Chapter One (Ballin with Snow)
Beneath the shader covered park, the two lovers sat upon a stump, holding each other. As Marcus looked into the gorgeous eyes of Katelyn, he whispers into her ear, “My love for you full as the ocean and as bright as the Sun.” After a long pause, Katelyn turns away, clearly in an attempt to hide what she is doing. Marcus starts to worry as if he had insulted her, but just as he attempted to apologize, Katelyn turns back and smashes a handful of snow into his face. The snow fight began….
Just as quickly as Katelyn smashed the snow into Marcus’ face, he jumped up in disbelief. Clearly shocked from what just transpired, Marcus then starts to reach for a handful of snow as well. Katelyn instantly takes off...
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Don't say anything
What am I doing?
Keep my mouth shut, that's all I need to do.
Why am I testing her?
Why can't I close my mouth?
She'll kill me.
Do I care?
Yes.
She hurt the ones I love.
Insulting her won't help.
But..
No.
Arthur.
He died before this.
She brought him back.
It wasn't him.
Jared.
He's still alive.
But..I've heard so many bad things..
Those were his choices.
Armyn, Rinel?
What about them?
They're slaves!
My slaves.
Yes..my slaves..
Don't fight her.
I can fight.
I'll lose.
But..I beat my brother..I can fight..
I can fight but I can't win.
Just go a bit longer.
We can't win.
We can.
I'm scared.
Everyone is.
I'm going crazy.
Just take it one step at a time.
How can I?
Start with something simply.
Doing what? Nothing is...
The town of Turent held some of the safest streets in all of Anglia. Thugs and thieves called the city home of course, but the respected men of the Turall School usually kept the town safe given their proximity. Few fights were started by the men of the Turall School. But tonight, the men of the school were not walking the streets. The boys were.
"Raise a glass lads, we'll have more than a few stories to tell after tonight!" said a large youth, leading a band of younger ne'er-do-wells who struggled to keep up in his wake. The youth stood tall and proud, all muscle from his years at the college. His head was shaved clean, which only put all the more attention on the thick ginger beard the youth had managed to grow. One of the many...
"They say I'm crazy. That I'm just a beggar on the streets. Some overlook me everyday, others take the time to harass me. But what none of them know is that I was once much more, listen and I will tell you.
I was a successful merchant once, I had three ships in my command and a full crew for each. The name of my company dose not matter any more and would mean nothing to you. We had just gotten to a temple in Telled Methen with gold and jewels. Being the man I was I took them all, but there was one amulet that was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A local tried to stop me, saying that it was cursed, I flew into a mad rage and slaughtered him taking the amulet for myself. Not long after we loaded up onto the ship did I see what...
>Work in Progress! If you can help in any way you see fit please do!<
Freya Lo,
Why is your face like the ashen snow?
Is it because you died so long ago or that you cannot stand the people other lands?
Freya why?
Are your eyes in a look of dismay, disgruntled in this strange way, watching us today?
Freya please,
I'm aware of my pointed ears, as I have for many years.
Just the same are His feathers and His skin.
Like Her flippers or Her fluffy fur,
It's so rude, to look down on it's leaves, or Her chitin, or her scales.
Freya no,
We cannot stand for this new play,
Yes we're different, but not made,
as belongings of the humans.
Please forgive me,
And also what I do,
For you've crossed a line, you're not supposed to.
>I honestly...
Lone
24 December, Fendarfall, 304 AC
20:52
It was a snowy afternoon that day, the lights of the town were burning vividly like a sun during summertime. The residents were slowly wrapping up their busy day and were preparing for the day to come. It was almost Christmas, after all, who could forget about that?
A few people were still having a chat with each other, the snowflakes gathering on their coats and scarves, while colouring the landscape with a gentle white texture.. Small children were happily playing in the snow, while their parents simply watched them.
Suddenly, the distinctive sound of boots stepping on the snow could be heard. The steps weren’t hasty, but they were heavy, leaving deep footprints behind the man who...
The last way Seraphina thought she would be spending her thirty-fourth birthday was with her very much living dead of a wife. She sat with her hands folded neatly upon her lap, her face bruised and her lip split open, a bit of blood dried upon it. Her injured right leg was propped up beside her, upon a stool. She did ask for a pillow, but no dice, she would simply have to accept the stool as it was.
