Juliette raced as fast as her little feet could carry her, taking to the stairs as the woman in the armour counted to twenty, loud and clear. She hurried to the very top and paused to catch her breath as the woman yell "Go! Find them!"
She glanced to the next flight of stairs, taking to them, her feet crunching on the snow as the roof was gone. She returned to wooden floors and raced as fast as she could to the end, hearing people run up the stairs below her. She paused, looking around frantically.
She looked forward, seeing the violet tent on the snow covered area the dining room once stood. She booked it to the end of the hall, ducking into a space between two pieces of broken wall.
Her left hand pressed against her chest as she...
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Donald couldn't sleep. He lied there huddled with the other loyalist criminals next to a sewer outlet with the nice campfire going on. Of course the label of loyalist criminal is a bit of an overexaggeration as he was never quite a loyalist himself, he was merely a thug who didn't like the deathlings more than the others do. And somehow, despite the warmth of the dancing flame beside him, he couldn't close his eyes. The burly man got up and looked out the pipe, the white frozen waters before him and further on partially hidden behind the blanket of snowfall lies the other side of the archipelago. The howling wind outside could make any man tremble to the temperature. It was obvious, he and his little group were watching over this...
Sitting at her desk, a single candlelight in the darkness of night. Three children slept on the couches in the background as she scribbled away on her papers, her eyes with dark bags underneath them. Her possession collar sat on her neck, on top of a rash. She glanced up at the three behind her, sighing. There was one missing. There had meant to be four always. Four children, but there were only three here. But why? There was four-- always. Right? She always saw her there, brown hair, puffy, green eyes. An exact copy of her when she was younger, nearly. Or was she simply going insane? The three others couldn't see her.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Pushing the chair back, she stood up, waking one of the children. One of them groaned...
Hello everyone, it’s me again. This time I’m going to try something a bit different; off the beaten path, if you will. I’d like for you to let me know how you think about this (feel free to post on the thread and give me suggestions. Who knows, you could even theorize with friends about what you think is going to happen in the next chapter), so that way I can know whether spending the time to do all this is worth it or not.
As some of you know, I want to be an author later on in life. This is why I write a bunch of stories that usually don’t really need to be there; just because I enjoy writing them. This here thread will be my first attempt at a “series” of sorts, or a prolonged story. Basically, it’s like a life chronicle of my...
Sitting by this brook is so serene. I could stay here forever, start a new life without the chaos of Landers. I could leave everyone behind and start over. No more Maui, no more hate, no more of getting caught up in Human wars. I could eat plants and little fish and live here forever.
Makaha didn't, though. After long contemplation and relaxation by the little forest brook, Makaha waded into it's brisk waters to swim with it's motion to deeper waters. She returned to the city, patronizing any Darklings that looked at her. "Praise the Queen." Makaha said. None suspected her as she ran home with her soaking bag of fish.
She stood at the former art shop that her uncle Maui had boarded himself inside, and made sure none were around. She...
The group had a very happy and communal time as they searched through the wilderness, a certain camaraderie having run through them. As they searched, they made jokes with each other and socialized... Christopher Black couldn't help but bring up what he'd observed regarding Milahme Coen and Royland Blackwater... Warren did well stifling his laugh, yet soon after they grew a little more serious with their search. Not too serious, of course. Whitlock was, of course, teased for his outing with the Calemberg Adhund... Something the Nelfin disliked about the venture but at least he had the chance to set the members of the group straight about how he'd simply lost track of the beast in the darkening wood.
Having come upon the local town...
The cold wind bit hard at his back. Relentless and persistent, the tendrils of winter tugged at the Rosendahl’s fur wrap, attempting to poke holes through his thick leather vest. The twin on the ramparts deviated no attention to the low temperature; his eyes remained on the snow-covered countryside. While banal and lacking in color, the surrounding forest was more or less a clean slate; something Jamie accepted with open arms. The solemn landscape offered nothing in terms of stimulation, granted no food for thought. There was only white, a few blotches of faded green, and a pointed spot of grey. Nothing to think on, nothing to act on, nothing to feel.
Letting his attention drift back to the center courtyard, Jamie’s eyes scoured the...
Taking Things Seriously
Featuring Santiago Martinez
@Kibspair
Ever since the Axford Imperial Trials, the Martinez family has been prosecuted endlessly, sometimes even wrongfully so. Although abuse was always present in the judgement of others, corrupting their once good name, never before had they feared so much for themselves.
