I will preface this by stating that this was a dream I had. It is obviously a warped version of the Doctor Who episode “The Girl in the Fire Place.” During the dream it took me a bit to realise this.
Koraki stood at the top of the stairs of a Victorian ballroom. The ballroom walls were lined with mirrors where he felt certain Victorian art ought to be. He, himself, was dressed in a fine suit with a tie.
(Story poem from Koraki Saros Kanosis to his imprisoned daughter.)
I am sorry my child for your pain
For the suffering you lived
The raging guilt drives me insane
If I heeded my head
Yet I headed my heart instead
If I had not done so carelessly
Dear sweet Lidie my angel
You would be here in my house with me’=
I only ask you forgive this old crow
How sorry I am you never will know
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“It was a vast burning field where no flowers grew blood covered the embers where no bodies were strewn
Who could do this to a land that committed no crime a place that had peace In a time before time” Anika describing the devastation Arajuan caused through out Aldaria
That morning Anika awoke as the sun peeked into her tent. With the darkness gone the sun beamed the brightest she had ever seen. Only a slight trace of sulfur was on the wind much to her relief. She sat up, her stomach had a dull ache, but her legs healed except for scars on the back of them. Her shoulder where Arajuan gripped her had no wound at all. She had fallen asleep in her travel armor, so she did not need to dress. She left her tent, found Tarnink was already up and had prepared a fire.
Tarnink pulled out a pack of food and handed it to her. She tried to eat but her stomach felt numb. The food just sat and rotted. She tossed the food away from her in frustration.
“Arajuan, that vile beast, he is trying to starve me to death,” she exclaimed. Continue reading →
Arajuan did not have the luxury to stop. A tight schedule meant he had to push on. He could still smell her blood on him, feel her heartbeat against him. His own heart pounded against his ribcage. He knew this feeling, a roar in his chest from a time before he was Arajuan. She was the lady of shadows; how could he do this to her?
Arajuan had to shake this off, aloof, wicked, heartless. This is war, the price of war is death. He would laugh but it was not funny. The men followed him, orcs were the core group, from the same tribe Tsuke and Tuk hailed. The others were victims of towns he decimated. He relished in their fear when new towns he conquered saw his necromantic arts. It was a delight when they knew they bound their fate to him.
The war drums played as they marched. Socrates landed on his shoulder. He knew his master better than anyone; they were bonded as brothers. Socrates sensed Arajuan’s troubled heart.
As the shadowy mist faded away, a foreboding man with charred brittle skin appeared. In the cracks, there glowed what appeared to be red-hot lava. His eyes were embers as he glared at them. Anika regained her bearings, Tarnink behind her, sword drawn. A small troop of twisted men circled them.
Anika found herself faced with this monstrosity. His eyes glowed so hot that his stare burned into her. He was blind, yet Anika felt he could sense her that he was looking at her.
The scar he had on his left eye glowed the brightest red and cut deeper than the other cracks of his flesh. Strapped to his right side he carried a sword, and in his right hand a long spear. His long feathery black hair blended in with the darkness of the forest. He wore a battered
A man with icy blue eyes and short salt and peppered hair gazed from a dark, tall, and jagged throne. He held a cherry wood scepter with carved woody thorns and a large garnet stone. The gem itself pulsed with cloudy swirls as if alive. He wore a deep navy robe with a dragon clasp at the neck and silver thread lining the sleeves. His aged face twisted into a bitter grimace as he tapped the armrest of his throne with impatience.
The room was a dismal, bare space; on the wall to the right hung a painting of a dark oily Asian Lung and its partner, a young man with dark brown-black hair and similar piercing eyes. Displayed in a corner was a mannequin dressed in an elaborate inlaid silver breastplate with a blue jeweled dragon design and an attached black roman style war kilt. On the mannequin’s head was a helmet with ornate blue and silver feathers.
A long, burgundy carpet led to the throne from the large oak wood entry doors. On either side stood two sturdy dirty-blonde haired identical elf-orc guards, their armour jagged in a way that appeared covered with needles and thorns. Their noses were semi-flat, and their lower canines jutted over their top lips. When the doors opened, the grey-haired man turned his attention to the one who entered.
In the annals of history many great wars were fought and forgotten. Kingdoms would rise, and they would fall but our world was not the birthplace of war. The Divines, the first race through which all races were born, were a peaceful science driven race. They set out to travel worlds and found Gaia. They lived amongst the mortals and Gaia became a magical place where the inhabitants honored the Divines and Dragons. In return, we blessed them and guided them. Both worlds lived in harmony with the pulse of the universe.