Welcome to Elenlond! |
| THE IMPORTANT STUFF
A good place to start... Rules Encyclopedia Additional Info Book of Lore Tutorial: Abilities Profile Skeleton Compendium FAQ Who's Who...? Evona (admin) Yorishine (mod) Sphynx (mod) Andromalius (mod) Guess (mod) |
10.26.09
08.24.09
08.15.09
|
BREAK IT DOWN
Welcome to Elenlond, an original medieval fantasy roleplaying forum! We strive for creative, free-form roleplaying, in the hopes of allowing each and every single member the power to achieve their potential.
|
| Welcome to Elenlond, an original medieval fantasy forum! We're always looking for new, dedicated members. Elenlond is composed of two continents: Soare and Esiria. Esiria, a land now isolated due to the efforts of the last remaining Goddess, is inaccessible to all beings and lies in the east. Soare, a continent in the west, is composed of three distinct nations: Ashoka, Soto, and Morrim. Lying between the two major continents are the Scattered Isles. Since the dissolution of the pantheon and the fall of the gods, these countries have existed in relative peace and prosperity. But how long will that peace last? Enter Elenlond; Turn the pages and tell your own tale. If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Prison is No Place for a Lady; [Private] [Violence Warning] | |
|---|---|
| Topic Started: Jun 24 2009, 04:42 PM (92 Views) | |
| Fin | Jun 24 2009, 04:42 PM Post #1 |
|
Princess of Thieves
|
Cat calls, more like fox calls, still echoed occasionally down the hall into her cell. It was small, a dim and dank stone room, sparsely furnished with a chair and table, their wood rotten. There were long cracks in the ceiling that rain water not only dripped, but poured, through. She stood under the stream of icy water, letting it wash through her hair now long tangled hair, and down her dirty face. It was soothing, the rain carried the scent of the wild outside that called to her, in her bones, in her blood. She was a wild animal, and this cage would not hold her much longer. Outside, in the corridor, shadows danced past, wary soldiers were transformed by the torchlight into wandering wraiths guarding those destined for execution. The scrape of boots and a new voice made the vixen's ears perk, she moved away from the icy water and towards the bars. Her honey colored eyes glowed in the dim light, catching the feeble rays and reflecting them. A fresh face stood outside her iron door. Young and surly, with curly gold hair and baby blue eyes. She smirked, showing long ivory fang. Things couldn't be going better. First the rain, now the tenderfoot guarding her cell? Her tail swept the floor in a graceful sway as she watched him peering through the bars at the ancient man jailed across from her. They were apparently having a conversation, so she waited for a break in speech and said “Excuse me, what time is it?” Her voice was harsh, her throat hurt, and she realized she hadn't spoken for the majority of the time she'd spent in the cell. It hadn't bothered her much, after all she was better off alone and the solitude had given her plenty of time to think and plan. It had also been a great opportunity for the reoccurring nightmares to start again- not that anyone else would ever know about those. Her eyes lingered on the guard, the eerie glow all that could be seen of her features as she stood mostly in shadows. He turned his eyes to her and immediately tensed. He got closer, holding his torch high to illuminated her feminine features. He chuckled at himself, how could he have mistake a short, rag-tag fox-girl as a threating inmate? “Almost noon.” Even his voice was handsome and smooth. It was funny, ever since she had entered the jail she had felt as if she was in a perpetual night, lit only by the swaying torch flames. She nodded her head, “I'm being executed at dusk.” She took a deep breath and big, fake , crocodile tears welled up in he eyes. She let out a pathetic fake sob and the soft hearted guard stepped forward, very close to the bars, reaching through them and touching her face. “Shh now, don't cry! I'll see if I can-” Fin's hand shot up and grabbed his wrist with enviable speed, he tried to jerk it back, but she held tight. Her face was normal, smiling even at how easily he'd been fooled by her little act. She pulled him tightly against the bars and crushed her lips against his in a bite-like kiss to muffle his scream as the murder weapon, a splintered, rotting piece of wood (previously the leg to her small table), rammed itself repeatedly through his chest, blood poured from his front and the exit wounds in his back. His eyes widened and then rolled. He fell down in a crumpled heap against the door. Fin fell to her knees too with him, looking at her crude weapon, still piercing the youths chest. Hot ribbons of his crimson life ran down the rotting oak, staining her palms completely. It gushed from between her fingers, down the back of her hands, winding all around her forearm until it met the bend of her elbow, where it ran off into a pool a gathering pool. Silently she reached through and plucked the key ring from his belt, one hand still gripping the crudely made spear. The heavy keys clanged loudly, or at least, it seemed loud to her. She stood once more and jerked