A faint breeze through the air seemed to wake the plant from his slumber, now lying awake with their gaze to the night sky. He had fallen asleep once again, now stuck outside in the flower garden of the noble they work for. The plant let out a grunt before moving to sit up with a shake of his head to get any loose leaves or petals off of his head, the once rather wilted looking flower on his head a more vibrant color.
The once dreary plant was now more alive looking than before, for once a calm look on his face. He once looked more thin than he did now, now he clearly had some sort of muscle on him along with the deep brown and green clothing he wore with leather padding. As he looked through the peaceful silence in the garden he...
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Ayda pulled the horse to a halt as she came upon a familiar sight. It had taken her, well, a while to get here. First there had been the week on the boat that actually had not been that bad. Then there was the farmer she had to deal with to get the horse she was currently riding. The jerk had pawned off what probably was his worst horse on her, but hey. At least it has done its job. Just slowly. Very, very slowly. Then there was all the searching and question asking that she had to get here. At least those other tribes and villages had been helpful in her journey. A journey, that was about to come to its end. For a while, anyways. Ayda disembarked her horse, taking up the reins as she observed her tribe from a distance. Estel, did it...
The snowy rooftops lining the streets brought a sense of nostalgia to Amelina.
She remembered the past winter, dealing with dead rising, and how she nearly lost her life.
She remembered the man who she once spent nearly every day with, their shared love for horticulture was something she found endearing.
She walked the streets heading towards the Flower district, her heels clicking against the cobbled streets.
She turned at the sign, taking a deep sigh reading over it.
Amelina carried the plant over to the statue, unsure what to say or do, the stark cold of the potted plant turned her fingers red the tighter she gripped.
She knelt, looking up at the statue, beginning to whisper so any passerbys wouldn't hear her speak.
“You...
No man should ever have to endure so much pain.
Alas, the one who was doing just that was the city’s scourging demon mage, Ichabod, who had become desperate enough to drag himself with his hands. The nails on his fingers were breaking, the skin on the joints was contracting, and all of his clothing had been essentially torn to shreds. A long trail of a ruby red hue could be traced for almost two blocks back, in which the snow had the bodily imprint of our demon mage collapsing to the ground. How could all of this happen? All we wanted was to bring back the glory of the elves and prove that he was a good man.
It all came so quickly. He had escaped his cell, leaving little more evidence than a path of mysteriously unlocked doors and...
The Slum Gate Massacre
The clashing of metal and blue-steel could be heard from any corner of the city, as both Rebel, Violet, and Shield took arms.
Children would cry, women would hold them dear to their chests.
Was this it? Was the cities order in the balance between falling into chaos or being preserved?
December 14th, 305 AC
It was a normal day for Guardsman Benjamin Journey- He was just about to get off the clock to enjoy some of his favorite things in life. Drinks- Women- and singing in front of crowds at the Golden Willow Tavern.
To Ben's horror- the day would provide no such luxuries. (Clank clank clank) He stood at post, awaiting his final hour of work at the Tower's Gate.
A figure suddenly...
Her skirts swished slightly over the carpets of the guest bedroom she paced in. Closed eyes and arms folded firmly across her chest, Darcie moved in a slow circle.
The room was bare of most of the woman’s belongings as they had been packed away into their trunks once more. Off to a weekend retreat she had been looking forward to only for her thoughts to be ruined by a conversation with a man she assumed had been in Ithania.
Her father had appeared with boot and cane a-clicking and set her mind in an uproar with the words he has spoken.
“I am not sure, but it will take much work.”
Darcie opened her eyes and unfolded her arms, placing her hands upon the edge of the desk. She stared out the window and squinted slightly at her barely...
Artwork courtesy of @WaterDruppel
“As long as I’m alive, she won’t be forgotten. You can’t run from that.”
