You are here

Vandethir

Rakshia's picture

Anonymity.

Rating: 

The horizon was beautiful. It was that perfect light that is summoned at a twilight hour, where the world suddenly infuses with rich hues of red and yellow. The sweltering heat was oppressive for the hired workers and it showed in each droplet of sweat that stained their dirty brows.

Synnaquinn's picture

The Synful tales of the Harlequin: Dutiful

Rating: 

 (Warning: Strong themes in this one. Not for the easily offended.)


Synnaquin sits in her study. Her eyes slant forward dully her hand dangling loosely over the arm of her Fathers chair. Her paladin. Her first. Her lips slacken as the whispers of a thousand demands pour over her pale flesh, down to her darkened skirts. She stares up at the hardened portrait of Vanguard Bellamorte. dust piling high atop the oil canvas. She holds the absent glass that tilts an orange sea of brandy stolen from Jericho's club. The decaying mansion door swings open with a dull thud. She turns expecting Jorsca. She was surprised.


“I have found you at least my sly serpent,”Vandethir speaks a commanding bark, the guttural drawl of his voice like the sound of an iron ball pulled through a mass grave, at throbbing hatred echoed on every syllable that ignites them. Synnaquin felt cold rush into her belly. Disbelief made her dizzy.

Rakshia's picture

Take the Fruit.

Rating: 

The sand rose and fell in soft rivulets, circling the dunes that lay east of the temple. The heat was significant, though she could not feel it. The dark elf lowered herself to study the markings along the wall. Living memory etched into stone with careful detail. The people of Ramkahen preserved. Not unlike him. Her constant shadow. Her comrade with his pervasive brand of justice and hidden fears.

Synnaquinn's picture

Avoidance is pain.

Rating: 

 The whispering call of Azshara in bloom stirs the woman's heart as quick as spring rises from the barren winters. Synn floats endlessly trapped inside the yellowed landscape as she pounds at the glass futilely. The warm wind grants no aid as she slams her skinny, scarred body against the 'surface' of her globe. Trapped in eternal spring. Trapped as the world squeezes around the vulnerable girl. What remains. His shell.

 

Synnaquinn's picture

Small Measures.

Rating: 

 

 

 

The winds howled and rippled past me, tugging my stringy lengths of pitch colored hair towards the bluffs of snow that rested just beyond. The events of the past weeks consuming my thoughts. I had done like I always did.

 

Moved on....

 

Synnaquinn's picture

Just deserves.

Rating: 

(This is part of that new project of Friendship musings, I wanted to do. More will be coming =)

 

Morrigån's picture

Enter stage right

Rating: 

I followed Synnaquin through the inn as we made our way to Murder Row. I hung to the back of the group and remained silent, my insides tangled with apprehension. As we came to a stop in front of the brothel, I stared at the building, memories washing over me from my time spent there. I thought back to how I'd ended up there. The rebellion against my father, the mana use before I got to the brothel, the sex. I'd wanted it, the mindless escape that chasing pleasure gives. Then I remembered the sober times, with the other women there. The ones who became closer to me than my own blood.

Synnaquinn's picture

Aftermaths, second degree burns.

Rating: 

(I have edited the dates to reflect ICly, Shryn's timeline! Thanks for your patience <3 )

 

I stared across at Vandethir, a memory of Kagg distracting me from his words. I blink and shake my head certain I had misheard him,

 

“What?”

 

“I said, I want to burn this city to the damned ground,” growled the Blood Knight suddenly and I nodded to him slowly. “Your joking right?” I say carefully, raising a brow.

 

Synnaquinn's picture

The Cure.

Rating: 

 

 

“Lets blow of some steam,” he said.

 

“I dunno, the last time time someone said that, I ended up on my knees, beaten within an inch of my life, and framed in a huge conspiracy theory against Silvermoon's best and most wicked,” I said snarkily.

 

He merely raised that imperious elven brow at me, making me feel like a child for even voicing my contention. But that was how he was.

 

Subscribe to RSS - Vandethir