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  • #46
    The nurse occasionally walks over, checking Omen's head, then painfully pinching her wrists before walking back to the desk to record some manner of information about how big her head it and how much pain can be inflicted on someone with a fever.

    Omen knew that wasn't true. She knew the doctors and nurses were trying to help her. Its just hard to see the forest through the trees, especially when you only have the one good eye.

    So she stayed plastered to the cot, every bandage finding a new way to itch every hour or so. The arm, Omen now referred to it as its own entity, had swollen up in the night, and against it had been probed and poked and pricked and she'd been made to drink the worst tea known to the world.

    "Bored" Omen complained to Nurse Melissa. Who just signed at her making her lay -back- down. She felt like a child. Home sick from the tutors and lot allowed to do a thing but stare at the ceiling and make faces.

    Omen peeks at Melissa again smiling faintly. Melissa's face contorts somewhat as she sighs, a long suffering sigh, before throwing her hands up in defeat."Fine, Dice, no cheating this time."

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    • #47
      Win Win

      It had been too long since Niven had seen his betrothed Rosaline. Once again fate struck and their wedding was postponed further into the future. Niven was starting to feel that his marriage to Rosie was just not meant to be as things would constantly happen, causing their marriage to always be postponed.

      This time, it was a family emergency that did it. Due to her sister's child being ill, Rosaline had gone there to help. Niven had spent some moons travelling in and out of town just to see her. Unfortunately his job as a blacksmith eventually shackled him down and he couldn't make another trip to see her.

      It had now been three moons since his last trip and he longed to see her again.

      Once the day of her return finally came he couldn't help hugging her tightly and laughing with her, their joy shared with passionate kisses, excited blabbering, dinner and a trip upstairs to their room. Their first night together however was not shared with intimacy but with talking about everything that came to mind, including their impending wedding.

      Rosie proposed "Lets set a date and stick with it. Get married priest or no priest, guests or no guests"

      Rosie's words lifted his spirits about the impending doom which was the wedding and made him feel that perhaps, just perhaps, it will eventually happen. Unfortunately it was a discussion that was short lived, it didn't get very far as sleep finally caught up with them and they both fell into their habitual ways, Rosie sleepily blabbering while Niven, "Mmhmming" as if he was listening.

      Their second night together was spent with their celebrating her reaching her grand master title as a gardener with dinner and drinks in the park. He constantly kissed her forehead and played with her hair as she laid in his arms. His thoughts this time were not on the doomed wedding. In fact he wasn't really wanting to think about it as he knew it would dampen his mood and he did not want that on the day that was all about Rosie and her title.

      Her kisses on his cheek made him giggle uncontrollably and then blush and apologise as he realised what he was doing. He gazed at her and smiled as he observed her eating her honey bug and drinking her mead. They shared worthless "Soooo's" and "I dont know's" like they always did before one of them would start a conversation.

      This time, it was Niven's turn, "What are you thinking?"

      Rosaline raised her gaze to her beloved and answered "Thinking about the wedding..and my hair."

      Niven ignored the topic of the doomed wedding and decided to go with the hair instead.

      He chuckled as her hair comment was quite typical of her and asked 'Want to change the way your hair is styled?"

      Rosie shook her head "No, just wanting to put a flower in my hair"

      Niven laughed and looked around for a flower. He found a perfect poppy growing by him and picked it. He slid it into her hair as she smiled and thanked him by kissing him on his chin. They stared into each others eyes before their lips locked into a long passionate kiss

      Rosaline retracted her lips so they were barely touching his "Niven?"

      He opened his eyes and focused on Rose, his thoughts helplessly drifting to dirty deeds.

      Rosaline murmured to his lips "Can we go to our room? Im feeling a little tired"

      He smiled and nodded as eagerness started to set in, usually when she said that it meant intimacy before they fell asleep.

      "Niven?"

      He paused halfway through sliding from her and gazed at her curiously

      "Can you carry me? it seems my body has fallen asleep before I have"

      Niven grinned at her playfully announced "Then I shall carry my queen to the room"

      She giggled at him as he slid from her, gathered her into his arms and stood up.

      She wrapped her arms around his neck lightly "Weeee"

      He laughed at her before making his way back to their room.

      Back in their room he lowered her onto their big bed and went to slide beside her but she had quickly shifted to the middle of the bed and spread out her arms and legs in a starfish pose, taking up the bed. Rosaline grinned at Niven

      "Mine"

      Niven blinked, "Umm, where am I supposed to lay down?"