The Shendar’s own words bounced around his head as he walked through his habitat. The dark depths of the sewers were more than a home now. They were known to him like the back of his hand, and so much of his time in this city had been spent prowling the stone beneath the earth. Though, in his mind, perhaps now was the most important time of his life. For everything he gained, something was taken. That was the rule of his existence. After he had a high, there must be a low. He made sure of that. But today was.. Just a little bit different. See, when a man’s broken-- his whole existence is broken. Gone. Destroyed. All of his...
◤ ◥
◣ ◢
The air was quiet and calm. At the entrance to the tactician tent, the flaps occasionally gave a flicker of movement from the gentle breeze that floated through the camp. Karsten took all the time he could to gaze around the tent, for details like that. Being alone with his father meant he could do away with the infernal helmet with its blinding visor, which did wonders in blocking his ability to see properly. Though the Silven couldn't deny its importance, if word got out Maximilian allowed someone like him, despite being his bastard, into his personal guard, he'd be finished. Standing behind the man actually at that moment, the dark-haired bastard...
Two years have passed since I've been out, since everything went to shit. These two years have been the best, ever. I feel alive, even with death looming from above. This winter season will be the best, for everyone. For my new family.
I got him flowers this year, picked from the slums. Wild and free, just like us.
I'm trying to carve her something, a firefly? I could use solacrux to make it shine.
I found some nice charcoal for him, just enough to draw with.
I'm finding her the sweetest candy, more delicious than her own.
He's getting something with antlers, perhaps I'll mount my deer for him.
I'm making up for my mistakes, I'll get her something shiny.
He allowed me in, he deserves more than my gratitude.
He's one of us, I trust...
(WARNING: Contains a part that could be considered too much for underage players. I put a spoiler on this as it goes into further detail of how she looks like. This adds NOTHING vital to the story and is purely a DETAILED description. You DON'T need to open the spoiler as you will NOT miss anything. )
Waiting in the dark on her client, Valiane sat on a chair.
She met the man just thirty minutes after she danced. Jake told her that there was a man who wanted to talk to her, and after a while, Jake gave in and asked Valiane if she was OK with it. Immediately interested, Valiane agreed, on the condition that she could keep on her mask, which only covered her eyes but enough to make her face unrecognizable. Her identity would also...
The young boy, or man as he insisted, was bouncing with joy. The salt encrusted rails shook with his every movement as he bounced to and fro with glee, icicles crashing into the sea below as he gripped the wooden structure; a surprise considering he was wrapped head to toe in thick confining winter wear. Dressed in the navy blue of his house, the boy looked like a giant blueberry rolling about the deck; something the various members of the SS Seasalt snickered about in private. None would dare cross the captain by insulting his son, no matter how stupid said son looked.
Nothing could contain the excitement Côme had as their vessel approached a rather wild looking island off the shore of Jorrhildr. It wasn't the first time they had seen...
Morning breeze, sunshine piercing the foliage and drooping sweat running down the cheeks of three dozen knife-eared men emerging from a cabin. They each had a collar wound around their necks, the purple hue glinting off the steel rather contradictory to the metal links that clung downwards and traced towards the burgundy-coated slave drivers.
The slaves weren't gaunt, nor were they underfed. In fact, they seemed to be more stocky, more muscular than their brethren in Rie and definitely well fed. They each grabbed a sickle to saunter towards the endless rows of dúllci canes. To the d'Ithanie orders shouted, they all started wrestling the leaves away from the canes with their tools, leaving a pure stoa in place of the previous wilderness...
Her. The sole person in his life to make him happy.
Her. The most perfect being to be in his life.
Her. The laugh so infectious that himself always managed to catch it.
Her. The way she carried herself always so strong, after something so awful.
Her. The one he fell hard for.
Her. The one he always wanted to please no matter what.
Her. The one person he’d give the world to on a silver platter if he could.
Her. The one inspiration he got.
Her..
Her. A name no one knows..
Her. The son she gave for him..
