[For entertainment purposes only.]
Atramentous heavens shed tears of sorrowful joy, bittersweet love which sustains land and sea alike. Green are the fields, verdant the forests yet, greyer their colours as they lie in wait for the oncoming storm ahead. Abrupt currents greet the countryside; slate mists’ horses which pull them forward.
A singular carriage fumes across the lands with great haste toward a distant port at the countryside. Winds scream, small whirlwinds of fall leaves rise and sweep through the fields and near the forests.
Forest green eyes scan the fields through the decorated carriage’s windows as the grasslands pass by with quite a velocity. The fresh flavours of autumn rush alongside the wilds currents, offering...
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The Tower of Lady Adelaide, Vieux-Provence, Hinterlandia, September 13th, 226 AC.
The bells tolled in the center of Vieux-Provence, summoning the citizens of the Raven Capital to worship on the murky late-September morning. To the west of the Hinterlandish chapel, Castle Machellon rested with eerie silence by the coast, the waves sloshing up against the rocky base of Lady Adelaide Tower, the westernmost section of the complex fortress. It wasn’t connected to the castle, and was built upon a small island of rocky land a short boat ride from Machellon’s shore. The tower came to be known as such after Lady Adelaide Ravenstad; known as “The Virgin Raven”, Adelaide’s piety was paramount and fabled throughout the dynasty, and stands as a...
DISHONORED
It was a deluge. A torrent of brisk, early fall rain pouring down from thick grey cloud obscured empyreans. Cold; both atmosphere and the cascading rain. The latter soaking a large gathering, save for the twisted and ruinous. The former craved its way into every pore. There was no sun to witness, nor its golden rays shone through darkened mists looming aloft. Translucent baubles, filled with gloom and empty promises of salvation, dolefully fell in a downpour. Such a day it was; shrouded with malaise and woe. That day, a promise was given life. A prelude to justice long overdue.
“In pomp and silken clothes. That is the only manner I wish to perish in; Standing, at the height of my reign.” - in honey sweet a fashion these...
The Ithanian released a small sigh, turning her face upwards as she moved into the garden of the estate she lived in. Her eyes were closed but she could feel the sun, despite it beginning to set, the ending Summer’s warmth remained. She lowered her gaze once more and looked about the empty garden, silence remaining in it except for the rustle of still-green leaves and quiet chirping of birds that turned a memory in her mind like a leaf on the wind. The Wodenstaff lowered herself to sit on the bench of the garden, hidden behind several bushes so she wouldn’t be seen and bothered as soon as someone entered the garden.
She lingered on the memory- her sister, Darcie, bringing her towards an oak near their home. Herself, a child then, not...
I’ll remember the day your mother would decide to move to Ithaina. You’d be two, sitting on the floor of our current home, the one I and your mother had lived in for now 3 years. You’d be busy playing with a small wooden toy I had carved for you once, a small bird. I’ll always remember how innocent you looked, unaware of what had just almost happened to you. You are laughing and smiling and I know that is all I and your mother would ever want for you. That is why we made a choice. A choice to take you from the north, away from your other family. That was the day I wondered, why such a choice? Why any choice? You had almost slipped away from me that day...I wanted to hold you close and never let go but for some reason, I left as if it...
All rights belong to the original artist. The above seen photo-manipulation has only been made for entertainment purposes. Not monetized.
Decorated steel instrument, donning stygian jewelry, clattered against rough wooden flooring.
Soon followed one gloved hand, then a short while after its pair fell as well. Cold sweat, the thriving toward committing an act diabolical yet still righteous; Just - from one's perspective that is - and unquestionable. Their pulse gracefully dropped, breaths became scarcer and less meaningful until eventually golden locks spread upon oaken flooring after a quiet thud emanated. Disabled, feeble, defeated. Bested in body they remained down upon the very floor, their silver eyes birthing an inner void in...
