UntitledIt is a shame that I can tell that I do not meet your standards. I can tell how much you care for me compared to your Blood. Each time you arrive from one of your trips you hand them everything to them and acknowledged them with gifts and money and yet I am given chores along with sarcasm. I do not talk to you nor you me, when you do speak to me it is either condemning and as you call it 'teasing' but I do not see it as such. Whenever I ask for such things as money or a trinket I receive the look of a pest or rustic. I receive the look as if I were a thief! Am I not the one that lives under your roof who has obeyed every word without question? I may be your wife's bastard but never am I a thief! To gain such a blessing I would have better luck seeking the Holy Grail than your acceptance
Masked: Prologue The world has changed, the effect of time. No longer in the age of swords (though they still hang at the sides of men). But a new empire has risen : the Age of machines . Some would see it as the era of 'New Ideas', also many find it as a blessing as they now bow to gods of stone and metal that demand as much as the blood of others. The earth has fallen to Ruin and those who speak otherwise are dealt with, not in simple community service mind you, but in harsh and slow punishments . I , myself have witnessed such cruelty . When men and women lose their beings and become monsters of their own. Such irony that those who they blamed to be monsters or 'disturbers of the peace' turn out to be themselves. They curse and cheer for innocent blood they even celebrate when one of their own willingly takes their own life. Ruin. That is what our world has fallen to.
Tales of Remnant5PoisonedThe trio stood before ten graves as it was Clain's idea to bury Red Foot's men. Ryver couldn't help look at Clain confused. In Feria if someone tried to kill you, you killed them before they did you, but in Fraueth it was different or at least Clain was different. He stared at his companion again as the tall figure was looking at the graves when he winced and rubbed his side again. "Maybe we should rest." He suggested.Clain looked at him. "No, I'm good, we should continue for a bit then rest." Reluctantly Ryver agreed as they mounted their horses and began to ride this time Rvyer kept an eye on his friend. Clain shook his head."We should stop." replied Ryver urging his horse forward toward Oltir and Clain."What's gotten into Ryver? You are acting weird." answered Clain.Ryver held up three fingers. "How many fingers do I have up?""Really? I said I'm fine." said Clain."And I said 'How many fingers am I holding up?" repeated the Ferian sternly.With a sigh Clain looked at
Tales of Remnant4Duel of BanditsLight pierced his eyelids as they lazily fluttered open. The ground was wet with do which made is clothes damp; he sat up rubbing his side, yawning Clain stretched against the saddle. His eyes wandered to Oltir who still slept, he was a bit jealous of the scribe that he could go on sleeping while wet. The temptation of going back to sleep dawned on him as he began to preoccupy himself with getting breakfast ready and horses packed. Oltir woke looking around spotted Clain busy working with the camp by the way he moved he could tell he was irritated. Oltir didn't see Ryver and thought to wait to ask the question. "Clain?" he said, when the teen didn't answer. "Clain!" He stopped and looked at him. "Do you want help?” The scribe asked in a lower tone. Clain hesitated for a moment then nodded. They rode in silence, Clain kept his eyes on the surroundings while Oltir observed as tall trees grew to him it seemed to be a blockade of leaves resis
Tales of Remnant3The Departure "I feel ridiculous!" yelled Oltir pulling at his clothes that were a tad bit too big for him, trying to make it look decent. The green tunic's sleeves were long as his brown breeches where loose as he tried to roll them up which made them look more foolish. It had been only an hour since they had left from the inn and already the scribe was getting on their last nerves complaining that his wardrobe was annoying. "Then stop pulling at it then." said Clain looking over his shoulder at the man who rode behind him. Originally the scribe was on his own horse but that all changed when the horse knowing that he had no idea what he was doing kept eating the grass. When Clain tried to help by telling him pull on the reins the horse bolted leaving Oltir screaming like a girl. Now the horse's reins were in Ryver's hands as he guided his horse through the wilderness. The paved streets were gone