Carthas lay on the cobbled road. The wounds sustained causing extreme amounts of blood loss. The Ithanian coughs up a bit of blood, trying to laugh, but blacking out in a matter of moments and losing consciousness. Then all that remains is black. A void of blackness. In that blackness two voices, both identical, but both with different personalities. The voices speak to one another.
We were too weak. We could have taken them all, slaughtered the dogs in front of their master.
Non, we could not.
We were a monster, we /are/ a monster!
Non, that we are not.
We are the Warbeast Carthas of the Wolf's--
We are Nicolas of the House d'Eluise. Our sister is Madeleinne d'Eluise, our matriarch. We were never meant for any of this. We should...
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'Dear Sister Joanne,
I have successfully immigrated through to Regalia. It is as colourful as described in the books we read together as youths. The people there are kind and welcoming..Well, most. I ran into the most peculiar man in the Golden Willow, their popular tavern. He wore the clothes of a prisoner, black and white stripes but had a guard type uniform. He spoke rudely to me and it ended in a verbal altercation of which I was nearly arrested by him and his ginger plebe on a comrade. His ignorance was teeth-grindingly irksome. I had never seen a rude man like that before in my life, I don't think. I called him 'Mon Ami' and he responded with a vicious provocation calling our native...
Immigrant
A man sat in a broken down apartment in Regalia, the soft sound of dirty water was heard as it hit the creaky, wet, wooden floorboards which was inappropriately called a 'living space'. The bed was practically broken. All the man had covering him while he slept was a ragged blanket which had some sort of wet substance. His desk was his favourite part of the apartment, not because he loved to write, but because the apartment was a dump. It was all he could afford after immigrating. he frantically scribbled in his small leather book, his round glasses reflected the small light of the burning candle. What was he writing about? Himself, perhaps? Or a letter to a loved one? All we know is that he wrote for hours, and hours..And...
[Just a short little tale]
Two men sat in front of a fire place, drinking fine wine and speaking merrily. One, a war veteran of many years, now happily living with his wife in children after Regalia ceased their lands. The other, the other was his brother, or the closest thing he’d ever have to one. The light did not allow for you to see their faces, but the elder brother’s piercing eyes shone gold in the light as he looked to his brother.
“I don’t think my work was done brother.” He said.
The younger sibling chuckled, taking a sip of his booze, “You never think your work is done, you’ve been fighting your entire life. Enjoy the rest of your years with your wife and children. That country doesn’t care about you.”
The eldest...
Alinea
The trunks that lined the courtyard of Miscadiz had doubled, from arrival to departure. Ribbons and banners still dangled from tree boughs and balconies that surrounded the inner courtyard. Servants were finding goblets that had tumbled underneath shrubbery and into fountains. The fiesta would be remembered for decades. The city danced, feasted, and celebrated the nights away. By day, prayers and speeches in honor of the new couple, and by night - dancing and festivities. Fireworks over the water, and a carnival-like atmosphere that lasted the week through.
But eventually, as all extraordinary things must end, so too did the fiesta. Gifts from the local nobility, wealthy businessmen, and even some of the...
"HOW DARE YOU!!"
Carthas roared out at seemingly no one as his Legion office was empty safe for him and a few scattered papers. Just moments prior he had been at the Tavern with his niece and brother. Safe to say the experience had less than satisfactory results for the Norrvakt.
"You dare defy me as such?! Nicolas d'Eluise, you are a fool and coward an now you will pay for your most grave error! You made us a fool in the presence of many and dare bring shame upon another House. Have you anything to say for your actions worm?!"
"Worm? My, my. It seems that you are beginning to sound like our sister. Seems the Warbeast has a temper, calm yourself dog."
"I did not summon you to speak Delacroix! You may remain silent or I will deal...
The crate arrived at the Norrvakt estate in the countryside of the Crown Isle. Four men hoisted it off the cart and into the dining hall, laying it down gently as to not offend the owner of the expensive piece. They were paid for their service and the cart made it's way back down the broken up cobble road.A house servant, one of the mercenaries from the Ironwolf Legion, broke into the crate, not removing the top fully, and stepped back as the Warbeast stepped over the wooden coffin. Carthas Norrvakt, bent his knees as he drew a hand over the case. He thought on it for a moment.
This gift by his father. This was his life. This is what his life has become and all his life will be. He will not live in palaces or castles. He will not own...
Prelude
The character that is dubbed by the name Ardola is not this actual individual's name, and has been chosen from the village within Anglia to which these characters stories had taken place, respectively.
