Add a little promise

Posted in Black Caste on September 14, 2025 by crow1971

[11:19] Crow looked into the sandpit of the arena as he had leashed the girl with him. He had been around, away, distant. Ever since the note had reached him there was this inner turmoil that only a few things could manage to do. The seasoned assassin not quickly to rile up.

As he stood there – time had been perhaps uncomfortable passed by without a word spoken. As he finally looked down upon the slave his eyes every so slightly soften. “At times a name says everything. Do you not agree?” he asks. He would indicate for her to stand beside him as he unleashed her collar. Allowing her to look into his face – if she truly dared.

[11:23] Promisa: was quietly worried she had done something wrong, meriting punishment. Summoned so abruptly from her daily routine, she racked her brains as to why. She felt the leash being taken off of her collar and bade to stand, so she gulped and obeyed, wondering if a whipping was forthcoming, it HAD been some time since she was last whipped, and many Free said it was a good thing for slaves to be whipped to remind them of the fraity of their existence, reliant upon the kindness of the Free for everything. She put on a brave face and stood, filled a desire to be found pleasing, worthy of keeping. “YEs Master” she spoke with a slight tremble in her voice.

Promisa: momentarily dared to look at the MAster in the eyes for the briefest of flashes, before averting her gaze respectfully. She still found him both terrible and wonderful to look at, the man who had changed her life, and crafted her into the best possible self she could be.

[11:28] Crow would reach out in an attempt to cup her cheek and have her truly face him. It was important as to what he was to do and say “Tell me Promise. How do you feel now after all this time ? I remember the moment we stood before one another well. Or should I say the moment in which I took your previous life and made you indeed the Promise you have become.” His voice soft and in an strange way warm and comforting ?

[11:33] Promisa: sighed and leaned into the touch upon her cheek, so responsive to the simple gesture, she nearly purred but focused on his intense purpose in posing the question. “Master? I feel very much as if I have fulfilled my potential, the potential you saw in me. I live each day with the utmost desire to fulfill the promise that you recognized within, and deserve the name you bestowed upon me. I am Promise, Master, in both name in being. I am grateful for the mercy you showed me, and the opportunity given to be the best version of me, that I could have been. My old life is gone, and I do not mourn it. I am content and happy in my collar, Master.”

[11:40] Crow would caress her cheek, move his thumb over her soft lips as he would come closer to her. His chest nearly touching her breasts. He smiled at the words. She had indeed awakened beautifully. Her motions delicate and yet teasing enough to have men have their cock twitch in their leathers. “What if I am here to tell you that I have need of your expertise ?” he started. “I have need of a physician in Ar. One that understands their methods. Understands that playing with fire can get one burned surely when one tries new developments.” he let the words linger as he studied her expression as to read how these words would fall upon her.

[11:44] Promisa: was suddenly filled with a great fear and inner turmoil, and her lips parted in surprise, even as his thumb strayed close, and his fingertips caressed her cheek. “M-Master… have I disp- I mean… I-I… I would do what is commanded of me, and I obey in all things with complete obedience, but if I am caught, it is an instant sentence of death upon me to be seen practicing medicine again or in the robes of a free woman… I ask only if I have offended in some way that I would merit punishment, Master?”

[11:48] Crow would even inch closer as his green eyes would lock to hers. He could note the change and insecurities that arises in the girl that had become so full in her slavery. “There is no displeasure. In truth … you have pleased me greatly.” he would hold pause as to have the words truly reach her. Before he would continue. “You will not be disguised. I will give you your freedom. You will be given full manumission. Of course some coin to start your life once more,”

[11:54] Promisa: felt so overwhelmed by the statement, her knees buckled and she stumbled in shock. She collapsed momentarily, before she pressed her lips fiercely against the Master’s thigh, a worshipful kiss of devotion and slave love, gratitude and unprocessed emotion. “Master! Master! I am unworthy! I am unworthy but I will make offerings in your name silently to the Priest Kings’ temple forever more. Thank you, Master!” Her face showed fear at the unknown, uncertainty, but also enormous gratitude recognize the gesture he was granting as the highest form of favor a Master could grant a slave. She would not be seen as ungrateful or ignorant of what he had just said to her.

[12:00] Crow would have tried to catch her before she fell or started to profess her gratitude. “There is a catch.” he stated as to have her aware that any gift would come with a cost. Crow was not a man known for gifts that held no meaning but simply to gift itself. Perhaps there was a moment in which he was taken aback. The girl so full in her slavery seemed to long for this he granted? A girl that had been almost the true embodiment of a woman so liberated that she shamelessly could be whom ever she truly was? But he would rid himself of these thoughts. “I want you to warn me. Warn me when physicians dare to venture upon paths that might be questioned by the Priest Kings themselves.” he would now take her head between both his hands so she was forced to look at him. So he could spy a false ‘promise’ if she dared to give him one.

[12:06] Promisa: was easily held and tilted so she was looking him in the face. In her eyes, there was devotion of a slavegirl. There was fear of the future, of being placed back into the position of being Free and responsible for both herself and other duties. But there was also the complete acceptance of a submissive female who would die for the man who had collared her. By telling her to live free again, she would do as he asked with her entire being, and if he asked her to cross her wrists in front of him again, she would do so as well, without hesitation. Free or collared, she belonged to him through debt and history. All of this read in her eyes, upon her visage, and she let his arms bear her small weight for her, so overwhelmed with this responsibility placed upon her, she was not quite realized of what just happened. Promisa: stammered “Yes Master… I will watch, listen, and report back to you. As I have done, and as you taught me. My eyes are your eyes, and my ears are your ears.”

[12:12] Crow would lean down as he held her face. His lips brushed her softly as if to memorize the sensation to his lips. The words were truly heard and measured. Not much would go unnoticed. He was a man for the details and as ever calculating the odds. As he held her so close he could feel the complete surrender. The one that made the woman the most precious gem a man could ever hold. At his mercy and completely devoted. As she stood so close he inhaled her scent. A fragrance that would always tell him where she was if she was near. “Be careful, dear. “he murmurs against her lips. “As you know promises are a thing if you remember me well.” his kiss would deepen if she replied in eager to his kiss.

[12:15] Promisa: standing on her tip-toes to meet that deep kiss, she yielded just as the softest girl could, malleable in his grasp, she was still very much Promise the slavegirl, in this moment. she was His. “I promise, Master. When you have need of me, I will be at your side without hesitation.”

[12:21] Crow would heed her promise and the kiss that still lingered upon his lips. “Go back to the court. You will find enough funds to buy yourself a life. There is a small package with a dress, veils and a pin for in your hair. The pin is engraved with a feather. As a reminder of who it is that took and gave your freedom. Perhaps we will never cross paths and yet if there is need of it – we might. As ever I have whispers that come to me. This feather. Leave it in your window if there is something that needs my attention. And I will ensure your concerns will be met with either a scroll or a place to meet.”

[12:26] Promisa: solemnly looked for the last time into his eyes as her Master, and nodded with absolute obedience. “I shall never forget. Your Promise will remain in my heart, and I will willingly return to keep that debt, whenever you command.” She clutched her arms tightly around his chest. Small and frail, she moved as the embodiment of the perfection he had awoken within her, permeated with the essence of his expectations and demands. It would never leave her, and she would forever keep that part of her as her being.

[12:30] Crow chuckles and grins as she hugged him. He would brush down her hair “Now be aware … when you are dressed and step outside wear this.” he would give her a small scroll “It is proof of what I have given you today.” A rare paper as he had never ever granted his slaves their freedom. “Be well, Promise.” he stated in farewell.

[12:33] Promisa: accepted the scroll offered with both hands, raised high above her head, forehead bowed. “Thank you, Master. I will do as you say, and I wish you… joy, happiness, and prosperity. May your sword sing, and your feet never slip. I wish you the best.”

[12:33] Crow would watch her go with a look that could tell a thousand stories on how he met her, taught her, had her and eventually lets her go.

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Ink won’t wash away …

Posted in Black Caste, Black Compass Trading Company, Ink, Niamh, Silas with tags on September 5, 2025 by crow1971

Bear’s cry shattered the night like thunder on glass. “Captain overboard! We’re adrift!” His voice rolled across the black, treacherous waters, echoing off waves that knew no mercy.

He scanned the churning dark, but found only a single sign— a purple ribbon, dancing on the tide like a ghost’s whisper. Silas would never part with it willingly. Something had happened. Something unspeakable.

“Captain!” Bear roared again, his voice raw with desperation. Soon others joined him, their calls rising: “Captain? Captain!” But the sea gave no answer. No hand broke the surface. No breath gasped for air. Only silence, and the cruel rhythm of the waves.

The crew shouted until their throats bled salt. They turned the Stromcrow, circling like mourners around a grave, refusing to believe the sea had swallowed their soul.

Bjorn was the first to voice the shadow in their hearts. “It must be his broken heart,” he murmured defeated. But his words were met with fury— a fist raised, a jaw targeted. “How dare you!” the other spat. “He would never abandon us!”

Bjorn lifted his hands, not in defense, but in surrender. “I didn’t mean he failed us,” he said, his voice trembling like a sail in storm. “I meant… we all saw what happened. Even the strongest hearts can crack.”

Bear stepped between them, his presence like iron in the wind. “Enough,” he commanded. “We’ve sailed too long together to forget— the sea does not ask. When it takes, it takes with purpose.”

And so they stood, men carved from salt and sorrow, staring into the abyss, where the ribbon floated like a final prayer.

A few weeks prior in the captainshall

The captain’s hall lay steeped in silence, the kind that settles only after the day has exhaled its last breath. Outside, the sea whispered lullabies to sleeping slaves, but within, two men sat cloaked in flickering candlelight, faces half-lit, half-shadowed—like truths not yet spoken.

“This one is rare,” the host murmured, his voice smooth as velvet, as he poured the wine with reverence, as if it were blood drawn from memory. “I know you’re no lover of wine,” he said, “but this… this is different. It tastes like a delicate slave— seductive, playful, a tease that dances on your tongue, then strikes with a kiss that leaves you aching for more.”

He smiled, but it was a smile carved from old stone. The jest hung in the air, a veil over something darker.

In the hush between words, the man with too many names leaned back, his eyes reflecting the candle’s flame like twin secrets. “I heard you met Snow,” he said, and with those words, his voice changed— deeper, colder, stripped of the charm that had played the part of captain.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): Noted the change in his friend and looked concerned…”Yes Niahm was noticed by him in Turmus and invited us to his home…that they knew each other was obvious”

“Yes,” he said, voice low and measured, “They know each other well. Just as she knows me… intimately.” He let the final word linger, like smoke curling from a candle’s flame.

Then, with a quiet breath that felt like a shift in wind, he added, “I wonder how long she’s known that I was the man she once called Crow.”

His gaze sharpened, cutting through the candlelight like a blade through silk. It wasn’t suspicion—it was calculation. He studied Portus not with curiosity, but with the precision of a man who had worn too many masks and knew the cost of each one.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “I knew Crow a little back in Torvaldsburg and I never enquired too deeply of him and was quite prepared to take him on face value”….looks through the dim light to the man standing before him….”never once did she indicate that you were he….her past remained that…the past bothr for her safety and my own though it was never explicitly stated”

He grinned, the kind of grin that didn’t reach the eyes— a blade hidden in velvet. Lifting the glass with deliberate grace, he let the wine catch the candlelight, a crimson swirl of temptation and threat.

