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...
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
Player Stories
Filters
Show only:
Loading…
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...
Hidden away in the breaking shadows, a young Claith girl sat besides the creek hidden nearly entirely by green. She had stalked the area for several days and none seemed to want to venture down to its shore. She laid in a green dress, paler than the surrounding vegetation, her ginger hair standing out among the unified color. Her fingers danced along the water’s surface lazily. While she was usually in a panic and hiding behind Bran, she now was in a peace rarely achieved by any as the flowing water reminded her of the stream by her isle home.
She closed her eyes and sighed in content, the peaceful memories of home returning for once and not the dark ones. She thought of her sister leaning over her and tapping her nose like she used...
Unsterbligh woke up in the morning, looking around in his home, he placed his hand over on one side of the bed, expecting something at least to grab, like his specs, maybe a cup for his caffe. Unfortunately he was not in the bed he was used to, it was much smaller. His hand only laid upon a book, it was a book about creeds and unionism. Unsterbligh was more devoted to the spirit than usual, he often participated in certain rituals for the people he cared for, but he never really enjoyed sacrificing an old woman to the Allfathers, not that he ever killed a woman, he often had a strong urge to call for help, or even help the sacrifice from death. But lo and behold, he was married to the one sacrificing. He hated watching these deeds of...
Cynsosiel Elael sat in the sewer tavern, drinking cheap ale. She looked even worse than normal- bags under her eyes, constantly tired. The vilitatei was reliant upon one of her former students working an extra job in exchange for her blood, just so she and her daughter would have enough money to get by. She'd been left to raise a child by herself. No money, no job opportunities, nothing other than the hopes of spreading Blood Magic. However, she did not reconsider her life choices for a moment. Setting down the ale, she rubbed her temples with her gnarled, deformed hands. Stress. So much stress. After fifteen near-perfect years, she'd had to end an almost perfect relationship out of necessity. She'd pretended to understand her husband's...
It was a warm and breezy morning, the sun was just peeking over the horizon as Ke' awoke from his sleep in his garden. He'd found himself slumped over in some of the shrubbery after a night of organizing his garden. As he rose, he felt as if the garden needed a little more, structure. Sure it had plenty of flowers, but the flowers he had were just ones he could see outside in Regalia. He wanted to add something that would add a bit more to the picture.
Ke' grabbed his pouches and everything else to take on the day, even if it was much earlier than usual. He left out of the house on an expedition to find a flower that could stand out and give his garden some expression. He first decided to search the park. Unfortunately, he only...
The snow fell quickly, coating everything in a thick white layer. The branches of the pine-trees coating Nordskag hug low, almost succumbing to the weight of the snow. The forest seemed calm, quiet. A white-fox pranced about in the snow slowly, searching for prey. The little Candis had eyed a rabbit, it’s back arching as it got ready to pounce. Suddenly, the fox’s ears perked up, it glanced about and bolted away into the treeline. The rabbit gazed towards where the sound had come from, before being startled by a noise. A scream, a roar.
The Northenre warrior burst out through the treeline, bearing twin axes, and clad in a light chainmail. He was followed closely by a companion, bearing a shortsword. They seemed to be running towards...
It was midday as the sun’s rays slammed down onto sparring grounds just outside of a large stone building. Boots were heard scraping against the gravel. Metal clashed together as blades connected with one another. Grunts and huffs came from the youth as he ducked and jumped around his mentor, attempting to keep up with the much more skilled of this spar.
The mentor had his long black hair tied back into a ponytail and presented a scruffy beard along with a well built and trained form. He announced his actions to the youth before he made the moves and thus the youth would counter him best he could.
The youth had darker skin and curly brown hair, only having just started to sprout more proper facial hair. Wielding two daggers, matching...
Star-Crossed Lovers - Part 0 (introduction)
Wind flows through the leaves of the elegant forest, as a young Ailor female sits upon an old stump. From a distance, a voice calls towards the young Ailor. She turns toward the voice with a wide grin, leaping with joy, she hurries towards the voice. Waiting for the young Ailor, is a tall man, grinning as wide as she is. They embrace each other as though they haven’t seen each other for years. The tension in the air is that which of great love.
This begins the grand story of the two star-crossed lovers, Katelyn Rose (@CrescentLight) and Marcus Light (@onearmsquid). Two young Ailors who have have found great love within each other. This young couple can be found during the day as they tend...
It’s the early morning on the day of the festival, couples young and old were dancing through the streets and fun was in the air, all was merry and well except for one, an old man with one eye strolled through the streets, passing parties and romance around the city without that much care.