Ardola
Thumb in mouth, there leant your arm upon your companions shoulder. Statuesque of the finest craftsmanship the Imperial Spirit could give, each appropriated form detailed with the fury of romanticized excitement. Truly perfection, simple as was made certain. There you stood, where to which your friend appeared of stone, you were made to be marble, evident in contrast.
I was drawn back, taken away by this moment of passion, fire brought high into a calm gloom. I was confused by my emotions, shocked by my weakness to...
Night Pursuit
Desperate for the need of others. Yilvana was running along the empty streets of Regalia, being pursued by a cloaked figure, that camouflaged well with the nullified nightlife. They ran, the woman too exhausted for screaming, she saved every breath for respiratory purposes.
The young woman made a halt as she noticed a dead end. Gulping as she spun around to investigate. There he was, eyes that were a noticeable rusty vermilion colour. His appearance just as dull as his eyes, the bloodthirsty demon stepped closer to its prey. Aiming to pounce on the girl. She side-stepped, and decided to make another run for security.
Nevertheless, it was but a scavenger hunt as the heresy pursued the innocent woman. He was...
Prisms
Opening the day was two souls at conflict, amongst the shadow that guarded them under the weeping, twisted tree. Backs against each other's, arms crossed and expression stern. It was Yilvana and Hunter at odds.
As soon as Serenity spotted both of her children, she sighed, realising where the two of them were. She approached with a delicate pastry, and the two reluctantly took it, sharing the delicious treat between themselves. Escaping into the shadows was beautiful beams of descending light, dancing elegantly in perfect harmony, overlapping and crossing. These were dazzling to both the young minds.
Watching them from a distance, their mother rest on the grass with a sense of security. Not keeping a single eye off them...
It is a simple and given fact that almost all men and their spawn hate the cold. That since the dawn of their primal existence they have shunned and detested the dark and cold night. But, Gabriel Rüdiger was not most men. He cared not for the cold, but he did not despise it. If anything, Gabriel was used to ice in his veins ever since he was a boy. He leaned back into the cushioned leather seat at his worn desk, running a hand over the chipped sea-green paint. He shrugged off the cold, as was his way. He learned to be strong, stoic, and stern, and to shun adversity when it came.
But here, in the pale hours late at night when he was finally alone, did the frost gathered about his soul part before the flickering candle. There behind...
Withering Flowers
It was a very rainy day, unlike all the others. Water was pounding harshly against the water as thunder crashed violently against the water. Tension and despair was bundled all into one room, eating everyone up as the sense of vermilion coated eyes that were dripping crystal clear tears. The only question was, why were they like this?
All of them together in the clinic, the same feeling and aura emitting from each and every one. Nothing but sadness and pain existed in them on that very day, it's as if the happiness was vacuumed out and deposited elsewhere; awaiting to be returned to the unwavering hearts of all the Chaleur members.
Blanche rested on the bed, her face clustered in droplets of tears...
A dull thumping slowly came into focus from the inky blackness. The muffled sound of footsteps on the floor above and the distant sweet voice of Elizabeth Black making it’s way through the floorboards of the Almshouse. Eventually, this soft patter of noise faded with the gentle sound of a door shutting in the click of the door knob. With much more effort than should be needed, Maxwell Kalbronski slowly opened his heavy eyes to distantly stare across the room, which was confusingly sideways to him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was completely slumped forward onto a table, his head turned sideways to stare at a wall. Placing both hands on the table he’d push himself upward, only to flop back and sink into his chair. His...
When the seagull’s screams could no longer be heard, she relaxed.
The woman had been standing along the fore of the ship, watching the sloop cut through the grey, choppy waters that reflected the overcast sky above. The saltwater spray misted her hair, hanging like dew in the black, wind-whipped locks. Must be far enough away from land now, she thought with relief. Leaving the Crown City behind and sailing south to Naserna was a welcome event.
The palacio of Miscadiz, the Wodenstaff ancestral home, perched on the top of a high hill overlooking the city of Naserna. The gently sloping hills of woodland that made up the areas surrounding the city gave way to open fields that terminated in the bustling shipyards that dotted the...
He was cold in his bed, shivering the slightest as he watched the snowflakes stick to his window just across his small room. His hands were folded across his chest and a small, pale hand reached across from her narrow bed to grab onto his fingers. The boy, nearly nine, looked to his baby sister, her little fingers trying to wrap around his but her fingertips simply brushed against the back of his hand, her arm too small to reach him. The boy clambered from his cold bed and crawled into his sister’s, wrapping his arm around her small form to try and warm her.
