Fantasy The Fractured Lands: Story [CLOSED]

[Wayne]

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  Souls of Mist

  
  
  
  

  Shunsuke Kida

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  opening.

  
  
  
  

  T

  he sky hung low and gray, a muted shroud of ash that cloaked the land beneath. There, amidst a desolate field of withered grass, the remnants of an ancient castle stood solemn and abandoned, now reconfigured into a refuge for wandering souls. Encircled by skeletal trees and scattered bones, the ruins had morphed into a semblance of a city, Hedra, the City of Lost.
  
  "Look at you," an old blind woman crooned, her voice a cracked whisper in the gloom. "I see it in your eyes; you’re lost, aren’t you? Where are you? What is this place? Fear not, traveler, for you have stumbled upon heaven amidst this hell. Hedra, oh Hedra, guard our souls, keep our sanity intact, and grant us the sanctuary we so desperately seek.
  
  Hedra, oh Hedra, you call them all, these forlorn souls arrive, bereft of memory, seeking answers in a land barren of truth. They follow a fabled legend, chasing a treasure unseen and unreachable. The path is one of death, and those who tread it are destined to falter. We can only find temporary solace, awaiting peace until the darkness overtakes us and carves our lives away. But Hedra will not forsake us; oh, Hedra will protect."
  
  Her lament echoed through the air, a constant refrain of the mythic Pilgrimage of Light, a tale of a radiant beacon said to solve all woes and guide its touchers back to their worlds and times. Yet, the old woman's prophecies fell upon deaf ears.
  
  "Quiet, you wretched hag," barked a merchant, his voice sharp and impatient. He jostled the old lady aside, his bags of coins clinking with the sounds of gold, copper, and silver. In the fractured lands, currency was mere noise; it signaled trade, but acquiring goods required barter or theft. Precious items like meat, finely crafted weapons, and rare armor were coveted luxuries that attracted danger, making their possession perilous.
  
  Beyond the market, where low-grade food, rusty tools, and miscellaneous trinkets were peddled, lay a tavern and a handful of houses. Most homes were fortified with multiple locks, their owners wary of theft. The tavern, however, was Hedra’s heartbeat, known far and wide for its exceptional ale. Though rumors spoke of magical methods behind its quality, the tavern’s proprietors never divulged their secret. What mattered was the throng of patrons who traded armor and valuables for a single cup of chilled ale, often surrendering everything for the comfort of a drink.
  
  The streets of Hedra were a labyrinth of varying widths, with the castle walls forming narrow passages and blocked-off sections. The once-majestic castle had crumbled long ago, leaving only debris and scavenged materials. Its glory had faded, repurposed into a refuge for the destitute and lost.
  
  In this enigmatic city, a small group of individuals found themselves drawn together by a single legend, the mythical Pilgrimage of Light. Unaware of the journey that lay ahead, they were united by a story few dared to follow, their fates intertwined by the promise of an elusive beacon, having heard that somewhere in Hedra, there were the answers they wanted about the pilgrimage of light. With few places to explore, most adventurers were drawn to the tavern, a place for rest and information.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  The Pilgrims of Light.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Knight

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  Wayne

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Pirate

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  Ayama

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Wildling

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  BuggaBoo

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Nameless

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  Goonfire

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Hierophant

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  yokai.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Sea Serpent

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  yana

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Zealot

  
  
  
  

  
  

  played by

  
  

  kasigi

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

intro

cast

Dive into

The Fractured

Lands

time

Dusk

location

Central ruins of Hedra

status

closed

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wayne]

Wolf

mood.

Neutral

location.

Ruins of Hedra

tags.

None.

Wolf stepped into Hedra, the city emerging as a chaotic patchwork of habitation. The remains of an ancient castle had been cobbled together into makeshift homes, taverns, and shops. It was, at best, a squalid slum teeming with thieves and unscrupulous characters. Honor and decency were scarce, almost alien in these fractured lands.

For as long as Wolf could remember, he had adhered to his own code within these harsh territories. He had offered aid where he could, though not without resistance. His longsword, an intimidating blade, had seen more than its share of use. The weapon was cumbersome, large and heavy, unwieldy for most, but its mere presence often deterred would-be attackers.

Navigating through the market, Wolf scanned the stalls, his attention drawn to a few fresh fish despite the ever-present stench. It was food, something he had been sorely lacking since his last stop, a place that barely deserved the name “city.” That collection of tents and a solitary bonfire had offered little sustenance, only a handful of seeds which had done little to stave off his hunger.

“Excuse me,” Wolf addressed a merchant, his gaze steady and gray.

The merchant looked up, meeting Wolf’s eyes with a mix of curiosity and unease. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave it away?”

“You’re clad in full armor, and that sword of yours will attract every thief in Hedra. If I were you, or if you had any sense, you’d trade it all to me for some of my finest fish.” The merchant’s grin was yellowed and cynical. Wolf, arms crossed, regarded him with a cold tilt of his head.

“The tavern,” he reiterated, his tone more insistent.

“Just a jest, stranger,” the merchant said, his expression softening. He then provided directions: head north from the marketplace to the city’s main thoroughfare, and the tavern would be the last building on the left side of the castle ruins. The wooden sign hanging there was nearly illegible, but the sounds of lively chatter confirmed he had reached his destination. Hedra was small enough to traverse in minutes, though the dense crowd suggested otherwise.

Wolf pushed open the tavern door, the warmth from a crackling fireplace immediately enveloping him. He shook off the cold, approached the counter, and set down a few trinkets he had scavenged.

“An ale,” he said, “and what’s available to eat?”

“Options, my friend? We’ve got bread and fish, that’s all we can manage here.”

“Then I’ll take both.”

With his food in hand, Wolf chose a table among the patrons who were engrossed in their drinks and conversation. Though most were too occupied to notice him, a few glances had already been cast toward his armor, a silent acknowledgment of the stranger among them. Whatever tales he had heard about the pilgrimage of light would have to wait for him to eat first.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ayama]

fluticasone fluticasone

THE PIRATE LORD OF OTRECHT
Callum Thrym-Pennant​

"Not fortune found, nor fate divine
Come close to toping the juice of the vine..." ​

The familiar drinking song's melody could be heard winding through the animated chatter in Hedra's tavern, wafting from somewhere unseen.

If one were to carefully wend their way through spirited discussions and drunken card games towards the back of the popular establishment, they would find themselves facing an unusual sight in the Fractured Lands: a young man, seemingly relaxed and perfectly at ease, leaning back in a chair with his boots propped up on the table in front of him, fingers strumming the strings of a worn-out lute.

The man in question had hair the color of the deepest red wine and eyes the color of an oak tree's bark- eyes that were crinkled in a seemingly perpetual smile. He happily strummed away as he plucked out the melody of the well-known tune, a few weary voices joining him in song.

"With cherry crew, we sip and sway-
Let's tip the tankard and waste the day..." ​

Singing was rare in this purgatory of endless twilight- though not much was known about the origins of the Fractured Lands, it was clearly a place of testing, or punishment, and it seemed to be inhabited only by grizzled warriors and cutthroat murderers and those of less-than-sunny disposition.

Which was why the young pirate lord's cheerful demeanor stood out like a splash of color at a funeral. Though Callum didn't remember who he'd been before waking up in this hellscape, his lighthearted approach to life had stayed with him, and though time was difficult to measure here, he hadn't yet been in the darkened realm long enough for it to suck out his positivity and sense of joy, so he clung to them fiercely.

Besides, remaining obstinately exuberant was a way to keep the Fractured Lands from taking whatever remained of him and stay sane, so he overcompensated. By the time Wolf arrived in the tavern, the young lord had gotten enough of the other nearby patrons drunk for there to be a resounding chorus sounding from the back of the room.

"RE, RAW, WELL YE KEN, OUR TOILS CAN WAIT FOR A TIME.
WE SAW THE FOLLY OF MEN, WHO RATHER THAN REVEL REPINE!" ​

the drunken voices boomed as one, more than one tankard of ale sloshing out over its sides in the singers' enthusiasm as they tried, at least for the duration of the song, and as according to the words, to forget about the darkness- if even just for a moment.

 

[Goonfire]

The Nameless Rogue

---

Another day, another drink...

The blonde thief had scoured the harsh landscape for several days, scavenging what he could before returning periodically to Hedra. The almighty coin he and others knew was no good here; weapons, tools, and armor were the currencies of these Fractured Lands. Of course, he had little problem procuring them. Thieves and bandits seemed to be the ones destined to make a fortune...

"... Or die trying," he thought, staring at the new arrival from his seat on the Mezzanine balcony overlooking the tavern's main bar room. That armor, that longsword... Were the owner crestfallen, he could have sold such equipment for nearly anything he chose. What was his story?

The rogue was no less an outsider than the knight, truth be told. He, too, wore armor—dark leather, segmented, boiled, and riveted together into lightweight but sufficient protection. His was merely less imposing and eye catching than the head-to-toe steel.

