Author Topic: The Records of a Romanov  (Read 2040 times)

ShadyWraith

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The Records of a Romanov
« on: October 24, 2014, 12:40:40 PM »

She sat in that dank, dark corner of the Drain which she’d come to call her home.  For years she’d lived a split life, posing as an ordinary Barovian on the surface while freely being herself in the underbelly of the city.  It was tiresome overall and she wondered if that were the reason she’d been getting questioned more than usual.  Maybe it was the fact that her hair was a little too light, or maybe it was the fact that her accent wavered at times.  Whatever the case was, she was feeling more isolated from the surface, and the storm brewing below the city was starting to get to her.

Her gaze lingered on the simple band which graced her ring finger and she contemplated long and hard over her next move.  Leaving, even if only temporarily, was perhaps the move of a coward yet she cared little.  Under the cover of nightfall she packed her most prized possessions quite hastily, scribbled a note, sealed it with a kiss and took her leave from that horrid city. 

The journey was swift and she hardly remembered it once she’d reached the camp tucked deep within the mists.  Without a second thought she boarded the wagon and kissed the likes of Barovia goodbye.  The ride was long and the road bumpy, yet she somehow managed a bit of rest on the way.  It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. 

She’d spent time in the Port before, though only briefly and usually on shady business.  It was different this time.  This time she was here for pleasure.  She had plans on shopping, buying lavish gowns and beautiful pieces of jewelry to match.  She’d eat fine foods and stay in a thick bed surrounded by a room fit for a queen.  She wouldn’t worry about her head ending up on a pike and she wouldn’t worry about being frisked by the guards and locked away for having illegal goods on her person.  She’d see the sights, enjoy herself, and when she became bored she’d move on.


And just like she’d promised in a hastily scribbled note, she’d return to camp each day for a week, hoping that perhaps he’d join her.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #1 on: February 25, 2015, 02:50:10 AM »

Through a bleary gaze she watched her life crumble into a million pieces that she'd never be able to put back together.  She'd always been one to bring destruction wherever she went, however this time the damage seemed almost unreal.  In a few bitter, apprehensive moments she'd manage to tear down something that she'd been doing her best to build up.  As if that weren't enough, she refused to face her mistakes head on and had instead ran back to Barovia, the one place she knew and could almost take comfort in.   

The Drain was as she'd last seen it; wet, dark, and smelling of sweat, sewage, and piss ale.  This was a life she'd vowed never to return to, but somehow it came back to her quite easily.  She made amends and was soon just as comfortable as she'd been when Finn was dictating things. 

Finn.. a name that she cursed and loathed, a name that brought back a mixture of emotions that she wished she could seal away.  The memories coupled with the recent loss of Niko were more than enough to send her over the edge.  She bottled up her bitterness and despair and suffocated her troubles in opium.  Despite the hazy, euphoric high that she was constantly intoxicated by she could hardly stand herself.  She pushed away anyone who seemed remotely interested in helping her, preferring to self loath and drown any worries that she may have in a bottle of cheap whiskey.

The dull ache she seemed to be perpetually feeling was only stifled by the rush of adrenaline she was rewarded with when living recklessly.  And so she would continue her dangerous path, doing whatever she pleased without a second thought.  She couldn't bear to stand the thought of Luca coming in the way of harm, so she'd handed him off for the time being immediately upon her return to Vallaki.  Even he would likely forget about her, she had to know that he was safe were something to happen.

Life would go on and the sun would chase away the bloody red moon again and again.  The world never slowed down for the suffering.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #2 on: February 25, 2015, 11:29:20 AM »

Her eyes struggled against her state of exhaustion to flutter open.  It took them a moment to adjust, but before long they were drinking in the dark sight of her cold new home.  She curled up tighter beneath the few layers of blankets and furs she'd piled on the previous night.  The Drain was her home, but it would take some time to again get used to the loud noises, awful smell, and the dank, leaky interior.  Her body ached as she rolled over, joints screaming out in pain as she feverishly began to search for another smoke.  She wiped the sheen of what remained of her latest cold sweat from her forehead before striking a match and lighting up.  Within a few moments she was feeling normal, whatever that was.  Each pull of smoke left her more relaxed than the last, and finally she felt as if she could rest easily again.

Her thoughts drifted wildly as sleep began to coax her body.  She wondered of her friends, of the Port, of Niko.  She fantasized of a future that was never to be.  Despite knowing how unrealistic her dreams might've been she still managed to take comfort in them.  She felt as if she were losing herself to some abyss, struggling against the overpowering pull.  If she didn't keep herself busy it must just become too much.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #3 on: February 27, 2015, 11:15:16 PM »

Each passing day was a blur.  Losing track of time was easy, especially since the majority of her current life was spent in a drunken haze.  She went through the motions and fulfilled her responsibility, however nothing she did seemed sincere anymore.  Her temper was worse than ever and her self discipline seemed all but gone.

At times she'd wake in a cold sweat, muscles aching and thoughts racing.  She contemplated hauling herself back off to the Port, but what sort of life was left for her there?  She felt like a complete shell of her former self, empty and without an honest purpose. 