“Kea.” Her voice was as small and tired as he felt, the gentle snow making his drowsy again. He turned to look at her, a small hum of question raising from him as he couldn't...
Despite the momentum carried upon the initial siege of Shaaq-Turnaal, the Ostmark theatre has settled into a period of waiting. Soldiers intermingle amongst themselves, theorizing upon the next moves which the Lieutenant-General Typhonus has planned or if his Imperial Holiness will take matters into his own hands. Within a day following the siege the remaining forces of the Ironwolf Legion land at Farah'deen and within moments upon arrival, develop a presence at the main camp with the rest of the Ostmark.
These are many of the same men whom he had trained with initially in Nordskag. Many of them veterans of skirmishes all too familiar to warfare. Bred for it. Bled in it and morphed to be efficient no matter the obstacle. Still, some...
The warm, evening breeze of the Farah'deen desert entered his tent unannounced and uninvited, but not unwelcomed. It was a pleasant sensation as opposed to the cold anxiety that filled his head. He let the quill fall from his hand as he leaned back in the chair at his desk, folding his arms and staring into the space on the floor in front of him in contemplation.
He knew that things were bad back at home, but what he had initially perceived as a contained power struggle between two corrupt and greedy men, had now widened to engulf them all, reaching even far across the oceans to the east, to the tent in which he now sat.
"All that I wanted to do was fight this bloody Songaskian war," he muttered in annoyance to a cluster of broken...
Savage. Brute. Simple. Uncivilized. Illiterate..
Five words echoed through the Skagger’s mind. Over and over. Pacing back and forth through his mind, like clockwork. A constant barrage of the brands society has bestowed him with.
Savage.
The now thirty-two year old man spent his life in a tribe within the forests of Drixagh, only leaving to attend the School of Skagger. A Balltarc with the reputation of a Northerner, savage.
Brute.
A battle hardened Skagger Berhednar with the scars to prove it. Only ever unleashing his potential on the battlefield, yet the scars he carry show a different picture to most.
Simple. Uncivilized.
The now thirty-two year old man spent his life in a tribe within the forests of Drixagh, only leaving to...
There he was, alone once again.
The middle aged man leaned forward in his chair, cradling his head in his arms. The conversation he had just had did not bode well for him, and now once again he recalled he previous stance.
Loyalty. Duty.
What was loyalty, and what was duty? Could one contradict the other, or do both always run in tandem? Such were the questions that plagued the man's mind these days.
He had been through many changes as of late. The crowning of a new Emperor. The promotion to a rank he never even dreamed he could achieve. And the changes in government that seemed to come and go o a daily basis. So many changes in so little time. Changes for the better, or for the worse? He did not know.
But he couldn't sit by and...
"Kill or be killed, eat or be eaten, was the law; and this mandate, down to the depths of time, he obeyed." - Jack London
The sound of wood smashing from all corners filled the ship's cabin, the inside lined with luxurious jewelry and priceless artifacts all recovered from a treasure hunt well recovered. Roars and screams came from outside, the sounds the dead made. Inside sat the two, the businessman and the thief as they sat out their final moments; barrels of gunpowder at the ready with the capability of leveling the surrounding area. Their future was slowly fading by the moment, their old work forgotten and their final moments to be recounted for.
"So, this is it? Surrounded on all sides with our pants down... Would have hoped...
It was okay. It was okay, because she knew nothing bad would happen. She did her best in the war, despite being removed after her fight with Brandt. Knowing Brandt would eventually forgive her was her greatest happiness.
Eirain sat upon her mother’s old chair. Removing her letter opener from her drawer as she sliced open letter after letter. Going through invitations, bills, propositions and writing responses. She finally came across a letter from her elder sister. Peeling it open slowly this time, and carefully reading over the note. She was rusty in her Northerne so it took a few moments to decipher.
“Dear sister,
I regret to inform you that since the war is over me and my friends have been rather bored. I got into quite the...
＊Rejections Guilt＊
It was a beautiful, moonlit night and Melodina was looking through her things, and upon searching she found a letter that was neatly addressed to her with a curled style of writing. As soon as she saw the piece of paper, the woman glared intently at it; what was she doing?
Was she happy or sad? Frustrated or delighted? Their wasn't an answer because the female didn't know herself, but she hesitantly opened the sealed envelope to pull out another well-presented piece of paper.
The letter was clustered with rows and rows of words, the way it was written made the piece of literature look like a sonnet. Although it wasn't, and the Chaleur knew exactly what this was, she tensed up slightly, as her eyes darted across...
Fingers drum ceaselessly against a faded oak table. He was waiting, waiting for the moment of revelation. As the shrouded man continues to drum on the table ash begins to spill onto the floor.