His head then turned, gaze fixing upon the musician lifting his audience's spirits. It made for a pleasant, even colorful scene—one that, for a moment, made the thief forget his dismal reality. He leaned on the balustrade while finishing his diluted ale, watching for further arrivals and departures. Odd characters like these made for interesting gossip... and great profit, if they died. He felt lousy for weighing their value so soon, but he couldn't help it. If he didn't strip the trinkets from their corpses, someone else would, after all!

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Flower' - The Wildling Huntress

Blocking the way just outside the tavern...

Flower, Song and Wolfie were a pack. Even more than that, they were sisters.

And so the trail of Song's abductors led both she and Wolfie here. The outskirts of civilization.

Flower and Wolfie had coughed and crinkled their snouts. The land beyond reeked of perversion; an infection to both land and being. She hated it to no end, but they both had to enter into the Outsider human's territories.

Wolfie, tail drooped, amber eyes low, glued her hide to Flower's legs as commanded. There was no way Wolfie was to be alone on the outskirts; no trap would ever claim her sister again. And the huntress knew that anywhere but within her arms reach would make Wolfie seemingly a possible threat to these people. The canine might even be a target of hate and fear, possibly attacked.

But it was perhaps Flower herself that was the more worrisome. The woman was huge, muscular and covered in tattoos and scars across her entire massive brown body. All of course accented by giant-sized weaponry; her lovingly carved warbow was as tall as she herself, impressive as much as it was fear-invoking. Even lowered as she moved along the streets like a predatory beast, she was still taller than any man here.

And then of course was the bear skull, masking her face. Intricate carvings and markings were strewn all across its ivory surface. Weathered as it was, still the finger length teeth shone bright as it would have in its cursed life. But the one thing that had men avert their gaze and mother's hide away their children were those eyes. Hued that of northern permanence and hardened like diamonds, they stared not like one inqusitive. No, they stared out into the world as if everything that moved deserved to be killed and eaten.

In her world, the guardsmen would have instantly attacked her in attempt to subdue and cast her out. But this was not her world. The guardsmen here seemed to respect her Ways and merely flanked her, watching her as she went. As long as the she-beast and the she-wolf played nice, there would be no problems.

Despite knowing the language of these Outside peoples, Flower herself could not speak. Even more problematic was that they could not comprehend her language. Unlike Song, a whisperer in her own right, many others would find it hard to understand let alone figure out what Flower said with her clicks, grunts, whistles and motions.

And as curious as she was, Flower knew that this was not the time to try to speak nor trade with these Outsiders. No, she just needed to scout this dirty, deviant land for her sister. If Song was truly not here, then she would continue on for there was but only one path out of this place that horses could travel.

The sound of racous singing of course drew her attention. Tatted and scowling face turned. Several clicks and whistles she let out and Wolfie got up from her haunches and limped along side Flower. The bear mask lowered as she continued on to the place of song, drink and most importantly food.

Flower did not know the Ways of these people but for the most part she understood the reverence of a place of nourishment. She would respect such a place and they would eat their meal upon such lands.

The townsfolk would watch astonished as the giant woman danced and twirled, dark braids chasing her movements. Even the she-wolf seemed to prance and bark, joining in the rhythmic motions. And finally when the ritual was done, Flower and Wolfie sat at the stoop of the tavern. There was no way the pair would enter; it smelled like soured, fermented plants and sweaty, worm-infested bodies in there.

But still, the singing was nice. Finding the just right spot, Flower sat and basically blocked the stairway with her massive form. As she ate and shared her dried meats with Wolfie, both seemed to sway in time. Intoxicating was the music and song that revelled on inside.

---

 

[Wayne]

Narration

location.

Ruins of Hedra

tags.

BuggaBoo Goonfire Ayama

The tavern buzzed with an infectious vibrancy, its song a rare and spirited echo that reverberated through the heart of Hedra. Even those who drifted past the weathered building paused, momentarily entranced by the melodies that seemed to promise a glimpse of forgotten joys. The faces of the townsfolk softened, their smiles flickering like distant memories of better days in a land marred by its own disarray.


In the midst of this rare burst of cheer, the Knight felt an unsettling awareness. Despite his finely honed instincts warning of lurking danger, he remained rooted by a sense of duty that bound him to the city. He was not alone; the city’s grime and mystery had drawn others like him, strangers in search of elusive answers. The imposing figure of the woman with her wolf stood as a formidable presence at the tavern’s entrance, a living barrier that captured the collective gaze of curious onlookers. Many were drawn by the infectious revelry inside, yet the sheer scale of her presence deterred them from approaching.


The Pirate's actions had brought an unprecedented gaiety to the tavern’s usual clientele, a sight that jarred against the backdrop of their typically somber existence. The regular patrons, usually consumed by their sorrows, were now lifted by a rare moment of light-heartedness. This change did not escape the tavern keeper, who watched with a mix of unease and concern, as though he feared the celebration was a prelude to something less desirable.


Within the shadows, the rogue's gaze assessed the Knight’s armor with a calculating eye. The rogue was not alone; the tavern housed others of his ilk, adept at discerning between locals and outsiders. To them, both were merely another mark, another potential victim. Yet, despite the pervasive undercurrent of threat, the tavern's tacit rule against violence ensured a fragile peace within these walls.


Outside, a sudden chill descended, accompanied by the faint, distant toll of a bell. The sound, almost imperceptible, struck fear into those few who heard it. Faces turned pallid as people scrambled through the crowded streets, hurrying to their homes with frantic urgency. The city's narrow lanes, congested to the point of suffocation, forced many to jostle for passage, heightening the palpable tension.


The architecture of Hedra was a patchwork of necessity and neglect. Some structures incorporated remnants of the old castle, while others were hastily assembled from whatever materials could be salvaged. Many homes were precariously built of weathered wood, seemingly on the brink of collapse. Yet, against the odds, the city persisted, interconnected by a network of wooden ladders and bridges that marred the skyline with their unsightly presence.


Back in the tavern, the keeper's growing impatience was evident. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the counter as he served the patrons with a distracted air, his gaze frequently darting to the old wooden doors.


The bell tolled again, its sound this time causing the entire city to freeze momentarily. A young man, barely twenty, burst into the scene, his face etched with panic. He approached the woman blocking the tavern entrance, his voice urgent and breathless.


"Please, I need to get inside. They must be warned about the shade," he implored, sweat streaming down his brow.


Outside, chaos erupted as people surged towards their homes, the temperature plummeting with each passing moment. Among them, the old blind woman’s voice quivered with fear as she cried out, "Protect us, Hedra."


On the distant horizon, dark silhouettes mounted on horseback loomed over the city, their figures stark against the waning light.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[yana]

the sea serpent

Siri.

location

tavern in hedra

mood

anxious

Siri reached the city of Hedra by nightfall. She traveled with a small caravan as wandering the wastelands alone proved to be too dangerous for most. Cities and settlements were few and far between and the open road was perilous. She kept to herself as best as she could, not knowing who to trust.

Her skills as a thief came in handy in her journey across the Fractured Lands, even though she mostly stole food and weapons instead of coins and jewelry, as she was used to. Carrying such things only put a target on her back and she preferred to remain unnoticed and unremarkable. All she had on her was two daggers hidden under her cloak. They were simple but well-crafted, valuable enough to kill for.

She hid her dirty blonde hair and most of her face under a hood as she stepped into the tavern. As always, she didn’t draw much attention. She bought bread and ale with the little coin she had on her and found a seat in the corner that gave her a good overview of the whole place. The warmth of the fireplace and the strangely cheerful atmosphere were a welcome surprise. The song that filled the tavern was not a sea shanty she knew, but it still felt familiar. She caught herself quietly humming along the catchy melody.

The man who arrived in full armor immediately caught her eyes. Wearing such equipment probably meant he was wealthy. The massive sword he was carrying did not escape her attention either. That surely frightened away most thieves. Siri, however, prided herself in her ability to steal valuables and escape without their owner even noticing something was missing, so she definitely wanted to keep an eye on him, in case an opportunity presented itself.

As the singing died down, the atmosphere shifted fast. Siri heard a bell toll. She wasn’t sure what it signaled, but it sent a shiver down her spine. There seemed to be some commotion at the door, people were shouting outside. Danger was coming but she didn't know what and from where. Her body tensed as she reached for a dagger that was strapped to her thigh. She looked around, hoping to see someone who knew what was going on.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Flower' - The Wildling Huntress

Bringing the blind woman into the tavern...

The bell tolled, alerting all, demanding all to run and cower.

Both the she-beast and the she-wolf bolted upright, ears perked up. One stood tall glaring at the source, the other lowered, tail-between legs, ready to flee.

