Jump to content

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'pk'.

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


Categories

  • Whitelist Applications
    • Accepted
    • Denied

Categories

  • Groups
    • Nations
    • Settlements
    • Lairs
    • Defunct Groups
  • World
    • Races
    • Creatures
    • Plants
    • Metallurgy
    • Inventions
    • Alchemy
  • Mechanics
  • History
    • Realms
  • Magic
    • Voidal
    • Deity
    • Dark
    • Other
    • Discoveries
  • Deities
    • Aenguls
    • Daemons
    • Homes
    • Other
  • Utility
    • Index
    • Templates

Forums

  • Information
    • Announcements
    • Guidelines & Policies
    • Guides
  • Almaris
    • Humanity
    • Elves
    • Dwarves
    • Orcs
    • Unaffiliated
    • Lore
    • Miscellany
  • Off Topic
    • Personal
    • Media
    • Debate
    • Forum Roleplay
    • Looking for Group
    • Miscellany
  • Forms
    • Applications
    • Appeals
    • Reports
    • Technical Support
    • Feedback

Find results in...

Find results that contain...


Date Created

  • Start

    End


Last Updated

  • Start

    End


Filter by number of...

Joined

  • Start

    End


Group


Discord


Minecraft Username


Skype


Website


Location


Interests


Location


Character Name


Character Race

  1. Kelhus Vladimir d’Azor The end of an Othaman 1799 - 1839 A slow and creeping feeling did come upon that d’Azor in the dead of night, his mind whirred with the noises half-real. It werent until true conversation bespoke, that dragged him from the momentary delusions his mind surely foretold. A query escaped the lip of a woman: “And you look like a pathetic man, with the mind the size of an apple seed.” That vile lady spoke, “What is your name?” For as he spoke to answer in return, it seemed the affirmation of name truly did incite only further attack. As a gauntlet, wrought in hardened steel made to slam deep upon the jaw of that aging noble. Crack. His feeble body fell backwards, landing onto the stoney floor below. Red ichor dripped from his maw, as it sat painfully in its place. Sickening bone struck by such force. Yet, his torment did not end. Unseen hands drew his face skywards, only plunged down towards the ground in repeated motion time and time again. Hissed words of a woman murmured to his dying ears, the last sight of a man being the moonshine of Providence, and the face of an elfess so smug.
  2. Lomiei Vinelli’s ghost; boredly standing at the gates of Rozania where his body had been strung up. Not a tear left his face, nor a weakening of knees, his eyes blinked slowly, as if this was something that ought to have happened long ago. “It is... fitting” The rapidly dissolving wisp and aura of a man shook its head as he set off down the stairs, “You were not particularly interesting.” he notes, taking a step down the carved hill “You were not at all valiant.” he looked on past the high walls of the castle as he walked “You did nearly nothing of note. A singular name on an old book.” the glowing figure sighed, stopping for a moment as he looked over the landscape. “And yet… people seemed to like you.” he would approach the bottom of the hill. If he still had a body, a tear might just have begun to form. “Loved, even. People enjoyed you. And you enjoyed people… most of them at least“ laughed “HAHA, of course! Your name will not be remembered, spoken of with reverence, even pronounced correctly. But… but.... Ahh whatever. You know what I mean. And another unfinished thought; add it to the list.” The wisps began to thin evermore and blow away as he reached the shore of the western coast, taking a stand beside the small boat that was left there. “Well, maybe not. Why the hell am I talking to my dead body anywa--?” The whisps' attention was then taken by an approaching figure in red…. In a secluded kingdom, forced into duchal status by brigands and false piety, Rebeka la Waevra lays in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. “What have I done?... Was it well?” she shrugs, thinking back over her short, but impactful life “Yes. Of course.” she said, as if obvious “I’ve started a family. I’ve sat with emperors, kings and queens,” she waves a hand to her door, standing up as she did so, “Money, fame, title… never an issue.. Family however,” her heart drops to a level below the floor she was standing on. “Family.” repeated the Clan Chieftess, The Master of Whispers, the Principal purveyor of pen and paper. “Family” exhales Rebeka a final time, patting her stomach as she exits the room. The family she had brought together from all corners of the world was the 2nd most important thing on her mind as she silently floated out the door. She arrived at the gates of the tall entrance, paying no mind to the soul-departed corpse of Lomiei Vinelli. As she continued down the stairs and onto the western coast, she would see a pile of blue aura standing next to a boat atop of the sands, the coming and going waters washed around it gently…. “Hello old friend” they would both say to one another simultaneously. A loud sigh would leave both of their voices, “is it really ti--?” They would both laugh at the repeated synchronicity of their words, quickly growing used to it… this was not the weirdest thing that had happened between the 2. “I think it is.. We have done what we could for this world.” Lomiei puts his phantom arm out to offer to Rebeka’s hand, as if he forgot that he no longer had a body. Rebeka took his arm anyway, a funny sight to see, and a hoot was heard as her owl flew off her shoulder back to Rozania. As they both stepped onto the boat, it was given a firm push from the shore by both of the saddened souls. ”And what of Leyna? How will she fare without us?” ”She will fare as we have... Persistently.” A tearful sigh left the both of them at that moment, “She has our blood. Our passion. And our love. She will be fine.” they would both decide reluctantly. The boat floated gently upon the open waters. The night heavens shot beams of light down to them from the stars of space and the 7-skies they would soon be occupying. “Ready?” they would both say to themselves and the other, perhaps this was something they were not sure about… “Ready” a combined voice rang out around them, a resolute confidence in their voices. Rebeka would retrieve a small stick of wood attached to a small tip of white powder, along with a box of odd texture that emitted a rattling sound. She would then slide the stick across the length of the box, causing the stick to become inflamed at the top “Orenian technology” she smiled. Lomiei would himself retrieve a rolled cigar of the highest excellence, tobacco grown fresh in the hills of a certain southern nation, and leaves from high up in the mountains of the east. ”Hyspian quality.” he smiled. They looked off into the night sky as they lit the cigar, Rebeka being the first one to breathe in the fanciful flavors and waving tinctures of the smoke. She then passed it over to Lomiei, whose phantom hand held it with varying stability. A vortex of smoke could be seen exiting the mouth side of the cigar, though it would only float upwards, disappearing into the air. They turned to look at each other, nodding singularly while the cigar continued to burn. As they embraced into each other's arms, the cigar would fall through the remaining blue auras of Lomiei’s phantom hand, tumbling onto the deck of the wooden craft and catching the entire vessel alight. More beautiful lights, far off of the coast of the southeastern reaches of Almaris; the last shame among many, that no one else was around to see the send off, or the ensuing fireworks.
  3. Lomiei Vinelli’s ghost; boredly standing at the gates of Rozania where his body had been strung up. Not a tear left his face, nor a weakening of knees, his eyes blinked slowly, as if this was something that ought to have happened long ago. “It is... fitting” The rapidly dissolving wisp and aura of a man shook its head as he set off down the stairs, “You were not particularly interesting.” he notes, taking a step down the carved hill “You were not at all valiant.” he looked on past the high walls of the castle as he walked “You did nearly nothing of note. A singular name on an old book.” the glowing figure sighed, stopping for a moment as he looked over the landscape. “And yet… people seemed to like you.” he would approach the bottom of the hill. If he still had a body, a tear might just have begun to form. “Loved, even. People enjoyed you. And you enjoyed people… most of them at least“ laughed “HAHA, of course! Your name will not be remembered, spoken of with reverence, even pronounced correctly. But… but.... Ahh whatever. You know what I mean. And another unfinished thought; add it to the list.” The wisps began to thin evermore and blow away as he reached the shore of the western coast, taking a stand beside the small boat that was left there. “Well, maybe not. Why the hell am I talking to my dead body anywa--?” The whisps' attention was then taken by an approaching figure in red…. In a secluded kingdom, forced into duchal status by brigands and false piety, Rebeka la Waevra lays in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. “What have I done?... Was it well?” she shrugs, thinking back over her short, but impactful life “Yes. Of course.” she said, as if obvious “I’ve started a family. I’ve sat with emperors, kings and queens,” she waves a hand to her door, standing up as she did so, “Money, fame, title… never an issue.. Family however,” her heart drops to a level below the floor she was standing on. “Family.” repeated the Clan Chieftess, The Master of Whispers, the Principal purveyor of pen and paper. “Family” exhales Rebeka a final time, patting her stomach as she exits the room. The family she had brought together from all corners of the world was the 2nd most important thing on her mind as she silently floated out the door. She arrived at the gates of the tall entrance, paying no mind to the soul-departed corpse of Lomiei Vinelli. As she continued down the stairs and onto the western coast, she would see a pile of blue aura standing next to a boat atop of the sands, the coming and going waters washed around it gently…. “Hello old friend” they would both say to one another simultaneously. A loud sigh would leave both of their voices, “is it really ti--?” They would both laugh at the repeated synchronicity of their words, quickly growing used to it… this was not the weirdest thing that had happened between the 2. “I think it is.. We have done what we could for this world.” Lomiei puts his phantom arm out to offer to rebeka’s hand, as if he forgot that he no longer had a body. Rebeka took his arm anyway, a funny sight to see, and a hoot was heard as her owl flew off her shoulder back to Rozania. As they both stepped onto the boat, it was given a firm push from the shore by both of the saddened souls. ”And what of Leyna? How will she fare without us?” ”She will fare as we have... Persistently.” A tearful sigh left the both of them at that moment, “She has our blood. Our passion. And our love. She will be fine.” they would both decide reluctantly. The boat floated gently upon the open waters. The night heavens shot beams of light down to them from the stars of space and the 7-skies they would soon be occupying. “Ready?” they would both say to themselves and the other, perhaps this was something they were not sure about… “Ready” a combined voice rang out around them, a resolute confidence in their voices. Rebeka would retrieve a small stick of wood attached to a small tip of white powder, along with a box of odd texture that emitted a rattling sound. She would then slide the stick across the length of the box, causing the stick to become inflamed at the top “Orenian technology” she smiled. Lomiei would himself retrieve a rolled cigar of the highest excellence, tobacco grown fresh in the hills of a certain southern nation, and leaves from high up in the mountains of the east. ”Hyspian quality.” he smiled. They looked off into the night sky as they lit the cigar, Rebeka being the first one to breathe in the fanciful flavors and waving tinctures of the smoke. She then passed it over to Lomiei, whose phantom hand held it with varying stability. A vortex of smoke could be seen exiting the mouth side of the cigar, though it would only float upwards, disappearing into the air. They turned to look at eachother, nodding singularly while the cigar continued to burn. As they embraced into each other's arms, the cigar would fall through the remaining blue auras of lomiei’s phantom hand, tumbling onto the deck of the wooden craft and catching the entire vessel alight. More beautiful lights, far off of the coast of the southeastern reaches of Almaris; the last shame among many, that no one else was around to see the send off, or the ensuing fireworks.