The ash was everywhere. The ash was everyone. The ash was everything.
The protectors of Regalia would be brought back in due time, yes, in due time. But for now he kept them close to him, close to his heart.
"Yes my friends... nothing can hurt you here. None of the Marked, or... or... him." the figure assured the piles off ash, running his gloved fingers through them.
The man's black robes had been eaten away by both pesky moths and feral undeads. They resembled the wings of a dead raven spread forth once again after weeks of death. His iron...
＊The Unexpected＊
Yet another beautiful day in the Regalian park, Melodina was on a local park bench, reading to herself as her niece and nephew were doing silly games among one another. The Auntie not paying much attention to the young lively couple noticed a very dirty, and ragged man walking around and asking the passerbys for a regal or two. Getting note of this, the woman called the two over, and said quite sternly to them to walk away if the man came near them. Both of them hesitantly nodded to one another and scurried off to play once again.
But then, a tragic accident occurred whilst the two were doing silly acts near the pond. They fell in with a splash and upon hearing such an alarming sound, Melodina jumped up and...
Celebration spread deep throughout the overgrown jungle of tents, which made the Regalian War Camp of Shaaq-Turnaal. Soldiers walked in lines of three, arms around each other's shoulders in brotherly cheers. Night had spread throughout the encampment, and an orange glow illuminated the flowing purple cloth of Regalian tents, where soldiers sat in rest, after a long battle.
Within one particular Cavalry tent, a young Ravenstad sat in a docile stupor, downing his latest glass of red that he'd tucked into his travel bag. "Spirit.." The Ravenstad would mutter, clasping down to his side, as he plucked up a golden coronet. A circle of dragons spun the small crown, holding together a rope of gold. All around it, jewels found themselves...
Some time ago…
Off the coast of Southern Brissaud…
Water...Water...all around us, How does so much empty vastness exist?
A schooner broke through the crashing waves, its sails whipped around the stormy winds. The lone ship was thrown from side to side, but consistently stood on course. Her experienced crew moved about the vessel, ensure the rigging held firm in the face of such adversity.
It flew a single flag from its halliard; bearing a sigil of a roaring bear; and continued propelling its way through the stormy seas. It was once a beautiful vessel, with darkened lacquered beams lining it. Age and neglect have done its toll on the ship, and now only peeling paint could be found all across its sorry state.
In a lone...
A card flicked and there were groans and shouts of excitement. Juliette tipped her glass back, elbowing the Northerner besides her to do the same with a slight grin. Glass after glass, spirit after spirit, the group drained their glasses card by card. They laughed and grumbled and one by one, the members fell away by either spilling their drinks back up or claiming they’d had enough. Soon enough, the cheating Northerner and Ithanian mutt were the only lasting players, hitting their last glasses. The Ithanian girl tipped her head back and took her last drink, she knew, as her friend only grinned, playing off as an honest player until the girl bolted out to the tavern gardens and lost her stomach in the bushes, coughing still when her...
Johnathan sat on the bed In his cabin of the ship, eyes closed, but a restless look on his face. He exhaled, as he tried to sort through the jumbled thoughts in his mind... "Do the ends justify the means?..." "No, they do not," "why can't they?" Johnathan tried to make the voices in his head go quiet, but he could not, an old memory of something Nathaniel Bigge said popped I to his head. "You won't survive the world of politics with honor..." He paraphrased under his breath... The voices came back. "Yes you can,". "no you can't,". Finally, the Count stood up, slammed his fist against the wall, as he said in an audible voice "Be quiet!" He slumped down into a chair, and held up the necklace that a boy, no older than twelve gave him...
Erhard had enjoyed his retirement to some degree. The aging Alt-Regalian was infuriated when he was honorably discharged form the navy. He still had the spark, the drive, the skill. However, he accepted the lot that was given to him, living peacefully within in Drachenburg. The old man's mind still continued to run through military strategy and planning so naturally the elder Drache had the latest in military tactics brought to his desk. With every battle, siege, conquest the Empire engaged in Erhard Drache sat in the castles war room, drawing up plans that 'he would have done'. He continued this practice for the entirety of his retirement up until current events with the Empires various marks. The elder was baffled beyond belief...
Moonlight shone in through her open window as a warm summer breeze ruffled the drapes. Darcie laid in bed, her fingers curled into the pillow as she tossed and turned, attempting to make herself comfortable in the large, familiar bed. Settling upon her side, she stared toward her vanity table and what was upon it.
