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The Sound of DesperationIt had started as a counseling session, everyone meeting in a small group of age mates, but even after the first meeting, when they sat in silence, it was clear that something more was needed. For weeks they continued to meet twice a week, forced to sit in a circle in a room that was locked until the hour was up. After a month, they began to speak, finally giving voice to the depths of their souls, and the nightmares that lived within.
"I could kid myself into thinking I'm fine," Becca said, her voice starting steady despite the fact that she was the first to break the silence, "but I'm not. I'm tired of living these lies, and I just want to be done with it all. Everyone knows that a broken heart is blind, but no one really knows what to do with a broken brain. If it's not a vegetable, they shrug it off, saying it's fine, and tell you to do the same. It doesn't work that way. It just doesn't work that way. They say our bodies will heal, and that it will take time for
Living DreamsIf life is but a dream, what does that make our dreams? And if, not by your own will, each day becomes more of a nightmare than the last, what is it that makes us keep on pushing through? When the question of life becomes why, rather than how we struggle on for the next day’s dawning, why doesn’t anyone realize what’s really going on? For too long we’ve played their game, by their rules, and today that ends. All my fears, all my fears, my insecurities, anything that might have been used against me- they all fall away like tears when I contemplate the fact that each tomorrow brings a new day, each twenty-four hours closer to freedom. We all know that they’ll try to choke our rising hopes with fleeting fears carefully crafted to appear our own, but the fact that we know them not to be our own is a stronger force yet. We may not march against our enemies, our captors, but we shall stand as a strong tower to protect those who cannot yet stand alone. One
Drianus's choiceHe reached into his pocket, slowly wrapping his long fingers into a fist around the ring of his forefathers. Contemplating his options only revealed that, in the long run, he really had no choice. Sometimes, the words echoed in his mind as he forcefully ignored the memories of his surrogate father, sometimes, the only way to fight evil was to employ a greater evil whether one agreed with it or not. By the end of the day, only one thing would really matter: whether or not the throne remained in the family line.
If took a season of exile for people to realize just how corrupted things had become, so be it. He had seen exile, and very nearly raised his family within it's cool embrace. Drianus had spent many long agonizing hours turning things over in his mind, hoping to find another way for things to change, but found nothing. He would face battle tomorrow, leading the best of his men into the fray without a second thought. If giving his life in battle was required of him, it
Part of the JobThe sun gently warmed his back as he walked along the crowded street. He knew, though, that the pleasant feeling would not last long once he entered the apothecary that stood as the entrance to the rest of the Guild Halls. There was a certain satisfaction in a job completed in a silent and efficient manner, but Mortael held fast to the lingering taste of bitter regret that always followed his thoughts. The darkness of night only expounded them when he had nothing else to keep his thoughts away from the realities of his chosen line of work. The taste of regret was, as far as he knew, the only way that he could maintain his tenuous grasp of rational sanity. Silently, the assassin slipped through the stone-lined walls where the shadows from the torches danced in his wake. None would bother him this day, not unless he took the initiative and reached out to them first. A disturbed assassin was not to be bothered so soon after a completed mission, no matter what the reason.
The Blood OathI bought my fate straight from hell. What you need to understand here and now is that this is the embodiment of our fear, the vessel of our rage, and the harbinger of your doom. It may seem like a cut and dry matter, especially to one such as yourself, but know that it is anything but. Everything that we do and say is focused around that one concept alone; the sooner you figure out what that means for yourself, the better, as you'll actually start to fit in with us, strange as we are to your kind. My fate, the mirrored reflection of the fate of my people, is one that circumvents generations at a time, insidious weaving its way through our history. This oath, whether you acknowledge it or not, will affect your every dying day as we attempt to make the best of what's been left for us in this wasted world.
I chose my fate the day that I answered the king's call with heart and soul, and I now pay the price for what I have done in answering the Blood Oath's infernal need fo
Returning HomeI woke up to despise the world that I once loved. The sound of the fan in the next room is deceptively similar to the sound of the gentle rain that has gently woken me these past few mornings. For one blissful moment longer, I can pretend that things have not changed, and that when I open my eyes, the dim autumn lights will be filtered through the thick canvas wall of my rug lined pavilion. The thought is a comforting one until the undisturbed quiet is broken by the harsh blaring of my painfully electronic alarm, reminding me that cannot be so.
Blindly, I reach out and silence it before rolling over, pulling my heavy wool cloak back over my head in the same motion. It is entirely too early to face the fact that I'll be pouring myself a bowl of overly processed, prepackaged and artificially preserved cold cereal. Instead, I'd much rather it be my usual boiled grains prepared over a crackling fire, built from yesterday's carefully covered coals. It is an odd realization, but I
Rise of the Ice Kings: The Dream"Play for me, Brandhol." Rathiel begged upon the second evening of eldest brother’s short respite at home."Play your whistle again, please? It's been so long since you played!"
"That's because I've been gone so long, silly," he replied, digging out his tin whistle from an inner pocket of his thick cloak. After a few short trills to warm up his fingers, he began to play a song that seemed to grow and mature as it progressed. Rathiel grinned and began to dance a few bars into the seemingly light-hearted tune.