Despite the fact that it felt as if her life were in shambles, she'd managed to make a few allies as it were.  Would they be loyal? Who really knew, but it was nice having a few individuals she felt as if she could count on at least somewhat.  They helped fill that miserable, lonely hole.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #4 on: March 01, 2015, 10:55:56 PM »

She'd settled into the new routine of her current life quite easily.  Sleep, eat, fight, yell, grumble, then do it all again.  It was a tiresome routine, and she not only missed but craved affection and attention.  She could be surrounded by countless people and still feel alone.  Was this how it would be?  There were moments of sincere, genuine happiness, however they were fleeting and short lived.  She shared her sorrows with a friend; it felt good to get her troubles off of her chest.  After an encouraging talk and his consolation she decided she would seek her lost love out once more.  Kian had been right, it would hurt more to sit and wonder what could've happened if she didn't at least try.

The trip to the Mist Camp seemed to take ages.  She searched for him there, but had no luck.  The only other place she could think to even look was The Port, and she knew the place was in shambles, likely worse than when she'd left it.  The journey through the mists was swift and easy, however she could smell the rot and destruction the moment she stepped off of the caravan.  The once beautiful, bustling city lay in dirty ruin.  Decaying corpses lined the alleys which were overrun with bandits and thugs.  She had to fight her way to even make it to the hotel which had already been boarded shut.  She looked high and low.  She searched many of the places they'd visited.  She even took to searching the Ouvrier, unlikely as it was that he would even be there.  She couldn't take her chances at missing a single place.


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She crept through the alleys as quietly as she could manage.  The streets were full of caliban, gang members, and common thieves.  She knew she could manage many of her foes, but the overly large caliban would certainly pose some risk.  It was a risk she was willing to take, and she did her best to remain mostly hidden as she continued her search.  Every now and then she'd be forced to slay a mob or cut down an enemy.  She sought shelter when needed with the sisters of Hala, and asked for an information that could aid her.  They knew nothing, and so she continued to seek him out blindly.  A rather large group of caliban, four in total, posed quite a threat.  Her plan to pick them off had been badly foiled when the gangleader jumped in.  She deflected blow after blow, doing her best to tear him down quickly.  The hits he managed to land were overwhelming.  Soon enough she was struck down, groaning and gasping and hoping that maybe, just maybe he'd be aware of her presence, and maybe he'd feel strongly enough to intervene. 

As she lay on the cold, slippery cobbles she felt a certain warmth, an almost soothing presence.  A rather nasty blow to her head felt hot and she could feel the throbbing with each beat of her heart.  Blood trickled down her face, blurring her vision and stinging her eyes.  Her entire form felt as if it had been broken, crushed and tossed in a helpless heap.  As the oversized twists wandered off, assuming she was dead, she felt a glimmer of hope; perhaps she'd be able to save herself.  Perhaps she'd be able to crawl to safety.  The sun would rise soon, and the streets would be less lethal.  After a few more moments of silence she lifted her head from the pool of blood where it had been laying.  With every ounce of strength she had left she pushed herself up, only to receive one final, painful and crushing blow to the back of her head.  Everything went dark.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #5 on: March 01, 2015, 11:49:20 PM »

She awoke with a splitting headache, aching joints and dry, cracked lips.  Her hair and skin were sticky and stained crimson with blood.  Her axe needed a good cleaning and her armor was a mess.  She was dizzy, tired, and felt utterly defeated.  She'd sought to gain at least some measure of happiness back on this trip, but instead she'd managed to lose a hefty chunk of her pride.  With her head hanging she packed up her belongings and made a swift journey back to Barovia, though not before stopping by one of the few places in Dementlieu that had been untouched by the revolution.

The Mutinied Sailor could be considered one of the shadiest bars in The Port.  The drinks were average and the pottage mediocre.  Through her time spent in Dementlieu Roxy had found that the company was hardly as bad as the nobility made it out to seem.  She enjoyed many evening's there drinking, gambling, smoking and relaxing in general, enjoying her time with individuals who had little trouble understanding her.  They were a rough crowd to be sure, however they'd never done her any wrong.  After a few shots of whiskey and more than her share of card games she scribbled down her thoughts and feelings on a crumpled piece of paper, folded it up and left it with the barkeep along with a hefty pouch of coins and strict instructions on who to deliver it to should that individual happen to show up at the shady dive.


You've likely little desire to see me, but you should know that
I did come looking for you, and I do feel as if this
whole thing has been some blown out of proportion mistake
that should've been handled in a way that I wouldn't regret
so much.  I can't stay here in port, not with the trouble of
the revolution and instability of the city as a whole.  Just know
that I did try, and I would gladly wait had I received some sign
that it wouldn't be in vain.  I'll be making my way back to Barovia
and will be spending a significant amount of time within the Drain.
I'll understand if I don't don't hear from you, and if this is the
case I will just assume that it's time for me to let go and move
on.  Don't think that this is easy for me.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #6 on: March 04, 2015, 02:07:07 AM »

And in the blink of an eye he'd returned to her, and all was as it should be.  He nagged her that she looked too tired and needed more sleep, and she forced to stay up until the early hours of the morning just so that she could hear his voice as they whispered to one another, cozily tucked away from the wicked happening's the Blood Moon was plaguing Vallaki with.  She refused to do anything even halfway productive for the first few days, opting to stay isolated from the rest of the world while they made up for lost time.