The street in the old Ithanian district was almost filled with parties in the various colourful cafe dotting the buildings, a couple with arms over each other’s shoulders lightly butted shoulders with him, they didn’t pay him any mind but the old man stopped, a familiar scent hit his nose for a split second causing him to turn around, but the two already turned corner and out of sight, leaving only a flash of pink dress for a split second before...
Note: The story is going to be rather casual and I'm making it because I'm bored and I wanted to give people a feel of what the Verion (the name of the leading family) will be like.
It was 7:30 PM, in the sewers at the Verion Void Cult base. Many shendar, shendar half-breeds, and even a few Ailor were around the fire singing, dancing, and having fun. At around eight, a thin, slendar shendar with casual Regalian clothing. It was Angolben, leader of the cult. He raised his hands in the air and everybody went silent, looking to him as he spoke, "Now my friends. It is time we pray to the Archdemon and the Vices." The musicians began playing their loud instruments as the void worshippers prayed. After that was done, everybody began talking...
Setting: During the Battle Of Regalia, as shown in THIS Progress Post.
POV: Conf Helethium
[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
A purple-clad man took an arrow through his throat as Conf ducked to the right with a curse. This was bad, this was very very bad. This incursion has started off fairly well, with his men- he had started to think of the rabble as 'his men' at some point along the way he had noticed- attacking a large gathering of Usurpers that had rallied in the shadow of the Azure Spire, from two sides, his main force rushing from the south while a smaller force harried them from the west. However the battle had quickly devolved into an all out brawl...
Setting: During the Battle Of Regalia, as shown in THIS Progress Post.
POV: Conf Helethium
[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The Arming Sword clattered against the exposed chainmail at his breast, knocking Conf backwards. Fortunately the slashing cut had not penetrated the mail, but it was definitely going to be sore later. He was quick to retaliate- while the Deathling's arm was outstretched, he shifted his right foot backwards to steady himself and drove the point of his own steel sword up through a kink in the right side of the Lo Guard gambeson. The blade drove through, penetrating a lung before the Deathling collapsed into a pile of vile smelling black...
Setting: During the Battle Of Regalia, as shown in THIS Progress Post.
POV: Conf Helethium
[ Part One | Part Two | Part Three ]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
He gathered his group within the building, as silently as he could. They were far from stealthy, but given the situation, and the Deathling's lack of scouting, it should hardly matter. The building looked to be some bakery- based on the ovens and rolling pins. Though no products were within- the scarce supply had long since been pillaged and devoured by hungry citizens. The entire southern wall of the first floor was missing, more or less, with only two supports in the center still barely holding on. Fortunately, Regalian architecture-...
Freedom. For the first time, freedom. Dwight Pendav stood on the edge of the pier considering this huddled in his hood and cloak. Free from slander, from spite, from his very name. No more lies, no more hate, no more Noelle. He closed his eyes and for the first time since he had arrived in that gods-forsaken city, he breathed free.
All his life he said he was more a country rascal than a bureaucrat. All his life, he had been tied to one constraint or another by society. All his life being judged, measured, countermeasured and made to fit standards that weren't his own. But now? Nobody cared anymore. After all, nobody cares about a dead man.
But now, what was he? Another face in the crowd? His hand clenched into a fist thinking about...
Most of the important belongings had already been packed weeks ago, all trusting the war would soon come to an end. Carriage after carriage, bags and cases made their way to the ship awaiting the Valeur family members who’d spent the last months in Stéphan Valeur III’s county in Vixhall, Lamadeleide, shielded from the ghastly bone horrors and other terrors roaming the Holy City. Those capable had stayed in Regalia, and it was a longing desire to see them again after so long, not having heard word from them even once during the occupation. Though it was necessary, it was not easy to bare the thought of what could have happened to them.
Eagerly, the family members who had stayed in Lamadeleide brought their last belongings to the...
A Nest of Ravens
Heavy the wind blew west, sending gales of sharpest icy touch down Hinderlandish valleys, like the stampeding of a thousand ironclad hooves. Farmers held their children close to them, ushering them to take shelter within stonewalled huts and cottages. Priests tapped their silken shoes against marble floor, waiting for a flock which seemed to be blocked from sermon, by this vengeful shroud of nature. In a small and remote keep, due south of the old borders of Ettrenach, a young man stirred in rage, much alike the coming storm.
“That curly haired wretch!” the boy would yell out in fury, his tone matching that of his sickened father. “The people know my cause! They know it is lawful, they know it is just!” the...
