Engulfed
Chaotic, Self-Destructive, Unpredictable
Chaotic, Self-Destructive, Unpredictable
Slumping in his seat, his head falling off to the side as the night sky fell through the windows the barking of voices were so distant to the trainee as he fell into slumber. His body shut down, the rising tensions with Regalia were overbearing for the young man and taking his watch was a thing of the past. Surely the troops of the devilish Unionist's couldn't make their way so quickly, at least that is what the Great Oak knights of the Modig thought. Pictures of the night swept through the young boy's mind of priests raising smoke over the horizon, filling the skyline, smoke spilling from their Unionist-eye pendants. Flickering, one after another in rapid-fire, these pictures were becoming flowing, and moving components as they sped past.
Soon, these images that flooded the Viduggla's mind were more than simple nightmares, reality caved in as smoke filled the nostrils of the sleeping boy, causing him to heave- his eyes widening and he awoke with a gasp of life. Falling to the ground, above him, smoke filled the ceiling, and those around him were incapacitated due to the black cloud that consumed them. His glossy eyes dared to eye the window in which he saw the truth, Otr came in many forms, even great black steeds that sat outside this boys very window. These men were dressed in purple and black, armored and staring at their progress as the eerie sound of nothingness soon erupted into a symphony of coughs and whimpers from Svante's peers. Soon enough Svante's gaze was black, he heard the gallops of the retreating enemies of the North, satisfied with their work. And soon even his hearing was drowned out with nothingness and eternal slumber was soon upon him as the embers fell on the boy.
As the hot flames engulfed his peers, and himself the yellow-tinted visions of wars flickered through his mind, the pictures of Velheim being slaughtered- innocent children, and his friends being put at the stake. His family and even the high, and powerful Staargir's falling at the hands of Regalians, at the hands of Otr and this cursed Unionism. His eye-lids became increasingly light as he opened them, wood stacked on top of him, burning cloth to the skin as others were gathered outside, coughing up soot. He yelled, and barked, no one came to his aid- the veins popped from his neck as the sixteen-year-old bared his teeth, and slowly, and surprisingly began dragging himself from the flame. Tears washing over the boy's cheek as he miraculously pulled, and fumbled his way from the heavy wood. Burns scattered across the Viduggla's body, burns that would never be healed, scarred by those who allied themselves with the North, those same people who trusted us to fight alongside them in wars of the past, and present. Svante was sure of only one thing, his pride was not going to crumble under the weight of the Regalians, or anyone else that stood in his way of retaining the strength of the North.
Soon, these images that flooded the Viduggla's mind were more than simple nightmares, reality caved in as smoke filled the nostrils of the sleeping boy, causing him to heave- his eyes widening and he awoke with a gasp of life. Falling to the ground, above him, smoke filled the ceiling, and those around him were incapacitated due to the black cloud that consumed them. His glossy eyes dared to eye the window in which he saw the truth, Otr came in many forms, even great black steeds that sat outside this boys very window. These men were dressed in purple and black, armored and staring at their progress as the eerie sound of nothingness soon erupted into a symphony of coughs and whimpers from Svante's peers. Soon enough Svante's gaze was black, he heard the gallops of the retreating enemies of the North, satisfied with their work. And soon even his hearing was drowned out with nothingness and eternal slumber was soon upon him as the embers fell on the boy.
As the hot flames engulfed his peers, and himself the yellow-tinted visions of wars flickered through his mind, the pictures of Velheim being slaughtered- innocent children, and his friends being put at the stake. His family and even the high, and powerful Staargir's falling at the hands of Regalians, at the hands of Otr and this cursed Unionism. His eye-lids became increasingly light as he opened them, wood stacked on top of him, burning cloth to the skin as others were gathered outside, coughing up soot. He yelled, and barked, no one came to his aid- the veins popped from his neck as the sixteen-year-old bared his teeth, and slowly, and surprisingly began dragging himself from the flame. Tears washing over the boy's cheek as he miraculously pulled, and fumbled his way from the heavy wood. Burns scattered across the Viduggla's body, burns that would never be healed, scarred by those who allied themselves with the North, those same people who trusted us to fight alongside them in wars of the past, and present. Svante was sure of only one thing, his pride was not going to crumble under the weight of the Regalians, or anyone else that stood in his way of retaining the strength of the North.
@BeashSlap @OliverOnly @AtticCat @HydraLana
Edgy Burning of the North lore story for Svante Viduggla.
Last edited:
