Casualty

Another ***ht was to be spent upon the beach by the lit fire, after news had reached Joelina. A bottle of single malt whiskey taken with her, stolen goods from the festivity within Alba. Somber and distant did she stare into the flame, remembering calmer moments, stories of grand tales, of kindness extended her way as she was still small. First aid, a Horse, the vow of bringing herbs in return for Haymitch. It wasn't the deepest bond, but she was fond of the woman, a toast had to her honor and time she had enjoyed sharing.

━─━────༺༻────━─━ The air seemed ever still, warm and yet cold and clammy, the buzzing of flies like an omen to the dead that approached shook the air violently, made it tremor, closer and closer. Sweat had accumulated under those thick padded leather gloves and her shoulders rolled, the warm aura softly wafting off of her, prepared for the fight that was to come, alongside those with her upon the Northern Front. What was exactly coming for them, they didn’t know, they didn’t need to. They had heard the whispers, the rumors that traveled through Ildon, past its walls through alleys, taverns and inns. It started, as the first contorted and abused corpses floated down the river… And so the Rook was set ablaze, blue fire, bursting barrels of oil, bloating bodies that spilled and spat their gore to be fed to flame and claim the wooden Bridge in the roaring explosion. “WESTERN SIDE PUSH BACK TO THE WESTERN GATEHOUSE, EAST GROUND FLOOR PUSH BACK TO THE GATEHOUSE WE REDOUBLE NORTH TO HELP THE CANNON CREWS ABOVE!” The command echoed through her dazed mind, as she recovered from the force that had sent her careening and slamming into the floor. Her right hand clawed her weapon free, the other dragging her up along the wall and off she set into a sprint. Feet thudded over the wooden footbridge, in tandem to the beating of her heart - hair singed, the smell of ash and burning wood clotting her mouth and nose - an oh so familiar scent, that belonged to someone else, tainted with the rot of the wretched foul spawn that dared assail. THUMP - THUMP - THUMP Her eyes went east, across the drawbridge, a fraction of a second, before she pushed onward - a shade of her soul lagged behind, stood longer, stared longer and even all it may gleam, it was unknown to the mind it belonged to. Aboard the Vessel did she wait, wait for the last familiar faces to trickle in. Wounded and limb rendered pulled into the bellows of the ship to be tended, the rest remained atop. All of the North made it out, such she was sure, she had seen the Virúvian armor aboard the other ship, but her nerves only calmed once the anchor lifted. Unaware of what was left behind, of who, who entered the city and never left.. It was a simple thing really Him bickering with her sister, a backbone shown, a belief defended as mindless as she could have believed. His head shown separate from his body, Him still roaming the lands - she had vowed to herself, she won’t let it happen again, as long as he stayed within reach - if it wasn’t for those now changed beliefs that had her keep it all hidden. From said sister, from her family, from her friends, from prying eyes, she could have had it all. But it was her whose backbone weakened with garnered tasks and worries, distrust in those around. In the aftermath of the battle, did she roll a pair of rings within her right, the left hanging useless as it healed, she needed to finish them. Stake her claim for all to see. Soon … she needs to write a letter. She missed the smell of ash and sulfur, of promises whispered to the wind, the easy love and profound trust, the bickering. Soon… A warm hum left her, as she reveled within thoughts, soon. But the truth would burn. ━─━────༺༻────━─

She remembered being a snot nosed kid, following with bruises and scraps after that blond elven woman, who she had sworn a pact to, letters sent to Prince and the Reichsmarshall - leaving her stumbling the first time upon the one eyed “not baron - not pirate” and being told how to properly address the man. Yet even as she outgrew her first pairs of gloves, her boots and chaps, learned her first art, ran home after that cursed trial, he was as sure of a presence as the tide of the ocean. But the tide receded and it failed to return, leaving her stranded upon sandy shores, staring down upon that parchment that was miles away within her hand. “Pero, ¿te hice sentir orgulloso, amigo mío?” Sandy shores could be traveled still, but there was something so inherently wrong about an ocean without water, he was more than just a man, he was the last fragment of a lost life. “Descansa” Late within the night, upon shores looking skyward, is a bottle raised in remembrance and honor, a letter set ablaze within a fire that crackled away quietly.

