a moment, she considered using one of her abilities. Maybe she could cause chaos by using Terror Panic.
Luckily, she did not use it. There was a reason why...
(music for your enjoyment)
♫
Scuttling movement of metal and scales clunking and rattling against themselves. Splashing through murky waters towards their enemy. Horrendous screeches of monstrous amalgamations of fur and claws echo from above. The sewers were unsettled by the pounding of shields against monstrous sanguine beasts. The Old Town was ahead of us, moonlight shining our inevitable breach. The sound of the vampiric assembly grew in strength with each careful step. It did not matter… they’re all here. This is our chance. The scaled being steeled himself and led the emergence out of the tunnel and around the bend. He called forth in a guttural roar, “Charge!”.
Black smoke choked the air which for better or for worse...
"I-I yield." - A battered and broken Lyal'amna at the gates
The battle at had been raging, and the orders of the Lord Commander were clear, go and guard the Sewer Entrance. And so her and Leufred ran there, to keep whatever other creatures that might try and slip through at bay...before Leufred turned tale and ran, with Lyal angrily calling him a "Coward!" as he did so, looking down into the gloom, net ready, as well as her sword, should she need to draw it. Thats when the sounds of battle cried out, and the smell of blood begun to run thick through the air. The Allar had invaded using the same path she now guarded, with Zas, a good friend of Lyal's, with them. She knew she couldn't leave them to die, as Leufred had left her too do if...
---
---
Azra sat criss-cross and alone in the abandoned abode within Regalia, back flush against the bricks she sobbed and screamed alone against when she’d been tied with rope and left to suffer. When the bite on her wrist was just new rather than a healing scar now despite the occurrence only being about a week ago. Perhaps more, she couldn’t really remember. The days passing recently seemed to run together with the recent theme of pain from either curing or cursing. The Qadir scratched her bitten nails against the vampiric scars on her wrist, only frowning since her tears had run dry. It’d been too long since she’d had a glass of water for her to keep crying on the events of that night as well as memories of the...
Mood Music
“Come back again and I’ll give you a true blessing.” The sanguine’s words mocked her as she lay tucked into the cot in a corner of the Apothecary, the sounds of the healing and those who were having the curse itself removed from their body were soft against the words and the events that played over and over in her head.
“Get… Away from her…” Tatiana’s words whispered past her exhausted mind as she rolled over onto her back, closing her eyes tightly. Tears pricked at the corners of her shut eyes as she slowly gave into sleep.
Her eyes opened slowly as she felt herself being dragged along by her biceps. Gone was the burning pain in her chest, but in its place was the ache of bruises and healing muscles...
The fourth tall tale within the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
This is a shorter one, like the tale before, and in this case is in a notice format.
The tale of Aemolius the Mad is a sad one. The high end Krupp was a smart man once, intelligent and scheming, yet that came with ego, with so many of his devious schemes and attempts to take over leading to success before he had been poisoned during a meeting. After this, the poor man became paranoid. Had someone learned of his secrets? His plans? Either way he took double precaution with his work, continuing to work towards his goal of total domination.
Months went by and nothing happened. Not a single attack upon him, or his work before the poor man began his major expansions into...
The third instalment in the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
As a bit of backstory to this segment, this is the diary of Yivon Montiair, a Altalar treasure hunter who journeyed to Regalia to seek his fortune in the old sewers.
Day 1:
The exploration team began the dig down with gas-masks and full body suits. Not only this, but sledgehammers as well to get smashing through the many different rocks, piping, and more which collapsed in after the place fell apart. It is strange that so much of the sewers gas buildup has now left its confines allowing us in, with all that is left is some black sludge. But, from the looks of it, there is nothing of any real notice or worry down here. We were going to get rich off of this when we get down...
“I pray for my family, and I pray for our success..”
Stood clad in her families house guard armor, the ginger d’Vaud woman kept a keen eye trained upon each new member of the prayer-goers.
She had agreed to guard the House Black event besides her friend, Abelhard. She had no intent on taking part..
A devout unionist from childhood, the d’Vaud was simply more than happy to keep her prayers to herself. They were for the spirits ears only.
Though, her mind wandered as she noted the arrival of more and more people, more and more unionists of every race were more than willing to take part. To write their thanks, their prayers and their thoughts upon the paper which would soon float downstream.
A distraction from her thoughts came when...
The second story in the Book of Terrifying Tales
There was once a poor cretin named Lerou the Lame
An Ithanian Maraya he was, going by this name
He was a broken, cold and sad little man
And truth be told the other townspeople around him weren't a fan
people gathered, mocked, and beat him
especially one nasty Ailor called Tim
He threw rocks, stones, dung and more
Anything he could find really, to cause pain galore
It was one fateful night on an especially cool eve
Tim decided to finish Lerou off, with his best friend called Steve
The duo walked, prowled and waited
For a bloody kill, doomed to be fated
The duo spotted him calling him over
And the kind Maraya listened, as they mentioned his love Dover
As he drew close the...