“Your mate,” he began, voice smooth as aged silk, “is far more than the naive girl you once collared. Axlan was wise— wise to keep her breathing, wise to deny her return to the man who claimed her like property. And his warning to you?” He paused, letting the words settle like ash. “Keep her past buried. Let it rot where it lies.”

He took a sip, slow and reverent, as if tasting prophecy. The wine danced in his glass, a silent witness to the storm brewing between them.

Then he leaned forward, eyes gleaming with something ancient and cold. “This conversation,” he said, “will end with one of us owning the company— and the other, his demise.”

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): looks at him and feels the chill run through his body knowing that in front of him stood an accomplished fighter…a man with many contacts….charming when needed…”my friend I hope i have not caused you alarm so that you feel my demise is necessary…i can assure you her past has been left there and i have no desire to learn it”

He lowered his gaze when the word friend was spoken— not out of shame, but out of memory. In the shadowed caste of assassins, friendship was a relic, a fragile thing buried beneath steel and silence. Most who called him brother wore the same mark, but few outside the caste ever dared to touch the part of him that bled.

“This isn’t your demise, my friend,” he said, and for the first time in years, his voice held warmth— not the heat of fire, but the glow of a hearth long cold.

He straightened, the candlelight catching the edge of his jaw, revealing not the assassin, but the man who still loved his Home Stone, who still believed in honor, even when the world had taught him to kill.

“It is the demise,” he continued, “of your good friend, your partner, the captain of the Stormcrow— Silas Drake.”

The name hung in the air like a funeral bell, and the silence that followed was not empty, but sacred.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): could not bring himself to speak….there were many unanswered questions racing through the mind and the principle question being why…..”are you in any kind of trouble? is there no other option?”…the words spoken with the realisation that there was something more behind this….something deeper

He swirled the wine in his cup, watching the crimson cling to the glass like old blood. The question hung in the air, gentle but persistent—like a hand on the shoulder that wouldn’t let go.

He shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not trouble in the way you might think,” he said, voice low and steady. “As a man of the caste of assassins… I suppose I am trouble. Living it. Breathing it.”

He paused, the silence stretching just long enough to feel sacred. “But I hope you’ll listen. It’s a tale I’ve not told to many.”

A deep breath followed, drawn from somewhere beneath the armor he wore—not the steel kind, but the kind forged from years of silence and survival. Only a few knew the truth of him. Fewer still had earned the right to hear it.

And yet here he was, ready to speak it aloud to the one man who had become more than a comrade—his brother in all but blood.

“Take some wine,” he said, offering the bottle with a half-smile. “Just to humor me. This will take some time.”

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): returns the smile and relaxes some as i pour a good measure prepared to listen to the man who despite his recent revelation still counted among the closest and dearest…takes a sip of wine savouring it before looking back…..”I am all ears my friend”

: “I was born in Ar,” he began, voice steady but distant, as if the words were stepping out of a long-forgotten dream. “My father was a tarnsman, and so I followed. It was natural. I loved the beasts—wild, proud, untamed. I understood them. They understood me.”

He paused, letting the wine warm his throat before continuing. “In time, I mastered my steel. I was ambitious, young, and full of fire. I companioned a woman of my caste—strong, wise, beautiful. She bore me three children. We had a good life. Not perfect, but ours.”

His eyes darkened. “But always, there was the shadow of the Ubar I served. A man who thrived on chaos. His greed was a blade that cut through Ar, and many good men fell in his wake.”

The words slowed, thickening with memory. “One time, I returned from Ar’s Station. I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped through the gate. The air was too still. My house—plundered. I should have braced myself.”

He swallowed hard. “Our kettle slave lay dead in the hallway. Brutally murdered. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for what I found next.”

His voice cracked, barely audible now. “She was there. The woman I loved more than life. Her clothes torn. Her body… marked by her resistance. Covered in blood. Taken from me in violence.”

He turned his face from the light, as if even the flicker of a candle might expose the tear he refused to shed. Even now, after all these years, the wound had not closed. It had simply learned to live beneath the surface.

“I never lost it,” he said, voice low and hollow, “but in that moment… I lost everything. Even the will to live.” A confession that, for any Gorean man, was as unthinkable as surrender.

His eyes burned with memory. “In rage, I stormed the palace. I stood before the Ubar, demanding justice for her death— for the blood spilled in his name, for the ruin he left in the streets of Ar.”

But the Ubar did not flinch. He did not listen. He waved me away like filth, a maggot crawling across his marble floor.

“I threw my insignia at his feet,” he continued, his voice now a blade. “I spat in his face. And I walked out of that palace no longer a servant— but a man untethered.”

Outside, the wind had shifted. And in its wake stood a figure, silent, watching. Perhaps he had watched for years. Perhaps he had waited for this exact moment.

“That man was Scar,” he said, “and he did not offer comfort. He offered purpose. He recruited me into the caste of Assassins.”

And so, Melchior Wardell died that day— not by blade, but by choice.

From his ashes rose Crow. A name not born, but forged. A shadow with steel in his veins and silence in his soul.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): The tale hits hard as I think how such an action would have on my family situation….the reasons for his path and demeanour clearer now and also the pain of the loss of Belle bringing back so many painful memories….”and what of the children…please say they were spared”

The question cut him—not like a blade, but like a memory too sharp to forget. “I lost my two boys,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of ghosts. “My daughter Rose… she was taken. I met her only when she was grown. By then, I was no longer a father— just a man in livery, trained to sever ties, to forget blood for steel.”

He straightened, not with pride, but with the discipline of a man who had learned to survive by burying his heart.

“Your mate,” he said slowly, “Raven… I knew her. She belonged to Scar. But she was never just a possession. She was warmth— the only ember in a compound built of frost and fury.”

He paused, eyes distant. “She taught Snow and me more than any blade. Only one in ten survived the compound.”

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “I do not comprehend how you managed to endure such a terrible loss as I can only think how much i would suffer losing Niahm let alone Caspian or Elodi”…….gives a puzzled look…”but why the need for the Demise of Silas…I can understand the need to hide away under the guise of Silas but why do you need to die?”

He poured the red liquid with practiced ease, the flask catching the light like a relic of old sins. The question hung in the air, reasonable, but heavy. He met it with a quiet nod.

“I won’t bore you with the contracts,” he said, “nor the names of those I served… or ended.” His voice was calm, but beneath it lay the echo of steel.

“The captain of the Stormcrow—he was a mark. Port Kar, as you know, is ruled by its council of captains. My client wanted to ensure he never claimed a seat at that table. And so, I became Silas Drake. A deckhand. A shadow among salt and sail. I climbed the ranks, earned the crew’s trust, and when the time came— I ended the contract. But something strange happened,” he chuckled, a sound more bitter than amused. “They didn’t question me. They didn’t ask where their captain had gone. They asked me to take his place.”

Silas Drake lived longer than intended. Longer than the contract required. Long enough to become real.

But his purpose is done,” he said, his gaze steady, his voice now that of Crow once more.

He looked to the man beside him— not as a mark, not as a mission, but as a friend.

“You’re capable of holding this on your own,” he said, and in that moment, it was not just a passing of responsibility— it was a passing of truth

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): nods in agreement…somewhat understanding the current situation…..”So where are you headed now….i ask not if you are one again contracted but where your futures lies if not here among us….for you have become family…indeed but for that unfortunate incident which need not be mentioned we would be brothers now”

He drained his glass, the wine warm in his chest, a gentle haze settling over the edges of his vision. For once, he allowed himself to loosen the grip— to speak not as Crow, but as the man who had once dreamed of peace.

“I will return to my first love, Portus,” he said, his voice softer now, as if the words themselves were sacred. “To Ar… as it rises from its ashes.”

He leaned forward, the candlelight painting his face in gold and shadow. “I’ve made arrangements. I will walk its streets again— not as assassin, but as scribe.”

The name he chose was not his own. “Trajan Cernus,” he whispered, a mask carved from lineage and anonymity. “He was schooled, raised in quiet halls. If kin pass me by, they will not see me. They will see a scholar. A man of ink and parchment.”

But beneath that disguise, a deeper purpose stirred.

“I’ve accepted a seat on the council,” he said, “Tribune to the lower castes. A voice for the forgotten. A sentinel against the cruelty that once shattered my home.”

He paused, his gaze steady on Portus, no longer veiled in secrecy.

“This is my vow,” he said, “a sacred promise I’ve never spoken aloud. Not to Snow. Not to Raven.”

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): listens carefully noting the sense of pride in his voice “far be it from me to deny a man his destiny but your council and guidance will be missed…..and I will miss a friend and companion with whom to share the finer things in life”….pours another glass of wine……”the company will go on in it’s operations of course but the loss of your presence will be felt keenly…is there no other way?”

Crow felt the heaviness of the words that were shared between friends. His mind as ever sharp as he of course had thought this through.

“The man Silas will find his grave in the thassa. When Bear comes to you with the news you will know that everything that is of the man Silas is yours. My gold, the exquisite wine collection and my girl.” he paused

“But you will gain a friend. A man with influence in Ar. A man that might persuade you to settle there too. To build that company with the talent and knowledge of your skill in the training of girls.” he would regard him now with a teasing gaze “Surely you will see the profit of such an arrangement.” he laughs

“The man Trajan a regular visitor as to ensure your interests are well represented in the council.” than his gaze turned a little dark “What do you think … can we trust Caspian and Elodi with the truth ?” as to Niamh he already knew he could give his life in her hands. She had kept it all this time.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “Caspian needs to mature a little as he reacts quickly to new situations and could reveal something in the heat of the moment and Elodi loves her uncle Silas as did her Aunt so i think it is a good idea to keep the truth of the matter between the three of us to lessen the risk of Trajan being discovered unduly”…takes another swallow of wine

He nodded, slow and solemn, as if sealing a pact not with words, but with the weight of memory.

“Then it will be done, my friend,” he said, his voice carrying the finality of a closing door. “I only hope Elodi’s heart does not shatter beneath it. After Belle… she has known enough ruin.”

He paused, and for a moment, Melchior stirred beneath the mask— the man who once wept, who once held children in his arms, who once believed in peace.

But Crow had no room for ghosts. He exhaled, and with it, let go of every objection that belonged to the man he used to be.

Then he turned, his gaze steady, his tone softened by the candle’s dying flame.

“Now,” he said, “this is the moment for your last questions, my dear friend. The farm will wake early, and I know its rhythm well.”

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and the stars blinked like old companions. Inside, two men sat in silence— not as assassin and ally, but as brothers on the edge of farewell.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “go in peace my brother….your secret will be kept and under the secrecy of your new identity i hope in time that our friendship continues in Ar although I am sure that although our interactions when others are present will be guarded we will both fully understand one another”

Crow would tip the glass to that of Portus as to seal the deal. Not a deal of the devil but one of the heavens. How both men defeated the cruelty of the gorean world. Challenged the codes of waht was considered true. A man that had murdered more men and women he could count and yet capable of forging bonds that would last a life time.