The pair fell back into their comfortable routine soon enough.  His spells made her powerful enough to cut down even the strongest of foes, and he knew exactly when to intervene and how to safely get them out of the most difficult situations.  They explored and adventured, collecting valuables and enjoying the company of one another.

Deep down she felt less empty, and day by day she became less tense.  In the back of her mind she wondered what they'd truly become.  She felt torn between two worlds, one much darker than the other, but both familiar and almost comfortable.  Who knew what the coming days would bring.  She cared little, for no she would live day by day, holding dear the things that she treasured most lest they be torn away from her.

ShadyWraith

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #7 on: March 16, 2015, 03:25:03 AM »

She jerked awake with a start, hair matted and sticky with blood and skin pressed against the cold floor of the temple.  She hacked and coughed, still spitting up water from the wretched elemental who'd filled her lungs up and forced her to choke.  Nikolas was there, worried and doting on her as she regained consciousness.  The battle had been fierce and she knew before the spell hit her that she was going to fall.  She'd never been a fan of those flying fountains.  She recalled her last moments, fading in and out of consciousness as Niko fought with all of his might to hold off their enemies.  She remembered feeling peaceful and hopeful, thinking that it would end soon and she'd be able to breathe easily.  But then things had turned dark, and stayed dark, at least until her soul was drawn back from wherever it had drifted off to.

Their walk from the temple back to the inn was a blur.  He practically dragged her through the dark roads and alley's until they reached the comfort of their cozy, dimly lit room.  He stripped her bloodied armor off of her and she collapsed onto the bed, falling into a deep sleep for hours until the sensation of a cold, wet nose pressed against her cheek drew her back into consciousness.  Despite how terrible she felt she couldn't help but smile as Luca curled up against her.  She rolled over to find Niko sprawled out on the opposite side of the bed, a casual smile gracing his near perfect features.  It was intoxicating and although she was tired and cranky she couldn't stop herself from grinning and curling closer.

She knew she'd been difficult and she hardly deserved any sort of second chance, but she'd vowed to herself that she wouldn't mess up again.  Niko had been better to her than anyone else had, and despite his reservations she knew he did trust and care deeply for her.  She reflected on the way that she used to live her life, and the destructive path that she seemed to spiral down whenever she was on her own.  Maybe she was finally growing up.  Maybe she treasured what she had and didn't want it to slip through her fingertips. 

CashMeOutside

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Re: The Records of a Romanov
« Reply #8 on: April 21, 2017, 02:19:05 PM »

Her muddy boots splashed through muddy grass as she fled.  A safe place was what she sought, and was what she'd find.  It was difficult to say how long she'd been running when she did arrive at her destination.  Her armor was bloody and her hair sweat soaked and sticking to her face.  She pried off her helmet and took a swig from the flask she carried at her hip.  The place was abandoned as usual, dark and dreary but somehow comforting.  As she made her descent her fingers traced along the slick walls of stone.  In some places they were blood stained, though the markings were so old that the once crimson shade had taken on more of a rusty hue.

She chose practicality over comfort and opted for one of the dank rooms which had, at one time, served as a prison of sorts.  A pile of damp straw served as a makeshift bed and she managed to get a few hours of fitful sleep.  It was the sound of heavy metal boots storming down the hall which woke her.  Without a second thought she grabbed her axe and scurried into the corner, lying in wait for whoever had come to find her.  The door swung open so hard she was certain it would fly off the hinges.  The dim light accompanying the large, armor clad figure illuminated the form of one familiar enough to her that she was, despite her better judgment, somewhat relieved. 

He readily admitted to having followed her, claiming that curiosity had gotten the better of him and he sought truth to the events which had unfolded earlier.  Calloused, pale hands tended to her wounds in a practiced manner, a clear indication of what was likely past military training.  She drank from the flask he offered her and they exchanged hushed words and varying opinions on the state of Barovia as a whole.  It was only after he'd gained some feelings of ease around her that he removed his helmet.  She took note of the countless scars which marked his face and even up into his scalp.  His flesh was sickly white, his eyes pale, and his hair dark. 

It was only when her allies arrived that he departed, donning his helmet and striding down the dark hallway to disappear once more.  He'd spoken of a curse and an affliction, things which left her confused and questioning things more than she had previously.  The rest of the evening was calm and perhaps even jovial.  Toasts were made and plans were laid out.  When the sun arose she was escorted to the ferry, hidden beneath an oversized hood which masked her features.  The coming days would be trying, though she was more likely than not, unprepared for what would soon be unfolding.