The first story in the Black Book of Terrifying Tales
There was an old man called Mortimer, a hermit who distrusted all those who he saw walking through his woodland. He lived in the old, cold woods of Regalia, and lived so far away from the city, the glow and lights from within were only slightly visible from the distance which he watched from. He lived alone for years and years, sitting in his old rocking chair, and reminiscing about the reasons for him being there, in the cold loneliness of the woods.
It was many many years before, and he lived in the city with his wife and children. His children were a naughty sort, constantly getting into scrapes and fights over the littlest things. Bratty could be a word to describe them. In...
We ride tonight, ghost horses.
The slummers of Regalia woke to one loud morning as a considerate number of men began to flock into the streets, stranger faces, though donning visuals familiar to many if not at all. Men who wore long, dark coats that hung all the way down to their shins, the sides of their head shaven clean. The men seemed to be carrying numerous crates around the districts, guarded well enough to keep any thiever from laying their hands upon the boxes. The crates were being moved to one of the finer houses in the newer districts of the Old Town, which seemed to be formed into a residence of sorts, looking rather well maintained in comparison to the rest of the run-down households.
The slummers glanced about to...
Three hours had passed since Abe heard the news, of what they had done at the gate; the punching bag hadn’t seen so much action since his first night in the city. Nerves were not the source of Abe’s frustration this time. Three sharp alternating jabs cracked against the middle of the object, his fist slamming midway through the word 'heresy' that was stitched vertically into the bag by Abe’s Mother, decades ago now. The usually kind hearted man pummeled the bag with rage. Then they started.
Crackling into view came visions of a blurry battle, flashes of maps and war-room conferences, all mingled in a haze that obscured his view. He saw men; aberrant, non-Ailor and Ailor alike, fighting side by side, their images burnt into his mind...
It had been almost 2 years now, 2 years since the incident of Ernesta losing her hearing in her left ear. Immediately after that her whole life changed, and she always tried to keep a positive outlook on things, but sometimes the sadness revisits her mind and she wallows in it for some time.
Having a small obsession on trying to find a cure, it was the only thing that kept her sadness away. The smallest of hope, what if. The two words drumming in her mind, almost constantly. The only way to distract herself or appease it, to spar or to obsess over a cure.
A warm summer’s day Ernesta overheard mutter from an unknown source that a consumption and use of Rubyflower could bring back her hearing. Obviously not being educated in medicine...
A toddler’s whines broke the still silence in the elder Marth’s household, followed by a sigh from the very same Claith. He grunted, getting up from his sitting chair to shuffle over to his son with a weary smile as he looked down at his son. The boy had broken his wooden horse it seemed.
“Da-Da, the horse is broke! Look!”
The boy called out in the tongue of those from Eriu-Innis with a final whine.
“I see, my son. I see. Let me have it for a moment.”
Would be his father’s reply, in the very same language.
He gently took the wooden creature’s remains, shuffling off into another room to find the Gluant he kept for just such an occasion. He gathered them up, dabbed the gluant onto the broken pieces, and smiled. The smile on his...
Elleadagr of the Serpent and the Owl
An odd trio of women took to the tent just outside the clearing that the event’s participates wandered and chatter in. An elderly aristocrat, an Ithanian mademoiselle, and a North-born Velheimer had gathered, finishing touches being made on the latter of the three women. Anastasie du Polignac had her signature wine glass in one hand, taking a sip before lying it down with a laugh towards her close friend, Siselle Haagenvig. The towering woman was, for once, out of her usual attire of black and orange that most knew her by. Instead, she stood in a white woven dress that flowed to her ankles with a crown of roses and wildflowers that had been picked from the fields around the ceremony- or possibly...
Little Lemon Girl
Phaden sat calmly with his legs crossed, looking over the parchment laid neatly under his quill. He'd calmly place the quill back into the bottle of ink, reading over his poem one last time.
❝ Little Lemon Girl.
Oh how you caught my eye, with your strangest sour taste.
I'd have been afraid you'd make my heart sigh.
With your vibrant colors, and shining grin.
You've indeed got me wrapped around your finger
with the simple words "Best Friend".
Little Lemon Girl, how childish you are.
How you jest to make me smile and how you'd
walk many a miles just to see such a rare sight.
Little Lemon girl, you win. But on the condition you let
me have a bite. ❞
Phaden seemingly smiled over the page, before looking...
“Nobody said that the game would be easy,
Nobody said it would be straightforward.
Nobody said it would make sense.”