The dead had been coming back to life. Everything that had ever died. In the Crown Isle, an usurpation had taken place once more. If that wasn't enough, Lorenzo lived under the constant threat of being prosecuted by "loyalists" and rebels alike. He knew he was leaving evidence behind, maybe on purpose at a subconscious level.
So many death threats sent his way. His most recent war declaration. Everything was...
This is all from IC interactions, though some will be added on since monologue/thought role play isn't exactly the most exciting to do in-game. Any context is not known by anyone else that are not in Fort Kronau (depending on content and scene), and of course most, if not all, thoughts are not known by anyone - save for possibly one or two other people. No meta-gaming and the like.
The Northerne brute of a woman kept herself seated among the peerage of those around her in the small width of the Commander's Tent. She could not help but allow her mind to drift from the babbling and whining each displayed in some form; the Rootling, a mess; the d'Eluise, torn; the Coens, perhaps even more sympathetic; Royland Blackwater, ever...
Seeing as everything seems to be so horrible right now in Regalia, I decided to write up a cute little story, based on an artwork Joy Drew of Darius and Breon as children Enjoy!
Winter in the Silevon residence, Larasviel was hard at work decorating the house, baking for the holidays and keeping everything in order. Breon and Darius, on the other hand, were doing the exact opposite. Breon had recently hit the age of Ten, and Darius was a few days away from turning Nine. The taller girl was quick to break rules, and the boy was quick to tell on her. They were a handful to deal with for their mother. It just so happened that this particular day, she had left the young in her brother Daniel’s care. He seemed enthusiastic to do so...
The clanging of metal in the air and the shatter of a flowerpot, then the sound of a flickering flame.
Her last hope.
Now, where had it all started...
A simple morning, she would've thought. It turned into much more than that.
It was a painful day.
Ah, how she thought she would always be by her side,
though much to her dismay she wasn't.
She was on the opposing side.
A filthy Void mage, that's what she was.
Another quarrel, nothing serious. They happened all the time.
Until it escalated too quickly.
And when I say too quickly, I mean far too quickly.
Mages fighting each other never works.
It started with simple verbal insults, which went to throwing objects at each other.
Nyioucheil was the first to draw blood.
The flowerpot shattered...
The sand dunes of Farah’deen, a warm and harsh wasteland. The storms and winds blowing grains of sand around, fast enough to damage skin, and ruin clothing. Walking within this harsh territory, were two curious figures, clad from top to toe in thick cloth, their eyes covered with dark and thick-brimmed goggles that made it hard to see anything. They didn’t seem to carry much. The tallest figure lead a Camel, that carried multiple bags and supplies. The shortest figure simply carried a light backpack, and what seemed like a short spear, or a pointy cane. The silhouettes were hard to differentiate.
“Are we there yet?” The shortest silhouette asked, her voice was a bit on edge. It had been a long journey, after all.
“Not yet, we have a...
Disclaimer: this is a really dark story with mentions of suicide, so if you're squeamish in the slightest, don't read it. Proceed with caution. ULTRA TRIGGER WARNING
She feels unloved. Unlovable. Every step she takes, she feels like she's falling.
Her heart aches, and lately she's been plagued by an incessant weight on her chest. She is suffocating.
She is suffocating. Breathing hurts, and no matter how hard she tries, she can never receive enough air.
She considers the rumors surrounding her, and wonders if she is the monster they make her out to be. She used to not believe it, but now she isn't too sure.
The love of her life seeks comfort from other women because she drives him away. She confronts him, and he is driven away...
The man tossed and turned in his bed before Daenshore's warm morning sun finally called up from his stir. Juan re adjusted himself on the bed as he let out a series of groins. He staired blankly at the old but sturdy wooden ceiling for a moment, analyzing all the knots and cracks within it before finally raising up. Juan ran his hand through the colored sheets which made up the re furnished. The bed creaked rather loudly however as the man hopped of it and made his way to his dresser mirror.
He cracked a grin as he stared at his features in vain, running a hand up his short but curly dirty blonde hair as he peered at his person. Blue eyes and a deep droq tan, the man wondered if he always looked like that before he caught the scent of...
Just a little story thingy I wrote at school cause why not. Internal struggles are fun for characters.
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The Isldar stared through the gate of Kronau, watching the peaceful freedom that now was blocked off to her. It was all she could do. Just stare out at the wide world and be reminded of her duties and all she had lost. Everything she knew had changed. The castle was but a ruin compared to its former glory. The very animal she raised was slaughtered and eaten. But nothing compared to her freedom being taken away.
The very gates she stood at were the ones that kept escapees in and outsiders out. They were the gates that isolated them all. After the siege, everything had fallen quiet at the...
