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Showing results for tags 'writting'.
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A choice was made. Boreal pulled just enough together to fit in their old leathery satchel, a few pieces of shortbread, a waterskin, their knife and their sling. They left dressed themselves for the cold, having an extra pair of clothing if anything was to go south. The elf then paused as they rested their gilded gaze upon their staff that leaned against the wall of the house they once shared with a friend, that now was mostly them and their new housemate. With a subtle nod, they opened the duo of doors to their home, letting the warm air of the afternoon hit their face, they sighed, putting on their large-brimmed hat and exiting the small house with the creaky floors. They passed by their hounds, giving each a treat and some attention, smiling brightly as they rubbed the belly of a particularly needy one, before they glanced back up at the house, their smile dulling around it’s edges yet not fading as they read over the sign denominating those living inside, the memories of the previously mentioned goblin stinging as they usually did, but now there was something different, who knew. They then rose to their full height, letting out a low exhale and turning around, slinging the crooked staff over their wide shoulders and brushing a few strands of white hair off of their face, they continued, jaw tightened with the guilt that rattled their mind for years now. Coming down the pathway, they found no-one around, this was to be expected, yet it still pained them, but why? Why did it hurt them so much to be alone? Why did they always feel like an outsider looking in? These questions plagued their often frantic mind, repeating in a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard, it was a god-awful cacophony of shrilling voices. They had made the effort to fit in for so long that they forgot who they really were. They had tried so hard to stall change that they became miserable. And they tried taming chaos so many times that the spark that once led them faded. Yet then, it hit them, as soon as they arrived at the tundra lands surrounding Haense, the epiphany long overdue landed on their head like a stone, the crushing force of change. “Change” muttered the elf aloud, breath making a cloud of fog as it left their maw, as they decided to take a seat on one of the larger-rooted trees that surrounded them, that was the good call, given the racing pace of their thoughts nearly swept them off their feet. “The war.. Chaos, control” muttered the pale one once more, sighing as they wiped at their eyes, they finally understood, even if only starting to do so, they were so sorry, sorry that they let themselves be mistreated by the one they trusted the most, sorry for isolating themselves instead of getting help, they were sorry. And then… They heard the voice, the voice of their father, loud and clear as if he was present, sitting beside them. “Don’t be sorry, be mindful” They understood now, they knew what to do.
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The joys of Andri'ante recorded in a Sort-of-diary! Part 1 The steps taken echoed through the various caverns of the Witch's home. She was a meager figure compared to the looming ice, dressed in clothes unsuitable for a winter's storm - yet her movements were fluid and she seemed to be free from the embrace of the cold. A somber expression would have settled on her visage, lips thinned as frozen gaze was sent to the opening of the dining area. She was still an Izalith child, a Tilruir'mali of Haelun'or. She halted her steps promptly with evident distaste. Her feet met the puddle of crimson staining the powder of snow, trailing to lead up to the various bodies stacked in a pile - a stack of men weeping red. Her flaring blue gaze rests upon them, squinting as her brows would lower. She places her hand on her mouth, bile rising as she would refrain from gagging. Delicacies she favored in her prior days had begun to taste like ash - and she wondered (guiltily so,) if the pile of dead could quench the groaning of her hunger. A dainty hand would almost reach for them. The Mali would quickly decide otherwise, it would seem, as she promptly dashed away. She cornered herself near the chairs, sliding to sit near it as her back would slump on the table - figure facing the pile of men. She tried everything to distract herself - she opened a book once more, she wrote the useless letters. Yet t'was for naught as the sense of curiosity dawned upon her. Her own food had fallen to ash. A tapping of feet would echo through the cavern. A man would meander within - pale hair sprouting from his head, pale skin noted - carrying the body of yet another dead man. She guessed who he was quite easily - for who else would dare enter, or could even enter, a witch's home? "Hungry?" The newly arrived figure would question, a brief glance settling on the seated Andri'ante. "No." "New mistress, or a new disguise?" He questioned, easily dumping the body with the rest. "Neither." She sneered almost to herself. The conversation was brief, lashes of words offered to the mali from herself. She dreaded his presence - perhaps in her more composed days she would have been more careful and thoughtful of her words - yet the mali did what the mali did. She admitted to her hate for this curse. "I can either be merciful and kill you, or you can accept this curse." He merely stated in response. The young frost witch did not touch the offered food even after his departure, head lowered to her knees as she would close her eyes and shield herself from the cold.
