October 11, 2020, 09:29 PM
@Rohesia
He had heard the voice of the Deorwine lift from this place, yet only now did he seek them, in this forest that stood as a haunting reminder of the charcoaled lands they left behind. Once verdant leaves lay patchworked on the ground, some settled, some drifting, like the embers of the High Elk's judgment, reaching out to touch them even here, an omen beyond what a wolf stained in black or white could ever be. The leaves crackled under paw with an ambient whisper much like the warnings he had tasted within the warmer gales. Now summer turned to fall, and their land lay far behind them like a barren judgment against their shrouded sins.
Glaedwine had thought of leaving them, but he had returned; by night and day, conviction compelled him. He did not think himself a prophet, just a watcher of the times, with an armoured shell that hid the heart that only prayed his kinsmen would see that their undoing was their own. He did not wish to be here, but still he walked along the outer rim of this promised land in the patterns of familiarity he had once known around Kingslend.
And anyone within the shadowed woods would hear the familiar sound return, of dragging antlers and a monster's crawl.
He had heard the voice of the Deorwine lift from this place, yet only now did he seek them, in this forest that stood as a haunting reminder of the charcoaled lands they left behind. Once verdant leaves lay patchworked on the ground, some settled, some drifting, like the embers of the High Elk's judgment, reaching out to touch them even here, an omen beyond what a wolf stained in black or white could ever be. The leaves crackled under paw with an ambient whisper much like the warnings he had tasted within the warmer gales. Now summer turned to fall, and their land lay far behind them like a barren judgment against their shrouded sins.
Glaedwine had thought of leaving them, but he had returned; by night and day, conviction compelled him. He did not think himself a prophet, just a watcher of the times, with an armoured shell that hid the heart that only prayed his kinsmen would see that their undoing was their own. He did not wish to be here, but still he walked along the outer rim of this promised land in the patterns of familiarity he had once known around Kingslend.
And anyone within the shadowed woods would hear the familiar sound return, of dragging antlers and a monster's crawl.
October 12, 2020, 06:42 PM
ghoul; fathom; and worst of all unholy —
sepulchral happenings breathed on the fringes of king elk' weald as it did in old kingslend, and if there was one thing rohesia feared out of begrudging respect if was the black phantom that claws on their door. his tines plow rows of where he was waked and walked, inscribed with stories and mem'ry none else but he can decipher —
glædwine.
fireweed's child says nothing first as she chances upon him. the brown before the black after all, let him bow and flute his greetings to her, maybe then she would speak.
sepulchral happenings breathed on the fringes of king elk' weald as it did in old kingslend, and if there was one thing rohesia feared out of begrudging respect if was the black phantom that claws on their door. his tines plow rows of where he was waked and walked, inscribed with stories and mem'ry none else but he can decipher —
glædwine.
fireweed's child says nothing first as she chances upon him. the brown before the black after all, let him bow and flute his greetings to her, maybe then she would speak.
Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger
come quell your daughter's hunger!
come quell your daughter's hunger!
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