Attacking and hijacking a Deathling supply Caravan (Player quest)
A group consisting of Veridan Daevaar, Rerik Ulster, Darak Bolvus, Roselyne d'Eluise, and Ztril Merrit was formed within the confines of Fort Kronau. The group laid out a plan to attack an expected Caravan, waiting several days before gearing up and setting out. They started their journey in the early morn, coming to a paved road leading off towards the holy city. Once the party had arrived, they hid off to the side of the road, waiting motionlessly in ambush for a Caravan.
Several hours had passed by, the party quickly growing impatient and restless as they sat still in the cold weather. A few complaints from a freezing Ztril later, the Caravan had finally arrived to...
The man, dressed in a thin, worn coat, balanced on the stone barrier at the edge of the dock, his daughter gave a small laugh. His feet carried him in a small twirl, showing off to his little girl how gracefully and balanced he was on the railing. Freezing cold water smacked the wall below roughly, but he gave no notice.
"Papa, papa! How do you do that?" The little girl asked, excitement lacing her little words. The father smiled and said simply;
"I am much older and have been practicing for a long time." His daughter gave a small laugh, peering up at him with a wide smile. He laughed as well and went to pivot around again but his foot hit a slick section of ice and he crashed over the railing.
Straight into the freezing water.
"Papa!"...
The snow laid heavy across the dark city of Regalia. The shining city it had been to many had been burned out the day Freya Lo claimed the Holy City for herself. A figure, an ailor woman, made her way through the twisting maze of Regalia's breaking city, her feet finding there way from memory as she was deep in thought.
The man she worked under, and looked up to, was a guard for that wretched queen.
Her brother was barely walking again after his leg had been snapped, even before he couldn't walk without a cane he had been making those plans for a rebellion that, as her close friend had said, everyone and their mother was planning one of those.
She had run away from a fort that had provided her with temporary protection from the...
OOC: Everyone knows of the return of House Soldior, and anyone who frequents the Golden Willow would have seen this.
Nathan was leaning against the railing of the second floor of the Golden Willow Tavern. He was a member of the Violet Resistance, a Sergeant...but even that was starting to lose all meaning with him. Everything eventually always did, ever since the day the Superstructure fell, and with it, everyone he ever knew or loved. Maybe all this was just delaying one inevitable end of the road for him, the point where he wouldn't have anything to fight for.
Suddenly, there was a voice behind him. "Nathan?" Suddenly he turned around, hand on his sheathed Black Iron Shortsword, ready to cut what his mind automatically presumed to be...
It was a rainy day, gray clouds covered the sky, shutting the sun's rays out. The autumn air was chilly, and the wet rain dripped down the young Avanthar’s forehead, mixing up with the dirt and blood on his clothes, to make a brown-red goo. The Boy was crawling along the dirt, his knees and elbows sunk shallowly into the mud, and his once clean and impressive uniform, was dirty, and torn. The screams and bodies grew louder, so loud that they filled the ears and mind, pushing out any thought and reason. Fear struck the Avanthar s he crawled, but he kept going, perhaps out of instinct.
With a hand upon his doctors satchell, he crawled forward to the body ahead, a young man, in his late twenties. The Avanthar didn’t know the man...
Based on In-Game Events
Featuring
@Ryria and @Walrusaur_ among others.
A Noble Death
Lorenzo Martinez had just arrived at The Coen's Countryside Fort. The sewer journey through the tunnels, the same pilfer smugglers used, was a dangerous one, though less-so with the amount of rebels now making their home there. He had a mission, and a very dangerous one, at that.
"Oye!" He called. Lorenzo was distinctively paler. He'd have dragged his feet across snow for hours, making sure that nobody saw him. It could be the fear he had that made him pale, or it could have been the cold. Either way, it stood as foreshadowing of a corpse's deathly pallor.
The first to arrive was Madeleine d'Eluise -- that wretched woman. As always, she mocked...
I have no regrets for the things I have done.
What have I to regret?
Many have called what I have done questionable
to say the least. They do not understand what it is I am doing.
Who am I?
My birth name is Nicolas-Francois d'Eluise.
Is this truly who I am? I pledged my allegiance to the well being of a family
I had no choice in. Such is the case of birth. You cannot choose
how you are brought into the world.
What does it mean to be human? Many consider compassion and mercy human traits.
Does that mean I am not human?
I am the second eldest male born to my family.
Yet I do not understand why I have these feelings.
My anatomy agrees to the fact that I am a male yet I do not feel it.
Is this natural? These feelings of doubt?
I was born...