darcie

(These events took place on a brief trip that was time skipped for sake of roleplay.) The crack of the whip and the cries of pain reached her ears as she pushed through the crowd. The deep purple cloak covered her from head to about knee level as she escaped into a side street. Panting gently...

The trees rushed past her as she ran along the dirt path, her boots kicking up dust. Tree branches whipped out, scratching at her face and shoulders. She wasn’t completely sure what she was running from or running towards. All she knew, within her head was the singular phrase of: Keep going...

Marry for love. Marry the person, your heart cries out for. -Death Comes to Pemberley, P.D. James They say that love is patient, kind, and that it is never envious or even jealous. Love was also known to be extremely fickle and Darcie knew it all too well. However, it seemed that love was on...

A collaborative story from @AtticCat and I. “I-I nn-never forget a voice, girl. You can’t escape me. Give up before you get yourself killed.” The plague and rot Arken stammered out, his footfalls drawing closer and closer to where she hid. Darcie held her breath, her hands holding firmly to...

“Get up then. Show me that you’re no longer a spineless coward, Vauclain.” “...” “Leave her alone. You have no right to speak to my sister that way, you disgusting woman.” “Leave her be. You have no power here now.” “So you’re her protectors again? Making up for how you failed?”...

Interlude: Noun, an intervening period of time. Her boots were muffled as she walked slowly through the hall, eyes studying each of the framed paintings there. Each of the past heads of the Le Havre family and their spouses. She halted towards the end of the hall, gazing up at the portrait of...

She never particularly cared for the color black. Though she, of course, would wholeheartedly admit that it does have a place in one’s wardrobe now and again. Her own current riding outfit did consist of mostly black garments save for the deep blue cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Darcie’s...

“Darcie this isn’t right.” “HUSH! I’m working. Leave me be.” “As much as I enjoy watching you working with such clear pleasure, you’re going to work yourself to death. Think of those who love and care for you… What of Nyth? What of the Wodenstaffs themselves, they need you! And what of...

There were many things peculiar about Gideon Hackett, as all knew and were willing to tell. What no one ever mentioned, was the drumming. ‘t-tap, t-tap, t-tap’ It followed him everywhere, thudding and thumping like mad. It filled his every hour from dawn to dusk like a heavenly, or hellish...

Scratch, scratch. Her pencil moved quickly across the pages. A soft mumble escaped her as she erased a few of the words she had written down only to replace them not a moment after. Her written words were a jumble of Common and D’Ithanie, a confusion to an onlooker. Except for the occasional...

Her boots were the first to go, the trickiest thing to remove with only one functioning arm. The next was the sling itself, dropped onto the vanity stool as Darcie stepped in front of the mirror. A bruise was beginning to form on the side of her head where the Northerner had hit her. It was...

She couldn’t wait. She had to venture forth into the wilderness, warnings be damned. At least she had waited until the sun had risen, enough that she could see clearly. The past few weeks had been a trial for her. With event after event after event, Darcie was growing tired. Exhausted even...

Her skirts swished slightly over the carpets of the guest bedroom she paced in. Closed eyes and arms folded firmly across her chest, Darcie moved in a slow circle. The room was bare of most of the woman’s belongings as they had been packed away into their trunks once more. Off to a weekend...

The candlelight shivered and flicked as she made her way slowly up the stairs. The house simply grew in more a state or ruin with each room she entered. Claw marks lined the wall, stuffing torn from cushions and papers scattered upon the floor. Her knuckles had turned white as she held quite...

A woman’s place is in the revolution. ♞Basic Information♞ ♚Name: Darcie Mila Vauclain ♚ Nicknames: Darcia and Vauclain ♚Age: 35 ♚ December 18th, 272 AC ♚ Capricorn ♚Gender: Female ♚Race: Alt-Anglian and Ithanian Ailor ♚Sexuality: Bisexual ♚Current Relationship Status...

“Keep up! I thought you were a soldier, not some young deer still trying to find its legs!” Darcie called over her shoulder to her companion, her boots crunching the snow underfoot. Rufus, the woman’s husky, was ahead of the other two and just within looking distance. The animal seemed to be...