Crow did not speak. Words would only fracture the silence, and silence was sacred now.

Would step before the man he knew so well. And could not help but to open his arms as to beg for that brotherly embrace. Their embrace was not long, but it was deep. A communion of hearts, a farewell written not in ink, but in the press of ribs and breath.

When they parted, Crow’s eyes lingered— not on the face, but on the soul behind it.

“The purple ribbon,” he said, as if tasting the memory of it. “I will remember. Let it be a signal for communication. A sign that we have need for a moment like this.”

Then, without ceremony, he turned toward the door. The night was still, the farm quiet in its slumber, and the stars above bore witness to the closing of a chapter.

Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): watches him leave a wistful expression over my face and I drain my glass and sits back and contemplates my future

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Whip

Posted in Black Compass Trading Company, Mastery, Silas on August 24, 2025 by crow1971

[2025/08/24 04:22] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would turn back to his cabin to see if she was awake. He had left her upon the couch with a blanket over her. As he entered he noted her near his desk. “Ah .. you are awake.”

[2025/08/24 04:23] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): Greetings my jarl ‘She moved around and moved closer to stand before him while pressing herself up to stand on the tippy toes’ did you sleep well i hope i did not move to much in my sleep.

[2025/08/24 04:25] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would lift her chin as to brush his lips to hers before he would kiss her. “No .. need to worry about it” he replied. He would not tell her of his own doings. some things were best not to know. “Are you rested?” he asks.

[2025/08/24 04:27] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘The little soft puckered up lips pressing and touching with such a tender kiss as the lips parted away and smiles while resting her feet back onto the ground below’ I did yes very much, i am fully awake. Did work hard on the farm.

[2025/08/24 04:29] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me nodded “Let us see how the farm is doing.” he replied as he would leash her. “Now I want you to be aware where your hands are. If they help you in moving more beautiful.” he gave her that little assignment as he ensured the leash taunt.

[2025/08/24 04:32] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): oh no ‘she would then place her hands up upon her hips seeing the grain was not done. ‘ Oh i shall make sure to get that done soon ‘slid both hands down from her hips to rest at her side’

[2025/08/24 04:33] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would glance back to her as he indeed noted the grain to be ready. “I trust this to be done. As the animals depend on the right amount.” he stated. But not really that much occupied with it as he observed how she would hold herself.

[2025/08/24 04:36] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘As they moved along the path, her head help up high as her hands would keep sway just a little with each step short before they came to a stop and would smile seeing malik positioning herself a little more resting both hands to the side ‘ Malik it is nice to see you again. yes my jarl i will make sure to get onto that, i did fill the feeds and water not long ago.

[2025/08/24 04:38] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me smiled to his girl as they entered the workshop and noted Malik at work. “Greetings Malik. I come with news considering the thrall that we named after your pet.” he could not help to think of what might be the reaction of Malik when he learned the man had gained his freedom.

[2025/08/24 04:38] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Scared to hear Silas’s heavy footstepping, he is turning to nod to Silas, unsure of what to say. He will smil to Bahirah – ” Good to see you, Bahirah “

[2025/08/24 04:39] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Listens while working and sweating much at the burning forge.. wondering about the new arrival and what has become of him, though not daring at all to ask

[2025/08/24 04:43] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): I hope your well malik ‘She turned to look at her jarl with a slight concern to her face’ my Jarl mailk has been working very hard and not seen him been able to enjoy relaxing or even been able to travel very much with off course the other jarl.

[2025/08/24 04:43] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me frowns as the slave did not greet him. He would take the leash from Bahirahs collar. Having need of his personal space as to address it. He knew that he needed to be firm against him. There was no room for compassion or leeway. “Come before me, slave.” the mere mentioning of what he was instead of his name was already an indication that he was in trouble.

[2025/08/24 04:46] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘hearing the leash being removed and would move herself off to the side a little more as she was only able to watch and hope malik may address her Jarl proper and sighs softly’

[2025/08/24 04:50] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Greatly terrified, he ceases works and approaches, the word ” slave ” to ring in ears. He leaves more steel ingots aside for cooling, puzzled yet so, so terrified.. He stands, blinking and not understanding

[2025/08/24 04:52] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me seemed to be calm, nothing in his demeanor might show any sign of anger or frustration. Yet out of no where he would stretch his arm and smack the man with the back of his hand across the face. The force of a man that was trained and able to kill a man with his bare hands. The intent was to struck him hard, to have his hand sting or even have him fall backwards. He would deal with it in the way he knew how. Violent and with no consideration to the feelings of the man he struck.

[2025/08/24 04:56] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Yelps loud as dog on a massive hit to his face. He falls backwards, crashing heavily to the trough of water and is slumping to knees, in shock and massive stunning. He checks for blood, astonished completely and he coughs, wondering why the huge bash to him

[2025/08/24 04:59] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would watch how the man fell and would step towards him while he placed his foot to the mans back as to force him on the floor. “You greet my girl but you do not greet me.” his voice calm – nothing indicated the violence or determination of his actions. In this very moment he was the man that was trained to keep his emotions out of his actions. His foot would not give the man any leeway. If he moved or tried to fight it he would use his own body weight to pin him further down.

[2025/08/24 05:02] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Squeals to be forced to face on the floor. Briefly, he squirms, then squeaks as mouse to be so expertly pinned under very heavy boot and strong leg. Gasping, he can now only snort as tarsk, shaking with terror

[2025/08/24 05:03] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘Jumps a little and would turn herself away some not truly wanting to watch and would move herself over to the shelfs and would see what needed to be stocked as this was something she did not do but was a good distraction and would point’ yep thats needs filling oh and that one, wait did my jarls pet need a new head to eat ‘she moved to the door and peeked out but could not see and moved herself back to think and look at the stock’

[2025/08/24 05:06] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would now place his foot at the back his neck. His force taking away the mans ability to breath. He knew that panic would quickly come over the man as it was not a first he would do such. He knew how it worked in a body that would struggle to survive. It needed extensive training to remain calm. Something he had been taught after learning to control his feelings in training. “Listen!” he shouts as to ensure the man would hear him over his own squeaks. “When I let go you adjust your error immediately or I will keep this foot a lot longer.” he promised. His voice held that authority that could not be questioned.

[2025/08/24 05:11] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me He is shivering and he scrabbles pathetically, terror and panic to rise much as the massive boot crushes into the thick, heavy collar. He will gurgle and dribble as baby, squirming as worm. He drools more and shakes much, gasping and croaking as frog

[2025/08/24 05:13] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘Was only able to look at the stock for so long and turned herself around and was to see the situation at hand and would not get herself involved but mabeh she could offer some help to malik later something she would speak to her jarl about when he was finished with him’

[2025/08/24 05:15] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would cut a glance to his girl as she stood and observed. She had not seen him to follow through to disciplining the slave. As she had become silent. He would now move his foot a little up as to give the man some breath – as he would wait if the slave would do as he was told – or – that he again had to press his foot to the mans neck. It was clear that he would proof his point. Regardless of the consequences. He was not known to back down on a warning given.

[2025/08/24 05:18] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Feeling slight lessening in pressure, he gurgles and tries to mumble a ” S….orry, M…Masterr…. w..ish t..to correct err…or… I.. s..sorry “

[2025/08/24 05:20] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘She truly wanted to leap in and try to help but she knew it would result in herself being placed in trouble but it was hard to see malik in the situation and would only look to her Jarl with sympathy in her eyes then down to mailk’

[2025/08/24 05:20] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would hear the man and would now step back “In whipping position.” came his command. “This will be the last time you forget to greet me properly, slave.” he added. He would uncoil the whip that had been attached to his belt. “Bahirah, bet a bucket of water from outside the well.” as he would feel the leather between his fingers.

[2025/08/24 05:21] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Drawn

[2025/08/24 05:25] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): yes my jarl ‘she rushed offside and moved to the well, still her head held proper and her feet strode. the plump cheeks gave a slight wiggle and her bare breasts started to bounce some, the flow of the lightly colored hair would move about. Then stop by the well , placing both hands upon the rope and would allow the bucket to go down collecting water as she brought it back up and placed it onto the ledge. Letting go of the rope and would place both hands upon the bucket and with a mighty heave picking it up and walked her way back inside and stood near her Jarl’ the bucket of water my Jarl ‘she got herself just a little wet off course she was holding it in a hug’

[2025/08/24 05:29] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Shaking and coughing, he wobbles into a curl, in so much shame, exposing his bare back and is so terrified that he is so shaking

[2025/08/24 05:32] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would indicate his girl to be ready to splash the cold water over the slave on his gesture. For now he took position behind the slave as he would have the whip caress the mans back – just before he would lift it and have it struck across his back. The whip a weapon that needed little force, but was handled with this deadly precision as if to betray his true profession. “The next time you do not greet me properly I might take your tongue, boy. ” he suggested. “As you do not use if properly.” after his first strike he would ask “Tell me what will be a proper punishment when it comes to the number of strikes that are needed?” the question to both of the slaves.

[2025/08/24 05:32] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident

[2025/08/24 05:35] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Pulls deeply for much strength, he remains from crying out that the whip hits hard with much expert handling. He hopes that five would be acceptable and this he mumbles to say, mixed with terror and shock and pressure to throat that could have killed.. ” F….ive…. FIVE. M… Masterrr “

[2025/08/24 05:38] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘She truly did not wish to watch and gave a little flinch feeling the water run a course down her front as a little escaped the bucket, the whip was something she did not enjoy nor wanted to see it ever again. ‘ my Jarl i would try and not make the mistake and would avoid the whip best i could, but for this situation i would agree 5 ‘all though 5 was too much and would try and change it’ no 3 my jarl 3 would be better fitting.

[2025/08/24 05:40] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident
[2025/08/24 05:40] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident
[2025/08/24 05:40] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident
[2025/08/24 05:40] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident
[2025/08/24 05:40] LR Tormentor Whip [40-35% Sword] Draw 2.10: Melee Hit on Abhumali Resident

[2025/08/24 05:40] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would see the first strike light up on the blackness of his skin. As the man answered Silas would not wait and struck him five times. With each strike his force would increase. “You both were wrong. I shouldn’t have to struck you any more as the lesson was already learned.” of course no answer would have been the right one – such was life when it came to being a slave. “Give him the bucket over his back – Now.”

[2025/08/24 05:43] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘sighs softly and moved closer to malik and while hugging the bucket tightly she would allow it to move some watching the water pour over his back, to only letting half the water go out, enough so that she was able to hold it with her hands by the handle and shuffled to drop the rest of the water over and would step back placing the now empty bucket to her side and kept herself quiet for now’

[2025/08/24 05:45] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Shudders under the attacks and massive hittings, he accepts and does not cry out with the terror and pains, promising to self never to cause the attacks again to happen. So relieved that the whippings are over, he sags to forehead on floor to steady self and holds too from sobbing or weeping. Although the thick shackles say ” slave “, he considers himself man, though admitting to self that the pathetic ropes and thick metals with the hideous branding will advertise otherwise. He shivers, then trembles, as cool water is poured and groans just a very little, having accepted stripes and he tries to gather self, awaiting orders from the one who has handled his betrayal and later puniishments

[2025/08/24 05:50] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would coil back his whip after ensuring it wasn’t stained with blood. He would regard his girl that was more considerate to Malik than he desired. But he would not yet fault her for it. Although she might walk a thin line. “Get another bucket full.” he tells her. It served a purpose. The cold water would cool the mans skin as it would swell by the strikes of the leather and have the man to remain conscious. “What did you learn?” he asks – testing him instantly.