Hecate sat across from her, a smirk upon her features. She was relishing in watching Sera squirm, truly she was. The deathling picked up her glass and took a sip of the wine that had been poured in both of their glasses. The nelfin sniffed a tad, unfolding her hands and reaching over to grasp her own glass, taking a sip from it as well...
Another day in the sewer, Aldonca was already five drinks in, and of course had no intention in stopping, this sixth drink didn't feel right. Her head felt heavy, she was no lightweight, this shouldn't be bothering her.
Aldonca stood up in a haze, so sleepy, and the world seemed to be tilted to the right. She stepped, she had to get out. She pushed past anyone and everyone in her way. "No, no. I... this is not right."
She knew somebody was following her, she just knew it. She went to step forward around a corner, but a sharp pain to her back made her fall. A demented chuckle was above her. "This'll sell nicely..." She tried to turn, but she felt something go over her head, her sight was gone, and then a pain to her head, and then...
Sinna was a lovely, slightly drunken Isldar. She sat in the tavern, a bottle of vodka in her hands that was half empty despite just reaching her hands.
The Isldar was happy, in her own bubbly world, the slight tilt of the bar with the tinge of vodka making the edges of her vision blurred and dusty.
She stood, humming a tune she had caught from someone who's name was lost on her.
The woman trotted, well while she thought she did, she more stumbled through the streets, humming and singing loudly in the streets as she went, not a care in the world.
The shadows shifted.
The woman kept up her little show, singing and half spinning-half nearly falling on her face as she made her way back to her home.
Turning the corner, she saw another...
Week1
I've began to notice something isn't quite right in the city. I will not worry about it now though for happy day! I'm to be wed soon.
Note to self stop talking to yourself It's quite depressing what you say.
Week 3
I'm simply explosive! My wedding is next week! Also there has been many strangers as of late. Also I've been experiencing the strangest of things...a voice echoes in my head saying things like 'You're end is soon', 'Your wife won't survive the coming reckoning...', or 'Sometimes the only way to escape life's challenges is to find your madness'
Week 7
Oh, I still feel my self in the depths of despair...It has been nearly four weeks since my poor fiancé was presumed dead the day before the wedding. And the voices...
The day was more than exhausting on the two Meriac mages, and yet Vaera didn’t find the blessing of sleep. Be it the paranoia that she got every last spell just perfect, or the existential dread from what was to come when the two had finished, her eyes refused to shut. Perhaps sensing this, Xath laid an arm over her, and she roused from her thoughts, turning her head to face him again - or at least as far as she could, with her back to him. Two golden irises glowed at her in the near-dark of the moonlit room, followed by the voice of her husband, speaking a tongue that was soon to die off from this world.
“Vaera. I can feel that raincloud over you. What is troubling you, my lily?”
As though wondering if she even had permission to...
Such a long wait...
I sit idly by watching as the men scurry from position to position just wishing they had a chance to kill, one.
Just a single one.
They know not the troubles of the kill nor will they understand that within the last moments of man he sees everything.
And everything is what they become,
Too take a life as such as I one must come to find that death is merely a milestone and I am the guide that which transports you to your destination,
But I must apologies to you, my enemy.
For in my haste I cared not to find if you had daughter or wife or lover at all
In my assault I thought not too think if your ashes would be breathed by your friends
In my path of destruction I thought not of the home that was created, now turned to...
And tears fell.
Learning we were all, that we were always the same. To think the powers we grasped, the worlds we molded... We are all crafted of the same beauty.
Feel what I feel.
Dream what I dream.
Know what I know.
Things will change. But still I wonder. Wander. And drown.
I'll explain.
It began with desire, stone, and death.
Not knowing and taking everything. The light. So brilliant, so bright, so vast. Blinding. Hiding...
Darkness.
Loathe.
Will.
Slavery.
Sixteen.
Cradle.
Cycles.
It burns. And so do I.
Flourish. Our blood runs deep. Yet, you can't see what I see, Brother and Sister. The space between, the very air itself grows wider.
Dusk and dawn hear me. They know me. But... they know you even more so.
No...
The womans heavy hood cast dark shadows across her pale features, a deep frown etched into her face like a carving in stone.