      Before she answered Niven decided to play coy and see what she would do. He scuffed his feet and innocently mumbled "Oh well, I guess im sleeping on the floor"

      That worked, her arms flopped by her sides instantly and she quickly said "No! Lay down"

      Niven grinned and obediently slide beside her. They gazed at each other momentarily before once again locking lips into an long passionate kiss. Niven could feel his heart pumping, his blood boiling, he was ready for anything until...

      "Umm Niven...?"

      His almost instant reaction was a firm "What?" but he caught himself just before it came out and toned his voice down to make it sound calm.

      "What?"

      Rosaline gazed at him cautiously as if knowing that his mood would turn "I want to but..im tired..could we maybe...be intimate tomorrow?"

      Now usually Niven would feel anger, he hated when she would do that to him but at the same time he didn't want to force her into anything. Usually his reaction was a mixed emotion of rage and disappointment and his mind yelling "Well why the hell are you encouraging me??" but this time he was feeling calm and did not care.

      Instead he smiled and nodded "Sure, tomorrow"

      Rosaline gazed into his eyes "Promise?"

      Niven grinned "Promise"

      And with that, they both laid back and declared their loved for each other before closing their eyes. Niven smiled as he closed his eyes, there are other ways to quell a fire, she didnt have to know about them and all he had to do was be quiet.

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      • #48
        Adon filed his last report, tucked his folders neatly away. He walked around a while, the heavy snow decorati8ng his hood, nodding to passing constables and scurrying servants. Finally he stood at the tunnel, he could hear the birds beyond screeching out their clarion call. Rather typically, he made his way through the tunnel, dipping his fingers into his vest, retrieving a vial from the pocket within. He stopped just short of the mouth of the tunnel, uncapping the vial. A sip, he could already feel it, better that he should be found here if things don't work out. He then threaded himself into one corner of the sad little bone-yard, flashing the birds above a dangerous glance as he settled down in the overgrown foliage, leaning his back against one of the markers. His senses sharpen, pupils focusing on the sky above, each black speck marked, each flake of snow like cinders on his face. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to take effect, but still nothing...the brew not strong enough to dim his mind, his breath steady. Back to the library later, back to research, sort more missives, drink more coffee, and wait for the meeting. Opening his eyes, his gaze settled on his surroundings, mist shifting here and there, the city breathing...he would have to walk a while to feel any relief.

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        • #49
          Something's Wrong With Virendra

          A restless night after a restless day. Typical! The wolf had a difficult time sleeping in the infirmary for a few reasons. The first, being the moans from the injured people around him. Pansies. Every single one. Another issue that nagged at him was that busy-body of a Nurse that kept trying to scrub the blood off his face. He would swat her away and bury his face in the pillow until she gave up. He didn't know why, but he felt the unwavering need to preserve his crimson visage. Finally, that twisting feeling in his stomach. He was convinced that it was a result of catching the flu, and that surely this is how he would die. His only wish was to have one last delicious skink. He hated Kaine for convincing him to come here.

          Tossing and turning, he groans as his stomach feels like its tearing him apart from the inside. A fleeting thought passed through his mind. Pity. He pitied the poor rabbit, Valdus, who slept in the bed next to him. That last bout of diarrhea the wolf fought was particularly putrid in every sense of the word. What in Calebria could have caused a bowel movement so awful?

          Virendra, eventually, managed to lull himself to sleep during a less-stressful period of the night. During this time, he experienced a pleasant dream. He dreamed of Hanneman's head on a pike, gratuitous amounts of sex, and most importantly, all the skinks a person could eat!

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          • #50
            Kaitlyn sits at home, watching out over the lake. She plucks halfheartedly at her harp, trying to entertain her children the best she knows how. It's always so difficult when Rocher is away, they try to understand her but they're too young to sign. She thought it would be easier than this, her mind often drifts back to Triskellian and how much she misses being part of the city, even if it was daunting at first.
            Mrs Kaitlyn Beaumont, Guildmistress of the Hall of Muses