To my dearest mother, my greatest friend.
I write to you with hopes that you might set my head straight, for I have always sought your council.
I did not expect Regalia to be so full of confusion. There is not one straight line to walk and instead, there are ifs and buts around every corner.
After ten years learning, devoting myself to my code and my knighthood, I believed I was ready, believed I could face everything.
But I was left unprepared. I did not forsee the hostility Regalia brings, nor its emotions and its false promises.
Within the walls I have been for but a month, but already my mind is filled with...
She's never been embarrassed like this before...
Juane was just sitting in the Tavern where it all happened.
She became impatient when the barmaid refused to give her a drink because she was too busy talking to an Inquisitor.
Quickly, the topic switched to magic, where Juane gave her opinion on it.
Not liking any of this, the Inquisitor took her to the Black Tower, where he threatened to deport her if she didn't keep her mouth shut.
Knowing she had to play this safe, Juane apologized, and soon after this, the two headed back to the Tavern, where she was forced to apologize for her 'heretical' comments.
She felt like a fool.
Luckily, she caught his name.
Alfred Rolfe.
Now, at home, in her room, the doors guarded by two Watchers...
εїз ᴀ ɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴜsᴇʜᴏʟᴅ εїз
Part one.
The curfew alarm sounded through the streets like echoes of swarming bees, guards from all sorts of charters knocking on every bushiness' door with a warning for all non ailor to flee back into their homes. Nienna had soon gotten this warning, being the last to leave and lock up the Apothecary doors.
She'd begin speed-walking as fast as her little legs could take her, hearing off in the distance bands of screaming people and slamming doors. Her small body shook in fear as she continued to flee from her place of work towards her home that was ever so far away within the Ithanian district. She could feel her heart beating in her throat as the warning sounds of thunder and dark clouds strolled...
"In every walk with nature one recieves far more than he seeks."
-John Muir
“Let’s just stay like this for the rest of the day.” Her voice murmured as she nuzzled her face into the woman’s scarred chest. Catalina shifting to rest her head in the crook of Sera’s shoulder, gazing towards her.
Sera let out a little chuckle as she stroked her fingers through the woman’s bed mused hair. She leaned down and planted a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“As much as I would love that, mi alma, the city needs me. And the recruits aren’t going to teach themselves.” She rumbled, causing the other to giggle and rest her head back down upon her chest, listening to Sera’s heartbeat.
Despite her own words, Sera made no move to release her wife from...
"Art by Thix-Eix"
Alchemy Sounds for the Mood
Alchemy log, O’ Seven - O’ Seven, 306 AC.
Introduction:
Our team has been working extensively on Duister. It isn’t easy to pinpoint what exactly is in the potion that makes the time of duration tick. Allreizz has been leading the operation alongside Ssaall. I’ve been getting carried along with in all honesty. Despite my limited knowledge, I hope to become more of a help than a nuisance to the team. Only time and progress will tell.
Progress:
So far, Ssaall and I have started progress in pinpointing the ingredients which directly affect duration. My first hypothesis targeted Vocadine, solely because of a hunch, however in our progress and knowledge of other potions with the...
Music for the Mood!
The sound of clicking steps could be heard approaching the hatchery. Several hatchlings rested soundly, their talons curled upwards into their chests, tails wrapped tightly around each other to maintain warmth. They all seemed healthy and in good shape, aside from one…
As the clicking steps came to a stop, a brief figure stood, shadowed and straight, the dark beast wielded a large spiked Mohawk. Consisting of feathers protruding upwards, this style could be seen statically moving much like a tidal wave.
The figure hesitated as he scanned the nests.
This wasn’t a typical egg count, no... This was something more sinister. After several cautious seconds, he’d climb the steps to the upper floor nests. As he passed...
It is noon, Bra’ak Uruk sits on a stool, supposedly to teach younger orcs about Unionism. The only problem? Bra’ak knows nothing of Unionism.
In Vashkullar
“Hello there little ones, might I say you’re all just as ugly as your parents hehe.”
The kids laughed at his joke,this was going good for Bra’ak, so far.
“I’m not here to bore you with a stupid Unionism lesson, instead I’m here to speak of Vakgar’s Call.”
The children look confused, why would a guard with a lot of shit on his record even think of doing such a thing that could easily get him fired?
“Let’s think about this yes? If the spirit created everything then why would it want us to sacrifice our shit for its well being? I don’t know about you but I never sacrificed anything...
They laid on the uncomfortable cot, eyes unfocused and body limp and curled. They barely ate and drank. Sleep only coming when their eyes refused to remain open. How long had it been? Hours? Days? Weeks? They didn't know. How could they when they were trapped in a prison of their mind. Hearing the screams of pain, the sounds of whips and blades through the air. The screams were their sister's yet...they had seen her after. She wasn't harmed....A trick? Illusion? They swallowed, throat brushing against the metal now circling it. It wasn't real. It was all a terrible dream. They couldn't be an aberrant. The Phantasma's grasp proved it. So why? Why were they collared like an animal? Why were they stuck here, away from everyone, and unable...
