jdh97

Intrigues of Venedig - High Fantasy Mature RP

Sir Tamlorn Winter-Rose

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Carnations, arum-lilies, bluebells, and daisies wove a flower crown around Tam’s head. The dark-shadowed pools of his eyes were half-lidded, watching his feet carry him away, whilst his mind rested on the shore of recent memories, trying to clutch every detail as they washed away between his fingers. What was he doing wrong? His brow furrowed. Mud splashed at his boots, and the butt of his spear. Buildings huddled over him as he emerged from the alleyway.

Though he was plainly dressed in a cotton shirt and tan breeches, people stared at him and shuffled out of his path as he stalked. He did not notice. This was the third day and he had still made no progress with his sister; she would simple play with his hair and put flowers in it and never meet his gaze or answer his questions. A hand came unbidden, his own, to stroke a braid in his hair. A smile split the frozen lake of his features, and a deep sigh rushed out. As surely as his sister vexed him, he also knew their love would persist, he just had to bare his punishment. After all, he deserved it.

Tam blinked. The swelling waft of sweat and the noxious perfumes made his eyes water. He had arrived. He looked back down the road; had he really been that wrapped up in his petty thoughts? Truly, all his training could not keep his mind clear when it came to his sister. That brought a single, rueful exhale.

The crowd perched upon the stands, like crows waiting for the wolves to leave. With the motley of faces before him, Tam felt his stomach trip, as though the floor had fallen away. Their eyes were truly those of animals, the way they bore into the slaves on auction, hungry, and shot sidelong daggers at their rivals, and Tam had never noticed before. Was that ever me? He sat on the closest seat, blinking furiously to chase the black spots on his vision away. His forehead rested upon his spear shaft. Surely someone would notice him, even with his years-long absence, and he was not in the right mind for idle conversation, and nor could he be seen as weak. He just had to hope they thought him beneath their concern.

The auction did little to improve his mood. Disgust turned his eyes to dark quagmires, but he kept his face purposefully blank. He knew a lot of the nobles, of course; he had rubbed shoulders with them, before the business of the rebellion. Enslaving them undermined the power of nobility, enemy of the Empire or not.

Though, it was not until Jehenne Alcroft was brought in that Tam felt the embers of anger flicker to life, hot inside his chest. He knew her, yet knew her brother better; an unabashed soul, proud but honest - Tam counted him among friends, and wished they could have been closer still. That he was absent was a grim foretelling. Perhaps he escaped? No, Tam crushed that hope as quickly as it came, before it could find roots and tear at his heart. Maybe he could bid for her, his family name held credit. Already interest was being shown, though. Her confusion twisted in his stomach as sure as any knife, and thrice as cold. Embers were fanned to flames. There was a chance if things did not get too expensive -

“I bid 5 million for Jehenne & Rote.”

Tam deflated. Too high. He hand clenched around his spear as though he were trying to crush it. The bidder was the gloating young woman with hair of fire. At the mention of the woman’s name, a von Hammerwhirl, Tam straightened. A mage von Hammerwhirl, an oxymoron sure as any, to those that knew them. He eyed the staff, thinking.

Shouts. Kaufmann’s shouts. The deranged shouts of a desperate man gone mad. Tam's grip on his spear loosened, and he shifted his feet uncomfortably in his boots. Such a spectacle was hard to watch; nobles should not be broken in such a manner.

His eyes then came up to rest on Jehenne, hoping she would meet his gaze. She would not share that fate, he owed that much to her brother. But could he let her go free either? She was a criminal. What would he do once he had her?

That, he supposed, was a bridge to be crossed once he reached it.

Intrigues of Venedig - High Fantasy Mature RP

Sir Tamlorn “Tam” Winter-Rose

Name: Sir Tamlorn “Tam” Winter-Rose
Age: 28
Physical Description:
Waves of messy blond hair fall to his shoulders, like seas of midsummer wheat and beaten gold. Beneath dark brows, the calm pools of his eyes, deep eyes, eyes the dark green found in the shade of a forest when the promise of autumn is whispered every night, drink in the world. His face wears the words “handsome” and “pretty” with equal comfort; it is slender and cleanshaven, his skin pale and smooth like a river stone, and angles of nose, cheek, and jaw cut shadows like a sculpture cuts marble. His lips are pink and full.

Tam’s frame is a willow switch, strong and sleek. Its motion is smooth and flowing, like the rolling of a sycamore seed, the licking tongue of fire, or the swell of the deep, wide ocean, each hiding power greater than their beauty.