Aelwyn had just finished her patrol. Gone were the majestic blues and purples of the guard armor, and the masked hood she hid behind had been retired for the evening. The tavern was crowded, and so the only solace she had was the park. One, two, three, four, she counted silently as she stepped. The elf had taken to the habit of counting her steps to pass the time. After one hundred or so sets of four, she'd turn around, and rest for the night. Her days were exciting enough, so she felt that peaceful evenings were the best way to spend her time off-duty. She nodded her greetings to passing strangers, and murmured quick well-wishes to those who did likewise.
As she continued down the well-worn path, the faintest bit of light...
A dull, rythmic thumping echoed up the empty stairwell of the Balfort Estate.
The sound was just muffled enough not to be audible to any of the nobility that may have been roaming its bedecked halls, sipping their golden wine from their multicoloured crystal flutes and tinkling about on imperious black pianos. Even if one of the venerated and decorated aristocrats ventured down the stairs towards the dark and dreary chambers beneath, sliding open the door and gliding into the darkness beyond they would no doubt choose not to listen. They would instead choose to return to their paradise of gold and beautiful fluttering creatures, to bathe themselves in liquid sunlight and sculpt new golden arches and silver tableware to go with their...
"Do you remember?"
A hand wavered over the window sill, the pads of fingertips hovering over the polished wood. Though pleasant in its texture, it did not bring the sort of pleasure one might expect. Its smooth surface, cool to the touch, barely pierced the nerves beyond her fingertips. Even her nails grazed and somewhat dug into the sill itself, slowly sliding and scratching their way along either left or right; an idle motion that only mildly distracted Ania from her lingering thoughts.
The Northwoman's lips remained somewhat pursed while she gazed beyond the muddled windows before her--outward to the familiar sights the countryside provided. All to her was quiet, even with the frequent sound of pattering steps from the hustling...
Bang!
A door slammed shut after pounding footsteps had come running into the building.
Thump!
A body slide down the door, head in hands. It looks almost broken..
There was silence for a while, only the raspy panting of the northwoman broke the silence. She managed to raise herself from the door and make her way over to the kitchen, almost falling into the chair. Her head hit the counter with a thump that echoed through the house. She slid her arms under her head only then burying her face into the crook of her elbow.
“I was told you where getting fired or something.”
“The Wodenstaff’s hate you.”
“Orlin told me to call you “The Blonde Brute.”
“He hates you.”
All those things Tanoro had said- they were like pin needles in her heart...
Many days ago, just over two years to be exact, the youngest daughter of Andrew Taliesin took off into the midst of the night. While some suspect, those some being the few of the hamlet that had known her or heard of her at one point or another, that the girl had ran off with a neighboring boy to grow old with him or fall lost on the way to pass to the next life in his arms- there were others that knew she had never known such a boy and had rather ran away from her cruel mother and father to opt for another life else where.
The youngest daughter was nearly eighteen when she left and by the time she arrived where she would stay, her nineteenth year was arriving. Regalia, a place of religion, terror, beauty, and wealth. The city of...
It was a seemingly pleasant day. The summer sun shined brightly in the heaven above. Gulls flew overhead and a small stream of thinly stretched clouds marched along the sea of blue sky. It was all lovely for the common man. The passerby's who simply wish to enjoy their day to day activities with the golden orb greeting them from above. But all was not such for the population. The day was saddened. It had been five days time since the appointment of Einarr Norrvakt to Imperial Guard status. The titles of Imperial Knighthood having passed to an unlikely host, Ingvar, simply due to his age and presence within the city walls. The man had not been prepared for this responsibility. He had made minimal attempts at reaching out. Secluding...
It has been two weeks since she has gotten back...and it had been the worst two weeks she had very seen in her short life. Over and over failure came, and over and over came disappointment.
Not good enough.
Because you're a female.
Disgrace.
Disgrace.
Disgrace.
The words ran through her mind constantly, she couldn’t shake them. She hated them, she hated all those words. She had also been a woman of honor. Those words were something she never wished to hear again. Yet when she tried to shake them out of her head-
Disgrace.
Disgrace.
