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D'Argonet - mood posts

D'Argonet - mood posts

Post « D'Argonet » Mon Sep 10, 2018 4:54 pm

Just at the beginnings of the civil war.......



He had been asleep when the horses arrived, curled up against his wife. Deeply set into that sleep while he snored. One of the servants had come down to answer the banging, it roused Argon sufficiently from his slumber to have him lift his head muzzily and look over at the bedroom door. Then he heard voices, he frowned, then blinked as he rolled away, whispering softly to his wife to go back to sleep when she complained. Then he reached to grab his trousers, pulling them up and then doing up his belt. Then he grabbed the long sleeveless fur robe he wore when it was cold. Outside he could hear the horses, stamping, the jangle of harness and the occasional neigh. Then he opened the door and began to make his way down the stairs, one hand on the rail as he did. He came to a partial halt seeing who it was. Then grinned as he recognised his best friend from his childhood.

“Col!” He half laughed and moved down the final steps to be able to go and clap his friend on his shoulders with his hands. “Are you hungry?” He gestured to the greeting room. Then turned to the doorman “We’ll eat in there. Bring food and some watered wine.”

The doorman nodded and bowed his head slightly. Then paused as Argon spoke again. “And rouse the stable boy, there’s hungry horses out there.” Then he turned away to continue speaking with his closest friend.

“So? What news brings you here?” He hoped it would be news of Colman’s wife having another child. But he had also noted the way his friend was dressed. He’d heard rumours of unrest but was trying to ignore it. Hoping to bring the harvest of hops in before the weather changed.

“It’s getting messy out there. People are complaining about the new taxes and the rumours of the fighting between the two kings seems to be getting a bit more active. It’s like a bee’s nest getting ready to attack.”

Argon flopped down onto the bench under the window and stared at his friend. “Come and sit down, it’s not war yet. “ He tried to distract Colman.

“No, but it’s coming and when it does, it’s going to be bloody, long and nasty.” Col responded, then sat down as well, just as the food arrived.
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Post « D'Argonet » Mon Sep 10, 2018 7:34 pm

Now...

He pulled on his boots, then grinned at his wife and child. Standing and stamping his feet for a few seconds then he bent into a crouch to kiss his son goodbye. Only to have their faces melt into nothing in his hand… The wail, that started, was it someone else? Was it him? He wasn’t sure anymore. The sound was too familiar, too normal now. He felt as if his heart was going to break. The pain in his chest was unbearable. He could see a cleric in the distance and he began to run, but the road never stopped, the distance just kept stretching ahead of him. He put his head down and pumped his arms and legs as if he were running for his life. The cleric was suddenly right before him, making him try to halt before he careened into him. He tried to explain he couldn’t find her, only to have no sound come out of his mouth. The cleric lift a thin arm, a pale lifeless hand and point at the side of the road. A marker, a mound of earth. Argon felt for the second time his heart threaten to stop, he felt sick suddenly, bending and falling onto his side before he threw up into a hole that had suddenly opened up beside him on the road. The cleric had gone, leaving him vomiting up the stew he’d eaten. He put his hand to the road and it was solid but soft, the other hand vanished into nothing, a nothing he wanted to fall headfirst into. Argon didn’t know what to do, he rolled over onto the other side and the road had gone. He was in a bed, next to him a body warm and solid, real, he reached out to touch it, his hand passing through to touch the pillow his head was on.

When he opened his eyes that morning, he was sheeted in sweat again, a pile of vomit on the floor of his room and he’d been sobbing in his sleep.
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Post « D'Argonet » Fri Sep 14, 2018 2:24 pm

Then...

He leaned back against the wall he was sitting against, trying to ease the cramp that was in his shoulders. His eyes hurt, they stabbed in minute detail when he opened them. He couldn’t think straight from the pain in his head across his brow that simply wanted to keep closed for eternity. But he didn’t have that luxury. He steeled himself, his blade in his hand. Then with the other hand pushed himself up, at first his body just wouldn’t do what he wanted to do. He was cloyed in thick mud. Mud that had been churned into a swamp, the screams around him told him that the battle was still going on. He ducked, careful as he realised he was in what remained of a corner standing pair of walls of a house. The debris, the beams, the glass. He didn’t realise he’d been sat on it. Something caught his eye, a flash of vibrant colour, he frowned, half bending to pick up what it was. His hand was touching it, pulling at it to bring it out from under the smashed beam and plasterboard from the attack that had removed this building from the face of history. Then he recoiled, staggering back in horror. A child’s toy, with the blackened and swollen hand of the child that had played with it. Or perhaps prayed for salvation with it. He fell back onto his rump in horror and appalled dismay.

A strangled sob came from the man who had faced down a unit of men with nothing but a bad temper and his blade, this was too much. But he couldn’t do anything but swallow down the pain, swallow down the shame and agony that tore through him. Instead he turned it into anger, into something powerful. Something snapped inside him as he clenched his teeth, grinding them together while he got to his feet properly again. Then he looked down at the child’s hand, set his hands to his bastard sword and began to summon what was left in him. He nearly had nothing left at all in the tank. His eyes hardened now with a ironclad rage and defiant righteous rage, his lips curling into a sneer of disdain at anyone that charged him. He joined the fight with the power of all he had left in him. Wading into the fray, cleaving the head of the first man that attempted to attack him…. Soon he was lost in the battle, simply making his own way through soul after soul. He had to, he had to end this some-how, it was all too much.



When it grew quiet again, the sounds of dying men filled the air. The cries of the injured, the screams of horses too damaged to live but too alive to die just yet. The agony, the mess. Argon was there, in the fields of destruction, he’d gone through the baptisms of fire, he’d dealt with each onslaught until he had no ability to move, but somehow, he’d managed to be able to remain uninjured. How, he didn’t know. He could feel the sting and slice of a cut on his body. He could feel the pain it caused when he’d been caught by a blade. The fresh stings and burns brought him back to some vague semblance of awareness.

He swayed gently, the blade tip down into the muddied echoes of the past few hours. It had been churned by so many hooves, feet, the push and pull of pike men, the hard-intense focus of axemen to break through the shields. The carnage of wizards calling down columns of fire on those men and women amassed, a giant heaving mess of life. All intent on ending each other. He lifted his head to look even more, unaware of how much he was trembling, surveying what was left. Bodies… his head tilted slightly, then figures moving through the bodies, some helping, some hindering, others deliberately removing the boots off the living and dying alike. Others going for rings, hacking them off. Breaking the chains that held charms and mementoes of loved ones. He hung his head in shame, not wanting to see the baser instincts of man being displayed regardless of the pleas of those they stole from. He felt the prickling in his eyes, then wiped them with the back of his hand. Giving him a bandit appearance from the mud that had stuck to it. He drew in a careful breath, steadying. Then began to make his way down the rise to the camp that just this morning had been filled with cheering men and women who wanted nothing more than to kill each other. He trod carefully, staring straight forwards as much as he could so he didn’t see any longer what he’d trodden on. But it still took until the moon was rising high to manage to make it down into the camp. There, Argon fell to his knee’s and collapsed, safe within the confines of his own bed. His arms going around himself, he shook, trying to break this constant sense he had of a building terror. When the wailing started, he wasn’t even aware of it. Not until a hand on his shoulder gripped it tightly, shaking him. The wailing stopped as abruptly as it started. Then a potion was being poured down his throat, he was being forced down, hands holding him as he fought, struggled. Then an arm slid around his neck as he was held down forcibly. He didn’t wake up until morning.

