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This is creative writing, do not metagame Grief. The sister of Tar-Caraneth -the queen of Numendil-, princess of Numendil, stood quietly upon the balcony overlooking the mess hall within the Numenost keep. Not too long ago, she saw all nations united. Trapped in Savoy until the ending, the fleeing of Almaris. Time and time again, she pushed against Aevos war, seeing so many slaughtered to the Mori, to heartlessness, to their own hand, to hell high, and more. A feat within itself to have: to have a common enemy outside of pre-established nations and bloodlines, especially for humankind. Though Aevos... Aevos has proven to be a blight within itself, spreading thin the populous while the nations' grip at the reigns of power rugged terrain of alien soil, all while trying to call it home? There was no holy conquest, no divine right, in this war of spite and hearsay. Have they forgotten the undead legions which linger in the shadows, the poltergeists lapping away at descendants merriment and energy, the monsters which linger in the woods preying on a descendant's seeking refuge? She bet the liches of the land sat back with a cup of tea, to have amusement and death without lifting a boney finger. It was then she understood her birth mother's memoir. A woman of acre, who sacrificed her own livelihood to save others, fighting against those creatures of the planes and flitting between reality and oblivion. In her hand sits a paper, stained with tea. She reads her letter aloud to only the air itself. ~"The very ground beneath us breathes malevolence and the air reeks of the bitterness that has fueled the violent dance of despair. This continent births not life but the twisted progeny of malice, leaving my heart heavy with the weight of a world seemingly beyond redemption. There's no rest for the wicked, but neither is there for the weary. I am sorry my sister, for I do not support this war as its gone far enough, but if you must, I understand. " ~ It was left upon the throne, for Caraneth to read, a morsel of chocolate holding it down. And so, Princess Briar-Rethril Arthalion went to the forest and dug unmarked Graves with shovel and bare hands, all varying in size... Elf... Dwarf... Human... Orc... Halfling... For all those who are to be lost. Holes to place the bodies and burn them within. Briar supported no side. And so, she tended to the dead alone.
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๐ ๐ข๐ง๐๐ฅ ๐๐ก๐๐ฉ๐ญ๐๐ซ ๐๐๐ซ๐ญ ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ข๐ซ๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ง๐ /หkler dษ หloอon/ noun a pale blue-gray or pale green color. ~} โ {~ The mid-autumn sun shone across the coastal region, painting everything in its path with gold. The ocean glittered with splendor amidst heaven's aurum rays, and below the cliffside, just barely out of reach, reflected the portrait of a remarkable duo. They sang many cheers upon that cliff, which bliss-filled harmony was soon laced with life's melancholy. "My next trial and I believe my last, is one of the most dangerous trials," Remarked the young lass with a mischievous smirk, her bone-stricken form just nearly cured of its malnourishment. "I have to face the water pressure of the deep and risk death! I'm kinda'v scared, but after today- I'm pretty excited for it." The boy, just nearly a man in his stage of development, frowned with deep concern and asked. "Why are your trials so dangerous? That worries me..." "Thalassa is the goddess of the ocean who is the taker of both man and woman. She is merciless and of fury, she has killed many...but I can't help but empathize with that." Beowulf hummed "The trials ensure we are determined and truly worthy of becoming Thalassa's priests- becoming her hands and eyes...A test of our faith towards her greatness! Hoho! One must face hellfire and brimstone to be worthy of it!" "Are you really sure you want to risk your life like this? This would make me very sad if you were to die..." Beowulf replied with a faint bob of her head as rhinstone eyes shone like stars in midst the amber light of the sun, sparkling orbs interlocked with the glittering sea. "Time is slipping under my feet faster than I can ask what's going on. You and Kera are already moving on without me...and on top of that, growing up. After discovering Thalassa and recent past events, I realised, I'm going to eventually end up alone in this world. You'll have your own friends, and so will Kera, you won't need someone like me to keep you both on your toes. You'll both have things to do and grow up without me." The boy, Echo, remained sat by his friend, speechless. "Thalassa doesn't change, and I believe- at least I'd like to think- that we can both understand each other... Even if you both leave, at least she'd still be there." "Beowulf.." Echo's voice would soften as his expression frowned with sorrow after listening to her. Looking down at his hands to find the proper words to say, he'd return his gaze to the battered girl and replied. "We won't leave you behind... I don't want to leave my friends behind, and Kera wouldn't want to either. Time is indeed not waiting for anyone, but that still isn't an excuse to risk it all. In fact, it contradicts what you stated! Leaving me and Kera will only sadden us!" ~{ Then why did you leave me alone? }~ The cerulean blue sky met with the woman's vibrant serpentine gaze. Head-filled entropy ebbed as quickly as the waves that washed against the woman's callused feet. Memories that sung symphonies of heartbreak now left behind a mind-numbing echo, to which the heart could not properly piece together. What tragic turn of events took place that left her body anchored to the sand-coated earth? Either way, she had to get up; but the mixed feelings of scorn and bereftment left her lying there on the shaded beach. What difference would it make anyway if she were swallowed whole now by the sea or if she got up and returned to her quarters? At the end of the day, no matter how much she had done through all her years of living, no matter the blood lost, no matter the countless nights spent awake working, everything all fell to ruin, loneliness and regret would come to haunt her again. How many years had she spent cooped up in her home under the plateau, lost in the past after replay through replay, so many countless memories which end's were all met with loss and misery? No matter how many times she'd try to reach out, somehow, she was always too late or lacked the necessary abilities to help. Perhaps this was her atonement in life for bearing bastard blood, but if that was the case, why did so many innocent people have to pay for it? Maybe this was life's form of a joke, and sure of it, they'd be laughing now. Still, the question presented itself, to get up or remain in solemn stagnance with the earth. To her dismay, the Storyteller rose with the tides and presumed the trek back home. The mid-autumn sun shone across the coastal region, painting everything in its path with solemn grey. The ocean was as dim as its muted greyed heavens, and below the cliffside, just barely out of reach, reflected the portrait of a single, lost soul. The world seemed dull beneath the plateau, which regrets kept hidden in dimly lit colors. To ease this mind-numbing sense of despair, the elf left a note and ran to the sea. The journey continues... Author's Note: By no means is this a PK, nor am I shelving the character or going on some mysterious hiatus. Since so much has already happened with the character both physically and mentally, I wanted to make a graduation post, or in this case, the final chapter to her book through her journey through life. The story for this storyteller of course still continues. This moment/period in her time though marks the end/death of who she once was, and the new beginning of a changed/different Beowulf/Izanami. In addition to this post, there will be a second/final rp post that also includes art, and during this time I will be working on said pieces. It was fun working on this (also tiring) but the best part was going back to the past and remembering all the great fun I had when I first started this character. I hope to have many more adventures with her. Credits ART: Me Writing: Me / Screenshots of rp that was not me Music: Claire De Lune - Debussy Migraines: Lord of the Craft Forum Site Size limitations