[2025/08/24 05:52] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Petrified, he will try to control trembles and he mumbles a ” Mistake made.. bad mistake. Hoping is corrected and apologies, M… Masterrr “

[2025/08/24 05:54] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘Leans down taking the handle into her hand as the bucket was lifted up from the ground ‘ yes my jarl ‘Moved in a little half spin letting her hair flow with the sway, walked herself back out and to the well, placing the rope around so that the bucket was able to be guided down to refill after a few she would bring it back up, again letting it sit upon the ledge removing rope and would give it another big hug and with a might heave and huff picking it up and moved her way with steady steps all though she was having herself a little bath with each step as she stopped with the bucket’ my Jarl it has been refilled.

[2025/08/24 05:56] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me shook his head “That word Master … needs to come quick … Try again.” he stated to the slave as he would tip his head to Bahirah as to pour the bucket again empty upon the mans back. “That word needs to be the first thing you think of when you speak.” he demands.

[2025/08/24 05:59] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Defeated after the humiliations of the costume and all that is locked to him, with the so-obvious brand and now masses of pains with shocks at whippings, he will make new attempt. With just small recovery times to help, he says more clearly, trying to hide his hatred for the M-word but.. he must: ” Mistake made.. bad mistake. Hoping is corrected and apologies, M… Master “

[2025/08/24 06:01] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘Moved closer towards malik she felt really sorry for him, but she would not go against what she has been asked to do, with the same as before leaning a little to let the bucket come to a slight lean allowing the water to flow so that it would hit his back. It came to half way she would let her hand move around to the base taking a better hold so that the water was emptied from out the bucket wand stood herself back still’

[2025/08/24 06:04] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me shook his head “Not doing it for me, boy.” as he ensured the words would cut as deep as the whip would. “Quicker … no stutter … Master.” he demanded again … already close once more to drawing his whip.

[2025/08/24 06:08] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me He pulls self together and sighs as cool water is soaking, causing reliefs. He is careful in obeying now, though the control over his is so hated and absolute. He knows that he must and he does as dictated. ” Master. Mistake made.. bad mistake. Hoping is corrected. Apologies. Master “

[2025/08/24 06:11] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘The slight of relief and relaxed herself a little and not had to stand on the tip of her toes, all though she stood quiet but would only watch on seeing mailk’s back gave her shivers’

[2025/08/24 06:12] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me was only now satisfied as the word had come withotu hesitation and more clear. He would look at his girl “Get a rep cloth and see to his whipmarks. Ensure to keep them cooled. ” he instructed her “Now … Malik … do you still want to learn of the outcome with this thrall with the name of your pet ? “

[2025/08/24 06:15] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Defeated and controlled, he will continue with the humiliating position as he has not been ordered to cease. He tries desperately to clutch to his small remaining morale and he remembers the arrogant one that was renamed. ” Master. He is Nyrmyl as named now. Would like to know. Master “

[2025/08/24 06:17] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): yes my Jarl ‘as she moved around the room and out the door with a bolted sprint to the main building up the steps and into the kitchen where there was a nice pile of rep cloths, instead of taking one she would take a bunch 4 to be exact and not sure why she was in a rush. With a bowl taking some fresh clean water and would walk her way back steady paces down the steps and around passing grain fields and back into the workshop. Kneel down at the side of mailk and whispered softly’ I am sorry if i hurt you by cleaning your back ‘take the dry rep cloth and would softly pat it along his back over the marks that had been made’

[2025/08/24 06:20] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would observe his girl and picked up her words. He could imagine how it felt to her as he had been so violent to the thrall. “I have taken the collar away. I did not want to feed the man that was clearly not up to the task. I allowed him to go with this understanding that he can only return when he brings a thrall to replace him and when he can be more humble in his approach.” each word he spoke would be another lash – most likely – as the man he just struck was not given his freedom while the other was. Yet in the act there was a much deeper understanding. Malik was wanted, desired and kept. While Sosla was discarded, thrown away as if he had been nothing.

[2025/08/24 06:25] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me He gasps on learning that Nyrmyl had been allowed to go and feels the small morale to become much smaller, given that he is still the slave that desperately he wishes not to be. Astonished, he is, though the recent shocks and pins to floor and whippings are so recent and causing pains. ” Master. And I.. may be free as is he ? I can be home and to have my status returned ? Master ? “

[2025/08/24 06:29] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘While she was taking it very gentle upon his back with the rep cloth and heard his words and would lean her hand over with a finger to cover his mouth some with a whisper’ please do not make my jarl angry again ‘then moved herself back up with her hand to look up upon the marks as she was nearly done and would look to her jarl’ my jarl might i have permission to help malik, train him on how to greet and who to greet first, with what to say and what not to say ‘she truly wanted to help him so that his back would not be soo wounded from being whipped’

[2025/08/24 06:30] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would arch his brow “You wish to be released ? To return to a home that has not mourned your loss ? That even went as far as knowingly to let you be the slave you are now ? The to be companion that now is bounded to your father ?” he questions. Each sentence another whipping most likely as he would shake his head “Here I am telling you that you are valued and treasured and you wish to slap me in the face ?” as his girl spoke he would turn to her more fully “What is it that you wish to suggest mine ? That he has not been trained or taught well enough?” the question a trick one.

[2025/08/24 06:37] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): “looking down to malik and onto his back as she placed the rep cloth down and stood herself up and moved closer to her jarl, while looking up into his eyes she would flash a little smile’ my Jarl there is all ways room to help provide a little guidance to help avoid situations like this from happening again. ((tyt)).

[2025/08/24 06:38] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me Sags with more relief at Bahirah’s expert caring and gentle tending to the burning back of his. He does not squirm or struggle or weep, plumbing deep to inside strength and to stop from being complete coward. The Master’s words of home, which has betrayed, his girl, stolen, the father who sold him as low animal, the points made each drilling to his soul with daggers of ice, he will sag more to the floor, realising that probably never can he return to that which he had been so recently. He considers, too, Bahira’s words and the Master’s word ” slave “, it is aimed at him to hurt hundreds more than a thousand whips could do. He shuts up, the walls of slave closing tight and locking him inside the tiny box. He can only manage a pathetic, though clearly-said, ” Master. No, Master “, detesting the full control and remembering the boot on back and later on neck

[2025/08/24 06:51] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘Would turn slightly to look at malik her words where at a lost but felt sorry for him’

[2025/08/24 07:02] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me would keep that stern look upon his girl “You can always help others to improve. In truth such should not be asked but already ingrained in your entire being. ” he lashed out to her. “You both are ours … and being ours means something. It means that you are owned, desired, treasured and kept. Do we not feed you well ? Do we not give you warm furs to sleep under. What is it that we ask of you we do not ourselves?” Part of it was true. Portus, Niamh and himself worked the same tasks as they did. But they carried the weight of owning them.

[2025/08/24 07:10] Lυlυ Lÿţє Õђηαкα (lululyteohnaka): ‘moved well stepped closer pressing herself more so brushing softly upon him looking into his eyes, truly she was devoted to him in many ways then others’ my jarl, i like to ask ‘It could be from her past but it was just her thing’ but my Jarl i wear your collar with much pride and love as for the brand for the black compass. Oh i think i get over fed and if i keep going i might be the one rolling away, must keep up the exercise and keep fit ‘she gave a little laugh hoping that he might get a little kick from that to she did not complain at all and loved her position here it filled her heart with such desire and meaning’

[2025/08/24 07:12] Obi Ouma Abhumali (abhumali): /me So defeated is he that all he once had been seems as remote as a thousand worlds away. Although he burns to know more of the ” deal ” which has landed him so in the shaming position of his now, he shuts up on the subject, expecting now that never can he know more. Knowing now that being the Free that he once was will probably never again happen, he feels at the thick and heavy collar that is so bolted by expert that he knows it will be impossible to remove, he tries to move past the horrible situation. Feeling now as no more than some animal pet thing, he feels much the shame, still and all he can say now, from his pathetic state on the floor, water to drip into the shaming slave cloth, is ” Yes, Master. As you say, Master “. Hoping now that Bahirah’s kind attempt to distract with humour the terrible events of the day, he says no more

[2025/08/24 07:17] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell): /me was grateful for not doubted, questioned or challenged on his words. In his mind these slaves should be on their bare knees praising any god that they were owned by him or Portus. He knew that others would not allow slaves this kind of freedom or having the luxury of what they were fed. Of course he himself never considered the freedom of them. They both served them too well. He would look at his girl “I think it is time to get to pool … ” he stated as he would pull her close to leash her once again. “I believe you promised me the pleasure of yourself.” he stated – leaving it to no imagination as to what was to happen.

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Woven Into the Wind

Posted in Ink before dawn, Niamh, Silas on August 4, 2025 by crow1971

Silas had wandered far, chasing whispers of wind and the shimmer of light that felt just right. He sought a place where the birds sang without fear, where the sun spilled gold across the earth like a blessing. A final place. A sacred place. One where her memory could take root and bloom for lifetimes.

The crew of the Stromcrow had puzzled over the weight of the marble, the strange request for stones that seemed to speak of temples. But Silas had seen it in dreams—in flickers of memory and longing. He knew where it must stand, and why.

After meeting Elodi and Caspian beneath the old ka-la-na trees, he understood: this was not only for Portus, or Niamh, or the elders whose names were etched in the family’s bones. It was for those yet to be born. The children of their children. The ones who would ask, “Who was Belle?” and deserve more than silence.

So he built. Brick by brick, stone by stone, he shaped a portal—not of magic, but of memory. A threshold between what was and what might be. Those who stepped through it would see the past if they looked back, or glimpse the future if they dared to look ahead. It was all a matter of light and perspective.

And when the birds wheeled above in the amber dusk, Silas sat in the grass, hands resting on his knees, eyes lifted to the sky. “Oh, my Belle,” he whispered. “My dearest. You are not gone. You are not lost. You are woven into the wind.”

Strange, how the words now came aloud—words he once only dared to write. He longed for her ghost, for a trick of fate, for her laughter to echo from the stones and call him foolish. He longed for her to say it was all a jest, a cruel joke played on an old man’s heart.

He saw the question in Niamh’s eyes. Felt it in Elodi’s silence. Heard it in Caspian’s breath. And still, he could not answer.

A breeze stirred the dandelions nearby, lifting their seeds into a quiet dance—weightless, radiant, eternal. Light and wind moved together, carrying something unseen but deeply felt.

How he wished to dance with her, on the sea’s breath. To hold her in the moonlight. To hear her teasing laugh as he stumbled through rhythm, hopelessly out of step.

“Oh, my Belle,” he murmured. “You will never be forgotten. Not while the wind still moves. Not while the light still falls.”

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Ink Before dawn [Part 1]

Posted in Ink before dawn, Silas, Uncategorized on June 22, 2025 by crow1971

Dear Belle,

It might take long before this letter finds you. You might not even know or remember me. It was a brief flicker of time — I saw you. And nothing has felt quite the same since.