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Post « DanielD » Fri Sep 14, 2018 2:47 pm

Processed to this point.
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Post « D'Argonet » Thu Sep 27, 2018 12:38 pm

Now...

He sat quietly in the tavern, on the table before him was a sheet of paper, a quill was in his hand. It hovered above the inkwell, poised to dip in. But Argon sat still. Waiting. Both elbows were on the table, his head rested in one hand, his left hand rubbing absently against the scar on his face. He began to slowly start to write.

“Upon the evening just past, I was present in the common room of the Lion Tavern. I was eating a meal with other customers, when the I heard something odd below me. I was trying to locate the problem when the floor suddenly felt as if something was trying to break through. I got to my feet when I had identified that the floor was indeed about to be breached and moved tables. Then gave the command to clear the tavern. Lucky I did, as that was the time when the floor broke entirely and something began to climb out. I say something as I have never seen one of those things before. It had arms and legs, a body but the head looked like some monstrosity of a concoction that I have never seen before.

At that point, the short dwarven woman with whom I had been conversing leapt onto it and began to beat it. I brought my blood blade to bear and began to attack as well in concert with a gentleman named as Farbius, we continued to attack it until it went down. Then I was informed by the dwarven woman that I should not have killed it. However, there was no other option. My thought as a member of the City Watch was to protect the people within the Tavern – My thought as having lived at the Lion for some weeks now since arriving from the main Voran continent was to protect my home.

Others leapt down into the hole, I did as well, they began to pursue someone, I remained behind with the body of the barmaid the monster had destroyed.

I declare that this sworn testimony is the truth.

D’Argonet”


When he had finished, he pulled a small silvered container of sand, then gently poured a little onto the parchment and blew on it a few seconds later. When the ink was truly dry, he burned the small bar of wax for just such an occasion and removed the ring from around his neck. Then stamped the letter shut.

It would be delivered some time after midnight to the Voran Watch.
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Post « D'Argonet » Sat Sep 29, 2018 10:13 am

Then..

*He had his blade in his hand, it was an extension of his limb, a force that cut down those before him. He could feel the ring he'd set into the pommel of the blade. It was a straight line that cut through the view of those before him.* Out there... Out on that field, are people of our own country. Brothers, Sisters, Family. *He called out to his men and women.*

Those countrymen want to kill us and we must defend ourselves. This war. This field. This will be the deciding blow against the vile darkness that threatens our way of life. We must defend it, we must put aside our emotions! Forget who it is we fight as if merely to prolong our own lives. Remember what we fight for! We fight for freedom! We fight to beat tyranny. We fight to protect our way of life! *He paused, assessing each of them, stepping forwards to put a hand on a few of them. Those he could reach, then he spoke again as he moved to stand on a fallen tree trunk.*

Three weeks from now, I will be harvesting my crops. Imagine where you will be, and it will be so. Hold the line! Stay with me! If you find yourself alone, riding in the green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled. For you are in the arms of your gods, and you’re already dead! And the troubles of the living do not affect the dead!

*His men, his people. They burst out laughing, calling out they were with him.

In six hours, six long bloody violent hours, nearly all of them were in those green fields, the sun on their faces was a cold comfort for the commander who had fought along them and failed in his sworn duty to die with them. Argon, somehow, with his ruined face was still alive without them.

He woke up in a hospital tent. His face felt stiff, swollen. It felt as if it were on fire. He tried lifting a hand to touch it, it was restrained with adhoc ties. A blonde face, dirty curls like halo burning in his field of vision. His left eye wouldn't open. His right eye felt wrong, it felt as if someone had put mud in it. He blinked, trying to open it wider, only to have liquid at his lips. He swallowed reflexively, then the darkness consumed him once again.*
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Post « Ook! » Sun Sep 30, 2018 1:59 am

Now..

*He was on the floor beside the bed. Fishing under it, the shirt he wore soaked in sweat. Bottles were strewn around him as he found his way into another one; then began to pour again for himself, the liquid sloshing over his fingertips.* Here's for you all... Every last one of you. Don't you judge me too badly though.. *he slurred softly.*

I had to do it. It was our job.... *He whispered softly suddenly.* It was our job.. *It was as if he were speaking to the bed.* We had to hold the field.. We had to smash their line. And you... *He took a sip of the contents of the bottle which left the liquid on the floor to soak up into the wood. Argon was uproariously drunk. He was utterly incapable of walking, or movement. Nope, he was sleeping on the floor again tonight. He turned his head and spoke softly as that tripped a fuse in his head.* You took the brunt of it. I was there... *He shrugged, he was utterly pie-eyed.*

The elf wants to know me.... *That bubbled up from no where.* She wants to know me? *He sounded scandalised by that notion, uncertain.* Why? Why does she want to know me? What did I do? *He tipped the bottle contents onto the floor accidentally as he shrugged and his hands went wide. A few seconds later, he blinked as he swayed uncertainly and leaned on the bed for support.* I don't know... I wish I knew.... I.... have no idea.... *He chuckled softly with a shrug, then took a long few gulps from the bottle. He was going to be grateful later that he had ended up sitting by the bed on the floor. Just a long shirt on from where he'd almost managed to get himself out of pain for a short while.*

At least I'm here... *He raised his bottle in salute.* To all of you who didn't get that chance....

*The sounds of soft drunken singing could be heard in the small hours, the barkeep looked above his head, glad that at least the shouting had ended.*
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Post « D'Argonet » Mon Oct 01, 2018 4:12 pm

Then...


