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Old Fart
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About IsolatedIncident

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    Newly Spawned

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  • Character Name
    Helen Horen / Eirian Taloha

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  1. IsolatedIncident

    1700 Imperial Wedding

    Helen hurriedly prepares the decorations and assists with the preparation for her closest companion’s long awaited wedding!
  2. IsolatedIncident

    Atlas Anniversary Art & Writing Contest

    - The Yatl Wastelands - Art Entry I found myself inspired by a build in the Yatl wastelands. This is roughly based on it. Medium: Digitally painted - The Bolemounds - – Writing Entry -- (Unrelated to image) There was a quiet solitude to the Bolemounds, a peace undisturbed by the indelicacy of mortals. No one ventured here to the sunset knolls of crumbling stone, scorched beneath the radiant sun. From beyond came a breeze as soft and tender as a lover’s breath upon skin, it swept over my sunburnt land, carrying the cool secrets of the ocean with it. Today was not a day for doing, nor going. No, today was a perfect day, the sort of day one lazed beneath an acacia and spun dreams. Like threads upon a loom, I drew thoughts together into a picture, of a dance I’d practiced too many times. It was a dance of swords and power, of wisdom and wills. Battle. No matter how the mortals tried, they fell one after another, offering their blood to the rusty sand of the Bolemounds. My Bolemounds. I knew before she arrived that someone had intruded upon my sacred place. It wasn’t the sound of footfalls that alerted me to her presence, but a sense. A thundering heartbeat was all I needed to hear to know the familiar mortal was there. Closer shuffled a gnarled woman. She was weathered, of dark skin, and with eyes like charcoal. Upon her forehead and at the corner of her eyes, deep wrinkles nestled into her skin. They marked the ever-moving sands of time, the years that ticked away when no one paused to look. In that steady passing of time, from the moment these strange creatures first set foot upon my lands, many an arrogant knight had challenged me to prove themselves. They were a torrent that constantly carved away at me, as the river carved away at the stone. This woman, she was no knight, no great warrior or champion, no bloodthirsty fool sent to die. I knew her. I’d watched her grow from a babe, raised amongst the ashen acacias and rough stone. She had freckles gifted to her by the sun and a smile as soft as the sand beneath us. She was a scholar, who smelt of parchment and leather, whose hands swept dust from the pages of tomes, whose eyes found meaning among the language of old. In every way she reminded me of the sweeping breeze that danced over the peaks, swept through the valleys, stirring fallen leaves and ruffling the soft feathers of Bokolo. Her musical voice, her lilting accent, they greeted me like the cool touch of wind greets the sea. “Hello friend.” Beside me she came to rest, her joints creaking at the effort. I knew by mortal standards that she was ancient, on the gradual slide toward death, her frail body cursed to wither and decay. In all the world, this woman, this mortal, was my only friend, and soon she would fade to nothing, as all fleeting creatures did. For some time, we simply sat, enjoyed the stillness of the world, and the precious beauty around us, but as they often did, the mortal shattered the silence with a breath of a whisper. “I came here to die.” It caught me, for the first time in centuries, by surprise. My years were long, and my knowledge was great, but in all the time I’d presided over the Bolemounds, never had a mortal asked for death. I found myself uncertain, lost on what I should do. I could have deliberated for centuries, and no use would come of it, but I needn’t have bothered. The mortal, impatient as they were, took my silence as a ‘no’. She, a bright creature, came prepared with an alternate plan. From a worn leather pouch, slung around her waist, she drew a knife. It was small, improper for anything but sharpening sticks of charcoal, but the look in her eyes spoke of a passion I feared. It was the ones with passion that always came the closest, fought the hardest, lasted the longest. They had the drive to kill me, a reason from the heart that pushed them beyond usual mortal boundaries. This woman, withered and frail, had all the passion in the world as she thrusted that small knife toward my chest. Through my shock I managed to bat her hand away. My nature told me to answer the fight, to end the intruder who threatened my home, but for the first time, I fought that nature and stepped away. I didn’t wish to kill her, not this woman, not now. Instead I left her. Hoped beyond hope she would concede. She did no such thing. The soft sand underfoot hissed as steps followed me into the rich afternoon sun. Again, she drove that small knife toward me. This time I caught her by her wrists. She was weak, slight, as brittle as the smallest twigs of the acacia. Even so, she stirred the deepest part of my heart, the nature that whispered to defend my home. To kill. “Leave,” I murmured, the woman’s language unfamiliar on my ancient tongue. She refused. With one simple act, she ripped my self-control from me, relinquished my decisions to a deeper, ancient thing that I didn’t understand. Before I realised it, I’d turned the knife on her. I pressed it into the soft flesh of her belly. She made a noise, an indescribable noise, something like pain and triumph. Those dark eyes, they met mine and for the first time in my existence, I felt guilt, honest and raw. My friend, my only friend, dying by my hand. I wanted to take it back, all of it, but there was no replacing the blood that poured gradually into the rusty sand. There was no saving her when we were so far from anywhere, and her elderly body was so frail. All I could do for her now was to hold her and wait for her breaths to waver. The whisper came as the sun waned, at the time when pastels spattered the sky and stars began to peek through. “Hello friend.” As though I wasn’t cradling her body, as though I hadn’t killed her, she lowered herself into the stained sand beside me. I knew as soon as my eyes found her, that she wasn’t quite there. Neither alive nor dead, her edges were uncertain and her form wavered, flickering as though she was made of candlelight. I watched her, or what was left of her. She was little more than the part that should have scattered on the easterly wind, the part meant for some other world. Despite the thousands of words brewing in my heart, I could only think to utter one question as the veil of twilight fell over the Bolemounds, bringing a close to what should have been the perfect day. “Why?” “You have been lonely for long enough.”
  3. Our halloween festival is tomorrow! Come celebrate with us in Carolustadt!


  4. Found you! 😄 

    1. IsolatedIncident
    2. Jondead


      Timezones are a killer but I hope I can RP with you again soon!

  5. IsolatedIncident

    ~~--+ Carolustadt Masquerade Ball +--~~

    . ~ ~--+--~ ~ . Pasted to message-boards and walls alike, an invitation, penned neatly on parchment, would flood the cities and towns of the Empire of Man. +-- Each invitation is accompanied by a simple image depicting a mask --+ Come one, come all, Nobility and Citizenry alike. You have been invited to a Masquerade ball in celebration of the esteemed Imperial Grand Marshal, Ser Rolando Castelo for his services to the Empire as he humbly retires. Join us in the celebration- donning a fantastical mask of your choosing and formal garb fit for dancing- at the Imperial Palace. ((6pm EST, Saturday the 13th of October.)) . ~ ~--+--~ ~ . Do take care to consider: Trouble-makers will be denied at the door. If you wish to be let in, please assure you maintain a level of decency and cleanliness. Gifts may be brought for the Grand Marshal. They are a welcome surprise, but not a necessity. Only a select few will be allowed the rights to carry weapons. Be prepared to be searched and have potentially harmful belongings confiscated for the duration of the event. ((This invitation extends to all who reside within the Empire of Man)) Signed, Elaine, Minister of Arts and Imperial Painter.
  6. IsolatedIncident

    Fiesta de Fantasma

    Elaine Argentine claps her hands once, her smile filled with delight, as she hauls out the many decorations she'd been gathering for this very event.
  7. IsolatedIncident

    The Curse Of Ignorance

    I do think an ignorance of the character having died and the fact they are immortal should be in place. For those who know about the death possibly even an inability to remind the one who died of the events that happened. Really i haven't been playing long but I do see a bit of an issue with just forgetting 30 min of your memories when you can simply be reminded by those around you.