I’ve spent days wondering what color your eyes truly are, and whether you hum to yourself while washing dishes. Silly details, I know. But isn’t that how love begins — not with fireworks, but with the sound of someone laughing at just the right moment?

I don’t expect anything from this note. I only wanted you to know: for a single, quiet heartbeat in this vast world, you were deeply noticed. And cherished — if only from afar.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe not.
But it’s real. — A stranger who saw the sun differently after seeing you

Belle was surprised when the man walked up to the bakery with a letter for her. She held it in her hand and looked about the quiet lands, seeing no one except for the man as he climbed into his serpent and sailed off into the distance. Turning and getting a tankard of mead she went and sat at the table and opened the letter and began to read. Her eyes skimming the paper for some sort of clue as to who would of written such words. Was this a horrid prank from her brothers, or a cruel trick of the God’s. Her heart still clung to the man who gave his life for the lands. But after reading such words she felt the small glimer of warmth from her cold heart. Only briefly though as she finished her tankard and folded the letter up placing it in her pouch and returned to work not giving it another thought, for now anyway.

The second letter arrives with a merchant. When asked the merchant only knows that it arrived with supplies. The scroll is tied with a blue ribbon and it says:

Dear Belle,

It is strange that I can’t be truly sure for these letters to reach you. They must cross perhaps so many hands to come to you that I dare to question if they come in the right order. I just have to trust that meeting you was a Godly intervention.

I don’t know if you kept the letter. Maybe it fluttered away in a breeze. But I meant every word. Still do. The world feels strangely richer since I wrote it — as if that moment of seeing you etched something permanent into my days.

I’ll stop here, before this turns into another confession. Only this, then: you were lovely. You are lovely.

And if nothing else, at least this letter got to say so.

The days of the letter had passed. Belle busied herself moving through each day as if ok auto drive. Her focus for anything other then her orders at the bakery had long vanished.

This day Belle was accepting the supplies from the traveling merchant. As she signed the manifest and handed it back to the man his eyes grew wide as if there was something else. That name, he thought to himself..then its as if a switch went off and he held his finger up to Belle and rushed over to a bag filled with scrolls, where he pulled one out and smiled..”This belongs to you also” he said handing it to her and turned to finish his business.

Belle stood there woth the letter in her hand the blue ribbon binding it. Unsure of what it was, as she had hoped it was from her brother or sister in their new lands telling her of her niece and nephews. Stepping over and settling down on the bench she tugged on the ribbon having it unroll in the palm of her hand. Reading it she couldn’t help but to first frown as she looked about for someone but found nothing.

Her eyes skimmed over the letter again and with it held tightly in her fingers she couldn’t help but to grin and rest the hand with the letter in her lap as she looked out upon the waters. Thinking of who this person was and when did they meet.

Every day he wrote a letter and yet not all would truly arrive. But the urge of writing became more and more of moment of calm in his restless life. Some spoke of his feelings, while others wrote of his dreams. And again one letter finds you via the hand of a merchant.

My dearest Belle,
I wasn’t going to write again. Not really. But then I passed a bakery where the aroma of freshly baked bread transported me back — and I thought of you. I always do.

There’s a strange comfort in writing to you, like pressing my palm to the warmth of a stone that’s been sitting in the sun. You never asked for these letters. You might not even know from who they are. But they’ve become the way I breathe deeper — as if naming this feeling gives it permission to be real.

You still don’t know me. Maybe you never will. But in a world full of danger and noise, you felt like silence — not the lonely kind, but the kind that wraps around you and says, “Stay.”

There’s beauty in restraint, I suppose. In loving without expectation. In carrying someone quietly inside your every day. I won’t say more. I’ve said enough in ink already. But I’ll keep this ritual — writing, folding, letting go — like a lantern drifting on a still lake.

Not expecting this to reach you. Just to remember that once, you made something inside me feel weightless. — Still a stranger, but no longer empty

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Ink before dawn [Part 2]

Posted in Ink before dawn, Uncategorized on June 21, 2025 by crow1971

Belle had missed the delivery on the day the next letter arrived, she had spent the day in the forest collect berries and just taking in all that the God’s surrounded them with, the beauty the unknown. She once enjoyed the time alone but since her days gad grown cold and dark, the happiness that allowed the light the shine through casted out by nothing but shadows now.

Reaching the bakery and walking in to supplies on her table, she at first didn’t notice the letter, not until the rolled up scroll rolled off a crate and onto the floor. Catching it out of the corner of her eye she couldn’t help but to be hopeful. Picking it up and taking it out onto the porch where she sat and read it. Her mind really began to race. Who was this man, where did she meet him. How could she respond to him?

She sat back in the chair and for the first time in a very long time she felt the sunshine on her face, the warmth of the kiss of the sun. Closing her eyes to enjoy it for the moment as she held the letter in her hand and a soft smile curled upon her lips.

This will be the last one.

Or at least, that’s what I’ve tell myself everytime.

It’s strange — how a person you only casually met can become a thread woven through your every season. You, who never asked for this.

And yet, I’ve written to you. Not because I believed I had the right, but because I didn’t know how else to keep this feeling alive. Writing has been my only way of holding truth still long enough to see it clearly.

But now, I find myself wanting more.

Not more letters. More courage.

Strange that this is what is missing. I can face a knife without trembling. And yet when I think of meeting you. I don’t know if that frightens me or sets me free. What I do know is this: if someday — perhaps soon — you find a man standing quietly nearby, hands tucked nervously into his belt, watching the flowers near the bakery or a small gathering near the long hall… that may be me.

I’m not asking for anything. Not your heart. Not even your attention. Only the chance to exist without shadows. To let you know that all of this — the ink, the ache, the wonder — came from somewhere real.

Until then, I remain —
Still anonymous, for now. But not for long – so I tell myself.

A merchant comes grinning to the baker stall. “Well Belle, you seem to have an admirer.” he jested totally unaware of the content of the letters. But it was getting the attention of some that these letters with the blue ribbon became more frequent. “This was given with great urgency. The child that brought it even asked if the one that was delivered earlier could be taken and replaced. Of course I would not do such a thing.” he shook his head “I even think the child might have been mistaken. As it was unsure from which the order and this letter came.” He would give the letter. As always the same blue ribbon tied it together. When you unfurl it a small flower that seemed to have been pressed within it falls to the floor.

My Dearest,

I just hope this letter will be more quick—rushed by winds, hurled across distance with the speed of lightning—so it may find you before hesitation catches me once again. If there is any God who peers down upon me with some affection, I pray it guides this message to you before my previous one will.

For I was a fool to even suggest that my last letter would be final. How can it be, when I cannot stop? I cannot stop writing, cannot stop breathing you into every silent space I occupy. My heart refuses to forget. It longs for that brief moment, that single glance that left me weightless and wanting.

You’ve undone me. I never knew these feelings before. This sensation of being adrift and yet more myself than I have ever been. To be both found and lost in the same breath. To be so thoroughly captivated and yet uncertain. You are like some delicate bloom growing wild in an untamed meadow too lovely to pluck, too rare to risk fading.

And who am I to even reach? Not one of those refined southern men with words that charm like wine, nor a northern giant whose strength could silence doubt. I have neither finesse nor force. Only this, this small moment in this quiet corner of the world where I write to you and pretend, to be the man I wish I could be.

Ever yours in silence, but I keep writing.

Ps. Next time I will try and sent something pretty. But I first need to obtain it.

As the merchant approached she hoped it would be, then she saw the letter with the blue ribbon, just like the one she began to tie her hair with. A smile beamed from ear to ear as her eyes danced with happiness. With a raised brow she looked at the man when he spoke “urgency you say” she then looked down to the letter then back up to him “if you would wait, I have one to return to where this came from. Please I dont know if you know but I have to at least try.. just one moment and ill be back.” She quickly hurried off to the bakery where she read the letter, her heart began to flutter briefly as she read it. Quickly setting it off to the side and began to write one back.. a chance she had to take, a slim chance knowing nothing! With the dried flower close she began

To the the man who broke the darkness,

This is a long shot, not knowing who you are or where you are or even what you look like. But its a chance I have to take. Sending you words of my own.

You’ve taken the darkest of days and beamed your ray of light down upon me, brightening everything I do, shinning so bright.

I’ve found myself watching not to see if a letter is to be delivered. Feeling my cold heart filled woth warmth each time it does. My eyes scan the docks, the hall, the paths to see if someone is standing there. But nothing! I’ve found myself hugging myself tightly as I stand on the edge of a cliff looking oht and over it. Even though it be my arms i long for yours.

Come to me, tell me whom you are, I beg of you

Becoming yours, Belle

Rolling it back up and knowing the same blue bow around it, this time though taking a pink flower from the bakery walk and tucking it in tightly as she ran to the merchant and handing it to him..”Give this to the man who’s been giving you mine, or how ever its been happening, pleade I beg you” then reached in and handed him a few coin hoping it would help.

Some time later …

The boy gripped the letter loosely, yet with caution. He hadn’t dared read it—of course not—but something in the way it had been folded made it feel alive and special. He couldn’t explain it, only that it seemed with something heavier than words: hope, maybe, or sorrow tucked between the lines. He didn’t know who the sender was, but he knew—deep in his chest—that something inside this paper mattered. And so he had rushed to the bakery as his father had explained that this letter was to be delivered immediately. “Miss Belle!” the boy called, his voice bright against the hush of the afternoon. “There’s another one,” he added, holding the letter like something sacred and strange. He didn’t move, only stood there with wide eyes. “There’s something in it,” he whispered then, as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. A secret, maybe. Or a heart, carefully folded. As the scroll would be unfurled a small gem fell out of it. Not the kind one would often see. Surely something precious.

My Ray of Light,

As I sat to write you, fate intervened—I was handed a letter. Strange, perhaps, but before I even unfolded it, I lifted it to my face, hoping against hope for that familiar fragrance I so vividly remember. Foolish, I know. The merchant who brought it had no knowledge of the precious cargo he carried. It bore instead the scent of sweat and suls. Yet if words had a scent, if ink could carry the essence of meaning, I’d be intoxicated by the very first breath of yours.

Still, the moment made me smile, like a boy triumphant in his first battle, convinced now he will conquer the very world he walks upon. I remember that boy. I remember his vision, the golden future he believed in. I am not that man – I wished to become. But perhaps one day I’ll find the courage to tell you the story of the shadows, the storms and quests. I only wonder… will your light dim if I offer the truth of my darkness?

Tonight, in the hush between heartbeats, I picture you. I see you on that cliffside, arms around yourself as the wind tries to steal your warmth. And from where I sit, I ache to close the space between us—to fold you in my arms and whisper to your ears that you are safe, you are cherished. For as long as I may, I will treasure you.

Ask anything of me, and I shall obey. But this—this confession—is the one task I tremble to complete. To tell you who I am beyond these letters… that frightens me. For never before have I spoken so truthfully, so deeply. And what becomes of a man, once his heart has been so gently, yet so entirely, stolen?

Yours in silent awe, — Anonymous

Ps. This gem was the first thing I ever truly won. It is something one can not give to anyone but the one that is more precious then the gem itself.

