125 years ago
The sun shone brightly down on the frozen rocks of Jorrhildr. The clusters of sentinel pines waved gently as a frosty breeze sent its needles dancing. In the distance huge mountains rose high into the empty brilliant blue sky, its peaks were coated with a fresh layer of white snow. A few miles past those mountains lay a small settlement of Burose Urs. A wall made out of the trunks of pines encircled the large Ur camp, and the tips of the large tents could be seen above the wall. Inside the encampment, huge fires blazed to keep the chill away. Because of the intense heat the snow and ice had melted away from the ground leaving muddy gray and brown grass. The Urs believed themselves to be alone in this particular area of...
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Tents, booths, and wagons.
The residents of Drachenberg were all to familiar with the recent influx of traffic to the small Dragenthal barony. It was that time of the year again. A time when the elders recalled tales of their own youth, and of much merriment. Yes, the barony was filled with anticipation for what was to come. And today was the day everyone had been waiting for.
The small square in the village was packed with vendors and merchants, but at this hour, nobody was selling there wares. Rather, a flock of the masses had gathered around a wooden platform in the middle of town. Everyone was waiting for this to occur, and were conversing with themselves.
Finally, a young boy noticed the small gate near the edge of the town...
The door creaked open to the dark room. When Gideon entered, he almost thought he had the wrong one upon seeing the figure lying near motionless on the sofa before him. When it stirred, he almost thought it a stranger, but then he saw the fiery red hair that so many had likened to a jam jar, and with a sinking feeling in his chest, he knew he was in the right place.
“G-Gideon…”
Even the automaton of a man was shaken by the unsteadiness of the voice as he knelt by the boy’s side, trying to get a grip on himself.
“Cousin Loic. I… thought I was told you were somewhat improved?”
“Hey I can talk can’t I?”
“I…”
“Look-” Loic stopped, bursting into a fit of weak coughs, his dry and wrinkled like an old man’s despite being only eighteen...
Curicel was being nosy, and decided to go snoop around a coven home she had heard worshipped the void and whatnot.
The gate was shut, but ain't no metal gate gonna' stop Curie. She bent the bars out of her way, and was quickly met by some fellow lightning-mage edgelord named "Fylson" who got all up in her grill.
After a bit of "who's the biggest edgelord", he tried to shock her,
but...
So then his mate Alyndra started hexing Curie, and this new chick (who shall not be named because she's too cool for this cringeworthy crap) was all like "I have two daggers because two is cooler than one".
Curie was like "pls don't kill me- I- I'm too weak- I'm too weak-"
but...
And then they all became friends (except Fylson), the end...
The Colour of a Shadow
How long had it been? A few days? A whole week even? This - how much time had actually passed - they did not know. Out of the seven or so mercenaries and witch-hunters that had taken the contract, only three - perhaps unlucky – men now remained. “Heroes” some would call them, though first they would have to return from their task victorious in order to gain that title to begin with. As more uncounted time passed, it became seemingly less and less likely that they would ever return at all, never mind with victory in hand.
The three that now remained, grew dangerously low on supplies with each passing hour. It felt, to them, as though a whole month had already abandoned them since their descent into the darkness...
To call the times wonderful and harsh would be the cruelest understatement of the new year. So many wonders, so many tragedies, so little days passing. To say that she were happy would be like spitting on a grave, but to call her sad would be insult to those suffering.
Her fingers tapped her quill lightly on the desk that she wrote at. The heavy smell of black dye clung to her face despite her hair being drawn back. Sadly, the clipped locks fell back to frame her young face the moment she moved her head up to look at the window behind her chair. Soft morning rays stroked her cheek as she faced them, the rouge on them shining faintly with the sunshine. A gentle sigh escaped her as she stood, the letter addressed to a Wodenstaff forgot...
Beauty. Rebecca knew the term well enough. The word was used for her more than she can count. Proposals. Flirtations. Envious women. The word was used in all of these situations. Beauty also had a price, and Rebecca knew this. Beauty and talent? That price was as real as the bed beneath her, and known as much as a good friend, or enemy. But, if beauty had a price, what was the price of love? Is it the pain she felt when the beautiful was away? Or the feeling when they glanced at her or even the delicious distraction the thought of them was?
Live. Suffer. Die. That was the order she knew. That she always knew. But, recently that absolute order had been swayed for her. Live. Love. Die? The thought of it was ridiculous enough. Yet, she...
Gideon sat at his desk like a ship wrecked on shore. His eyes, not colder than usual, but deadened, bearing no more spark than a corpse. The only signs that the man whom many called a near automaton was still alive, was the subtle rise and fall of his chest, and the single hateful tear dripping down that blank statue of a face.
