Common
Force-claiming is allowed here once a week per character, as is blocking force-claims by the Peak/Lagoon (as a whole) once a week. Rollover is on Sundays.
Posted on April 4, 2020 at 00:18:15 AM by YAZHEEN
Twenty-four hours ago, she had been washed with blood.
It had run up her legs and blossomed at her lips, and she wore the temporary red scars as battle paint. They fueled her, and she felt the strength stolen from the flesh of those that had wronged her.
The war had gone poorly, and she had found herself, with many others, fleeing into the ocean. They had swam, and they had fought against the currents, and they had become separated. A family squandered against the shoals of distant shores. Emerging from the sea, dripping and cleansed of her past sins, she is cold.
So bitterly cold, she cringes against the wind and prays under her breath for the sun. A god, cruel and unhappy, was laughing at her from the heavens above, and she was begging Him for hotter weather and a temporary relief from this disgusting, bitter cold.
She moves inland, her dark hair clinging to her legs and to the nape of her neck. Yahzeen breathes out, a shaky breath that erupts as a puff of white mist in front of her fast. She almost runs, but she is tired. Exhausted. Miserable. She is angry, angry for the defeat that her family had faced, and angry that she had been forced into the waters, running from her tropical home of sand and palm trees and yellow grass that was bitter on the tongue.
In her rage she flees past the creatures that are mingling passively in this strange place, barely paying them any mind as they engage in chit chat and wander aimlessly amongst the snow- oblivious to the drowned rat that stumbles against the snow and trudges further from the sea. Anything to get away from that repulsive body of water that had swallowed her kin whole.
Eventually, her advance is stopped by a small creek that cuts through the snow. It is still alive, and Yazheen stops, staring at it long and hard with her cold eyes. She wills it to stop before her, and she stares down at it, a snarl upon her lips and her ears pressed against the dampness of her hair. Trembling, she swallows the shriek of rage that threatens to bubble up from her lips.
It had run up her legs and blossomed at her lips, and she wore the temporary red scars as battle paint. They fueled her, and she felt the strength stolen from the flesh of those that had wronged her.
The war had gone poorly, and she had found herself, with many others, fleeing into the ocean. They had swam, and they had fought against the currents, and they had become separated. A family squandered against the shoals of distant shores. Emerging from the sea, dripping and cleansed of her past sins, she is cold.
So bitterly cold, she cringes against the wind and prays under her breath for the sun. A god, cruel and unhappy, was laughing at her from the heavens above, and she was begging Him for hotter weather and a temporary relief from this disgusting, bitter cold.
She moves inland, her dark hair clinging to her legs and to the nape of her neck. Yahzeen breathes out, a shaky breath that erupts as a puff of white mist in front of her fast. She almost runs, but she is tired. Exhausted. Miserable. She is angry, angry for the defeat that her family had faced, and angry that she had been forced into the waters, running from her tropical home of sand and palm trees and yellow grass that was bitter on the tongue.
In her rage she flees past the creatures that are mingling passively in this strange place, barely paying them any mind as they engage in chit chat and wander aimlessly amongst the snow- oblivious to the drowned rat that stumbles against the snow and trudges further from the sea. Anything to get away from that repulsive body of water that had swallowed her kin whole.
Eventually, her advance is stopped by a small creek that cuts through the snow. It is still alive, and Yazheen stops, staring at it long and hard with her cold eyes. She wills it to stop before her, and she stares down at it, a snarl upon her lips and her ears pressed against the dampness of her hair. Trembling, she swallows the shriek of rage that threatens to bubble up from her lips.
YAZHEEN
image & html by russell
ooc: IMSORRYSHE'SSOMAD
Replies:
- -THERE IS NO HONOR AMONG THEIVES (claim) - By ℭULLEN April 4, 2020 at 02:01:13 AM
- Paint my skin with the blood of my enemies. - By YAZHEEN April 4, 2020 at 08:57:12 PM
- -THERE IS NO HONOR AMONG THEIVES - By ℭULLEN April 5, 2020 at 08:20:20 PM
- Paint my skin with the blood of my enemies. - By YAZHEEN April 7, 2020 at 11:44:48 AM
- -THERE IS NO HONOR AMONG THEIVES - By ℭULLEN April 5, 2020 at 08:20:20 PM
- Paint my skin with the blood of my enemies. - By YAZHEEN April 4, 2020 at 08:57:12 PM
Post a reply: