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 Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2018 10:32 pm
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Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2018 11:54 pm
𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖔 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖘. 𝕾𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖘.... 𝖘𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖍𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖒𝖊. Clop. Clop. Clop.
If ghosts had favorite stories to tell, it would be the utterance of one name.
Remembering a time where kings and queens, dungeons and spells, all had places in shelves and songs, hers was lost with all the lives she reaped.
A story about Poppaea.... The Mad Empress.
Ghouls, they shivered in remembrance as the tome brought alive one sound echoing along the cadmium grasslands. Fweeee! Fhhhh...Fhhhh. Panted the gargoyle The virgin path before it being finely pressed with shoes of ancient silver and tungsten. Minerals so preciously sought from the deep under of the Mountain's maw. Magnificent and now going mawkish. It was a pitiful creature but alas it's thundering spirit produced it the will to carry on. Such quality made itself beloved to it's master. The hand dressed in obsidian almost seemed to melt into the hearty throat of the beast as it then moved to re-align the reins.
Mounted above the black mare bore a fluid darkness even blacker than hell's finest night. Like a bobbit in the wind, veil of charcoal and cinders made to haunt in visage as the rider remained a blur. Lips unmoving, eyes of dark portals fading between reality and dream. She carried about her the stillborn scent of smoke and ash. The land here could feel it, a woe only a widower would know in absence of noise.
Victorian and gaunt, the frigid gaze led waste over the broken lands, stopping her mount. Her steward sent off on yet another miserable task. Bleak as it were, she never felt alone. Wearing a crown, it was a curse. A magnet for more subjects when really....
All she wanted were more horses. Just like before.
Madness broke out of her lingering daydream to fix her void stare into the cusps of her last fallen tower. Wicklow. One of her last memories. The territory suffered damage skirted from the rest of the map. If anything, it's collection was but a mess of stumps and stone. The quarry perhaps could make use of it. Right now it was just another eyesore.
The last of her paper guards had perished in the battle of Aines and Wicklowe. She remembered. They called for her name and she watched them like ants roasting in the flame. It was most fortunate now.
That only meant that her purse may finally lighten to find those of better caliber.
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Posted: Tue Nov 27, 2018 5:04 pm
Trailing alongside the queen were her most trusted followers, the few with permission to ride the horses she was so infatuated with. Her steward and a few sickly bodies. Behind them were what remained of the queen's once grand army and her people. The lands seemed scorched in flames, homes had been destroyed and lives ended. There had been little time to react and those who did escape weren't safe. Not while they followed Poppaea. Of course deserters weren't simply allowed to leave. No their bodies would decorate the trees till the animals had their feast.
While the foot soldiers begrudgingly followed their leaders there was one individual who would stand between them. A young looking boy with a crown on his head, pink hair and clothing. An onlooker may assume some sort of royalty with the crown on his head but upon closer inspection his outfit would appear more ridiculous than elegant. The crown contrasted with the rest of his outfit: his sunglasses with lines through them that hindered his sight, a pair of leather shoes made out of tiger skin, a strange whoopie cushion scarf, and bright red kazoo affixed to his mouth.
As the fatigued soldiers kept marching on the boy appeared to put on a show for them. Walking backwards and juggling with one arm, the other arm limp and bloodied to his side, all fives balls were kept in the air. Until one by one the balls were sent high in the air. Tilting his head back a melodic buzzing escaped the kazoo as a visible sound would spin each ball in cyclone.
The soldiers gave no reaction, broken spirits were hard to mend when their bodies were exhausted. Suddenly the buzzing stopped and every single ball came falling right on his face. As each ball hit the jester tethered on the edge till the last ball knocked him off balance. Falling on the ground with the balls rolling all around him before giving a thumbs up and receiving a hearty laughter from the soldiers. Jumping back up to his feet he would turn his back to them and continue walking along.
Placing a hand against his pulsing chest. There was a trembling in his hand that was quickly snuffed out with a clenched fist. With a smile on his grimy face he turned back around and would continue to perform for the foot soldiers.
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