  4. John Alexander d’Arkent The night was dark in the Workshop, John has spent plenty of hours here where endless and uncountable. Since his years as a child his great uncle Pruvia has always taught the boy everything he needed to know in life. Doctor Pruvia would always tell the boy: Be strict, be proper but, always be kind. These ideas were the pillars of the life that John Alexander d’Arkent always stood by. From a young age, even before he could be allowed to join the military he assisted the empire in all needs. Only taking money if it is necessary for him to pay his taxes on time. The love he showed the Empire was strong but the love for his own sister and brother was the strongest bond of love he ever knew. His marriage was one of contention but through the struggles he found a lovely wife. The love he found for his wife was not of pity but of shared struggle. She carried John through sickness and struggles. Her management of the house and warm smile was the only thing he could ever want from a hard day of slaving in the workshop. His merits were plenty although John never considered himself a “front of the store” type of personality. He had always worked for the Home office and treasury positions even before he was considered “proper” to work at these positions. Instead of clawing for rank or power, John instead poured his life into the quality of his work. John never wanted anything more but the life of others around him to improve. Even if that would mean taking a lesser position or even a thankless one. Sadly through days of constant work and the tireless pursuit to improve himself. The young noble pushed himself to the point of exhaustion and overwhelming stress. The days of burning candlelight and breathing the heavy smoke from his workshop finally took their toll on him. Although his death was a sad one we must not weep for a man who devoted himself to the happiness of others before himself. For him, his duty to the country and his family could be the only payment the young noble could ever want.
  5. The death of Thalion Araen Drakon 12th of the deep cold, 1836 ⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎ He wrote on a page... " Pure white lands sweeping across the horizon, untouched by agents of evil. Deep-dark towers of bark covered in dark greens, sprouting out of this desolate terrain. Bright blue icicles reaching onwards towards a starry-night sky, crystals gleeming and refracting beams of starlight outwards as if a performance for only my eyes to see. Wildlife having left prints in the snow, directed the way to their burrows and nests as if inviting me along. A single lit fire illuminating the folliage around itself, hues of red & orange obsorbed by the overwhelmingly white territory. " White lands always reminded him of his home in Atlas yet that was taken from him. Dark trees reminded him of his hunting trips with father yet he was taken from him. The blue icicles reminded him of the Ivae'Fenn, his own role within it over the countless wars and conflicts, yet it was all taken from him. Wildlife leaving imprints in the snow reminded him of the once-competant leadership of his people, always creating paths for others to recognise & follow yet that competant leadership was taken from them. A single lit fire reminded him of the brothers and sisters he made along his way through the past three-hundred years of life, each one of their deaths engained within memory, they were all taken from him. With a large sigh the Fenn' said: "Of all the atrocities committed, none are soo brutal as those originating from incompetance" giving into the idea that although he gave his utmost, it was all still his own incompetance which led to these numerous outcomes. Drinking through the night and feeding into his affinity with Ikurn'Valai, the Fenn' unbuttoned his clothes by the fire revealing the numerious scars, injuries and missing parts of flesh healed over by skin, incurred through nearly three-hundred years of perpetual war. His breathing was shaky at-best, the pain in his body had been growing more and more for a year now, he was certain his time would soon come. On the eve of the next day he painstakingly placed his armour on, grasping onto his trident and using it as leverage to stand up. Once fully equiped he set out through the wilderness, taking on the many different beasts of the cold north, each time becoming a little more worse off, each time gaining more injuries, each time incuring damage upon his Drakon armour... Muttering to himself once more through the gasps for breath: "none... soo brutal... as those... originating... from incompetance" falling onto a knee in the face of a large white bear, the Drakon contemplated his choice for a single second as the bear rose itself up on two feet, yet still, gaining a decisive look upon his face he'd jab up and catch the bear in the neck with the three prongs of his trident, losing his own strength to hold the weight of such a beast, the bottom of the trident fell and dug deep into the ground, a white bear hung from atop its prongs. The Drakon would set himself upright gasping for air and severely wounded, leaning against the corpse and smacking the side of the white bear a few times, he'd say: "A shame... that..." he'd cough up some blood before continuing "would've made... a nice rug... for the bathroom" his breath continued to slow as the large Elf, dawned in ruined armour, leaned against a large body of white fur, the ruined metal parts of the armour now bent inwards and pierced him. witnessing the Pure-white lands infront of him, the dark-bark trees, the bright-blue icicles and the now burnt-out fire... the Mali'Fenn drew his last breath. ⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎ Knowing his time to be running out, he left a series of notes days prior, the first to his wife, left at her bedside: (( @Starlight)) " Dearest Estelle, We both know the difficulties that faced our kin daily, and I hope you remember each one of those difficulties not for the tough times they created, but rather each of those that I faced head-strong, and at times alone. You know of my numerous injuries, you've seen them countless times and aside from that you still believed me invincible, yet you also knew a Drakon plans to die in service to his kin. Unfortunitely, I am not invincible and I will die, perhaps not in military service, yet still a death in service to our people. I was saved in vain, I tell you now that my injuries will take me soon and I sense you have also known for a while now, perhaps by the time you find this note I will have already passed. Yet even so, do not fall into disarray, I will not allow my death to be one of shame. For this is the last time I dawn my armour, for this the last time I wield my weapon, any & all hostile beasts I encounter lurking near the Fennic' Remnant will perish at my feet and eventually, I too will perish at the feet of one of these beasts, yet I will go honourably, taking many beasts with me, and succeeding in making our lands that little bit more safe for our kin and for our daughter. I must apologize to you Estelle, I will be spending my last moments alone, as much as one wishes to die in the company of love and comfort: I will not allow you nor anyone else to witness the unsightly view of witnessing yet another prideful-Drakon in his last moments of life, I welcome death and I will welcome you when it is your time to join me in Fin’ciwn when Wyrvun judges you worthy. Signed, Thalion" ⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐ A second note was left in the room of the Matriarch of the Drakon bloodline: (( @Sygnus_ @Little_Lulah)) " Honoured leader of the Drakon bloodline, I write to you as a notice, I am Thalion Araen Drakon and I bid you warning. It is known that I did not join the reformed Ivae'Fenn under Vytrek, nor did I stay in the new settlement, and yet still I have served more time in rank and as an officer than anyone else, yet I will not recieve military honours for my death. I fulfilled my responsibilities and what was due, and just like you I once served as the leader of the bloodline and for many Elven-years I built us up as one of, if not the strongest of all the families, so I demand of you: Do not let all that has been built fall into disarray, do not forget our values, our traditions. We are loyal, we are truthful, we are honourable and we are natural-born leaders, guide onto better tomorrows. Even now, as you read this letter I am assuring that my last moments are ones of honour, I will not fail our blood and I will not bring shame to our name. No matter what you hear of me, remember all that I have done, whilst it may not have been perfect, I did my utmost and encurred great loss in the process. Should you fail to uphold our bloodline I am certain Wyrvun will judge you unworthy and to your own fortune you would avoid encurring my wrath upon arriving in Fin'ciwn. Recover my body in the forests to the west, lead our people well and perhaps host a party or two to lighten hearts. Signed, Thalion-Araen of the Drakon Bloodline retired Sentinel of the Ivae'Fenn" ⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎ A third note was placed under the door of Vytrek Tundraks personal room: (( @Monkee)) " Chosen of Wyrvun, I, Thalion-Araen of the Drakon line call upon your resolve, do not follow in your fathers footsteps, do not yet again thrust us into more pointless war on the behalf of those who would not do the same for us. Of all those we aided and protected in the past, none have cared to return the good faith, even now as our Princedom devolves into a remnant they dare not show their face to you, they dare not after soo long tempt you with shallow excuses of their poor faith. As a Drakon I can only emphasize our traditional views; If war is inevitable then let it be upon all those who have foresaken us, the other Elven-kin care little for us, let war wage against those who talk of their might but fail to field enough military might to fend off common bandits. Though we spoke rarely, you were one of character and I do not believe you nor your brothers care to walk the path of your deranged father. Im sure you will hear word of my actions and their repercussions, yet do not think me a fool. I set the standard for all Drakon who come after me, right now resolve & duty must take precedence. Do not fail them. Signed, Thalion-Araen of the Drakon Bloodline retired Sentinel of the Ivae'Fenn" ⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐ The fourth note was slid under the Sylric manor door, meant for a friend (( @GrimDeValhalla)) " Mister old & ugly, Taveric, I have done something idiotic and impulsive once again, im sure you will find out soon enough. I'll be seeing our comrades in Fin'ciwn soon, im sure you'll end up here soon too with your old age. Right now I face down my last day of battle, my old injuries ache though my resolve has never been stronger than now. I may not have been present during the past few years but im sure with your own resolve you may once again pull your bloodline out of obscurity. Im sure your time will come and you will come face-to-face with Wyvrun, if he judges you too ugly to enter I would completely understand his decision, though I am also sure that if you mentioned the great Thalion Drakon Sentinel in the Ivae'Fenn of the Princedom of Fenn, and your role as my trusty-side kick, he'll be sure to let you in. I don't believe much needs to be said, I figured it was best that you found out this way than through someone else. Make sure whoever leads Drakon went I am gone, that they recover my body and I am not left to rot. Get to me before the animals strip my bones of flesh and ideally do it with haste, with your age you may never know how soon you'll keel over and with a face like that you may just be killed for no reason at all. Do be safe, and send Velatha my regards. Signed, Thalion retired Sentinel of the Ivae'Fenn" ⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎⥐⥎ (( OOC disclaimer: )) (( If you haven't gotten a letter or been told by someone who has, then you don't know about his death. ))