Pure white snow dusted the woman's shoulders in a fine powder, Stark against the black cloak she wore. Lifting a gloved hand she pushed open the front door to her home, pushing it shut behind her with a thud.
She lifted the cloak off her shoulders in a swift motion, folding it over the arm of the char pressed against the wall.
Her white hair tumbled over her shoulders as she made her way up the steep staircase to the second floor, sighing in relief to see both bedrooms empty and tidy. She truly loved her children with all her heart, But time alone is always nice.
She moved up the third flight of stairs, moving...
Nancy was accustomed to the musty smell of her old home. Each creaking step caused a shake of memory; things around her rose like fire, fuzzy at the edges like heat blurred her vision. She ascended the staircase, a grip of foreboding come over her; just as her gloveless grip on the banister. She did not know why, or what, or who, but something came and it warned; warned of fate, insolence. The pink of her sleeves seemed far too childish, innocent, for this dark house. For this dark house lay down memories that pittered through Nancy's head like angry hail. Substance ridden thoughts and breath of ale, the shaky memory of a cleaver meeting warm, burnt flesh, in a hazy status. Boiling cheeks bred by crimson fury and the sound of popping...
Preface: I am going to say ahead of time, this story is dark as hell, graphic as hell, and involves attempted suicide. If that stuff bothers you, I wouldn't read it. Otherwise, I would also appreciate there not being any comments on how edgy it is, I know its emo AF, but my character just had his fiance's head sent to him in a box. That doesn't bode well for one's mood.
POV: Conf Ladveer
He had been there for hours. Exactly how long, he had no idea. Long enough for the sun to be descending from the sky, and the stars to be slowly revealing themselves. The door was still open- or rather, it was stuck open now, permanently. He couldn't remember when exactly, but at some point he had done that. He vaguely remembered kicking it...
A blossom falls from the magnificent apple tree, being whisked about by the wind.
An elf ran through the city, her dress flying about as she moved. "Feila obenwei hath!" She chanted quietly, wind suddenly boosting her step as she leapt up to a nearby balcony and then to the roof. Her long caramel hair was twisted into a tight plait, smacking against her back as she continued to wind-leap to the next roof and then the next, on and on.
Her assailants, men, masked in black, were close behind. Their boots smacked against the cobble, their weapons clinking against their light armor. They pursued the girl vigilantly waiting for their chance to take her down.
The men waited but an upwards of seven minutes for her to slow into a run above...
I felt like fleshing out Aithwen's past a bit and so feels time
Get ready for edgy-tastic failed drama
Frequently references death
Also sorry if this is really confusing because it's kind of supposed to be scattered and chaotic thoughts and memories
Smoke billows from the man's pipe.
Stop.
Waving from the port.
Calm down.
Sunset. White balloon. Red sun.
Just breathe.
Sputtering engines.
Spirit help me.
Sparks
Screams
Fire
No
It's going down
She's gone
Breathe
Flowers on the grave
Black dresses
Pale skin
Closed eyes
Bowed head
It's been thirty years
It still hurts
It still hurts
Breathe
Footprints in the snow
Calm down
Decaying flowers
It isn't real
A chair sits empty
Just breathe
Please
She's gone
She's gone
Also bonus note: Friendos...
The Viridian Knights, Mance Blackwater, Trevor Gray, Reinhardt Alshultz, the tactician Jamison Silvrest and their Kommandant, the ex-knight and Field Kommandant Jannik Sinclair were hidden in a good spot, marked by the tactician to take down a caravan of deathlings, kill them and steal their supplies, they are Coen Rebels. They thought they would just find a simple caravan and win easily, that is what they thought...
The proud Knights and Jamison saw a Caravan approaching, there were two men riding it, easy kill. But then they noticed something, the two men riding the carriage carried full plate Viridian Armor.
Silvrest jumped out from his spot, doing a synchronized attack with Trevor towards the two deathlings. Jamison, using...
"My love was one of eyes so gold. His hands moved stones, or so stories told." The haunting melody, that was neither quite a tune, nor spoken in a plain voice, echoed down the dim corridors that made up the Regalian sewers. Tick. A seemingly young woman, clad only in what you might expect a jester to wear wandered the halls. The front of her motley was stained, with a rust colored liquid of some kind, the kind that could be attributed to dried blood or certain sauces they only sold around the holidays.
