TheDookieNut

Fantasy/medieval/Lord of the Rings/Elder Scrolls/Pirates - Casual and Advanced

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Winter's Child

Families of Cannor and the Geography of Cannor

Winter's Child

"Lie still, idiot!" Gilly shouted, fumbling with the wraps. His firm hands gripped tightly around Rannor's arm, holding him as still as he could. Yet the man below writhed in agony, desperate to hold his own wound. "Leave it alone! We can't bandage it if your hands in the way." Gilly struggled, forcing their friend's hand down on and returned to leaving the wrapping to Roran. Gilly stole a glance up at his friend, who strangely seemed intent in thought. Eyes were immediately took back to the injured as he howled. Gilly hushed and forced the unharmed limb down; blood was important, a man could lose a hand and live.

Howan trembled in the blizzard, throwing up the last of his half empty stomach before sitting up shakily. His head swam and shook, as if his head had been tossed off the top wall of Castermere's keep. The world span slowly, twisting this way and that. He could hear noises, although only if he was submerged in icy cold waters. His ears stung and ached. Howan lifted a hand and felt his ears, soon covering them again slowly. The little warmth his hands have off were welcome, bringing life back to his frozen ears. As the world came to a stable stop, Howan finally saw his brother's and friend's pouring over the injured. He picked up his sword and rushed over.

Roran was fumbling over the last bandage wrap, a thick layer on Rannor's arm. It wouldn't be enough to save him, not if this blizzard kept up.
"We need food. Real food." Roran sighed, leaving Gilly to lift Rannor's head upright behind a pile of packs. They covered him with an extra layer of fur before gazing towards Roran. The blonde stood above the first of the dead Wargs and sighed. He pulled out a small dagger and ripped into the stomach of the female beast. She wasn't large, but she'd feed four men enough to give them the strength they needed to get home. Glly stood and walked over to Roran, disgust on his face. Warg meat was tough, stringy and dry. It was a last resort for many. It was their best choice for food tonight.

Gilly stayed beside Rannor, keeping a check on him as he slept, drifting between consciousness and the void beyond. They would lose their brother tonight, no doubt. It was on their minds, silent and unspoken. Howan had turned to tend to the fire, hoping to rekindle it and increase its life. They needed enough to warm themselves and cook the meat none of them wanted to eat.

*****

Four other men waited further down the road, none grumbling about the cold like elders did. It was warmer than it had been for some years. A suspected drought was coming. Many had spoke. Of the Waste's expanding, how the desert stretched further each year, swallowing the land as it moved. Few bothered the pilgrimage to Viltas now. Those who did died of dehydration before they each the cities walls, or any of the wells. Summer was getting hotter. Everyone could feel it.

"Derrin?" One man asked, dropping down from his horse when the man reappeared. "Any news?" The man was thickly built, dark skin, with a heavy beard on his chin. A Child by birth. His mother a refugee from beyond the seas. His life with the watchers was as good as he could have asked for. He spoke with urgency, and walked with distress. "If it was war out boys have warned us against, the Capital won't have listened." A man behind him nodded in agreement.

"When was the last time the King paid any attention to the Northern border? We've been forsaken for many years now. Horngul with not stay our allies when summer comes. The famine last harvest will happen again-"

"Now is not the time to discuss politics and conspiracies, Greymount." Fraym spoke, stopping in front of Derrin. "Right now, we need to find our brother's and get them safe. If war is on the horizon, the King must be warned."

Running. Dead. Infected. (The Walking Dead/The Last of Us Style RP)

Urgh, am sick at the moment. Not enough attention to spare it on posting. As soon as I'm better:

WE WILL FUCKING GET SOME INFECTED ACTION I SWEAR

{{Official TDN Interest Check}]

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Fantasy/medieval/Lord of the Rings/Elder Scrolls/Pirates - Casual and Advanced

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Winter's Child

The mountains were brightly lit with the red light of the firework, a signal that shone miles into the night's sky. It had been a device designed by Castermere's greatest chemists, created to shine bright enough to warn both Cannor and the Capital; so long as the Capital was looking. The only sounds in the mountain at that present moment was howling agony and the ringing of eardrums. Soon however, it would echo with the sound of thundering hooves, riders from their keep and their home. Gilly had finally come to his senses and scrambled over to Roran. His hands were bloodied and his the thrashing of their dying brother had sent strays of red over their clothes and face. The two men struggled, each trying to keep the man still in order to stop the bleeding.