her tool from his chest in a gruesome spray of blood. They (the guards) had found it funny to give her only a plain white cotton slip to wear. It was very dirty, the hem torn, and wet from her earlier shower in the rain water. Now blood mingled with the mud and dust, a healthy splatter across the front, to turn the white cloth red. It had sprayed across her face too, her pale complexion stained like her dress. She ignored the blood that covered her and reached through, unlocked her door. It swung open for the first time in a almost a year, the hinges screaming. Fin stepped out, still holding the rotten wood in one hand and the keys in her other. She walked casually, listening to the other captives plead her for freedom, and curse her when she passed their cells. Her tail swayed, ears perked, listening for the familiar sound of guards boots as he unlocked a door at the end of the hall and ventured just as leisurely down the stairs, a path of bloody foot prints in her wake. She paused, the sound of clinking silverware and full tankards sloshing alerted her to the fact she was right next to the door to the mess hall, and on the other side of the mess hall, the “evidence room” held all her belongings: her clothes, her beloved knives which beckoned her to push open the door and reclaim them. She obeyed the call of her infamous blades, the door creaked slightly as she pushed it forward and stepped inside fearlessly. As luck would have it she had entered before the evening meal, only nine or ten guards seated on the heavy benches, swapping manly tales over tankards full of piss-colored ale. The drink ran high it seemed, a few faces flushed, one man's head swimming as he turned it to eye the newcomer. A more sober guard stood, “HALT!” Fin could've smiled- it was a relief to know some men still had what it took to knock back a few pints and still be ready for a good brawl. She opened her mouth to say something, to tell them to get the hell out of her way, but all she ended up doing was coughing. At first it was a light cough, and then a deep hacking one as if clearing dust from her unused vocal cords. In her hoarse voice she finally stated, “Get...Out of my way...” One of the more impaired guards stood and laughed. He was overweight, his pudge seeming to ooze out between the cracks of poorly sized armor. She took one look at him and hurled the bloody hunk of wood. It stuck him in the eye, his helmet still resting beside his hand on the counter. As he fell the other guards stood and rushed forward, shouting. Loud brass bells echoed through the prison, alerting all guards to a jail break. They thundered up the stairs, following the bloody footprints to where they ended abruptly inside the a few steps into the mess hall. In aw they stared at the carnage, the impaired guards lay across the tables and floor, apparently the victims of some vicious animals attack as fangs marked their still gushing demise. Outside, clutching her clothes and her daggers to her chest, Fin took her first frantic steps into the outside word. The horizon was painted a flesh red, matching the gaping wound on her shoulder from a well-wielded ax. More blood, this time her won, stained the front of her slip dress faster than the icy rain could wash it away. Her feet sunk into the mud as she ran as fast as she could, but still the whistle of arrows met her ear. She turned, dropping her belongings into the muck and grabbed for the arrows. She missed, a fraction too slow. All she did was knock one of them lower, piercing her leg. She screamed in pain, another volley, and as she turned to grab the things she'd dropped they pierced her back, sending her sprawling into the flooded earth. She laid there a moment, blood pooling around her, and it occurred to her just how easy it would be to simply close her eyes and drift into welcoming darkness and no doubt, into death. “Get up.” Fin's eyes widened and she coughed up blood, turning her eyes up to the speaker. She recognized that voice, but it was impossible. It was just a bad dream, it had to be... Her father's long silver hair was dripping with rain, his pointed white fox ears twitching and laying back as his gold eyes peered down at his daughter. Again, he said, much harsher, “Get up, Wilwarin. They're coming.” A note of urgency in his voice. She couldn't believe it, rolling over she struggled to her hands and knees. He took a step back, gesturing her to follow as shouting alerted them both that the guards were on their way. Fin struggled up and held the items to her chest. She saw her father turn, starting to run, and she did her best to run after, chasing her father as she had when she had been a carefree little girl. “D-daddy wait up!” Her voice was still hoarse, blood stained her lips as she coughed. He looked over his shoulder gesturing her forward, urging her ahead of the crowd, “Come on Fin, keep up, don't be afraid.” “I...I'm not afraid...” Fin was surprised at her own strength as she urged herself faster, chasing the silver haired kitsune. She ran and ran, always a few steps behind her father. He was keeping the pace at a sprint as they wove around trees, down winding deer-paths. She didn't know where he was taking her, but she didn't care. He muscles screamed, the