He has all manner of fine clothes, preferring boots suited to riding and fashion with loose, trailing sleeves.

Important items:
Spear (Enchanted)
A shaft of dark wood, Tam’s height and half more, riddled with runes of burnished silver and iron, and tipped with a stout metal point, meant for piercing. Bolts of blue and green silk are tied to just beneath the point. It can extend to a maximum of three times its length, or shrink to one third of that, at the wielder’s will. The runes also imbue the shaft with increase durability.

Sword (Enchanted)
A slender blade to slash and cut. Running along its length are also runes; these are a minor enchantment of added strength. The pommel is brass, folded into the petals of a rose, the grip a rich crimson.

Rose broach
A gift from his mother and sister, he wears it usually on his neck or collar. It is in the likeness of a rose, stark white ivory and bone and pearl, with a golden pin and clasp.

Mithril Mail
A small shirt of mithral, with fine links to make it far more comfortable, that can be worn under or over clothing, adds a certain level of protection to vital areas.


Minstrel (A horse)
A pure white stallion, proud with the fire of purebred blood than runs through it.

Short Bio:
Tam is the middle of the three children of the noble Winter-Rose family, a family loyal to Karl Maximillian XV Schwanhueter. His brother, Richmond, and father, Erik, are much the same man; proud like the sun at noon with tempers painted by greed and hate, like black stones in their hearts. Lileana, Tam's mother, is soft and gentle, like fresh-fallen powder snow or the silent breaths of a sleeping babe. She was a nurturing soul, and shaped Tam into the man he would become, extinguishing his anger and planting the seed that would grow into mindfulness and compassion, as she failed to with Richmond. That would take time though, and she would succumb to a draining illness before she saw the fruits of her parenting. This was not before Hope was born, his young sister, mirroring her mother like a pool mirrors the moon. With Lileana’s passing, the ice on Erik’s heart turned to stone, and the three children's lives were dictated for them like that of the slaves they owned, and Tam was the only line of defence between his father and Hope. Perhaps then, that is why the two youngest are far closer.

After proving himself during melee tournaments and on the field of battle, Tam was knighted before his twentieth summer. He was widely considered one of the most promising swordsmen in decades. Pride swelled in him dangerously at this age, and his bravado took him all over the noble circuit. It did not always win him friends.

It was not until he had a fateful encounter with a farmer that things changed. Angered and with wounded pride that the farmer in the middle of nowhere would refuse his offer to buy a lamb to slaughter, he challenged the farmer to a duel. He used his sword, and the farmer used only a staff. And he lost. The champion of tournaments and knight of the Empire lost to simple man with a stick.

He pleaded to find out how this was so, and after weeks of slopping pigs and ploughing fields, the farmer relented, and taught Tam everything he knew. When Tam was humble, and could learn no more, the farmer directed him to his teacher. There, at a small house by the sea, Tam learnt the magic to flow like water, and to let his weapons and body act as one and flow with the same smoothness and adaptability of that water. The polearm and sword were merged into a single school. When he could learn no more here, he was directed to another teacher. The man knew much magic, and the secrets of the strength of the mind, and even more of the techniques Tam was chasing, and he was as old and gnarled as the oak he taught under. The spells to summon floating weapons of condensed mana and to summon light to blind his opponents was revealed to him here. So too, he began to master his body and mind. He learnt the importance of the present moment, of how to enter meditation in movement, and of the secrets you could hear if you could still your mind to silence. Finally, the flower of virtues his mother had planted so long ago could fully blossom. Yet, he left here before he learnt everything, for he received word his sister had fallen ill, and he was many months travel away. On the days back he met many beasts, bandits and turns of ill-fortune, but overcame them, for he loved his sister more than the sun that chased the moon eternally.

For the first time in seven years he stepped back into Venedig. He was not completely behind on current affairs; for he had danced alone wearing his family’s name at many noble gatherings across the land, and knew of the rebellions, and the excited gossip they drew.

It was on his third day back that he decided to visit the auctions. If you asked, he wouldn’t be entirely sure why he went; certainly, the rumours had not escaped his ears, and the family house was beginning to feel like a dungeon, but there was something more. It was a furtive fear, almost, of what he would think of the place; a fear that something so natural as slavery would disgust him, for when he thought of it, he felt sickened.

So, he went, to the auction of the traitors.