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    Ink before dawn [Part 3]

    Posted in Ink before dawn, Uncategorized on June 20, 2025 by crow1971

    In the hustle and bustle of the docks, Belle went about her daily ways, the sounds of the birds landing and sqawking while they fasted on the scraps of fish being tossed aside. The laugher of the people trading woth the merchants that had docked. Her basket hooked on her arm and her thoughts with the man who seemed to light her ways in the words he leaves. Hearing her name she stopped and turned around only to see a young boy run with something in his hand, the blue ribbon she caught right away. A smile gleaming from ear to ear. Handing him a cookie she took the letter and sent him on his way.

    Finding an empty bench at the edge of the dock she carefully opened the letter and catching the gem. Her eyes danced with the way the sun would hit it. Bringing it to her lips she held it close while she read the letter.

    Once finished she folded it up and leaned back once again closing her eyes as she imagined the scene he laid before her on the cliff. The flashing to the boy he once was and wondered who he was now. Pulling out a scroll she decided to teat fate once again and began to write using the bench to press against.

    Im so thankful you were able to receive my letter, I was unsure that it would ever touch your hands. The God’s saw that it did, so im trying once again. Thank you for the gem, I will cherish it and keep it close to me at all times, when I lose my breath in my lungs I will clench it in my hands for it to never leave me.

    I nae know of the man nor the boy but im beginning to know of the one who is writing me, and nothing that you’ve done or storms you’ve mastered could change the person in my eyes that sits and writes me. I’ve often pictured you sitting there at your desk, your face lightened by the candle thar burns fiercely beside you. If only I meet this man who has letter by letter given me reason for hope. A reason to smile. As I hope ive done for you.

    Tell me of our first meeting, give me that, I beg of you

    Yours through the dancing rays of light when you look upon the sun,
    Belle

    Rolling the letter and placing but a dark lilac ribbon around it. And set out to search for the boy whom delivered hers. As she found him she gave him the letter and a few coin. “Please give this to the man you recieved it from and hopes that the God’s take it the rest of the way’ she patted his head and went about to the bakery lost in her newly found dream land

    He had been writing, yes—but these past days, the words refused to obey him. Each letter scratched across the page felt lifeless, unworthy. Crumpled pages gathered at his feet, rolling like driftwood across the wooden floor of his cabin as the sea rocked him gently. They whispered among themselves like quarrelsome ghosts: fragments of longing, of dreams too fragile to bear the weight of ink.

    She had begged for a letter. A simple thing, really. How could he deny her such a tender plea? And yet, the tremble in his hand betrayed the storm within. Would he survive her silence—if silence came? Could his heart weather that particular kind of tempest?

    Still… hope had crept in. Slow at first, shy like moonlight on dark water. He dared to dream. He saw her there on the dock, dress billowing in the salt-heavy breeze, one hand shielding her eyes, the other raised in joy. A smile—yes, he imagined that most of all. That she would be glad he had returned. Was that not the secret yearning of every sailor? That someone waits?

    In the rich tapestry of his longing, she did not stand alone. No. In time, perhaps, a small figure would appear beside her. A child—his child—eyes wide, heart innocent. Or more than one. A family. A future.

    And yet… what did he have to offer them? A purse heavy with ill-gotten gold, perhaps. But honor? A name that might be carried with pride? No. His deeds were shaded in smoke and blood. He was no hero of tales, no merchant of virtue. He was a thief. A pirate. A wretch cloaked in charm, living off the misfortune of others and calling it necessity.

    Still, he wrote. Because in those scattered scraps, in those ghostly quarrels of paper, lay the one fragile hope that love might still anchor him to something pure.

    My dancing ray of light,

    I have begun this letter more times than I dare count. A thousand times, perhaps more. Because this letter… it could change everything. What if you already know who I am? What if your next words carry sorrow or anger? The fear of that has held my hand still for longer than I care to admit.

    And yet, these letters—these quiet confessions sent across—they have been my lifeline. They linked me to something beautiful in a world I’ve long wandered without anchor. Like a single flower pushing through refuse to reach the sun, you reminded me what it is to feel warmth again. How could I ever deny the plea of the one I now carry in my thoughts like a flame?

    So here it is. The truth, or as close as I can bring myself to write.

    We met only briefly in Hjartaskjold, a village small enough that you’d think the world paused when you laughed. And for me, it did. In that sliver of time, not only did I see you. I found in this village a friend. One who remains, to this very moment, the most cherished I’ve known.

    Belle, I have not had an easy life. Since boyhood, I’ve carved my path alone, salvaging meaning from hardship. And yet… when I think of you, I understand why some might see me as unworthy. Why even I sometimes do.

    But still—I hope.

    Your lilac ribbon is tied to the key of my cabin. It’s a simple thing, but every night as I slip inside, it reminds me that beneath the same star-scattered sky walks someone who has stirred something better in me. Someone who makes me want to be worthy.
    And that someone is you.

    Yours—no matter the tides, A man learning how to hope again

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    Ink before dawn [Part 4]

    Posted in Ink before dawn, Uncategorized on June 19, 2025 by crow1971

    Belle had received the letter, given by the same boy that carried the smile of innocence. She dared not to ask him of the man who wrote such words to her. Words that had brought yet a smile to her lips, a spring to her step abd for once in a very long time a new reason to breath perhaps?

    She found herself sitting on the bench that sat at the top of the cliffs over lookimg the rough waters. The stars mapped out above her as if tracing the lines from one heart to a other, a string that binded them together.


    My moon,

    I’ve given you a name this night as I sit under the star lit sky, the moon shining its soft beam down along the waves below, guiding my hand as the in flows upon the paper, that paper that I am now touching and you soon will touch if the God’s once again allow.

    You speak of being unworthy, but to me you are proving to be worthy. I not have the easiest path that has been paved that ive walked. I’ve lost love, or what I thought was love. I lost a child, one who I cherished more then myself. My family separated and off on their adventures while I sit here alone….till you. I’ve been given a reason to smile, to bring air into my lungs. You say we’ve met in the village, a village that ive met many upon the docks. Still unknown on who you are, how is it I feel my heart beat again for someone I know not of, how is it that ive been told the brightness in my eyes have again returned. I dare to think the God’s are playing a trick on me, they laugh at my longing. Or am I to love from afar because if its close they will be taken from me. These are things ive thought of often, more so now then ever.

    Your words have brought a sense of purpose to me. A sense of reason. So even if I never lay my hues upon yours, or touch your hand, witness the smile upon your face. Your words are enough.

    My moon, dont be ashamed of the road you’ve traveled. Be proud. You are the man you are because of that road. Cherish it, embrace it.

    And know when you wake each day, and sleep each night that you are cherished and adored, know that there is someone who longs to feel your breath upon her skin, to feel your arms around her. That someone is me! I will be looking at the moon when the height of darkness meets the rays the moon gives off. Perhaps if you look then too, we will know some where out there we are both at the same place at the same time.

    I plan to visit my brother soon and my best friend his wife. If you go sometime with out hearing from me its because im there and have not recieved anything from you. I plan to tell the boy whom delivers yours where I will be so that they can be passed on. I not think I can go too long with out one now. Ive included a bit of myself, I dont have gems or treasures but only a piece of me.

    Yours through the night rays, Belle

    PS…you mention a friend, perhaps they are also a friend if mine?

    She then took her dagger and cut off a piece of her sunkissed locks, tieing it with the same lilac ribbon. Her hair. She also took some ramberry dye along her lips and pressed them to the paper, leaving behind a kiss for him to take with him always. Perhaps if the letter wasnt handled too much he would get a scent of again lilac that was sprinkled on the paper as well. Rolling it up and tieing it with the same ribbon, a color of her own. Finding the boy and handing it off in hopes he would recieve it.

    As the letter arrived he could tell by the lilac ribbon it came from her.  This time he would take his time. Perhaps afraid of what might be in it. As she asked more of him, he knew the risk of losing it were high. In his cabin he would write. He doubted it was in true secrecy as he had been asking for more papyrus. Niamh had observed him, but had not asked him as to why. But for some reason he believed her far more observant than most would give her credit for.  In truth he was sure that there was far more to this woman than Portus dared to tell him. Even if their friendship was rock solid.

    The lilac ribbon he tied around his wrist. A constant reminder of the woman that had captured the one honorable man that for some odd reason still lived in his heart. As he started to read his brow raised in question and in doubt.

    [04:40] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) came in his brows knitted together as he was contemplating things that were far more serious than his expression normally would show. “Greetings Portus.” he offered. He looked about  “This is rare .. to find you alone .. in here.” it was only an observation – no judgment. “Do you have a moment ?” he asks.

    [04:44] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): smiles warmly seeing his friend appear although noting he still held the disposition that had indicated he had not been himself for a little while…”of course my friend….Niamh is in the fields an i am only at my papers…you look grave does something trouble you?”

    [04:46] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) would again look about himself as to ensure they were alone. “Can we walk ?” he asks. “There has been something that is on my mind and …” he paused. “Perhaps I should  ..” he did not end his sentence. “Did I see correct that you invited your entire familly ? Do you know who is to come ?”

    [04:48] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): stands a little concerned yet willing to listen to his good friend who had many times listened to him….”come we shall walk to the fishing lake” clasps his arm in a comforting manner and heads out of his ofice

    [04:49] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) nodded “Good.” he replied as he would follow his lead.

    [04:51] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): relaxes enjoying the sound of the water and waits on Silas…clearly there was something troubling him

    [04:52] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) had been quiet during the walk. And as they finally took a seat he leaned backwards. “Do you remember that day when I came to the shores of Hart for the first time?” he asks. The lilac ribbon around his wrists was just briefly touched. As he too stared over the water. Trying to find something to focus upon. Not yet in the mind to truly face his friend. “I met your sister there.” he would cuts a glance now to Portus as to see how this would land.

    [04:56] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “how could i forget you were bringing me Runa…that day is etched in my mind forever….not only did i gain an exceptional bond but a good friend and dare i say brother?” smiles at the recollection….”I do believe Belle was there also”…makes a motion for the man to continue as he seemed to be struggling to say something

    [05:01] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) chuckles when Runa was mentioned.”yes … if I had known ..” he teased. This time a little more boy’ish than normal. “Yes, I can’t even imagine this doing without you. And you can call me anything. I just try to live up to it.” he stated. He again searched for words.  “I met her in the bakery. I think it wasn’t all that long after her and Magnus.  Niamh told me their tragic story.” he shared. “Now … I know of this code .. this code not to pursue a sister of a friend. So … ” he paused again “I did not … But ever … ” he would now bring his hands in fists as if beating himself up for this weak attempt to speak of his heart. “How would you feel if I … would try to court her if she would want me ?”

    [05:05] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): feels a natural joy bring a smile to my face….”did i not just call you brother?….she has a soft spot for you which is easy to see…but i must ask how in earnest over this matter….her heart has been crushed too many times for me not to consider this as a father would”

    [05:09] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) smiled as Portus gave something he considered his approval “I have been writing her letters. Anonymous as I didn’t have the guts to expose myself instantly. I never felt this before.” he admitted. “I had plenty of woman. As you know Carlotta .. if it weren’t for that thrall … I might never truly have seen the extend of these feelings.” he pondered “Did you ever consider my past or how I made my fortune ?”