Early morning. The brush of a forest just outside of the City boundaries, shook and parted, as a fox went trudging through it. It shook its head, turning this way and that, its ears twitching at the sounds of leaves being shook by the wind. It paused, turned, and attempted to sprint off, before its neck was pierced by a single, stone headed arrow, yelping loudly, before falling to its side, its eyes held open, as life drained from its body. Brayton dropped lightly from the tree, and quietly moved over to where he had felled the poor creature. He quietly removed the arrow, sliding it all the through the exit wound, before replacing it in the quiver on his back.
The sun was dawning now, as Brayton sat upon the hillside, looking over the...
Noelle sat in her room, eyes glued to the wall in an almost unseeing gaze. Her fingers picked on her skirt lightly as she shook as if cold. She was cold. Cold with a chilling fear of what is to come. He was trying to frame her for murder, his murder.
A murder she knew had never occurre, deep down, and one that was not her fault.
Her hands felt her cheeks that had been sliced open by someone's knife despite her not remembering any of it. She looked down at the mirror in her lap, the one that had survived everything, and was taken back slightly.
Who was this woman? Her eyes red from crying, her hair hanging messily around her face, sleeves torn. Noelle blinked, as did the woman. She sighed, long and heavy with emotion as she looked to...
15 Years Ago in Nordskag...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fimburs’ Perspective:
It was a cold winter evening...The snow flurries flaring all around as the sound of crunching snow and cracking branch was heard all around. Nothing more than this scenery, where the sky shown only with the light of the moon and distance stars did this night of nights occur. Here were the woods that which surrounded the Dwarf Burgrave. His name was and still is Fimbur Gochni, an Expert Level Light Mage who in his time of living, had grown old, frail, and complacent with time and relative peace. His sat alone in his chair, the wood paneling creaking within his...
Morning dawns on the dwarven city of Dimbuldor, the air laced with scents of the mountain and the sea, that dazzled the nose. The sounds of the mail ships at the harbour, and the clanging of the copper mines can be heard over the sound of a waking city. Each morning, the dwarves of Dimbuldor would awake to the same scents, sounds and sights. However, this particular day, a new scent would be introduced, one that would be there for decades to come.
"Come come! We need four and twenty more loaves in as many minutes! Move!" These were the words heard every morning by those passing by Whulbur Buldor's bakery every morning. The view of plump dwarves scurrying left and right, gathering up the day's crop., Fimbur observed. The old dwarf took...
There was a loud crash that shook the ground. A man in a torn blue coat, dirty white pants ran towards a ruin barely visible in the fog and the darkness. His black hair stained with dirt flowed behind him. The man got to the ruins and looked around.
He cried out looking for survivors, allies and violets. But only dead bodies were found, each dead violet was like an arrow to the heart for alinar. Then real arrows flew at alinar, none hit him for he used a dead criminal's body as a shield, then he unsheathed his cutlass and in a fury ran at the group of 4 Deathling archers, he stabbed the first one. Then knocked the second out and was about to stab it when he felt pain like nothing he has ever felt in his right leg, but he kept fighting...
__________________________________________________________________
His eyes dropping from the rain blotched window, Jamie found his legs carrying him out of the master bedroom, pulling him along towards the main stairwell. The nobleman was forced to remain a passenger as his lower extremities insistently tugged him through the building, continuing their stubborn rebellion until their unwilling subject was firmly planted on the front steps of the Rosendahl estate. After situating their quarry, his legs relinquished control, obediently standing firm as a few light rain drops hit the nobleman's brow. The sudden splash of water sent a ripple of shivers down the Jamie's body; dressed in thin nightwear, it hardly came as a surprise how...
Noelle walked at a brisk paced, her eyes darting along as she went. A dark bruise was on her cheek, there since yesterday's evening when the Pendav had struck her in the park. She turned the corner, finding her front door and setting in. The door closed behind her and she glared about the room, her hands grabbed the closest thing to her, which was a tea cup, and threw it at the wall.
The cup smashed and rained colorful porcelain on the floor. She unsheathed her dagger and drove it into the counter in rage, looking around the room as it facing a crowd of unforgiving, cruel people. She yanked the dagger free and pointed it forward, imagining that Dwight stood there so she would dig her dagger into his skin.
He had slapped her, he had...
((This happens AFTER Marianne's Character Reset/Recreation, which means the events below are canon.))
