Part I- Denial
The figure of a bearded man stormed through the flap of his tent, flinging his equipment to the floor. He was young, but seriously wounded, and his eyes brimming with tears. Barrulf clutched at the Eyepatch covering one eye, letting out a pained and sorrowful Roar, before falling quiet, letting his frame hit the sleeping bag with a thump.
“Im sorry Uncle. I thought myself to be strong enough to accomplish anything. I could not see how Naive I truly was. If I had just taken the proper precautions-- perhaps you’d be here right now, congratulating me on my victory…"
"I am truly sorry for being so weak.”
Part II- Disappointment:
He fell into the guttering of the streets, a glob of spit landing beside his beaten, alcohol...
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I used to know a girl, who had hair that was as straw. She was small, only a hair taller than two feet, but her sapphire eyes burned with a sense of adventure and curiosity that could’ve easily deceived anyone into believing she was much more than a child. The girl had one cat ear on her left side; the other lost from many a scuffle. You see, she came from a background most would scoff and revile towards, one of unpopular opinion, but one she didn’t mind in the slightest. This little girl’s heart would shine brighter than her attackers, more brilliant than the average Holy Man, I’d say. She shone bright enough to warm this old gal’s heart, that’s for sure. This little girl was named A’vela. This is just a morsel of her story.
Long...
This Story Takes place from 3-8-306 AC to 5-9-306 AC and involves the rapping of a Dressolini Family and the coming of new characters. It is a rather long chain of events however I decided to post it in order to live the story of the Valetta's. Those mentioned below were IC involved in some way.
Background
Azelgio and Amonio Valetta, the prides of their House. One of amazing mind and one of body. Together they dominated trade and music in Regalia for the time they lived there. However this is how they meet their fatal ends along with all their family.
3-8-306AC
Azelgio would receive a letter stamped with his uncle Donato's insignia, inside would be a letter about him being kidnapped at sea and being held for ransom. Quickly...
A Nightmare
“You're worthless”. Maxence shook his head, staring at his family members in sadness. Holding his balled fists to his ears.
He was trapped inside a glass case, just bigger than his height, the width not enough to stretch his arms out wide. Displayed like a caged animal whilst his family members and kin stared and pointed, laughing and whispering between each other.
“Please stop..” He called out resting his palms flat against the glass, but the laughing grew louder and rang in his ears, all he could hear was the panic in his breath and the laughing, the mocking, echoing inside his eardrums on repeat, getting louder and louder by the second.
“You're a sorry excuse for a father and a husband “ words from his wife’s...
"You see me standing while I'm dying on the floor" -Demi Lovato {Stone Cold}
To most, she was the epitome of how an Isldar was perceived by outsiders; cold, harsh and excessively ruthless and defensive on her life in the Wraith hold. Emotions appeared as foreign as Regalia once was to her: Good in some aspects. But when one lacks in what others so frequently display, they can crave it in the deepest depths of one's subconscious. Even if she consciously didn't want to feel, wanted to be 'emotionally numb' as an old friend called it, other parts of her, her most primal parts of her mind evidently had other ideas.
Like a fire, fundamental elements were needed to trigger the seldom felt emotions of the woman. Her emotions were like...
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, never been better."
The Yanar stared at their reflection in the washroom mirror, hand trailing up to go through their foliage. The needles tipped with brown and brittle. Their roses, once bloomed and a beautiful red, now wilting and muted in colour. Even their face, something that could look the same as long as they wanted, looked now worn, aged as it stared back at them, full of anguish.
"I'm fine."
How did it go wrong? Was it obvious it would happen? Were they to blame? Could they have prevented this outcome? Questions whirled around the Yanar's mind, the brushing hand leaving the mane behind to press against the mirrored visage, eyes tracing over all the new changes to them. A small flinch escaped...