    [05:13] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “it’s a subject i waited for you to broach as what i saw in you i judged to be honourable and the rest would come if you wished to relate it….you are by no means a saint …who of is are…and no doubt have left many women in the wake of the storm crow so if you say you  are serious in your pursuit of my sister i will take you at your word”

    [05:18] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) understood in these moments why there had been formed a deep friendship. Portus was a man that was reasonable, dealing with things on face value. “I do not share much of my past. As it is paved with events that would not make me the best mate in this world. In fact I would be the man most mothers would warn their daughters for.  That fortune was made over the corpses of others.” he shared.

    I never saw myself as the type that would court an honest woman. I mean Belle did have her share or grief. Would I not be another that is eventually setting her up for more ?”

    He paused “Either way … I think it is best that I will not be here when all your family members meet up.  Say I am on a trip to Victoria or some other destination. I am not yet ready to truly face her.”

    [05:23] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): finally understood wht the question had now been asked earlier…”you know that Elodi will be very disappointed if you are not here?”…..takes a moment to reflect….”you say you have written her letters?”…puts up a hand…”please i do not wish to know the contents better for a brother not to know but if you cannot be here how are you going to let her know it was you and how would you know her response?….”i will happily say whatever you wish but is this not a good opportunity?”

    [05:27] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) chuckled “Elodi.” he echo’d. “She is quite the firecracker.” he mused with amusement. “She might be a handful for her father, but she has become a remarkable young woman. Who ever she ends up with is one lucky bastard. But one that with one step outside what is acceptable will be a dead man walking.” he replied.

    “No I can’t face all your family members and tell her it was me.” he replied. “I truly couldn’t deal with the embarrassment if she rejects me.” he sighed. “This is no … casual fling, Portus. I think I truly lost my heart to her.”

    [05:31] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): looks surprised as this is the first time that he had appeared thus…”you know if i didn’t think you were then i could not give my blessing for she is all i have left as the others have scattered now….but you must know one way or the other for this maudlin mood is not good for you. How would it be if i spoke to her when she comes and save you that embarassment?”

    [05:34] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) tried to reason the words he shared. “She started to ask more and more questions about my identity in her replies. “Perhaps you can talk to her about this. See if she might have hopes on who it might be ? If she thinks it is someone else ?” he would frown. than.

     “Try to speak to her about it. But please be discrete. Will you ?”

    [05:36] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “you can trust me on discretion…brother….i hold many secrets already…i will take a walk around the land with her and ‘sound her out’ but i am sure you must be on her mind”

    [05:38] Silas Drake (melchior.wardell) laughs “Yes, well perhaps as this annoying bug she wants to crush.” he jested. Getting back in a more normal state of mind. “I know I can trust you, Portus. As I said … I leave all I have here for you if ever something happens to me.”

    [05:41] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “how could anything happen to you…you are invincible!”….smiles as bahirah appears always a welcome sight

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    Ink before dawn [Part 5]

    Posted in Ink before dawn on June 18, 2025 by crow1971

    [07:48] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “oh what a lovely surprise…Belle!….extends my arms for an embracee

    [07:48] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): Arriving to the land where her brother lived and pushed the scroll of the name down in her pouch, Walking along the docks she turned the corner and there he was. Smiling wide.. “Portus” she says as she rushes to his arms and hugs him so tight…”Tis good too see you”

    [07:49] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “it has been tooo long….gives her a loving kiss to her cheek….how are he buns?”

    [07:50] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): she looks up and smiled as she steps back “Aye it has been, the buns are making my worth, How is the family, Niamh the kids, Ive missed you all so much”

    [07:53] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “Niahm has been working hard with preparing meals…..as you may guess Elodi remains spirited”…puts a hand to my forehead and shakes it….”a fathers nightmare but it seems she is thriving….Caspian is less in touch than i would like but the last i heard he was prospering”

    [07:55] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): she laughs as she looks about then back to him again “Niamh is always a busy bee, and Elodi, well just let her thrive, dont hold her back too much..Besides i do believe that child has always been one to get your goat going..she reminds me alot of myself when i was younger” she shakes her head “Caspian has always been a loner, kinda like you in that time of your youth.. I recall being little and the parents worried about you on your off adventures.. so sounds as if your Children are doing just as they should be” she winks and kisses his cheek.

    [07:57] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): places a protective arm around her shoulder….”come see how we now have a lake to fish and there is a matter i need to discuss with you”

    [08:01] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): [07:58] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): canting her head up towards him..”A matter, Portus ive been sticking to my own, i have not caused any trouble or grief, i speak to no one, so whatever the matter is i didnt do it, but show me this lake anyway”

    [08:00] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): smiles as she repeats the answer to everything ever since she could talk…..”i’ve nay hear any bad of you so nothing to worry about”

     [08:02] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): spies his mate in the shed and Pauses…”look who has come to visit”

    [08:02] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) spied Belle from where she was and instantly moved towards her. “Belle!!!”

    [08:04] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) wrapped her aarms around her. Checking for any cuts and bruises. “Waht a lovely surprise … or shall I say how wonderful you have come !” she would look back to Portus. Her eyes lit up with love and adoration.  “Thankfully all is done in time. Are you showing Belle the lake ?”

    [08:05] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She smiled and hugged her dearest friend “Niamh!!!! i couldnt stay away any longer, i had to come and visit, ive missed you all so much”

    [08:07] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) laughs “Well I was about to ask Silas to take me to you or have him bring you here.” she answers.  “It has been way too long.”

    [08:07] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “aye there will have been some changes since she was last here”

    [08:09] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): laughs “Silas, Have i met him?” she asks then looks about to the couple..”you two bring such joy to this old heart, im so happy for you both” she hugs her friend again as if savoring the moment a bit longer then normal..”Its been too long”

    [08:10] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) nodded “Oh yes some changes indeed.” she would look over her shoulder. “I need to finish a few things. Shall I bring some refreshments to the lake ? ” she asks.

    [08:11] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “come let us talk then you can both catch up”…smiles as his mate as usual sees to everyones needs…”that would be perfect..I think i would like some Ale”

    [08:15] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “I hope you are hungry …as you can see Niamh has not stinted”

    [08:16] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): laughs..”When does she, i not one for an appetite as of late but ill munch on something after the sea leaves me settled enough to eat something…This place is beautiful”

    [08:18] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “then come enjoy the peace of the lake ’tis a quiet spot to talk”

    [08:20] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She followed and sat down on the chair warming byh the fire “so what be so important that cant wait.. ” shed look over to him

    [08:22] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): strokes his beard as he considers the best way to broach the subject and decides to come right to the point….”I hear you have been in the receipt of some letters?”

     [08:24] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): Well that isnt what she was expecting, in face she became a bit angry “You what?” she asks..”Do you have spies on me, do you not think i can handle being alone Portus.. You know at some point in time you will have to learn that i dont need to be coddled, im not the little girl that you once knew. I cant believe you have spies on me..” she grew more upset by the moment. “If i recieve letters then that be of my business not yours”

    [08:27] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): holds up my hands in a calming gesture fully expecting this reaction…..”do you think i would stoop as low as that….and when was i ever able to protect you where you were not fully capable yourself….you would never allow me to offer any comfort even when you were hurt…but please…trust me on this and tell me”

    [08:30] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): With her arms folded across her chest she glared at him, He was her oldest brother and she respected him for that but she was also taught to do things on her own. “Then how else would you know off the letters, the only way is if you had spies on me. You might not of been allowed to be close when i was hurt but you were always there off in the distance watching over me, so why do you think i would believe this time to be different. Im fine Portus, my bakery is making it and im living day by day on my own”

    [08:33] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): looks at her and takes pause….”I believe the letters were anonymous and as father is absent it falls on me t be aware of what is going on with our family….the fact that they are anonymous is concerning”

    [08:35] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): Oh he was really digging in deep now..”And how do you know this, How does this effect you in any way. So i have recieved a few letters from someone i dont know.. They are scratched words on paper is all for most but for me they have reason. there be no reason to be concerned. I want the spies called off Portus or im moving and you will never see me again. I will …. Just call them off”

    [08:38] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “hush and calm now…..maybe what i know of this matter may benefit you”….takes her hand in his…”think carefully and tell me if you suspect who these could be from…no doubt you have many admirers but you always have….surely there is some thought on your part who this could be?”

     [08:41] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): Knew she wasnt getting out of anything with him so took a few deep breaths her hand went to her wrist where one of the ribbons that held the letter of such words were tied around it. It calmed her as a sense of closeness. “I not know who they are from. The man said he saw me at the village of our old lands, Once on the docks. that is all i know. i know nothing else of the person. “

    [08:44] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “you have no suspicions….it seems that you made quite an impression for him to take these steps”….sees the ribbon making the connection as to where it came….”i don’t think it comes from a Northern man…he would be far more direct and it seems he has his own vessel and there is only one instance i know of that fit the circumstances”

     [08:47] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): she looks at him a bit confused…”Own vessel, how do you get that from me receiving a few letters, It is more then likely some man who is after something,m i dont know i have nothing to offer anyone.” she then looked to him. “You dont have spies yet you know of the letters, seems you have secrets brother and i suggest you tell me of them and tell me now

    [08:48] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “the man i speak of is Silas….the time he brought me Runa…you were there I know and i know you appreciated his charms”

    [08:53] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She thought for a moment “I not know of this Silas, so this man… this man be a friend of yours.. brings you bonds ..Is this something you had your friend do, keep an eye out on little sis, feel bad for her that she be this old and alone.. Is this your way of…” tears began to roll down her eyes. “tis it not funny how you know who this man be but yet i dont.  This man be somehone who Niamh mentions to bring her to visit me or i here. ” she shook her head hurt and just looked offfover the waters

    [08:56] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): could hold back no longer …”please do not distress yourself…it is Silas….my business partner….he revealed himself to me and asked if i could see how the land lay and whether you had suspicions but it appears now you do not”

    [09:00] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She stood up..”Oh im sure it is Silas, im sure you and him whomever it is are having a great laugh at my expense..” she ripped off the ribbon and tossed it into the flames. “this is too far Portus, too far, even for you. I be fine now stop the games, please i beg of you stop!” it was then she looked to Nimah as she came down “It was good to see you again my dear friend. Perhpas keep my brother a bit more busy so him and his friend dont have time to play with others” she was hurt, confused and well now broken. “Ill be on the next serpent off the lands, when will it arrive?”

    [09:02] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) carried a tray with a bowl of fruit and a tankard of mead and ale. She approached seeing them in conversation. Trying to read the mood. “I am sorry I kept you both waiting. Things were … well when you need Runa to help she never is there.” Something never changed. As she saw Belle stand and cry and clearly distraught she placed the tray down to stand beside her. “No .. wait .. what is this?” she would look between both of them unaware of anything. “Play ? I doubt he has time … and Silas ?” she looks at Portus in question. “What did he do this time ?” surely Niamh had her thoughts on the man.

    [09:05] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “this is no joke,,,,i have never seen the man so…please sit and drink and let us discuss this”….looks to his mate….”Silas spoke to me on a matter this morn …he has been sending my sister letters of affection anonymously and asked me to try and see what her feelings were if any?”