*The sun was out on that fateful morning. The battlefield had been laid out meticulously. Both sides had their reasons and positions to take up. It takes a while, but you find yourself there. Waiting, both scared, wanting to just go home but also just wanting this over and bloody done with. Both sides have surprises. Both sides have plans that the others don’t know. The art of war is not to simply destroy your enemy. “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” was the quote he had in his head in the meeting of all the commanders.*

Are we sure this is going to work? *One of his cohort, a young lad with great ability asked. His voice a hushed whisper, he looked nervous. Argon put his hand on the reins of the horse beside him and leaned to the rider he had on his right.*

Just get them to calm. Keep the horses calm. *They were in a forest, they’d ridden since early into the night to find the place. Putting sacks on the hooves of the war horses they rode. The plan was to go onto the flank of the infantry and smash them to bits. Devastate them with a swarm attack and then be backed up with the cavalry who would simply punch a hole into the side of the battalion and hopefully demoralise them enough to send them packing. It was the final battle. He didn’t know that of course, this war had been going on for too long though. It had ravaged through villages, hamlets, homes, lives. All dashed mercilessly in the turmoil that civil war brings to countries. It had set friends, family against each other. No one had been left unmarked, or if they had been left unmarked they were hermits that spoke to none.

The green of the tree’s the horses and men were under hid them well from the lines of combat. The squares of men all of them; ready to do great harm, to do great things, to do terrible things to their fellow man glinted in the bright sunlight. Dawn on a battlefield, all drawn out in units the day of the final grand melee.

Cavalry on one side, infantry in the middle, spell-casters already beginning the opening incantations to bring columns of fire down on the poor fuckers in the middle, the bugles sounded and then it all began.

The war drums beating the marching time, the great climax to this terrible time in Voran’s history had begun. Argon could remember seeing even as they waited, the carnage, the spells being slung about on both sides. The chant of clerics, the screams of the dying. The panic, the chaos, the utter despair. The terror, the heart stopping moment when you realise that your entire world is about to go completely upside down.

Then they were in motion, knee to knee with the horse beside his, feeling the warmth and excitement of the horse under him. He and the rest of the unit of dusk-blades he was with erupted into the bright sunshine. Out from the forest into the flanks of the infantry and cavalry scouts that were there. They smashed into them, steel against steel. Then it was contact, that moment that time stopped. Clashing of flashes of light. Blood, carnage, limbs slashed open, the thunder of cavalry coming in to support. lances of their own...

He was too busy to notice when the weather changed. That was when the Storm wizards began their devastating work. The boiling angry sky reflected the utter destruction on the ground. At some point Argon had come off his horse. His horse had gone off and he was on foot. He didn’t even know where about on the battlefield he was. All he knew was he was fighting for his life. He saw the young dusk-blade cut down, the one who had shown so much promise in his early years. He could’ve become something incredible, another life cut short to hang on the horns of those two boys.

If felt like hours later, it felt like years had passed since this had all begun. His hand was stiff, his arms aching from the swinging and the terrible cost made his heart hurt. But he continued the fight, he had to. He didn’t see it when death came for a kiss. He just suddenly knew.

A bright arc of colour solidly collided with his sense in an explosion of pain, muted colours and a crash of sound that made no sense to him.


A broken soldier; he fell to his knee's when he was wounded severely. Staring at the sky as he felt the urge to simply lay down and die. Tears falling from his face as his life passed before him. Mist covered mountains were going to be his final home. But all he wanted to do was return to his valley, his farm… The lowlands he’d grown up in. It hurt. God it hurt. The fear, the alarm.. the cries of those who hadn’t deserted him, they couldn’t now. They were dead. His whole unit had gone down, smashed into bits. But they’d made the hole that had been their target. Expendable losses the general had called it…. It went dark momentarily as something huge flew over them.

Then he was back. Fields of destruction, baptisms of fire. The battle raging higher and higher. Thankfully, A spell goes off nearby saving his life, knocking him out as he bled into the mud of his homeland, dying for a cause he no longer believed in. He simply wanted to go back home. He wanted it to be over. He had flashes of his life before his eyes. A blink. Dreams, visions of things he could have done, the things he could have seen. He blinked again. His heart beating. The smoke seemed to fade, something warm coming towards him in the night. The horse he had ridden into the battle comes back to him. He wanted to reach out to save himself, it was so cold though. He felt as if he was sinking into the earth. "We are fools to make war on our brothers in arms." flashes into his mind. A saying from his favourite author. The sun went to heaven, the moon was riding high. How long he'd been there in the mud he, he didn't know.

The warmth of a horse whickered into his face. He blinked again. Then croaked out a sound. He was alive. Hazy things clouded his vision. He moved a hand, the pain now faded to becoming a friend. His hand moved as it felt leather from a rein against it. He grasped it and then found himself being dragged slowly. At that point the lancing pain came back making him nearly black out. Lancing bright white flashes of pain from his thigh. If he screamed, he wasn’t sure. He must’ve. His throat burned with the sound.


He ended up being dragged by his horse, trying to survive that as well. Hearing the dying all around him. All the smashes and crashes of light around him. Strange sounds. Terrifying sounds. Boys begging faintly in the darkness for help, for their mothers. Then after a while the crying getting weaker. He kept blanking out. Finally, he realised that if he lashed his hand into the reins with a couple of twists of his wrist he could keep himself tied on. He did it eventually... And then let the darkness faded it all away. That blackness that makes him feel like he was floating, and in the loss of blood he began to mistake the horror around him as a floating lake of black. With the souls of the dead and dying around him. Silence is bliss.


He woke up. Light. Splashing, the shouts of people. Then he stopped moving somehow. Hands began to clutch at him and begin to pick him up. He just couldn’t move anymore. It was as if they picked up something that's no longer truly there. He stood up, watching the body he had been in moving off into the distance. Looking down to see a silvery line tethering him to his body.

Then PAIN.. A flash of light and he was in a tent, being tended to, back into his body. The flash of pain was someone holding his thigh together with their hands. Calls for help, before he was out again. Laying in a cold sweat. Slipping between life and death. And then.... The sensation of his heart in his chest as time slowed. The flow of life around him became silent. It was over. And what was left? Nothing, but the beating of his heart.*
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Post « DanielD » Mon Oct 01, 2018 8:53 pm

Processed up to this point, well done!
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Post « D'Argonet » Sun Jan 27, 2019 1:17 pm

He'd been in the Watch for a few months now and had gotten familiar enough with the feel of the city under his boots. Well worn they were, they'd seen him through a fair bit of trouble in the past five or so years. He could tell which part of the city he was in now simply by the feel of the stones under his feet. Some of them were pitted, some of them were smooth. The ice was a bit of a hazard but he'd gone to the armoury of House Naikl and asked someone to help him out. Soon enough he was fitted with a pair of snow spikes for the icier parts of the city, the parts where the snow had been packed down hard. Then packed down even more because kids had begun the game of run and slide. Some of them were capable of sliding a fair few feet while standing up he grudgingly had admitted to himself, then of course he'd had to go over and politely ask them to not do it any longer and explain why. Some of the kids heartily agreed and moved on, some of the rougher street kids were more gobby about it. Those he advised to go to the park and make a longer slide there. But the snow spikes on his feet did the job he needed now to be more effective.

