The King's Players RPG - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Pitchwife · 04-09-2011, 01:46 PM

Coldan sat in the common room, unseeing eyes staring into the dark ruby of his third cup of Emyn Arnen Southside, his mood darker than the wine. How could a few words, a few moments have shattered so easily everything he had cared for these last three years? Even his love for theatre, his dedication to the Players, his dreams of becoming a playwright himself had to a good extent been kindled by his falling in love with Asta, back when he had first seen the troupe perform in Dale. Without her, everything else was void and ashes.

You can't go around acting like you're terrified of her, he repeated to himself with a mirthless grimace. Show her she should respect you, and your intentions towards her. A bright success that had been. How could he have been such a fool as to hope that she might care for him, that he might ever be more to her than a useful member of the troupe, amusing to play with at times, but mostly a nuisance? Instead, it had turned out that he was little better than an Orc in her eyes. (He stubbornly ignored that little voice in his head that kept suggesting it need never have come to that if he hadn't let his pent-up jealousy run rampant, if he had been more explicit to her about his love much earlier instead of flying around her ears with nary a warning after three years of timidity and vague allusions.)

He took another gulp, but no amount of wine could fill the emptiness inside him.

04-09-2011, 01:46 PM	#11
Pitchwife Wight of the Old Forest Join Date: Dec 2008 Location: Unattended on the railway station, in the litter at the dancehall Posts: 3,329	Coldan sat in the common room, unseeing eyes staring into the dark ruby of his third cup of Emyn Arnen Southside, his mood darker than the wine. How could a few words, a few moments have shattered so easily everything he had cared for these last three years? Even his love for theatre, his dedication to the Players, his dreams of becoming a playwright himself had to a good extent been kindled by his falling in love with Asta, back when he had first seen the troupe perform in Dale. Without her, everything else was void and ashes. You can't go around acting like you're terrified of her, he repeated to himself with a mirthless grimace. Show her she should respect you, and your intentions towards her. A bright success that had been. How could he have been such a fool as to hope that she might care for him, that he might ever be more to her than a useful member of the troupe, amusing to play with at times, but mostly a nuisance? Instead, it had turned out that he was little better than an Orc in her eyes. (He stubbornly ignored that little voice in his head that kept suggesting it need never have come to that if he hadn't let his pent-up jealousy run rampant, if he had been more explicit to her about his love much earlier instead of flying around her ears with nary a warning after three years of timidity and vague allusions.) He took another gulp, but no amount of wine could fill the emptiness inside him. Last edited by Pitchwife; 04-09-2011 at 03:11 PM.