Tag: other’s lore

hellkite-fr:

The Wasteland Vultures

hey guys, I finally worked up the willpower to write a little something about my new subclan~

a small warning for the mention of blood and violence
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The Wasteland Vultures are an elite group of assassins, thieves, and spies spread throughout Sornieth who have made a name for themselves by taking jobs that other such organizations would likely rather turn down. Be that the assassination of an innocent royal or the staged coup of a tyrannical leader. It is not for them to judge the morality of the situation as morals have nothing to do with their line of work.

This is why so many who join their ranks come from less than desirable backgrounds. They do not care about a recruit’s social status, religion, flight, or criminal background, only the strength of their resolve and their skill.

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Source: hellkite-fr

jollyroger-fr:

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RUDE AWAKENING

You awaken with a sudden jolt.

There is a wild, painful hammering against your ribs to greet you from your… your slumber? Panic seizes you, a mixture of icy shock and burning agony running through your veins as your vision begins to dance with dark splotches and your head lolls forward, suddenly too heavy for your neck to support. 

A desperate gasp escapes your tight throat, now slick with thick saliva as your stomach prepares to purge, and though your watering eyes stretch wide and your mouth gapes and drools, you find yourself unable to move otherwise.

Nausea and dizziness begin to overwhelm your senses just before you realize that the hammering is your own heart, wildly thumping like a frightened rabbit.

Breathe, you plead yourself. Breathe. Relax. Think.

The world around you continues to swirl in unfocused patches of reds and black as your mind struggles to catch up with reality. You can scarcely remember anything about anything. How did you get here? Where is here? What were you doing before you got here? Why can’t you move your…

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> ???: Ah, you’re finally awake. Good, good- – No! No vomiting, please. I abhor cleaning up vomit, and you wouldn’t want to upset me, I assure you.

deadwapiti-fr:

Finally posting another bit of lore. The bit I really wanted to write, so here it is! The next post after this will be a summary though.

I guess warning for stabbing and kidnapping??

@jadedragons​ @jollyroger-fr​ @archaic-fr​ @hellkite-fr​ @spiritofplague​ @palewastelandking​ @prancingcapricat​ @mask-fr​ @tales-around-sornieth

The dense fog was no surroundings for a child to play in.

As soon as it started to roll in Fierce ushered her son inside. Instructing him to play with his father to help make the day go by. Aharon was more than happy to. The boy always enjoyed time with his father even though Exalted was blind. Especially since his father seemed to be able to play chess without seeing the board (it was easy since Aharon hadn’t learned how to play chess yet).

It was comforting inside. A gentle fire was going, and lunch for the day had already been made. Aharon sat with Exalted and his favorite raven toy to enjoy the food. It brought one of the biggest smiles to the young boy’s face to see his father offer the toy raven food as well.

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Simulacrum

majestyrising:

Notes: It says something how vindictive this all is, but he won’t think about it.
Pings: @hellkite-fr, @jollyroger-fr, @fusefr, @kattafr, @archaic-fr, @mask-fr, @griminal-rising, @spiritofplague, @wearetherot, @jadedragons, @palewastelandking, @lumoselm, @webwingalpha

The dream begins like this.
He’s standing at the roots of the Tree of Mourning. He is not an adult yet. He yearns to be old enough to run free, and yet he shies away
from the idea of leaving the safety of the nest. His hair is short about his
face, and nubby horns that could branch into antlers if something was
different sit acrest his head.
There’s a small hand in his, soft and familiar.
The sun shines in shafts through the tangle of branches, warming his face. His
eyes flutter shut from the glare, and he stands, simply letting the heat soak
into his bones.
He’s missing something. He’s forgetting something.
There’s a bird, high, high above in the tree. He can’t see what it is, but he
knows he has to get to it.
Come down, he thinks, come down.
It doesn’t.

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citrinebumblebee-fr:

also I just bought this beauty from @webwing-alpha and whooo o boy i love her

I’ve named her Amelie

She hangs out under the feet of the Twins and their clan, basking in their protection as she searches for….what, she doesn’t know. 
Whatever will allow her to feed on blood. To become vampiric.
Having been born beneath the blood moon, the desire to feed has always been with her. Once, it was merely the Shade flowing through her veins that hungered. Over time, however, that gnawing eventually became inextricable from herself. It has become her identity–Amelie the Heretic, is the name she often hears whispered when she enters the room. Amelie the Heretic, Amelie the Ravenous, Amelie the Insatiable. All titles she embraces with open arms, for one day they will ascend past carefully fabricated rumor and become truth.

The Twins don’t mind her. She’s one of their favorite dragons to talk to, actually; she, too, is an unwitting victim of a fate often seen as a sentence to death or madness.

How much Amelie will embrace that potential for madness, and whether she will uncover the solution to her blood hunger, remains to be seen.