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            • #51
              He roams the mostly empty streets of the city, restless as he so often is. His mind wanders and brings memories of his years in the city. Some good times and bad times. Times when the city was easier to live in. He passes through the gates into Docktown, no really paying attention to where his feet carry him. He smells the foul stink of body odor and fetid breath before he even sees the fellow.
              A threatening voice almost demanding coin. The huge black wolf turns his crimson eyes to the mugger with a simple response of "Not today."
              An angry tone "You'll regret that"
              A quiet reply "Not Today."
              The Mugger moves in, the wolf moves, swiftly for someone his size. Never drawing a weapon, he sidesteps the swing of the mugger, then ducks under another swing before blocking a third attempt. The elbow of the wolf snaps inward, cracking the jaw of the mugger with a thump. As his head snaps back, the wolf spins quickly, his left leg lashing outward, the booted foot crashing into the ribs of the mugger. The impact of this kick smashes him against the wall of a nearby building, blood smearing across the stone as he sinks to the ground. The huge wolf's shadow landing on the slumped form as he whisltes to a constable that is coming along. The constable gathers the pitiful mugger up and hauls him to the city jail.
              The wolf continues moving to the docks, then turns, heading toward the ferry and the cherry tree. He passes a couple who are walking along the docks. He just nods.
              The couple turns to catch a glimpse of him but he is gone from sight.
              Sir Trevyn Adalhard
              Knight of the Doloreaux
              Ambassador of the Doloreaux Embassy

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              • #52
                Trembling with whimpered pain and fright, found herself bolting upright from the soft, soothing soil of her bed. Dripping from every pore with sweat of fear as she consults her own self on her night terrors. It was not the first. It would not be the last. But her dwelling lasted only seconds before she shifted her bare feet out of the bed, and pushed herself to her toes.

                With only a brief thought she drapes herself a cotton apron, the only article of clothing to shield her bare body from what was about to come. Her paws get to work, quickly and habitually opening the paints and applying them to the palette in order and mixing them to get the full range of color. Staring at the canvas that was her work her fingers dip down swabbing her brush through the paint and back onto the sheet before her. It was slow going but it was going. The image on the canvas slowly revealing itself night after night of painting. To most it would seem impressive, to her, not so much. Every night she slipped into terror, it was this image she saw. Staring back at her from within. She was not inventing something. She was merely transposing what she seen onto the medium of this canvas. Every night it burned into her eyes. It was not hard to see it on canvas as it should be.

                Her brush strokes pause as the image in her eyes begins to fade away. Most at this point would continue, trusting to their memory. But she knew better. Such things were folly for this kind of work. Glancing across at the other two canvas to the side of this one, each draped and covered. Each unfinished.

                With a sigh, Eyriel looks out the window into the commons. This was going to be a long night.

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                • #53
                  Originally posted by ery-ico View Post
                  A final note: Please remember that even though you may have read something in this thread, it doesn't mean your character knows about it. Be mindful!
                  Shouldn't this thread be in an OOC section of the forums, then?

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                  • #54
                    The city spread out before his eyes in flames, smoke rising from manors, towers toppling from shear heat as loud, low booms thundered from the south...from the north. He watched from his window, tapping his pipe out onto a half eaten slice of red velvet cake. Drawing the curtains he climbed back onto his couch and pulled a blanket over his head, hand snaking out to pull a dark serpentine tuft of dusk grass from a box under the coffee table. The familiar metallic bitterness crawled down his throat and he could feel the numbness spreading through him already. Closing his eyes he could still see the flames, the city burning in the darkness. As the heat splint the timbers of the inn around him a line shone in. He lifted his eyelids and pull his cloaks hood down, distance steel grey eyes absorbing the new vision, people in the west commons , someone talking to him, who was it?

                    Familiar faces, voices, scents, some good, some bad, some ...difficult. Someone above him, something about his gear, and item glistening in the air as it rises and falls out of view. He could feel his "medicine" wearing off already, it was taking more now. He swore left right and sideways he was taking less, but his dosage was now three times what it once was, but he was functional, wasn't he? He checked the exits, always checking exits, and the city is pristine. Well it was as pristine as it ever was. No Flames, no smoke...

                    How did he even get here.

                    He took a moment to get his bearings and pushed away from the tree walking toward the alley without a word. Glancing over the water of the bay as he emerged, he paused taking a breath. It was going to a rough week.