Written by IndigoIvy, @Ryria and @MantaRey
A young Dressolinian woman had her head on a swivel, as only a few weeks have passed before the Deathling Empress Lo had been assassinated, and she had no idea who lived and who died. Suddenly, she caught the glance of the familar face of Ania Santorski.
Taking a few steps towards her, she waved, a casual salute, before speaking out. Greeting her in Marianne's common tongue, she looked back with a slightly cold expression. "Your name escapes me, girl. Yet I remember that face. Vaguely, at the least. Who are you?"
The 'girl''s personal self-absorbment made her seem slightly taken aback from...
I write poetry quite often but have since hit a writers block, this is my attempt to return back into the normal swing of things and flow of how I work. I will do audio versions if you would rather hear them than read them. To further elaborate this thread will be generally used for a collection of my poems that relate to the Massivecraft Universe as a whole. If you want to add one of your own poems feel free to! I will gladly read over them and give my own review whenever I am available.
Eshe laid in bed, arms crossed as she stared at the ceiling in a bit of a daze. He still loved her, despite everything that's happened he still wanted her. She smiled but then it feel bad to a frown.
He was a liar. Everytime she had trusted him he betrayed her. Why did she keep giving him chances?
A whisper of a sigh escaped her as she thought, her eyes drifted to the empty cradle by the wall. She stood and moved to it, a hand falling to knock it slightly. She was a terrible mother but that doesn't mean she didn't love her son.
But Hani was gone. Vanished while she as away, her infant lost. She turned and remembered earlier that day, slamming her fist into Dante's face. He knew where Hani was, he had to!
But he said he...
A Star East of Oxoron
Vianschied lay cold and bare upon the wild heath. The Keep’s walls skirted by unchecked heather, faded purple and hard with age. The moorlands were peaceful this time of year. They’d returned to their natural state. With the ceasing of Brûlantfest, the undergrowth was left rowdy and unchecked. Yet somehow that fragile balance had been tipped: the burning of Brûlantfest had stopped, and yet by this, no new heather sprouted from the ashes. The sheep, finding the old and thriving growth of plant life tough and unappealing, moved on to the managed hills of local farmers. Vianschied was alone. No grazing sheep. No wandering grouse. Nothing but a cobbled stone island, surrounded by a sea of purple growth.
Inside the...
Mallorie balled het fist around the note, rivers of tears ran down her cheek. She felt this burning inside of her, it wasn't anything vital physically, but it hurt. She slid her back down on the wall, right beside her own bed, as she stared at the piece of paper, closing her eyes and opening them in hopes the writing would magically change itself. Mallorie didn't expect it to work, so the tears kept streaming, drenching the paper with the infernal writing it bore.
A surge of a different emotion settled upon her burning heart, it was anger. It was the fire of self hate. This fire, this void fire, it burnt like no other. She gritted her teeth and chucked the paper she clutched in her fist. To her discontent the paper failed to travel...
Dear my Queen Freya Lo,
Oh how your power has grown,
Over us people.
Dear My Queen Freya Lo,
Regalia, Regalia is in woe,
We fear for what comes.
Ailors! Heretics! Everyone!
Fight! Fight for your homes and lives!
Dear Our Queen Freya Lo.
We will win this war,
Your deathlings don't belong with us,
They will die once more.
Dear My Queen Freya Lo,
Oh how your power has grown,
Over us people.
Dear My Queen Freya Lo,
Prepare your men and women,
For a second death.
The rebels are near,
Coming to take their city,
Good luck, dead Queen Lo.
Voices echoed through the darkness as he walked. There was a crunch of snow and slowly light came back to him, filling his view.
He was emerging from a tunnel, a passageway and blinked at the sudden blinded light. Down the stairs he could see a crowd, all facing forward to…
No! He could warn them, save them, get them to safety! His feet felt on fire as he pumped his way down the staircase as the light slowly faded away.
He reached the crowd and put his hand on the first shoulder only to find it was now a tree, black and bridle that half bit at his vulnerable fingers. He started, pulling away and slowly turned around as he heard crackles in the snow, turning around to see two great visages...his family…
But the darkness of the...
Alak’aer groaned as he sank into the soft cushions of a couch in the Heiwynn Apothecary, sunbeams throwing their dazzling shadows across the room. He rested for a second, meditating, silently thanking Estel that he was alive. After a moment, he reached up and touched his face, feeling for the second gash he had received in a week. Silently, he went to the counter and stepped behind it, wearily taking a cup of water and setting it to boil. He then gathered Ruby Flower and some Opium and laid it out to make a medicine.