Her. A face as white as snow..
Her. Skin as cold as ice..
Her. The last battle lost..
Her. Breathing now ceased..
Her. One last gift to the world..
Her last ‘I love you.’
Him..
Him now shattered.
Him now not who he was.
Him now...
What now?
The never-ending question that ran through Avynn’s mind that night. She sat staring blankly ahead, her lips curled down into a frown. Her back pressed into the back of the soft couch, the sleeves of her white shirt pulled back at different places, displaying the tattooed arms. Her hand sporting a glass, only ice left in it now. Her brilliant blue eyes seemed rather dull, the two bruises on her cheek have gotten bigger since the following night. They hurt..oddly..maybe it was more the pain where they came from or the pain in her heart. That she didn’t know. She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees. A hand slowly lifted to rub at her chest. Gosh did it hurt, it hurt so bad? Loverless, pride damaged, aimless? How...
Theme
Václac used to be the man who always was on the edge; Quite stressed and jumpy, especially before his first hunt. We laughed and joked merrily about it, and readied ourselves while making sure jokes and jests were in place. The time to begin finally arrived.- He appeared to be in a maddening, primeval state of fear. Hunts are good sport, I thought to myself as I pulled back the string on my crossbow, and set the first bolt in. He too acted out in the same way, unknowing of the oncoming.
I myself never used to be a tall man. In fact, my height is quite average and everyone seem to be an inch or two taller than poor me. Anyhow, the small group of five which the local elite chose had to wander into the night, and retrieve a pair...
…the tomb’s atmosphere was filled with air so heavy and cold, one could barely breathe. Reginald looked akin to the many corpses about, though blood and warmth still coursed through his veins. Yet stuck he was nonetheless, and I couldn’t reach him. Not that I tried, nor that I really wished him out of there… But for one, there did not seem to be much to grieve about. Poor Reginald. What a Guard he was; determined, unrelenting, true to both himself and his friends. Though a fool, a triumphant one at that.
Now that you lay on the cold floor as you greedily grasp for air in blindness, I wish that you raised your voice. I wish that you did what was needed. I wish you were less caring, so now your heart would not be pierced.
I wish you...
Avynn could have worn through the floor with her pacing. Back and forth and back and forth. Why hadn’t she been there? Why did she let her follow rangers get hurt? She should have gone to the fort as soon as she heard the news to help. She glanced over her shoulder at a soft cry from the room behind her. A frown folded at her lips, did she make a bad choice? Perhaps, it was too late to change it now, however. She moved with swift steps to her office, closing the door she swiftly sat down and set a piece of paper in front of her. She soon wrote and sent out the following.
To Leonizo Wodenstaff - A small package with a card tucked into the binding on the top was sent to him. If he opened it inside would contain some Thoughgrass salve and...
There was a game I used to play with my sisters and brother during my growing up in Ithania: we carried a ball of leather blown to fit into our grasp about and chased each other similar to a catch-me-if-you-can though throwing a ball instead of extending a finger.
One day playing in the great white plains my smallest sister managed to hurl the ball too fast and too strong and it shattered through a wall of mirrors breaching to the other side and disappearing in the darkness.
I volunteered to cross to the other side, stepping precariously around the shattered glass thorn afraid that I would cut myself, though still not cautious enough and letting my blood drool as I reached for the ball.
Though as I took a hold of it, the world...
The Holzkirche Estate during a nighttime snowfall
The hooves of the three man retinue echoed through the western woods that night, galloping through the winding trails of the Crown Isle's wilderness. Over hill and bridge, and through small villages the trio rode, until they reached their destination.
Their leader dismounted as the squire ran up to take the reigns of the steed, the other two still mounted. The man proceded into the left door of the estate, and looked up to the see the familiar armor sets lining the walls. Though they were not the ones he was was seeking.
Up the steps he went, passing through the library where the children were reading and enjoying their evening. And still up again he went, to the highest level of...