Then there was his second job, that had come as a complete shock to him. Being offered a place training the House Guard of Naikl. He'd had great trepidation thinking about it the night before he was due to start, that had been a really bad night if he was honest with himself. He'd heard the shouts and cries again during the night. He'd woken up finally after a fitful sleep and made his way to go and train the troops. Firstly he'd simply stood back and watched. Observing them moving about and working. That helped still his rapidly beating heart, he didn't introduce himself. He didn't want to, he wanted to simply watch them moving and see how they trained so he could adapt for them and finally get them to adapt to him.
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Post « DanielD » Sun Jan 27, 2019 10:33 pm

Processed up to this point.
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Post « D'Argonet » Sun Feb 03, 2019 12:48 pm

He'd learned the hard way how to stay up in the snow and ice. Smaller steps and less of a stride action except for the areas of the streets that have thawed some what or are covered in a light layer of sand to help with traction. He'd also learned the virtue of being warm by having a spell offered to him by Malak Treny, that was something he was most grateful for. He'd begun to split his time three ways now, firstly by his duty in the Voran Watch.

Secondly he was out working with the Naikl guards, each day he was down there calling out instructions while the guard did their level best to follow each word. He was getting their respect slowly but surely but he wasn't about to march about without his shirt, or trousers on. No, he left that for the younger more "hardy" of men like Dumas. He ran with them when they ran, limping carefully along side to try and build up his own tolerance. It wasn't his body that gave out first, or his lungs, no it was his blasted leg and that awful injury. Even then he pushed himself as hard as he could. After their brief run up and warm up to get their blood moving as he called it, he got them lifting the large tree trunks that had been dragged into place by Dumas to their shoulders in long rows, where they had to pass them along one side at waist height, then down the other side and back to the start. When that was done they had to pass them along at head height. This was all team building and muscle building. Finally, the yomp. This was the bit he enjoyed the most and despite his being on horse back he still had a grin on his face as he told them to go get their gear on. Full battle dress, would be put on, then as a troop each morning the guards that weren't on duty would go for a "nice long walk" as Argon called it. Two hours later, the same troop would return, often with Argon walking along with them as he called encouragement from the ground, leading the scarred warhorse he loved to bits. After that, it was battle training.

Come the end of the day, the guard would either love him or hate him.
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Post « Dumas Naikl » Sun Feb 03, 2019 6:52 pm

The second Target of Uncle Dumas and his band of mini Naikls find where Argon is at.

ATTACK!!

The children all throw snowballs as best as they can. Dumas making sure to throw some at each man with Argon.

OFf to get Der!!

They would retreat as fast as the children can go. Maids helping as Dumas carries the runts.
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Post « DanielD » Sun Feb 03, 2019 7:21 pm

Processed up to this point
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Post « D'Argonet » Thu Feb 14, 2019 5:59 pm

It stuck in him, it stuck in his mind, his thoughts, his dreams. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke, it was the last thing he thought of before he slept. That nun. The whole mission to go and get a wounded nun, bring her in for.. His mind recoiled as memories over layered his own missions in the past at the hands of a King controlled by a Demon. It made him wake up in a cold sweat, the sheets clinging to him and tangling him which had of course only added to the nightmare he'd just woken screaming from, convinced that he was being dragged down to the underworld by shadowy clawed hands.

This was just one of those mornings. A few days after speaking to Elizabeth in the stable, begging her to consider everything fully before going off to the mainland to face untold God's knew what. He sat on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knee's as he tried to fight the urge to vomit, but at least he hadn't fallen back into the drink - Yet. It was with some effort that he got to his feet, sorted his ablutions and stared into the polished and pitted metal field mirror that he had used for ages. He just stared at the face there, unsure if he even recognised the image staring back at him. The shadows were returning to under his eyes. The spark that had only just reignited was there, but it was a soft burn. He hung his head, unable to face it. One hand on the porcelain bowl on the table, the other to his forehead as it rubbed at the scar that hung over his eye. Then he drew another long steadying breath and made sure he was clean, sorted. In good order for going and facing the guards today. It wasn't that he hated his job, he actually rather enjoyed it, but with other things on his mind he was tired, his brain was cluttered and working with the guard gave him time to not think. Not long after taking that few moments to prepare himself, Argon made his way out on the training grounds and began bellowing orders. Getting the troops back into rows and today, just in case they weren't aware - he informed them - it was going to a ten mile run with packs on, not the normal five. That also gave him time in the saddle to just, switch off the thoughts in his head.

As for Sterker..... He'd deal with him later.
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Post « D'Argonet » Tue Feb 19, 2019 10:54 am

On the ship to who knew where


He waited until he couldn't hear the footsteps of the man who he'd unburdened his soul to had faded, he waited until Arcadia told him he couldn't hear him or sense him any more either. Then with one hand up to the point between the horses eyes, he'd moved in closer to the animal that had seen him through thick and thin pressing his forehead against the animals neck near it's head and closed his eyes. The sting of tears in his eyes told him he was going to have to let some of this go, the depth of pain in his soul a stone around his heart that held it heavy and painful. Then the first hot tear trailed down his face, a strangled sob broke from him as he bowed his head and pressed his face harder into the soft fluff of fur that kept the animal warm from the cold of winter. His hand dropped from it's face and moved to wrap up high around the top of the crest of it's mane. Another breath gasped in and as quickly again it turned into another sob, an unrelenting cascade that left more tears on the horses neck. The shudder went down the mans bowed head to his neck and sat in his shoulders which rose and shook softly as he snatched another breath. Another louder sob broke from him as he stepped in closer to the animal. He couldn't hold it in anymore, he pressed his chest to the animal that had his heart more than anything else anymore. The animal that held his heart in its chest. He found himself bereft, windswept on the emotion that had been chained up like a savage beast eating away at him for months.


He couldn't help any one from his past, he knew that. They were all dead, all rotting in a far away field, their flesh picked away from the bone and even then the bone would eventually fall away to nothing. He staggered in time to the movements of the ship when he finally moved away from the horse and made it to the wall of the stall. The horse came with him, bending it's head down to nudge at Argon's chest and pushed him into it gently. At that point Argon's resolve broke completely and he slid down the wall of the stall, face in his hands as he curled up, drawing his knee's up and cried, truly cried for the first time in months. In truth, he was terrified of that question Acaelus had asked of him "what do you think we'll find in Windermere?" he didn't know, he couldn't know could he? He could imagine and that was almost worse. His arms moved, his hands could no longer hold the pain in his face and head, he pressed his forehead to his knee's and curled his arms over his head as he rocked.

