Linguini
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The golden cross caught the light, its gleam dancing across the ornate visor of Hùnanor as he knelt within the cathedral grounds of Tir-Glas. Her voice reverbs. In the name of the Lord GOD without peer, Bless the one who inherits the mantle, and grant her wisdom to rule in your light. A reflective silence follows.
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Yuria reads the letter. Alone. A mixture of tiresome solace. She had forgotten many faces. Russandiel's included. I'm here and I'm there. I'm up and I'm down and I'm low and I'm peaking, it's cold in the deep end.
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Added the song to her Spotify playlist.
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The Grand-Wickess of ve Wick Wick Wick - With a dimly lit candle upon the desk. Reads the missive, and double checks! Thoroughly she thought about how she gave Willow a chance. It gave her peace. Yet understood the choice made with the missive. Folding it away she began to think of a replacement . . . .
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"Ea long time in ve FOCKIN making." She had sighed. "Ave always felt to lead by your side would be nothing but true and righteous." The Grand-Wickess oh most certainly approved of her new lord. Unlike the priors.
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Peekaboo
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The scent of jasmine fills the room. A candle lit, engraved with the letter - "Y" The Grand Wick wrote in fluidity; Quickly, interrupted. A courier rat sprawled on the table. Shooed away. Leaving behind a letter. The flame flickered. The letter opened. The iris frantic. Her ears boiled. Tears moiled the letter. A letter held by a shaken hand. Breath erratic, a kin once more spoiled. Rage. An assault of her surroundings ensued. Grief, lachrymose, guilt, and shame. A stinging loath. The Grand Wick, who felt immense responsibility for her family. Felt a crushing sense of failure. The scent of jasmine fell. The candle dismantled. Its waxy remains on the floor.
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Beware of the corrupted : Fionn Wick Let it be known far and wide that Fionn Wick, once of kinship, has fallen into the vile embrace of a tainted soul. After death he has risen. Fionn Wick is to be no longer to be considered a Wick, but a wretch of death, blight amongst the living, and a danger to those who cross his path. Actions of Fionn Wick has forsaken bonds in the family and its honor. Where once stood a kind and honest man of promise, now lays an empty husk twisted by foul magics. His presence breeding misfortune, and his schemes bringing ruin. - Let none be deceived by his words, influence, and antics. - If laid eyes upon him. Warn other. Steel your hearts. - Let none show mercy. The Wicks are to rebuke such behavior and cleanse Broomtown that of which we call our homestead.
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The Lady Wick scanned the invitation list, spotting Yuria on the list. She briefly sighs; A subtle smile. "Time to brainstorm ve gift" She muttered. Reading an alchemy book that has most recently took most of her free time.
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Yuria Wick glanced at her aurum dagger, then the missive. "Double the trouble" Cackling at her own words.
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Yuria Wick sits in her slum town basement crushing herbs after the election; Losing had not halted her work. She reads the missive before dropping the bowl of herbs on the floor. "Speaker of the Wicks . . The most Wicked." She'd tear up hugging the missive against her chest. Tears of joy they were.
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THE FAMILY WICK: VICTIMS PARADED AS VILLIANS
Linguini replied to Marthia's topic in High Kingdom of Idunia
Yuria dangles her feet of a roof in Broomtown. "Mamej gonna be okay.." She sighs as she wipes the sweat off her forehead, continuing her work. -
"Surely I do hope the future brings promise" The Elf sighed. Steam from her tea wafting in the air whilst she carves wood, in a dimly lit cabin.
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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.” ((How do you respond?)) Example: He shifted his head to the hag like voice, cautiously walking up. "You've been expecting me..? Who are you?" He asks in a quizzical manner. As his hand slowly moved to grip his dagger in response to his uncertainty - He sits down creating focused eye contact with the hag. "I hail from Aaun - I came in search of new land." He'd loosen the grip on his dagger. Becoming more comfortable with his situation, yet taking in his surroundings like a hawk; His stomach purred.. "Might you have anything to eat? It's been a treacherous journey.." He asked, building rapper with a kinder tone than what he started with; Saying this as he searched through his parcels for the scraps of food he might of had left; Sighing out as he found nothing.