Several low gutteral grunts and soft whistles Flower let out. The sounds slid out as gentle as the brush strokes upon Wolfie's hide. Just as gently now, she pressed the canine's haunches down then proceeded up the steps to the top of the stoop. A white-toothed sneer parted her lips, ice blue eyes lit with suspicion as she scanned the scurrying townsfolk.

That sound. It stirred memories in her; memories not from this Otherside but from her own world. The tension in her shoulders torqued up that much more when the bell tolled yet again. Her hackles were up now. The memories stirred in her mind were wrestling phantoms made of violence, pain and worst of all fear.

"Please, I need to get inside. They must be warned about the shade," he implored

Errupting from her throat was the sound of a smith's molten steel hitting cool liquid, the moment he was within point blank of her killzone. A hearbeat later she had him dead to rights, ice blue eyes melting within a deadly inferno. Wolfie was barking, lowered to the ground, ready to snap, catch and shake the life outta the invading stranger; all it took was a single motion or sound from her pack sister.

The young man held frozen, eyes crossed, blubbering at the sight of the wrong end of the biggest arrow he had ever seen. And yet despite his bowels demanding to be set free he held steadfast in his resolve, he had but one task to fulfill so be damned his bodily functions.

The old blind woman’s voice quivered with fear as she cried out, "Protect us, Hedra."

Amidst the sea of mayhem in the streets, a lone, pathetic beacon stood out within the panicked humanity. Instantly the hissing ceased; Flower's demeanor shifted as did her objective now. The woman was obviously blind upon a lone glance yet in the huntress' eyes, she needed to be protected at all costs.

Several commanding chuffs she dealt out and leapt high over the cowering young man's head. Flower hit the ground running, full sprint, dodging, shoving, hissing as she went. Undeterred, Wolfie ran immediately beside her pack sister, limp pronounced but still keeping up. Wildly was her tail wagging as she barked out, alerting the unseeing old lady.

Not even a moment before she turned her weathered cheek, was she then snatched and hoisted unceremoniously over the bulging brown inked shoulder of the massive huntress. Wolfie turned, snapping at heels to clear space for Flower. The big woman whistled loudly and bolted, heading straight back the way she came, a vice grip on her kicking and screaming old quarry.

There was no way she would let the old woman go. Her sightlessness was a sign of the divine as far as Flower was concerned. Many a time had her spirit guide led her to a blind being for advice; 'As it may be, that which they do not see, here child, do they well see into the Otherside's reality.' was the Smiling Jaguars wise words.

She had no idea how to open the door but luckily the young town-caller had left it open. A single leap took her and her divine sack of wise goods from bottom of stoop past the threshhold of the Outsider human's revered eatery's main entrance. On instinct, she placed the old woman at the centre and backstepped several times, her immense form lowered and wound up like a spring.

( yana , Wayne , Goonfire , Ayama )

The old woman lay there, mewling softly, yet safe and sound as far as Flower could see. But regardless, this place reeked of dirty, soured fluids and even dirtier, soured bodies. The room fell silent but the gaze-- all those eyes, they screamed out volumes. The big huntress hissed in response.

Instinctively Flower drew a short spear in one trembling yet readied hand. The other grabbed Wolfie by her scruff as the she-wolf growled, puffed up tail wagging nervously, ivory white teeth bared. Why the hell did this place smell of such filth and just where the hell were the spirits of this world?

The answer slunk its way up and down her spine playing it like a reaper's orchestra. A shakey breath she let out as she lowered her weapon, all thoughts about her sister, Song, vanishing in the next heartbeat. Wolfie caught the instant change in demeanour and ceased her own aggressiveness. She whimpered softly and licked her pack sisters hand.

Something out there, beyond sight and reason had softened the mettle of the most powerful being the wolf had ever known. Something big was happening.

Something wrong.

---

 

[Wayne]

Narration

location.

Ruins of Hedra

tags.

BuggaBoo Goonfire Ayama yana

The young man faced the tall woman with a courage that was more a veneer than a true shield. His heart pounded beneath his calm façade, each beat a testament to the fear he strove to conceal. As the woman, whose presence was both formidable and strangely serene, turned to aid the old blind woman, the young man, driven by an urgent need, hastened towards the tavern. He mounted the steps with rapid strides, flinging open the heavy wooden doors, and the sudden hush that fell over the room seemed to echo the gravity of the moment. The keeper, a stout man with a countenance marked by worry, met his gaze with a tremor in his voice.

“The shade are coming,” he declared, his words quivering as if each syllable bore the weight of impending doom. At the grim tidings, a wave of panic swept through the patrons, who scrambled from their seats and fled into the encroaching night. In the span of a few breaths, the tavern was nearly empty, save for a solitary quartet: a knight clad in worn armor, a rogue with a shrewd look, and two pirates whose silence spoke of many a tale. Their collective gaze fell upon the entrance just as the she-beast appeared, bearing the blind woman into the warm sanctuary of the tavern with a curious mixture of grace and menace.

“Outsiders, are you?” the keeper asked, his eyes flickering with both apprehension and a grudging hope. “If you were not, you would already be fleeing in terror.”

“No, not merely outsiders…” came the slow, deliberate response of the blind woman, each word a measured breath, as if she were weaving a thread through the very essence of those present despite her sightless gaze. “…but Pilgrims of Light.”

Beyond the tavern’s threshold, the city lay wrapped in an unnatural cold, the darkness reigning with a somber authority. The silhouettes of grim figures descended from the high hill, their forms shifting and indistinct against the night sky. The sound of their horses, though spectral and hollow, was a foreboding herald of their approach.

“The coming of the shades is no mere happenstance,” the blind woman’s voice was almost a whisper, laced with a knowing laugh. “They sense the pilgrims. To proceed, it seems, one must confront them, for it is the path of those who seek the light.”

The keeper’s gaze swept over the gathered folk, his eyes seeking signs of valor amongst them. Their battle-worn gear and stern faces spoke of past conflicts, yet the true measure of their courage remained untested. If they were indeed pilgrims, their mettle would need to be proven in the crucible of the night’s peril.

“What do you tarry for, children?” the blind woman’s voice rang clear and insistent. “Challenge beckons you from the shadows; it calls your names.”

Outside, the streets lay lifeless, bathed in the feeble light of scattered lanterns and flickering torches. The cold wind cut sharper, as though the town itself were succumbing to a deep and mournful chill. The presence of the shades was more than a mere threat, it was an omen of death, and their spectral forms were already roaming the darkened streets of Hedra, heralding a night of dread and destiny.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ayama]

fluticasone fluticasone

THE PIRATE LORD OF OTRECHT
Callum Thrym-Pennant​

As the patrons got deeper and deeper into their cups and the singing increased in volume and disorderliness about him, Callum's intelligent eyes darted all around. The young bard might seem relaxed and without a care, but he hadn't survived in his chosen piratical career by being unaware of the fact that danger could strike at any time, and his guard was always up.

Of course, since he now found himself murdered and in the Fractured Lands, one could argue that he hadn't, in fact, survived, or been careful enough, but the pirate lord didn't remember any of that, though some part of him, no matter how faint, must have retained some notion of it, subtly seen in the tense coil of his shoulders and his ever-darting eyes.

He had noticed the large warrior in full-plate armor eating at a table nearby, and the blonde in the dark leather armor, leaning over the balustrade as he sang, tankard in hand. There was another in the corner whose features he couldn't quite make out under their dark hood, though he noticed a few stray strands of pale hair poking out.

Those who sang with him seemed to share his need to alleviate the darkness and silence of this mysterious land, and as the voices rose and fell he could almost feel the defiance in them. A defiance which turned to fear when, faintly and far off, began the tolling of a bell.

Before Callum could wonder at the meaning, a nervous-looking young man had barged inside, eyes wild, and made a chilling pronouncement about a shade. The words meant nothing to the bard, but this was evidently not the case for the rest of the patrons as, faster than he would've thought possible, they cleared out of the tavern, leaving behind only himself and a handful of the others he had noticed previously, along with a large, tattooed warrior who had barreled into the room during the chaos, gently depositing a blind old woman to the floor before hefting a spear and apparently growling at anyone foolish enough to make eye contact.

At the tavern keeper's mention of 'outsiders', Callum shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly and played a few, idle notes on the lute, stopping when he heard the words 'Pilgrims of Light'.

Frowning, he finally divested himself of his instrument and placed both feet firmly on the floor, giving the blind woman his full attention.

"What, exactly, is the Shade?" he asked, preferring to know what he was in for before getting involved in any fight. "And why is it coming for us?"

 

[Wayne]

Narration

location.

Hedra's tavern

tags.

BuggaBoo Goonfire Ayama yana

In the dimly lit corners of the tavern, where shadows danced with the flickering light of hearth and candle, a grave discourse unfolded. The tavern keeper, a man seasoned by the tales of countless travelers and the whisperings of the town, leaned forward with an air of somber knowledge. “The Shade,” he intoned, his voice resonating with the weight of ancient lore, “are a band of warriors who serve the Five Lords. They journey from city to city, like Hedra, to gather souls. What befalls those they capture remains a mystery.”

