As the moon dawned, Alban looked toward a ship approaching the Regalian Docks. He gave a sigh as he heared a very recognizable voice yelling from behind him. He turned, and glared at his cousin, Marie.
"Marie, I'm doing this. Go away. Tell Adalwolf, whomever you wish..."
His voice echoed across the neighboring houses, standing sternly,
on the wooden boards of the dock.
"Alban! You do not need do to this, please..."
Her eyes released tears, stretching a hand out to him.
"Stop saying please! I'm returning home. War is not for me."
He turned his face to her, revealing a gash on his cheek.
The ship docked as a sailor sent out a boarding slab. Afterward, the captain of the ship, and fellow friend of Alban sent him a shout.
"Old lad...
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Marry for love. Marry the person, your heart cries out for.
-Death Comes to Pemberley, P.D. James
They say that love is patient, kind, and that it is never envious or even jealous. Love was also known to be extremely fickle and Darcie knew it all too well. However, it seemed that love was on her side this year, so far at least. It was only third month into the year, nearly the fourth, but she really was not keeping track. At least not daily.
Humming gently, the woman puttered about her kitchen, one of her dogs following at her skirts and gently barking every so often. Darcie grabbed the towel off the railing and moved to begin cleaning up after her late afternoon lunch, clearly content in her duties as today was one of her less...
Remorse is a funny word.
I find no meaning in it.
Sure, it could be in a dictionary, but it doesn't matter.
I never look back.
I always look away.
-
Perhaps this is why I'm stuck.
-
The horned beast stays silent, peering down at their oddly familiar drink. Thoughts ran rampantly around their head, yet they looked stoic and sure on the outside. Truth be told, the Url themself was suffering inside. In true fashion, the newly formed symbiosis of an Oorl worm and an elven host had found a crisis afoot. Fitting into their old life, it was like putting on your old shoes from childhood when you're nearing a hundred or so years, or when you've replaced something that worked well on its own for something that looked better in your mind...
Salvation from the Shore
Stuck with the sea to their back, an Elven Army to before them and no plan in place to evacuate them from their fate, the Cadar's Wing continue to find themselves between a Rock & a Hard Place. Will the Spirit grant them salvation from their plight?
Contents
Shale
Watch
Scrolls
Showers
Shale, Shells & Sand. Sand which scratches at the skin, provides no pasture for the horses, and no sustainence for the troops of the Cadar's Wing. What limited provisions that the levies had gathered before their prolonged siege by the Elven forces had long since been eaten; fish had become scarce and any wildlife that flew over-head was fought over by the rivaled arrows of the enemy. As he came back from counting...
“.. Outnumbering us three to one.”
This story derived from the No Apathy Among the People Progression.
The men and women in this story are apart of Garth Viduggla’s Army, The Owl’s Talon.
The Army is still on the lookout for new recruits!
Beware: This is long.
Mid March, 306 A.C.
Previously, the men and women of the Owl’s Talon found themselves pushed up to the shoreline due to the sheer numbers of Elves, and lack of men themselves. A plan was set as a result of such an outcome- The Synod’s Army was to plow through the Elven City, while the Viduggla Army was meant to head into the Moors with both Kehlen and Typhonus men. What occurred was something they didn’t plan for.
“.. A mighty fine shield,” Stated the newly...
“A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.”
– Mignon McLaughlin
Senobia had mulled over the thoughts, words, and actions that had led her up to this moment, causing her to frown at some of them. The short halfling stood in front of the mirror in the house that she had been staying in, her cousin being kind enough to let her use the home while she had been gone. The house was a simple one, a cabin off on the countryside of Regalia. Her eyes would glance over the reflection in the mirror that she stood in front of, her mind instantly going to think of any imperfections.
It had taken for them to find someone who would marry them considering what Ruban and now even herself was.
The halfling...
Augusta had finished her day’s duties. Patrolled the city, watched over the Howlester for a few hours, and took the extra time to form friendships with a few in the tavern. By the time the sun began to set, Augusta was a little tired, albeit just ready to spend the evening with the people she considered deep-down to be her family.
Upon entering the Howlester Castle, she greeted a few guards, and chatted a few up, but didn’t stay long. As she moved down to her quarters, she was stopped by a courier whom had come to deliver some notes. He handed her a large package, that was held together with cheap material.
It smelled familiar, and brought her back to her childhood. She didn’t stand there very long, soon rushing out to find someone...