  6. Zand Macheron, a hard working individual who lived a life of service and honor to the Empire died fighting the vile MRA on He should be remembered for being a selfless and brave young man who wanted nothing more than to live a life with a prospering family and the jubilation of all the people around him. His last words say it all. "Growing old and dying peacefully is what gives meaning and beauty to the fleeting span of a human life..." He pauses, breathing. He looks up with tears streaming down his eyes. "I may not have gotten that luxury, but I lived my life with joy!" "I made many friends!" A Grin beamed across his face as he mentioned those people. "Damien Hughes...Ezekiel...Primrose Gendik...Todarian Mira'lean...James H. Madron...Diana D'Azor...Mako Iwatsuma..." He'd pause, both panting and crying. "My family too!" "That was all better than fighting for evil like the MRA." "And I did it all with my heart ablaze with joy! Much better than spending my days like you..." He'd say, his voice going low, his heart beating less, and he smiles. Ready to embrace what is about to come. Zand Macheron died on the 10th of Snow Maidens, 40 SA. It is important that we live on to carry this man's legacy for years to come. OOC Note: I loved RPing on Zand and I hope to see you in the future on my next personas. It was honestly really fun and made my summer better! (OOC NOTE:) This PK post is sponsored by Raid Shadow Legends, the best Mobile RPG game of 2021.
  7. The lifeless body of the young half goblin was found broken, drifting in the water, his war axe still in hand. not long before he was among the group defending The Iron'uzg's capital against an undead olog. In an act of supposed creativity, Galin had requested to be tossed by the olog, Pizhtol, towards the monster as it was charging them. The olog obliged and threw him towards the creature. Unfortunately, the undead was ducking after another orc in the group, causing Galin to miss it entirely. He was thrown over the bridge, and died as soon as his body hit the water. (R. I. P. Galin, S.A. 9 - S.A. 39) (Last words: "Weeeeeeee!!!")
  8. Mon Amour: When caring for a rose garden, one must be weary of the most common pitfalls. Overwatering can soil the most beautiful of gardens, rotting the roots and wilting the leaves. Too little water can crumble the soil and leave it barren. Of course, too much sun will almost certainly scorch the leaves and fragile petals. Oh how fragile roses are… At exactly half past eight o’clock in the morning, Claude cracked two eggs and whisked the whites into a ceramic bowl of flour. She tucked the stray hairs from her face, leaving little crumbs of flour to dot her nose and cheeks. She, of course, did not mind. A weak wrist was nothing to complain about, so what if it took a pinch longer to whisk those whites into a batter? Twelve noon and it was time for a daily walk. Perhaps venturing out into town was just what she needed- being cooped up is enough to drive anyone out of their mind. Out she went, for that fated stroll. There was nothing unusual about her walks- the crows opted to cry out as they always did. Scratchy and low pitched garbles of sound juxtaposed the melodic songs of wrens and finches alike. The bakery and tavern wafted their delightful aromas out into the streets. In the midst of the crowd, a familiar figure drew close. A white coat and dark hair heralded the man she loved. "Mon amour...I was thinking we could visit the Gardens.” “I am busy.” Busy. It was true. A mayor, an aldermen, an architect. Busy titles for a busy man with a busy life and busy colleagues. Surely such a busy man had no time for his family. Unless, it was a recent business. Oui...for such a busy man with a busy life, he had ample time for his children: Hera, Eri, Ena, and Leander. Never once did he forgo those fatherly tasks in infancy. As they grew older, they grew apart. He became a man shrouded in paperwork and dim candlelight to keep him company. Those hallowed winter nights were all the more cold for his absence. Claude had begun to ponder, as housewives did. How his work days grew later, the setting of the sun an all too familiar reminder that the stars would be long in their celebration of night before he was to arrive home. The chest tightened, and the eyes threatened to spill their secrets. Forlorn for a love she may have lost, Claude swelled with a mother’s courage. “What is her name?” “Do you think me adulterous?” Maybe. Words flew, the time did not. It stood still, as a confused child betwixt two parents screaming nonsense. She reeled her hand back and followed through with a fury to her eyes. Her grievances sent out for a physical delivery were intercepted, a harsh grip and venomous words. -‘Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.’ To my beloved. You know our time has come to a close. It’s a Fairytale. Perhaps I was just a character in your fable. Maybe. That lovely ring she wore for nearly thirty years, slipped from her finger. It spun and vibrated, clinging across the marble tiling of the foyer. Then, a stillness. In that solem silence, Claude had joined the stillness. There, she lay. A heart so fragile could never be mended. “Claude?’ Silence. A clearing of throat and he spoke: “Right...well I am off to work.” In the days that followed her departure, as she melded with the Earth- where she rightfully belonged- her soul was weary. Tormented. For no matter how irresistible the urge to toss and turn, she remained curled. What a waste. 'It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.' In memorium of Claude de Rosius Frand, Aged 43 at time of death. @Vi @WillowBeatle @Spleen @Matheaww @Viraj Dobrial
  9. Amalric was a mystery to many. Few had ever seen him. Fewer knew his name. He just seemed to appear one day, always lingering in the shadows, just out of sight, just behind his employer. And he died just as quietly as he lived. He never lived to see his 18th birthday. It is surprising to some that he lived to see his 17th. Indeed, Amalric, though a quiet sort, lived an extremely dangerous life. He spent every waking moment surrounded by beasts and monsters, demons and devils, clowns and queens. Power was always within reach, but it was not his to have. He didn't want it. Indeed, he spent all of his life advancing others to their goals. Where did this loyalty get him? In pieces. Pieces.. Morgan can remember the blast. The cannon fire, the volleys that impacted all across Yong Ping. She was just trying to help. She was just trying to be useful. Where did this need to be useful get her? In pieces. The shrapnel tore her limb from limb, cut through her organs and her flesh, diced her apart. She was never supposed to survive it. When an alchemist plucked her mangled body from the wall and carried it away, she was not conscious to see what he did. Til the day she died, Morgan was never sure if she'd have rather had him just leave her. It would've been less trouble, for everyone. She wouldn't have had to do what she did. It'd be a lie if Amalric said he wasn't the vindictive sort. He didn't think he was. So many people had wronged him, but he never gave it any thought. But no matter how many days and years passed, he could not let go of what Karl Amador did to Morgan. His employer, so many times, had told him to stay out of Haense to avoid conflict, but many days were spent sitting. And watching. Watching Karl, watching Petra and Sigismund. And Karl... He had moved on from Morgan. He had gotten himself a wife, and children. A wife. And children. It made Amalric sick. Had Karl forgotten what he'd done to Morgan? All the suffering he caused to his first kiss? Kiss.. In truth, Morgan never expected it to go this way. Karl was never on her mind romantically until that very night they kissed. It was funny, almost. When she was a beggar on the streets, her eyes followed Petra Emma. No one noticed her, the way she stood back and observed Petra and Karl talk. She wanted to approach, to ask for food, or for a friend, but she was shy, and words were trouble. But it was Karl who approached and put food in her hands, and declared himself her friend. She so desperately wanted friends. Someone to follow, someone to give her meaning. She found it that night in someone else, someone who'd lead her astray, ultimately. Someone she'd fall in love with. But Morgan fell in love with so many people. A crush on Karl. A crush on Sigismund. A crush on Petra. A crush on Hesperia. At the time, Karl was the only one who returned her romantic advances. She was so sure they were meant to be. Foolish. He didn't intend to cause such a scene. But he enjoyed every moment of it. Walking into that tavern, reminding Karl, and everyone, of who Morgan was. What he'd done to her. It felt good to be vindictive. To finally make someone scared and regretful. He wanted to punish Karl for forgetting Morgan, for getting her killed. No one knew who Amalric was. They couldn't. He didn't exist, he wasn't a person. He had no paper trail. He liked it. He liked that he seemed to be a ghost of Karl's past, coming to haunt him for all the wrong he'd done. Wasn't that exactly what he was? He was a ghost. A memory forgotten. And of course, Karl being Karl, all he could think about was the assassins. Assassins.. She never wanted it to come to this. Morgan didn't ask for this. But she enjoyed it. She was.. vindictive. Karl never noticed her. He ever even saw her among those who came to kill him. How could he have? She was dressed in armor like the rest. It was all his fault. He had caused so much trouble. From those who wished to do her arm to the ones she lived with yelling at her and demanding to know who she told. Who had she told? Who did you tell? She didn't tell anyone, none but Karl. No one else knew what was required to get her back onto her feet. He said he wouldn't tell anyone. She trusted him. She loved him, but he denied her and spread word of her condition to all who would listen. The rumor came from Haense. It had to have been him. It was not Amalric who sent the assassins. He was more subtle in his maneuvering. He was a private person, he preferred man to man talks, in secluded locations. His revenge was quieter, the way he stalked Karl and Petra and Sigismund. Attended their balls. Watched Sigismund dance. Watch Petra and the boy she courted dance. He even tried talking to her at the time, his mind not so bent on causing suffering. He just wanted her to be his friend again. He wanted to have that tea.. Tea.. Morgan and Petra were supposed to have tea. She was going to have a friend, despite how disfigured she'd been made. Karl abandoned her, Sigismund called her a wretch, but Petra spared her those small kindnesses. She never got to have the tea, because of Karl. Morgan cried about it often, though she'd tell no one. She wanted so desperately a friend, she'd lost everyone. And she would continued to lose. Her sense of self, her identity. Her name. Her appearance. To avoid those who would hunt her, who would ask questions on her appearance, they fixed her. They made her acceptable