At this, the old blind woman, whose presence seemed to echo with the wisdom of ages, stirred. Her voice, though gentle, carried the gravity of lost and unspoken histories. “Indeed, children, the Lords have long been silent. Before your arrival, there were others who sought the sacred light, pilgrims of valor who journeyed as you do. Alas, their paths were cut short, and they fell before the merciless Shade.” She reached for a cup, lifting it with a practiced hand and drinking the remnants of some long-forgotten reveler, the tavern keeper’s indifference to such acts a testament to his patience.

“The Shade,” she continued, her gaze, though unseen, seemed to pierce through the very essence of the young rogue to whom she pointed, followed by the other outsiders, “are said to seek out champions of great renown for their dark masters. Yet what becomes of those they capture is unknown. It appears you have been marked for their hunt. They are not in Hedra for its people, but for you.”

The tavern keeper’s brow furrowed in skepticism. “Whether the woman’s words ring true or not, the city will not escape unscathed. The Shade fulfill their grim orders with a fervor that leaves naught but ruin in their wake. By the light of the morning, this place may well be dust upon the wind.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room, the weight of impending doom palpable. The keeper’s expression was grim, and his words seemed to trouble both the young man and the old woman. “These warriors are fierce and untamed,” he resumed, his hands moving methodically to clean the remaining cups. “Though I have not beheld them myself, since the last assault on Hedra occurred before I took up my duties, I have heard that they appear almost spectral, wraiths from the shadowed realms.”

Outside, the Shade moved with dreadful purpose through the streets, their dark cloaks and sinister armor gleaming with an unnatural sheen beneath the moon’s cold light. They rode undead steeds, their presence a harbinger of doom. With brutal efficiency, they shattered doors and invaded homes, their search relentless and without mercy. The citizens, driven by fear, fought to barricade their dwellings, but the Shade’s strength was a fearsome force, breaking through barriers and leaving carnage in their wake. Their monstrous recklessness showed no regard for life, and they scoured every corner, their eyes cold and unfeeling.

The young man, filled with a sudden dread, approached the window. His gaze met that of a Shade warrior, and in a moment of stark terror, he recoiled, falling to the ground. The tavern keeper, swift and resolute, moved to his side. “They are upon us,” he declared, his voice grim with the certainty of impending doom.

“You are left to your own fate,” he said, urgency in his tone. “None among us could withstand even one of these fiends. I shall lead these two through the back. Mayhap you can endure this night.” With a decisive movement, he took the old blind woman by the arm, guiding her towards a hidden door at the tavern’s rear, with the young man following closely behind. “Good fortune to you, pilgrims.”

“If fate allows,” the blind woman’s voice carried a strange mirth as she departed, “we may meet again.”

The tavern, sturdy and spacious, held the promise of temporary refuge. Its wooden beams, robust and ancient, could serve as a shield, while tables and chairs stood ready to be employed in the defense of the beleaguered. Yet, time was fleeting, for the Shade’s approach was swift and inexorable. As they began to ascend the stairs, the necessity for swift action was evident. The pilgrims faced the grim reality of uniting their strength to resist the encroaching darkness, their survival hinging upon their courage and resolve.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Goonfire]

The Nameless Rogue

---

A chill crept up the rogue's spine—once as the foreboding bell drove the patrons to flee, and again as the elder brought by the hulking woman stared directly at him with clouded, unseeing eyes. Up to this point, he had remained still as a statue, hardly breathing in these long, tense minutes. He finally weaved between the tables and down the weathered, winding staircase to join the others who had congregated here. A look of doubt held fast upon his features. "Whatever reason they may want me, I swear I am innocent," he protested uneasily, not believing himself to be some Pilgrim of Light.

Screams echoed from the nearby crude homes... Dying wails he somehow knew too well. "Then again, I doubt innocence means much to these 'Shade'." His eyes trailed up from the startled young man to the window. His blood ran cold at the mere glimpse of the malevolent creature. This entity was his adversary; every fiber of his being told him so. His heart raced with primal fear.

The last three townsfolk slipped out through the backdoor. Even if they were unable to fight, a stone sank in the thief's gut as the realization hit him: only five of them versus the stuff of legends. "Stay calm," he breathed. "We handle them as we handle anything else." How did the others handle these situations...?

Well, he knew how he did.

Sensing the enemy approaching the tavern doors, the rogue dove under the table nearest them, drew his dagger, and pulled up his cloth half-mask. His breathing was now muffled and he was poised to strike from the shadows.

 

[Wayne]

Wolf

mood.

Focused

location.

Ruins of Hedra

tags.

None.

In the dim and shadowed hall of the tavern, a sense of dire foreboding filled the air. The shades that prowled the streets of Hedra were a menace far too grave to be lightly dismissed. Wolf harbored no illusions that fleeing the town would grant a safe escape; indeed, such an action would be deemed a coward's flight, unworthy of any true-hearted soul. The cries that pierced the night beyond the tavern’s walls were a sorrowful summons for aid. If the woman’s ominous foretelling, that the shades were descending upon them, held any truth, then the townsfolk endured suffering wrought by their very presence. Thus, it was only just that they should stand resolute against the peril they had unwittingly unleashed.

Wolf sat steadfast at his table, his ears attuned to the murmur of debate and the grim tidings they received. The questions that danced on the edge of their discourse were many, yet the answers remained elusive, especially with the shades roaming the streets. Time dwindled with every heartbeat, and the urgency grew palpable. At that very moment, a young man had drawn the notice of the shades. As the townsfolk fled the tavern, Wolf discerned the ominous approach of their adversaries, heavy, deliberate footfalls heralding a fierce clash. The shades were well-armed and prepared for the struggle against their meager band.

The shades, numerous and relentless, surged forth into the tavern. A dozen or more of these spectral warriors began to flood the establishment, their dark forms unsettling as they advanced. Wolf rose, his gaze sweeping over the scene. The other pilgrims readied themselves for battle, each in their own manner. Despite their small number, they appeared capable of defending themselves. Two shades, clad in armor of midnight hue and bearing an aura of malevolence, approached Wolf with menacing intent.

He met their assault with practiced grace, narrowly evading the first blow. His own sword was quickly drawn, meeting the next attack with firm resistance. Wolf retreated a step, seeking a clearer view of his foes. The shades’ armor, an eerie black as if forged from the very essence of night, seemed to swallow the light. Their faces, obscured by darkened helms and cloaks, rendered them faceless and nameless specters, driven solely by the desire to vanquish and subdue.

In a moment of tactical insight, Wolf kicked the table beside him. The jarring impact caused one shade to falter, granting Wolf a fleeting opportunity to engage the other. He swung his blade with precision, though it narrowly missed its mark. He ducked beneath an incoming strike and charged, tackling his foe to the ground. Wolf rained blows with his gauntleted fists, yet his advantage was short-lived as the second assailant recovered their footing.

Wolf glanced around, ensuring the safety of his comrades, then turned his attention back to the fray. He parried a swing followed by a push with his shoulder, he then countered with a slash to the shade’s thigh, followed by a decisive kick that sent his enemy sprawling. This momentary respite allowed him to focus on his remaining opponent. The battle raged on with neither side gaining a definitive edge, until Wolf attempted a finishing strike aimed at the shade’s neck. However, his blade became entangled in the wooden beams supporting the tavern. In that critical instant, the shade’s weapon swung toward him. Wolf narrowly evaded the blow, but not without a cost, a gash on his right arm that, though not grievous, would need tending soon.

Drawing back, Wolf scanned the room for a makeshift weapon. His gaze fell upon a cup of ale, undisturbed amidst the chaos. Seizing it, he hurled it at his foe, causing the shade to stumble backward, aligning them with one of the tavern’s windows. Wolf seized the opportunity, engaging in close combat. With a powerful left hook followed by another, he overwhelmed the shade, who faltered in their defense. A final, forceful kick sent the foe crashing through the window, the fall, though not fatal, would remove them from the fray.

The remaining shade, despite a wounded leg, rose to continue the fight. Wolf, having retrieved his sword, met the threat with swift determination. He cleaved through the shade’s weapon and hand, delivering a final, decisive blow that ended the menace. As the clash subsided, Wolf’s gaze swept over the battleground, his eyes vigilant as he held his injured arm, assessing the state of his comrades and the outcome of their dire confrontation.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[yokai.]

mood :

determined

location :

hedra's tavern

outfit :

dark coloured priest robes

tags :

none

the hierophant

✧

𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥

The lone sin eater stood tall amidst the land of decay, skin was coated in grime, yet their moonbright hair shone underneath the dim light, a beacon that set him apart from the brutish shadows tearing their claws into the ruined town. Draped in a tattered cassock that seemed woven from the fabric of the night, he could have fit in well within their ranks—yet there was no mistaking him for one of the shade. Ultimately, he did not belong.

