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Alexander sheds his shy skin

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The Citadel of the Dead Queen, Black Rock is the island off of the eastern coast of Falyndar. Mythic and mysterious, few know what truly inhabits it. [Lore]

The Nights Plutonian Shore

Postby Alexander Romig on November 12th, 2014, 2:46 am

By the docks, a silvery figure floated atop a stone. The spray of the sea splashed around, the raindrops from the stormy sky slipped down the stone. Yet the figure moved not, it gazed out to the sea, and no matter how hard the waves tried, the commotion did not bother him. The figure had wandered for over a century on his tireless quest, and no calamity could stop him.

Closer inspection of the figure revealed he was a ghost, a mess of one at that. The ghost was missing his left arm, his eyes seemed sunken an restless, and a faint scar reached across his neck. One could hazard to guess it was self inflicted, as he clenched his right hand around an object that was no longer there, although this would all be speculation.

As a crack of thunder rippled through the sky, and several visitors to the Black Rock departed off their ship and walked past the revenant, he spoke only to himself. It was the rambling of a pained and tired soul, his only wish for revenge to be his.

Curse the miners and the craftsmen, the generals and the kings. Over a hundred years of servitude to the damned crown of Sultros, and I am the one who gets this pain? This pain, so constant as to remind me of my failure as a husband. This pain, to remind me constantly of how they needed three chops to take my great red arm off. The creations I designed with that! The temples and the monuments, all of those places might as well have never have been built! Cursed fate!

For what is an Isur who lost his greatest tool, the tool I was born with from the beginning. What can I create now? But retribution? To deliver this pain to those who had ruined me? Here me ya damned Gods, I will spill their crimson blood, they will know Alexander Romig has had his revenge! Curse them all.


The ghost appeared to sit on the rock now, holding his head with his arm. Alexander gaze remained fixed to the vast sea. Completely oblivious to how loud his ravings really were, for they had echoed off many a rock down the shore, and yet up the road also. The spirit cared not for mortals, for no mortal had cared of his search. While it was doubtful his wife, her abductors, and his nemesis were anywhere near Black Rock, or even alive for that matter, he was lost and sought some kind of cold embracing refuge for the moment.
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The Nights Plutonian Shore

Postby Issilla on November 12th, 2014, 4:13 am

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NOTEFlashback still under construction!

A small, dark figure lay on the shores of Black Rock, clothes torn against the jagged stones. Skin, once golden, now reflected a sad pallour, and a heavy sheet of dark and dirty hair hid whatever face there was to be found. Quite a distance away from the busy docks, she remained unseen – or, more likely the case, uncared for.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there.

Like a baby being rudely awakened, she shifted – then moaned lightly in pain. She felt a hundred years old. Sweet numbness gave way to the cold, rough stones beneath her cheek – then, more unkindly, beneath her stomach and twisted arm. She felt warmth, and though it did not register at first, she realized she was bleeding. Then, the wind hit her consciousness with such force that though she gasped when she attempted to move, she also shook with cold.

Where in Yahal’s name…

She managed to press her palms against the ground, fingers wrinkled from the thirsty sea. A rough rope around her wrist –

She flung her gaze over her shoulder, her heart haemorrhaging through her limbs. Was she…

She glanced down at her other wrist, where the rope had crumbled. Free? She felt about her throat. The rope lay limp against her collarbone, and it fell in one easy tug.

Was she free?

She knew she had to get out of plain sight as soon as possible. Slipping the cords off her skin, she bit back savage tears of relief. Years had passed since she had lost her freedom, her life, her father. Ahnatep had been cruel to her.

She tried to stand. She managed a few steps before her right leg gave way, palms scraping the ground once more.

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The Nights Plutonian Shore

Postby Alexander Romig on November 12th, 2014, 4:48 am

The disheartening spirit lifted up from his short limbo atop the washed up old stone. Alexander felt remarkably calm, for a spirit of vengeance who suffers the worst of pain that is. The ghost stood upright, and for but a moment stared again at the distant horizon. The revenant knew there was no use in his vigil, so as he floated down to the beach he spoke to himself.

Is there truly, no soul here to know my anguish? Are all you fishermen and cultists so comfortable in your town that you do no cry like a cat in the night whenever the pain overwhelms you? I thought not. To have your limb hacked off, and then to be awaken from near death to a voice telling you your maiden has vanished, that is pain.

Alexander floated off the dock and now was above the grimy, washed up sand. The tides rolled in and washed up through his Ethernal form. The Ghost acknowledged its silent beauty as he slowly distanced himself from the pier. Alexander cried out one last time to whomever could possibly still be listening back there.

I tire of you fickle mortals! I shall go where the wind takes me, now goodbye and be damned! The lot of you!

Alexander stared at the sand as he floated ever onward up the beach. In silent contemplation he thought, is every soul as insignificant to the Gods, as every grain of sand is nothing but solid ground for a mere man? Was Alexanders many monuments and temples to Izurdin for nought? What more could a mere architect do for a God?

The ghost thought no more on the subject, and realized he had traveled quite a distance. Yet ahead even more, a small figure could be seen. It was but a twitching dot from this distance, yet Alexander floated ever ahead, ever curious.
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