hemomancy

Mirabella muttered something, then simply sighed. She could write of this, but believes it to be a bad idea. Her opinions would show through far too much for that piece.

A poem created for and read during the recent event that took place within the palace gardens of Haense.

 

 

Spring.

 

The days, they grow long.

 

The air, it has a small nip to it.

 

Flowers bloom and the grass grows.

 

Red roses and poppies, yellow marigolds and dandelions.

 

Bushes of green with small black berries hidden throughout.

 

Children running around gardens and playing tag,

 

Finally getting out after the cold winter that they were cooped up during.

 

As the snow melts only slightly, one day returning.

 

The sun beams, with a radiant smile.

 

It shines down upon citizens, warming both their bodies and minds.

 

As we return to the flowers, that fill the air with sweetness.

 

Their colors so vibrant, yet their bodies so delicate.

 

And as each petal falls when the warm seasons end.

 

Their beauty can only be awaited.

 

Just small thoughts during the months of cold.

 

As children and adults stand by for the sun to smile once more.

 

Signed, Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense    

Mirabella Violet murmured a few words under her breath, as one of the only other poets she'd ever known was gone. The elf sighed, her head lowering to rest on top of her new work. She had heard word one way or another, and silently wondered 'What could have been done to help, if anything?'

Athri Onfroi Belrose stood alone in the woods, for it was the only place of solitude she knew of.

She wiped her face of sweat as she stood, continuing her trek afterwards.

 

As the elfess looked around, her eyes saw unfamiliar areas among the lush green.

Small critters ran across the ground, which Athri hastily avoided stepping on.

Just simple and small things like mice and bugs, all she gave a chance to continue.

 

She’d keep going, her destination unknown.

 

Eyes shut as she rested after a while, and memories she wished she could forget raced around her mind.

 

A door breaking, being split apart.

A woman ushering her upstairs, locking her in her room.

The shout of the woman.

Metal clanging against metal.

And then silence.

A deed done so quickly, with no time to process it.

 

And the locked door being opened with small, pale hands.

Blue eyes darting around at the area, making sure it was safe.

A young girl with silver hair going downstairs.

Blood upon the wall, the fire dying.

The little elf continued down the stairs, and her mother was there.

Barely alive, a red blindfold upon her face.

 

The blindfold taken off, given to the girl.

The girl hugging her mother once more, tears streaming down her face.

“I love you, my little serpent.”

And then the woman took her last breath, from a fatal wound in her stomach.

The child broke down, but then wiped her face.

She’d look around the house, taking items she deemed valuable.

A bag of knives, a ring, and the crimson blindfold.

 

And she would continue on. Off south, to her brother.

A brother that would soon leave her too.

 

And there, Athri sat in the middle of nowhere, tears streaming down her face just as they had so many years ago.

For nearly fifty years ago her mother had died.

And it was only now that the little serpent truly had the solitude to cry.

 

 

 

A pale, burnt elfess with a slowly slipping mind would mutter a few words to herself, as she mourned the loss of two she had known now. One death old, one fresh, it all felt the same to her. "I guess it's best I return sooner than later, isn't it now?" Her eyes shut as she hummed a tune, a tune she only vaguely remembered her mother singing to her when she was young.

Athri heard word of this, debated for a couple minutes, then shook her head.

so any and all posts will be wiped? bro i- i cant

Roshia Avandi sat wherever she may be, and shook her head. The ginger elf looked over to her scythe that leaned against the wall, and began to think of her time she spent in Oren, and the time her weapon had been stolen from her. Her mind wandered, and she began to think of all the Illatians she'd known from then. Of course the woman knew most were long gone by now, as the same went for her own family. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the table and stood up, where she went to go lay down for a bit. She'd begun to grow sick, and was to make sure she didn't end up with those she'd known so soon.

A new poem, a new day for Miss Mirabella.

The true meaning of her words may be unknown.

But there is a point to it all, be sure of that.

 

 

A fire within a city is not an uncommon thing.

 

Hearth’s blaze, and crackle with life.

 

The problem arises when they get out of hand.

 

Buildings burn, shops lose their stock.

 

People lose their livelihoods. 

 

And, their lives.

As men try to put out the flames.

 

Hopefully, with success.

 

As those who started them watch,

 

They watch with a cruel gaze.

 

A statement they believe they are making,

 

Yet they only cause issues.

 

More harm than words.

 

For words do not take the lives of others.