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                    • #55
                      Waves slap against the hull as the Termagent, now fitted for whaling, cuts through the seas under the haughty winds of the spring.
                      "Thar she blows" comes the call from the nest above. The third whale of the hunt. The sea will provide, as she always does. Questions called, answers given...a Leviathan...finally, the prize of prizes. Two baleens are worth half of what this beast will fetch.
                      The crew moves with practiced efficiency as the whaleboats are lowered to the rough seas. The crews all racing to the target. A tall sculpted grey wolf standing at the helm of the lead cutter, his silvery polished steel harpoon glinting in the morning's sun.
                      Oars glide silent into the water as he steadies his aim. The throw, strong and accurate, sinks deep into the leviathan piercing the back of the beast.
                      "Stern All! Stern all, for your lives, lads."
                      The crew rowing backward from the beast as it thrashes in pain and sounds, diving deep. The thick line hooked to the harpoon running out of the bucket, smoking over the loggerhead. Up the bull comes for breath, dragging the whaleboat further away, bouncing across the rough seas and showering the crew with seaspray.
                      Tiring, the leviathan surfaces, slowing to nearly still. The crew pull the line, getting close enough for the grey wolf to plunge the lance deep into the heart. The beast, sprays, blood this time then the flurry...
                      Backing off to observe the beast swimming in circles until it beats the water with it's massive tail, shudders, and turns fin out.
                      Hours have passed in the kill, the men are exhausted. Yet they still row with mighty backs, towing the 50 ton beast back to the Termagent which is sailing toward them.
                      The cutting in, always a challenge to beat the sharks, yields tons of blubber, oil, and meat, The spermaceti yield near 400 hundred gallons and worth a small fortune is tucked neatly away in the hold. A few hundred pounds of bone and baleeen are stored as well before the carcass is lost to the swarming sharks, along with three deckhands.

                      Time to sail home again and see that beauty of an arctic wolf that is his mate to be.
                      Ulliem Mac Giobhainn
                      Gentry of the Bisclavret
                      Squire to Lady Cora Buchanan
                      Whaler of the Bisclavret

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                      • #56
                        Washing the bloody bandages, her gaze icily drifts across the numbers of poor victims of the muggers rampage. It seemed it had been getting worse. Her focus was not entirely on her current task as her left ear wandered through the wade of voices, focusing on one particular pair of gossiping shrews. A little old wolfess and her neighborly cattess.

                        "Did you hear about the bodies they found washed up at the harbor?" "Ohh! You mean....the two wolves? I heard it was grisly." "Ohhh! You do not know the half of it. One of my nephews was the constable who discovered. He told me they had been butchered! But not like any kind they had seen before and are quite concerned." "That is just terrible! Who would do such a thing? Could it be related....to the muggers? Will it ever be safe again to buy a bit of bread? Ohh! Did you here how Docktown's rodents were acting strange a few weeks ago?" "Yes I did! I was a witness myself to their strangeness. They had weird looks in their eyes whenever I was around. By S'Allumer, I thought some of them were planning to strangle me in an alley! What made them act so odd?" "I do not know, but it seems whatever it is has passed and they are behaving normally again! I am glad, so much strangeness. First the weird behavior of the rodents, and then these grisly murders.....I do not know how much my poor heart can take."

                        At this point she lifts her gaze from her finished washing task and smiles towards the two, a gentle warmth to her smile that was contrasted by the mirrored mask of her eyes, and yet the old ladies would not notice, "If you would like, I can mix up a mixture of herbs to help with stress to aid a weak heart." "Oh you are such a dear sweet Eyriel! What would we old doddies ever do without such a sweet healer as yourself. We seriously wondered when you stopped showing up at the infirmary a little over a month ago. It is good to see you back and healthy. We were all worried." Eyriel laughs softly at her words, "It is of no problem to make such medicine. It is my purpose, and I would never abandon my purpose." A stream of images briefly flows through her mind at her own words, of two wolves who were no longer among the living and how they left this world.

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                        • #57
                          It was not hard work, washing bloody bandages, just tedious. However it was a necessary chore, and one of many that a Healer is required to perform. However much her focus may seem to be on her task at hand, her ear was consistently sorting through the various chatter at the Infirmary, listening to the variety of gossips amongst the patients, including two regular chatty old ladies that come to see her often. One a wolfess, the other a cattess. Her ear focuses on them for a moment as they discuss a particular piece of gossip.

                          "Did you hear about the they bodies found in the harbor?" "Oh yes I did! I heard it was grisly...." "Ohhh grisly can not even begin to describe it! I have a nephew who was one of the constables on the scene. He told me that...they were butchered! If that was not nearly disturbing enough, he wouldn't tell me all the details since they were still investigating it...but he said the way they were butchered was strange." "How ghastly! Soon it won't even safe for little old ladies to buy a piece of bread anymore! Speaking of strange....have you noticed how oddly the rodents in Docktown have been behaving the past few weeks?" "I did, very much so. I experienced it myself several times too. I swear....I felt like they were planning to strangle me in an alley somewhere with how their eyes burned into me!" "How horrifying! It is not just you however....apparently they have been rather....abrasive to many of your kind....and also mine. I wish I knew why....it is so strange." "I agree, it is too much strange. I do not know how much of such strangeness my poor old heart can take....murders and oddly behaving rodents...." "Yes indeed, but at least it seems that whatever it was has passed." "Ahh that is true."