    [09:08] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) tried to digest the words and Belle’s response “Well clearly Belle doesn’t like it. So tell him to stop.” she suggests. “Why does he anonymously ? Trying to win a womans heart for what ? I doubt he needs help in getting a woman ? ” clearly Niamh was overwhelmed.

    [09:11] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She looked between the two through her tear stained eyes..”You won brother, the letters so perfect, brought light into my dark days, they gave me reason to hope once again. Silly girl you can write me off as.. You and your friend please go play with someone else. I should of known, i should of figured something was admist. Dont you see it as funny that he tells you of his name but not me? you of all people, i have not seen you since the lands fell. Well the laugh is on me i guess”

    [09:15] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “i never saw him so….the man was choking his words finding it difficult to express them….it is true that he is ferocious as he captains the stormcrow and leave women in his wake…..YET….the man has a heart and fears rejection…i made sure he was sincere in his intentions….if you do not feel drawn to the man behind his words then say now and i will relieve him of any misery….i may tease you Belle but on this matter I am in deadly earnest

    [09:24] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) looks back to Portus “You mean … ” she would step beside Belle in support and understanding. “So you mean .. Silas .. the captain of the Stormcrow. Who clearly has no issue in having women drop to their knees is truly interested in Belle ? And he … ” she would look to Belle.  “Oh by the … now I understand. That is why he needed all that papyrus ?” she knew Portus serious and would take Belle’s hand if she let her.  “I think I start to understand what is going on.” she reasons.  “Where is Silas ? Can’t you get him and see that he is here to settle this now?” she asks Portus.

    [09:27] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “I had hoped he would be here later to share in our food and drink but he would check first who would be here…he decided to head to victoria although i have never seen him so reluctant to meet a situation like this”

    [09:28] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): reaching up and wiping the tears away from her cheeks, She couldnt even look to her brother, but Niamh when she spoke she raised her orbs to hers..”you mean…” she then looked back to her brother..”This man, this Silas as you call him, is here, upon these lands.. Brother if you love me at all then tell me this is not you, this man those letters, these letters” she reaches in her pouch and pulls them out, the paper clearly being read over and over again, the creases from the folds. She held them not to be read but to be shown..”these letters have given me reason to wake each morning, so iffin the man be here, go and get him. Let him not hide any longer..”

    [09:31] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): looks sadly at his sister and holds up his hands…”this is not my work i am merely the messenger ..his agent nothing more…i was merely asked to see your feelings….he is not here and all i hear was him saying he was heading to victoria”

    [09:33] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) would wrap her arms around Belle’s shoulder trying to process and see what she could do to support her best friend. As she noted the letters she recognized the handwriting and the papyrus. It was her that had done the work for so he could write. “Well for sure he will return here, Portus ? I mean he can’t stay away for ever. Is that bird of yours … capable ?”

    [09:36] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): She reached up and laid her hand on her sisters arm and listened, she was at a loss for words, the man she dreamed off, the man whos taken over her thoughts and world was part of this land. “bird?” she asked then turned to look at Nimah…”What if he doesnt want to see me, what if he just wants the letters, a purpose, a reason.?” she asked her mind running with thoughts and such so fast like.. she felt ligh headed and leaned back against the chair…”I have to lay eyes upon him Brother, please i have not asked you for anything ever, and this i beg of you.. I have to look upon his eyes “

    [09:38] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) would smile “If a man goes through all that effort. There is more to it than just games. I guess it is his way to truly express himself. When you meet him. You must see and understand why.  He is a very handsome and charming man. But perhaps his water runs much deeper than I gave him credit for.” she would look to Portus. “Well I let him explain the bird.”

    [09:38] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “yes i believe she is if you wish it”…looks to his sister …”write a note and i will send your namesake with it…i will not add or detract it will be your words only”…..looks seriously now….”i saw a man in love a desperate fear of failure….i felt him sincere and i know it extends past letters”

    [09:41] Niamh Strömberg (karlotte.shelman) would look to Belle “You are a good judge of character. Surely a letter can fool, but this many ?” she questions “What do you think? ” she asks.

    [09:44] Belle Stromberg (bellewhitlocke): she looked between the two, and could only nod. she sat back down on the chair and pulled out an empty piece she had kept in her pouch for well the voyage over. Scribbling something quickly she rolled it up and handed it to her brother. “Im sorry brother, i just.. i dont know what to think of all this but if you think its worth a shot, then here send this with your bird, ill remain here as i had planed and if he does not return before i set sail then i will know the true man behind the words”

    [09:49] Portus Stromberg (brett.pennent): “hush this was a delicate matter and by the sound of things a shock….drink now and refresh yourself while I set my bird on her way”….makes sure the small parchment is secure and takes the bird in both hands and speaks in an ancient language a little apprehensive as this was her first use but he had been rigourous in her training…..throwing her in the air “fly pretty one”

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    Ink before dawn [Part 6]

    Posted in Ink before dawn, Silas, Uncategorized on June 17, 2025 by crow1971

    My moonlit heartflare,

    Once again my fingers betray me, moving faster than my thoughts, rushing these words onto the page with nothing but a fragile hope. I do not know if this ink will echo the warmth of the last ones, or if it will drift to you like a lost whisper in the wind.

    Your letters—oh, Belle—your letters were balm to a bruised soul. They touched something raw in me. A heart not used to gentleness, suddenly undone by tenderness. It frightens me, how easily I fracture where you are concerned. And when your letter came to me by the bird—your name upon its wings—I could not ignore the cruel poetry of it.

    Belle. I held the scroll as if it burned, fearing what would be within. That perhaps the story we’ve dared write across distance might have found its final period. I was not brave, Belle. Not then, not yet. I left. Like a coward flees the storm, not knowing he’s abandoning the shelter.

    You know better than most: life teaches you to bend or break. And I bent—sometimes into shapes I despise. I’ve done things I wouldn’t want carved into stone. Things that echo in my quieter hours, when the moon is absent and the waves grow too loud.

    But tomorrow—I ask for your presence. At the dock, as dawn breaks. No disguise, no pretense. Let me be the man who doesn’t run. Let me be the one who stays. Let me hold you and tell you that everything—everything—can begin anew.

    Portus gave me his blessing. I now kneel before fate, hoping for yours.

    If I could, I’d trade places with the bird who carries this message. I’d fly through the dark with nothing but your name on my wings. Until the light returns,

    Yours in trembling hope.

    Arriving back home on the docks, walking around in a fog, a daze. As if she had been hit hard in the head, everything spinning and her heart beating uncontrollably put if her chest. She waited at her brother’s lands for the bird to return, which it did but returned empty. Not a note saying ‘wait, im on my way’ nothing. Cold silence the depths of a winters day in the most horrendous freeze cold. Stinging as the icicles pierced through her very heart and soul. Needless to say she wasnt expecting anything from him upon her return home. So when the boy ran up to her and handed her the scroll her heart which was barley beating all but stopped as she opened it and read it. The boy waiting for a return. Pulling out a page from her pouch she wrote only 3 words “ill be there” rolled it up tied it with the ribbon and sent the biy on his way.


    She didn’t know how to feel she didn’t know how to react. Before she left her brother’s she found his room and roamed about it. Her fingers glided over the desk she pictured him writing at. They picked up the pillow he laid his head upon and inhaled his scent before placing it back down. She also took off the bracelet that her mother gave her when she was younger, entwining a lilac ribbon through it and laid it back on the desk leaving a note using the paper he used “i not know where we go from here but your carried in my heart always, Belle” leaving and closing the door behind her. She made for her house and would wait for the time to meet him, on the docks at day break. Unable to sleep she paced back and forth, a blue ribbon tied again around her wrist replacing the one she tossed in the fire earlier and the gem he gave her pressed tightly in the plam of her hand. Time was there for her to go to the docks and that is just what she set out to do….

    There are moments when fate aligns so precisely, so cruelly, it feels orchestrated. This was one of them. The two men must have sensed it—that shiver in the air, the stage set perfectly in the dusky veil of dawn.

    The dock lay quiet, deserted. And there, alone, stood the woman. They moved like shadows stitched into conversation, feigning oblivion. They had mastered this. Predators cloaked in casual banter, their intent hidden. Only those who’d seen it before would have recognized the performance for what it was.

    When they drew near, the illusion shattered. In a breath, one seized her from behind—an iron grip clamping over her mouth. The other’s hands were swift, intrusive, scouring her for valuables tucked away. Their touch was rough and aggressive, their presence suffocating.

    Belle hadn’t seen it coming. Her mind was elsewhere—on Silas, on whatever promise awaited her.
    Not this. Never this. She struggled, not just to break free, but to protect something clutched tightly in her fist. Her resistance wasn’t just desperation—it was defiance. Whatever she held, she guarded it like a sacred ember. More than precious. Maybe even more than her own life.

    The men were relentless. When brute force failed, cruelty stepped in. A blade flashed. Cold steel kissed her wrist—not to kill, but to loosen her grip. Pain as persuasion.

    They didn’t flinch. Men like them never did. Morality wasn’t part of their vocabulary. They lived for moments like this. Opportunists. Jackals in the dawnlight. They had seen the gem once before, a fleeting glance as she studied it under sunlight, unaware of what she possessed. But they knew. And they would stop at nothing to claim it—not even murder.

    Belle was fighting for the prize she was entrusted with, not for value but for something far more important to her. It was given to her from him. One little gem, it could of been a trick and she would of protected it. While she struggled a flash of him, their meeting…she did remember it..in the bakery, that smile had taken her the moment he flashed it. It was him..she began to struggle harder, fighting for her worth, her family and for them. They were too strong. Prayers for her family were now said. For silas….

    Silas felt the odds stack against him with every breath. The tide turned traitor, the wind a dead whisper against the Stormcrow’s sails. The vessel crawled rather than cut—a ship bound by fate’s cruel hand.

    It was as though the gods themselves conspired to slow him, to ensure he arrived too late. He would’ve thrown himself into the sea if it meant reaching her faster, but even that wouldn’t bridge the distance in time.

    When the dock finally rose into view, it was not Belle he saw first. It was the sound that reached him—a scuffle, sharp breaths, a stifled cry. Then the world narrowed. From the corner of his eye, he saw her—Belle—trapped between two men, their intentions carved plainly into their movements. Blood bloomed dark and damning on her wrist, seeping through fabric like a scream.

    “Let her go!” His voice cracked across the morning with the force of thunder, the voice of a man who’d led men into battle and returned. But he was too far—too far to make that instant difference.

    He jumped and sprinted. “Belle!” he called again, this time a raw edge of fear fraying the command in his tone.

    The attackers stopped. Just a beat. A glance. They knew the name, and worse, the man behind it. “Silas,” one spat, panic scraping his throat. But fear didn’t stop them. It hardened them.

    The blade flashed—merciless and fast—as the other pried at Belle’s fingers, desperate for the gem she refused to surrender. When her grip held, the choice was made.

    One brutal slash. A life, stolen without pause. So quick. So numbingly final.

    The type of death that leaves behind silence louder than screams. “I have it!” the second cried, victorious and vile. The gem was his. The woman was gone. “Run!” And they did—cowards with blood on their hands and fire at their heels—leaving Belle to collapse like a broken psalm upon the dock.


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