"But gone and dead my has been, his end was marked by tolling bells and the damned did weep." She continued, the rhyming scheme forgotten to the wandering woman as quickly as it had been adopted. Aun Afae had been apart of these sewers...
Clang!
The girl clad in a noble's green dress slammed her dulled blade against a dummy. She had been going at this for a while now, finally dropping to her knees and trying to catch her breath, the sword falling next to her from her left hand and the shield on her right shaking ever slightly with her hand. The child, around her mid teens, stood after a few minutes, face reddened from practicing.
Jamie had said she had the basics down.
Elizabeth had fallen in a spar against her.
Loic probably wouldn't stand a chance.
The girl smiled to herself, pleased with her abilities that didn't exist a meer few weeks ago. She allowed the thoughts of Shae and Baird and Benedict betraying them leave her. She allowed the minutes of watching...
(Written by: @Feyona )
It was the little things that tended to set off the little reactions; the touch of the hand on a shoulder, or the scent of the cake she’d brought home with the intention of giving it to her lover the next day. Dahae had been over thinking things for the last few hours, and despite her best efforts to lift her mood, by the time she’d gotten home she was just.. Tired. It had been a busy few days, and finally, she could feel the wear of the day seeping into her bones. It showed no physical onset, other than the subtle darkening under her eyes for the weariness, but even that was avoidable until she set herself down in front of her mirror, thinking that she could freshen herself up before bed to lift her mood...
“Snow…?”. The woman would glare out of the window, her own breath comparable to that of a transparent cloud in the air as it had left her lips. The fire engulfed the wood within the fireplace, the flames crackling behind her and the light causing the shadows at the walls to dance wildly around. The panels of the window were covered by a thin line of snow and ice, forming spirals on it. It was winter once again and like each year it would bring back the same memories to the aged woman; memories of being kept alone in winter, sealed away in her family's hunting cabins in the forests of Lutherstadt.
The azure colored eye would continue to glare outside of the window, slowly closing and getting ready to rest for a while. “How many years...
A young shendar girl ran down the stairs in her family’s brand new home.
Brand new, like all the others before had been.
They never stayed long enough for them to become old.
She ran out the front door of the empty home towards her tired mother. The kind mother smiled weakly at her young child as she grabbed the last remaining chest that was left on the carriage the family had came here in. “Mommy, will we stay here longer this time?”
It was a futile question, yet the child asked it every time.
Only 7 and she had asked that question over 15 times, and every time the answer was the same.
“I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll see.” And they did always see, they saw all too soon. The longest time the child had remembered living in one house...
The girl sat by the lake.
She was hardly an adult but barely a child.
Her brown, thick hair stuck to her face with water and the dried blood that remained in it even after the Elven woman with the corn colored hair had cleaned her face. Her face look like a failed painting, all black and blue and purple.
Her face was dark around her eye, blackened by the elbow or knee- she couldn't remember which -of the one she believe her closest friend. Her chin was black as well, the bottom from where she had been kicked.
The girl shuddered, thinking of the crack that had come from her teeth when her mouth snapped shut. She stuck her finger in her mouth and gently prodded at her cracked tooth, slightly relieved that it was one of her few...
It was a cold day in the city and you were out and about trying to sell honey as usual.
As you turn around you see your older brother in the distance. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. You know you should've said something before, you start walking towards him but he's starting to move away.
"Essif!"
You cry out his name, now running after him, trying to get his attention. He didn't pay you any mind, continuing to walk away without so much as a glance in your direction.
You trip over yourself and began falling.
The scene around you change, no longer are you in the middle of the snowy street but you were back in the Elven district on the day of the Festival.
A tightness in your stomach formed as you looked around, the scene...
Noelle sat in her little house at her rather small desk with a thin piece of paper and nearly empty jar of ink.
She hummed slightly writing out names and numbers that would be mean less to anyone else, her hand writing neat after the many letters she had written during her time working at the Golden Willow under the Kade that was named traitor by both sides of the war. She set down the quill, her fingertips stained the slightest from the black ink. The smell made her head spin for a moment: it was awful.