It was “Trust Laine, trust!” that Commander Tumage had taught him in his youth, to “Trust in your brothers. A patriot will always look out for his blood brethren.” He blinked, that frozen expression unsettled from its position as he raised a hand to his cheek, gently tapping the teardrop onto his index finger and holding it to the level of his eyes. His face suddenly contorted in a silent rage. The eyes bulging...
She was emotionless. Or rather emotionally drained, she did not know which was worse. The conversation she had had with her sister that morning echoed through her head. As well as the other conversations that had occurred before and after the rather tense discussion of her future. Darcie sat, carefully positioned, upon the edge of her desk chair. Papers, crumpled into tight balls, littered the floor. Dropping the quill back into the small container of ink, the woman rose and began to pace about in the small room that she called a study.
Rufus, her ever faithful dog, sat close to the stairs, observing his master. Truly the canine had witnessed the young woman in many moods, but this current one, was new. He was used to her being lively...
Indeed there was a certain peacefulness to being able to study amongst the monks of the Jeoung Monastery, a Loong temple erected by Ren Jeoung a decade ago to commemorate and honour his lost and fallen father. Aokai Jeoung, child of Ren sat, studying and reading a book detailing the celestial bodies of the night sky in serene comfort, accompanied by the ghostly and crackling White Flame at the center of the monastery, it was nearing dusk and the sun was setting. He stood up for a moment to go and admire the annual, and most ethereal sunset as it happened through one of the windows, just as a monk approached him. Startled, Aokai appeared shocked as he looked over towards the monk. The monk calmly spoke.
“Your father would like to see...
The noise of the boot hitting the stone, muffled from the rug, echoed throughout his mind. He could see the black, ghostly figure floating about, the boots and the bloodstained cloak and the mask of the skull, all of it, and he saw it carrying the dagger. He saw the dagger slam down into chests, slash across throats, stab viciously into torsos and backs, held by the hand of the ghostly figure. He could see the party, one of the many from his youth, him in the parlor of his old estate, the many other youth piled around, dancing, kissing, making merry. He was seated on a couch, leaned over on the arm with a large glass in hand and a slight, confident smirk on his face. He saw her, in the old white top and green skirt, wavy almond brown...
Warning: The events taking place in this story are slightly graphic though no graphic words are used to portray anything happening. Let it be known that I've warned you before you complain of being upset by the content of this story. It has a good ending I promise. Towards the middle of the story I suggest listening to the song linked at the bottom.
Waking up in the morning Euphrosyne stretched and looked out of her window into the dense forest that was her backyard. Doting over her small rag doll as her father angrily grumbled about the taxes he owed to the Duke of Erindyn. Her father eventually sauntered into the small back room of the cottage in which she slept to take her to church. "Esyne, Get up. It's time for breakfast. Church...
22 years ago in Hadar...
A young Mu-Allar plays in what can only be described as a garden, moving shaped wooden blocks around in the air as his imagination is set to work. His adoptive Al-Allar parents watch over him, smiles on their faces. Suddenly a knocking echos out into the garden, and his parents rush away to the small front door to answer- leaving him unattended to. A snout pokes over the wall, followed by another and another and another until the walls are decorated with the clothed heads of Al-Allars. The young child looks on in interest, a small giggle breaking free as he looks at them. A piercing whistle splits the air, and the Al-Allars spin into action, climbing over the wall and surrounding the child. Two of them grab him...
A repeated dripping noise would be heard echoing through the dim lit tunnel. A bit of fog would be seen rising from the little puddles of water, the tunnel much colder then the smooth liquid. Quiet chattering of teeth would be heard. "I-It's so c-cold...", Rose would say, letting out a shaky voice, while a small cloud of heat escaped her chilled lips. She would embrace herself, quickly rubbing her arms to create heat. For a small moment warmth filled her body then vanished like the thin fog of her breath. She would try to stand but it was difficult as her knees shook violently like the ground was falling from under her. She placed her hand on the damp stone wall to keep her balance, and a shocking chill struck through the palm of her...
As hard time fell over Euphrosyne she regularly visited the Cathedral in hopes that the Spirit would guide her through her most needed hours. With nothing getting better for the first time in her life, Euphrosyne, a woman who had her life to the Spirit thought that he wasn't there. In a time of pain for her, accusations of heresy belittled her every word and even her life in the people's eye. In her most painful hour, she sat on her knees, her robes and cloak draping around her like a shield for her soul. Her auburn locks were covering her eyes as she prayed for forgiveness. Had the spirit forgotten her? What was her life to become? What was she to do now that everyone thought her a heretic? It all became clearer the more she thought...