Howan, the man who'd set off their signal and the only thing that may save their brother's life, held his hands against his ears. The ringing was intense. He could hear the muffled sounds of screams, the pained shouts of Gilly and Roran, each shouting at each other. The man opened his eyes slowly, briefly watching Ysabel dash off down the mountain pass. He blinked and watched her figure sway left and right, double up and split into three. He blinked again and turned to Roran and Gilly, their figures staggering over the injured. Sounds returned and grew louder as his hearing returned. He struggled and pushed a hand in the snow to help himself stand. The whole mountain was twisting and turning in his vision. He wasn't injured, not like the others, instead, he suffered what had simply been known as the Red Flash. A non lethal and noncontagious illness that came with lighting the flare. He dropped back onto his knees and heaved into the snow, watching the ground twist beneath him.

***

Away from the snow and the chill stood the walled city of Castermere. A strong fortress built by the last dynasty of God's Kings, before their downfall seven hundred years ago. Andor prized its city and had built some of the continent's greatest architecture there. Huge great temples, one to each of the eight gods. Colours dashed amongst the vivid white painted walls. Today, the streets were a startling red, flecks of purples and pinks, flying high above houses and thrown over various homes within the city. Brothels were decorated with intricate drawings of lovers and woman, detailed to show the beauty of the God of Love and Women.

Along the streets, stairs rose towards the middle of the city. A tall, shining structure rose from the streets, flying colours of yellow and blue. A tree painted on it's banners at it's base, a crown. The adopted banners of House Dullahan, after their marriage and complete ruling of the Crown; a conquest that had taken a hundred years, yet now the crown was utterly their own. Always a Dullahan sat on the throne, son's passed to son's, never would a Dullahan female take the throne. Inside the castle, a room that stretched tall was filled with the sounds of pleasure and godly love. To the east sat the Throne, high above was a painted window, depicting Mirelda and her crown. It shone spectacular colours during the sun rise, raining it down on the throne. The window never shone in recent years. Mirelda never sent her son's light through the window. Instead, the sun shone instead, never catching the glass inside.

The King sat quietly, ignoring his court as they seemed to avoid his gaze. After all, a man sat with two whores pouring over him was hard to take seriously. The King was married. Yet it was common knowledge his wife was barren. Dullahan's were taken to ignoring barren wives, eventually staging their deaths some years down the line. They would always marry again. All members of court were unaware of the vividly bright light shining from the mountains, a light they should have spotted soon after it's flight. Yet for two hundred years, the light had not shone. King's had removed the watch from the walls. Castermere would survive a siege until it's enemy died.

****

Two men sat upon the walls of Cannor, nibbling on two halves of stale bread. One had closed his eyes to enjoy the silence of a sleeping keep. The other seemed to spring with life as the sky light red between the peaks.
"Darryl, wake up!" He yelled, pushing the man off the chair. The second man opened his eyes quickly, catching himself as he fell. The first man had leapt to his feet and darted along the cobblestone to a brass bell, hanging on the walls. That light meant one of three things: Injury, Trader Injury, or invasion. He scrambled over to the bell and began to ring. It was designed with a shrill sounding metal. One high enough to disturb any sleeping Orphan.

The fort slowly began to spring to life. Elder men, each a skilled swordsman and a skilled man of the mountains. Some were over fifty, giving at least three hundred years on the hills between them. They spoke few words and pulled horses from the stables, each a stocky animal built for the world beyond. Then with loud shouts, they charged through the gates and towards the mountains, men running to windows and walls to watch. It was a sight no one had seen in many years.

Running. Dead. Infected. (The Walking Dead/The Last of Us Style RP)

Post up a CS, or Cs's

{{Official TDN Interest Check}]

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Fantasy/medieval/Lord of the Rings/Elder Scrolls/Pirates - Casual and Advanced

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