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Literature
Wicking Family History- Import
Wicking Family History- Important Third Era individuals.
The Wicking family has its origins in High Rock as one of the numerous families of ruling nobility. Their holdings were always small, and their populations not incredible- but they made up for their lack of size in prosperity, integrity, skilled militias and a large number of fair-handed, well-liked rulers, each one a Wicking, and most of them well-versed in the magical arts. Though it is difficult to track down when precisely the Wicking family began, the earliest records were created by a studious and intricate man named Delacourte Wicking in 1E 424, in the area that would come to be known as High Rock after the events of the Warp in the West. His descriptions of the lands he controlled and the happenings were uneventful enough- compared to the machinations and happenings in other parts of the Iliac region.
The entries and volumes go on from there, every Wicking since then- ruler, brother, sister or otherwise- has recorded the
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Literature
Commandments of Bane
Perhaps, were I less forgiving, they might call me a tyrant.
Perhaps, were I less caring, they might call me heartless.
When I see Bane's commands, I see not death and destruction, but glory and honor.
If I am to be a Blackguard… then so be it.
Strive ceaselessly to dominate your environment.
Work endlessly to see those less fit to rule put in their proper place.
See your subjects, your people, safe and sound.
And never once let your will waver in this.
Be merciless in the execution of your duties, and show no mercy to the weak.
Hesitation breeds cowardice, and cowardice is a moral failing.
To show mercy to those unfit is to show failing in your own duty.
Do what benefits the nation, instead of the individual.
Respect tradition and authority.
Acknowledge culture and history.
Follow law and order.
And never forget your civic duty to all that you hold dear.
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Literature
The Tyrant's Mirror
They see a land that suffers for no reason
I see that too.
They see corrupt noblemen languishing in cruelty
I see that too.
They see farm fields rotting and dying
I see that too.
They see soldiers too occupied to help a man in need
I see that too.
They see enemies at every border
I see that too.
They see a tyrannical ruler with an iron fist
I look in a mirror.
I see a king with no other choice.
I see a kingdom sucked dry from debt.
I see three other nations eager for land.
I see my name forever cursed by those who don't even know me.
My head hangs with the weight of tarnished metal
My soul weeps tears of innocents' agony
My back aches, sitting on a shattered throne
My heart is numb, having seen too much death
If I relent, my people die.
If I do not, they think me cruel.
If I cry, I am weak.
If I don't, my heart is of stone.
So I don my scarlet cape each morn
And my crown of tarnished gold
I eat with evil nobles and laugh at their jokes
While I resist the urge to slay them.
What honor a
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Literature
Eberron - Hand of Arcaneaux, part 1
Tiles of polished stone marked the halls of Manor Arcaneaux, the home of my erstwhile employer, and accented quite nicely with the ornately mosaicked walls and ceilings of the foyer, the images ranging from the undead masses of Karrnath's great army to floating arcane institutions gracing the ceiling above. A strange, snake-like creature curled around each pillar, their heads as varied as the wildlife of Xen'drik. Grand panes of clear glass gave a peerless view of the busy streets of Sharn below, with airships and griffons flying to and fro whilst people of all ethnicities and backgrounds milled far below the immaculate manor. I noted the appearance of each window, marveling at how the manor's lord had made each spectacular view seem so casual: this one had a small table sitting nearby, that one may read or chat with an old friend while they look down on the ants and their busy work. Another had little more than a stand with a decorated vase, its flowers designed by a professional, loo
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Literature
Skeletons
Skeletons, skeletons
Lining the wall
Skeletons, skeletons
When shall you fall?
You lie in our basements
Beneath kitchen sinks
You give no true odor
No damnable stink
The most obvious place
To look, don't you know?