RETELLING OF EVENTS AFTER THE EIGHTH OF ████████████, ████ AC
TAKES PLACE IN ████████████████, SUBJECT’S HOME
THESE ARE THE SUBJECT’S MUSING OF TOPIC ████████
The snowfall was heavy that night, the light scent of burning tabacca and opium carrying on the misted breath that the half-blood exhaled. They enjoyed smoking on the balcony for some reason, regardless of the weather. Maybe the way the snow fell between the roofs of their tucked away home felt calming, or maybe they just thought it was so they could have some peace. Between enduring Fort Loyalty and ███████ █████████ ███████ █████████, could anyone really blame them for wanting that calm?
The moment didn’t exactly last, though. Given that all they had been through, they still...
The Dressolini’s cloak flapped fiercely, hair wildly blowing around as heavy winds whipped down the main street leading to the disgusting and criminal filled district known as the Slums. His face was one of both disgust but determination, ready to rid the Slums of those who would seek to sabotage the Empire. Numerous men and women stood ready around him all seemingly with the same mindset and goal in mind. Rangers, Violets, Vigilants, every guard charter and more positioned themselves around the gatehouse which leads to this wicked and filthy place. Weapons were in hand, and dead center sat a canon which burst forth with a resounding explosion. Chunks from the gate blew in every direction, the sharp metal pieces undoubtedly hitting the...
A Prelude to Abusement
The deal was finally struck. The plot was over 40 acres of prime Regalian countryside. The land came with a mandate: build the greatest amusement park Aloria has ever known. The House of Fong, once again, lurched towards it’s ultimate goal. All of FongCo’s production capacity would turn, at once, on it’s mighty heel to serve the great endeavor. All Rim Island sweatshops were retooled at once for balloon and firework production.
Birds, letters and airships of all kinds were dispatched to the corners of the globe. Favors and friends were called in from all over Aloria. Strange people began to turn up at the Regalian docks on a regular basis. Many had booked passage on merchant vessels with the remainder of their...
The young girl sat on the curb of the street. It was the morning hours and the sun was peaking over the tips of the rooftops overhead. Maids and butlers with full chamber pots, emptied their contents for their respective masters, the muddied road growing in stench. It had been three days to the young Ashley's recollection. Three days since she had abandoned her home on the fringe. No longer would she experience the ominous silence of the woodland line. Her rations of four potatoes was falling short. She had limited herself to a half spud a day, leaving her with two and a half remaining. She would last the remainder of the week, yet if the previous days had shown anything she would not be able to afford herself a meal past that.
The...
During my mid 20s I oft found myself strolling down the hallway of Regalia and opening one of the infinite amount of doors lining the sides. Though they were all different to each other I stumbled from one to the other in the dim light of a flickering chandelier following me down the corridor.
Prying a door open revealed to me a planescape: always unlike the previous though mostly clear to the eyes. Some of these gateways sheltered tranquil gardens, others led to hideous nooks of otherworldly creatures that reached to nib at my hand whenever I sought to close the door as quick as I opened it.
On of them, however, was different. An ordinary one of some elongated bell shape with its rim a foot above my head; opening it revealed to me...
Another night in an armchair
Warm, welcoming a darkness was the one which I entered upon that fateful night. It greeted me as if I used to be an old friend who ventured abroad, and returned for a special occasion. I closed the mahogany door behind, telling myself I've done what I had to. The lock clicked, and so I stepped forward toward the armchair which served as my place of rest since this week's start. My robes I cast aside, and I took my common wear. - Believing I would get the chance to take one more stroll before I passed out. Yet as I turned, a blurry shape moved at the edge of my perception. Must say, it was less than an instant in which I turned toward the stalking entity. - Only to witness the horror which crept upon and...