Montania
The early morning was obvious to the two as they walked through the dimly lit docks, one with a faster walk compared to the heavy sluggish walk of the other. The taller of the two mutts had been woken up early that morning in surprise with his wife rambling about how the trip would be a good idea. He loved his wife but she could be a pain in the ass when she got hooked on an idea. It didn’t help that a slight flicker of paranoia came across the mutts mind as he stood near Senobia’s side as they waited to board the vessel heading to Montania. As Ruban’s mind began to wander he shifted his gaze to Seno’s stomach, an overwhelming fear coming into his mind as he began to once again over think things as per usual. He must have...
Following the hours after the visit from the Rat King and her entourage of a thousand criticisms, the growing crew of misfit bastards gathered in their den beneath a slum-house roof. The meeting had left them with a lot to digest, and a lot to consider. The fire burned lazily in the hearth, oozing an orange glow over the faces of those who were still awake, who silently sat with their thoughts.
"Dis 'as turned ou' in'chresting so far." Victor broke the silence, his voice a soft mutter. He had been progressing unremarkably and had pulled himself up to sit stiffly at the table beside Atticus and Rex, bowls with dregs of pumpkin soup sat on the table before them.
"Et's all ovah so li'l." he continued with a soft chuckle "No wunduh dese...
Mood
His first drink had been one long ago, at the young age of twenty. Soon after graduation from the Viridian Order, celebration was clearly necessary, and he found in the drink something he couldn’t seem to get from anything else. So he kept at it, seeing no reason to give it up. After all, it wasn’t as if he was dependent on it.
Then came the first tragedy. His father, simply torn from the world by a dark perversion of life, his mother, bedridden and ill. It caused guilt, regret, pain, loss— but also something new, hatred. Something he hated in himself. So he fought it it the only way he knew - drowning it. And now he could find peace, yet only in the bottom of an empty bottle. He searched for it other ways, with his music, with...
Sitting at in a cold, old left home, Dahlia was thinking.
She was here, in this place, somewhere in the slums.
And all because of this one person...
A few days earlier...
Dahlia was just walking through the streets when she heard a scream.
As fast as she could she rushed to the direction where it came from.
What she saw made her not hesitate second, and she slashed her sword into the man's back.
Bleeding, the man fell to the ground, away from a girl who was apparently pushed against the wall.
After seeing the bruises and a few cuts on her arms, Dahlia did not wait for the man to stand up.
Instead, she decided to help the girl, to lead her to somewhere safe.
Home seemed like a good option...
The girl's name was Elise.
When she...
Victor laid drowsy and sore in a pile of warm sheets and rugs, folded in their depths and thankful for their gentle cradle. His head pounded, and the inside of his mouth felt thick and raw. With a soft wince, he drew his tongue over the places his teeth had been broken, and the ulcers against the inside of his cheek. He took a breath in, the sharp cold of the air burned the inside of his nose, and his broken ribs screamed in protest of the movement. God, being right was painful. A hard, but necessary process of events to push forward his agenda. He wondered if Dorian would pick up on it, how obvious it had all been. He thought back to the man's face as he told him they needed to talk. Victor had followed him around in the hours after...
* * *
H U R I YA
- - -
F r e e d o m
- - -
"Just living is not enough... one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."
-Hans Christian Andersen
* * *
When she left Blacktower, night had fallen thick once more over Regalia. She was sent off with no shove nor shout of harsh doings, but instead a polite farewell from a commander and a new bandage around her head. As she staggered off, her pockets jingled with new coin though it did not draw her attention away from the uncharacteristic lightness of her sides- sheaths empty and daggers once more gone along with her brand new finger knife which had been stolen by the Vigilants. She walked like a broken figure, head bowed and steps jumbled in an awkward shuffle. The young Qadir...
After his time in the Tower, and a long night's rest, Leopold spent most of the next day in the gardens of his estate, talking to no-one, but merely thinking, ignoring the silent procession of servants, guards, and family members who wandered past or stood guard over him - none foolish enough to speak to him.
After a great deal of thought and tribulations, he stood and began to walk, his feet taking him to the forge in the city, where he watched the Master Smith - Bahiri Durinul - at work. Bahiri looked up from his work when his Lord approached, nodding his head in respect and smiling as he continued to hammer on a bar of red-hot metal, eliciting sparks from every stroke of his hammer.