They grew up demons of the North when they finally found their voices and legs, nearing the tenth nameday. They screamed and shouted at one another and the other adolescents, sticks flying in mock war. A wolf of a boy pounced atop another, beating them down with a mighty howl, while across the way, a girl snaked silently through the overhanging shadows of the homes above. She clipped off her enemy with a mock-weapon to the head, wood popping defiantly as it collided with the skull of another Velheimer girl.
The boy turned at spotting the girl, giving a cheerful hiss of laughter after taking down the neighboring girl- who made no move to warn the victor in their small battle of the boy racing across the snowy dirt towards her. The wolf...
Marie’s P.O.V -
Outside of the Peirgarten Estate, Marie Peirgarten sat in front of the statue laying in the middle of the garden, beside her were two books, rather short books. One being about Regalia’s poetry, and the other about alchemia history.
Through the calm whistles of wind brushing against a variety of objects, Marie suddenly felt a wave of random contractions, thus leading to her first stage of pregnancy, rupturing her water sac. At first, this left her in confusion but in swift time, she’d come to her senses and realise that it was time.
“ Courier! Inform my husband of the pregnancy! “ the Peirgarten shouted out, towards a nearby Nelfin courier, resting just at the door, waiting like a predator to sprint.
But besides...
Robert gazed through the telescope, looking at the distant outline of the city as his ship lurched towards it.
"Yeah. Thats Regalia all right. Last time I saw it was over a year ago, during the Lo Rebellion. It was alot brighter with all the fires going on then." He said.
The sailor nervously scratched at the back of his head "Oh. Was it?"
Robert nodded, he was a rather plain looking man, not handsome or ugly, he had black hair cut short, and a beard that he felt was starting the grow too thick. "Yeah. It was. Still a filthy cesspool I see however. Always hated cities, I prefer the Hand of Man."
The sailor reaches out for his telescope, but Robert turns away, heading off "Get me a pen and paper, time to announce house Carwell's...
I N T E R N A L
F I R E
Yevgeniy had left her there, quietly sipping her tea as the pains came creeping back. Her head thudded mercilessly and her chest burned with a hellish pain as her heart seemed on the verge of giving out. The young Qadir pushed herself slowly up to stand, clutching her wooden teacup close to her chest in aching fingers as she staggered off from her spot beside the blazing fire outside the Emporium. The seventeen-year-old tripped through the slums, dragging herself through it until she reached the old asylum inside a cruelly ironic district- the Vampire District.
Her head reeled as she lurched through the dark halls of the asylum, her unsteady footsteps echoing through the otherwise quiet air of the dusty...
"... For no man mistakes these hostile elements as anything but a sign from the Gods."
Encamped with what measly pickings they could secure in the Drazj Wastes, a Chieftain listened as one of his men lamented the fortunes of their tribe. Drinking heavily, tensions grew - disrespect had become more common between the nomads. Unity was only necessary until the hunt was done.
"Cease the speak about the Gods; you make no offerings, amongst us are no Staagir, yet here you exercise your jaw at dinner to do nothing more than bemoan what we all face." Scowling, the Chieftain poured himself some spirits upon some foraged roots for what little flavour they could provide the alcohol.
"You would deny that the Gods are trying to? Even that...
The silence of the assembly chamber was unnerving. The only sound that echoed through its massive walls was the friction of iron against steel from the many Azures and Hightowers that had been gathered on the other side of the barrier. Only moments before, Wilfre had sacrificed a scarf given to him by a Silveirall that once loved him to that blood-red barrier that was clear as glass, but as wicked as boiling blood. His breath was held while the whole world seemingly stood still, dumbfounded that the Phantasma managed to get so close to the piano that was placed right in the center of the great assembly hall. To say Wilfre was unafraid would be a lie, even though he had experienced scenarios that many would deem to be so harrowing that...
Jaeyna Thillman awoke as her boat arrived at the docks at midnight, the stars slightly more covered by clouds than in the wilderness. Perhaps it was the larger amounts of torches and chimneys than simple trees. It didn’t matter though. It was time to find her son in this Void of a City. She quietly clambered up from the storage area in the boat and slowly hopped down to the dock, moving on from the boat in silence, hood up, and cloak over her Warhammer. She didn’t want anyone seeing that. She moved silently through the dimly lit streets, guards passing her by, but she hid behind the groups of citizens and people simply talking, getting by without a hitch. It’s the way she liked it, keeping everyone out of the way to do her job, and...