The constant pitter patter of raindrops as they assaulted the black feathered parasol of the newly made matriarch toned out the small sniffles of the bearer, her eyes as wet and free flowing as the clouds above. Her face was already streaked with muddled mascara and runny eyeliner that had ran down her face and into the ground below, speckling it with spots of black. The rich and firm earth of Pays Sud did not relent easily though, she would note as the black quickly faded into the life giving soil, nor should she; she had to be strong. The tug of her coat by small grubby hands reminded her why.
Yet, not even she could keep back the torrent of tears forever. It was the first time since arriving to the coastal city of Oakclyff that...
"You're like the snow; beautiful and cold."
The wind whistled through the meager wooden barricades settled at the front of the barracks. Not even the drab drapes hanging in front of the hay bunks could prevent the harsh winter breeze from blowing remorselessly further inside. The blanket held over her body was thin, itchy and useless against the elements. Even the walls surrounding her could not do much to fend off the hand of winter. Fort Loyalty was unforgiving, even in the spaces so many had told her would bring her some form of sanctity and closure during her stay. The reality of it all seeped into her mind, and it hadn't really clicked until she found herself, for once, not in the comfortable servant's bed in a Castle, but upon a...
The candlelight shivered and flicked as she made her way slowly up the stairs. The house simply grew in more a state or ruin with each room she entered. Claw marks lined the wall, stuffing torn from cushions and papers scattered upon the floor.
Her knuckles had turned white as she held quite firmly to the candlestick and the paperweight she carried as a makeshift weapon. The woman looked towards the third set of stairs, leading up to the final part of the house: her bedroom and study. Straightening her shoulders and raising her source of light upwards, she journeyed on, slowly and tentatively. Her lips drew back into a grimace as the smell that had greeted her at the door had only grown stronger.
The smell itself reminded her of a...
Disappointed from when he stepped into the camp - and exposed to unexpected cruelty, no matter what debt he owed, he found it better than staying in a puddle of toxicity - that seemed to strangle him whenever he tried to breathe. Yes, he had planed on.. Helping, some sort of way. Whether it be breaking them out - maybe even helping that strange Silven go about things! But, as time passed, it didn't seem worth it. his bitterness had already turned into it's ashes - into sorrow, rather. No guilt conscious on his head as he began to move off the path from the Fort.
Down the stairs, he held a bag of groceries. Freshly bought from the store, even though he had strange glances stolen from him. Non that he minded - Alistair already knew what...
Otto Bergmann sat down on his bed, for the day had been immensely tiring for him. Many unfortunate men and women had seen his face as he dragged them to the camp for the pogrom. He would probably be in their nightmares now, but that didn't matter. The Emperor is to be obeyed, and obey Otto shall.
~ These events occurred four months or so ago. ~
Fathiyaa Nasir lay flat on her back against the stone floor. Her head slightly propped against the wall. Her sweat soiled white hair was disheveled, barely tucked back in an unkempt bun. She still wore the collar placed on her during the horrid bloodletting session two weeks earlier. Her clothes were filthy and disorderly. The woman lay gazing blankly toward the cell door with her bloodshot tawny golden eyes. It stood open but she was too weak to stand let alone walk out through that door to freedom. The Songaskian woke up feeling the familiar full body chills and unforgettable crippling pains she’d felt. She deteriorated further as the day went on. She was exhausted by the evening and...
Quiet nights in the for what seemed like eternally locked room sat the blonde, face first into the molded and disgusting stained writing desk. A tear stained table top was greeting the bastard Nelfin much like a pillow to a child, she'd lift her head up from the desk knocking a much past old bottle that had previously contained some sort of alcoholic beverage to the creaking wooden floor, causing the glass to break and shatter into a small pieces across the floor. She wouldn't give a simple flinch at the noise, the child faced woman brushing her tangled and overgrown blonde locks back from over her face giving a quiet sigh. The pale faced woman had bags under her eyes, her cheeks and nose tinted with blush from sickness. She looked...