Sweet Dreams
It was a quite night when Anna went for a walk. Peaceful and cold, the perfect weather for her. She walked around the never sleeping city with a smile, a coat drapped around her shoulders to keep her relitively warm. Her boots made silent thumping sounds on the stone as she passed the Golden Willow, pausing at the front staircase.
She looked up at the building, pondering if she should drink away her sorrows once more. Though she frowned at her thoughts. The elf brought her hands up to run through her now shorter hair, she turned on her heels and silently went to the park.
It felt good to walk for once. She had been cooped up in her house for the past two weeks due to her injury and quite frankly, she hated it. She felt...
"Come on laddies! We gotta get shippin' to Daendroc soon!" yelled the captain as Zas'kince Allas boards the ship. The sun beating on who ever was under it, and the ocean breeze cooling the air. Sailors were getting ready to begin sailing.
"Can't wait to get to Daen..." muttered Zas'kince as he went to his secluded area to lay onto his bed. He'd lay there, thinking and listening to the Captains orders to his sailors. "Wonder what the trip will bring.." he thought to himself.
"Alrightie mates, lets ge' t'ship movin'!" yelled and bossed the captain, the sailors getting ready to set sail and ship off. Zas'kince would get up and wobble his way up on deck. He'd stand at the front end of the ship as a Dragged Crow caws and perches on his...
“Look at you, harlot. Not so big and powerful now that you don’t have that Altalar on your arm, now are you?”
His voice growled in her head as she sat on the edge of her bed, eyes staring blearily down into the nearly dry bottle of red wine. He was not truly there, not physically. But she could still hear his words cutting into her.
It was the voice of her father, snarling in her head. Berating her, being disappointed in her for every action and choice she made. Even when she was young, if she chose to wear the wrong color, he would berate her. But now, all he was was another voice to haunt her.
She tipped her head back and drank deeply of what was left of the wine. Her hands shook as she gingerly set the bottle and then dragged her...
An Introduction to Magic
I am Hector Khada. You may not know my name, you may not know my face. You probably have little idea of who I am. But these are the results of my studies, among my many years on Aloria. This study will break the magic down for you into its different types, and show you the true methods by which the mages control the world.
First, you have many different types of magic, but they can almost all be classified into Void and Exist magic, depending on which energies they tap. Interestingly, they are viewed different socially, but that is a part for a different segment. In this compilation of various studies, you will find all the information you require, whether you're an aspiring mage or one wishing to learn of...
Rowena had spent her afternoon in a haze of light intoxication and pure bliss. A wonderful evening in the presence of her friends, the cradle of foreign-labeled champagne from Daendroc. After the festivities were over, she took the time to look at herself within the mirror.
Her skin was like porcelain, smooth and refined. Pale and without flaws. She ran her soft fingertips over her face, examining for any imperfections. While she saw them everywhere, whether it be a long eyelash, an off crease in her lip, or a slight discoloration over her eyes. With that she applied to her face a thin mask.
Two crushed ruby flowers, whole.
Dried and then tea saturated Axford Maiden.
Ground wormsfern, two tablespoons
Raw milk from an Anglian Black Cow...
In the year 130 the first recorded member of the O’Mhuireuchu, the founder of the clan. A man by the name of Lairgnen, a simple farmer in Old Ceardia, and his wife Aigi. He would be the first to give life to the family, and spark generations of strong willed O’Mhuireuchus’ to come. In the mid to late 100s, far before the birth of Caderyn I the Dominant, Old Ceardia was subsequently destroyed by the Archdemon. In this time, many kingdoms fell, not excluding the Kingdom of Myrrin, where the O’Mhuireuchu lived within a local manor.
Upon the fall of Myrrin, and the virtual apocalypse that was Old Ceardia’s collapse, the O’Mhuireuchu became refugees in the remarkably harsh landscape that was Gallovia. Around this time, Caderyn I the...
The event that haunted the Turall's memory played in his mind once more as he finally drifted off to sleep... Jake Morgen's hands went to the swords sheathed at his sides, for comfort more than anything as the memories played again...
__________________________________________________________________________
He was in Turall, in the pit. He was facing off against a girl he'd known for a while, they'd started to become friends. The wooden shortswords clashed repeatedly against one another, both of them at an equal match. The instructors watched impassively as the two fought hard. It was the best fight Jake had had in a while, and his adrenaline was pumping as he raised a leg, kicking her backwards and darting forward, putting her on...