again. They made her.. Amalric didn't have any friends for some time. When he came back from that ball, so upset that he'd been invited and then ignored by Petra, so enraged at the success of Sigismund and Karl, he was told by Hesperia to never return to Haense, for it only caused him pain. But he was obsessed. He'd put so much time and emotions into the trio, he cared so much about their lives, that he returned anyways. Every month, to watch them, to follow them, to listen. Who was he if not for his attachments? Was he a person? He'd been a person. He'd been several people, in fact. So many names, so many faces. And for what? Was this not what being a person was? Caring? Trying to make friends? Being hurt and hurting in turn? Was that not humanity? He'd spent 10 years in the service of Hesperia Von Drakenhof. He loved her. He was obsessed with her. Every second at her shoulder. If he knew her location, then he was there, whether she invited him or not. Amalric was her eternal servant. He changed his name for her. He changed his appearance for her. He lived for her, and he would've killed for her. He would die for her. He did die for her. He'd given everything up but her. He lost his friendships, those he'd known. He agreed to marry her, because he thought was what she wanted. He did everything for her. Though, in the quiet hours of the night, he would know in his heart that he did it for himself. It would take years to unravel the thing that Amalric was when he died. It would take longer to unravel the circumstances of his death, and his relationship with Hesperia Von Drakenhof. Only she could truly tell the complicated and tragic story of his life, and even she didn't know him completely. And this is how he ends. An unfinished story. A mystery unfounded. A tragic ending to a tragic life of a tragic child.
  10. The Suicide = +----+ = Throughout the life of Legolas Neldor, he has experienced a lot of both very horrible situation and very positive one. Legolas Neldor, a young little elf from Elvenesse, travelling around to many cities, he finally decided to live in Oren and served the MOJ for the rest of his life. At the young age, he always dreamed to be a police but it didn't go as plan in Elvenesse, so MOJ is the final decision he made. Very little have been done by him at first to the MOJ, however as time passed he has been promoted to a higher rank where he worked harder and harder. Not long after, he became a Supervising Detective and joined the Secret Service, but as all people say "The end always arrive". Legolas Neldor was fired by the MOJ, even though the reason of it was a misunderstanding. No one chose to believe his words but the one who chose didn't have enough power to save him. One day the young elf, who once believed in helping everyone, lost all his hope. Legolas Neldor could not accept the fact that he won't be part of the MOJ anymore, so he decided to end his life next to the place where he will never forget..... ---------------------------------------
  11. In the dead of the night, a hooded figure snuck into numerous buildings in the Vortice capital city of Talon's Port... Nothing was taken, however some choice homes would find notes placed atop spots where the council members would have no choice but to see. Once this task was finished, the hooded figure made their way to the top of the Alley Alehouse, not bothering to lock the doors of the rooftop. The figure sat upon the wedding stage, sighing and dropping their cloak, revealing a de-crowned Vivian Maelstorm, her face reddened and puffy, running mascara covering her cheeks as she withdrew a moonsteel dagger from her waist-sheathe. “....Syl always told me that elves would last hundreds of years before devolving into madness… well, I guess that wasn’t the case with me, huh?” The short ‘aheral chuckled dryly, her free hand lofting to remove a final note from her bosom. “...Maybe one day, everybody can forgive me.” Another tear fell from her real eye as she set the note gently against the ground, away from where she had planned to die. As she did such, a tinge of hurt shot through her core. The woman had lost so many in such a short amount of time… how selfish was she, to take her life at this, when so many others had suffered so much more! She grit her teeth as she sat back down upon the stage, deliberating upon her next course of action as memories flooded into her mind. Her wedding with Joakim af Orvar… How they married under the Heart Tree. The birth of Dana and Corrin af Orvar. Her short-standing marriage to Seryne, and how horribly that turned out in the two years they spent together. Her thirty something year long marriage to Eoghan O’Cathain, the wedding they had within the settlement of Talon’s Grotto, and her children- Eliott, Lilith, and Seteth… Two of which were now dead. Her marriage to Sylvain Ainzworth Majin, and their many, many children… those of whom the pair had adopted, and those of whom the pair had produced of their own blood. She choked back a sob as she remembered the pain the pair had endured together. Her sisters, Athri, Lenora, and Sana, and the love they shared… Her brothers, Gail, Ren and James, and the laughs they had... her best friend, Eugeo, and the secrets they had kept together… her many children, two in particular stuck out in her memory- they were only thirty four, how could they live with the loss of their mother? Mystralath and Belladonna were both old enough that they would remember Vivian forever more- unlike Fable, Claude and Aer, who were still mere babes and had hardly spent any time with Vivian. The red-headed monarch sobbed again as she raised the dagger, staring up to the sky in emotional agony… before plunging the blade into her chest, taking the moonsteel directly to the heart. After a few seconds, the elfess slumped down, the colour draining from her once purple eye as tears fell, her hands dropping from the hilt of the blade and down to her lap as she fell to her side, dead. Inside the note, when she were to be found, was a single paragraph, reading as follows. “To my people, to my family, to my friends… I have loved you all so dearly, but it is my time to depart now. I bid thee farewell and I hope to meet you all again in another time. You are all so important in your own ways. As of the Deep Cold of the 35th year, I wish for Athri Onfroi Belrose-Maelstorm to carry on the Monarchy of the Unified Domain of Vortice on my behalf, and to be crowned as the Heir Monarch by the Congress. Thank you all for your time. Vivian Maelstorm”
  12. "Let us hope, that I do ne land in water." "Wuh" . . . [!] a SPLAT could be heard as a young female jumped off the edge of the side of the Alurian Tavern 27 . . . 32? I have lost count, but anywho some age old Elizavetta Maienne de Rosius was originally a court palace woman in Oren, later on in life becoming an Alderman, in her life, she had met a young man named Anton, whom she loved dearly, but she did not love him. Eventually, after finding out some shocking information, she realized she had been deeply sick all along . . . Elizavetta, horrified at this new information, ran to Ando Alur, where she met an elf named "Elren" This man would become to her, a very close friend. Elizavetta eventually took her life, after falling into an even greater depression, for reasons "unknown" to her. She took her life by jumping off the tavern in Ando Alur. (Side note, this is my first PK post, so I apologize if it is bad)
  13. Outside the small home, a solidarity fox sat curled under a Berry bush, lifting its head to any passerby that might stumble into the small village. It waited for an owner that will never return. After running from issues causes she attempted to fake her passing only for the plan to ‘bite back’ Across the bay in Sutica, in a windowless attic, trapped by her lover she writes her last words: “All for love and none for heart, the soul was broken from the start. To little, to late.” As her breath croaked in the dim lighting she let out a final chuckle, blowing out the flame of the lamp she laid down for the last time on the thin mattress.
  14. You cant run from your sins. = + = Flavius Xolol, a freshfoot, from traveling to many cities and meeting many people to becoming something he couldn't escape. Flavius loved to explore new places and met extremely nice people. As a young guy he was alone, his old man... a humble farmer died of sickness and the young guy would venture out to a world he'd never imagine. Flavius settled in The beautiful city of Talon's Port. Now known as Vortice He collected many memories with his friends in the north, the forest, and the keep he lived in for sometime. Feeling distressed about his home and his colleagues's internal issues. Flavius was forced to make a choice... The poor human, greatly influenced by his own desperate need for adrenaline and action, chose the side of the aggressors. Talon's port received many attacks from his colleagues which in many ways hurt him. After returning to Vortice one night. He'd realize Talon's port was not the same as he left it as. His friends now gone... his home now replaced. but what truly crushed him, was the constant suppression of his feelings that haunted him for sleepless nights. One day the young human, who once believed in helping everyone, did the most selfish act of his life. Flavius Xolol , feeling guilty, took own his life drowning near Vortice waters. (OOC NOTE): FIRST RUSTLER PK POG
  15. A beautiful life has come to a tragic end. No fighting, no words, just a woman and the water. Astrid Saylur Morgan lived on a ship her whole life. She found comfort in the water. Swimming, playing, and living in its embrace. Her whole life is consumed by the ocean, ever so constantly surrounded by it; but this comfort was stolen when her ship capsized in a storm, her whole family destroyed, and her the only survivor. Terrorized every day by the thought that her family would be gone forever, deep in the ocean, where no one would find them, she felt so lost. Staring out at the water near the Barony of Rhein, she felt a pull to the water. A deep yearning inside her, a calling. She began walking, into the water, slowly sinking into the depths of the blue. Slowly, breathing in pain, and misery as she had been, it was easy for her. She went quietly, just walking in, and sinking down. Sand under her feet, slowly, feeling the sand disappear as she got further into the water. Closing her eyes, breathing in the embracing sea, she took her last breath. On the 10th of the Malin’s Welcome, 33 S.A. Astrid Saylur Morgan walked into the water, and did not walk out.
