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FireskyThe sky was on fire, and even the storm-tossed waves of the ocean were not enough to quell it. Manthiem stood, on the shore, where once had been ocean, then shore, and now ocean again. The heavens were returning what should have been to their proper place. The races had long corrupted and tortured the land to do their bidding, and finally, after years of slavery, the Rythian culture had their way. This was their land- as it always should have been. Free, wild, and untamed; the sky and earth ever at war. Wind gusted around him, as he stood in the gravelly land, feeling the sharp edges beneath his weathered feet. This was their home after all. It had been centuries since they had had such freedom. A ghostly smile lit his somber face. It was not often that he smiled, for his countenance was usually one of a stern expression, and one to be feared if the other was not in Manthiem's good graces that day. Then again, few stayed out of Manthiem's good graces and lived to tell the tale. Such wa
Forest GriefSilent tears flooded down his face as he finally got to his knees, then stood- one hand braced against a nearby tree to further support himself since his trembling legs threatened to immediately fall from beneath him. The surrounding forest was deathly silent. It was all too fitting he decided, because they had just lost another of their precious few children to the beasts within. That was, after all, what they were. Who else would steal innocent children from their play and, and then disappear into the dark lands with them?
No. No... he would not, could not think of that now. Tradition dictated that the dead would be mourned for a month, and then the deceased would no longer be part of the family. It was the father's job to announce this, and accordingly, few were ever surprised when he would disappear afterward.
Mariel was only a child of four years, left under the watchful eye of her elder cousin. Lamael had been the more fortunate of the two- escaping with massive bruises and scrap
CelebrationThe sounds of slightly drunk laughter and merry music filled the chill air of the dark night as the men settled into their camp. The day's march had been long and hard, but there was always an excuse for merrymaking- and for once, this night in particular. From the sound alone, it would appear to be one of their high feast celebrations, but even a quick glance through the camp would dispel that thought instantly. Brightly colored war pennants and banners hung from the tops of the tents, snapping in the stiff wind. Spears, helmets and quiver-full's of arrows were piled at the entrances to the tents, ready at a moment's notice. The men had their swords and shields close at hand, prepared even for a surprise assault. Despite it all, they still celebrated. For this night, they still lived. On the eve of a doomed war, they celebrated life.
All for the Lady's HandIf there's one thing that I've never understood, it's this.
You just slaughtered twenty men in the heat of battle, right before my eyes, to win my hand, and supposedly my love. You killed them. Their blood stains your soul, and I am supposed to declare my undying love for you, my rescuer? The tales will speak of your courage, your bravery, and your determination, but all I see is that you have lost your emotions to the cold edge of a metal blade. What love is there, if your heart is as solid as stone? For, I know that the killing will not cease. You say it is to protect our lands, to protect the people, to protect me, but it still murder, still another layer behind which to kill your true heart. I cannot love you, nor any other, for you are all so falsely superficial.
The Guild Storm" A storm is building, again." It was clear by the tone that it was more then just the weather that he implied.
"Aye, that it is. Seems like these days, that there's always something brewing."
"And it's no wonder, ever since the summons from Helegur, everything's been thrown out of it's ususal cycle."
"Look who you're talking to. I've already had no less then elven of the outer bands demanding numbers of payment before they'll even consider. On top of that, I have to keep the entire hierarchy in mind at the same time."
"Oh, stop your complaining. I've got it just as bad as you. You don't know half of what's going on behind the scenes with the Guild."
"Why on earth are they getting into this entire muddle?"
"Saraore's got them started," he said simply. "As a sage, he's got a lot more of a voice then he used to. Add to that his personality, and his place in the outer government, and I think you can get an idea of the situation."
"Ah," he sighed. "That I do. I don't envy you, friend."
I HastieMallo tuluvar i Númeheruvi?
Mallo ulyuva túrenta?
I orontillon, nótala lúmenta?
I latinarillon, nenda sercenen?
Var, i alta ar palla earello
Yassë Ulmo Falmahir andanéya marnë?
Ma, Atanatári, lá cimuvaldë quettantar?
Ma Melkor sië ahyanë óreldar?
Man na tévië sina yára nolwenna?
Massë na i nilmë ya nánë andanéya imbi
I híni Anaro ar i híni Isilo?
Quendi manen aránieldë i tiello?
Arda Hastaina, ilyë maller nar cúnë,
Mal i lenwa mallë caita epë le er.
Ma castan sintalde?
Man nanyë len? Epessë mi vérer ar vandar er?
Ma lá inyë i cannë i Valar?
Ar carnë lindalelda nó antanenyes len?
I Belong To You I hate rain. Not really, I love it. Just not when the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful, perfect, comfortable, waterproof, perfect coat in existence has been savagely butchered by my so-called friend’s Dalmatian. Every slap of rain on my naked arms is a stinging reminder of the irreparable hole in my wardrobe.
Some people might try to fill the void with lesser coats but I can’t bring myself to betray Valentino, even after her death. Instead my slippery arms grapple with each other in wet shock as I stumble to the op shop, clinging to one last thread of hope. I know in my deadened heart that I’ll never have another coat like her. Yet here I am, blundering through the elements in my vain search for the acceptance and warmth I found wrapped in Valentino’s woollen sleeves.
Thud. My body slams into the door, making the ‘open’ sign quiver and the bells tinkle in offense. I fight for entry, the door’s assault doubled by the stale funk of
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More