Tag: Paladin x 20

Dame Paynifier Ahalin showing off her flail.

Evening had fallen over city of Boralus. Many of the shops had long since closed for the day and the street lamps had been on for some time now. Guards walked the streets, passing under the street lamps and castling long shadows beneath them. Every now and then, the sounds of people would tumble out of one of the local taverns. For most, the day was done and they had retired to their homes. One had not, however.

Marachius stood in a narrow alley between two shops. The lights did not reach him there. He stood quietly, dressed in dark brown leather pants and coat with a long hood pulled over his head and hiding his features in shadow. Blending in with the darkness around him, he watched a home across the way.

As he stared at the...

Rare is the sight of the brilliant paladin without her armor, rarer still to catch her standing in the dancing light cast from stained glass walls. Glistening golden tresses lacking their usual blue headdress. Reverent steps on cobbled stone carry her forward, vibrant colors dancing across the bare arms and face of the woman with every movement. Chilled fingers trailed along the ends of wooden pews, worn from years of kneeling and tears.

A pure devout to the light, lost and wandering when presented with a second chance at life. 

Jade eyes cast themselves down to the stonework beneath her footfalls.

Pure.

Was this a word she could even use to describe herself anymore? Most days she couldn't even recognize who she had been before...

Pale twilight shone between the leafy trees leading up to the dark and still house. It's eerily soothing glow caressing the upturned face of the void male perched on his small private porch. Mismatched eyes closed to the heavens as he remain cross legged on the stonework just beyond his door hands tucked into his lap as he simply sat and listened. 

The evening at the tavern had been entirely too stressful, from one moment to the next there were entirely too many people and too much happening. A majority of the trouble revolving once again around Melisande's knight in prickly armor. A scowl crossed the Ren'dorei's face as his meditation landed on the snide face of the male, he shook it from his mind with a mild shift of his head. 

Peace....

Marachius sat at his desk, tapping his pencil to his bottom lip. He spent several moments in quiet thought as he tried to decide what he should include on his field report. Put the pencil back to paper, he wrote a few more lines on the paper and then stopped to re-read what he had put down. The paladin then put his pencil down with a nod of satisfaction.

Marc was just setting his pencil into a cup on the side of the desk when he heard the commotion outside. He turned to look at the open doorway when he heard the call.

“Incoming! Man the defenses!”

Almost immediately after the call, there was an explosion that Marc could feel vibrating through the floorboards. The paladin jumped out of his seat and grabbed his shield and mace. He...

A collaboration with the player and writer of Eredis Orill.

((We wrote this piece collaboratively over two years, e-mailing it back and forth. Coincidentally, this work formed the beginning of our relationship in person.))


      Golden dawn light limned the sails and almost lent beauty to the war-torn, ice-battered boat docked at the harbor at Valiance Keep. The dawn light struggled in vain against the puffs of sooty steam from the ship’s main power source, the coal fires banked while the ship sat at anchor. On the wooden docks, activity bustled as quickly as if it were well after noon. Pairs of deckhands carried large wooden crates between them from the ship’s hold to the land end of the docks while a leather-skinned man with a...

Prompt: May 29, 2012 - Junkie http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/junkie?s=t

    When one lived - by choice - very much alone for long stretches of time, necessity demanded that one acquire skill in feeding the body to keep it going. Skill, however, was not the same thing as art. Every cook of skill has some dish or another (or several) of which they can create art.

    Rosoe touched a hand to one of the stone-formed totems on a leather cord around her neck, calling upon her connection to the spirits of water as she rubbed the small bit of resin packed into a recess on the totem. The warmth of her fingers warmed the resin enough to release some of its sweet, seaweed-like scent - an offering, however small, in return for...

Colors added by Rosoe.

    With a jaw-cracking yawn, Kresmira stretched out in the bunk provided for her at Mardenholde Keep in Hearthglen. Or tried to. If she laid on her back, her hooves hung off the bottom of the bunk all the way to her knees, rather feeling a lot like she'd sat on the end of the bunk and fallen backwards. It was tremendously uncomfortable. A soft growl came from the bunk above her, and she started - realizing seconds later that it was only a dwarven snoring noise. The tiny woman who'd climbed up there not fifteen minutes ago could wake a clefthoof with that sound. Kresmira tried to roll onto her side, the way she usually slept, but discovered quickly that the position put an awkward strain on her knees, since her hooves still hung...

“Wake up, Marc!”

The young paladin’s eyes shot open and he looked around. He was sitting in a chair next to a small table in the barracks, where he’d apparently nodded off to sleep. On the other side of the room, sitting on her bunk was his squadron mate Nara, writing on a pad of paper.

“What?” Marachius asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“You were getting rather loud there, Marc. Must’ve been some dream.”

“Dream?” Marachius repeated, finally starting to focus on the day.

“Yeah. Way you were grunting, I figured you were in a fight or something. But then you started saying someone’s name, and I wasn’t sure anymore,” she added with a smirk. “Dreaming of your girlfriend?”

“No,” Marc...

It had been months since the blonde paladin has stepped foot in Tol Barad. The crisp fall air tugged at the loose strands of her hair as she and Forsetti made their way towards the village. 

The familiar tavern came into view as the pair rounded the corner, despite her usual feeling of home from this place Olathia couldn't help but linger on the apprehension in the pit of her stomach. Would they even recognize her? Jade eyes peered down at her new attire and a hand rested on the hilt of her new sword. Everything had changed, not just because of the war at hand, nor her still mending heart, everything seemed....odd.

Forsetti shook his mane and craned his neck to glance back at his companion upon his great back, the Captain peered ahead...

Marachius finished brushing down his horse in the stables. The patrol had been mostly uneventful, but the paladin took special care with his horse none-the-less. Once he had finished, Marc put some feed in his horse’s stall and put up the rope that kept it from wandering off. Picking up his sword, helm, and medical kit from the ground beside the stall, he then headed out.

Once outside, Marachius slung his sword over his shoulder and onto his back. With his helm under his arm and his medical kit in his hand, Marc looked around the crowded city. He knew that he should get some dinner after a long day in the saddle, but he wasn’t ready yet. Instead, he decided to walk around. 

Without realizing it, Marc first found himself standing...