  16. Adeline d'Azor 14th of The Amber Cold 1832 As rain poured down in the town of Redenford, a lonely disguised d'Azor stood outside, her short blonde locks drenched from the rain. She was to be married and married she was. The reception went off well, there only being 4 maybe 5 people about to witness her marriage to Anton d'Amato-Orlav but after the ceremony ended, the new couple was gifted with 4 soldiers barging in and demanding the two step forwards. Adeline wasn't going to let her new love be killed so the brave woman cried out for Anton to run, and run he did. She tried her best to fight and keep her own, but the one she faced was too strong and she was quickly knocked out and tied up. When the beauty awoke, she was far from where she had been knocked out, and she was surrounded by blades and armor. And fear consumed her as her icy blue orbs landed on the two people she least expected to be there. Standing down the hill was her father, Sir Ledicortd'Azor, And her beloved younger sister, Rosaline d'Azor. She didn't know what to think, the two surely felt betrayed by her absence- by her leaving and by her marriage. So she avoided the gaze of her father as he loudly asked what her new name was. In a stuttered voice she told him she was Lucie d'Amato such an answer was wrong, and surely hurt her fathers heart and deep down she knew such. She didn't expect what was to come as he father walked closer, informing the young girl that she was going to be killed. In her last moments the young Lady didn't fight, didn't cry out to be saved. She hung her head and waited for her fathers hand to end her days, having given up way before the encounter had come. The only thought that crossed her mind was of the family she had left and lied to. The siblings that wouldn't remember her name with love, the friends that would be shocked to hear of what she did, and the Father that would be traumatized knowing he killed his little girl. She would miss them all dearly. And as her father reared his sword up and brought it down into her chest she uttered out her last words. " Father, I'm so sorry." || Small note: All info here isn't Icly known- if acted against it will be metagaming! || Growing up the little d'Azor had always had confidence issues. She couldn't look people in the eyes and her words often came out in stutters. Most of these issues came from an incident with a old woman named Dollie who had told the young girl she wasn't beautiful and that no man would ever look at her. She fell into depression and this is when her self-hate began. For a few years she lived in shame of who she was until one day her Brother, Joseph d'Azor , hugged her tight and told her she was worth the world. He made her feel special, but even still she didn't believe it. Her courage in herself only returned after a lovely talk with the one person she trusted most in the world, the one she loved dearest and the one she dared to never lie to. Her father. He had taken her in his arms and spoke the words that healed her heart and her failing confidence. He told her she was a d'Azor and that she should always hold her head up high because he loved her and her family loved her. His words mended her and she grew to love her father more. As she grew even older, her lacking confidence soon made her lash out in anger very easily. And she got in a fight with her youngest sibling Katya d'Azor that lead to the two growing apart for a very long time. During this time Adeline moved out of the main home and into the tip floor of her brothers shop, so she could work on herself. The years to follow were full of rare emotion from the girl as she still struggled to respect and love herself, her confidence low but low enough she kept it hidden behind a placid expression. She tried to join the ISA, but lost interest. Instead she focused on her sword fighting and tried to be a bodyguard for a time. All the fighting and inner self-hate lead to hatred overall and the d'Azor grew fierce and angry, making the worst mistakes she could have ever done. She was blinded with rage after hearing of her mothers presumed passing- she kept it inside, in hopes of protecting her family. Such a decision sealed her fate it seemed. The first issue was with her brother, Joseph. After getting drunk she threw a bottle at him in drunken anger. Such a bottle hit his head and cut his forehead, knocking him out and dilating his pupil- hurting him badly. The next incident was with her youngest sister, Katya. After a gathering prior to social season Adeline laid a heavy slap upon her sisters cheek over something so meaningless. The next instance was with her eldest sister Diana- the one she regrets the most. In blinded anger while leaving, the armored Lady rammed into her sisters side- sending the pregnant Diana to the ground and almost killing the baby inside her stomach. Due to such an incident the nephew inside Diana came out with a speech issue. Adeline never meant to harm her siblings, but she was a lost cause, she was growing worse and worse, losing control of her anger until she broke down and anger was replaced with lack of care. She gave up on respecting herself or caring. She did as she was told, joined social season and fell in love with one of the guests. She met Anton d'Amato and the two had several interactions away from prying eyes. One night the two got drunk and Adeline forever wounded her self respect. She committed a sin. Doing something so wrong before marriage. When her family found out they were furious, the d'Azor was an outcast even more in her family and began to be shunned and coldly regarded. She could handle that, but when her father found out and said she wounded him, she fell apart. She no longer could speak without stuttering and looking to the ground. She lost her belief in GOD, finding it harder and harder to repent. It wasn't until the masquerade that the d'Azor truly lost it. After being shunned most of the night, and the one person that made her happy being kept away from her the last straw was her sister Katya snapping at her. Adeline fell apart- she ran away and sobbed to the statue of her father, the one person she wished she could make proud- but she only ruined him. In a last effort to save herself and her family, the d'Azor ran away. She cut her hair and dyed it a blonde, running away to Anton d'Amato. Even with the one she loved she couldn't be happy- even when he asked her to marry him, she felt unease- almost predicting that in the end, the one person she could never hate would be the one to kill her. As Adeline passed all she could think of was the wonderful friends she had made and her wonderful family, she kept her inner thoughts in her head- hoping they'd reach them when she was no longer able to speak them. - Such thoughts might be felt deep down by those she loved...just maybe. " Ledicort d'Azor, Father. I love you with all of my heart and I'm so sorry I wounded you in a way I know you'll never heal. I never told you what you meant to me, but father you were my anchor. Whenever I needed to cry I would sit in front of your statue by the palace and talk. It wasn't you but it worked, I always felt better. I'm sorry I tore the family apart and that you were lead to the option that you had to put an end to me. I don't know if you truly loved me in the end but father I will never stop loving you- I'm here always in your heart, even if you don't want me here. " " Joseph d'Azor, Brother. We were so close when I was a little girl, did you know that you saved me from myself years ago? You were always there to be my protector and to keep me out of harms way. I did nothing but tear your love and trust apart- I did nothing but break your heart and I never forgave myself. You told me you wanted me to respect myself, but I lost such the second I threw that bottle at you. I don't know if you'll ever forgive me but brother I will bless your marriage from inside your heart - Please forgive me. " " Diana d'Azor, Sister. I can't believe I ever did such a thing to you. You used to brush my hair and clean me up. You were a mother to me and yet I pushed you with such hatred and I threatened the life of your child. I broke your trust and I betrayed you. I couldn't ever forgive myself and I never did. Even as I die now I can't forgive my hopeless existence. I'm sorry I wounded you so, I love you and I pray and will watch over your son. " " Leon d'Azor, Brother, we just talked a little while ago and I promised I'd keep in touch, that I'd visit yearly. I'm sorry that such promises were lies and I'm sorry that I've trapped you in a head space you can't escape. You always supported my dreams and helped me train for them, yet I betrayed you to. I hurt you and your pride. I miss you and I'm so sorry I can't be there to hug you again. " " Rosaline d'Azor, Sister. My mind is fuzzy and confused why I saw you there at the end, I forgive you as well because I know you need support and that me leaving didn't help you. I broke your trust. We never did much together as we grew up, I was always away from you and you grew up into a beautiful young lady before I knew it. You can do so much that you want and I didn't tell you any of this. I'll always support you. " " Katya d'Azor, Sister. You said you wanted me out of your life once. Finally I can grant you such a wish. I can do one good thing for you- It wont seem good I'm sure, but I'm sure you'll be glad that I can't hurt your family and you anymore. I've never told you how much you looked like mom. You are smart and I think you've got the best chances to do something big. I'll never forget how you tried to teach me to love myself. You didn't go about the best way to do such but you still tried and for that I'll always love you. I'm sorry my dear sister. You are my family. " " Doc , My friend. I hate to leave you without saying goodbye. I didn't know you long, but I hope I've left an impression in your head. You defended me to my family, even if I didn't deserve it. You're a funny guy and I wish people would see past your scary stature and become friends with you. Please keep living on and don't forget about me. " " Anton, My love. I don't think we really loved each other, I'm still young...I was still young. I think I fell hard and made a bad choice and felt attached. You always seemed nervous around me, almost like I forced you to stick around. I'm sorry our marriage was short lived and that I hurt you this way. Please keep living, I don't want to meet you here anytime soon! " Such sad thoughts were never spoken, lost to the endless silence of death as Adeline left this world. Goodbye
  17. 17th of Sun's Smile 1832 ||--|| In the evening of the 17th, Katherine Carrington felt panic. The elderly Carrington rushed into the tavern in hopes to find help, for her body was weak and she felt dangerously weak. Inside the tavern the young Alex Foucault lead her to the hospital where soon the lovely Helena Charlotte Helvets of Rochefort came and held the elderly woman in her arms. She sent the young soldier off to find a priest and comforted the dying Carrington. In her dying moments Katherine was comforted by the priest and Helena, her last words uttered being "I regret so much". ||--|| ||--|| As a young girl most would describe Katherine as wild and uncontained. She was the splitting image of her mother, not being one to be held down. She admired soldiers and as she grew up moved away from tea parties and dresses and instead donned the ISA uniform! She served for a long time and got herself up to the rank of Specialist! While serving in the ISA Katherine also spent most of her days helping Alpha Carrington- following her around like a little lost dog. They were quite close and eventually Alpha taught Katherine the skill of Illusion Magic! Katherine takes such a talent to the grave with her. ||--|| ||--|| With all her family and ones she was near to passed and gone, Katherine departed rather lonely, her heart aching as she took her last breath, but in her dying thoughts she was excited to once more see all her friends and family who had left the world before her. She was finally free of expectations and loneliness. She was happy. --||--||--