Starting Faction: Winter-Rose – a small noble family loyal to the Empire of the Reich des Goldenen Grahles

Spell List:
Water Form – the user’s body turns to water, taking any form, bounded by the volume and density of the water, with control of motion. It is separate from the natural form, and deleterious effects experienced in either a unique to the specific form, but both are persistent (i.e. switching to from natural to water form and back to natural will not removed any injuries the natural form has sustained, and the water form will not share those).

Dancing Swords – By concentrating for 10/5/2 seconds the user may summon 1/3/7 sword(s) of shimmering-blue condensed mana to orbit the user, acting within a 5/10/20 ft radius. They move at the will of the user, at roughly the speed they would be able to swing a similar, mundane version of the weapons.

Flash Blind – a flash of light is created, originating from any part of the user’s body, or object they have had physical contact with within the last few seconds. It is bright enough to temporarily blind anyone who can see it.

Exceptional Skill List:
School of the Singing Sword and Flowing Pole (Ex. Swordsmanship, Ex. Polearm and staff mastery, Ex. Acrobatics)
Tam’s personal martial school – a seemingly piecemeal combination of all the teaching he has received, particularly that from the last three of his teachers, and extrapolation based on experimentation and practice on Tam’s part.

Intrigues of Venedig - High Fantasy Mature RP

Submitting this for approval. I'll go over and check for any poorly worded sections or bits I'm unhappy with when I look at it tomorrow, but I think he is more or less finished.

Sir Tamlorn “Tam” Winter-Rose

Name: Sir Tamlorn “Tam” Winter-Rose
Age: 28
Physical Description:
Waves of messy blond hair fall to his shoulders, like seas of midsummer wheat and beaten gold. Beneath dark brows, the calm pools of his eyes, deep eyes, eyes the dark green found in the shade of a forest when the promise of autumn is whispered every night, drink in the world. His face wears the words “handsome” and “pretty” with equal comfort; it is slender and cleanshaven, his skin pale and smooth like a river stone, and angles of nose, cheek, and jaw cut shadows like a sculpture cuts marble. His lips are pink and full.

Tam’s frame is a willow switch, strong and sleek. Its motion is smooth and flowing, like the rolling of a sycamore seed, the licking tongue of fire, or the swell of the deep, wide ocean, each hiding power greater than their beauty.

He has all manner of fine clothes, preferring boots suited to riding and fashion with loose, trailing sleeves.

Important items:
Spear (Enchanted)
A shaft of dark wood, Tam’s height and half more, riddled with runes of burnished silver and iron, and tipped with a stout metal point, meant for piercing. Bolts of blue and green silk are tied to just beneath the point. It can extend to a maximum of three times its length, or shrink to one third of that, at the wielder’s will. The runes also imbue the shaft with increase durability.

Sword (Enchanted)
A slender blade to slash and cut. Running along its length are also runes; these are a minor enchantment of added strength. The pommel is brass, folded into the petals of a rose, the grip a rich crimson.

Rose broach
A gift from his mother and sister, he wears it usually on his neck or collar. It is in the likeness of a rose, stark white ivory and bone and pearl, with a golden pin and clasp.

Mithril Mail
A small shirt of mithral, with fine links to make it far more comfortable, that can be worn under or over clothing, adds a certain level of protection to vital areas.

Minstrel (A horse)
A pure white stallion, proud with the fire of purebred blood than runs through it.

Short Bio:
Tam is the middle of the three children of the noble Winter-Rose family, a family loyal to Karl Maximillian XV Schwanhueter. His brother, Richmond, and father, Erik, are much the same man; proud like the sun at noon with tempers painted by greed and hate, like black stones in their hearts. Lileana, Tam's mother, is soft and gentle, like fresh-fallen powder snow or the silent breaths of a sleeping babe. She was a nurturing soul, and shaped Tam into the man he would become, extinguishing his anger and planting the seed that would grow into mindfulness and compassion, as she failed to with Richmond. That would take time though, and she would succumb to a draining illness before she saw the fruits of her parenting. This was not before Hope was born, his young sister, mirroring her mother like a pool mirrors the moon. With Lileana’s passing, the ice on Erik’s heart turned to stone, and the three children's lives were dictated for them like that of the slaves they owned, and Tam was the only line of defence between his father and Hope. Perhaps then, that is why the two youngest are far closer.

After proving himself during melee tournaments and on the field of battle, Tam was knighted before his twentieth summer. He was widely considered one of the most promising swordsmen in decades. Pride swelled in him dangerously at this age, and his bravado took him all over the noble circuit. It did not always win him friends.