Blood and Soul

THE SPORT OF MIND AND SPIRIT Issued on the 9th of the Amber Cold of the year of 2072. This is a call to all sharp and witty minds, to those that wish their skill for devising plans and tactics tested against another of this Realm. For a night of Chess is to be held within the walls of Virú! Yet no ordinary match will await you - there shall be pieces upon your board and each piece can be a person, so to all FIGHTERS, all those that love a good brawl, come forth as well. A board of chess holds 32 pieces and it is all within the hand of those that wish to command, how many times you may fight. This game will be held within the square of Virú, and there shall be drink and food at leisure. Nina Rawray Ñancharichiy Signed, Joelina Teresa de Trastámara de Casa Mendoza, Tesorera of The High Lordship of Viú.

The warm feeling of an embrace, a warm laugh and the cracked meow of a scraggly cat by their feet, a soul welcomed to pass along, to finally move on. ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ Sister from a different Mother, I never cared, for we had one another, but from afar I stared Words never graced my tongue, my mind not sharp like yours, but I hung to each one you spo- The parchment was torn, the third attempt for a poem tossed into the fire place, a visit, a word of a familiar presence, that had broken the tale to her. Attempts to once more pick up, upon the studies for cure, despite discouragement, had not waned, if only there had been more time. If only she had shared more words, more love, more affection. But she hadn’t, and for that she paid, memories of her sister were faded, but dear. A bright smile that showed the white of her teeth, hands clasped between her own, as her sister spoke of her worries over the birth of Erika, the marriage within the cold woods west of Azuras - her father chasing after Fredderick as both struggled within the knee deep snow, expeditions together over the lands of Kalldur with shared laughter. The path home had been quiet, deathly still, sounds and sight drowned out, the blood thrumming loud through her ears, how she wished that demon that had dragged her off of the Path by Petra manifested once more, but tears were never shed.

As wings whistled through air and the dove took flight to deliver the missive, did the cowboy-esque dressed woman wipe the last smudges of soot and dirt from her face. Standing behind her sisters right and a glove clad hand giving her a deft clap on the shoulder. Ever proud to bear the name de Trastámara.

Drenched in cold sweat, sitting upon the stool next to her bed, does Mélissandre take laboured flat breaths, her head hung, even perched upon a hand on her knees. Another terror tore her from the sweet promise of rest, circles beneath her eyes deepened further, not a night that went without interruption, yet this night seemed more accursed. Not the promise of spring, the thought of companion nor ale alleviate the exhaustion that clung to her. Three letters upon her desk, a father, a sister, a brother, yet the beating of ravens wings deep within the night come whispering promises, more parchment for the growing collection. She rose, she would again, every morning with the sun, every night with horrors… … there was a letter to embrace.

The soft sound of blade meeting wood halted, the blue petals and the juice staining knife and fingertips with a subtle cold. Like a bid that urged her scarred hands to withdraw, yet, it was the beating of a doves wings that had made her do so. There was a letter she most urgently waited for, yet as the parchment was retrieved from the aviary, did she find a note least expected. A blank stare met ink sprawling over pages. Anger, anger simmered just under her skin at each of the words she read. There was no part in her brain believing in the grief that struck at her heart even in its subtle fraction. Far away was she, from that busy square of Rittersburg, her mind sprawling clawing it’s way out of a coffin, through doors, fingers bitten by splinters, the perverse but yet always present smell of blood coating her throat.. and then, back to what brought her to the depths her mother, her brother… that twisted visage under his helmet was clear within her mind's eye. With a slow few blinks, is it all forgotten, the voice of Richard pulling her out of thought, the last wisps of memories of her brother in his younger years, anxious, but bright, with his reddish hair fading. He would not have met his fate, it was another ruse of his.