  18. [!] There would be no letters nor words this time. Silence is all that was met in return to those who seeked the Mali'ker. And so it was a morning that the young Mali woke up to a meaningless day. Another empty smile, another empty effort. How many years have been since she had felt peace or calm in her day and night? When was the last time there was no rush or hard pounding in her heart? It has been quite some time since she was truly at peace, no pain or drama following her from place to place. "Am I stuck like this?" she finally spoke softly to herself, reaching for an old plushie that had been made for her. "Is this really all there is without them?" the 'ker continued, pondering while looking into the eyes of the plushie, matching the colors in her own, remembering the reasoning behind it. It was then that the elf began to remember her past, which felt like one lifetime ago, despite her youth. The days when she had it all. The days where she was wanted and called for. When her life had more to it than just walking around and existing in a plain and meaningless manner. Back in those days, she had her best friends by her side, an energetic and funny girl, a sweet and silent boy and a sassy yet caring teen lass. Why was it that they all went on such different paths? One of them became the love of her life, yet disappeared for reasons she could not control. The other, without her knowing, had been years dead, gone without a word or goodbye. The last made her own life, found friends and forgot she existed until a recent meeting. By the thought alone, tears began running down her cheeks. She should've reached out instead of waiting. But alas, it was to late already, her hands reaching to drop the plushie she had upon a mailbox alongside a ring. A promise long broken, yet not forgotten by her. She had her hopes something could change for the better, yet it was never meant to be, not in this life and maybe not in any other either. "What if i wait? Someone will call for me..." she whispered, having made her way upon the top of a gate by the ocean already, looking forwards to the horizon and not daring to look behind, knowing in her heart that if she did, she'd hesitate in doing what she had to do... Not to mention, no one would be there to do so. The Mali'ker knew, better than anyone, that those who could stop her were now gone. Even that one blonde woman she once called a "sister" was long gone. She took a long deep breath, holding it in while her eyes closed, her last tears falling down as she awaited... But no one spoke. What else could she do? Who would she call? And so a cold breeze hit her frame, the scent of the ocean and the calm sound of its waves giving a fake sense of calm and peace during her last moments before it all came to an end. No breath was taken. No word was spoken. No tear was shed for the girl. Maybe that's how it must be. Her now limb and lifeless body by the seaside, under a giant gate of the last city she called her home. She had finally found peace somehow, as no one spoke. [[OOC]] For all the fun i had, i must thank everyone who interacted with this little dumb persona of mine. It was fun playing her but i lost my interest, not to mention it had turned unhealthy for me. I am in no current state of dealing with a character that has too many issues. A special thanks to Disklexia, Tadabug, Hope and everyone who interacted with her the last few times i played her, you guys made it my time playing great. Another special thanks to Strongbear, Audry, Apollo, Thomas, Minty, Mika, RC, Basil and Heartesy for the great begining this persona had, without you guys i wouldnt had enjoyed this character as much as i did back then. And thanks everyone else who ever gave her some time.
  19. SLEEP NO MORE [ Eurypyle (1921), John William Goodard ] ❈ ❈ Above all things, if anyone at all was able to say one thing that symbolized the life of Rhea Alexandria d’Arkent — it was youth. And from that youth, from her days as just a young toddler, it had always been full of energy, never one to keep still. In her older years, she would have more or less forgotten — but life for her few first years was actually stable. Peaceful. Perfect. That was not something she could say now. Like every other child, she enjoyed time with her siblings, her mother and father by her side. That was, of course, until her father was the first one to go. That was the very first lie. Already without her father, she would be stuck for a decade with the illusion that - granted, she was older - she would see him once more. So, at the time, how could she cry? How could a child then understand death? How instant and sudden it was? She did not receive a letter, no note came for her - only so much as a kiss on the forehead. While she waited in vain, there were more things she could occupy her time with. Chess was the first - a hyperfixation until her last days. She’d play so often she’d become - what some would call - a prodigy at her young age. And she loved that game. She would sit at a board for hours, either studying it or beating men twice her own age. And so enveloped in that board and the rest of the world, her books were left untouched, and she would not even be fully literate until her early teens. But the most important things to a developing child are the relationships they make as they grow. Rhea was no exception - touching the hearts of everyone she knew. Any daughter should find themselves under the close care and advice of their mother - a luxury her sisters always had. Tragically enough, when it was Rhea’s turn, her mother had become an entirely different person to her - growing distant ever since the passing of her father. A relationship never salvaged, come Anna’s passing. So, making up for what she didn’t have with her family, she made her own. There was first her uncle, Beryl, the elder Carrington intellectual — who she clicked with right away, coming to him for most things. It could have been his doting personality, or it could have been that they were the same, as Rhea knew that it was him she could go to when it was anything related to her hobbies. There was then her distant cousin, Viktor — the stoic, phlegmatic Ruthern who, for whatever reason, allowed someone as young as her by his side and under his teaching for so long. She always considered herself grateful to have mentors such as Giselle and Victoria. Though they only started off as teachers, it wasn’t long before they both became somewhat of pseudo-mothers to her. She could have been considered slow, pronouncing words wrong, less attentive than her peers. Yet it was them who actually realized her potential. Among those her age, there was Diana, there was Mariya and Heinrika — the very first children she could call her friends. Running around the streets of Providence with them, she’d even confide in Anton, the young d’Amato Orlov in his youth. But among everyone in her life, there was one person different, when it came to Rhea’s relationships. There was Ludovica. That was her family. More than any other child her age, there was none who affected Rhea as she. Providence, for years, would rarely ever see them without each other. Everything they would do, it was together, and it was the young Falcone she came to with everything. Her dearest friend. And in her time with her, and everyone else she held dear, Rhea felt things were perfect - creating a world of her own in a life full of tragedy. She felt herself untouchable — invincible. Then, that glass began to falter. For those who could call themselves blessed enough to have their final talks with her, they would, too, sense the impending dread she had been feeling in the days leading up to her death. She worried about everything, coming to her brother and sister - something she’d rarely done - worried about her own future. She’d run to Beryl, worried about her life. “Everything is moving too fast,” She’d quiver, shivering, though the summer heat scorched down upon her. The one flaw in her, she was not one used to change. Not in the slightest. Her mother had gone, her mentors, and now her dearest friend had herself occupied with another - and not someone she herself was particularly fond of. With feelings of abandonment yet resonating within her once again, she took action, albeit rash — as she’d usually do, cornered in one of her games of chess. She could not feel that again - especially not Ludovica. But, here she was. Surrounded in pain. Hearing of a passing as tragic as Rhea’s, one can only hope it was swift and painless. But, it was the complete opposite. She’d suffered through it all, wondering what she had done. She had tried so hard to prove something of herself, she had ambitions, things she knew she would do in the future. She tried to crawl away, with the hope that she could escape her torture - all in vain now. She could never foresee herself dying now — who could ever? Death comes unexpected, sudden, and Rhea’s was no different. There would be no letters to her family, no notes to her friends. Only a head on the doorsteps of Carrington. She, of all people, did not expect her death to be so… simple. She was in the way, and that was all there was to it. Feeling abandoned to her last moments, a common theme throughout her young life, she bled without a final thought - only one of total shock. The things she could have done, would have done differently. Just like that, her future, the future she’d worried about so much, was stolen from her. And it could have been beautiful. Up until now, was it for nothing? Would Anna have been more attentive had she been smarter? Would Ludovica be so broken had she not have been born at all? After all these years, what had she accomplished? But, that question would be for the impacted to decide. For life was death. Though it happens, this — This was not fair. Rhea Alexandria d’Arkent 1806 — 1827
  20. It's a series of moments. Quick. A moving picture show. The world's most hectic play. He had rushed to grow up, but he missed his childhood when it was gone. "Sometimes you're going to have to apologize for **** you shouldn't have to apologize for." The adult said. Llokir scoffed at the words being spoken to him. How would Ehrendil understand any of this? He couldn't. You don't back down, you don't roll over, and you don't apologize. He was young, but he knew, the moment he let himself look like a door mat, he becomes a door mat. There were things he should've apologized for, that he never did. The boy's eyes settle on the goblin, bewildered. "What'z wrong, orc bruddah?" She asks. Fire raises in his throat, his face flushing. She couldn't even put two words together, but he still put together her intentions. "I'm not your brother." He spits out. Never would Llokir let himself be compared with a blah speaking, practically feral uruk. He was far too civilized. "Mi know you aren't mi momo'z kubby, but you ah fellow orc!" She says. So excited. It's almost endearing. He wants to be friends with her- she's about his age. They looked similar. It'd be like having a sister. He wanted a sister. Her name is En'ara, he later learns, too late to befriend her. She would have been a good influence, but yet.. "Hardly the same as you, I'm sure." He says, indignant. He never learns. He never changes. He had potential. So much potential. He could've been anything. "Don't really know. A doctor? An actor? A scientist?" He shrugged in response to the question, asking what he wanted to do when he was older. "I want to be a lot of things, but most of all, I want to be exceptional. I want to impress the people back at home. Let em' know I'm not some goblin kid who punches little girls or whatever." Llokir Hawksong swings his arms by his side idly, playing with his cape. La'io Valkryne nodded slowly as he chewed on some of his own thoughts. "You wouldn't ever hurt anyone intentionally, ti?" Llokir scoffs at the question. "Ne. I've hurt people on purpose, and I'd do it again. People try to hurt me, I hurt them back." Always out for the last laugh, the demonstration of his bravery and foolishness. The signal that he's not a coward. He's not. How was it any different than before? He'd done it so many times. "What was that, child?" The elf asks. Air. Llokir doesn't know his name at the time, but he learns it not much after. The adult puts his hand on his sword. It's one of the defining moments in his life, he thinks. It means nothing in the moment. Llokir swipes his cape to the side and puts his hand on his own sword. He's ready to fight. He's seven years old. Stupid. Aeravir is by his side. The boy was always by his side. Llokir fancied him, a childhood crush, but he never pursued it. The ordeal results in nothing, Llokir thinks. No one stands up for him, except for Aeravir. Foolish, headstrong Aeravir. Llokir doesn't like the trait when he can see it in others. He never turns the judgement inward. He never thinks to. "I'll deal with those sorts as they come. I always have, and I will, until I die." Llokir had said to Aeravir. Stupid. He recalls the first time he ran into them. "I don't care, I will never go to Krugmar." Llokir spits, his sword drawn and pointed at the Uruk. They had tried to convince him to return to his people. As if he would betray his family like that! He was better than that. He was