It was not until he had a fateful encounter with a farmer that things changed. Angered and with wounded pride that the farmer in the middle of nowhere would refuse his offer to buy a lamb to slaughter, he challenged the farmer to a duel. He used his sword, and the farmer used only a staff. And he lost. The champion of tournaments and knight of the Empire lost to simple man with a stick.

He pleaded to find out how this was so, and after weeks of slopping pigs and ploughing fields, the farmer relented, and taught Tam everything he knew. When Tam was humble, and could learn no more, the farmer directed him to his teacher. There, at a small house by the sea, Tam learnt the magic to flow like water, and to let his weapons and body act as one and flow with the same smoothness and adaptability of that water. The polearm and sword were merged into a single school. When he could learn no more here, he was directed to another teacher. The man knew much magic, and the secrets of the strength of the mind, and even more of the techniques Tam was chasing, and he was as old and gnarled as the oak he taught under. The spells to summon floating weapons of condensed mana and to summon light to blind his opponents was revealed to him here. So too, he began to master his body and mind. He learnt the importance of the present moment, of how to enter meditation in movement, and of the secrets you could hear if you could still your mind to silence. Finally, the flower of virtues his mother had planted so long ago could fully blossom. Yet, he left here before he learnt everything, for he received word his sister had fallen ill, and he was many months travel away. On the days back he met many beasts, bandits and turns of ill-fortune, but overcame them, for he loved his sister more than the sun that chased the moon eternally.

For the first time in seven years he stepped back into Venedig. He was not completely behind on current affairs; for he had danced alone wearing his family’s name at many noble gatherings across the land, and knew of the rebellions, and the excited gossip they drew.

It was on his third day back that he decided to visit the auctions. If you asked, he wouldn’t be entirely sure why he went; certainly, the rumours had not escaped his ears, and the family house was beginning to feel like a dungeon, but there was something more. It was a furtive fear, almost, of what he would think of the place; a fear that something so natural as slavery would disgust him, for when he thought of it, he felt sickened.

So, he went, to the auction of the traitors.

Starting Faction: Winter-Rose – a small noble family loyal to the Empire of the Reich des Goldenen Grahles

Spell List:
Water Form – the user’s body turns to water, taking any form, bounded by the volume and density of the water, with control of motion. It is separate from the natural form, and deleterious effects experienced in either a unique to the specific form, but both are persistent (i.e. switching to from natural to water form and back to natural will not removed any injuries the natural form has sustained, and the water form will not share those).

Dancing Swords – By concentrating for 10/5/2 seconds the user may summon 1/3/7 sword(s) of shimmering-blue condensed mana to orbit the user, acting within a 5/10/20 ft radius. They move at the will of the user, at roughly the speed they would be able to swing a similar, mundane version of the weapons.

Flash Blind – a flash of light is created, originating from any part of the user’s body, or object they have had physical contact with within the last few seconds. It is bright enough to temporarily blind anyone who can see it.

Exceptional Skill List:
School of the Singing Sword and Flowing Pole (Ex. Swordsmanship, Ex. Polearm and staff mastery, Ex. Acrobatics)
Tam’s personal martial school – a seemingly piecemeal combination of all the teaching he has received, particularly that from the last three of his teachers, and extrapolation based on experimentation and practice on Tam’s part.

Hellpact

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---

Mallaidh’s stomach grumbled. Having only managed to finish a small bowl of porridge along with half a glass of water, she was hungry, despite the plentiful offerings that would have been tempting at any other time. Even then, it had been a great effort to get it down and keep it there.

When the others returned, Molly stood apart, leaning against a wall, one hand massaging her stomach with a slow, pulsing motion. She didn’t want to throw up; it made her worry about whether she needed to take her medication again. Lots of things made her worry.

From the outside, she might seem rather dour, brow knitted and lips pouting.

She recoiled at the sudden appearance of the strange, shimmering doorways through reality. She watched Lady Eve, and all the others, each retrieving similar, if-not-identical, files. Only after everyone else had stuck their hand into the aether did Mallaidh follow suit. Despite being last, her heart still leapt forward against her chest when she watched her hand disappear.

It didn’t get much better after she had retrieved the dossier. Lady Eve gave a brief summation, and as Molly comprehended it, a wave of guilt washed over and blurred the words. She tried to read them. And again. It was no use; she couldn’t focus. Missing children? Just like home… What she had done would always catch up with her, it seemed. Anxiety’s iron fist wrapped itself around her throat and the air was getting thin. Bullets of sweat trickled down her forehead. Her eyes darted to everyone, only once, and then glued themselves to the dossier and the jumbled words she could not read, no matter how hard she tried. Breathe. Why did she always forget to breathe?