He could still hear the sounds of melee, the ghosts of the past came to him. Snapshots of laughter, snapshots of terror. Jokes came into his head, awful jokes told to him by excited men, bragging boys speaking nonsense to break the tension that he could see through every line of their bodies. It was awful, it was agony. The sobs slowly subsided to a quieter softer set of sounds as the exhaustion that always came with those memories hit him as truly as an Ogre's impacted fist. He was drawing in shaky silent gasps of breath as he crawled finally to the corner of the stall and laid there on his side like a wounded animal, curled up tightly to keep from feeling anything other than the scratches of the straw. Smelling nothing but the warm soft smells of the animals around him. Hearing nothing but the waves on the hull and the breaths of Arcadia who now came and curled up before him, shielding him from view with his body. He felt like a child and wanted nothing more than to be held, rocked gently and told it would be okay. But nothing would be okay again, not this night. Not as he waited on board a ship to take him to the worst place in the world as far as he was concerned. Back to that time of war and hardship that had taken every human he cared about from him.

When he finally slipped under the blanket of sleep, it was a twitching restless sleep as the ghosts came to chase him around. He slept fitfully, hand twitching as it felt the blade in it's hand again. Muscles twitching in his arms and legs as he felt each movement of the horse beneath him in his slumber, the sounds of battle drums thumping their staccato beats, that rumble and rattle of carts, all of it, right down to the the bugles, all of it haunting him from across the time between then and now, the screams, those sounds would drift with him as surely as any boat on the sea of life, tossing and turning as if caught in a storm and waiting to go under.

In the night, he would call out names of people who were long past caring if he slept well or not. He would relive that pain, the loss of Coll again, watching as his childhood friend had thrown his arms wide and stared at Argon in surprise as a sword was shoved and thrust sharply through his chest. The pain, the agony of it all burdened down on Argon's head and would leave him dulled and quiet in the morning. A morning where the ship would have contact with another ship this time one coming from Windermere and all his worst fears would start to become known.


I am the one winged bird for flying
Sinking quickly to the ground
See your faith in me subsiding
See you prime for giving in
I give you all that I am
I am the sound of love's arriving
Echoed softly on the sand
Lay your head upon my shoulder
Lay your hand within my hand
I give you all that I am
And I breathe where you breathe
Let me stand where you stand
With all that I am
I am the white dove for a soldier
Ever marching as to war
I would give my life to save you
I stand guarding at your door
I give you all that I am
I am the one winged bird for flying
Sinking quickly to the ground
I am the blind man for a watchdog
I am prime for giving in
I'll show you all that I am
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Post « Jens » Tue Feb 19, 2019 4:49 pm

I have read and caught up with this thread.
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Post « D'Argonet » Wed Aug 07, 2019 5:53 pm

It was a complete shock when D'Argonet had met up with an old friend, Jesse, a swordsman that he'd "worked with" during the time of troubles a couple of years ago in Voran. Their laughter had filled the air of the tavern causing more than one person to stare in utter surprise at the usually dour Watchman. Watching him laugh until the tears fell down his face. He hadn't even been drinking. Tea was the staple of the man who held to his resolve as his friend got further and further into his cups, then when they'd had enough of the food and drink there. They had moved out to the stable to go check on Jesse's horse. D'Argonet had booked him a room a the Lion so the man would be able to go wash up and get some rest.

Then D'Argonet had gone shopping for a few things. A clean shirt for his friend, clean trousers too, along with which he'd bought armour cleaning stuff. A shammy leather cloth, some ointment to get the rust off it and some of that really fine sand that you rubbed in to make sure the rust had come off the places. It didn't scratch the metal, it wore away the imperfections. Finally he'd got some leather soap and conditioner balsam to ensure that the leather held.

He was diligent and thoughtful as he sat there by candlelight, rubbing the sand in carefully with his fingertips to get the dots of rust off the embossed armour. Working to check every speck and scrap to remove it all. Then he'd spent time it. Rubbing it in layer by layer with one cloth letting it set on the armour before rubbing off the ointment.

While he waited for it to all dry the final time, he'd removed every bit of leather and treated it with first the cleaner to get the muck, sweat, blood and tears off it. Then he'd set the leather strapping with the balsam to make sure that the leather would hold.

Finally though he was done. Half the night had gone, D'Argonet had not touched a drop of alcohol and his eyes were aching from the task, but he did it. He did it regardless so that his friend would be able to ride out with pride. Then he began on the horse's trappings. Each buckle checked, each strap cleaned and oiled just the same as the armour. When he looked up and he'd put it all back together, he sighed heavily.. looking out of the window to find the sun was slowly starting to creep up on the horizon.

When Jesse awoke, he'd find the suit of armour standing to attention in his room. Looking good, looking like it'd been done with pride. With Honour. With Valour and with Faith.

He might not be a knight, but he was a soldier. And soldiers needed pride to survive.
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Post « Jens » Sun Aug 11, 2019 3:48 am

Processed.
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Post « D'Argonet » Wed Sep 04, 2019 4:54 pm

Castle of Glass

Grim faced he had ridden back from where his friend had died. Back there. Where Jesse had fought to the last to kill of the goblins that they had gone to find. He still hadn't found the right level of his emotions. His eyes welled periodically. Then he'd blinked and cleared them. The lump in his throat, that burning from his eyes. All of it he squashed down. Clenching his jaw even as the grief threatened to spill out of him. He still had his share of arrow shafts stuck in him. But for now, the pain was a welcome distraction. The blood had stopped dripping. He'd no idea how long he rode leading his friends horse. Leading his friend back to the city. Back to... It wasn't home. He felt his breath in his chest hitch and then with another growled out gasp he forced that feeling right back down into his bones. His hand was like iron, holding onto that other horse's reins. The armour that he'd spent hours cleaning, that he'd tended and repaired. He couldn't. He just couldn't bear to look back at it.

He had memories in his head. Ghosts in his head again. Every memory came back to him. Dancing with pretty girls, laughing so damned hard when they were that drunk they couldn't walk straight. Laughing so loudly that others stared at them and then chose to avoid them. A staggering walk back from a tavern common room to the stables where they would be billeted for the night. His hand on Arcadia's rein was loose, light. Habit made him ride gently, but his mind wandered.

"Don't you tell me you don't find that girl pretty. If you don't Dargo my old friend, I will...." He could still hear Jesse's voice in his head though before it was laid over by the last words he'd said to him.

"Good.. good. Oi, Dargo. I love you.. brother. Search them.. this was... much too..planne...."

That overlapped the sound of Jesse's laughter that he wanted to remember. Those gasps of breath even through his blood stained mouth. The pain of it. The way his own breath had caught.

Argon had to stop. He had to pause and close his eyes as his emotions burst through his chest again. That grief stricken stumbling block that he wanted to erase from him now. Tears ran freely down his face as he tried to stop it. The hand on Arcadia's reins rose to rub at his eyes, to rub at his face. Then he growled out again and slapped himself. Trying to catch his breath. He drew another deepening one. Clearing his throat. Thoughts still rambling and over lapping. The sound of that spear going straight through his friends armour. He'd kept that.