Diary of the Order: Finale Pt. II

majestyrising:

[Part I]

Notes: A wrap-up of this plotline, written in a normal style and not a diary! Warnings for slightly less gore than part one.
Pings: @hellkite-fr, @fusefr, @kattafr, @jollyroger-fr, @archaic-fr, @mask-fr, @webwingalpha, @griminal-rising

She is not heralded as a hero.
Her mother screams in her ear when she awakes, her hands tied tight behind her
back in the yellow haze of their dilapidated house, and already injured, the
beating nearly kills her.
The Jewel of the Order has vanished into the night, the Holy One is gone, and
she is to blame! She will not even be afforded death. Death will be too good
for her. Instead, she must live here as a pariah, knowing that she took the
life of her innocent sister, the paragon of the Enkindled.
Kinslayer, they whisper.
Kinslayer?
What a joke.

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spiteweaver:

previous | next

Argus was jealous.

He was not so jealous as to be smothering, but when he saw Mergo speaking to another man, smiling at him, laughing at all of his jokes, he couldn’t help but feel just the slightest twinge of irritation. The son of a bitch was handsome, too, which only made matters worse. He didn’t see how a scruffy merc like him was supposed to compete with a nobleman, all peach-colored hair, shocking blue eyes, and a pearly white grin that could’ve given Abaddon a run for his money.

Compared to him, Argus may as well have been a damned toad–and Mergo deserved better than that.

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Source: spiteweaver

vigilight:

Suriyah finds her Charge.

A new addition to the vigilight clan, thanks to @memoriam-fr​‘s lair clear out and the apparent need for another healer at the Bastion.

Few could have anticipated how much impact the arrival of one guardian could make aboard the Bastion. But then there was no precedent for a dragon who was willing to not only confront old Otava, but to put him thoroughly in his place. Given that the elderly healer had been successfully tending to the ailments of the Vigilight clan for years, nobody had ever considered that there might be another way, least of all Otava himself. 

The altercation at the docks was civilized, the pacifist nature of the two dragons thankfully eliminating any need for the involvement of the militia. Yet despite both speaking in quiet tones, the confrontation drew a large crowd with all nearby activity halting in favour of the potential for gossip. 

It only took minutes for the ripples of the story spread quickly across the whole airship. Did you hear? There’s a new healer. No not a herbalist like old Otava. Some sort of new training. She’s here to stay. 

“I’m sorry that your journey was wasted, but there is no place for you here. I have no need of someone meddling with the health of the clan.” Otava, used to his word being accepted and obeyed, was already in the process of turning away from the newcomer who had demanded an audience with him. 

After months of following an insistent feeling, a pull that had her crossing many strange lands and braving a ferry passage through the vortex. After finally reaching the wondrous airship city and knowing deep in her heart that this was was what she had been searching for. After all she had been through, guardian wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. 

Suriyah’s response was polite, almost gently spoken, but firm enough to show she was not in the least bit intimidated by the elder. “It is I who am sorry, sir. Sorry for the misunderstanding. You see, I merely sought you out as a matter of courtesy, not for permission. I will be opening a clinic here and I will be practicing medical science to assist the clan with injuries and illness.”

More surprised than truly angry, Otava turned back to stare with narrow eyes at the younger dragon. “If you are so adamant to stay, why bother contacting me at all?”

The guardian shook her head, a touch of hope and sadness in her tone. “I hoped we could work together, combine your knowledge of herblore with my medical training. Can’t you see how much good we could do together?”

Something in the young healer’s expression must have reached Otava, because instead of storming off in a disgruntled huff as expected

—

the soft chink of treasure confirming a bystander’s wager to this effect

—

he let out a sudden laugh. “Good grief, you’re an intense one aren’t you? Set up your clinic lass and when I’ve seen your skills I’ll judge the merit of an alliance.”

Suriyah watched the old dragon amble away, still laughing to himself, and basked in the soft glow of victory. As the onlookers dispersed and the normal hubub returned to the docks she looked about her, finally letting the reality sink in. She had found it. The well-being of these dragons who called the Bastion home. That was her charge.

Source: vigilight

Ophiophagus

majestyrising:

Notes: An ambitious assassination goes wrong, from one point of view.
Pings: @hellkite-fr, @corpsejack-fr, @fusefr, @archaic-fr, @kattafr, @mask-fr, @webwing-alpha, @jadedragons, @memoriam-fr, @deadlanddisciple

Today is the day.
Through the open cathedral doors a woman strides, barely a glance to anyone in
her way- with purpose her steps ring out, the clink of purple samurai armour
and wicked smirk on her face are all she needs to silence any questions. They
never leave their owner’s lips, not even as the neon stranger heads deeper into
the Halls without a word, just that widening wolf’s grin on her lips, weapons
tucked to her waist. A flail, daggers. Her oozing claws and toxic teeth. As
bright as an open sore and twice as dangerous.

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