The children's uncle, Hedhel, sent home from war on permanent furlough lay on the rug, dozing before the dying fire. At the sound of his nephew's playing, he bolted upright, staring wildly at Brandhol for a moment before calming slightly. "I think it's time that you find your bed, Rathiel," he said hoarsely.
Silien looked up from her darning in surprise,"Goodness, child!" she exclaimed, "You should have been in bed almost an hour ago! Hurry and change now, I'll be along
The Final StrawJason Rathen almost ignored the gentle taping on his office door, thinking that the sound originated from further down the hall, but the hesitant sound came a second time, only slightly more audible. Rathen stood and opened the door to be greeted by the person that he least expected and most hoped to see. "Hello, Jessie!"
Jessie nodded, worrying her lower lip in thinly veiled distress. "I... I'm sorry about practice, earlier," she said, rapidly forcing the words out.
"Why don't you come in," Rathen suggested, gesturing towards the other chair in his prop- and book-stuffed office, "and we can talk about what happened earlier this afternoon, if you'd like."
The suggestion was more of a mild order, but Jessie either didn't notice, or ignored it as she nodded and gingerly perched on the edge of the offered chair, grasping her books against her chest.
Professor Rathen took his time in mostly closing the door, and resettling a stack of papers that had been distu
A Slightly Dramatized AccountA Slightly Dramatized Account of a Very Real Feeling
I woke up to despise the world that I once loved. The sound of the fan in the next room is deceptively similar to the sound of the gentle rain that has gently woken me these past few mornings. For one blissful moment longer, I can pretend that things have not changed, and that when I open my eyes, the dim autumn lights will be filtered through the thick canvas wall of my rug lined pavilion. The thought is a comforting one until the undisturbed quiet is broken by the harsh blaring of my painfully electronic alarm, reminding me that cannot be so. Blindly, I reach out and silence it before rolling over, pulling my heavy wool cloak back over my head in the same motion. It is entirely too early to face the fact that I'll be pouring myself a bowl of overly processed, prepackaged and artificially preserved cold cereal instead of the usual boiled grains prepared over a crackling fire, built from yesterday's carefully covered coals. It is an
Become History ~Human!Sly x Reader
Human!Sly Cooper x Reader
(Name) sighed, rubbing a hand through her (Hair Color) hair. She was so stressed out.
But who wouldn't be when your a six year old in an orphanage who is going to be presented to a couple who wants to adopted a child. Only one child. That means you've only got one chance to impress them or you'll end up still in the orphanage.
Ms. Puffin, the lady in charge, brushed her purplish gray hair back and ushered all the kids with a glare to the orphanage lobby.
The lovely couple smiled at seeing all the cute kids but their eyes widened when the looked in (Name)'s direction.
"That one; the little girl." The man said, walking toward (Name). (Name)'s eyes widened and she couldn't suppress a happy grin.
(Name) opened her small arms to embrace them but was surprised to see them walk right past her.
Nameless The older dragon let out a roar, stretching to show the full length of his thick wings, battering with strength against the blasting wind. It's younger son watched.
"Listen and feel for it," whispered Kryst, the older dragon. He had his test passed long ago, recieving his name proudly.
The young dragon has known for the moment to come. All dragons did. He was ready to receive his dragon name. Or at least, he thought that he was ready. Memories flashed in his head of the many times of when he hid among the rocks from the chilling air. Recently, he went out a little bit more, edging away through the cave-home he had spent most of his life in. His eyes briefly flashed with his father.
"Go," said Kryst.
The young dragon crept forward until he could see what all of the cliff edge had hidden beneath him. The wind was blowing harder now. He felt like a tiny star in the skies when it's dark. He slowly opened his delicate wings open, almost flinching when the air c
Biography Summary - Eilidh MacAuleyEilidh MacAuley is a Bosmer.
She's 173 years old and right now she feels every single one of those years and more.
Let me tell you what I know about her, although it's only really a brief sketch - (I'll fill in the gaps as I get to know her story):
She was born the youngest of six into a dirt-poor family grubbing an existence from the land in a tiny hamlet just east of Arenthia not far from the southern borders of Cyrodiil.
When she was six her father died of what we here would call TB and her mother was left to raise the children as best she could, but ultimately as these things do it all went wrong, and with her mother's downward spiral into Skooma-addled prostitution and crime culuminating in her being thrown into Arenthia's dungeons, the family was sundered and Eilidh then aged just 17 and with her family scattered, set off to seek her fortune.
Over the next few decades, as far as I can tell, she worked amongst other things as a maidservant and housekeeper, was a petty thief and ra
Unexpected VisitGlenn woke up this morning with a strange feeling of serendipity, as if he knew today held a surprise in store for him. Of course this didn't excuse him from chores. Speaking of which, he could already hear the tell tale wailing from the nursery of the orphanage. So many babies were going to need changing, and he hadn't even eaten his breakfast yet! Glenn yawned before getting up to fold up his sleeping pallet. "Boys time to fold up the beds and move everything back!" he called down the halls. To make use of the limited space in the orphanage, everyone had their own sleeping bag that they put away during the day so the rooms could be used for something else.