wounds were agonizing, “Father it hurts so bad... I'm tired....father..” “I'm very proud of you, you know that Fin? You're a real princess of thieves... Stay strong for me, and there'll be legends about you. I love you, more than anything, and I always will...” he spoke quickly as he ran ahead, turning out of the trees suddenly, sharply. Fin stumbled at the turn, feet slipping in the mud. “Father, wait!” She called, grabbing for the things she'd dropped, turning to look up in the direction she'd seen him run in. There was nothing but shadows and icy rain. The sun had sunk, the moon risen, and stars twinkled and laughed cruelly down at her. She'd been running for miles, weaving through the forest of Erth'netora. She looked straight ahead of herself now as she search for her father. If she ran straight for another five minutes, she'd be inside Madrid... But where had her father gone? She looked frantically all around her, turning a circle, but her eyes fixed behind her, on the path they had taken. There was only one set of footprints slowly filling with rain water from the storm. Lightening flashed, thunder roared and made her tall ears lay back. She sniffled and shook her head. Three arrows stuck into her still, the shaft of the one on her leg had broken off. On top of that the ax wound was still pouring blood. She took a few more steps towards the gate, and finally just fell face first into the mud, head turned so the wet earth would not suffocate her. The rain fell fast and hard on her, back. Her clothing, her beloved daggers Ring and Ghash, all rested in the muck beside her. The slip that had once been all white was brown and red, her hair in dire need of cutting (it hung down to her lower back) was tangled and matted with blood clear up to the nape of her neck. She didn't sleep, just rested there.Tears, real sea-salty drops, mingled on her face with the rain, washing streaks through the mud. She whispered, inaudible above the wind and rain. “I love you too, father... Thank you.” Edited by Fin, Jun 24 2009, 07:16 PM.
|
| Offline · Profile | "Quote" · Top^ |
| Liron | Jul 4 2009, 12:13 PM Post #2 |
|
lol pacifists.
|
They came at him, one after the other, with glinting swords held high and mouths bared in fierce scowls, the intention clear on their faces that they would not stop until they mowed him down and tore him to pieces. It would be a simple thing for them, at most the work of a few minutes, for they were many and he was only one, and their confidence showed in the gleam of their eyes and the upward tilt of their lips. In response, his own lips quirked upwards, settling into a grim smile as he stood motionless, awaiting their arrival. On the outside, he was calm, collected, serene, but inside, his blood raged through his veins and his fury bubbled to close to the top that it was a wonder he hadn’t exploded yet. A haze had settled over his eyes, a veil that colored the world a bloody, battle red, and it took every ounce of effort he had to keep himself in check, to keep himself from launching himself at them and brutally slaughtering every last one. Because he had promised himself that he would, for her and what they had done to her, and if he couldn’t manage that, well, he would die trying. There was no other option left to him, no last path of least resistance. Closer…closer…closer…and then they were finally close enough, and he was off, a lone lithe figuring surely propelling himself to his doom. But he didn’t care anymore, and in all honestly, would have preferred death above all else. This was for the best then. And looming high above in the cloudless blue sky, the sun watched sorrowfully as Death began to collect his toll on the sandy dunes below. Penance. There could be no other word for it, no other reason why he sat there, in near darkness, surrounded by nothing but trees upon trees with his clothing and hair plastered to his wet, cold body by the ice-cold rain that was even now drowning the earth around him. It was well past midnight, and the only illumination came from a gibbous moon peeking its face out from behind a thick blanket of clouds. There had been stars at one point, but they were obscured now, their glittering shapes gone from view. Any sane man would have been safely tucked away in bed in the comfort and security of his home, but Liron had lost a small part of his sanity some thirty years ago in the endless sands of the Takar Desert. He had committed an unspeakable crime there, one brought on by youth, rashness, and a deep soul-wrenching anguish he hadn’t felt since then. His actions had cost him dearly, a price that he still considered too high to pay, and he now had to live with the memories of his actions every day, the knowledge that he had sinned, and sinned severely, with no earthly way of absolution. But he tried…oh, he tried. Every year, on this day, this unfortunate anniversary, he came here to this place, wreathed by shrubs and trees, a peaceful place in even the most turbulent of times. Here he sat, plopped himself down on the soft green lawn, and prepared himself for his vigil, a vigil that began the minute the sun peeked his head from out above the horizon, and ended as the last rays of dusky rose disappeared from the sky. But today