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The World We Live In:

Fleeing a pair of newly arisen and vengful gods,
a contingent of keepers of the old faith have fled across a sea and found themselves
stranded in hostile wilderness. Beset on all sides the exile colony struggles to maintain its
foothold in the new lands. Times are hard but the colony is slowly starting to flourish,
however, the threat of the living gods continues to lurk ever present on the horizon.

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The hush of the morning
Topic Started: December 3 2017, 06:55 PM (21 Views)
Darvan Eilif
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A hush had fallen over the woods. Early sunlight filter down from the treetops above. A fire had been burning most of the night. Now it had burned down to embers. Gray smoke rising from the top, caught in a light breeze' it would twist and turn, before rising up and up until it disappeared from view. Next, to the fire, a bedroll lay on the ground. Soft and lightweight the dark brown coloring looked like it had seen better days, that, of course, was true. A few other things sat within view. A quieter staff leaned against a tree. Next to that sat a will wear backpack.

A birdsong in a tree above the bedroll, when a blood curling scream broke the silents. From the bedroll, a young man would sit upright. His hand clutching at a dagger hilt. He swang his arm slashing and stabbing at an unknown threat. The bird took one look down at the man and then flew off. His heart was pounding. His chest heaved as he tried pulling air into his lungs, desperate for it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, rolling down the side of his feet, as his eyes flyed open. Light blue eyes the color of ice, swept over the woods in front of him.

"No one," Darvan told himself, as he made his way to his feet. Boots where pulled on, the staff grad from the tree. "No one's here." But still, he could get his heart to stop beating wildly, his hand's shook, as the nightmare played over in his head. Someone standing over him. Pail unfriendly eyes studying him, sizing him up, watching him. Ruff hands grabbing him from the bed he slept in and yanking him to his feet. "Your mine now boy," A voice hissed into his ear.....


Darvan shock his head. The dagger he had been holding onto was shafted, in a belt at his side. One glance over his shoulder told him that the fire had gone out. The waterskin that had been laying on a log on the other side of the fire was snatched up, and then he began walking, never looking back over his shoulder. It wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory that hunted his dreams, stocked his head, waiting for just the right second, before popping in.

He could still feel the fingers of the man digging into his skin. He could still feel the man's breath washing over his face as he held him at arm's-length telling him, that his freedom was no longer his. His life was gone. He would do as the man told him, say what the man told him to say. And if he didn't the sing of the whip would be what he felt on his skin.

Darvan stopped walking for a second. His stomach flip-flopping, before he bent over and lost whatever food was left in it. When Darven was done, he stood back up, using the back of his sleeve to whip his mouth. Years of his life had spent in that man's company. He had no memory of a time when that man hadn't been in his life. No childhood memory...nothing but his face, and uncaring voice. Darvan walked and walked and kept going until his legs ached, his feet hurt. The nightmare still hunting him...
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