Only half mindful of what had been said by the others, she watched some leave. She was glad of that; they seemed resolute in the supernatural nature of this, and so far, Mallaidh hadn’t heard anything to convince her that was the case. She’d feel less stupid voicing her doubts now the most vehement were absent.

“Uhm, Lady Eve,” her voice was a wavering trill. She cleared her throat, and tried to sound calmer, “Are we to treat this as explicitly, uhm, special? It doesn’t seem beyond the scope of… natural evil. The parents could simply be good liars.”

She took a deep breath to steady her voice, which had begun dropping towards a lower octave, “So, is there something that concretely sets it apart that I’ve missed?”

Torn Across the Rift

Robbed of much of his independence by fear and strange circumstance, Herbert followed Dzel, surrendering his fate to her completely. She was safety; she had experience and understanding. And guns.

One hand felt heavy. He looked down at it, at the revolver he held. Eyes narrowed. When had that got there? It was sleek yet familiar, unlike many of those other modern weapons that Dzel carried. Herbert had a few of those slung over his shoulders, but he did not trust them; their weight did not reassure him, did not put power back in his hands.

He knew something was wrong; he could feel the hairline fractures in his psyche spreading like a spider’s silk, but he also knew he could do nothing to stop it. He was trapped in this place, his mind breaking under the stress. He could feel his thoughts scatter as he tried to form them, his ego all but dissolved now. Such a frail mind.

The floor passed quickly beneath his feet. It seemed to fall in and out of focus, almost as though it was shifting, but Herbert knew that could not be the case.

As the sounds of conflict crept closer, Dzel spoke. That voice... It… no, it was Dzel’s, merely a difference in her inflection. Yes, that was it. He barely knew her; he hadn’t even noticed the true shade of her eyes, or the streaks of red in her hair. Her words reassured. She was safety. She was safety. She was…

The burst of gunfire echoed thunder inside Herbert’s skull. Red. He brought his hands up to his ears and the reverberations faded. The gun was cool on his ear lobe.

Tristan. Why? They had found him, but, why this? Was he dead? No, no. Maybe. Dying? Who knew; the rules of this place were beyond the strange.

He watched another gun raise. Perhaps a moment or two passed before he realised it was held by his own hand.

“What is going on?” Somebody that might have been him asked. Desperation and dread coiled around his insides, yet none of this made its way to his face. Completely emotionless, Herbert had spoken in monotone and was now looking at the others with a blank expression, down the barrel of a gun.

Hellpact

---

---

The following events passed by in a hurry, becoming a hazy smudge upon the footnote of the day in this new dream-reality. To Mallaidh, it felt like she was in a silent film, watching through eyes that weren’t her own. And so, she found herself sitting cross-legged at the end of a bed in their host’s abode, rerunning events in her mind. Next to her sat a large portion of the official documentation and forgeries required for this adventure.

After accepting Lady Eve’s offer some of the others had left for a hotel. Molly didn’t want to offend their hostess, nor did she trust herself not to run from all the weirdness if she returned to normal society. She needed to see it through to the end. Next, she had retired, bidding everyone a goodnight. She had shot a text to Sandy, saying it had panned out well and she’d be working for the foreseeable future on a project.

The following hours crept by painfully slowly. Every sound and shadow sent lightning thrumming into her heart. She stared at the door to the room, expecting it to open at any moment that night. All sorts of horrible eventualities played their course out in her mind, and she regretted not going to a hotel when she had the chance.

Eventually, though, exhaustion relieved Mallaidh from her sentry duty, and took her to a sleep full of words and warm breezes, like breath down her neck.

---

Morning came. She sat bolt upright, looking around with frantic eyes. Slowly, memory returned to her and she fell back into the bed. She pulled up the covers and rolled over away from the sunlight that broke into her room. Something she had not noticed yesterday, or too early this morning rather, whilst she had been stewing in sweat and frayed nerves, was just how comfortable her bed was. That she was still alive to appreciate that did wonders for her trust.

Her mind drifted to those she supposed would be her colleagues for this endeavour. She had not been paying too much attention to them the night before; she was quite incapable at the time. Devyn seemed nice enough, as did Ross, well, normal, at least. But the others? They had peculiar airs that did not sit well with Molly. First impressions could be as deceiving as looks though. She resolved that today she would pay closer attention to them all.