Steadfast eyes, grim and downcast, reflected an ancient weariness. Vergil had awoken not long ago, disoriented and ravenous, in the nearest town of Hedra, a desolate place clinging to the edges of the world. Desperation had driven them to barter a crude bone dagger, one that he recalled was usually reserved for ceremony, for a scrap of molding bread from some pitiless merchant. Chewing it slowly, his face betrayed no disgust, yet even as they stomached the taste their mind ultimately rejected it. This will not do… His body, though somewhat living, craved something else—something teeming with vitality.

As they considered their options, an ominous sound crept into the air—a discordant bell chime, like the dying breath of an organ that mimicked the beat of a twisted heart. It thudded in sync with his own, pushing him forward. And then, the unmistakable clamor of battle.

Vergil’s steps drew him nearer to the sound, guiding him to a warmly lit tavern where the clash of weapons and the growls of agony echoed within. Through a crack in the door, he saw warriors of shadow swarming inside, attacking a band of desperate figures fighting for their lives. Intrigued, Vergil paused at the threshold, their thoughts turned sharp and bitter.

Wretched things, living only to snuff out the light… Is punishing innocent villagers not enough…?

He cursed his lack of means, but quickly recalled the shortsword of sharpened bone at his side. It would have to do. Without hesitation, they stepped inside, their form striking against the backdrop of darkness. His blade was unsheathed with a flash, and soon the nearest shade fell, gutted like a butchered carcass.

"Rot," he muttered without mercy as the body slumped lifelessly to the floor, his voice a low rasp from disuse.

In the flickering lamplight, his towering height and gleaming hair inevitably drew the attention of the other shades. They surged toward him, but Vergil remained calm and aimed for what he knew in his mind to be the human body’s weak points. Truthfully, he was unused to dealing death, himself, knowing intuitively that he must have only used to rely on others much stronger than him to gain this knowledge. Though what he lacked in brute strength or stealth, he more than compensated for with lethal efficiency. Each movement of their bone blade was precise, each strike cutting down another shadow with muscle memory accuracy, as if they’d torn through countless corpses in the life before this one. One by one, the creatures crumpled at his feet.

As he stood amidst the fading shadows, Vergil’s eyes strayed toward the remaining tavern-goers, gauging their varied conditions. The knight covered in armor had dealt a great amount of damage, though the festering wound in his arm was bound to require immediate attention. The rogue seemed to be holding his own amongst the darkness, just as well as the valiant others who stood against the shades’ might. For some reason, despite the odds, the tide of battle was turning over to their fellow underdogs’ favour. Yet once the clamour of combat finally died down, Vergil knew the hunger inside him would not be sated with mere violence. Something else was needed—something only the dead could provide.

And so Vergil lingered, their bone blade dripping with viscera, cloaked shoulders hunched in anticipation, as if waiting for the next surge of darkness to arrive. After all in lands such as these, there was seldom refuge to be found, even in the death of battle.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Ayama]

fluticasone fluticasone

THE PIRATE LORD OF OTRECHT
Callum Thrym-Pennant​

Callum listened to the tavern keeper and blind woman's funereal exposition with ever-increasing disbelief as his incredulity mounted.

The Five Lords? Sacred Light? Champions? Wraiths from the Shadowed Realms? It all sounded like so much apocalyptic mumbo-jumbo to his ears, but he couldn't deny that, despite his skepticism, he couldn't prevent the cold thrill of fear from trickling down his spine.

At the words 'They are upon us', all gazes turned as one to the tavern door, where a band of dark-cloaked, hooded warriors was already climbing the steps to enter, clearly more wraith-like than flesh and blood.

"Stay calm," came the voice of the rogue. "We handle them as we handle anything else." Callum blinked.

We? Who exactly is 'we'? he thought, stifling a bitter bark of half-laughter and half-annoyance as the man dove under the nearest table.

Well, so much for 'we', the pirate observed, turning back to the approaching threat and drawing his cutlass.

Over a dozen cloaked, hooded, faceless foes had swarmed into the tavern. The armored warrior rose to meet them, fighting two shades at once with impressive skill. Loath as he was to engage in battle when he didn't even fully understand why, Callum recognized that immediate survival took priority, so he waded into the fray along with the others, slicing his razor-sharp blade through throat after wraith-like throat, not knowing whether conventional weapons could even hurt these things- whatever they were.

Despite the Shade's numbers, it seemed their group was up to the task of fighting them, as he could sense more than see that the tide of battle was beginning to turn. Still the wraiths' numbers were greater than theirs, but then Callum heard a commotion coming from the front of the tavern, and turned to see a tall, thin man with hair the color of salt cutting through their ranks armed with what looked like a sword made of bone.

Within a surprisingly short amount of time, he had dispatched what remained of their attackers and stood among their corpses, blade dripping with blood and gore, looking around for another target.

Huh, so I guess these things do have some sort of flesh, Callum reflected, wiping the crimson from his own blade. Good to know.

"Uh, I think they're all dead now- thanks for the assistance," he hazarded in the strange man's direction, uncomfortably aware that he had yet to put away his sword. "Are you a Pilgrim too?" he asked. He wasn't necessarily about to take all this 'Pilgrim of Light' nonsense at face value, but it couldn't be denied that the wraiths had made a beeline for them; that alone was reason enough for him to play along- at least for now.

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Flower' - The Wildling Huntress

Shades invading the tavern...

Flower, the Rain Dancer, was acknowleged with deserved accolade in this world. Finally.

A Pilgrim of Light. The title itself swelled her heart with pride despite being forsaken by the Smiling Jaguar in this Otherside. Such a label only meant that she was still on her journey, on her Way. The divine words of unseeing wisdom were more than enough to reinvigorate her and reclaim that the she-beast, born Flower, was still The Wildling in the dead of this world. The newly bestowed moniker upon her cast aside any traces of doubt and shook confidence she felt earlier when she 'smelled' the shadowy invaders.

“What do you tarry for, children?” the blind woman’s voice rang clear and insistent. “Challenge beckons you from the shadows; it calls your names."

As the diviner spoke, Flower hunkered down and respectfully lowered herself to at least equal her height to that of the blind divine. The surge of strength from the challenge vocalized and beset before them all was all too intoxicating. The blood stirred in her unlike anyother time in this forsaken Otherside; the Hunt was on once more.

The huge huntress pulled down an armlet, revealing the gorgeous and ornate tattoo sleeve embracing her brown musculature from shoulder to fingertips. The Flower in the inked image was the one and same sacred orchid of her homeland in the jungle peninsula; also the one and the same that represent her birth name. Rare did it bloom but should it ever, it was the toughest bitch alive; it was so hard to kill.

Still hunkered down , the she-beast drew one of her iron-alloy forged signature items and presented herself to the blind woman in a concise respectful greeting of dance and whistles. Then with eerie precision she cut superficially a line across her namesake tattoo as she had done only few times prior. From the dripping blade of her forged alloyed claw, a single flick of the wrist sprayed inky crimson across the blind womans hands. The blind diviner literally had The Wildling's blood on her hands now, but not in a negative connotation. The Wildling never shared her blood unless both she and you were worthy.

Several hand motions, clicks and grunts she let out to seal her loyalty to the blind devine before turning her attention to Wolfie. A series of whistles and clicks she used to address the wolf's full name to her pack; She-Wolf-that-Runs-on-3-legs. Sadly, the name had still not changed. And sadly her wolf sister was not worthy in this fight. A powerful grip the Wildling held the wolf, shoving the canine's snout into the hem of the blind woman's skirt. She 'scent marked' the blind woman to Wolfie and th canine's path was set.

The she-wolf yelped in protest; she knew that scenting this woman meant no longer would she ever be by her pack sister's side. A warning growl grumbled from the Wilding's gullet. The wolf was demanded to track and follow the blind woman until commanded otherwise no questions. But the she-wolf's frantic resistance was questioning enough. To settle the point, the Wilding grappled the wolf down hard, and held her by the throat. A deep reverberating sound not unlike the noise from a bull aligator forced its way into Wolfie's ears. A whimper, a lick of the cheek, a broken heart and it was settled. The she-wolf submitted and subjugated herself as sentry to the blind divine.

"If fate allows,” the blind woman’s voice carried a strange mirth as she departed, “we may meet again.”

The frozen north in those eyes melted in respite as her giant hands swallowed up the gnarled hands of the blind elder. A gently squeeze and a string of clicks reiterating her blood fealty to the wisewoman. To her pack sister she turned and lowered herself down to the wooden planks below. A longing scritch behind ears, a loving nuzzle upon cheek and little boop on the nose. Then she stood and turned, stretching out her neck side to side, a glint in those ice cold killer blue eyes. Several whistles and sublte gestures she signalled to Wolfie. Immediately the canine perked up, barked and chased the heels of the blind woman, following her out the back with the others, no questioning at all.

