Recent content by Gerra

I am interested in starting up a featured group again but that takes time and interest from the community. Here are some pitches, reply below with your #1 pick: -Kingdom of Dragons: The dragon cultists of Thargretis have bided their time and now unleash their wrath on the continents in...

The boy sought to do a great many things at once. Alas, the best laid plans… This close together, there was no time for the working of magics or the swinging of great lumbering war hammers. Gerra’s own mace was light and quick in his hand. Fireballs battered Gerra to no avail, the Sheketh...

He nodded at the kiss against the back of his hand, then settled in against the tree trunk and watched in silence until the fire burnt low and he passed into a fitful slumber. The first rays of morning awoke him and he rose, put out the few remaining embers that still smoldered, and gathered...

Gerra snorted, squinting at the brightness from the warhammer. "Pathetic." The boy spoke as a child, quoting things he had heard of around the dinner table but not seen for himself. If he survived tonight, perhaps he would learn. Medja had seen the Empire fall into complete and total...

“Aye,” replied Gerra, finally unlimbering his mace from his hip and swatting aside motes of hurled flame with casual disdain. More impacted his torso and his robe charred to cinders around his frame. The links of Sheketh steel beneath - forged in the heart of a volcano in the ancestral home of...

Gerra’s head tilted to one side and he let out a snort. Ah, he recognized him now. The brat Koltun, whose mother thought so highly of her whelp. When last Gerra had been at Molthal, Koltun had been nothing more than a child. Even now he was just a stripling youth. And Gerra? Ah, Gerra. Hands...

“Where I have passed, the grass shall never grow again.” The sparse yet hardy scrubs of the blightlands gave but scant protection from view. The bushes could not long disguise he who came into view. Tall he was and broad of shoulder, wearing a cloak of brown worn ragged and rough. Lo, hither...

Emperor. He closed his eyes as the tide of memories rolled out across the plains of his mind. The power and the glory he once held... Gerra breathed out slowly, exhaling away the memories, then opened his eyes again. "And I yours," his arm wrapped around her drew her closer, fingers...

As her words rang out in the quiet stillness of the night, Gerra lifted an arm and slowly laid it around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. She was a spark of warmth in the coldness of the world. "I do not believe you to be either pet or possession," he rumbled, "I think you know this...

"No." The word hung in the air for a time, along with the smoke from the fire. "I cannot go back to peace. I never held it to begin with. The blood of my father runs hot in my veins. I have not known a moment of peace since the moment I was born." He held out the hand nearest her, palm up...

He stared into the fire as she knit once more into his side, her small frame a warmth in the night. The question lingered. How could he answer such a thing? "I lost the only friend I had in the world," he rumbled, eyes fixed upon sticks as they charred and blackened in the firepit. Soon to be...

Mercy. If only she knew the truth of him and of what he’d done and of the countless lives slain in his conquests. Perhaps she would not then speak of mercies. But he was the son of the Ash King and would not flinch from his own reflection in the mirror. She sat there looking small and sad...

"A side effect of a life misled," he replied, prodding at an ember and watching the red-orange glow flare like the beat of a heart, "My skeletons seldom let me sleep." Much less when she nestled her form against his side. Sparks floated gently into the air from the few burning sticks and...

His strides did not pause at her touch on his wrist, though he did slow so she might keep pace. The disparity in their height made walking beside one another difficult at best. Gerra glanced down as she looked up at him. In her eyes he saw she spoke with earnestness. She always seemed to do...

“Paltry wounds, I’ve had worse,” he remarked, hand coming away from her back to rub at an old scar on his chest, left by the knife of a would be assassin whose father he killed. “I was obtaining information on your kidnappers. The source proved… reluctant,” a tight, toothless grimace split his...