Sir Saltington
Lord of Altera
My neck ;-;
Medieval & Fantasy Minecraft Roleplaying
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Syra
- Thread starter Elz
- Start date
Have someone carve it off, and use a healing potion on the skin layer, it'd fade it a bit. That's what Cymic did for his shoulder. I mean.. Unless Jacob likes it there.
Bishop didnt carve anything. ; )
It's absolutely a sign of affection.
*winks with both eyes*
Sir Saltington
Lord of Altera
Poor Syra
mmmmmmm story
===
The walk home was a long one today. She found herself drifting to the higher outcrops of Grafjell to try and gather her thoughts before coming home, but it was to no avail all the same. The wind at such heights was always that of a stronger nature, accompanied by a bitter cold that sank into her skin no matter the clothing she wore. Her hair billowed around her face just as her dress did around her legs, and she closed her violet eyes for a moment.
Syra had found herself on the bridge connecting one cliff section to the citadel, or the fortress. It's hard to keep up with direction and names, and yet as soon as the frustration at being forgetful arrives, it's gone again. Her hands on the railing, she calls out a response despite being entirely alone. Pushing some hair behind her ear, gold earrings glinting in the light the moon provides.
"I'm not jumping, Jacob."
And then she turns to look in the direction she spoke, partly knowing there's no one there but she almost expected it either way. Some moments pass. And then the cold gets the best of her, in time, and she heads back the way she came. Down all the steps, the towers. Over the docks and then up more stairs, which she rudely gestures to for they keep moving and she's sure of it.
One way or another, she finds herself at home. Narrowing her eyes at the front door, and then looking upwards, over the windows she knew once belonged to Vera's room. A hand moves to her chest, at an ever familiar pang. She missed them.
For a moment, it's daylight again. There's sounds in the house, a child laughing, Tzemik's grateful attitude towards the platters of food she knew to be on the table inside. Her feet guide her towards the house, opening the door. He's there, in all his finery, standing tall and proud on his birthday celebrations. Vera around the corner with that crate of alcohol, Rauvda upstairs with the daggers under her bed. Tzemik with her flower, that he had used some time later to save her life.
Another pang. She stares at him, and he stares back, and for just a moment there's nothing wrong any more. Life is simple and they're all back where they should be, no pieces out of place, no parts missing.
And then it fades. The emptiness of the house returns, that she's now standing in. Moonlight illuminating mannequins and fabrics, the warmth gone. She never thought silence could be so loud.
===
The walk home was a long one today. She found herself drifting to the higher outcrops of Grafjell to try and gather her thoughts before coming home, but it was to no avail all the same. The wind at such heights was always that of a stronger nature, accompanied by a bitter cold that sank into her skin no matter the clothing she wore. Her hair billowed around her face just as her dress did around her legs, and she closed her violet eyes for a moment.
Syra had found herself on the bridge connecting one cliff section to the citadel, or the fortress. It's hard to keep up with direction and names, and yet as soon as the frustration at being forgetful arrives, it's gone again. Her hands on the railing, she calls out a response despite being entirely alone. Pushing some hair behind her ear, gold earrings glinting in the light the moon provides.
"I'm not jumping, Jacob."
And then she turns to look in the direction she spoke, partly knowing there's no one there but she almost expected it either way. Some moments pass. And then the cold gets the best of her, in time, and she heads back the way she came. Down all the steps, the towers. Over the docks and then up more stairs, which she rudely gestures to for they keep moving and she's sure of it.
One way or another, she finds herself at home. Narrowing her eyes at the front door, and then looking upwards, over the windows she knew once belonged to Vera's room. A hand moves to her chest, at an ever familiar pang. She missed them.
For a moment, it's daylight again. There's sounds in the house, a child laughing, Tzemik's grateful attitude towards the platters of food she knew to be on the table inside. Her feet guide her towards the house, opening the door. He's there, in all his finery, standing tall and proud on his birthday celebrations. Vera around the corner with that crate of alcohol, Rauvda upstairs with the daggers under her bed. Tzemik with her flower, that he had used some time later to save her life.
Another pang. She stares at him, and he stares back, and for just a moment there's nothing wrong any more. Life is simple and they're all back where they should be, no pieces out of place, no parts missing.
And then it fades. The emptiness of the house returns, that she's now standing in. Moonlight illuminating mannequins and fabrics, the warmth gone. She never thought silence could be so loud.
Last edited:
bettemus99
Roleplay keeper
.. Oh.
Sir Saltington
Lord of Altera
I give it a week before something tragic happens.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
PudsNull
Legend
Hey, if she wants advice on dying, she can always ask Spirit. He's a professional at that.