The Wilding turned her back on her wolf sister as they split apart for the first time ever.

Powerful legs launched her up and onto a table. Along a few tables she went, sniffing frantically, tossing cutlery, silverware, mugs, searching, searching until she finally found that which she seeked. With surprising defteness and speed she tied the hocks of meat to 2 of her javelins and made sure to squeeze and soak the fattiness into the cloth napkins. Hock-side first, she laid her javelins into the fire. A heartbeat later, Flower shoved the largest table as fast and hard as she could to barricade the rear entrance behind them.

With javelins in hand, filling the air with flaming juicy hock meat goodness, the huntress trotted out the front entrance. One javelin she stabbed into the gaps between the wooden planks of the stoop, the other she launched, hissing loudly as it flew through the air. The chasing fire lit up the greybound ground and found home in the chest of a lone shadowy warrior, a satisfying 'thunk' sounded out as it was hit and another once it hit the ground.

A lone finger traced from tip of lovely bean between powerful thighs to base of her large breastbone, pointing to inked image of the Smiling Jaguar on her rippling abdomen. 'Violently sex yourselves', was the gesture's vulgar curse upon the enemy; anything between both flaming javelin torches was her territory now.

With surreal agility and power, she scrambled upon the roof and knocked her first arrow into the infamous carved and notched war bow, as tall as the she-beast herself. A heartbeat later, two immense arrows drove through the faces of the vanguard of Shades. Flower hissed in absolute defiance. The plot of land between the signalling torches was not merely her territory, but her immediate killzone.

Another arrow launched. Another face ate giant arrow. This continued until she was spent. A bull crocodiles reverberating gutteral growl sounded out and she drew her javelins and fired one after the other until the horde finally swarmed the roof top. The Wilding lowered herself, alloyed claw in one hand, alloy bladed spear in the other. Several whistles and clicks sounded out into the dead grey air.

"Let's dance..." said her sounds, 'Let's die...' said her thumb slowly sliding across her throat.

With a loud bang, the front door was kicked in. Through the scattered aftermath the Wilding strode undeterred into the once revered and jovial place of nourishment. Some kind of viscous liquid covered her face from tip of nose dribbling down her neck; if the one of the lead vanguard Shade's had a beating heart rest assured that liquid was all that remained of such a wretched thing. Warbow in one hand, a mewling broken Shade in the other, the huntress dragged her quarry, leaving a slick slugs trail of putrid wet in her wake. This wounded captive was perhaps more intelligent than its brethren; its was smart enough to feel fear.

To the center of the tavern she dragged it. The haft of the spear that stuck out of it she grasped with both hands and hissed as she drove down upon it. The alloyed tip drove into the wooden surface pinning the pathetic writhing mess in its place. Chin lowered, ice blue eyes ablaze she swivelled her head in a half-moon, clicking, throaty breathing and motioning with her hands to the other Pilgrims of Light. She then pointed at the mouth of the Shade before taking 2 sweeping steps back.

A deadly towering totem was she as she stood there, poised with her bow, string drawn back fully to its limits, giant arrow aimed point blank at its head. Once done with the interrogation, or upon signal from her mates, she would shoot it clean through its eyesocket. Which ever came first it did not matter. The Wilding would not miss.

---

 

[Goonfire]

The Nameless Rogue

---

The Shade were upon the party, their vile ranks plowing through the door and makeshift barricades. Others clashed with them directly... yet the rogue held fast for his opportunity. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, breath hitching and eyes wide as saucers as one stopped and turned towards his table.

The invader's sword, once at its side, disappeared above the table. The rogue started and recoiled. The dark blade pierced through the table where he once was, narrowly missing. A second thrust, this time forward under the table. He shielded himself with a stool, the tapering, blackened metal lodging itself in the weathered wood.

While this thief lacked physical strength, one advantage he now had was leverage. Grasping the legs, he twisted the stool, wrenching the sword free of its owner's grasp. Now was the moment for which he waited. With practiced finesse, he slid past the disarmed shade and his own weapon found the gap in the decrepit mail armor. Tendons and ligaments ripped, the intimidating foe dropping to one knee. Then, the dagger tore into its neck with certainty—an unceremonious execution.

Even in their dying throes, the Shade unnerved him. No cries of pain, not even panicked gurgling. Though it collapsed in a growing pool of ichor, he cautiously retreated, drawing a buckler from his back.

At a glance, it became apparent the immediate battle had turned in favor of the pilgrims. Someone else had joined the fray with an ominously adorned instrument. It astounded the nameless man—how well these people performed in the face of adversity and fear. He'd have been a liar, had he said he admired them not.

 

[Wayne]

Narration

location.

Hedra's tavern

tags.

BuggaBoo Goonfire Ayama yana yokai.

When the tavern fell into a profound silence, the very air seemed to thicken with the darkened hue of blood that had seeped into the floor and splattered against the walls. The shadows deepened, rendering the place too dim for the comfort of mortal souls. A faint, cloying scent wafted through the room, reminiscent of some strange, decaying flora, eliciting gasps from the weary pilgrims who had sought refuge within. Yet, amid the swirling dread, one figure remained, a shade, weaponless and crouched, its back pressed against the cool, unforgiving stone. It seemed to surrender to the pilgrims of light, though a lingering fear flickered in its essence, replaced swiftly by an aura of foreboding that chilled the hearts of those present.

As the shade parted its lips, an echo resonated within the tavern’s confines, the teeth barely discernible beneath the shadow of its hood. They were in a state of decay, some yellowed and sharp, reminiscent of a wolf’s maw. Yet, when it spoke, the very sound enveloped the room, a whisper that swirled like mist. The words it uttered were indecipherable, as if the pilgrims and the shade inhabited entirely separate realms, each unable to breach the divide of understanding, despite the fractured land’s peculiar magic that once translated all tongues.

In that moment, an unspoken truth settled among the pilgrims: the shade must be slain. They would glean no knowledge from it, not for lack of skill, for some among them were adept at prying secrets from reluctant lips, but rather because the shade's language lay beyond their grasp. Outside, the clamor of chaos seemed to recede, the shades that had not joined the fray retreating into the gloom, perhaps recognizing in the pilgrims more than mere foes, seeking refuge to gather strength or relay their findings to the enigmatic five lords who loomed over their dark dominion.

Yet the pilgrims faced a dual burden, the shade stood before them, corporeal and threatening, but the shadow of the five lords stretched far greater, an unseen threat lurking behind the veil. The blind woman’s cryptic warnings lingered in their minds, alluding to the weight of history that entwined their fates. Though the clash had interrupted her revelations, the call to seek her out resonated, fraught with peril for both her and the tavern's keeper, if indeed they still survived the tumult.

The town of Hedra had not been spared; its denizens suffered grievous losses, some laid low by death’s cruel hand. The pilgrims of light were no gallant heroes, but survivors with a singular purpose. Their very presence brought danger to the fragile remnant of a town, and their only choice lay in retreat, sparing the few remaining souls from the aftermath of ruin. Yet, not all hope was extinguished. Whispers of a distant refuge reached their ears during their travels, a place known as Galagon, the Tower of Flame, not too far from Hedra.

Galagon, nestled amidst treacherous peaks, held a populace of a different kind, alchemists, a resilient breed of warriors who transmuted the meager resources of the fractured lands into formidable weapons. Their vials and bombs bore an almost arcane quality, remnants of lives lived before the fractured lands.

Yet the path to the tower was fraught with peril, as it lay ensconced within the clutches of towering mountains. The sole passage was a narrow valley, a treacherous way through the Forest of Silver Tears, a name that conjured tales of eerie swamps and monstrous beings, rumored to possess the power to turn men to stone. Few dared traverse its depths, and fewer still returned with tales untainted by terror.

Despite the dangers that loomed like specters in the twilight, this path was the only way forward for the pilgrims, if they sought to unveil the mysteries of the five lords and reclaim some semblance of hope amidst the fractured lands.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Wayne]

Wolf

mood.

Focused

location.

Hedra's tavern

tags.

Goonfire BuggaBoo Ayama yokai. yana

Wolf stood, sword raised, a proud warrior in a moment of stillness before the chaos of battle faded. He sheathed the blade with a practiced ease and cast a glance at the she-beast, signaling her to finish off the remaining shade. It was clear they would wring no information from the wretched creature; its dark tongue was a riddle none could decipher, and it seemed equally baffled by their words. As he settled into a chair, he cradled his injured arm, the thrill of survival mingling with the weight of dread. They had momentarily staved off death, but the specter of the old blind woman’s prophecy loomed large. The shade would hunt them, an ever-present menace, relentless as the tides.

“Impressive handling of the situation,” Wolf remarked, his eyes falling upon the newcomer who had entered late, a man with white hair and a peculiar weapon. In this land of uncertainty, any ally, however strange, was worth a nod of gratitude. “Thank you for your help.”