She shook her head and brushed her fingers against the slice on her cheek, a thin marking of ink trailing across it gently. She pulled her hand back, eyes on the writer's ink and shook her hand a little, of course getting nothing from...
A thousand regals had been tossed into his lap, and he’d brushed it aside - for what? His pride? Of course, he had every reason to be upset. How DARE they impose their disagreements upon him, he who built their statues and graced their lives with his very being. It wasn’t until Sully awoke the next day after a particularly bad fight with a half-blinded gaze that he recalled the very reason as to why he was a bounty hunter with rules and ethic. Things got messy otherwise.
The idea had been a particularly simple one, to him at least. Reject the money like his old self would have, instead facing his enemy in a ring like his Family would have wanted, undoubtedly cheering him on for his use of bravado and cunning wit. A fool’s dream, Sully...
He sat there, on the edge of the Fort looking out over the mountainous expanse of land, the snow falling upon his shoulders and head as he sat in thought.
"My friend, following the order of a God..is that not what we were already doing?"
He thought this to himself and remembered with his faltering memory
"No, he went to go and gather information, he is a strongman he can fight it."
His hope was all that he had left to hold onto...would he have to face his friend in combat? Would he have to kill everyone he once loved?
"He who walks this path alone may twist his leg upon the stone and have no friend to help him up..."
He looked to the guards and passerby's going about their work.
"Will we ever win?"
In his heart he told himself yes but...
The warmth of the fire place, and the crackling of lumber filled the room, as Merril sat on her couch, simply staring at the flames, an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor in front of her. She sighed.
Drink more. Indulge yourself. Loth won't have to know. Kill them.
Her fingers clawed the wood of her couch as she sat there, the wordless voices egging her on, continuing to drive her mad. Months this has been going on, and it's gotten to being unbearable.
Have fun. Break them.
Go out and drink. Make them suffer.
Indulge your fantasies. Give them reason to fear you.
Loth will never know. Loth will never know.
She couldn't stand these voices anymore.
Snap.
Suddenly, Merril realized something. She quietly stood up, trying to focus on...
Saelethil was quiet, the usually smiling, and cheerful man was quiet. His eyes were red from crying, and his lip was red and swollen from biting. He couldn’t help it, it was one of the few distractions he had, to keep his focus away from the pain.
He sat in an old chair, beside his Little flower’s side. Gaelitur lay in the bed, oddly quiet, and still. The boy, that would never be able to sit for more than five minutes, without singing, or dancing, or jumping about. Gaelitur’s cheery smile, was replaced with a pained expression. The boy was sickly pale, with bloodshot eyes, and sunken cheeks. His dry lips had cracked, and they didn’t seem to moisten at all, no matter how desperately Saelethil tried, and Saelethil tried. He tried...
Bonaar on the table, he sipped from his mug, it tasted rather terrible, of course any traditional ale wouldn't taste like a wine or a cider, but it was a little too bitter. However, he was too humble and complain, he downed it, his head shook violently as the dose of bitter alcohol entered his body. He got a few stares, yes, as he expected. His gaze almost went blurry to the entire tavern, it was busy today, too busy, and Bonaar was in no way a person for crowds. His fingers tapped impatiently, he's been waiting for her for two hours, what's taking her? He went over his head to review why he was here, a sort of way to encourage himself to stay a little more longer. He remembered his friend, Paarthu, telling of a lady that he found more...
Niantha layed awake in bed that night; malicious thoughts crashing against the sides of her brain with every stiff-muscled turn. For once she had found herself unable to quell them, and now they burrowed deeper into her subconscious with every breath. The exhausted Yanar stared at her smashed opium lamp with wide and terrified eyes that burned no less than her regrets.
“Niantha killed Llewellyn Yaudhren in cold blood!” “The plant scum are murderers!” “Usque have better morals than you!”
She flipped over. Itwasn'tmeitwasn'tmeitwasn'tme.
“I’m so glad the seedling tree burned!” “I bet they would have been violent and cruel, just like you!” “No Yanar are safe!”
She flipped again. Brushitoffbrushitoffbrushitoff.
“This is not the...