A letter would be sent to Ithania following the events resulting in the formation of House Delacroix. However, in this instance it would bare a seal to neither the House Delacroix nor the House d'Eluise.
Dearest Eloise,
I am uncertain whether this letter reaches you first or the news. Regardless of either I shall mention it none the less. I have been disowned from the House d'Eluise by my sister. Reason being, I had self castrated myself. Bless you in your sweet ignorance. I suppose my many sexual endeavors had you to believe I was a sexual deviant, however, it is quite the opposite. I did so out of fear and uncertainty. There is a reason I bore no children with you. I do not find sexual pleasure in males nor females. I have never...
An Arrival In Scarlet
It was nearing the middle of November, and some members of the Leviette family had decided to return to Regalia after the horrendous bone horror incident. As a large boat swam the ocean from Ithania to Regalia’s harbor, laughs of exultation could be heard from the family quarters below deck. Everyone on board seemed to be highly relieved that they were returning, and, like most, were celebrating the end of Freya Lo’s rule.
“I still do not see why we had to wait so long to return, mother,” piped Madeline, her sister nodding along with her, “and I am still troubled to see why people are so overjoyed after the horror this has caused.”
“It is in great turmoil that people begin to see the slightest droplets of...
The erratic beat of hooves upon moist earth filled the brisk air. It was a sound uncommon to this particular stretch of country, dense in trees and few in people. But on this particular morning, three riders broke the silence of the land. They rode at a gentle stride, leaving muddied hoof-prints in their wake. Above them, a single standard snapped against the breeze. Green and grey, emblazoned with a black Croweagle clutching two golden swords. However, with no man or woman nearby to notice the lone flag, the party rode onwards, turning right on the damp path into the dense expanse of Oberhainzen Forest.
The sounds of the forest surrounded the three as they rode through, slowing occasionally for the periodic tangle of roots or the...
At last the newborn struggled its way into this world. Percy Ravenstad stood at the corner of the small Hinterlandish room, his arms folded in a sense of diligent judgement. As if he were inspecting a levy’s performance with a blade, rather than watching his wife birth their first child. The cries of the newborn Ravenstad echoed throughout the chamber. The surgeons stepped aside as the future High Lord marched towards his child, scooping it into his large muscled arms. “Leave us.” The Ravenstad bellowed, sending the white robed priestly healers out of the room with a scuttle. Along with them, a more elegantly dressed Reverend, ginger locked, and sharp featured, attempted to scurry to the doorway. “Not you.” Percy uttered, his expression...
The story has been removed due to the graphic/depressing content involved. If you still think you would like to read it, PM me, but I don't trust people to listen to the warning and I don't want to make people sad ;~;
The tall Yanar's footsteps tapped on the cobbled streets of Crown Road, the crowds of people surrounding him not making a house in his own mind. To the Yanar, he was alone in the world. The words of his question echoed in his mind over and over, excited and anxious at the same time for what the answer would be. He didn't think of her words that had brought him toward the place, "Lloa, we need to talk." He grew closer to the place, feeling strange at the absence of the Solur Companion in his bowler hat. Fonsal could wait, this was too important for him to be here for. The two metal armbands clanged together slightly in his pocket, not loud enough for anyone but him to hear. His steps eventually reached the meeting place, where she...
"Fair rose, Fair rose,
How I admire thee.
How if I could, I would pick ye.
But the gardner high, and the bee low,
Would spite me.
For your beauty is forbidden,
And admiration ridden.
A gate around you,
And cuffs around me.
How could this be?"
Another long, Tiresome day.
Another lonely day trudging through the streets of Regalia.
Another day ending with a disappointed mother and an upset sister.
Another day full of brief exchange of insults.
Another exhausted daughter was kicked out of home just like the day before.
Another night searching for somewhere to sleep.
Another night avoiding the drunks.
Another night sleeping under the stars.
Another night with a stranger.
Another day in Regalia.
Another day when her work was never enough.
Another mother who thought it was never enough.
Another sister who didn't know she was never enough.
Another day full of 'Never enough'
The Silevon household was quiet… Horribly, horribly quiet. The mixture of laughter and joy was gone, and had been replaced with a silent despair. None of the Silevons had fallen during the retaking of the city, yet the grieved. For Breon… and for Darius’ sake.
Alone, he sat alone in his dark room. He had been like this for days, only coming down to eat, and returning upstairs without having muttered a word. Him, who was always smiling, who used to pick flowers for his mother when she felt down. Him, who had been Breon and Lara’s steady rock when he got older, who could at the worst of days, just smile. Now, he could no longer smile.