He sniffed, unexpectedly trying not to do anything. He felt the warmth on his face from the sun and wanted to lay down and die. How could it be that someone so vital. Someone he'd spent so much time enjoying his life with, someone like that just died?

Just abandoning him.

He couldn't. He just... He had to get off Arcadia and swallowed hard as he checked his friend's body. Making sure that the bonds were still tight. The hero that had ridden into the city not too long ago, returning to it tied over the saddle of his horse. Argon bent his head to his friend's chest-plate, trying desperately to hold the emotions in. Not daring to let that grief loose, he knew what grief did. He knew what the shadows would do to him tonight. He drew in another very shuddering breath. Unaware he was sobbing already. Tears falling freely. How? He couldn't come to terms with it. Kicking and screaming wouldn't change anything. He could spill his guts out. But this was never going to be easy. Death was never easy.

It felt like a ragged wound was running through his soul as he wanted to rail, he wanted to.. He didn't know anymore. He felt utterly lost. The last link of his life from the past was now gone. Severed. It left him feeling vulnerable, lost. Bereft. He couldn't.... He... it burst out from him suddenly and he couldn't control it. That sudden swallowed choking sob that would break from him. He had gripped his fingernails so tightly into his palms that he had cut them. Digging them so hard to feel more pain. He was so fucking angry. He was so unable to figure out how much this was affecting him. All of it swallowing him. His breath was not regular. It gasped, then stuttered, then came again in another sob that snatched at him.

He turned away and cleared his throat again with another growl of pain, lacking control. He.... What the fuck was he going to do? Take him back? There? He looked in the direction of the city and the smoke smudged sky, then back to the forest where it'd all gone so badly wrong. His chest felt tight. All his feelings were in turmoil. He felt like he'd been flung off the top of a waterfall and now was stuck in the spinning cycle of water at the bottom. He couldn't deal with it. He sobbed again. Tears once again down his face. Then drew in a deep breath. No. Jesse deserved heroic mantra's to be spoken for him. He deserved a proper burial. He'd take him home. Ragged beggar now that he was. He'd take him to the Naikl estate. He'd let them see how ruined he truly was and if they still wanted him. They'd have to decide his fate there. He wanted to snap his blade. That sacred vow that he'd given to his father coming to the front.

"Do you swear to protect the weak?" I do.. Had come the whisper from the young boy. Nobility.

"Do you swear to give up your life to defend against evil?" I do father. This time he'd lifted his chin and looked his father in the eye. Courage.

"Do you swear to uphold the law of Justice?" Yes father I do. He felt the burden becoming heavier as his father had laid the full weight of the sword on his shoulder. Then lifted it to the other again. Each time he'd answered, it moved to the other shoulder. Justice.

"Do you swear to be virtuous, to be kind in all things that you can?" Yes father. He'd found that out to his cost on the battlefield. Having to hold a friend and remind them of his homeland as he died. Mercy.

"Do you swear to show compassion. To be chivalrous? To give up your chattels that another might live if need be?" Yes father. Had come the humble response again. Generosity.

"Do you swear to hold true to your morals, to not follow an order which is wrong, to defend the truth?" Yes father. I swear. He had locked his eyes on his father's eyes to stare into them now. Solemnly making each oath. Faith.

"Do you so swear, that upon your very soul that you will stand before the coming tide? That you will hold true to that one thing that no man can ever take away from you?"Yes Father. D'Argonet felt the pressure lifting from the sword, then the sword was being handed to him. Hope.

"Follow those tenets boy, they'll not see you wrong. No matter what comes, follow them and hold firmly to all those things I have raised you to be."

Argon had stood there in the middle of the road, tears dripping from his face as he tried again to contain all that grief. Then he drew in another shuddering breath and walked to Arcadia's scarred flank and swung himself back up into the saddle of his warhorse. Then with another look at his friend's dead body. He drew up the courage, faith, generosity, hope, mercy, justice... Nobility.

By the time he'd recited the last word, he was ready. His head rose as he stared forwards, then with military straightness. Nobility flooded through him as he rode towards the southern gate of the city.

One look on his face told the guards not to tarry, they let him through fast without speaking a word. Word spreading as he went through the streets. His head held high, arrows still in his leg and arm. He rode in like the noble warrior he was. Leading the fallen comrade home to rest finally in honour, in fidelity, in trust.

By the time he made it to the Naikl gates, the streets he was riding through had space provided for the sad procession.

The hero that had ridden the streets just hours before in the dawns light, with the tired old guard sat smiling and laughing with him as they relayed stories of the past was coming back.

He locked himself up tight in his thoughts. Surrounding himself with fractures of glass that revolved around him to prevent anyone from ever getting in close again. One more loss and he was gone. He knew it. He wasn't going to let it happen again. He locked himself in tight, preparing to be nothing more than the oaths he'd sworn to. By the time he got to the gates and stopped. D'Argonet had stopped himself from crying. He'd blocked up those emotions and set himself to feeling nothing. To feeling utterly nothing. Even then, despite everything. despite every attempt to block it off. His emotions were written on his face. He was emotionally exhausted. Tears in his eyes that he couldn't even feel anymore. The numb feeling had taken over. The cold numb of grief that contained all those broken bits that made up D'Argonet. Bereft. He was mute. He hadn't said a word. Not since this catastrophe had happened. He just sat there astride his warhorse. Swallowing briefly.

One More Light.

((Dedicated to Reece. Died August 2019, life caught up with him. No I don't want to talk about it.))
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Post « D'Argonet » Thu Sep 05, 2019 6:03 pm

Lullaby For a Soldier

Last night.
He had spent the night of his return doing his duty. With the help of Haley, he had washed Jesse's body clean of all the grime, the mess and the blood before redressing him in clean clothes. Making sure the knight looked like he was just sleeping. Then he had cleared everyone out of the barrack room. A night in vigil was his intent, speaking to his friend, apologising for not being able to save him. For not being able to get him back in one piece. He had long ago realised that death came when you least expected her. Tiptoeing through the windows of children, preying on the minds of young adolescents, stealing the breath of women, tripping up warriors in their prime before gently grasping the hands of the old and taking them to their peace. But this... he shook his head again. His hands holding the helm of his friend. Staring at his face as he hunched. His wounds hurt, they ached and twisted in him. But he was alive. The alternative was to be dead.

It was at that point that he'd had to get up, go out and get some air. Grabbing his horse and limping his way around for hours on the street's of the city. Lost. A stranger in a strange land again. Restless as the dead. He'd ended up at Fire's Mantle. Speaking with Azzil. She'd helped.