The walking corpse, proud to say that it had the body of an Ur and the head of one of Aloria’s horned horses, the Elasmo, had blood dripping from its gnarled teeth. A Mortdei sat, in pain, on the horn of the Elasmo. Hanging was likely a better term. Feet dangling below him, into a flowing river. Taking a moment to glare into the orbs that belonged to the Elasmo, our Mortdei then wrapped his hands around the horn that went through his gut, and pushed himself off with what force could be mustered by his tired arms.
He tumbled, off of the cliff, and fell into slumber as his body slammed into the water below. The Etosian waters carried his limp form on, into the night. With the moon fixating itself in the sky, as clouds blocked the light...
Cecil Empolan staggered through the sewers, his breaths coming in pained-but-determined hitches. To any observer from afar, it appeared that the Shendar knew exactly where he was headed, and why. The truth could not be farther from this.
Closer inspection revealed tattered, torn, and bloodied clothes. His face was swollen and cut, and blood soaked through a makeshift bandage wrapped around a gash from a thrown knife that now resided inside his boot. Its pain had not compared to what he had known, but it still gave him rage, shattered his focus; worse still, the wound was throbbing and hot-- his directionless rage only grew. Cecil floated in a sea of confusion and half-formed thoughts that scattered like a flock of birds every time he...
Noelle fell through the door of her house, slamming it shut behind her with her left hand. Her right was wrapped up in bandages that didn't allow her broken wrist to move. The woman stumbled through the room, grabbing the counter of the island table, clinging to it like her life depended on it.
Maybe it did.
Her fingers of her left hand tore through her hair, pulling it messily down, her hands shook violently, panicked breaths wracking her chest as she hunched over. Her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes squeezed closed as she tried to get air into her lungs.
Her mind shot back to the past hours as tears finally broke free and flowed down her face, sobs shaking her as she slid to the floor. Her blue skirt pooled around her like...
Zoe Kaliva woke up in a dark room lit by flickering candles, naked, and cold. Her limbs were chained down, her mouth was gagged, and drugged to a degree. Cloaked and unrecognizable figures surrounded her, chanting in a variety of languages. D’ithanie for one and she could only make out a few words “Demon” and “Vessel”. They made various cuts across her skin, covering her lips and around her eyes with a black oily substance, and drew with this substance on her stomach.
“Daemon intrare virgo in vas”
Muffled screams came from Zoe, the drugs wearing off and she started to struggled. One slugged her in the jaw and two held her down. That only made it worse, though the gag made her screams sound like whimpers. Lights and dark spots...
The dim light of the fire in the fireplace of the kitchen flickered just enough for Juliette to see the form of Shae sleeping. The young Ithinian shifted so that she was looking at the ceiling instead of the Tigran that had told her to sleep in her bed instead of one of the others that she would have had to trudge through the twilight covered snow to get to. It was late and the fort was quiet enough where she could think about the odd events of the chilled day.
She had lost two of her friends, at least she was sure she had. Tanoro had made it quite clear he wasn't her friend and she and Elizabeth would probably never be good one either. She frowned slightly, why was it that the animals of the fort were nicer to her than her own people...
To go in tandem with @Ryria 's short story, I thought I would add on a second part. Again, the whereabouts of either character are not strictly known by others, save for perhaps some vague suspicions from those who saw them wandering around IC. Any information is to not be meta-gamed.
Kaja shivered while holding onto her dear cousin, Britta - the trek through the snow was ever-taxing, despite having the privilege -- or was it luck? -- of finding one of the horses transported by the Nenyarina. They had already traveled through the duration of one evening and camping out in the wilderness as carefully and stealthy as they could for the night. Yet the early morning was unforgiving; its winds were sharp, biting at any exposed skin, and...
((Please excuse the terrible title. I wrote this battle cry and I really was kinda proud and wanted to share. Not sure if it'd go here. Stay tuned because I may sing this if I can work up the courage. <3))
Elizabeth sat down quietly in the corner of one of the rooms of Fort Kronau, with paper and quill in hand and the idea hatched to come up with a way to be more useful... Scrawling across the page the girl smiled in satisfaction upon producing a song intended to boost patriotism and morale for the cause she believed in...
The page read:
"Everyone listen up, from an honored veteran to the youngest pup!
Because this is important to hear, these words will endear, so don’t disappear!
Our fighters will kill the Deathlings, making...