Disgrace.
In two weeks she had managed to fuck up a lot of things she cared for. Run by anger - fueled by hate. She needed a break to rethink and then strike into everything at full force again. For some...
@Belgrade @ProfessorThaumic @Voidemite @MableSyrup @Caverly @AtticCat @Miss_Confined
On the floor motionless. The stormy night never seemed to stop and neither did the drinking that afternoon. A light shined through the window onto the man's face he awoke with a groan that could wake up neighborhoods. He was not with any women, he was not with any friends there on the floor, he was by himself. Short memories flooded the man's head as he laid there, memories that he sought to drown out in the previous night. Not a word came from the Santigo’s mouth as he stood walked through the empty mugs and bottles scattered on the pub's floor. He opened the door to the storage of the Rose and Crown, where they held all of their booze. He reached yet...
Upon the eve of a hunt in Drixagh, the many settlers and skaggers under the watchful eye of Virathus Krupp brought together their bounties. Readyied were they to prepare their game so they may find providence in the meat and hides of their hauls. Amongst them though, a group of men brought forth a bear, slain by Bangsi Ingolfsson. As more exited the lodge excited to gaze upon the beast, the hunter would begin calling out the the crowd:
“You see t’at fool t'ere? I put ‘im down as I would any other danger to my people. These are our lands, and wherever a pack of wolves may wander, t’eir first priority will be avoidin’ us, and eatin’ second. We are not a desperate people. ‘roundin’ me now are hunters, strong folk t’at do not wait on...
New Life
The faint sound of water snapped the Cielothar out of her dazed state, glancing down towards the potted plant in her hand before moving to set it down on the counter. The faint sound of rustling coming from upstairs catching her attention before remembering what she had been doing prior to her moment of getting lost in thought.
"Right..."
She'd think to herself as she glanced around the newly furnished home that she had been moving into for the past couple days now. After buying the place with her lover, Castien, Keth had begun to decorate the lovely little abode by the water. As she carfully adjusted the pot with the carefully planted flower within it, her mind had begun to wander causing her to stop her tidying up...
Inner Turmoil
The sound of the rain pattering against the window and stone outside had been what caught Keth's attention, but now alone with her own thoughts. Despite all the happiness she had faced in the growing months, she couldn't help but feel hollow.
Perhaps it was the oncoming fear of what her family would think of her, her closest friends as well. As her mind danced with the thoughts were really a disillusion, but felt so real in the Cielothar's heart. At first she didn't feel the tears well in her eyes but as they began to trickle down her cheeks she'd move to wipe them away with her slightly dirt covered hands. She had been working within her new garden before the rain started, having gone inside to relax before taking...
As she made her way through the familiar twists and turns of the sewers, the Cielothar would find herself at a dead end, cornered by two thieves. "No! Please!" The nineteen year old Cielothar would yell- yet nobody came to save her. The two masked men would slash her across the face- before taking most of her belongings. After all her years of living in the sewers, how could this happen to her? How.
(This is my first time writing a lore story, so IDK how good this is. Any constructive criticism is welcome ofc))
Ayda lay wrapped up in her old quilt on her pallet, silently listening to the soft patter of rain in her roof. The quilt was worn soft from many years of use and starting to fall apart in some places, but she did not want to replace it. Like many things that had survived her travels, it served of a reminder of what was back home. Home. She carefully pushed herself up, groaning as her ribs ached, and slumped against the cool wall. Her family had to still be around, they could not of just been turned into target practice of whatever weapon the Altalar had. The where warriors, for Estels sake. It could not be, no, was not easy...
Alak'aer walked from the park to the tavern, then back to the park, then to the tavern. Pacing in wide, open circles, thinking so hard that his face showed visible strain. Park, tavern, park, tavern. He fought with himself furiously, forbidding his head to turn in the one direction he had promised he wouldn't go. Looking upwards now, finding a clock: nearly midday, almost time for the boats to depart. He stared at the ground now, as hard as he could. Then walked to the park and sat down on a bench. Scowling, tapping his fingers, fighting the urge.
