Morvan Tizra, the withered soul

Character Biographies, Journals, and Stories

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Louvaine
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Morvan Tizra, the withered soul

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A dignified, gnawed by time book bound in scarlet leather with wound piercing its dead flesh. Sickly golden pages tarnished by once spilled, long dried out burgundy gore. Crude, simple writing of a heavy hand determined to leave mark upon tender pages of an old journal.

I was brought by the need to fight against the Chaos of the Coast. However, it quickly became clear that the Chaos is not something to be vanquished for longer than a peaceful night occupied by bloodshed and hushed wailing of the passing. I believe that is because the true battle, the only one worth fighting and dying for, is not on the battlefield of soil. It takes place in our hearts. Cradles of strength, passion and morale manifested in art, beauty and love.
I fight to avenge the casualties of those who seek to destroy our hearts, our innocence, our love. I defend those not afraid to be vulnerable in the midst of Chaos, those who bring beauty and purpose into surrounding them hearts, they are the very embodiment of what I have sworn to protect, to cherish and to avenge. They are who I devote these words to. To the hearts beating in the same rhythm as mine does, this is my memoir of that rhythm.
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Morgan Monroe
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Louvaine
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Re: Morvan Tizra, the withered soul

Unread post by Louvaine »

Shivering, tender diamond. Careful, deliberate sapphire. Vivid, undaunted emerald.
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Morgan Monroe
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Louvaine
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Re: Morvan Tizra, the withered soul

Unread post by Louvaine »

Letters less stern, pressed tightly against each other. Wavering, uncertain, crooked brushes of a sharp quill forced on tarnished, yellow page.

Just like her inky sister and the one before that, and the other, and all the ones since we parted ways. They bring you back to me. Screaming and laughing, and pleading, and dying. They all bear the same rhythm, they all promise the same brawl. All of them, each one has me watch your life force itself away with crascendo of your bleeding cough. Our personal apogee of the most beautiful, senseless tragedy. Of a broken, lost soul trying desperately to save other from once marked upon them doom. Every distant, shadowy corner of every anonymous room. Every damned moment sheltered behind tightly shut eyelids. Every night possessed by the demon you became.

Not the nights stolen away. Not the ones belonging to her.
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Morgan Monroe
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