After awhile of this, Bahiri dunked the finished...
* * *
E I Q A B
- - -
P u n i s h m e n t
- - -
"Punishment cannot heal spirits, only break them."
-Barbara Deming
* * *
When the girl awoke once more within the dark confinements of the Bastion cell, it was to the metal gate being banged open and soon followed by the clinging of metal plates against one another as the Vigilant strolled his way into the cell. Azra did not move the smallest bit as she watched the armored man with wide eyes. She could see from her spot atop the cell 'cot' that hung from the wall, that Taliandra had awoken some point before her, peering just as uneasily at the guard as her Qadir friend. The two girls shared a brief glance that resulted only in an ache taking a grasp on Azra's stomach, anxiety twisting her...
Life always had a cruel way of breaking youthful spirit.
That’s what the boy at least came to learn. These past few months, his first few months of his stay in Regalia, had provided him ample material to judge the city life that greatly differed from the nomadic living of his Father. At first it wasn’t so bad despite the fact that there were magical beings with unlimited power that were terrorizing those that he first met. He wasn’t going to lie that he was excited about the endeavour. No, he really did enjoy the new scenery and adventure that came from it. But none of those feelings were held close to his heart when he saw the torment they brought to those he cared for and even himself. His arm still ached with the phantom pains of...
* * *
S I J N
- - -
I m p r i s o n m e n t
- - -
"Most people spend their entire life imprisoned within the confines of their own thoughts. They never go beyond a narrow, mind-made, personalized sense of self that is conditioned by the past."
- Eckhart Tolle
* * *
The girl stirred on the board she laid across within the belly of the Bastion, her hair briefly stuck to the wood from the blood that had been seeping constantly from the crack to her skull, though she noted that her head had been wrapped in her rather delirious state of being. Her eyes scraped across the interior of the harshly grey cell she sat in, attention soon falling on the blurry figure of her best friend, Taliandra, who remained chained to the wall as she'd been...
(These events took place on a brief trip that was time skipped for sake of roleplay.)
The crack of the whip and the cries of pain reached her ears as she pushed through the crowd. The deep purple cloak covered her from head to about knee level as she escaped into a side street.
Panting gently, she slumped against the stonewall and pressed a hand to chest, her midsection heaving with each breath. Hot tears began to roll down her face and as she swiped away at them, she pushed herself upwards and kept moving.
“...SHE IS NO BETTER THAN I! WHY HAVEN’T YOU CAPTURED HER AS WELL?” A pained voice shouted from the direction she had come, but she simply kept going. She had to keep moving, away from her family and away from the once lover, she...
The halls of the Quartier Bertrange estate were quiet as the Peirgarten family moved silently, the occasional whisper being heard every so often as they all loaded into the separate carriages.
The carriages moved off towards the church, as a few more family members gathered within the halls.
The family moved to the front of the rows as their eyes moved down the casket in the front.
Tobie looked peaceful, his hair combed back and his black robes just barely covering his bronze hand.
Amelina kept her eyes peeled anywhere but her cousin, he was like a brother to her and she couldn't believe he was gone. They fought endlessly due to his decisions and the last full conversation they had kept playing over in her head. She clenched her...
Character: Dorian Ardelan
I close the door shut, stepping inside the dark bedroom illuminated by a torch placed neatly upon the table right beside my bed. It has been a long day, and my eyes are barely keeping open. I haven't had any fine sleep in so long. I relax into my exhaustion, releasing a faint sigh of relief at the fact that I just might get some rest tonight. I sit down next to my bed, light a quick sigg, smoking it out in thought as I feel the nerves of my brain soothen out. When I am ready, I lay down on my bed slowly, leaving my boots by the corner. I rest my head sideways against my pillow and breathe out against the torch, putting it out. Lights out.
I turn to the left, toss to the right. I wrap my arms around my pillow...