 

Scorching ardent colors do.

 

A shame, that those who watch may only pray.

 

Pray the troubles stop, and the culprits are caught.

 

For it will end these flames.

 

That are the ends of many other entities.

 

A shame, some men have decided they hold this much power.

 

As to casually attempt take the lives of others.

 

Signed, Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense

 

 

 

Mirabella Violet hummed as she realized a friend had put a new paper upon her desk, at some point. The Court Poet set her own work aside and read over it, giving a small approving nod. "Very...  very sweet." She'd hum to herself, placing the it between the pages of a book, then set it into a shelf for safekeeping.

Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense, came across this poem. She made a face as she attempted to read it, which was futile, but approved anyways.

Mirabella Violet lightly banged her head against her desk. This was not because she necessarily dislikes this, but because she's tired of hearing the preaching's of others. "When will you stop?" She whispered, before shutting her eyes and falling asleep on top of her work.

Mirabella Violet rolls her eyes, and awaits the day she's arrested for free speech. She crumpled the paper up and tossed it into her fire, and got back to her work.

Mirabella disapproves.

The Court Poet of Haense Mirabella Violet begins a new poem.

Athri began to pack some of her things, and she looked over to her work table. The thing was covered in pinned together pieces of fabrics, all of which she’d put together in hopes to start more work. A failed attempt, it was. She continued to pack during the night, leaving behind many of her personal belongings. As her family slept, she set two books in front of her sister’s door, one on top of the other. She’d also leave an iron knife in front of her niece’s door, the blade wrapped up in a fine red cloth. A note was left upon the books she’d left for her sister, and that was all she would do before leaving the home, just before dawn.

 

The elfess walked away from Sutica and seemed to disappear after that, but she knew she’d be back at some point.

 

A crow by the name of Rorschach flew to her uncle, with a wax sealed envelope. Inside would be a coin, a coin he’d given her long ago when she was just a child. A note was inside the envelope too, and that was all that was sent to him.

 

And a letter made its way to the Duke of Elysium, ending up in his mail. Inside was a short letter, and the small drawing of a rabbit made with charcoal.

 

Lastly, a letter would end up to her cousin, wherever she was.

 

 

To Vivian:

 

 

To Bella:

 

 

 

To Levian'Tol:

 

 

To Eugeo:

 

 

To Vera:

 

 

 

OOC:

 

 

 

Kal’Darakaan

 

A large entryway greets one,

 

With orange and grey.

 

Magma bubbles below as you enter,

 

A thin bridge as the path.

 

Stalls, shops, all one could need.

 

The sounds of metal clashing with metal.

 

Forging, is of course happening.

 

And the sounds of citizens drinking.

 

While the legionaries train from afar.

 

And the Obsidian throne.

 

A magnificent sight.

 

Where meetings are held, and troubles are discussed.

 

The city is full of heat.

 

And is a place quite inviting.

 

A place any visitor can seek out fine crafted wares.

 

And perhaps seek out a new ally.

 

 

Hefrumm

 

Large trees,

 

A town of greenery and flora.

 

Jolly laughs heard,

 

Those with one another, drinking carrot ale.

 

A boar roasts, an appetizing smell.

 

The statue of a noble boar.

 

It oversees all.

 

Like a protector, unable to move.

 

As a group goes off, hunting for another.

 

Their hunting weapons are seen about.

 

And the Chiefs Hall,

 

The throne of the High Chief is seen.

 

As varying plants are around.

 

They almost invite you,

 

Just as an old friend would.

 

 

Karinah’siol

 

A pale capital,

 

Similar to the citizens who reside.

 

Kind, to those kind in return.

 

Blue and white, strewn among the city.

 

Large fountains flow.

 

And flowers bloom.

 

With a library full of books,

 

It is a place many seek knowledge.

 

Writings, paintings, murels, and plays.

 

Most information one should need.

 

A place of purity,

 

It is deserving of its name

 

The Silver City.

 

A city that shines bright from afar.

 

 

Malinor

 

The true home of the elves they say.

 

A small little city,

 

Quaint.

 

With colorful cloth scattered about.

 

Making up even the tents they call home.

 

With a tavern in the center,

 

Made up of wood,

 

Banners of all hues are hung.

 

With a cozy environment.

 

Allowing all who sit inside,

 

A little bit of calm.

 

And rest.

 

 

Varhelm

 

A  city of snow and wood.