Most of the items were part of the noble woman’s daily toiletry: perfume bottles, skin creams, a jewelry box and a hairbrush or two. Along with these normal, assumed items, were a collection of letters and a small box that was firmly closed.
Darcie lifted herself from beneath the covers and sat down at her vanity. Her hands, shaking slightly, lifted up the top most piece of paper. Her fingers moved over the long since dried...
“ Perhaps these misty woods will shimmer brightly one day”
A burnished figure trawled through sludge and soil, making his way through a land which never thrived, a fitting monument to a tomb of despair for an entire people. At Starlight, he unhinged a mottled cloak and flung it into the swamps. It bore his house colors, but it mattered little in his destination.
The only visiting figure in a postage-sized community situated on the tip of South Brissiaud, he was met kindly by his brethren. Asmar boasted all the conveniences of a rural community, only contrasted by the vibrant colors that its people wore. Invited to a meal to a house built of stone and timber, the figure ventured to a nearby stream, washing his hands and forearms with...
The hour was growing late as the large, almost full moon crept into the center of the Summer sky above, casting a sharp light down onto the manor which sat overlooking a small, quaint town that had begun to settle for the night. Lights were blown out, carts and shops locked up tight and it all grew still. A soft breeze blew through the cool night air and brushed against few trees and shrubbery that encompassed the estate and town alike. However, the various insects and other wildlife that inhabited the gardens and trees around the estate were not the only living things moving this night. Screams of a woman echoed through the manor’s premises, bouncing off of every surface possible and quickly kicking the maids and servants into motion...
Mugs slammed and men roared, a tavern full of life with lights glowing dim into the sand and reflecting off the dew-covered leaves of the tropical canopy above. The sunkissed ailor that bustled about in groups of two, three, many. Their glasses never empty of ale and rum as many tavern wenches poured from their pitchers as to never let the lips of the patrons dry.
One group of patrons in particular were especially intoxicated, a group of sailors. Some Daen, some D’Ithanie, others were Ceardian. All were plastered off their asses. The way they flung regals and slammed drinks was a sight to see for the tenders of the Twisted Grove.
The tavernmaid catering to the table was a younger orc woman, cuffs on her ankles and wrists showed her...
The first petal falls.
Ambiance.
The faint sound of rustling paper and then the sound of the crumpling it as well as the loud beating heart is all that reaches Raina’s ears. The silence within the large estate seeming to be haunting the young girl. The dimly lit room, the only light coming from the slowly dying candle on the dresser that sat snugly up against the bed. As the silence finally seemed to sink into the young girl's mind all seemed to shatter slowly. Her once strong heart slowly cracking back into its seemingly natural fragile state. In that moment she felt her breath slowly leaving her before a sickening sob left her lips as she crumpled down onto her bed. As much as she'd hate to admit, her tears still flowed even after...
A pink sunset.
Ambiance.
A flourish of vibrant shades of pink and a box full of chocolates. The remedy to a fragile, cracking heart of an innocent noble girl.
A young, fragile noble girl walked along the path through the park as the sun shone brightly in the sky. In her grasp was a bouquet of various shades of pink peonies and in her other hand held a book and a small box of chocolates. Her pace suddenly picked up as she got closer to the looming estate near the park, her feet hitting the gravel and dirt path before beginning to tap against the stone floor as she got closer to the stone staircase before quickly stepping up the stairs and pushing open the door. The girl would quickly move through the estate, attempting to avoid the...
She'd decided that maybe it was time to take it slow and read a book for once after collapsing onto her bed and wishing for death. The girl had switched into a shift to sleep in despite knowing that would take a bit. She'd never felt like this before; worn to the bone and sore all over. The maid she'd requested to help her dress had been rather shocked by the large bruise that covered her side, put there by the hit from the Orc in the tavern.
She still shuddered at the thought, especially the aftermath of Valbrand’s blade find its way through her attacker’s chest. Worms had come creeping out from the bloody wound and she hadn't decided whether they had actually been there or if it had been an illusion. The reminder that Britta had...
Carthas sat alone in his chamber. He was perplexed to say the least. How could this happen? What is this that is happening? This is a feeling that is both foreign and familiar. That girl, there was something about her. Almost as if he knew her as well as he knew himself. Carthas continued to think on it more. Is this what love feels like? The eunuch had difficulties grasping if this was truly the emotion he felt. Without any sexual longings it veiled the identity of this emotion. Still, it feels like love. Or at least a vague concept of what love is. The heretic thought further on this emotion. It certainly is one that was reserved only for himself. Yet, there it is, existing in this... girl. She couldn't be that much older than his...