.fracture b {font-weight:bold; color:#fef47e; letter-spacing:1px; }
.ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:10px;}
.fracture p {text-indent:25px;padding:5px 10px;margin:0px;}
.fracture {width:400px;border:1px solid #c3702e;background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v26/K ... cture1.png);background-position:top center;background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-top:275px;background-color:#432e1e;text-align:justify;margin:10px;font-family:"Trebuchet MS", tahoma, sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:12px;color:#c3702e;}
</style>
Thank you very much for starting! And pardon any awkward posts from me as I dust off my Ehno muse, haha. wc:507
War. That was what had taken over their lives. There were times, when the Marino woke up after a night of dreamless sleep, when he would almost think it had all been some terrible nightmare. That the last month hadn’t happened at all. But every time, after a few minutes of drifting into clarity he would have to face the reality that Crimson Dreams was no longer the peaceful place it had always been. He would have to remember the days spent worrying over Anu and his nieces and nephews, the fear that gripped him when he wondered if he would ever see them again. The sleepless nights he used to patrol their borders again and again because he couldn’t stop the thoughts that there might be another attack in the darkness.
And the fear and worry did not come alone. It came with anger. Anger wasn’t an emotion that often greeted the Marino, but oh, had he fine-tuned it over the last few weeks. He channeled it into his weapons making and runs through their territory, because if he didn’t find something to do with it he was afraid he would run into enemy lands and become another casualty. That wouldn’t do anybody any good. There had already been so much trouble, and he feared that he would only add to it.
The recent attack had been weighing heavily on his mind. Silvano was hurt, Cambria was missing and the Dreamers were on edge. Ehno didn’t know how much of this he could take. He’d drifted into his workshop with the intent to distract himself, do something productive, but before he realized it he was pacing back and forth. He stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh of frustration. He needed to get out, get some fresh air. The chocolate-hued male made his way through the manor to the front door and slipped outside. He stopped at the top of the porch steps and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths and letting the cool autumn breeze blow through his fur.
When he seemed to get a hold of his thoughts, he opened his eyes and stared out across the manor’s yard. It was only then that the Italian realized that he was not the only one out in front of the manor at that moment. Someone he didn’t recognize was sitting in the grass with a collection of flowers, a poor soul who found themselves smack dab in the middle of the war. There was something to be said that they had chosen to stay, though. Not many would learn that their prospective home was a battleground and stay firm in their decisions. It was rather admirable, and Ehno found himself intrigued by the stranger sitting in the grass and fussing with the flowers. The Marino made his way down the porch steps and walked over to the girl. He settled himself down in the grass a short distance away. “Hello,” he said, a short, accented greeting. “I’m Ehno.”