Is the closet, of course
Where all dark things are stowed
There it is, empty eyes
Whitewashed bone all in all
No spiders around it
Nothing left on which to crawl
You've just won the game
Congratulations, my friend
The secret is found
The darkness is at an end
A sigh in the nighttime
A demon's righteous death
But you can no longer think
You no longer draw breath
You're now one of them
The secret's magic is through
You'll be joining them all
You're a secret now too
No truth to be told
No love to shine out
Those secrets you keep
Shall burn with no doubt
Tell the truth, as your told
Like your parents once said
Tell the truth, or else perhaps
You may well join the dead
Hide like a skeleton
Beneath dirt and debris
And like the buried corpses
You'll never be free
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Literature
Of Imps, Actors and Trolls
As the light green glow of the Hearthstone's magic wore off, and the familiar scents of the Cleft of Shadow prevailed, Erz'araz opened his violet eyes and breathed in deeply, thankful that his years of working with demons had rendered him immune to the otherwise foul stench. The Cleft itself wasn't an unpleasant place necessarily. It simply catered to… different palates. Smoke and steam billowed up from the entrance to the Ragefire Chasm, creating an everlasting smog that was stirred up as the troll began to walk. Erz'araz had left under the excuse that he had to find and summon his pesky imp minion again, -which was true-… but his mind was elsewhere. Throughout the night, since he had met that woman, Alessandri… he could not stop thinking of her. The troll looked down in mixed frustration and shame, clenching and unclenching his hands. Trolls shouldn't fall for blood elves. It simply wasn't natural. As he continued to think, he wondered why she had caught his eye, or mo
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Literature
Visions of the Future: Gatocoios and Alyss
Standing atop one of Meridian's tall buildings, the kelari looks out over the sleeping capital with at tired, but attentive expression on his face. His red, wavy hair is tied back into a ponytail, and his eyes looked like soft pools of deepest amethyst. In the soft breeze of the peaceful night, his robes blew around him gently and forced him to hunch into his cowl a bit further to ward off the cold air. Beside him stood a kelari about his height, but with a heavy black, raggedy robe adorning him and a hood covering his white-haired head. His eyes, rather than the normal colors for kelari elves, were pools of unnerving white that seemed to give off a dark purple glow. Aside from a rather gaunt, pale tendency, he looked extremely similar to the kelari standing next to him. "…So, master… Do you feel any different?" The heavily robed figure spoke in a grim tone as he stared at something unseen. The chain-robed kelari shrugged his shoulders, speaking in a similar, albeit much more
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Mature content
Sanllumin and Astrid: Ashenvale :icontrueknight25:TrueKnight25 0 4
Literature
Recent Events: Early October, 2011
It feels odd, the situation I'm currently in. I'm halfway between hope and despair, and my life has come to my equivalent of a stand-still. I have a future to look forward to, becoming an Air Force engineer and putting my logical skills to use solving problems, but at the same time, I have nothing to look forward to in the immediate sense. As the realization that I'm likely leaving the state sets in (or fails to do so), those I once called 'friend' are drifting away. I'm finding greater solace in the conversations I hold with older individuals far from my area than conversations with people I've known for years. So all in all, the people near to me seem so much less interesting and are steadily distancing themselves from me.
The thing that worries me (or fails to do so, in this case) is that I couldn't care less.
It's strange, entertaining the idea that the people you once felt such kinship, such brotherhood towards will no longer be in your life. So too is the idea of a regular workin
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Literature
Foolishness
You think you know loneliness?
You think you know sorrow?
You know nothing, I assure you
For reality's far less endearing
Your sorrow's drenched
By endless optimism
Your pain's comprised
Of complaints untold
You can write all you want
And tell me your woes
But I'll just nod and stare
Because deep down, I don't care
Tell me you feel betrayed
Tell me you feel let-down
Stressed and sad
Anxious and despairing
Hear my words of advice
Listen to them as though they were
Holy gospel, light-kissed truth
Kiss the ground I walk upon
Turn your back to me
Call me out as a liar
Fall back into your hypocrisy
See what I care when I watch you
I did not ask for your worship
I did not ask for adoration
I did not ask for anything
No, the fault's your own
Blame yourself for your own tenets
Your own lack of common sense
Look down on your own weakness
You've only yourself to blame now
Don't talk to your friends
And then tell me you're friendless
Don't take my own words
And twist them in my mouth
I never said
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Literature
Blackened Text
Hands, the tools of wondrous craft
These things so worthy of praise
I must ask why you limit me
To nothing more than phrase.
My mind holds a thousand images
A million personages
The voices of the finest actors
My hands, the only factor...
I can dream the most majestic vista
Envision the most touching love
And yet I'm locked away from sight
From the connections to those callings above
Through single symbols I must show
My heart, my body, my soul...
How can you hear me speak so clearly
When my voice is non-existent?
The grandest orchestra! The sharpest blade!
Tear-jerking songs and every fell tragedy!
Even Shakespeare would be but another fine author
Were there not actors for scripts, images to offer!
To you all, even now, I am naught but words
No flesh, no blood, no voice to be heard
I reach out with 'hands' and bleed black blood
The ink of a writer, who feels nothing.
For in the end, another 'book' I will be
Another character of mention in another New York Bestseller
Another fine figme
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Literature
Inadequate
Perhaps it's not so strange
To feel so inadequate
Perhaps it's rather uncommon
To care about it either
But yet, I cannot help
But yearn for someone to please
Somewhere to matter
Someone to serve
Why do I feel like
My very name is nothing more
Than a reference to a face
A distant thought?
Why do I feel as though
My pain, my joys, my life
Is but an afterthought
Like so much silenced phrase?
Can anyone feel my welling tears
Can anyone feel my aching?
Would they care if I told them,
Or notice if I didn't?