Genuienly amazing and a changer for Artworks! ((At least for some references ))

QUIZ NIGHT With this missive, we invite any who reads and wishes to come for a good time! To drink, to cheer and to test one's mind and knowledge. [9th January - coming Friday, 3pm EST] Bring friends and family, those who mayhaps unravel these confounding riddles, or possess the wisdome to guide you upon your path to Viru - the event will be held within the ballroom, that can be found atop the hill to the right of the town. There shall be food and drinks aplenty, offered at a modest price, to sate the hunger of those famished minds. Before the quiz starts, you and your chosen people can form a team by claiming a table and setting up a team name, that is yours to be written upon the sign. Are you not a man of the people? Yet desire to take hold of the victory and glory all for yourself? Fret not, you will not be turned away! We will see you soon! Vaya con Dios, The Gryphon Knight, Joelina Teresa de Trastámara. [one of the signatures seems to have been faked]

Grime and Soot covered her hands, where blood flaked off. Splotches of it decorating her plate, as she stepped back from a shallow earthen ditch. "...." Ashes scattered about, as the cold wind dragged through the woods clearing. Rustling black hair and the trampled reeds, painted in scarlet and grey. "...." This one didn't spill words nor tears, as a bag of linen held the heaviest burden, a march made for Rittersburg. Her was father always prone to foolish choices.

Trodding through the arid shrubbery upon Tanglefoots back, a trusty mare once granted for loyal service, did a cowboy esque dressed vivurian read the missive. "hunted down by the empire?.. let em try" Pensive, with a hint of amusement, did she gnaw on a reed stuck between her lips. Moving it up and down, up and down, before resolution set. Hand reaching down and giving the mares neck some soothing pats. "This most certainly gratin ma nerves here, Tangle" Joelina spoke to her steed, leaning even futher back, almost tumbling off the saddle as she rummaged about a saddle satchel for pen and paper, there was a teacher to write to.

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════ [ Infront of one hung a parchment, containing crudely drawn figures, along the words of: EVIL. Depicting what seemed to be a warning. Along the backside, if one were to turn it, it read: ] Dwarf is not DWARF!! Big maw and eeight Legs, big axe, e [the writing was smudged with tears] ts our kin Elf with black hands and Horns, long red hair ═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Heavy steps find their way to an empty home, quiet and cold with the winter breaking in heavy this year. The fire had died out in the kiln long ago, with the lack of care by anyone, leaving the cold to weep in freely. Even still did the raven haired Lass make entrance, push past the door that shut soft behind her, winds pulling at it, howling, like the doubt inside her mind as she peered with cold eyes upon the Missive. All words were missing, as they had been the past months - her feet carried her up the stairs and found their way to the stove on their own - missive neatly put into the basin where she set blaze to it along the wood.

Departing from the Capital with her sister in tow, did she clasp one of the missives firm within her hand. Headache pounding away as she pulled her hat deeper into her face. "They cannot be serious...."

Oh yeah btw, let me know who got the coat at the End of it, excited to see who has it and what ways it took!

The Days on the Isle of Kalldur drag on ever so slow, the new shores close but still yet out of reach and leaving many lost in what to do! For that, a small game for all those: CAPTURE THE COAT The Game is quiet simple- Steal the Coat of the one wearing it and whoever has it last, when the Isle is left, gets to keep it. Taking the Coat can be done in anyways deemed reasonable and necessary; Bribery, Fighting, Bartering, you name it. The Rules? - If you have the coat, you have to wear it / put the skin over the one your Character has - If you have the coat, don't log off to avoide it being taken - Taking the Coat is to be done over RP - It's a game for fun, don't take it to serious - With taking the coat you can always get jumped by other players The Coat The proper file is in the Area down below, download it and hit it onto your Char once thy have the coat, obviously take it off, when they no longer have it. And with that, have fun and best of luck to anyone participating!

Depatures from quiet Shores ════════ Tired brown eyes stared into the horizon over the ocean, a shore and future ahead never to be seen, the rushing of the waves slowly lulling his eyes to close and rest. A washed down and tumbled stone tossed back into the sea. ════════ [[ Ambience ]]

An Imperial guard would be reading over the missive, scowl deepening on his face with every word. The paper folded and all but stuffed into a satchel hanging at his side, as he listened to a friendly chat about the price of the head for this 'Vampyr'.