PlutoPhobia
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Everything posted by PlutoPhobia
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"Daemon, what the actual hell is wrong with you?" Ilarion, Daemon's brother, appeared mortified. A letter began to be wrote.
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A missive from House Soltee.
PlutoPhobia replied to Cheeseycereal's topic in Principality of Celia'nor
This man always found the feeling of a Home to be given through people, rather than a place in of itself. He found the people whom comforted him, stuck by his side, and fed him to be Family, if not anything more. In realistic terms, to refer to a structure as a home, he has never quite been to plenty of decades. He was not anywhere close for the while before, nor any while after. This man did not dream of coming back, nor did he assume a wish to. Though, Fate always finds a way. [!] || Walking down a street during the night, had only this Solteé discovered the parchment of his family symbol. Such a sight had made him pause, hesitate, and draw himself closer with Careful footing. With inspection, a twitch came from his brow; a madness, or of sorts, then a sorrow. A guilt. Quildor straightened himself up and began away. Nothing was said, though something was certainly to be done. -
I. do. not. like. TOES! I SWEAR!
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Crazy how everyone expected this to happen ggs mate
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[!] A written parchment arrived, for wherever this shall land to - onto Public display. It read; ----------------- To Whom It May Concern, As an individual whom moves place to place according to what happens round the land, I am issuing this public statement to state my intentions during the ongoing conflict affecting the region we live on. I hereby declare that for the remaining duration of the war, I will refrain from entering or conducting any activities within the land governed by the coalition. In alignment with this commitment, I have decided to reside between the regions of Lurin and Celia'nor. This location has been chosen to ensure that my presence does not create tensions or contribute to any misunderstandings during these times. And only till the end of the conflict, will I conduct my personal activities solely within these areas until the conclusion of the conflict. It is my intention to avoid any actions that could be misinterpreted as interfering or taking sides in this warfare. ~ Kelris ''I pehia tenei. Teka ahau.'' -----------------
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Rumil had returned home that night. Rested, some might say - others differ. His armor was put pon its rack as he made sight of the moon and stars in silence. He thought of nothing but the bitter cold.
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Rùmil had stared towards once wounded Thomas through the glass of where he rested on the couch.. "You sure you're alright? You got hit pretty badly," He'd conversate, referring to that of the Talar'nor battle they had previously encountered.
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Rumil had taken a few surprisingly audible blinks, before sighing. "This is why we can't have nice things." Not picking quite a clear side to this conflict, did the elf then kick himself up to his feet and drowsy off to start another set of pure chaos.. respectfully.
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Rumil The Unrelenting had sighed underneath his black coated armor, setting it off and onto his desk where that of two fangs from the queen spider, a jarred organ, and two eyes had rested. He'd tied his hair back into its braid, as to get ready for the victory festival held in only a few more saint hours. "..Since when did Karkosa come back?"
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In the land of Ironguard, does Rùmil flick his hand whom held a quill. His gaze stuck to a book, while the noise of incoming people stormed into the tavern for a simple taste of booze. However, far does Rùmil's mind wander; So much far that not even the simple screams coming about would be noticed. His quill then withdrew back towards the book, as he began to write. Write all that which included the Mori'Quessir; All that came to his mind about them, that is. Whether to lead in another battle or a scout. Either would've been preferable as either would suit as a great distraction to stop the mind from wandering to the past once more.
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The Celia'nor Tribune - Vol. III
PlutoPhobia replied to The Talarnor Tribune's topic in Principality of Talar'nor
Rumil took a glance towards paper which made itself way on the Celia'nor news wall, especially the third paragraph. ``. . .They haven't even told me why I'm banned. . .`` He murmured flatly, a look of disapproval washing over. With a roll of the shoulders of a shrug, he continued his way towards Celia'nor tavern. -
As Rùmil had been the last to leave out of the many surrounding warriors, he had not a doubt that the next fight would be different. Whether it be with more deaths, or it would be with a win. The male had grown a snicker when leaving the battle, looking at the two who accompanied him out. ``Incredible work out there, Ki'el . . . Flick.`` Besides the continuous ringing in his ears from the constant explosions, he held forward a slim smile. He found this fight not to be an end of a chapter, but a start to a whole new book.
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You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” A man with the lightest white hair and the darkest purple eyes entered, curious to what happened at this old village. He was surprised, at first, when he caught a glimpse the old hag. Though, He didn't question it. The smoke was formed at the top of the tent, making this mysterious feeling that he enjoyed. The man, yet again, had just ran from his parents. He was growing bored of their overprotectiveness. The man's eyes darted around the tent before he sat on the ripped cushion. "How do you know who I am?" He put forward as his eyes met hers. "I don't believe I've seen you around before, nor have I even been around here."