 

Chilled winds blowing through the air.

 

Tapestries of red and black,

 

And a fiery tree, nooses hung from the branches.

 

A humble place, the tavern full of life,

 

And warmth.

 

Cozy, even in a frigid land.

 

The docks, they smell of seawater.

 

Tides crash, making their ways.

 

Up, and down, the boats gently rock.

 

Calming, to those with a mind full of storm.

 

With a faith akin to crimson,

 

The darkest shade red can be.

 

For all those who are not yet dead.

 

People who survive,

 

Thrive.

 

For it is made of Ice.

 

Then forged into Iron.

 

 

Elysium

 

Thatched roofs and stone roads.

 

With maple trees, arching over the path.

 

Mountains surround,

 

And the city feels secure.

 

Rangers patrol,

 

Eyes open for any sign of danger.

 

Protecting those who need it.

 

The land is safe.

 

With lively tavern nights,

 

One can share ale with friends,

 

And those they call family.

 

As a cold lake is along the edges,

 

The city is warm.

 

For this is the home of the de Astrea’s.

 

A family that rose from the ashes.

 

To claim what they deserved.

 

 

Signed, Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense

 

 

All of these are gifts! Please send a bird if you wish for me to read them out!

 

 

The stars and the night sky are some wonderful things.

 

To most, they are a mystery that will never be unraveled.

 

I wish I could say I knew of something different.

 

Yet I too see them as a mystery.

 

A beautiful mystery.

 

One that I would seek out the truth of.

 

Yet, that would ruin the beauty of it.

 

Are the stars those long lost from our plain?

 

Those taken away, idly in view as they slumber.

 

Or perhaps those who have not yet explored the lands.

 

Waiting for the perfect time they deem fit to arrive.

 

Perhaps they are nothing.

 

Something we only see, that may not be there.

 

Resting on a canvas of blue and black.

 

Small dots to our eyes.

 

Pretty, pretty things are all they are.

 

That we shall never know the origins of.

 

A cruel fate for those curious.

 

Yet I will never complain.

 

Signed, Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense

 

 

sup! you seem like a cool person lol

Mirabella Violet gave a small smile at this, and wondered if she could ever make a poem that were as long as this!

A homely city, full of color and life.

 

Yellows and blacks, all strung up along banners when one looks above.

 

Caws heard from the distance, amongst the rustling trees outside the walls.

 

Many shops of weapons, drinks, and toys, with outliers as well!

 

Shops to speak with spirits, and gain furry companions.

 

Shops that offer clothing, along with many other items.

 

Each with their own charm, all differing.

 

A city that is large, yet somehow quaint.

 

Fires crackling, flickering orange and yellow.

 

People roam, with warm clothes and furs wrapping their shoulders.

 

Men and women of the army wearing gold and black.

 

Beret’s atop their heads.

 

Weapons hanging at their sides, ready to be used.

 

When they party, they party hard.

 

Carrion passed about, songs sung.

 

Piano, bagpipes, and any other instruments.

 

Dances, the Renatian Shuffle, the Ayrian Jig.

 

Lovely, lovely things.

 

That all deserve to be in a lovely, lovely city.

 

A shame, that a certain other human city can’t be the same.
 

Signed, Mirabella Violet, Court Poet of Haense

 

 

Mirabella simply chuckled, and that was all. After she stowed this paper away, she began to get back to work.

Mirabella Violet snickered to herself as she sat somewhere within Karosgrad. "Write about me, come on. See what you can get." She'd continue to quietly snicker, and perhaps, just perhaps, the young elfs words may very well be in earshot of the mystery writer.

War.

 

War is a funny thing, isn’t it?

Unstable, bendable.

 

And something that can be resolved by the very one’s who’ve started it.

 

One may compare war to cards.

 

A good game of cards may very well end badly

 

With a single victor,

 

The rest of the players are crushed.

 

Perhaps, perhaps that is why there is a card game named War.

 

Most do not trust war.

 

And some, some do not trust cards.

 

I myself do not trust cards,

 

For a single little card game landed me the scars of burns upon my face.

 

Scars one may get from battle.

 

An unneeded one, with many losses,

 

For pride.

 

Just as one would play cards,

 

For pride.

 

And monetary gain, of course.

 

Which can be said for war as well,

 

And all those who lead it.

 

Well, usually that is.

 

Signed, Mirabella Violet

Ave Sedan

 

 

i do enjoy mouse main characters +1