Aaron Thillman gulped as he was handed a large sack of an unknown substance, and was asked to throw it into the Shendar's face, before stealing his cane by the man with the metal hound helm. He didn't know how to do this, being only eight, and didn't know the ins and outs of theft as he had simply gotten by through begging alone before this after all, but before he could question further the Hound-Helmed Man told him of the price. 200 coins, an amount he could only dream of in his life as a beggar. Aaron hastely accepted, quickly grabbing the sack and heading off to find his fortune, and find his target. How hard could it be to do such a task after all? The young child shuffled through the Slums, heading for the Emporium, and heading...
The frigid, damning rain pattered down onto the man as the vessel neared the Gallovian port. Sailing wasn’t a common occurrence for the Highlander, especially since he left these grounds long ago, home didn’t feel as welcoming as he remembered as his memory flashed back to those last days, those cruel, ruthless days of his banishment from his own home. From across the way, a little boy and a much older, a taller man standing at the dock, both waiting, staring down the vessel as it neared. Nace’s face only turned into a slight grimace as he spotted his brother, Delmso.
The boat stopped at the Drummond stepped up to the dock, tilting his head as the rocking motion of the sea had finally stopped beneath his feet, in front of him stood his...
♫ Mood Music ♫
It was a strange feeling, watching the river swirl beneath her. Aoibhin was in a familiar spot; back on the bridge near her lover's old house. It was a welcoming sight, especially after hearing the fate of that damned Jarsdel. How could he have been so willing to die when he had been cleared of all crimes? She let out a sigh, knowing the answer to the question that still rang through her ears. But, why? Last she had seen him, he looked as if nothing had happened. His confidence was still burning bright when she told him of.. No. She wasn't going to think of that now. It was too late for apologies. The only reasonable thing to do now was die.
She wasn't going to actually die. That was stupid and it would be breaking her...
Merina laid in the darkness, her lover lying besides her in a deep slumber, the other Claith unaware of the fear seeping off her. Her gaze glanced to the shadows around her, searching for the boogeyman just out of sight. She squeezed her eyes closed a moment before a creak in the woodwork, the house settling in the night, startled her back to watching the darkness as she pulled herself from bed with a gasp.
Her eyes were wide in the cool air of the house that followed after her like a ghost from the past as she moved towards the door. Merina closed her eyes a moment, calming herself with a few breaths as she placed her hand on the knob before she twisted and darting back towards the cradle in the end of the room. Her fingers held tight...
A collaborative story from @AtticCat and I.
“I-I nn-never forget a voice, girl. You can’t escape me. Give up before you get yourself killed.”
The plague and rot Arken stammered out, his footfalls drawing closer and closer to where she hid.
Darcie held her breath, her hands holding firmly to her dagger as she braced herself against the wall. Her knuckles turning white as her grip tightened as she heard the footfalls fall quiet. Slowly she pushed off the wall, and lurched out into the open, letting out a battle cry that was essentially a jumble of words in D’Ithanie.
Swinging upward with her dagger, she clenched her eyes tightly as she heard metal hit metal and felt clear resistance as her hand fell away. Her eyes opened and she...
“We move for the hills.”
This story derived from the Shuffles Of The Generals And The Troops Progression.
The men and women in this story are apart of Garth Viduggla’s Army, The Owl’s Talon.
The Army is still on the lookout for new recruits!
Beware: This is long.
Early March, 306 A.C.
Previously, the Generals of the Imperial has forced the Elven menaced down into the Elven Moors and Inner Elf Lands with sheer numbers. Later, the force would be more than cut in half for the Synod’s army. Garth Viduggla, General of The Owl’s Talon, found himself to be apart of the select few who lost their armies entirely for the time being, and decided to take his men to the army of Ardige Viduggla to aid in his efforts.
The men within...
The dimly lit streets of Regalia were as quiet as the void itself. The deafening silence of midnight encasing all within its grasp. The dark fell upon the streets, there were few signs of any waking activity, aside from one faint light; or a hint of one. Behind closed curtains, one could faintly make out the light of a single candle. Within this largely empty house lived only one soul, this soul being that of the lonesome tiger. He sat by the flame, basking in its comforting light for the time being, delaying the inevitability of sleep itself. His burnt hands clasped together; as if praying that day could come sooner. As the fire began fading, as did his eyes begin close. He lay his head onto the pillow, the dim glow of his eyes...
Week 9 - Lore Story
The Grand Armada made its way along the Elven-held coasts of the Far West Sea at full speed, waves lapping at the hulls of the Calemberg Third Liners. Further and further the Regalians sailed, in hot pursuit of their makeshift foe. After a number of days, however, the lack of a place for the Regalian ships to port, and the fact that there were not enough ships in the fleet to hold enough supplies to counter this, began to take its toll. The Regalian crewmen grew nervous, while the elves in their shoddy vessels escaped deeper and deeper into enemy territory still.