Sharian let out a sigh as she walked with her arms folded in front of her as she just looked ahead. "Somehow...this walk just seems boring...Gotta say, having nothing to do other than training is starting to get boring...maybe I should find something else to do." As she looks down at the ground, the sound of children nearby caused
NightmareEver since she met the “Prophet” Ashe has had the same, reoccurring nightmare. She was back at the ruins, facing the man. His crazed smile, the bloody bandage where his eyes were supposed to be. And the book.
The red book would open and inky, black words would wrap themselves around her. Sucking her in. She would cry out, but 2K and Kaome couldn’t hear her over Scarecrow’s laughter. The words would continue to swarm over her as they dragged her in the book; which would slam shut, trapping her inside.
She would wake up screaming, covered in cold sweats.
Fumble Table1. Critical hit self. Maximum damage and roll again.
2. Critical hit ally. If there is no ally in range, the weapon strikes a hard surface and must save or break on contact. The weapon cannot be repaired.
3. Hit or damage self. Normal damage; if maximum, roll again.
4. Flying weapon hits ally; roll D20. If no ally is in range, then the weapon strikes a hard surface and must save or it breaks (repairable at 50% of cost). If there is no weapon or it is unbreakable, then the wearer breaks their arm or leg and takes 1D6 damage. Anything over 6HP results in a fracture and a useless limb. 10HP or more means a compound fracture.
5. Strike/twist a limb. Make a Dexterity save on 3D6, success equals a sprained limb and the appropriate penalty; -2 to attack, defend, skill checks, or -10’ to movement. Failure means 1D4 damage and a broken bone which must be set and healed before it can be used again.
6. Hit self but pull back just in time for half damage; no exploding die.
7. Tangled with op
ESCAPEInstinct took over.
As the firestorm erupted about her she sprang to her feet and barged into the startled headsman with a bony shoulder. Caught off balance he fell backwards in a heap as in one smooth motion she vaulted the execution block and hightailed it to the shelter of the closest piece of shelter that she could see.
Headless of the sharp stones under her bare feet, she let her long legs carry her rapidly across the open space, bound wrists held out in front of her.
The distance to the relative safety of the garrison wall was further than she had thought, her destination seeming to fade into the distance as all around her came the sounds of panic and confusion, shouted orders and the constant roaring of flames.
From off to her right she was aware of one of Helgen's watchtowers collapsing in a cloud of dust and rubble, sparks from it's burning wooden platform spreading around it like fiery snow.
Finally she reached the stone alcove in the wall that she had been making for.
a human that has been given an alternate body to live in once their human body dies, or simply given a second chance at life.
a human who has been given a second chance at life or that has been given the chance to get revenge on his or her death.
most Kazems were innocent children before they died. and rarely are adults. the 'oldest' Kazem was 23 and still young.
a human who's body over time “breaks”. The body will soon become covered in cracks. Not like dry skin, but like cracks in a glass. No hanging skin, no blood, just deep cracks. The amount of cracks or how quick the person breaks, does not happen in a pattern. But harsh beatings or rough play can encourage cracks to form faster.
But before normal death time would come, or far after, the human body will shatter into many pieces.
The only way this can be avoided is by a powerful individual,giving the Glass Doll an Alternate Body , that their soul will connect
A Gourmet ChefDay Three Hundred Thirty-Six
March 10th, 2014
Theme: A Gourmet Chef
Warnings: Female x female pairing
“Hush, you – such musings have no real purpose.”
Ayla adjusted her position slightly. Lying on her side upon a plush rug before Ambra's hearth, she bore her head in one hand as her elbow dug into the rich material. “I am serious, darling! I've never had cooking like yours, and I've lived more than three and one half centuries with a father who spoils me rotten. You could easily procure a position in the culinary field.”
“In the Nightwalker world? Ah, yes – serving raw steaks to dogs, mugs of blood to you vampires, and grilled field mice to myself. I would really get to test my skills, hm?” Ambra chuckled, sipping her wine in a mirrored position.
“Oh come now – we eat far more than that,” Ayla pouted. “I'm serious! You need something to do after all of this ambassador nonsense. And doing mi
Picnic Suppers with FriendsThe hearty and slightly sweet scent of freshly baked bread wafted over the row of merchant stalls, subtly drawing us towards the next row, where both the show-cased blacksmiths and baker had set up their shops.
"I don't know about you two, but my stomach's about to turn inside out on itself," Captain said as we meandered through the crowds, browsing our choices.
"As is mine," I agreed wholeheartedly, "and if you two aren't opposed to something rather hearty, I'll treat you to the perfect cure."
"If you're talking about the baking bread that I've been smelling for the past ten minutes," Ranelwen replied. "There's no need to ask twice!"
"Perfect," I replied. "If I'm not much mistaken, I think that's a rye bread of some kind in the ovens now."
"I"ll chip in with some soup to split between us," the pirate added. "Make a meal of it."
"Sounds lovely," I agreed. "Meet us back here in a bit to find somewhere to settle down?"
After her nod of agreement, we split ways as Ranelwen and I lif
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More