"I told her I wouldn't go. I told myself I wouldn't go. I can't go back to the Spirit-damned North."
Getting up off of the bench now, he walked towards the docks. Birds chirped as he passed...
Erhard Drache removed his black leather glove off of Harald's shoulder. The elder pressed his cane against the stairs as he steps up. Tap and step. Tap and step. The metal against the wood echoed in the empty chambers, safe for the man who still stood there. Erhard takes a glance behind him to see Harald regain some semblance as he steps across the floor to the spiral staircase which would take the man to his personal chambers. Each step echoed just as the cane had. The steps from beneath the mans feet moved through the entirety of the estate. Finally he ascends the stair case out of view.
In this time Erhard had found his way into one of the lounges of the Drache estate. A servant approaches as the elder requests a fresh pot of kaffee...
Written by @Feyona (because she's an excellent writer and is able to capture all of the tone, mood, and essence of the story that I wanted her to go for. She has incredible word dictation too. If you don't like that I commission people to write, I don't care.)
Dahae had taken up the penchant of collecting mirrors like children collect raven feathers and shiny rocks. It was a passive habit at first that had snowballed into the collection she had now; silver frames were her favorite, especially the ones with little gemstones, fake or not, embedded in lavish carvings. It gave her an off-sense of wealth, even though so many of them had been bartered or stolen and lifted from various sticky fingers to another. They were the only things...
There he sat, in front of the fire in his family’s estate. It happened to be quite late in the night, and the fire provided everything he needed; light and warmth. Bryn now often found himself here, with his tankard in hand, half full with Ale. The man had always been fond of the drink, and in the recent weeks, even more so.
“I know you’re fond of the drink. But I never took you for an alcoholic.”
Maybe he was? Maybe he wasn’t? But the drink gave him comfort in times like these, when all he found in his mind was all negatives. Much different from the person he was during the day. But an Actor can only act for so long. The Rosendahl thought of life as one big script, the world as a stage. And anyone on it; the various different actors...
There was a gnawing in his head, as if something were eating his brain from the inside. He wakes up, gazing around blearily. Barely able to make out anything except the dark blue above, and golden brown around him. His vision seems to flutter, becoming duller before growing sharper, able to make out his surroundings. Groaning, the young man begins to stand, only to fall back down. He tries a second time, swaying unsteadily as he takes his first step, only to fall again the second his foot touched the ground.
On his third try, he manages to stagger to his feet, albeit in an extremely hunched position, swaying unsteadily as he gazed blearily at the field around him. The golden brown seeming to be a wheat field, waist high to him...
The sunrise peaked over the foggy horizon line of the salted ocean. The vessel made it's way, cutting through the waves beneath the amber rays. The sails shook and the battle hardened men walked about the deck. Besides the usual duties of the ships manual labor, the voyage was uneventful. A makeshift table was set up atop the main deck. A wooden shipping crate, no more than a meter in cubic size was turned upside facing down. Marks were carved crudely with an on hand knife no doubt as shoddily constructed dice were thrown across from tin cups. A small crowd of four or so laughed, chanted, swore, all in all it was a jovial game of chance with good company. A tall figure, a man of imposing stature despite not being the tallest of the...
Blazing Temptations
Ambience
As the busy streets of Regalia continued the normal hustle and bustle as the day began to reach its end, the faint sound of music would be heard on one of the many streets. If anyone curious enough decided to explore the sound they would approach one of the larger streets to see.
A semi large crowd would be around the spectal that was occurring at the time. Two qadir men sitting off to the side as they played the music while a faint could be felt throughout the group. Seeing as the sun was setting the sparks and dancing flames could be seen as well as light airy laugh. A rather tall songaskian women would be in front of the group but with enough space to twirl her staff. However the ends of...
