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Of Sunsets and Companionship"Fine ale! Get your fine ale here!"
"Ale? Why bother with ale when you can get the smoothest mead ever, just across the street?"
"Mead? Who on earth would go for mead when they can get the ale that's been aging since October past?"
"Anyone with a clear head on their shoulders -in other words, not you- would turn down your river-water in seconds after discovering the taste of my honey mead that even the Good Queen herself prefers!"
"Oh, pshaw on the both of you! Anyone in their right mind knows that my mulled wine is far superior to any of the sewer-water that you two attempt to sell."
A rather unseemly chuckle escaped before I could raise a daintily henna-ed hand to cover it. The taller of my companions winked at me with a wide grin of her own, only adding to the vision of a proper pirate queen. "You're fortunate that the taverns are still filled, otherwise their insults would be far more... lively."
I could not stop the faint blush that colored my face beneath my vei
Hands in the AirI couldn't help but laugh when I turned to catch sight of you after thirty minutes of near silence. I should have known better, and I'm sorry for making you cry. It was just too funny. There you are, your hands in the air, Crayola's vivid washable tempera paint dripping down your arms, motion slowed only by the heavy concentration of neon glitter that you had somehow mixed in. You, my dear child, are one creative mess.
No, don't come any closer. I'll come to you. Please, Just stay on the plastic shower curtain. I'm so grateful I remembered to throw down in the floor before letting you have access to your favorite art supplies...
How on earth did you manage to glue your smock to your shirt when there was only enough glue to glue a feather or two to a piece of your artwork? Speaking of feathers- is that the colorful mess tucked into your once-neat pony tail, hair tucked up safely out of the way? Yes, I suppose it is... were you trying to be a Native-American again? Next time, would
I know that you know, in the depths of your weary hearts, that the battle will not end in our favor. Already in unfamiliar territory, and with the skies above displaying their might in tumultuous display, we knew what the foreboding signs mean.
There will be no celebration this night, for there is no hope, and none will be remain to sing of our glory and deeds, for there will be no glory to sing of in the first place.
I see already, that none will sleep this night, not on this doomed eve of a doomed battle.
Even the chaplains realized the futility of our actions as they make their rounds, stopping at each of the bedrolls to offer a final blessing, a palladium against the inevitable.
"In case God doesn't show," they murmur, offering the heavy iron cross to be kissed or washed with a silent tear. "In case it is by your actions that we have brought this upon ourselves, seek for redemption of your soul...."
In but a few hours' time we will meet our fate. Until then, my men, seek
The Story that Lucky Charms TellThis is how the story goes.
Angered hearts turn to weapons
War breaks out. Homes burn, friends turn against friends and families split.
Wisdom of the ancient stars sought out
Truth sought but never found
Horseshoes turned up
To welcome in
Hopes for clover's four-leafed blessings
But even hope had fled
Beyond the chance hidden in the blue moon
Once sworn upon because
Promises of pots of gold
Had grips of iron that no man could match
And the rainbows of sunny days
Were but dreams in children's eyes
While the white balloons of silent prayers float up,
Dripping red with blood.
And this is how the story ends.
Twisting Tongues and Spoiled CheeseTwisting Tongues and Spoiled Cheese
The freshly unpacked head of cheese sat on the counter, taunting anyone who passed it.
"Remind me again, why the cheese for First Remove isn't sliced yet?" Lady Nell's voice rang out over the vats of simmering soup for the Third Remove.
Lord Wilhelm's reply was lost as one of the other kitchen helpers called for a new bowl for the sliced onions. The door to
the kitchen creaked open, the sound lost in the noise and frantic pacing of the Head Cook.
"Lord Wilhelm, you're summoned before the Crown!"
Lord Wilhelm looked up, knife halfway through the loaf of break he was slicing for the Head Table's tray. "Is your sister alright?" he asked immediately. Even Lady Nell looked up, pausing from her frantic consultation of the large to-do list taped to the wall by the main entrance.
"Yes, she's fine. She's the one Heralding for you. Hurry though, everyone's waiting on you." Young Thomas called, a
tinge of excitemen
Courtly Matters: Dented Helms and Spilled WineOf Dented Helmets and Spilled Wine
He grunted as he struggled to lever the helm off of his head without taking his nose off in the same movement. The chinstrap alone had been a struggle , twisted as it was through the leather-coated gorget, and the last -deadly- blow had not helped either.
"If I may, m'lord, I can give you a hand.." Sir Hartiel looked up to find the local Baron watching him struggle. "That's
a nasty tangle you have yourself in there."
"I would greatly appreciate the extra aid," Sir Hartiel replied courteously, "I cannot seem to get the gauntlets off without seeing them, and I can't see until I get this helmet off."
"Always a true dilemma," Baron Loepen replied with a chuckle as he began to assess the dented helmets. "I find myself in similar difficulties when it comes to getting anything across to the populace without a Herald on sight- we have so many young ones on site most days!"
Sir Hartiel chuckled, "Aye, they do have a
A Rose for the HomelandA Rose for the Homeland
This was a day she should have been happy on. Dressed in her native garb, wrapped in the plaid colors that stood for all that the nation meant to it's people, she should have been content in her role, honored even to stand representative at the celebrations. She wasn't.
The merry dances continued around her, leaving only a small calm spot around the place where she stood, gazing into the distance, wishing that her eyes could penetrate the distance that hid her homelands from sight.
"My lady, will you not dance?"
The young Duchess Moria Telfairson looked up, only partially shaken out of her thoughts.
"What are we doing here?" she asked quietly, as if unaware that the words had even left her tongue. "What are we doing here, when war ravages our people, stealing our children and our land as each day passes?" She turned, looking him in the eyes. "What are we doing here?"
Lord Tevis Claigmire's warm smile faded into the true expression of grief and worry that h
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More