Leopold sat in the spacious cell, leaning back on the purple sheets of the bed, his eyes gazing out on the stars scattered like gems in the black velvet sky that lay just outside the bars. His mind wandered as he whistled a dwarven smithing tune he remembered from the smiths at his childhood home. He had been here nearly three days awaiting the Inquisitor, and the toll it was taking on his mind was severe.
The Writ of Sin had come as a shock and Leopold was unsure how to handle the whole matter. He was certain, at first, that it could not be real. He had imagined it, or it had been some form of clerical error. He was a Knight after all; a Paladin of the Viridians. He had dedicated his life to Unionism and the Great Way, to carrying...
Warrane gazed out among the crowds, praying with all who'd gathered to spectate the Emperor's great announcement. His eyes followed the Emperor's removal of his fine wears until he looked much alike a commoner compared to the rest of the peerage. A man he looked up to, stripped of his once glorious title
only to become alike the rest of the rabble that was the peerage.
As the ghosts appeared, his jaw almost dropped. For but a moment he seemed to stammer and gag as he murmured to his cousin something to do with the dead rising from the grave and the Spirit's immense power, he'd always been a devout Unionist and now was the time to put his faith to the test. As stunned as he was, he returned to his prayer, listening to the voices of the...
The Music Itself.
He sat down afront the piano, fingers running away, flowing across the keys as he hit each note with precision and giving the ivory a thorough beating with each of his fat little fingers. First came the twang of an F natural, the pianist threw up his arms in rage and let out a sort of roar of frustration, throwing his fingers down unto the keys again to start the song that so plagued him, haunting his nightmares. Again, his left hand hit two bass notes in repetition as his right hand moved in a flurry up the arpeggios that changed so swiftly that his mind was quick to fade as he reached even the third bar and he'd falter once again, hitting just a semitone out of the way.
Another roar came from the boy, he slammed...
Silence. Stillness. Twilight. The once powerful and lively castle was utterly still as night had rolled in following the excitement of the day prior, if that is what anyone was calling it. The whole presentation was, something otherworldly. It was something that every person who called themselves a true follower of Unionism looked forward to, but, perhaps not in this manner. The Imperial Steward had called for three days of common rest after the shocking announcement and overall display and while celebrating should have been occurring, everything stood still, at least for the Paladin.
A pristine steel blade which reflected in the moonlight lay on the ground beneath a statue of the now ex-Emperor, Cedromar I. Knelt on the tile before...
Often at times I tell others that I wish to return home, to return to the colonies and see my family once again. I have lead them to believe that I had not set foot near my homeland since I had left those many years ago. But that is not the truth. I was there. I was there two years prior. I saw the horrors, the bloodshed, the death.
When you are young, you hear stories of the valor and honor it is to serve your Empire. The privilege and the rewards of fighting in war on behalf of the Emperor. But they do not prepare you for what you will see. They do not prepare you for what happens once you are there. The... things you will witness.
Curag Fields.
It was a discomforting action. Some of us were there for our loyalties to the Emperor...
The air was filled with a reverberating ambience that night, upon the streets of Gdénsk. It grew, like the graceful build of a Dressolini bel canto amidst an opera. It was the clatter of chains, before anything: a sort of chiming of metal upon metal, much like church bells on an autumn morning. The metallic chattering grew in its magnitude, filling the side streets, much to the nervous disposition of Gdénsk’s local guardsmen. There was an air of uncertainty, though panic had yet to strike the minds of Gdensk’s Vladno citizens, who were enjoying their evening wine, safe and intoxicated in the comfort of their city manors.
Perhaps it was the writing upon the walls, that first struck flame of panic within the hearts of Gdensk’s...
Joasaie was relaxing in their home in Regalia, enjoying the comfort of the living room's furnishings and the warmth from the fire. It was a rarity that they could do this lately, always being called on for the Shield or Alchemia. The Yanar's mind drifted in the silence, memories coming to the forefront of their thoughts.