Until such time came though… she pulled the covers tighter, determined to stay in bed until someone came calling or hunger pangs pushed her out.

Wave Breakers - Fantasy Water World - Signups open

Elodea

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---

This is it then, Elodea thought, nobody came. Eyes clenched shut as the last of her strength burned away and her muscles failed. She waited. And waited…

Had the Goblin given up? Had it decided to spare her from whatever fate, death or worse, that it had planned?

Her eyes slipped open, just a fraction.

“Glowing Maiden, light my path,” she hissed.

The glassy eyes of the goblin stared through her. Elodea gave a fear-glossed stare in return. Blood spilled down its face in a crimson tide from the multiple lancets that punctured its skull. It twitched, still alive, yet nothing more than a low-groan escaped it. Elodea’s lips moved in a silent prayer. The face lifted away. The whole body was suspended, dangling from its neck, and then it was tossed to the side.

Now Elodea’s saviour was revealed in full. And it was terrifying. She drew in a sharp breath. It was all slick and smooth, an elegant creature designed for speed and suffering. Its empty “face” seemed to look at Ellie, who daren’t move. But then a more familiar face was revealed.

“Isa...?” Ellie breathed.

Ellie was transfixed by Isa’s augmented form and nodded when Isa pointed. Pain flared in her leg as she forced herself to her feet. For a moment the world span, and black fingers crawled into her sight, threatening unconsciousness. That feeling slowly dissipated as she limped over to a wall for support, clutching her leg. Isa slunk off, and within seconds the sickening sounds of slaughter swelled like the sea. It was a macabre orchestra Ellie would not soon forget. She prayed to her Goddess for their souls, so they might find the way.

Above the din, Ellie heard the unmistakable shouts of Irving. It seemed to pull her back to reality; she was not safe yet, not even remotely. The kitchens weren’t far, and they’d be safer. She pushed off the wall and began to limp her way towards where Isa had went. She froze. The smell brought tears to her eyes. Blood and sweat and shit and filth. Ellie wretched, bile jumping up into her mouth. She spat. A hand went to her stomach, the other rested on a doorway. She tried not to breath; you could taste it all in the back of your throat. Her eyes were shut; the scene she had caught a mere glimpse of was a theatre of carnage and cruor. Best try not think about it, even though the image was burnt into her mind’s eye.

“Isa,” Ellie spoke to the floor, “We should maybe get to Irving.” The wound in her leg still stung, but she did her best to be heard through clenched teeth and the unrelenting nausea.

@Ennui

The Fall of Scorned [A Fantasy Adventure]

Kean Jossun

---

A handful of moments slipped by before the tension spilled from Kean’s body, his arms falling dead-straight at his sides. One blade dropped from his hands, but then seemed to catch itself mid-freefall, whilst the other drew itself from the lupine corpse, dripping red as it floated back towards him. Both entered the folds of Kean’s clothing to find their hidden scabbards.

“Is everyone-” Was as much as Kean managed before vegetation exploded around them. Ill pillars dotted with sickle blades shot up. Kean felt one cruel edge graze his back. Yet, he didn’t move. Eventually, he let out a breath. The Fae seemed to be the cause. He was beginning to wonder if having such power was really a boon when it was wielded by someone of such immature disposition and questionable sanity.

“They’re dead alright, but we’re not, and I’d like to keep it that way,” He said, as he worked free from the maze. He snagged on a few spikes but was able to get out with only a few minor grazes. He brushed himself off and began making his way towards the horses.

“Is everyone alright?” He managed to finish this time, looking around. The Templar seemed the most injured, and whilst Kean didn’t over help, he bit his tongue to hold back any snide remarks. Recent events had afforded perhaps an iota of respect.

Hellpact

---

Mallaidh stared transfixed at the brain, like a snake to a charmer’s flute. It took several seconds for the accusation to register. When it did, she scoffed, and began a response that withered like fallen petals from her lips when death was brought into the equation. She swallowed. Her lower back was suddenly very damp, and the room felt small.

Thankfully the others didn’t seem so taken with this accusation, immediately turning upon him with all sorts of rhetoric and reason. Mallaidh unclenched her hands. Blood dripped, only once. She didn’t notice.

Before her knees gave way, she fell into a chair, trying to suppress her now-wilting tremors.

She sat, wordless. Alonzo was the only one she knew to be lying, so she let the others handle him; best not draw herself into the limelight again. She stared into her palms, trying not to let the malaise steep her mind.

The Fall of Scorned [A Fantasy Adventure]

Yeah, just been busy lately.