Is my fate to fall to
Depthless nihilism
Endless sadism
Broken dreams?
Perhaps it would not matter
If I fell from the face of the earth
But then, perhaps it would be odd
To care whether or not I did.
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Literature
Heart of a Soldier
As much as she wants
I'll never stop going
I'll chase my dreams
No matter their course.
Relationship and compromise
Go hand in hand
But I refuse to give up my life
A life of planes and flight
Why? Because I'm what she wanted
I'm confident, and brave.
I know what to do
When nobody else does
I won't give in to temptation
I'll dig in my heels
And prove them wrong
I'll show them all
And I'll not relent
Till my life is done
For rest is a luxury
Afforded only by the dead
It must hurt to know
That everything you ever wanted
Lies in the heart of a soldier
Of a man-of-war.
But I promise this:
And I'll never break your heart
That I shall be back
That I'll never have left at all.
Perhaps I'm not for you
If that's the case, leave if you want
The life I live's not for you
Perhaps for nobody.
But as stubborn as I am,
As confident,
As brave,
As loving as I can be...
It will always hurt
Knowing that everything you wanted
Lives on just outside your grasp
Within the heart of a soldier.
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Literature
Fall of Lemeria
Sitting against a tree, strumming softly on a lute, the bard did not even need to cast a glance to notice the two lovers who sat at the creek's edge, talking and laughing, holding each other in the others' gaze, their eyes sparkling like the sunlight from the stream's pure water. No... He did not need to see them, for within the air was carried the feelings they had for each other, more powerful than the most potent incense. His fingers merely flowed with the chirping of songbirds and sparrows, and the soft thrushing of tree leaves in the spring afternoon's pleasant breeze. With gentle chords and arpeggios, and the humble, caring hum of the bard's voice, he did not seem a performer or bystander, but rather as a part of nature itself, merely enriching the scene that was being played out like some childhood fantasy... As the daylight began to wane, the lovers held each other in embrace and whispered bittersweet goodbyes as they swallowed the pain of the others' departure, each one headin
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Literature
Loneliness
A boy sits alongside the curb on a dark city street. The light of neon signs dances across the rippling puddles and glimmering sidewalk, and the constant hiss of rainfall causes those lights to dance in a hypnotic fashion. He moves not an inch, his legs pulled against his chest and his teary, swollen eyes staring unblinkingly at the light show that has mercifully stolen his sorrowful thoughts and his heartbreak. He greets the lights with desperate graciousness, and he grasps them so tightly, as though they were all that he has… With the rumble of a truck and an enormous splash, the boy's trance is broken, and he cringes in the cold of the rainy night, hating everything and everyone. Seconds… minutes… hours pass, and the rain only seems to intensify, but he does not notice. He keeps his seat, and stews in his sorrow, unheeding of his shivering body and aching muscles. Suddenly though, a sound breaks the constant hiss of the rain and the steady clop-clop of those heedless
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Literature
Path to Druidism: Chapter One
Chapter 1: Master of His Domain
The troll-mage wandered, uncaring and unknowing, through the Felwoods. His enchanted robes, once so fine and proud, were dirtied and shredded beyond much hope. His short sword, still just as powerful as the day he had gotten it, had taken up a new home in a rough, animal-hide sheath. His hair, once kept always in a handsome braid, was now loose, shaggy and wild. One of the greatest of his transformations, though, was his eyes and face. Violet eyes that were once kind and gentle now simmered with animalistic furor, and his face was, while still unusually handsome (for a troll), painted in colors of green and brown to reflect the shades of the cursed forest he had taken residence in. If one were to look at the tall, well-muscled troll and compare him to how he had looked but a few days earlier… they would not recognize him. In all reality, this troll… this savage beast, was in fact an Archmage of Dalaran, and had extensive –even frightening-
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TrueKnight25
Nathan
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:iconrseer:
RSeer Featured By Owner Oct 6, 2016
My thanks for the recent fav. :-)
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EmmaEsme Featured By Owner Sep 16, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the +fav! ^__^
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Kostmeyer Featured By Owner Mar 1, 2016
Thanks for the :+fav:s for my Raistlin pictures - much appreciated!
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Varagka Featured By Owner Jan 15, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the fav!
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xX-Lone-Wolf-Xx Featured By Owner Sep 27, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks so much for the favourite! :hug:
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:iconrseer:
RSeer Featured By Owner Aug 28, 2015
Thanks for the fav. :-)
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JakeEkiss Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015
Thanks for the :+fav:
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BetaReader Featured By Owner May 5, 2015
Thanks for the +fav! :D (Big Grin)
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shadesmaclean Featured By Owner Apr 17, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
thanks for the fav, Knight! :)
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JoeSlucher Featured By Owner Apr 15, 2015  Professional Digital Artist
Thanks for the fave Nathan!
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