A blink, and they were back in Daenshore, having turned twenty and determined to finally learn how to fight. Their mother didn't want that life for her child, but Joa's words had quieted the elder. "It's my job to protect. That's what a Yanar is. I want to protect those I cherish, no matter what pain I face. It's my choice, let me go down the path I'm willing to walk, knowing of the challenges ahead of it."
Blink. The...
"How can I sleep, when I don't have dreams? I just have nightmares.
How can it be? I still believe, something is out there."
Character: Dorian Ardelan
Holding tightly onto the saddle ropes of the horse I rode with the rest of the cavalry, I was already beginning to feel the peeling red skin of my dusted fingers. Holding onto it as if I would slip and die had I let go. Enemy was spotted rallying a mass troop from eight o'clock, marching our way. Through the mud splashing across our fields of vision, the Regalian army made their way through the field, spears being drawn, cries of battle echoing through the vast lands. Ah, Rivellia, I thought to myself. Never had I thought I'd be riding through the Old Rivergrand in a state of war...
She stood in front of a mirror, looking at herself.
She did not speak a single word that day, because she knew that today was the day:
the day that changed her life forever. The day that her parents got killed while she was only a teen.
And it was also the day that she would end her parents' killer.
Dahlia looked at herself once more, before she grabbed a small knife and brought it to her hair.
She swore that she would be a different person after she put an end to her search.
Most of her history, cut off and fallen to the ground...
The night came sooner than expected, but that didn't matter.
Dahlia through the darkest streets of the city. She knew where he was, where he lived, everything.
After all these years, I found you, she...
Read at your leisure...
Within the humid, tropical air or the Allar Embassy, the sound of webbed feet slowly padded their way down a hall. Each pair of small steps was punctuated by the dull thud of a walking staff. An Es-Allar, frog-like in appearance and perpetually looking like an upset child, slowly waddled his way down the hall. The creatures eyes were a glassy white, devoid of iris and pupil, while its skin was covered in purple Seraph runes that slowly pulsed a lazy glow. Above this strange, stubby creature swirled a cloud of butterflies, each of a elegant shape with delicate swooping wings.
As the Es-Allar, who commonly went by the name of Sselliaz Es-Vazziss, neared the end of the hall he reached a moderately sized door on...
With the hit of a wave against the wooden carcass of the ship, the blonde woman dropped what would seem like a pebble. A large, sea green orc with brutish gums walked behind the delicate woman, it’s large blacksteel mace dropping onto the deck. His arms folded as he turned, the back of his hip leaning against the railing.
“Aye Solaine, you doin’ alright?”
The orc asked in it’s harsh voice, the tone sounding like a constant growling drunkard.
“Bored. Tired. The usual.”
The woman stated as she tossed another pebble out into the deep blue and green sea.
“The Premise is all I’m doing ever since the Ministry fell apart, and Spirit knows I’d rather do more than that. It’s boring as all void, but my Griffer education and diplomacy...
Flavour.
Music
Sound Effects
A Curse Upon Tilburgh.
Short Bolshekov Tale.
"....- worshipers are cruel people and even crueler slave drivers." - A torn excerpt from a book on curses. 306AC.
Dusk had befallen Tilburgh Keep amid the dreary beginning of a summer storm. Sleepless, had Radoslav Bolshekov's nights been; without the comfort of dream, nor peace of mind. This was an odd anomaly, for The Boyar often slept easy despite his numerous ill-doings and foul deeds. Yet, at this, Rado may have found little issue: after all, his days had overflowed with duties and mandates, and what was a few hours more to work, than helpful? It was the paranoid thoughts, the mistrust, the fouler than foul thoughts, that had created so much tension...
It was late at night and Freya Claudio was extremely drunk and dangerously close to the gates of the slums. She was wandering towards them fast and unfortunately for her the guards were sleeping or didn't recognize her. She walked right in and went into the emporium. A big seven foot tall Maiar met her at the door along with his companion Azerco. They eyed the noble before the tall maiar, known as Cipactli Approached her.