Once the water was done, and the drink made, he sat back down and contemplated what to do next. The sewer, he knew, was perpetually on the brink of rioting and chaos. Sometimes, it was all he could do to keep his own...
To late did Cedric realize that he had thrown the grenade too hard. The lapis grenade went spinning right into the hearth were a blazing fire had just been brought to life. It laid there for less than a second and then the grenade exploded sending blue dust puffing out from the fire. Unfortunately the majority of the lapis dust had been incinerated by the fire, but fortunately Jonny was sitting right by the fire, and got a mouthful of the dust. Jonny toppled out of his chair violently coughing. The fire suddenly leapt higher in the hearth as it began to feed off of the lapis dust. In an instant the innkeeper was yelling, his wife and he ran into the kitchen, while the man that Cedric had seen at dinner pulled a dagger from a sheath in...
The freezing wind blew viciously throughout the craggy lands of Ellador. The great pines were bent by the wind’s ferocity, and weighed down by the snow from the blizzard. All signs of life were absent from the cold bleary plains of Ellador. The snow hares had long ago retreated to the warmth of their burrows huddled together to keep the chill out. In the distance a dire wolf howled sullenly, but the sound was soon lost in the whirlwinds of the blizzard. To the outside world Ellador was a graveyard of ice, rock, and snow. All except for a dwarven stronghold, that towered high into the frozen moonless night. The stronghold was built purely of stone and brick, save for the thick spruce doors which stood guard against the howling force of...
“Did’nt you herd? They are no more Weetch Hun’ ters anymore.” Cedric Claivor was no longer offended when he was spoken to in this way. Once, people would trip over there overlarge feet to bring him information, but now he is just given odd looks in his boiled leather, dyed a dark green. He even had to remove the cape that he had once so proudly wore, because it had been stained by so many rotten fruits thrown at him. The bartender was looking at Cedric as quizzically as his simple face could manage, as if he expected Cedric to suddenly turn into a poetry writing dragon at any moment. “Are ye gonna buy somethin? If not then git!” Cedric turned on the spot doing his best to hide his fury behind the usual stony expression. On his way out...
It was a bleak and dreary day, one that seemed to go on and on and on for Juliette. The girl sat perched in on the couch, staring out the window at the constant falling rain of Regalia, one that never seemed to end and simply had momentary pauses for a breath. She held a book in her hands, one of about animals that she'd never see till she was older as they lived far off in distance lands such as in Farah'deen or Fendarfelle. She sighed and wrapped her blanket around her tighter, one she had dragged off her bed and to the couch. No one else was home and she didn't feel like wandering around in the rain today, it was depressing and she wished to feel the hot air of her Ithanian home again and not the cool, wet air that surrounded the...
Blood. It was the only thing Cristina could rely on to make sure she could go on herself. So she drank. She drank until it hurt to swallow, and even then, she tried to down ale. Her tears burnt her eyes like a forger's fresh sword. She stood in the corner of the empty house, her stuff wrapped up, never intending to leave the cloth, until she was back home.
It wasn't her fault. It surely was of her lover's. "She lied... I have to test her... no.... yes..." She rambled to herself, dragging the corpse in the yet to be set firepit. She couldn't help herself, and yelled out in a pure, hot, rage. She tossed her dress that was to soon be for someone wedding'. "Why could she not be trusting twords me! This is her fault!" She yelled at the...
Just a short lil thing I did on Tes' experience of the Loyalist attack on Regalia. Yeah. The one where he gets his leg and hand blown off.
NOTE! This is not for the faint of heart. It's creepy. Just saying.
@Caelamus @VintageMystic @Eccetra @Scriihbe @Inferno_Breaker and @MolagBallin are all the people that might be interested from an IC standpoint
@SpamanoTomato @Chaay @Erizu and @Henck might be interested as well idk
Hope you enjoyed. Have a nice day <3
Helleu! Just decided that I should write down Sophias experience of going home after Lo-ts of things happend. (Badum tss). Now this was done on my phone. Soooo yeah. X
Finally. Finally going home. New clothes, a propper bath.. tea? These were only a few things that popped in her mind whilst she walked to the city. The group was big and showed a lot of diversity. Elderly, children, weak, rich, poor... Yet not many people who were still as fit as herself. Well it was the best option. She was bad with fighting.. and that is what they needed? Right? She could't have been of any help. Yes, tgat's right. She did what-.
Her train if thought stopped as a small boy squeezed in her hand. She looked down, passed her ruined dress and the small...