The stranger, despite his unusual appearance, had fought with the resolve of a seasoned soldier, and for that, Wolf allowed himself a flicker of trust.

“If the woman spoke true, we find no safety here, or anywhere else for that matter,” Wolf continued, his voice low but resolute. “And I suspect none of you have heard the tale of the Five Lords.” He began to remove his shoulder pad, followed by the armor on his arm, deftly tearing a strip from his cloak to bind the wound. The cloth wrapped around the injury felt almost comforting, though he knew it was a mere stopgap; any further confrontation would likely worsen his condition. He replaced his armor with a grimace, the weight of his wounds a reminder of the battles yet to come.

“Let us first introduce ourselves, as seems fitting for a group cast upon the uncertain road of the pilgrimage,” he said, placing his right hand over his chest, a gesture both solemn and sincere. “I am Wolffert Van Hoff, call me Wolf. I have roamed these fractured lands for long enough to know a few of their secrets, and it is imperative that we learn more about the Five Lords. The old woman’s words suggest they have noticed us, and we cannot afford to be caught unawares. We need every advantage we can muster.”

Wolf rose, striding to the broken window. Outside, silence reigned, punctuated only by distant cries from the city’s beleaguered citizens. “There exists a tower, Galagon, the Tower of Flame. Within its walls are warriors skilled in defense, guardians of knowledge more profound than any city holds. But the path to this tower is fraught with peril, a journey not to be taken lightly. It was the dangers of the Forest of Silver Tears that drove me to Hedra, a place I deemed the safest bet.”

He turned back to the group, the gravity of his words hanging in the air. “Yet I fear we have little time to deliberate. The shade prowls these lands, and if we are indeed pilgrims of light, we are bound by duty. I ask you all to join me on the road to Galagon. I will not compel any of you to accompany me; this path is too fraught with danger for that. None of us sought such a burden, but if you seek answers, then the tower may be our best hope. I don’t think we are in any danger for the time being, so questions are welcomed.”

In the dim light of the tavern, as shadows danced on the walls, Wolf’s words resonated,a call to arms, a plea for unity against the encroaching darkness.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Ayama]

fluticasone fluticasone

THE PIRATE LORD OF OTRECHT
Callum Thrym-Pennant​

Callum startled as the front door of the tavern burst open and in walked the warrior woman, dragging a pitifully wounded Shade behind her.

Using a spear, she pinned the creature in place against the floor- it let out a silent howl of unearthly agony. She then stepped back to let them apparently take care of interrogating it, aiming a gigantic bow at full draw directly at its head in case it made any sudden moves.

The air in the suddenly quiet tavern seemed to thrum with tension, all eyes in the room fixed on the captured Shade.

The creature made a sound like the distant echo of a whisper, and Callum could tell from a glance at the others that they understood what it was saying as little as he did.

Well, so much for interrogation, the pirate thought. We should put that thing out of its misery before more show up.

That didn't seem to be likely, however, as they could hear the remainder of the Shade moving away from the tavern- at least for now. With the immediate threat seemingly neutralized, Callum relaxed out of fight-or-flight mode and sheathed his cutlass.

The armored warrior seemed to relax as well, settling down into a chair and nursing his injury. He proceeded to introduce himself, inviting the rest of them to do the same as he laid out some information. A frown deepened between Callum's eyebrows as he listened to the man talk- the more he heard, the less he liked.

When the warrior sat back and opened the floor for questions, the buccaneer was the first to step forward.

"I am Callum Thrym-Pennant," he declared, "formerly the Pirate Lord of Otrecht, and I definitely have a few questions."

He crossed his arms as he faced the warrior. "What are Pilgrims of Light? If we are such Pilgrims, what is our Pilgrimage for? What happens if we choose not to undertake it? Why are we to go to this Tower, exactly? And just what sort of danger lies in this forest? Fighting off an immediate attack is one thing, but I don't intend to thrust myself into potentially greater danger unless there's a damn good reason."

 

[Goonfire]

The Nameless Rogue

---

The last of the wretched, dark beings whispered something unintelligible, its language far removed from the common tongue he and the people of Hedra understood. It was hardly worth the effort to wound and capture the adversary. Knowing it was time for the creature to die, the thief turned his back, shuddering at the robust impact that announced its demise. The smell of death and decay filled his nostrils, forcing him near the shattered window for fresh air.

The knight he previously eyed was the first to break the near-silence following the Shade's departure. He spoke of a tower of flame—Galagon. While the name rang a bell, the thief's knowledge of the roads here was poor.

The next to speak was the musician, away from whom his head was turned initially. He was thankful for that fact, as the declaration of this man's status sparked a rather animated eye roll. He had an inherent distaste for 'lords', and yet, as someone who had nary a name, the fact one could flaunt a title in addition to a name filled him with envy. The 'pirate lord' asked a string of questions, one of which grabbed his attention most: "What happens if we choose not to undertake it?"

"I... think I understand," the rogue piped up, trying passionately to explain what just happened. "Why did a team of these things come directly to us? They are unnatural, so if we are these 'pilgrims', they may have sensed us. Even if we... part ways, discard our weapons, and do nothing else to cross them, what stops them from hunting us for the sport?"

After a brief pause to let his rhetoric sink in, he continued, quietly and solemnly. "I, for one, refuse to loiter or go quietly. Take me where you will, Wolf; my blade is yours."

 

[BuggaBoo]

---

'Flower' - The Wildling Huntress

​

In the tavern during the invasion aftermath...

A disdaining look. A simple wave of the hand. A shot right through the shade's mouth and it wailed no more.

The Wildling sniffled as she waited for the pathetic thing to stop writhing before retrieving her arrow. The battle had yielding nothing but survival for the Light. They were none the wiser of the reason or rhyme as to how this horde operated. But it was still early to figure out what to do next in their pilgrimage.

Grabbing the worn wooden haft of her spear with both brown hands, she yanked hard and retrieved her favoured weapon. The claw marks that sliced open her shoulders bled that much more, eliciting tears of crimson down her biceps, droplets spraying the already death soaked floor. She would let the blood flow in hopes of cleansing away the filth and grime of the shades touch. And with the blood flow, finally the fiery intensity subsided from her icy blue Wildling eyes.

Both huge and inked up hands reached up to remove her bear skull adornment and laid it gently upon a table with a broken leg. There would be no victory dance for now; there were still more out there. A tilted head, a deep inhale. Well, not yet since the shades had not encroached with a 2nd wave, but still better to be on guard and not venture into hubris with celebration. Instead, a quick inspection of the business end of her spear revealed that it was still sharp but like anything that was meant to kill, it wouldn't hurt to hone it to terminal razor sharpness again. But first, she would tend to the wound of the helmeted male warrior.

Flower pulled curtains straight offa the rod and sliced into them ribbons with her much loved alloyed katar-claws as the rest of the warriors spoke and conversed. She lay the majority of the lengths of cloth onto the table near the bear skull and grabbed a fistful over with her. As she removed his makeshift bandages and replaced them with her own, a slight mewling hum she begrudgingly let out ; this was a male she cooed for afterall.

But regardless, she had allowed him to take charge and not battle over the title of leader. And that was for one very reason; he introduced himself as 'Wolf.' And that very name itself was a sign that she had been not only accepted as one of Light but more importantly, her pack finally found her here in this Otherside. Flower, the she-beast and Rain Dancer was still on her Way.

And so to this new pack leader she showed submission by cooing, cleaning and dressing his wound. Yes, her hands shook as they did so, touching a male in such a submissive state was stomach churning afterall. And yet still her handiwork was top notch. When done, she clicked and hummed whilst holding his arm, asking favour from the spirits to heal the Alpha well.

Piercing ice from her blue eyes glanced momentarily into Wolfs eyes with some semblance of suspicion before quickly turning, casting glance upon her own bandages meant to swaddle up her own wounds. Spouting so much knowledge about this forsaken place was eyebrow raising afterall. Yet all the places and names meant nothing to her and so she found herself needing to string along as a mere follower on this pilgrimage.

Once done bandaging her shoulders she turned and began to rhythmically tamp the butt of her spear onto the floor as she made her way to the centre. Other than Wolf, 2 had already introduced themselves and it was her turn. Displayed once more was the same arm with the elegant and flowing ink sleeve of her homeland's rare and precious flower. Her other hand guided their eyes all the way from bandaged shoulder, touching scars, tracing patterns, all the way to tips of dirty nails. Clicking, humming and throat breathing all the while, she told them of her accolades and accomplishments; a sordid story recorded along her brown muscular arm.

Name-story completed, she stared at each one in turn making a series of short sounds and whistles, ensuring to repeat the unique sounds for each. These unique sounds were her names for them: Alpha, Music and Shadow.