So came the time of day in pleasant Castle Stirling, as the sun began to descend towards the horizon; it was, in fact, the relevant moment between the Heir, Rodderick Coen, and his to-be, Kaja Santorski; and in their union, a serene allegiance in development. The House Coen and several Santorskis had arrived in the quaint castle located in the archipelago the day of, allowing preparations to occur for either to be wed. For the House Coen, this joining in marriage was looked up to--the security of more blue-blood in their grasp, and now a hand over tribes in Drixagh. For the opposing family, this ultimately meant much more--a loss, both in family and control. Though hearts were contrasting in their feelings during the evening, the...
August the 13th, 304AC.
Operation: Sledgehammer, retrieve lost assets from affected soil.
SS Valiance, en route to Regalia after retrieving high-ranking members from Hadar.
SS Leroy, Celyreos Warship on its maiden voyage, protection for the Valiance.
The gulls are tossed paper in a storm, flashes of white in the gray, tumbling as they struggle against the gale. Beneath them, the sea rises as great mountains, anger in the form of water, turbulent and unforgiving. Beneath the ship grew an alarming rate of resurrected sea creatures, gnawing their way into the woodwork as the sailors continued to perform their roles in the poor circumstances. The SS Valiance curved through the swaying waters, smacking the ship like the hand of God as they...
The soft sounds of scales on cobbled pavement graced the air as Castamere slithered down the streets of a dreamy Regalia. The sunrise was just peaking over the horizon, plastering the cloudy sky with a palette of pale blues and grays. The slizzar had chosen to forsake his legs, if only for a week in order to enjoy the feeling of a tail again. He gave a few shivers as the cold morning dew chilled the bottom of his tail. Wanting to escape from this mild annoyance of the cold damp on his scales, Castamere slithered from the streets and into the park and chose to curl and sit on one of the comfortable benches that sat snugly on the park’s bridge.
As he curled his tail around himself, he’d gracefully dip into his pocket and pull out his...
The sun’s rays fluttered down upon the area, silks were draped over The Unionist Cathedral in striking colours of red, cyan, magenta and white, each lined with an elegant gold. As the surrounding flora swayed within the light summer breeze, the crowd had begun to gather. Cheerful chattering of the guests drowned out the surrounding bird songs. Though the bells soon chimed to signify the beginning of the wedding.
With Vulmar and Nicolette dressed in pristine white attires- Ravenstad made, of course- there was a certain admirable grace about the couple. The ceremony itself went surprisingly smooth and Nicolette-Laurine d’Eluise was soon named Nicolette-Laurine Ravenstad. Undoubtedly, the events to follow were vivid and jovial. Moving...
The waves broke against the side of the ship, rocking her in and out of sleep. The crate around her shifted mockingly as if saying that they could move and she couldn't. Her knees ached from being bent as she sat in a corner, as the ship sailed. Hidden from sailors, the Claith survived among the crates. She slept curled up on a blanket she'd snuck away from one of the cots of the men aboard the ship. Her food was from barrels kept near her and her home was the shadows that hid her just out of sight from watchful eyes.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and she rested her head with a sigh against the wall as she examined a mark on her boot. Rain soon enough began to fall outside the ship, joining the sea and salt. The winds guided her...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Morrigan dropped low to the ground, her breathing heavy and blood running down her arm freely, pooling in her palm as a crimson colour. Her head dropped onto her chest and she gazed at the dripping blood, a rather deep gash ran alo her bicep in a jagged fashion. She blew out a tired breathe after she had secured a tourniquet over the wound; then, sat back onto her haunches puzzling over what she shall do next with herself. To turn back or continue forward to find the beast whom caused her ill? A free, unbloodied hand reached up and passed through the waves of her deep brown hair and she tugged her head back to look up at the sky. A gust of wind chilled her skin in the already freezing landscape, she shivered but ignored...
She wrote slowly across the page, tapping her pen several times every few words as if thinking as she went. Her letters were shaky and a bit hard to read, but an effort was obviously being made. On the page was one word written in bold across the top which fueled her sudden need to sort out her thoughts. She reconsidered her conversation earlier before shaking her head, a ginger lock falling from behind her ear which she hastily returned to it's spot.