Darius had lost the one person he loved above himself, and his family. The one person he’d willingly...
Purple sails flapped in the light wind while the smaller ship rocked back and forth softly due to the shallow waves that drifted by. The normal noisy harbor had grown still as the night grew late, the moonlight shining down upon the dark waters. A gentle sigh was heard from beneath the deck, the source being a familiar Dressolini.
Leonzio laid in the bed staring at the plain ceiling, an albino husky puppy laying by his side asleep. Tons of thoughts flooded his mind, a mixture of both good and bad. He examined the small cracks and bumps that were in the wood as another sigh escaped him.
"Seems this is going to be another sleepless night for one of us." He muttered out in Dressalo.
The visions grew more rapid, flicking from past...
In a damp, torch-lit chamber a figure falls to their knees. They wear thick black robes that are coated in moss and dust, and very full of holes. Their face is entirely masked by a steel helmet with many dents.
The small dark room is scattered with various relics, most common is the ash. The grey substance is everywhere, at one point it would seem the figure had tried use bottles and jars to contain it. But now the floor had a constant layer of the stuff that masked any trace of rug or stone. Among the ash was also busted swords, axes, and shreded black uniforms that longed for their ownerers. Broken canes fill up an entire corner of the room, some stained red with long dried blood.
The figure knits their hands together as they kneel...
This is a story told to young children living in the vast city of Regalia. Whether it is true or not will forever be up for debate, but that doesn’t stop the loving mothers, grandparents, or an older sibling from describing the terrifying scene of pirates attacking at the Regalian docks.
The cool wind blew through the quiet streets of Regalia in the peaceful early morning. The damp air clung to the sailors and crewmen by the docks as they labored underneath a gray and bleak sky. The sun would not be making an appearance this day it would seem. As the day progressed the weather did not change, but the crowds around the dock certainly did. At noon the docks and nearby streets were filled with people shouting their wares, sailors looking...
The boy finally awoke from his unconscious state, groaning as he felt his face against rough, damp grass. He moved to push himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. After a while, he felt his face, tearing off the bandage that had been wrapped around his eyes. His eyes didn't feel...
Quite right.
Blinking intensely, he looked around at the world which was now only made of light and dark shapes. He decided to conclude that it was probably night and too dark to see, so he sat for a while to try let his eyes adjust to the dark.
Nothing happened.
As he rubbed them, he noticed a sudden pain as he did so. On both eyes.
Again, not a good sign.
Stumbling to his feet, Gabriel sighed. Time to try find his way home in the dark.
"The...
The barrels were moving up and down from the upper levels, and crates were coming and going the whole day. More people were in the navigation shop than ever before. Though not for reasons one would expect.
Last minute sales were made, as cheapskate sailors came to nab quality materials for a reduced price. Although the money was well received, Walthur Drake couldn't stand how some people would wait for this day just to save a few regals. The nerve of some people. But with the cheapskates came the regulars who, continued to pay the regular price out of respect for the man who provided good materials for sailing and navigating. These people Walthur took the time to talk to, making future business deals along the way.
Finally the last...
He'd been trapped there only three days, though it felt like an eternity. He thought he'd be stuck there in the cell forever, but that night someone opened the door to his cell.
"Come with me, it's time," the man said. "Who knows, you might get lucky and walk away with all your limbs still working. Our magic is some nasty stuff."
He thought why someone would do this to a living being, though he obeyed anyway.
He was escorted to a room with nothing but a wooden table, ropes and chains. He layed down on the table obediently- wanting to leave with his life -as he was chained to the table so tightly it hurt. It could be much worse.
A few minutes late a group of mutated men stepped into the room. One of them spoke, he was much older than...
Juliette stood in her large room, in her large estate, with her eyes glued to the large map pinned to her wall. Her fingers danced across the Alorian world that fit so beautifully onto the parchment. One day she planned to visit every piece of it. But her mind was not on the map today, only her fingers were as her mind was replaying the conversation she had had earlier, with Lautaro Wodenstaff. Thinking back, he was incredibly nice, but something seemed a tad off about their conversation. Jocelyn had told Lautaro about her, but why?
She pondered the situation, tapping her fingers along the map and finally drawing back with a small hum. He had been nice, someone she wanted as a friend, of course he would agree to that. She wondered...