Tonight. The Vigil.
He drew in a breath again then sighed gently before picking up the bowl of oil damped sand and began to scour the helm again to make it clean, clearing it of all the blood, the mess. Making sure there were no blemishes. He couldn't take his mind off his friend though. He didn't watch the motion of his hands. He watched his friends face. All he could hear was the laughter in his voice as they'd driven a wagon back during the war. They'd both laughed so hard that their ribs ached. His ribs ached now for a different reason. He sighed again and shifted his position to ease himself a little, then began to clean another section of the helm. By the time he had finished that, it gleamed brightly. He set it by his friends head. As if he were merely resting, waiting to put it back on his head. Then he began on the breastplate.

The hole in it had him staring. Swallowing hard as he looked at the blood. Then frowned considering what Dumas and Phillip had said. Where was the spear? He looked around and found it. Then setting the breastplate aside, he carefully lifted it by the tip, examining the shaft. He would take it to Dumas later. He drew in another tight breath and with closed eyes sent yet another prayer up to Wutsya to protect his brother. To give him rest, to feed and water the warrior who had given his life so valiantly. Then he began to work on the plate again. Checking it for faults prior to the attack. There weren't any. He knew that from his own cleaning a day or so ago. He knew that it was immaculate that morning. He knew that it wasn't down to the armour. He avoided the hole where the plate had been punctured at first. Cleaning off the water stains, scouring off the mud and muck. Then with a reluctant heart he began to scour off the bloody remains of his friends fight. He wanted to throw up. The plate ended up hurriedly on the floor as he hobbled to a bucket and did just that. The smell of the blood had turned his stomach. It wasn't the first time, it wouldn't be the last. He hadn't always been like that. It had been the smell of the blood after the final battle that had done it. The carnage, the churned earth. The stench of rotten bodies that clung in the air and made for a fetid mess. It was funny how somethings just stayed with you. That was one reason why he ate stew and tried to not think about the meat.

When his stomach had returned to some vague semblance of normal, he went back to cleaning the breastplate.

In his head, he could see the group of men he'd trained with. Sent off to camp with. All of them. Smiling. Laughing as if standing ready for a snapshot. Laughing with each other, calling. There was Coul, there was Arden. There too Borz. They were slowly walking up onto the rise to stand tall under the pennant of their unit. Tad and Thom, the twins were next scruffy blonde hair and curls they were arm in arm, thumping each other as always. Another joined them, Larson. Gesla... The rest of those who had died at different points in the war, until the entire unit - all standing and greeting each other, asking about their journeys. All of them turning to stare at him. He frowned, his throat swallowing hard. In his mind he could see Jesse standing before him. Clapping him on his arms. He flinched as if he could feel those light blows on him. His friend smiling and nodding backwards to the hill.

"Dargon, it's okay. You can let me go. How am I going to get my hands on all the pretty girls if you don't?"

Argon's eyes filled with tears again, shaking his head as he whispered. "Don't you dare leave me alone for long. Keep my seat for me. Wait for me. I'll be along soon enough. And then I can drink something else other than tea."

He could hear the response in laughter. "That's my boy... Gods man... Brothers til the end. Right? Well this isn't the end. So we're still brothers."

His breath caught again and cleared his throat. "Go. Go on... Fuck off. I'll be along soon. Brothers."

His voice broke again on the last word and he was blinded again by the tears. In his head he could hear the laughter. He could hear them calling for Jesse to get up there. He could see them raising tankards and drinking in salute to each other before they turned and began to walk towards the dawn. Vanishing from his mind and his view. Leaving him alone. His face fell again as he closed his eyes and wept once more setting aside the breastplate to fold forwards and put his face in his hands. He wept for as long as he needed to. Just letting it pass through him so he could move on, so he could deal with the tiredness of his body and soul. Then he picked up the armour and began to scour it again to make it clean so that the armourer could work it and repair the damage. Setting it suitable for the funeral that would come soon. He went on to the other pieces of armour, scouring, cleaning, scraping, mending and working with his hands until they ached along with the rest of his mind and body. Come the dawn when the next watch arrived to take vigil, he was done. He stood to greet the man then swallowed and saluted before heading off to find the stable, his horse and laid down in the straw to sleep in safety. Hidden by the shape of Arcadia.

Day is Gone
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Post « D'Argonet » Fri Sep 06, 2019 8:45 am

Atoli Destore of the Eternals.

*He wrote the name down onto a scrap of parchment. Then drew a deep breath in through his nose. Wincing as he washed off the paste that had been applied to him before he got rid of that water in the bowl and refilled with more. Then he was careful to apply the paste again onto his wounds and where things ached worse. He'd slept solidly on that couch and couldn't rightly remember what had happened after Dumas left. It was a haze, he remembered the tiredness just catching up with him and sending him asleep without any recollection of anything more. But he'd slept. He had woken up when it was his time to go, blinking to awareness, then moved the bag of coin he'd given Haley on the bar, he looked around at the now dark common room. Then quietly he began to move out.

He headed to the stables to get his horse then led him out to the mounting block. Not for the first time he was grateful that such a thing existed. He nodded to Arcadia and got on. Swinging his leg over him and landing lightly. Patting his horse as he got comfortable, then without stirrups he rode out, sitting lightly in the saddle as the horse trotted.*

Home then. *He spoke softly and together, as one they moved through the city. He had renewed purpose. He had a reason and means, but first he had to let Haley do her job. He had to let Phillip do his job.

His head was filled with plans, filled with alternative options. Then he remembered what Azzil had said. Stop overthinking and simply react. He drew in another deep breath and rode towards the house. Cantering the horse through the quiet streets and returning to barracks in time for the vigil.

The groom took Arcadia as soon as he arrived, there in state lay his friend. No longer in barracks. Quiet nods of respect were received by Argon from soldiers that knew of Jesse, even those who didn't now began to nod as well. He walked tall. In uniform, an old uniform from what seemed a lifetime ago. A red cloak, his armour. Leather strappings he'd never thought he'd wear again. He stood tall then took his position at the head of his friend. Turning outwards before he bowed his head and began the long mantra, speaking Jesse's deeds to those who were present. Those he knew of. Those he was aware of. There would countless be more, but he wasn't rightly aware of them all.*

I had the pleasure of Jesse saving my life more than once. *He began to speak personally after listing battle honours.* I can remember a speech he gave, a rallying cry to all of us who had lost so many friends. If the fields could but give up their dead to stand tall one more time. There'd be a population crisis and a half. *he huffed a short laugh. Then looked at the small gathered soldiers that stood there, some curious, others there to show support.*

Blades! The gift of freedom is yours by right. But the home we seek to restore, resides not in some distant land. It's in us! And in our actions on this day! If this be our destiny, then so be it. But let history remember that as free men, we chose to make it so.


*He paused, turning his head to look at his friend again, a fond sad smile on his face before he turned back and continued.*

Despite taking fire on one such day. He remained standing when most of us were confused, I think it was a spell that had discharged, but he rallied us all. He got us through it. He saved countless men that day. Men that would come to call him Brother.