The young woman lifted her quill and tapped her lightly to her chin before settling it back onto of the table besides her notebook and reaching out for one of the two remaining biscuits in the bowl. She'd need to make more, she knew, but her focus was not on biscuits but ink. She glanced...
She arrived without a word and that is how she left. The northerner had hugged her parents and their relief didn’t even need to be said in words. She was glad that they were doing well but the hurt on their faces told her that there was more. She knew she’d made the right choice to come. For weeks she stayed thoughts wild in her head, she didn’t think she could bear leaving nor never being able to return to everything she started.
She stared out the window for some time now, she had let her hair fall down as she watched the raindrops on the glass dripped down. Her lips pressed slightly together before she raised from her seat and walked into her room, she grabbed down things from the walk in a hurry packing together the things she...
It was her plan all along, she knew damn well what was going to happen when she walked down the corridor. Of course, she knew there would be blood shed, flesh getting torn off, possibly her own death. It was her desperation that drove her to do it. To poke the bear.
--
Clad in her gothic styled clothing, her hips swaying and the thuds of her boots echoing, the woman marched herself down the stone corridor. Earlier she had seen the beasts scurry back there at the sounds of voices. A small smirk played on her lips as she rounded the turn, whirling and staring down into the darkness. In this spot specifically, the torches barely gave any luminescence to see in. Spreading her feet apart and clenching her right fist, the woman thinks...
For centuries the weathered Castle of Machellons served dutifully as the symbol of Ravenstad power within the western seat of Brichauds. The Leutzlands found themselves shadowed, by the towering walls of the old stone fort, built tall in brick and mortar, a testament to man’s unyielding paranoia. The Ravenstad family had experienced a Golden-Age under her previous ruler: The Kurz von Brichauds had taken his family from the lowland swamps, to the Imperial Palace, all with a single well timed marriage - Though that time had passed. Far from the Castle of Machellons, the aged Duke Lion sat in his creaking oaken chair, his expression growing dull, and thoughtful over this prospect.
The Ducal Palace of Löwedorff was far from the power...
Kept away in the snowy peaks of Drixagh stood the shoddy wooden walls of the Silfradalr tribe, known notably for their acts of violence towards the Kopvagr Raiders. Be that in self-defence or ill judgment, an attack was made and the Kopvagr weren’t going to let this go. While the sun began to set one night, its glimmering presence making its final stops through the cracks in the mountain, the Kopvagr raiders began their siege against them. Once the gates fell, the sound of screaming Skaggers lifted the twisted spirits of both the troops as they charged into war with their axes raised; prepare to take a life to save one.
Within the few moments of fighting, worn buildings of eras long past had been lit on fire as the town was quickly lit...
She sat in the midst of the tavern, her right foot resting on the table in front of her and her gaze looked on the flames of the fireplace. She was lost in tired thought, not caring much of appearances at the moment and not noticing the stranger until he'd situated himself besides her on the couch. She glanced to the man with a raised brow and asked out of common curtesy, "Who might you be?"
The man took a moment to notice her question, answering soon after with his first name of Ronaen and an added note that she could call him 'Ron'. She introduced herself- Kip. The two began their conversation following her middle name being shared like it was her first, the talk slow and pleasant until that man, Ron, decided to call her a little...
The Qadir would read over the parchment within his home, a smile stretching over his old face. He'd continue up the stairs, and into the living area where he'd sit. "I can't believe I've gotten accepted." He'd mumble to himself, before being a interrupted by Kelbi. The brindle greyhound puppy would jump into his lap and lick his face. Soon, she'd stop licking and she'd soon just rest in his lap. As he was stuck there, he decided to read a book until Raja arrived. Finally, the puppy would dash from his lap and downstairs to greet Raja while Fudail waited until she made her way upstairs. When she joined him on the couch she'd perk her eyebrow up a bit. "What is that excited look for?" She'd say with a chuckle. "Oh nothing. It's just that...