civilized. He was exceptional. He was not like them. The boy refused to prove everyone right. And he thinks of all of the things he promised to those he loves. "Will you wait for me too?" It's a heartbreaking question, Llokir thinks. In the moment, the answer is a yes. An immediate yes. But he doesn't say it, because he knows it's not true. Llokir Hawksong grimaced some out of hesitance. "Well, I- I'll come back when you're an adult too. But-" Aeravir seemed satisfied with that. "Okay. As long as you come back." The younger boy murmured. "I'll always come back for you." He replies. His chest aches. Aeravir lifts up his pinky with a beaning smile. "Pinky swear?" "I promise." Llokir lied, hooking their little fingers together. So many warnings. "Zometimez etz bettah tah remove youhrzelf from thah zituatchun, wit' wordz ohr runnin'...." But it wasn't fair. It's not fair. Why should he back down? "You're basically digging yourself a hole, very quickly." He was in the right! Why should he stop? Why should he apologize? So many questions in his head. "After a certain point, it becomes your attitude that brings trouble." You're blaming me, he thinks. "Your words have consequences, I'm asking that you be careful!" He has every right to be angry, he thinks. "You need to watch how you talk to others. For all you know, next time you act like that and fight someone, they might just kill you." She was right. "There is a difference between being weak and continuously getting yourself hurt!" The memories are vivid. Some are nice. Some are painful. He doesn't want to remember them. There are so many more that he could be thinking of. His time with his father. His constant riffing with Kindrel. Watching his sisters grow. Their screams and whines were awful in the moment, but they're pleasant memories now, memories of freshly plucked babes who would never shut up. He can still hear Merku screaming. Merku is screaming and crying. She's begging. He can hear her, but he thinks he shouldn't be able to. Llokir is screaming too. He's in agony. This is not a memory. These are his dying moments. He can not feel his arms, but he is distinctly aware that they are moving, trying desperately to stop the dagger that cuts his throat. He is twelve years old. Merku is five. He is not a painter. He is not a doctor. He is not an actor. He's nothing now, but a memory.
  21. The Final Strike PK of Marie Vyronov An eerie silence stood out in the fields past the Kortrevich keep, grass swaying quietly in the darkness that was rapidly closing in on the patrol led by Ser Cedric Barclay and Ellisar Aevaris at the prompting of Flemius. Hushed whispers were exchanged among the rally, the unease sinking in as the patrol neared the hay shack, barricaded from entrance. The patrol split into two, one to look out for potential attack in a perimeter, another to search the interior. Dame Marie Vyronov, once Barclay, was assigned to the search party, following at the front of the group in order to assist as Jork’Iron’heartz strode forwards, kicking in the crude barricade which splintered easily. Soon the party swept through, searching the interior thoroughly. The building had been intruded with vines and mushroom growth, though the sense of dread only deepened further in the party as the search began. There were papers and torn books strewn about, though this was normal. The real concern was with the nooses from which dead bodies hung within the building. As the party split to search the rubble, Marie set up an old ladder which was held on by bare threads to a loft above. Once she reached the top, the Dame shuffled around until she found a paper, one that caught particular interest. This paper spoke of a cult, likely once inhabiting this now abandoned building. As Marie descended she had offered this paper to the officers present of the BSK, to which none had taken the offer and such the paper was put into a pocket within her Crow Knight armour. Soon the party rejoined those outside to start to return to Karosgrad, the soft murmur growing near a chatter as the soldiers stared at the tree line, knowing that the demons that plagued the area would not be far behind as they moved along. Not half way through this near parade home, a shrill scream broke out through the fields, drawing the attention of Ser Cedric and Ellisar. The party veered West to investigate the commotion only to be met with a horrific sight. A large gathering of Nachezer had gathered in an encampment of a family. As the patrol approached they tried to keep to the element of surprise as the demons terrorized the local inhabitants, soon killing the father of the family that were under attack. However this advantage was soon stripped of the patrol as the orc within the party was reminded of wars of past… charging past the throng in a blood rage towards the demons. His cry was soon echoed by the remaining BSK soldiers, who soon joined their brother in arms at the charge. Blades soon clashed in a thunderous roar, arrows soaring overhead and cries ringing out as the soldiers were outnumbered by the demons. No matter how many were felled, two more filled in their place. Soon a retreat was called as the demons started to encircle the patrol, the Dame finding herself in the depths of the battle. At first she did not even sustain a scratch, however her luck soon ran out. A sword slashed her shoulder, biting into the metal plate as though it were not even there. Time was running out. As the patrol retreated, Marie found herself and Lynette remaining, too many demons to fend off even with the power of the full patrol. It is at this point the knight’s demeanor changed, not from one of rescue but one of survival. She let out a cry as she swung her poleaxe in an arc to try to create space. It was successful but not for long. As the demons closed in, Marie’s grip tightened. A cry came out as Lynette was skewered with a javelin. This cry only steeled the Dame’s resolve as she soon turned quickly, giving Lynette a shove as the demon circle enclosed on her, rather than trap both of the female warriors. “GO!” Marie shouted at the top of her lungs in an attempt to get her word out to the remaining soldiers over the roar of shrill screams from the demons. Marie continued to fight, though the light at the end of the tunnel started to dim as escape became more of a fantasy rather than a real possibility. Shouts and clamour were heard as the others noticed her disappearance, however their protests met deaf ears as commands rang out. None of this reached Marie. Soon her injuries multiplied as she continued to fight the growing numbers. Swords to the abdomen landed with a sickening screech against her metal plate. Her vision narrowed as blood loss began to set in rapidly. The stench of death only grew as the demons began to circle closer as the BSK knights tried to make their retreat in a burst of smoke. Memories flashed in these final moments for Marie, playing swords with her father as a child. Early years spent learning to cook as she began her squireship. Many… many moments of adoration with Stefan and Mariya. Oh Mariya… The poor friend of her’s that met an even earlier demise than her. Nearly an angel… that pants wearing girl that refused to accept her fate. The days out in the harbour the three of them spent in contemplation accompanied with laughter. The horror at finding out Mariya had passed could have killed her but she took it as a resolve, to protect Mariya’s children. Soon Marie had succeeded in becoming a squire, hopeful to follow her father’s path in being knighted, fueled by her desire to protect Mariya’s children and admiration for her grandfather, Ser Ivan. Soon though these memories were overwhelmed with her own family. The marriage where she sealed her fate to Stefan’s, the promise to always return… Soon the day of welcoming their children into the world. The love she felt for them and her husband causing tears to well up and fall as she fought for her life… It was a loosing fight. She would not make it back, no matter how hard she tried, breaking her promise with Stefan. However, Marie could not just lie over and accept her fate. Marie soon clenched her hand, willing her mana to collect and pool in the palm of her hand before thrusting it upwards. A large series of blue and white sparks shot outwards, creating a distraction for her brothers and sisters at arms to escape, however this turned the attention of all demons on her. Soon, many blades joined in ending the Dame’s life, though not before a final prayer could make it out of her lips. “Godan, please… protect my family… Mutter und vater… Stefan… our children. Help them to know the love Ich would have given them and then some.... Stefan, Ich am sorry… I promised. I always promised I would return, but perhaps, that was not Godan’s will… It seems it was his for me to follow mein grossmutter into battle and die for the lives of others. Don’t let it all end…. Our kinder need du more than me. Ich liebe dich…” A sob came out as she took a ragged breath. She raised her head to the sky in these final moments. “Krusae Zwy Kongzem!” Marie cried her final words only to be cut off by a final sword through her chest, her vision fading completely as she fell to the ground, soon her thoughts drowned out by the shrill cries of the demons that now pounced on the fallen Dame, fighting their claim over her body and personal effects. The one thing that remained by the time they were done was her wedding ring, her hand clenched around it where her killers would not notice in their frenzy. By the time they cleared enough for her body to be retrieved, the letter was gone, as were her belongings… All but the ring the Dame held close. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Soon after her death, a series of letters would be delivered to the following people by Marie’s Eldritch Guardian, Mr. Squiggles. Her cat elder than her by 10 years and a mangy thing she had found in the basement as a child. Seems this cat outlived her just for the purpose of delivering these letters. Mother and Father, If you receive this, it is likely I have died before you. I am sorry to leave you with such grief. It is probably your one fear, my departure before my own. I love you both so much more than I could possibly convey in these simple words. I will miss you both dearly, but I will await you in the skies to greet you. Take your time, look after my siblings, enjoy your time with my children. Look out for them please, I could not ask for better parents than you two, so I must thank you for that. I love you both. Kleiner Bar Edmund, Adele, and Wilheim, I am sorry… in pursuit of what I thought to be the right thing to do in this world, I have left you three far too soon. I love you all so much, please do not bicker and fight with each-other. Hold each-other tightly and never let go. There is no greater bond than that which we had, and it will remain even after my passing. Stay strong and enjoy life as much as you can. Marie Igor, I never thought I would depart this realm before you… but here we are. I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye, cousin. I know we weren’t blood, but you made a huge difference in my life and I wish I could have done more with you. Take time off from work. Take a deep breath and keep your head high. I know you can do it. I believe you just as much now as I ever have. Don’t be afraid to grieve, but keep an eye out for your children. I love you. Marie Cedric and Friedrich, Thank you both for being the closest friends and cousins I could have asked for. I would not have made it this far without you two to tell me when I’m being dumb. I can only imagine how I would have passed, what it would do for you two, but I am who I am because of you two guiding me. I admit, I am a hot headed idiot but you two tolerated me none-the-less… I love you both. Please don’t forget me, tell my children stories, treat them as your own. I wish I had more time to say goodbye, but it seems that this is it. Keep your heads up. Marie