"What is your name dear?" Asked Cipactli in a gentle but somehow extremely terrifying tone.
"I'm Freya -hic- Claudio" She said with a drunken smile towards Cipactli. Little did she know that was her most fatal mistake of all.
Cipactli quickly drew his mace, the drunken Freya had no time to process what was going on...
Tobie sat at his desk, writing down his thoughts and memories to share with friends and family as he so pleased. He tapped the end of the fountain pen in unison with the ticking of the grandfather clock in his room, humming lightly to himself as he thought of what he might write next. After a long while of ticking, tapping and humming, he seemed to brighten up some. His eyes shuffled through piles of paper and documents all shoved into a drawer before he pulled out three sealed envelopes. His head shook lightly as he thought of the troubles the letters might cause, though nodding and murmuring to himself. “Perhaps just, one more.” He started scribbling down on a fresh piece of parchment, seemingly holding back what happened to be tears...
As the cold wind blows outside of the brick house, Leon sat on the living room of the house looking over at a mug of ale. He extends his hand towards the handle of the mug and grabs it only to bring the mug closer to his lips and takes a swig, drinking the liquid down his throat before he puts the mug on the table.
Leon's sighs before he holds his heart with his right hand and starts to cough, He turns his attention towards his owl and gives a smile "It seems that i might not have enough time to live anymore...pity." He said as he goes for another swig and coughs again dropping the mug down to the floor. He falls to the ground and coughs more louder as he spits blood down on the floor as well.
The owl flew closer to him swooping down...
***
It had started small and unnoticed, the Claith forgetting the date and then the year. She couldn't find her shoes in the morning nor her nightgown in the evening despite them always being placed in the same spot- the General eventually placing her shoes in front of the door itself so she had to kick them aside or step into them before leaving her room. She once turned to him while brushing her small cat and asked aloud, “What is her name?” Her curiosity earnest.
Soon, though, these symptoms grew worse. She forgot where the kitchen was despite her weeks of visiting it, the General once found her favorite hair ribbon thrown away with kitchen scraps and when he asked her if it was a mistake, she stated she didn't know where she'd...
“In following The Way, and by projecting the will of Cedromar I, we truly stand as the Bastion of the Empire.
You understand this, don’t you?”
Day 1,
The First Patrol and the Gathering Storm
Eve fell upon the castle walls, the Gold rays raining upon the men as they stood to attention in the courtyard. All were mindful of their Kommandant Johann Eshevard, but none could keep their eyes off the Undercrown himself.
“If any of you become lazy enough to gain a gut, do not count on some fanciful title here to keep you in service; We have patrols to maintain. Form two columns, on Johann and I.”
Vasily Ostrovsky and Alric Aetcher took their spots immediately behind the two, and behind them their squadron. With rehearsed precision, the men...
A couple weeks before...
<><><><>
“This is exciting, I can’t believe we are doing this.”
“Will you stay quiet, I don’t exactly need anyone knowing we are here.”
“Right right! Stealthy! Stealthy!”
“You aren’t exactly being stealthy.”
Saen glanced over his shoulder tiredly at the bouncing and excited Isldar who trotted along behind him. His quiet and hushed scowling seemingly getting him nowhere. Though she was actually quite graceful on her feet, not making too much noise besides the verbal communication that she seemed to need to keep herself going. Her boots only ever once or twice making a soft pat on the ground as the Duo moved along the dirt filled streets. As the squeezed between and along houses on their forever seeming search...
“She had tricked him. She had made him leave his old self behind and come into her world, and then before he was really at home in it but too late to go back, she had left him stranded there–like an astronaut wandering about on the moon. Alone.”
― Katherine Paterson, Bridge to Terabithia
The faint creaking of the old wooden floorboards of the inn were the only sound that night as the small chi lady had come back from her excursions that day but her usual expression wasn’t present. A sad frown had been resting on her lips as she thought over what happened that day, a pain in her heart from the words she was told.
You were abandoned? How horrible of a daughter were you? Was the only thing that hammered away at her insides at the...