Alpha was straight forward. Music was due to the nature of his voice; he called himself a pirate but he had more rhythm and melody in his cadence that she could identify him as he spoke. Shadow was due to the way he skulked and refused to boast a name... that and there was hidden disdain for Music afterall. As for she herself? Well she tried to convey her name was Flower. And she would correct them as necessary.

She had no questions except for the ones the others had already asked. Flower tended to live in the moment and so any real questions she had she knew they would be answered once she faced her curiosity. Yet she echoed the sentiments of Shadow; she was here for the them, for Light, for Pack. She was on her Way.

From the table she grasped then nestled her bear skull upon her head. Once more she thumped her spear rythmically upon the floor. The immense, big and muscular huntress rattled off several sounds as she exposed her throat to them and pointed at each one of theirs as well. Without words, her sounds and motions tried to speak loud and proud; 'We are bound together by the blind divine. Dance, Hunt, Fight, Die. We are only as strong as our weakest link. Be together. Be strong.'

The she-beast would then dance, weaving about before taking the tip of her spear and cutting into her Flower tattoo once more. And like she did for the blind lady, she offered to put her blood on their hands.

---

 

[yokai.]

mood :

hungry

location :

hedra's tavern

outfit :

dark coloured priest robes

tags :

Ayama , Wayne , Goonfire , BuggaBoo

the hierophant

✧

𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥

Vergil’s gaze shifted as he noticed the discomfort of the approaching survivor, a weary man with hair the colour of spilled wine, sly eyes fixed on the bone blade he had still yet to clean. 'Callum of Otrecht,' he'd introduced himself as. The stare was reasonable, Vergil supposed. This tavern, though crumbling and battered, was still a place of nourishment. And here the sin eater stood, tainting it with the essence of ruined things.

Without a word, they lifted their bone blade and wiped it clean against the hem of their cloak, the dark stain barely visible on the fabric. A dry cough rasped through his throat as he cleared it, his voice hoarse.

"...Apologies," he murmured, tone flat but sincere, the blade now cleaner yet still remaining unsheathed in his grip. "For the mess."

Vergil's eyes narrowed as the man’s inquiry stirred a memory deep within their mind. Pilgrim. The word was heavy, imbued with a sense of worship, and a distant image flickered, a flame dipped in molten gold. The associating word that followed comforted him like a familiar song — crusade.

"You may call me Vergil," They replied seriously, trying to suppress the unfamiliar weight pressing down on their chest. The details were murky, but curiosity urged him to learn more. "I don't know what I am."

But as his eyes were drawn toward the bodies of the fallen shades strewn across the floor, the hunger gnawed at him. It was harder to ignore now, a deep-seated need that had grown sharper after the energy they had expended in battle. His gaze lingered on the closest shade’s corpse, its twisted, unnatural form lying lifeless. It looked human, yes, but— They tilted their head slightly, considering. Would he be able to consume it? Could its essence sustain him? The idea was repulsive, bordering the edge of blasphemy, but he could not deny the utility of it, if by some way this kind of source could satiate him. Their fingers tightened on the hilt of their blade, the hunger growing more insistent.

But no—he would wait. He needed more information, more clarity before giving in to such urges. The Pilgrims, perhaps, could provide answers. If they truly fought against the shade, there will doubtlessly be more battles ahead, more dangerous than the last.

Vergil pulled his gaze away from the body, pushing down the hunger for now. Their voice was calm, but edged with interest as they addressed the armoured man before them, assessing his imposing form as he was tended to by a similarly sturdy-built woman in intricate tribal dress.

"These creatures are... unnaturally formidable. Perhaps you are right, and we'll find our answers in this Tower you speak of. But if you are of these Pilgrims, then what cause do you seek?" If these people truly fought against the creatures of shadow, then he must assist them, lest they fall to the night's clutches. Evidently, these creatures were relentless when they set their sights on a target, an unstoppable force driven by single-minded destruction. There was no outrunning this kind of darkness. The hooded rogue asked questions and raised theories that tugged at all the right strings, leading Vergil to come to a decisive conclusion. What he had done tonight was not enough. There seemed to be a cause here, and perhaps... perhaps it was his own.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Wayne]

Wolf

mood.

Focused

location.

Hedra's tavern

tags.

Goonfire BuggaBoo Ayama yokai. yana

Wolf sat silently as Flower tended to his wounds, her hands trembling but not from fear. She worked with the precision of someone used to pain, her fingers deftly wrapping the bandages while the firelight flickered across her face. For a moment, their eyes met, and in that fleeting second, Wolf saw something familiar in her. The same fire that had burned in his own heart, the desire to protect, to fight, to survive in a world that had long since abandoned mercy.

Since coming to the fractured lands, Wolf had learned that trust was a rarer commodity than any coin. He had spent too long in the company of mercenaries, thieves, and assassins, people who would slit your throat for a few copper pieces, or simply for the pleasure of it. He had found solace in solitude, in the quiet certainty that no one could betray you if you walked alone. But now, something had changed. Perhaps it was this ragged band he had found himself among, none of them trustworthy by any normal measure, but in this land, perhaps that was the best he could hope for.

Wolf listened as Callum spoke, a hard look etched into his features as he laid out his questions. There was no trust in the pirate’s voice either, but that didn’t surprise him. Trust wasn’t something you simply gave; it was earned, and earned hard in a place like this.

“Well, Callum,” Wolf began, his voice low and steady, “I don’t claim to know exactly what a Pilgrim of Light is. From what I’ve gathered, it’s more legend than fact, stories passed down through half-forgotten histories, and half-mad survivors. There’s talk of a pillar of light, something that can take us out of this cursed land.” He paused, his eyes scanning the room. “I’m sure some of you have heard whispers of it, a device or a power, maybe even magic, that could lead us to salvation. But salvation in the fractured lands… that always comes with a price.”

The warrior woman, the one they called Flower, had introduced herself in a way Wolf couldn’t quite understand. Some ritual, maybe. Blood and gestures, he had seen it before, with the old lady. There was purpose in her movements, even if Wolf couldn’t put a name to it all just yet, but with her name, he was able to add “Thank you, Flower” as she finished tending to his wounds.

“The pilgrimage,” Wolf continued, his voice hardening, “is no easy thing. It’s meant for the strong, the desperate. People like us. And those who try to avoid it? Well, it doesn’t matter. The Shade hunts us regardless. They sense our strength, our will to survive, and they won’t stop until we’re dead. Whether we choose the pilgrimage or not, the Shade will come for us. So, we might as well face them on our terms.”

He glanced at the rogue who had yet to give his name. A nameless man in a land of shadows. That felt fitting. But Wolf had learned a long time ago that a name didn’t mean much. It was the knife in the dark you needed to worry about, not the one who held it.

“The Tower of Flame,” Wolf continued, answering Callum’s next question, “is the lair of the alchemists. They were pilgrims once, or so the stories go, but they gave up their journey in exchange for survival. They’ve holed themselves up there, hidden from the world, but they might have something we need, knowledge, power, something that will help us survive.”

Wolf opened a small, worn journal, flipping through pages of scribbled notes, fragmented truths he had gathered over his time in this forsaken land. His voice dropped to a near whisper as he spoke again. “But to reach them, we have to cross the Forest of Silver Tears. A cursed place. The locals say there’s a beast in there, something that turns men to stone with a glance. If I had tried to go alone, I’d be dead already. But together… Maybe we have a chance.”

He looked over to Vergil, a man lost in his own past, confused about what he was and what he had become. “I know how you feel, Vergil,” Wolf said, his tone softening for a brief moment. “We’re all searching for something, answers, redemption, maybe just a way out. Whatever this pillar of light is, it might hold the key to all of it.”

Wolf clicked his tongue, his eyes hard again. “But whatever it is, it’s our only shot at salvation. So, if you’re willing to walk this path with me, not as companions, not as strangers, but as pilgrims, then we leave soon. The road to the forest is long.”

He stood, the weight of the fractured lands heavy on his shoulders, and looked at the gathered faces. In this land, death waited for everyone, pilgrim or not. The only question was whether you met it running, or standing and fighting.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Goonfire]

The Nameless Rogue

---

Vergil, Callum, Flower, and Wolf... All names unknown to the rogue until a moment ago. He didn't have the pleasure of meeting them. Given his methods of surviving the Fractured Lands, though, would it have been a pleasure if he had met them without this metaphorical glue that bound them all together? It was something he pondered while accepting a light drizzle of Flower's blood upon his hands.

"You don't know what you are...?" he echoed Vergil's remark thoughtfully. "I suppose that makes two of us." He let slip a depressed sigh before glancing back at the carnage on the tavern floor.

Wolf interrupted the rogue's staring, warning him and the others of a monster within the Forest of Silver Tears. Eyes that turned men into stone? His ears pricked up. "If its very gaze is dangerous, who's to say what will happen if it looks upon itself?" He smirked before clarifying: "Our most effective weapon may not be a sword, but a mirror."