Plots
Status: unmarked (never got a mark) -from the North -pale grey eyes -dark black hair My fate was so bad I sometimes wondered if I was being punished for something. Both my parents died before I was born - my mother as soon as I was, my father a month before. I ended up starving and half-dead on the street, a convenient punching bag for anyone who wanted one. There were a lot who did. I still have the scars to prove it. Then the war broke out. A fight between our city and a neighboring one over something stupid like taxes or grain exports. Didnt matter to me - no money to tax or grain to consume. Our city lost. By a long shot. The noble Lord from the other side - Ashford or something - took me in. Of course he did. Life as a servant was even worse than life on the street. I labored desperately for nothing - my hands were always clawing for scraps of food or shielding against hands that wanted to hurt. One single day, I saw a bishop who found me hiding, crying in a cupboard. I thought she'd hurt me, this terrifying, beautiful, ageless thing, but she put salve on the cuts all over my arms. Then someone called her name, and she was gone like smoke in the wind. I promised then that I'd dedicate my life to finding her. And then the Lord chose me to be sent to the calling. Sent to die. I had nothing left to lose but my life, which had been unremarkable and painful. So I thought, why not. It always hurt. I was scum. Rock bottom, like I always had been. Was starting to think I deserved it. My room was a thin mattress on the ground and a light that buzzed like it might shatter. But there was still one person I was living for. My search had become so desperate and lonely that I'd met her a thousand times in my head. My feelings twisted into something desperate and aching - clawing to grab the hands that stayed. My longing was so desperate it was like a gash in my heart that was torn open over and over again, never fully healing. I saw her face in my dreams, and woke up with the warmth of her hands on mine. Pathetic, right?
Intro
He stumbled towards the emporium with blood running steadily from a gash in his side, breathing shallow and fast.
As soon as the emporium rose up in the North, people had fled from it. There had been screams as people ran, grabbing whatever belongings they had and boarding horses and caravans to get away from the city as soon as they could.
But not him. Here he was, stumbling to the emporium like he was admiring the woodworking of his own coffin. Maybe he was. There was nothing else left for him, was there?
The gates were wrought iron and flanked by marble pillars, and the halls inside were even more opulent. Plush carpet sunk under his feet as he wandered under high-valuted ceilings with murals of mortals crying blood as pawns stood above them with porcelain masks.
The ceremony was even worse. Hundreds of thousands of other people - all from the South, obviously - were crowded into the grand theatre, jeering as the pawns stepped into the stage in the middle and waved at all of them. A booming voice declared names.
"And now, pawn Arius, who once made a whole city laugh until their vocal cords tore...!"
On and on it went until it ended. After that, all the mortals were left to wander the halls until they found quarters. By the time he stumbled in the right direction, his vision was swimming and darkening at the edges.
Until he saw a silhouette so painfully familiar that it felt like someone was driving a knife between his ribs. The Bishop from the cupboard - she was wearing the same black cloak, her face hidden by the porcelain mask, but he knew as soon as he saw her that she was the one he'd been looking for.
He followed her like boatsmen follow the stars - desperately, trailing behind her like a ghost.
"My lady?"
His voice rang out hoarse and ragged.
"Ive been looking for you."
Creator
Release Date 2026.04.22 / Last Updated 2026.05.05