Morning came quickly to the Girobaldan landscape, sending a bright orange hue reflecting off the surrounding waters and over the large town. Few townsfolk had already begun to make their way through the streets either returning home from a late night or heading to their early jobs at the docks. Birds had begun to chirp in the surrounding trees while the various waterside species more annoyingly cawed and squawked looking for their morning fish. The atmosphere was vastly different in this section of the archipelago. It was warmer, and certainly far more quiet than the constant hustling in Regalia proper. A nice break for most.
Despite the new scenery, as if it were clockwork, the once Vanetti was already stirring out of his slumber to...
She sat at her desk in her home, preparing her attack. She knew how she wanted to do it, however, who is the question. She closed her eyes, deep in thought. After ten minutes, she decided to go for a walk, hoping that she would get a target on her mind.
As soon as she walked in the Tavern, she immediately noticed Vivienne Harhold. Recognizing her from past incidents, she knew who her target would be. She left the Tavern right away, satisfied with her choice.
At home, she changed clothes. They were black and made her almost invisible when she walked in the shadows of the night. After twenty minutes, she was ready and put a mask on her face. Then, she left her home, looking for her target. From this moment, she was The Masked Warrior...
Captain’s log 8th of January, 295 A.C - Strange sightings, and superstitious men
The men have been restless for the past few days, as we close in towards the Continental mainland of Daendroc. Supposed sightings of bad omens such as constant rainfall, pools of sharks following the ship and the supposed sighting of a bird clad in crimson cloth with the symbol of some ghost crew of pirates and raiders; sailors’ superstition, I say. We have had to place five of the rowdier sailors under arrest, awaiting court martial once we reach land. The uncertainty with the crew is affecting productivity as well, I must have a letter penned and sent to the Archipelago, requesting trained and loyal men. Until then, I will just have to endure their silly...
G H O S T S
“I think love is like ghosts,” the half-blood stated, staring upwards as their Claith company lifted a ginger brow.
“How so?” She inquired for a moment, half turning herself to look at him.
“I know other people say they have seen ghosts, but I really can't. I don't know if I believe in them or not yet.”
The Claith leaned towards him, pondering his words before nodding as if in agreement, “My ghosts have never really been anything other than fakes,” she said. Her emerald gaze scanned over the snowy road before the bench they sat on.
“Maybe I should start hunting ghosts rather than sitting around and waiting to see one,” the Silven said towards their companion, watching as she clasped her hands together to keep them...
The night was grim, and coated the deandroc jungle in a thick blanket of void. A split platoon of Ailor cut its way through the jungle, battered and confused to all hell. There was no Platoon Leader, neither a second in command as they were both now M.I.A. The group were in the midst of enemy lines and didn’t even know it.
“How you… Holding up Grimhild?” Spoke a blonde, red-caped soldier, a Bloodcast Knight. Aldrick Reinard was his name.
“I… I’m just fine... And you?” The blue-eyed, scruffy brown-haired woman replied. The women's armor had been dented from taking a blow from a blunt weapon in the previous costing Skirmish.
"I'm... Just fine." He'd return the comment as he trudged forward.
The two walked side by side, ‘leading’ the...
A madwoman came to shore! Came to the shore of Ellador!
Clad and leather, won't someone grab the teather?
Her eye as fiery as the mind of fury!
That woman coming at the shore, at the shore of Ellador.
A madwoman! A fiend! Coming to the shore, the shore of Ellador!
She passes by us like the dirt, the dirt beneath her feet.
Her gaze cold, blazing cold as we have been told
Heading for the mountain, the mountain to men, of which is bane.
A fiendish woman came to shore, the shore of Ellador!
We plead to the woman approaching the shore, the shore of Ellador.
We beg with cries "Oh woman! Thou whom encroach upon our shore, turn away for the mountain be of gore!"
"Stay upon the shore, the shore of Ellador, where y' beauty can stay upon the...