The crews began to voice their fears to their officers. “Captain, we ain’t got ‘nough food to last another 3 days!” said a particular crewman to...
A Precarious Position
When one-hundred and fifteen thousand men are taken from the region surrounding the Elven Cities, to be deployed in the Avanthar Crusade, the Cadar's Wing find themselves in a precarious position.
Contents
Lack
Flames
Hoofs
Slaves
Sand
Lack of food, lack of water; lack of hay, lack of cloth; lack. It had been a week now since the Ravenstad levies had been redeployed to the Avanthar war effort, along with several other cohorts, transfered over the Regalian Empire's overseas ventures. Yet no sooner did they leave on the Eve of March, 306AC, the twenty-thousand Ailor soldiers occupying the City of Colael found themselves without some of the basic amenities of their campaign. Supply lines had been...
The Cost of Success
It was only three hours after the publicization of his confession that Edward Jarsdel received word from his gangsters about the guards finally taking action. That was it. The ultimate scenario. He knew this was going to end up either one way or the other; either he and his entire family would see the guillotine known as rapists and murderers, or they would be saved, their reputation cleansed, and his ambitions of legality seen true. That was the plot. That was the plan. He gambled his entire life, and this was one of his biggest gambles yet.
He walked towards the entrance of his rich estate in company of his two bodyguards, his long trenchcoat flapping with the winds. Some citizens were already eyeing him...
It had been a peaceful time, Thela was in bliss with marriage. A grace period where everything seemed so whimsical and like a daydream, hearing of her pregnancy out of wedlock caused panic obviously, the marriage came quickly after finding out about the expecting little one. But they both were ready to marry, it was just the case of when exactly. Naka’el worried about supplying a ring beautiful enough to be worthy of his lover, yet Thela didn’t worry nor have much care for jewellery. The symbol of marriage and just to call him her husband and partner in life was all she wanted.
Within a matter of weeks the two became married and living in the humble abode of Thela herself, it was a small, one bedroomed home by the docks. Yet it was...
A soft hum came from the painter, who lifted her brush to give the canvas another small mark here and there. She was undisturbed for the moment, focusing solely on her painting while a finely dress young girl laid on the couch nearby, absorbed in her book- at least, as far as her aunt knew. In all actuality, the girl had rose from her spot long ago to creep to the older woman’s side and hover near her shoulder to watch the painting come more and more to life.
“Aunt Darcie,” the girl finally spoke, startling the Half-Anglian woman briefly before she turned to regard her niece.
“Oui, ma chérie?”
“Can I paint, too?”
Darcie rose a finger to tap at her chin in thought, smearing a faint spot of blue paint on her skin as she did which...
“Pride, courage, loyalty. Pride, courage, loyalty. Pride, courage-- loyalty, loyalty, loyalty!”
Harrison Jarsdel shrieked the family’s binding traits as he sat on the edge of his luxurious bed. His right hand’s fingers dug at the healed brand in the middle of his forehead while tears stung his pale blue eyes and slithered down his cheeks. Almost like snakes strangling his thoughts. Harrison sat in between two mirrors, one hand-held within his left hand’s calloused palm and trembling fingers, the other perched against the embroidered wall. His gaze snapped between the ‘T’ branded into his skin and the brutal scarring from the twenty lashings that found home across his inked back.
The middle-aged man’s head drooped forward in tandem...
The Bastion
He peered around in a daze as he came back from the dreams of living happily with his little children, having to take in once again the realization of what had happened. What he had lost. He cried out, in vain, to see his love and for her to not be harmed. He didn’t care about himself. He only wanted her to be happy. He didn’t know why this was happening, why things were faring in such a southerly manner. Why did he have to be such a fool, he asked himself. Why didn’t he just get things right the first time, and kept his family together. Why did he have to be such a fool, he’d finally wonder before falling unconscious again.
Days passed, but for him it seemed like eons. The Claith became evermore doubtful he’d ever...
The gold-black bannered ship that had arrived to Regalia ten days ago released her grapple on the harbour's pier. She left port with a good handful of silhouettes aboard in the early morning light, the sun's rays glancing on the dull and worn golden ornaments around her aft. As soon as it reached the premise of the Crown Isle, the ship retracted her oars from the water and opened full sails, headed west almost as if the cloth was hinged up to catch the rays of the sun.
The ship did not falter until it moored safely in the harbour of Gram, the capital of Morgwenn.