                          At this point she lifts her head up and smile at the two old ladies, the warmth of her smile reaching all the way to her eyes and infecting the two, "I can make an herbal mixture that will be good for lowering your stress and easing the strain on your heart." "Ohh~ you are such a dear sweet Eyriel. I was worried when you hadn't shown up to the infirmary at all for the past month. It is such a relief to see you here so healthy and well." "It is indeed! But listen now young lady, you are not getting any younger and should really think about finding yourself a nice squirrel to settle down with! Any squirrel, or man for that matter, will be lucky to have you!" Eyriel softly laughs at the two, "It is not a problem. This is merely my purpose as a Healer. And I will never. Abandon my purpose." The two ladies give her a sly smile at her casual avoidance at the talk of men, but entirely miss the icy cold mirror glint in her eyes as at her own words brings back in a flash images of two wolves, whose lives were not-so-abruptly cut short, and the events that led to it.

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                          • #58
                            "Did you see that? Seven. Seven! Cups of coffee, in the past two hours!" "I know. It isn't normal. Something isn't right." "You mean you haven't heard?" "Heard what?" "She has been rushing about the city for well over a week, now almost two, doing housecalls, and spending time at the Orphanage along with her shifts here. As far as anyfur knows, she hasn't returned to her room for more then a few minutes at all." "You mean....she has been awake this whole time?! That would explain the coffee....but it can't be healthy for her! She is a squirrel! And we all know how bad of an idea it is to mix coffee with -any- kind of excitable fur." The conversation between the three were nothing more then a distant babble to Eyriel's ears, her focus on the child in front of her, tending to her leaky eyes as she applies a poultice, pain-number, and bandage to her scrapped and scratched knee. "Now you know better then to run without paying attention" The snuffling child nodded before running back to her mother. This was how it has been for her for the time the gossipers mentioned, going to one patient to the next, one issue after another, and no, she had not had any sleep in the entire week and a half. Not one wink.

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                            • #59
                              This is important. Clean the wound, or it will fester. Willy peeled the bandage from his collarbone where the stitches had held the tender flesh together, only recently loosened from a fight. The coppery smell of blood greeted his intrusion and stained his golden brown fur with sanguine warmth. "Scheisse" he muttered. His sticky fingers drifted up to his snout, and he gave a tentative sniff. Fresh, warm, clean. He knew he shouldn't have been moving it, but a duty had to be done.

                              An airy whistle came from behind - it was dismissed.

                              On the rosewood desk before him lay a spread of what he needed. A tumbler of whiskey, a bucket of tepid water, a rag, and a fresh bandage. He gathered the rag and soaked it in the bucket. Holding it above the wound, he squeezed it in his fist. A splash of sea water hit his skin as he inhaled through his teeth. The wound throbbed with pain as the blood was washed from his fur. The rag went back in the bucket, and the smell of salt stuck in his nose. It calmed him for a moment.

                              The whistling came again, sharpened, and lifted the bristling fur on Willy's forearms.

                              "Clean the wound, or it will fester." he repeated aloud through gritted teeth. Thick fingers lifted the tumbler of whiskey, and Willy held his breath for what came next. With one quick motion, he spilled the tumbler's contents over the yawning gash. Fire cut through his skin, and the smokey aroma curled the hairs in his nostrils. His breath escaped back through his teeth with a hiss. He grabbed the bandage, and tucked the loose end under his armpit as he began to wrap it across his shoulders.

                              The whistle came again, and slashed through his nerves. The bandage fell from his hands as he whirled around, wild-eyed. He shot an accusing stare at the kettle sitting innocent and cold on the end table - mercy if it was the kettle, but he knew better. His gaze snapped to the oaken rack that held a headsman's axe. The melodious whistles deafened him to all else as his feet carried him across the room, driven by a feeling of "just having to make sure". As he clutched at the axe blade, the resonance that whirled around his mind stopped.

                              The room was quiet again - quiet still, he had to remind himself. After all, how could the axe make such noise with nobody to wield it? He drew his palm over the blade. Dull, and cold. The axe could not whistle anymore, not since he struck it blunt on stone to escape the sound. Warmth spread down from his shoulder, and Willy drew an exasperated breath. The blood was still flowing, and had left a spotted trail where he crossed the room. He would have to start over.

                              The wound was clean, but something festered.

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