*He turned and looked at the motionless man behind him.* Men that had the right, the privilege to call him thus. We saved each other though so many times that it began to be like a tide ebb and flow. Who would do what to help who that day. *He paused.*

Not a competition, war isn't a competition. It's a matter of surviving. You do what you must to get through it. There were times when he would bark orders and we all just got on with it. But the next day someone else would be barking orders. That's what we became though. A band of brothers. Given orders by those higher up the chain and we were expected to follow them. We became a unit. We became more than that, we became family. We stood tall so many times when men cowered and hid, when no one was willing to stand up and form the line. We did. Coul, Arden, Borz, the twins Tad and Thom, Gesla, Larson, Anders, Fletch, Trist... *He continued on, speaking the names of some forty or so men, finally ending with..* Jesse. Mercy is given to us when we speak their names. They look on us fondly. They know our deeds in our hearts, they know our words are true or if they are false. Some, they come to us in our dreams to offer comfort in times of challenge. *He frowned faintly, then reached into his armour to pull out a parchment and unfolded it.* Trist was a poet. He wrote this when we were all sat around a camp fire, wondering what in the nine hells we'd gotten involved in. We'd taken some serious fire and spirits were low. He gave this to me after, knowing I would keep and take care of it. Now I'm going to read it to you.

When your tears are spent on your last pretence
And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defence
When it's in your spine like you've walked for miles
And the only thing you want is just to be still for a while
If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too much
I'll be right beside you

When you're overwhelmed and you've lost your breath
When the space between the things you know is blurry nonetheless
When you try to speak but you make no sound
And the words you want are out of reach but they've never been so loud
If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too much
I'll be right beside you

I will stay
Nobody will break you.
Trust in me, trust in me
Don't pull away
Trust in me, trust in me
'Cause I'm just trying to keep this together,
'Cause I could do worse and you could do better!
When your tears are spent on your last pretence
And your tired eyes refuse to close and sleep in your defence
If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too rough
I'll be right beside you

Nobody will break you
If your heart wears thin I will hold you up
And I will hide you when it gets too much
I'll be right beside you
Nobody will break you


*He cleared his throat again, giving him some time to gather his thoughts, he didn't need long. He looked up at the crowd again.* That is what it means to be part of this. A unit, by definition means ONE. It means together. It means brotherhood, fraternity. It means family. It means you will stand together as one and scream against the rising tide of madness. *He drew a breath.* That is what it means to be a Duskblade of the old world. I pray that it will mean the same in this new one.

*He paused, coming to a halt. Now he simply looked sad. He sighed heavily and fell silent. Lost in his own memories. Some would make him smile. Others would make him huff softly as he shook his head. Then when the clerics came in for the Silent Hour. He prepared himself and stood tall. Defending his brothers body with gritted teeth as he stared outwards, head lifted in challenge. Hands ready.

The fractured man, began to call the shards of his soul back to him, not to put them all back together. Nothing could do that truly. But at least to contain them once more.*

Beside You
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Post « Jens » Mon Sep 09, 2019 10:17 pm

Processed up to here.
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Post « D'Argonet » Thu Sep 26, 2019 4:10 pm

Lullaby for a Soldier

*He hadn't expected it. The whole thought six months ago of belonging to some where, to being a part of someone's life. To any of this he'd have shook his head grimly and denied the possibility. But now, he looked up at the night's stars and set his hand behind his head as he lay on the porch of the Fire's Mantle then sighed softly but full of content. Next to him was a red malamute puppy. Curled up against his ribs as he slept. He set his other arm on it gently. Stroking it's fur. The puppy huffed softly in it's sleep as Argon ran his hand lightly over the fur. He couldn't help but wonder at all this. Nothing would ever happen between him and the owner of the Fire's Mantle, but she'd given him a home. A real home. A place to belong, a place to be. A part of a life of someone else, something that would ground him. Not just barracks, not just a billet in a room full of men. But a place with a family, a child, a dog. He grinned and closed his eyes, not for the first time his eyes filling up at the prospect that had been until now unknown to him. He didn't fight it, the tears rolling down the sides of his face, the gratitude overwhelming him as he drifted off to sleep. A decent night's sleep and in that darkness, in the shadows of the night a dream began.

It was strange. The past and the present mingled, the home he'd lost and the place he was in overlapping gently to combine softly, then through the tree's she came to him. His dead wife. His Elsie was singing to him as she approached. Pale in the moonlight, her face lit in a smile.*

May your dreams bring you peace in the darkness,
May you always rise over the rain.
May the light from above always lead you to love,
May you stay in the arms of the angels.


*He stared in disbelief. At first unsure what he was seeing. The sleeping man didn't move, but in his dreams he sat up, whole and fit as he sat there, staring at her. She continued to sing, continued to approach him. Moving up the steps of the Dojo to bend down and stroke his face.

The sleeping man cried, grief mixed with gratitude.*

May you always be brave in the shadows
till the sun shines upon you again.
Hear this prayer in my heart
and will ne'er be apart,
May you stay in the arms of the angels.


*The sleeping man reached a hand out to touch her face, brushing against nothing. But in his dreams he stroked her cheek. Unable to speak, unable to do anything else. The woman he'd married, the woman he'd sworn to love all his life coming to visit him, to sing to him a lullaby.

The sleeping man's shoulders shook as he wept silently with soft huffs. The puppy waking to snuggle and lick his face before it curled up under his armpit.*

May you hear every song in the forest
and if ever you lose your own way;
Hear my voice like a breeze
whisper soft through the trees.
May you stay in the arms of the angels


*He watched as she began to melt away, drifting backwards after placing a kiss softly on his brow. He felt it then, the sleeping man felt it too. The forgiveness that he'd never known he needed so desperately. It released him. It unchained him from his grief, making it possible to heal a bit more.

She began to step back, turning to walk down the steps to the forest. Looking back at him as she continued to sing her blessing.*

May you grow up to stand as a man, love
with the pride of your family and name.
When you lay down your head
for to rest in your bed,
May you stay in the arms of the angels.


*Then she melted away truly, fading into the moonlight shadows of the tree's that surrounded the dojo.

Argon, the sleeping man sobbed in his sleep, soft huffs without any screaming, pulling the puppy to him. He felt at peace, the dream not disturbing, but offering him that haven that would keep him safe for longer. A place to be, something truly to be a part of. Something normal. He no longer felt adrift in life, waiting for things to happen to him, waiting for death. He no longer courted it, he no longer had a need to. What was more, he felt he was allowed to be happier.*


Take You Home
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D'Argonet
PC

Post « Jens » Thu Sep 26, 2019 4:22 pm

Processed this.
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Jens
DM

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