A plume of dust emerged from the organ's pipe as the musician settled into a soft melody. The piped arched above the great hall of an estate, once noble though now...
The boy, pale as snow, stepped out unto the ice. The winter had devoured the lake completely and he had ventured outwith the family home in Haute Vasque, only to gaze upon it with his own two eyes. The forests were a dying grey and white mixture, the world monotone about him. Deer and Elk seemed to dash through the forests and the boy had followed a beautiful doe all the way to the lake that was bordered only by a thick, dense treeline and large groves of assorted berry bushes which were just coming into bloom. His deep brown eyes rest upon the doe in amazement. A small giggle protruded from the child as he quickly raced across the frozen waters. The young boy slid across the thick ice, before finally falling down. A loud and horrifying...
Tick-Tock
Time will never cease.
As time, for me, may never stop.
I tap my fingers upon the mahogany counter top
While the ticking of my pocket watch echoes in my ears, I do combat.
As do the steps of a maid, soldier, or a simple working man,
As does the flapping of a dragon's wings rather than
The frail fluttering easily ceased of a butterfly or bumble bee.
Perhaps even the heartbeat or the jungle of unease jumbled inside of me,
Time is dedicated to the maid, soldier or the simple working man's mortality.
Time is a precious thing, dedicated to taps and ticks that we all want to fix,
Dedicated to the candles melting by the flame that licks upon the wicks.
While the ticking of my pocket watch echoes in my ears, I fail to combat.
I stop...
Foreword: This Lore Story contains mild gay themes and is roughly 14+, containing some affection moments, but nothing too non PG.
It was as if the shutters closed on a dark pantry maid's room and suddenly reopened just as quickly as the tenant forgot to remove the laundry from the line outside her house. Osric was not familiar with dreaming, his nights were simple and over in an instant, to wake as alert as going to bed, and to spare no idle thought, hope or ambition between the closing and the opening. The linens were soft, but the crates underneath hard. The contrast could easily have said something about his life in general, but merely produced cracks this time as it buckled under him while he slowly rose from his lying position...
- Part II : The Adagio -
Ringing.
What was I saying…?
Ringing, so dull in his ears,
he wasn’t sure if it was even there or if he was just imagining it.
No-- this isn’t mine. Is it? Wait--
I'm sorry...
Who… who were you again?
But it persisted. No matter how hard he cupped his hands against his ears.
Where am I??
It persisted.
I’m sure of it! This-- I don’t. Actually what? I don’t know, I don’t….
Ringing--
Ringing--
R i n g i n g--
Wh-- Why, why is everything--
Do you-- Do you see this?? Am I really going crazy?!
Everything... looks green...
Why does... why does it look green...
And it paired, so magnificently, with the jarring moments of confusion...
- Part I : The Allegro -
The music was so enticing. A call to follow he simply couldn’t refuse.
In the pit of his stomach, he knew his situation.
Sinking, further and further into dread as the herd of listeners left the safety of their day to day busy.
Little did the Cielothar know, dread wouldn’t be the only thing sinking.
No.
It happened so quickly. One by one, he watched people step off the bridge.
Plunge into the pond without so much as a care in the world, thanks to her beautiful music.
He willed himself, prayed internally in frenzy, for his feet to stop.
Not to take the fall.
Yet-- with the fast approaching splash. His feet hit the water.
The true
p A n iC
set in.
With determined struggle, his head was above...
Aronne’s brushstroke moved across the canvas as an extension of his own body, not as a tool, but as an appendage. While he could truly focus his energy into something like this, one of his many outlets, the world seemed to fade into the background, similar to the background of the painting itself. This was a simple enough piece of art, only a standard nature scene, but an important one nonetheless. As he finished the last stroke on the glistening sun’s distorted reflection in the water, he let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and took a step back to examine the work he’d done so far. Almost done, but... something was missing. He took a short break for now, not wanting to risk ruining the still-wet section of the river...
THE DEPARTURE - At the Docks.
Rosalia would be standing at the edge of the dock, clutching a leather suitcase to her leg as her cloak flowed in the icy cold wind. Exhaling a soft breath into her cupped hands she peered off into the horizon of the sea. It was endless, so full of opportunity. She felt exhilarated and somewhat scared with what was about to occur. But there was no doubt in her mind, she was going to do this. She was finally going to be with the man she had longed for, glancing down at her boots she’d tap the toes lightly against each other as she awaited his arrival, hoping he’d come, dying in anticipation.
It was within a few minutes, two figures would make their way briskly through the growing amber of the morning...