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Trials of Lorraine

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Posted (edited)

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Trials of Lorraine

. . .

In the chambers within the tallest towers of the chapel, the summit of a notoriously young citadel, there was a frenetic flicker of light spilling out of the cracks between shutters and distorted glare dancing upon stained glass. Across the limestone gothic was the hanging mantle of a blue lunar gloom from which the cloudy belt of the heavens cascaded a reluctant sea of forlorn moonlight; a cobalt gradient mixing in a liquid-brilliance as a gentle rain misted over the daunting eminence of the castle perched above windy rye grasses. The individual panes beset the pale anterior breast of the westernmost wing were concentric to the gathering glow.

On the midnight skyline towards the seat of the Crownlands was the restless landfall of a gathering storm. It rode toward the mouth of Adria like the tiding outline of a dark horse, drifting gradually towards the quiet fields of Lorraine on a steady gust. The crack of yellow-violet streaks in the fold followed by rolling thunder was underwhelmed by the distance, and prevalence of a softer shower greeting the arms of the disconcerted Duchy.

It was instead within the lofted halls of the gallant palatine oratory that a focus was being attended to — neither mind to the dilated outline of a looming front that carried forth the stifled cries of erratic thunderclaps — nor was it to the regard of wayward snakes nesting shelter from the tempest within thorny brackets beneath the discerning blooms of Lotharingiae gardens where the pious had once zealously toiled. The ardent presence of faith had, by then, escaped the stoic ambulatory that erected itself as the caretaker of these crafted groves; stolen away was the vibrancy of reverence and with it so did come the withering of the coralroot lattices, dragonmouths and arranged beds of roses.

The kindly adoration of a land that kissed the embrace of a lulling river, whence there had been idle complacency regarded over the region, since withdrawing. There would be no orchard, nor husbandry, nor dainty subsistence of game. Not from the labors of these men. There, nonetheless, a fire burning behind the chalky window oracle layered above the chancel. A tentative bustle of winking light that shone of life inside, which breathed chromatic tones of vermilion paired with the rich gilded and jade leaded glass. Laden was the portholes and vaulted sash with the heraldry of Lorraine.

At the seams of stanchions that wreathed the visage of curious panes lie in the quarters the figure of a man seated beside a woman at the foot of a roaring hearth. There was a cordial calmness to the scene, accompanied however was the evident presence of mourning in the air.

The rabbit shifted, a tender movement that was choreographed under the gleam of the hot aureate carmine color of the transient embers. There was no thoughtless monument to this silence of the night, and yet stood an uncertainty lingering within and without the heart of the silhouette. Lambent were the qualms of the Jackalope. Much like the forced reluctance of the flames that fed upon their own radiant sinews, in a bid for wresting fate, it was in their shared nature — to burn.

He had drafted the work of the masons and of the carpenters and of the glassblowers and of the accorded artisans; it would be at his behest, he thought, that the resolve would be given.

He ate a single strawberry, then spoke.

” Remove these stones. 

Edited by Plasma

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Posted (edited)

Maurice counts down the days until the Emperors return and Adrians inevitable coup.

Edited by Archbishop

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Arthur would be working, Sweat lingering down his forehead as he took out support beam after support beam. Panel and stone as the magnificent structure went down

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Posted (edited)

Jean Robert Laurent brushed a hand over one of the finely chiseled columns in the Chapel which they had all contributed to build, the cold white stone had a reassuring and sanitary feeling to it and it calmed him.

Some had drafted the plans, others quarried the stone, and more had finished the construction.

Jean Robert grinned at the pleasant memories that the intricately carved stone brought forth.

 

Then he smashed it with a sledgehammer.

Edited by Mister_Gavin

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Tylos’ brows furled as his cerulean orbs gazed upon the worn and tattered parchment on which the tale was recounted. His long spindly digits, stiffening with age, fidgeted and toyed with the tatterdemalion page, the charcoal black ink smudging and mixing in with the faded yellow colour of the vellum whereon it was inscribed. A small tear ripped its way through the fragile calf-skin page as the aging man read on, his tired orbs straining to decipher the faded letters and runes, his orbsight not being what it used to be. Beside him a dying candle flickered, leaving the page and and wooden desk-top aglow with its orange light as its dying flame warmed the knobbly digits of the senescent man. Through a thin muslin curtain affixed to a sturdy wooden beam which lied athwart the top of the window, his silhouette would be apparent to any passing by along the worn cobblestone path of the oft-busy street outside, although at this hour it was empty and lifeless. Despite that, one with keen orbs could see the occasional shadow rush through the darkness of the night, surely fleeting glimpses of ne’er-do-wells out breaking curfew, or perhaps merely felines prowling in the quiet of the night.

 

“Hmm.” he said. 

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Posted (edited)

The woman sits there beside the man, her pale blue eyes fixated upon the single strawberry, her pale skin illuminated by the warm fire that devoured the wood that kept it alive. She watched quietly a forlorn look upon her face as she closed her eyes, a deep, sharp pain pulsed from within her being, heart heavy she leaned back listening to the three words spoken by The Jackalope. 

Leaning forward again she lets out a sigh, the silhouettes of the two pirouette across the walls. 


“ Ask not the sun why she sets. “

Edited by Script

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A Kaedreni solider would side eye the keep in passing, “I truly wonder if this outcome is the work of the Emperor or men pretending to act in his interests and hoisting his name to further their personal agendas.”

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