had been different. Something, he didn’t know what, had compelled him to remain long after night had spread it’s blanket, and even after the clouds had congregated to display their sorrows. In a way, it was fitting, the fact that the skies had chosen to join him in his mourning, and he was grateful, truly he was, although a small part of him did wish weather had been just a little more cooperative and not soaked him to the skin. But what was done was done, and the frigidity of the rain had served to make his body as numb as his mind, something he welcomed with open arms. But even he was not impervious to the dangers of a case of pneumonia or hypothermia, and so with a sigh, he pushed himself onto his feet, wincing as the blood rushed through his limbs. The cold began to seep in now, causing him to shiver, and Liron quickly decided to get home as quickly as possible, a feat that wasn’t all too difficult considering that he lived all of ten minutes away from the main gates of Madrid. What was going to be difficult was navigating through the pitch black forest and slick wet mud without landing on his behind once too often. The route back home was the same, yes, imprinted in his brain from thirty years of travel, but each year brought with it something new and unexpected, like a fallen tree, or a new shrub that never failed to throw him slightly off course. Or, in today’s case, a body sprawled in the mud, outlined for the quickest second by a jagged flash of lightning. “No…” A single word, choked out in shock and disbelief, but it brought with it thirty years of repressed emotion, the force of which was enough to send him staggering backwards a few steps. The light had been bright, albeit brief, but he’d managed to glimpse the long dark hair, the bleeding wounds, and his mind, already in a most unstable state, had immediately reverted back to that day, and those events. It couldn’t be her, he knew it couldn’t be, but she had been what he’d thought about all day and so it had been natural for his mind to jump to conclusions. It wasn’t until the second flash of lightning, lasting a little longer this time, that Liron’s heart slowed before speeding up in a different way. Not her, but the woman lying before him was still injured and was in dire need of his assistance. Against all odds, his lips quirked up into a sad, tired smile. Two people in need of his help, in less than two months. Was this his path of redemption then, to have injured people thrown at him and be forced to attempt to save them all? Not that he would ever require force to do such a thing, but…why now, why these people? The only person he’d ever really wanted to save was long gone, and no amount of others could ever make up for that. Still, he bent down and brushed a few strands of wet tangled hair away from the girl’s face, wincing as he saw the blood smeared across her face as well as the rest of her body. “It’ll be alright. Just hold on, and we’ll get you someplace safe and warm very soon.” His words were soft, meant to reassure, but he didn’t know if she heard them not. She was conscious, of that much he was sure, but how lucid she was had yet to be determined. A physician was needed, but first things first, he had to get rid of the arrows that were sticking out of her, both for her sake and his, because he certainly couldn’t carry her with arrows poking at his body. Carefully but firmly, he pulled out the offending objects, tossing them to the side, and then gathered her, as well as the two objects that had been lying next to her, into his arms. For a moment, he’d considering bandaging up the worst of her wounds, but the rain and dirt made any sort of sanitation impossible, and without that, she would surely die of infection. Liron set a brisk pace back to Madrid, his pace somewhat hindered by the rain and mud, but nevertheless, it wasn’t long before the gates came into view and as his feet hit more solid ground, he quickened his step, though not fast enough to hurt the woman in his arms further. “We’ll be at the doctor’s in less than five minutes. Stay awake until then. Everything will be alright.” ((You can fast forward to the doctor’s if you want, or for some reason she doesn’t want to go see a doctor, they can make a detour to his house or something, up to you. Whatever you want/need. )) |
| Online · Profile | "Quote" · Top^ |
| Fin | Aug 13 2009, 04:32 PM Post #3 |
|
Princess of Thieves
|
Even in the dark Fin's vision was blackening around the edges. Dizziness made her still, shaking body feel as though it were spinning like a top. One deep breath was taken in, and exhaled with a wheeze like a dying old man might let out as his eyes shut for the last time. Fin clung to her life though, as shadows cling to their counterparts. It escape in wisps through her fingers, like a petulant child bent on catching smoke. Sleep beckoned, agony reigned supreme, and for a moment all Fin could think was “This is how I'm going to die...” Death kissed her for a moment, stealing her breath away. The pain ebbed, and she stood on a knife's sharpness between life and death, a leg outstretched to take that final step. A human touch dragged her back into her body. It felt like being yanked backward by a rope around her neck, dragging