Reinhardt and Klaus, Please keep each-other close, now more than ever. I can’t intervene in your fighting now. I will watch over you two, but protect one another. There is no stronger bond than the one you two hold, even if you bicker now. Keep an eye on your father, he will need you two. You are strong, don’t forget where you come from. Stride ahead. Do great things and make a path for yourself in life. You can do anything you put yourself to. I love you both, stay strong. Marie Ser Aleks Heiromar, You were right. I was not cut out to be a Dame, but I made it anyway. Your teachings made it possible even though you didn’t wish to see me become a knight, for better or worse. I am grateful for every moment of it and I wish we could have had one last conversation to exchange words, even if by paper. The few you said though? They ring true and are held dear to my heart. Please, never give up, Ser. Haense needs more people like you, no matter how the world may seem to beat you down. Thank you, for everything. I am glad we shared what moments we could, I will miss you. With love, Marie Karl, You are bound to do great things, Karl. Keep your head up and eye on the prize. I know you can do it, that is for sure, and good luck with your squireship. I am sorry I could not stay in order to watch you grow up and be knighted, however I did see great potential in you. As such, I wish to leave you my grandfather, Ser Ivan Kortrevich’s sword, Vanquisher. The terms of this, however, is that you hold onto this sword until you find a squire worthy of the blade under yourself. When he or she is knighted, they are to receive the blade to pass onto a worthy successor of their own. While it is early to pass it to you, I have not had a squire of my own be knighted and as such I believe you have the greatest potential. I know when the time comes you will make the best choice. Stay safe and do what you believe is best. Dame Marie Vyronov My dearest children, I am sorry to have passed so early in your lives. I wish I could have held you all one last time, place a kiss upon the top of your head and read you another story. However, my time has come. I will always be with you all no matter what. Figure out your paths in life and no matter what I will always love you and be proud in everything that you do. Stay safe, and look after your vater. Ich liebe euch alle. Love, Mutter Stefan, I am so sorry I went back on my promise, Stefan. I told you I would always come back but it seems I finally met my match. I’m sorry…. I am so… so sorry. I wish I could just hold you one last time. Hear your laugh. See your smile. Watch you play with the kinder… But it seems I have been taken early. I will miss you, oh so very much. I hope one day you can forgive me. All those years of training, all the troubles we faced… yet it was still not enough to make it back to you. You deserve so much better than to be left with our children on your own, but I really am sorry. Please, take care of them but also yourself. I love you, I always have and always will. Please, do not give up hope, I will be with you always, no matter what. Ich liebe dich, Marie Along with these letters, items of Marie’s will are distributed to the respective recipients. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [OOC] It has been absolutely wonderful being able to play Marie, and I wish things weren’t to be cut short as they are, however… here we are! This is certainly not my ideal ending but this is it. Thank you all for making Marie an absolutely wonderful character to play and hopefully I will see you all as I take up Marie’s daughter, Mariya. Information in this post is just retelling, parts likely able to be told by those present but not thoughts expressed. Please see me with any questions!
  22. Zurk was an Orc who was known for getting in trouble. He was banned from many places, he even got in trouble with Krugmar at one point and was forced to become a snaga for a short period of time. He discoverd the lovely place of Talons. Zurk got addopted into the Majin family and was liked a lot in Talons. He eventually got into a fight with his life mate Ezra, his good friend Cillo also had killed him self and so he decided his life a to take his life by stabing himself with a glass. shard
  23. Cillo Scath was not a remarkable individual by any meaning of the term. He was a simple wanderer who got in way over his head in the city of Talons. He believed he was in the right to the very end. He simply wanted a home, and thought he had found one. For this he died, banished from his home and alone, as he began. In his disgrace, he jumped from a high cliff, ending his miserable existence. Before he did, he sent a letter to an old friend, passing on his most valuable possessions to that friend. His half brother, Brawly the fist would continue the Scath legacy. Cillo’s body was buried by Brawly shortly before making his way to Talon.
  24. Beneath the stars, in the wastes beyond the druid’s grove, an aging man stood. Ornately carved wooden crutches were propped beneath his arms, and the pastel purple shirt he wore caked with red sand from his tiresome journey. His mustache was still trimmed in the same fashion as ever, though seemed to be less full. Twisted, gray-barked trees stood silently around a motionless pond, and the signs of a makeshift structure sat up ahead. Gail Cordius, the retired sixth sovereign of Talon's Port limped through the tall grass, having reached the small, red marking on the map he had been summoned to. “Briala?” Called out the recognizable voice of Gail, though the booming tone once dominated any space sounded far more quiet, weaker, now. “Here.” Gail’s friend of decades called out in turn, beckoning him towards the encampment. Beside Briala, a fennic fox was curled up in a peaceful rest. Gail wandered towards the clearing by the lakeside, letting out a haggard breath, clearly labored from the exhaustion of such a long journey. As he approached the structure, he stiffly lowered himself to the ground, back against one of rough wooden posts for support. The two sat in silence for a moment, dry wind shaking the leaves above them as Briala shifted her palm to rest behind her and propped herself up on it, “You lost a limb.” Shifting his gaze downwards towards his amputated leg, Gail nodded minutely allowing a soft sigh to slip through his lips as moonlight danced over the pond, “That I did… some years back, in the Talon's Port tavern, a band of mercenaries entered the city. I don't know if they acted on their own accord, or were hired, but they attempted to kill me… I managed to hold my own until the militia arrived… but, as I tried to shift from the corner I had backed myself in, I ended up falling to the ground from another wound… trapped.” Silence reigned once more as Gail recalled the event, “As I fell… I would have died, but a halfling threw themselves at the attacker… a citizen. They knocked them back a step so that their warhammer only shattered my leg…” Gail sucked in a breath, closing his eyes and speaking quietly after a moment of silence, the hint of a tear rolling down his cheek, “…they died to save me…” Briala shuffled forward, gently placing an arm around Gail's shoulders in an attempt at comforting her old friend. “They... They did what they thought was right for Talons Port. They cared for you, and the city.” His head hung low as more tears rolled down his face, “I don't even remember their name…” He croaked, racked with guilt, “They gave their life for me, and I don't remember anything about them… sacrificed themselves because they cared that much for my vision of that city….” The forget-me-not druid looked up at Gail with her brows set stubbornly, “And I am sure they would do it over and over again with no regrets. To them, you were worth it. And because of them, your wife still has a husband and your child still has a father.” “I met their cousin… he walked up to me in the square, and asked where that man was…” Gail was slumped against the makeshift structure, “What do you think that does to me? Having to tell somebody that their family member died defending me? Because of me? That I was alive because their cousin was not?” Gail's voice sounded broken as he kept his head in his hands. The druid fell silent then, a deep sigh emanating from her, “I'm not wise. Not even smart, really. I learned to read at thirty. But, I know I would give my life to protect someone like you. You're good. Wholeheartedly, without a doubt, good. There are few people like that. Most are out for their own gain, ti? But not you.” Gail opened his eyes slowly, his head inching upward to look at Briala, “What did I do to get seen in this light? Any light… I knew of those who stormed from the city, seething over one decision or another I made… important figures, pillars to the government who wouldn't even step foot into those brick-lined streets while I still had any sway there… what makes me a good man after that?” “Did you enjoy any of it, Gail? Leading a nation, watching your citizens die to what most called a lost cause? Did you enjoy the sliver of power you had?” She asked earnestly, no hint of malice in her tone as her deep eyes pierced into his aging gaze. The retired sovereign went silent at her words, staring towards her before he closed his eyes again, “…no.” Gail responded quietly, and utterly honestly, “I did it because I felt like it was what had to be done….” “That is what makes you a good man. You did what you had to do, not what you wanted to do.” The companions trailed off, staring languidly over the sparkling waters of the lake as they recollected their thoughts, Gail seemingly at peace after having admitted his deep sense of guilt to more people than just Aeline. A weight had just been lifted off his chest, and as he clambered towards one of the hay-filled corners of the structure to rest in the wilderness for the night, he thought of everything with a fully cleared conscience. Goldblight, the man who had granted him a chance- Aeline, the love of his life- Lelina and Valerie, his daughters- Jorden, one of his closest friends- Vivian, who had worked tirelessly upon reaching Talon’s Grotto- Ayred, a reliable man of unwavering loyalty- Pep, who had first welcomed him to Talon's Grotto, Briala- and countless others raced through his mind. Every single one’s story intertwining gracefully with his own, every single one shaping him into the man he was that day. With raised spirits, Gail crawled beneath one of the sets of blankets in the structure, settling himself down for the night. With placid features, he closed his eyes, breathing easy as thoughts of his younger years spilled over him-- the humid tropical air of Talon’s Grotto, and the glowing coral that protected Talon’s Port so generously. He wandered through narrow brick streets and sailed across treacherous water as his world began to spin. He took his last, easy breath. He was left to peace. Gail Cordius – 1751 FE to 16th of the Grand Harvest, 26 SE.
  25. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The moon was emitting it's light upon the city of Providence, many were loudly cheering for the recent victory in the war, but one particular was simply at home - frail and sick. The once tall and strong Valent was nothing compared to now, the barely functioning body of his was laying in bed. With a cough that came from his lungs, the little life which was left in him died. The man simply felt asleep, his soul leaving for the Seven Skies. Many would question the disease, but few will know that there wasn't such. He simply secluded himself and abstained from publicity, thus his body was slowly weakened until his death. His green eyes had barely seen any light, his body barely ate or drunk, and his mind slowly got lost. As the body was taken to be prepared for funeral, his brother Otis had found dozens of letters in his desk, each made for people which he would never forget, even in the Seven Skies. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
×
×
  • Create New...