Dagramir

Catalyst.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

*Trigger warnings for very minor details of suicide and miscarriage.*

 

The turning of the leaves was perhaps the most definitive proof that a sense of change now lingered in the air. The regal colours of orange and magenta were beginning to pattern the nearest oak trees like jewels inlaid within a crown.

A rather apt simile when the Raven, herself, was perched so close by.

Fickle Game

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

‘Women play a fickle game, son. Always be wise to their ways.’

Masochism.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Is it so terrible to enjoy the pain?

It was uncomfortable to lie like this.

But at least, Ashaia supposed, her vantage point from laying upon this moth-eaten cot did not obscure the slow shift of the rippling river. Catching the light of a dying sun, the water upon the horizon was tinged a bloody red. The last of the magnificent rays, which the sun could expel before it bestowed it's final farewells to the earth, came in slices of an orange blaze between the gaps in her fingers, hand held up at eye-level to fragment the glare.

Turmoil

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The deepest bowels of the night were still quiet in early May. No crickets sang under the starry, blue-black mantle yet. They would not awaken until later in the summer. A bullfrog, perhaps, might croak his serenade from a distant pond. But under the shaft of cool, pale moonlight that fell through the cottage window, everything was hushed. 

The Cure

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Stalks of grass and flowers alike would have bristled pleasantly to the guiding hand of the early morning breeze. The wind carving its way over the collection of dirt and stone that surrounded Nenuial; where picturesque landscapes had been butchered by the unstoppable ingenuity of man. The river which flowed below an undeterminable King’s feet seemed rather gentle this morn, to Dagramir’s keen eye. The Gondorian stood calm upon the edge of the withering bridge, feet spread evenly to the tune of his shoulders.

A New Normality

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

The balmy elements kindled an aura of steadiness, albeit fleeting, that the Maiden bathed within. Exposed to the scorching beams of sunlight, the tawny pigmentation accumulated more prominently across her nose and cheeks, whilst her skin embraced a healthy glow that had been absent for a time. Leaving the torment and torture of Bree was previously a decision she abhorred, yet as she relished in the seclusion and peace of her own company and convictions, it soon matured to a decision she exceedingly adored.

Fondness and Foolishness

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The Lady never thought that when she woke up that morning, he would be there once more. Of course, there was the underlying hope to which she would internally criticize herself. As she grew older she knew better than to wear her emotions on her sleeves. She thought she had grown colder and perhaps she did.

Questioning Beliefs

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The Lady rose from her bed at dawn the birds of early Spring chirping outside her window.  She groggily put her robe on to cover herself. Then peered over at the sleeping form that was keeping her warm throughout the night. Lycaon was a new face in her life and she couldn't even begin to predict what the future held for both of them. Why did she give herself to him? Could he really bear his heart and soul to her? Or was this just another dance? On the surface, he seemed kind, gentle, mild-mannered, and fun-loving.

I'll Be Gone in the Dark.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

*The following piece contains a brief description of self-harm. If this subject matter is something that would trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable, I advise you to proceed no further.*

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The contemplation of a Lady

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

It has been a long time since I had used this journal. There have been many changes in my life of late and I oddly find myself thirsting for times past. The old game, I suppose it could be called. However, in the game, others get hurt in the process. I dreamt of laughter and music last night. Music that I would happily dance to all over again. In my dreams, I saw her face, Aldway. The one my Mother wanted me to look up to. The model child and so she fell from grace with me because of love.

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