her backwards into the world or cold and pain and wicked rain that she had just been about to leave forever. She gasped, air, cold and sharp, filled her lungs and she coughed hard, choking on blood and vomit from swallowing so much of the blood. It lingered in the mud beside her and on her broken lips. He was lucky he had paused before picking her up, or he may have ended up wearing the mess instead. Still his arms scooped her up, holding her firmly. Her tail hung loose and limp, her ears laid back as she looked up at him. He didn't smell human, but from the words he spoke he obviously meant well. Above her lightening ripped apart the sky, as if some god was mad to have have her stolen from his deadly grip. The abyss was still there, an invisible word beyond her own with a black smoke screen. She could step through it, venture into this separate plain and leave her pain, her body behind. Fresh stubbornness kept her alive, and she managed to say, almost inaudible over the storm, “N-no..no doctors..t-to your house, or...or an inn or something...” As he walked, hopefully towards this new requested haven, she looked around at the passing trees, body curling against the warmth of the man holding her. Faintly, she thought for a moment she spied a white kitsune, nine tailed with gold eyes to match her own. She blinked, and the phantom was gone. [short ;_;] |
| Offline · Profile | "Quote" · Top^ |
| Liron | Sep 26 2009, 02:19 AM Post #4 |
|
lol pacifists.
|
(( yay super late/super crappy post? 8D I'm totally writing this at 3 in the morning... >< )) A girl, but not human, covered in blood, mud, vomit, and topped off with a tail and ears. Liron didn't know who this little ragamuffin in his arms was, but she looked so forlorn, so limp and helpless, that he couldn't help but feel a surge of sympathy for her, coupled with a fierce desire to give her the chance to see another sunrise. Whatever it was that hand happened to her, she hadn't deserved it, and somehow fate had chosen him to be the one to set things right. His pace was brisk, despite the treachery of slick grass and slippery mud, and within minutes he was inside the gate, on solid ground, eyes focused on the dark shape that was his house. Another minute and the front door was within reach. Luckily for him, his burden was so light that it took little effort for him to pull out the key, slide it into the lock and push the door ajar, enough so that he could slip inside and away from the tantrums of the weather. A foot kicked the door shut, abruptly cutting off the howling of the wind, and Liron gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dimness of the house before he started up the stairs to the bedroom. Upon reaching the small upstairs room, he gently laid down his burden onto the coverlet, whereupon he began a few basic ministrations. The arrows needed to come out; that much was clear. But he was no doctor, and didn't know the proper way to remove an impediment without causing further injury. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. Surely it would be more adverse if he left them in as opposed to at least trying to remove them. "I'm sorry for this..." Gritting his teeth, he placed his hands firmly on an arrowed and pulled. No doubt it was an excruciating experience for the poor girl, and he was probably paining her more than necessary, but there was no other option. The arrow head dislodged slowly before popping out, and with a sigh, he tossed the bloodied thing to a nearby table before turning to the others. Five minutes later, and there was blood staining the small side table, as well as leaking all over the bed. Departing from the bed for a brief moment, he ransacked his closet until he found a roll of white gauze, and proceeded to hastily bandage the bleeding wounds all over her. It wasn't meant to be permanent - the wounds direly needed cleaning before any neat bandaging was to be done - but at this point, he was far more worried about blood loss than anything else, and the possible risk of infection would just have to be chanced for the moment. When the roll disappeared, he leaned back and critically eyed his handiwork. Not the best, but there were other things more important. Like boiling some water. Though she was half-unconscious, he couldn't help but glare at her. "Now, stay awake for another five minutes. I will not be pleased if you pass out before I have a chance to tend to your wounds." His voice was firm, but heavily laced with worry. Spinning on his heel, he quickly made his way back downstairs, lighting a lamp in the kitchen so he knew he wouldn't be burning the place down around them. Water in the kettle, the fire on high, and then it was only a matter of minutes until he heard the low whistling of boiling water. Pouring the steaming water into a bowl and grabbing a towel, he tromped back upstairs into the bedroom. Eying the girl, he blew out another breath. "Oh you poor thing....what happened to you? Just a constant stream of pain, and I'm afraid I won't make it any better....don't hate me for it, please." With that, he began the arduous process of cleaning out her wounds. |
| Online · Profile | "Quote" · Top^ |
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Madrid · Next Topic » |