"Months after the marriage of myself and Alluin, the date of the birth of our first child approaches. The longer us two prepared, the more he started to drift away... I barely see him any more and it makes me very nervous about this whole adventure I am about to go through. I am going to be a mother soon, very soon. My husband is never here to tell me I am doing well or that he still loves me. I am not sure that he still wants the child as much as I do." Alissander brushed a hand over the smooth fabric of her gown that covered her nearly full term baby belly. Who she spoke to? Herself. Her husband was a working man, trying to make a better living for his growing family. Who could blame him for being away? Certainly not his beloved wife...
tfw you get turned in by an ex-marked dude who aPOLOGIZED for being a masSIVE BAG OF DI-
i'm not going to do this
so @Greenie caused my child to be sent to the spire oops scroo yoo reinhardt i prefer roadhog anyways he's a kiwi like greenie
Ushio stepped into the house she hadn’t seen in what seemed like ages, letting out a hushed, repressed sigh as she looked around and refamiliarized herself. Everything seemed like glass that would shatter at her mere touch, the notion that she was finally out of what had been her home away from home causing her to have an almost distorted view on her environment, like everything was an olive branch. Kyou trailed right behind like an escort, which wasn’t too far off from the truth. It was a jarring...
" I'll be behind the willow, I guess. "
Leaving the twins to stand in front of the shop doors of the pawn shop, right behind the tavern. Standing there; the wooden material bleeding into his eyes, staining them. He waited patiently with hands in his pockets, not a muscle moving. It happened to Ushio, didn't it? The very person who deserved the be sent the least. It could've been anyone else, but life is cruel to the good it seems.
Why was he waiting? A sigh that slightly shook as it was exhaled. A closed hand knocking against the entrance doors. Remember when the lock broke? Hah, he wasn't there, but he wished it was more recent. Recent enough that the doors didn't block the way. Knock. Knock. The sound echoed for what was nearly an...
(This is a continuation of Broken.)
Cynsosiel kept reminding herself- this was /his/ fault. In reality, she was the one that had suggested a divorce, out of self-preservation and disgust at her husband's choice to join the guards. But she couldn't handle that, so she told herself otherwise until she believed her own self-justifying lies. She kept repeating under her breath, "He hated you. He thought you were ugly. He didn't want you when you refused to convert to Unionism." She took a deep breath, burying her face in her palms. He expected her to change her life. How? How the bloody void was she supposed to do that? One step above ground, and she'd likely be caught and executed by the very guard force he worked for! But nevertheless...
Nicolas d'Eluise stood in the operating room, staring down at the body he had been operating on for hours at this point. His apron soaked stiff with blood and various other fluids. The staff within the facilities all continued working diligently in their various tasks. The surgeon takes his scalpel from his assistant once more, cutting into the body in an attempt to save the man's leg. As Nicolas worked he thought to himself, as he does. To him surgery is a mundane and repetitive task, one needs to have their thoughts to keep them company. He regrets that he shall be missing his nieces wedding this day. He doesn't have much time to think as the man on the table comes back into consciousness, screaming in pain as he feels the blade in...
The wind beats against his back, cape moving in the wind. Nicolas d'Eluise walks through the harbor, boots making muffled noises against the wooden docks. It is a past time he had engaged in quite frequently the last time he was in the common wealth. Each step resonating within the Ithanian's ear. He pauses, looking out at the harbor while the everyday bustling occurs around him. The wind catches his cape, blowing it ever so slightly, it's motion matching the ship sails out at sea. He catches notice, realizing that he may have to exchange his House Sigil in for something else. He recalls his letter he had sent to his wife, Eloise, still in Ithania.
To my dear Eloise,
I apologize for my departure from our homeland. I am sure you were...
A tear wells up in the corner of his eye, rolling down his face and leaving a trail gleaming in the moonlight he was sat beneath. He quickly wipes it away, looking around with an expression of mild alarm- but all was clear. Thank spirit, he wouldn't be able to handle mockery- or even worse, sympathy. The 18 year-old shakes his head, his crimson locks falling around his face like a fiery halo. His mind was the worst place he could be, because when he was alone and thinking, then the grief was unavoidable. Father... brother... uncle... gone. Those four words caused him more pain than he would like to admit, more sorrow than he could ever bring himself to show. Why did they have to go, lives snuffed out like candles? He was more alone than...
The man dressed in all black robes, darker than the Raven's wing, with a bird mask, shinier then the moon's reflection upon a water's surface, Eyes, eyes blacker than than the void's grasp on a human soul, his hat, a hat more sophisticated than the the noble's step. He walked through the halls of the sewers, taking a deep breath. It's not like he could smell or breath the putrid air, for his mask prevented the sinful air from entering his lungs. His blade dripped with the unholy blood of vampires, for three dead bodies lay in front of them, one a woman, one a man, and the last was also man. The man named each aloud, "Ombratore, Terismae, Umredd.". He chuckled, the voice hollowed, his voice was recognizable as human, for the mask's beak...