Group Info Group Founded 9 Years ago Statistics 1,908 Members
80,167 Pageviews1,719 Watchers
More Journal Entries


You're not here because you're not logged in
  • :iconwxko:
    WXKO - Members
    Visited here 3 hours and 34 minutes ago
    Did something awesome today
  • :iconin-the-dark11:
    In-the-Dark11 - Members
    Visited here 2 days ago
    Voted on September 12th, 2013
  • :icontenkayatogami4454676:
    Visited here 2 days ago
    Isn't a member
  • :iconjoeeyesteponmonsters:
    JoeEyeStepOnMonsters - Members
    Visited here 1 week ago
    Did something awesome 1 week, 1 day ago
  • :iconrebel-for-a-cause:
    Rebel-for-a-Cause - Members
    Visited here 1 week and 1 day ago
    Did something awesome 1 week, 1 day ago
  • :iconagevla77:
    agevla77 - Members
    Visited here 1 week and 1 day ago
    Did something awesome 1 week, 2 days ago




Welcome in thelifeofwords

Poetry, Digital art, Painting, Drawing, Dark art and Photography are accepted

The only rule of this group:

- Published in the Respect and no Sexual deviations

Old and new, thank you for being here







Gallery Folders

Malaga by takmaj
REDMARSHAL VIIIt was dark amid the city streets. Civilians passed by the quartermaster kiosk cautiously. When they caught a glimpse of us outside taking inventory, they widened the gap between us and them. You’d often find that places littered with Redmarshals, like Redtaverns, Quartermasters, and The Courts, were off the beaten path in cities throughout the world. They were typically sectioned off or adjacent to back roads to avoid excessive run ins with the locals. But every now and again, the city life trickled in and people passed through on their merry way. It often couldn’t be helped and was becoming much more frequent in modern times. I was feeding my horse a handful of dried fruit as a couple passed, paying us no mind. He nibbled up the final bits, leaving my riding gloves saliva-laden. Myrrine and Auer haggle down goods to more affordable values, a ways behind me at the kiosk window. “If we tack on another fur, can you throw in some Tulian Mince? About a pound?,” negotiates Myrrine. The quartermaster responds inaudibly to Myrrine, but seemingly agrees to the deal. She heartily thanks him as he disappears into storage to retrieve our order. “Tulian Mince?,” questions Zeke from behind the flanks of his own horse. He tugs tightly on the straps holding his napsack to his horses saddle, and begins rummaging through another pack nearer the horses chest. “Yes,” starts Myrrine. “Because I know you don’t like it.” She motions to him mockingly and makes a face. “Well,” he smirks, “What’s to like about an uncultured mince? Child’s play. Lack of flavor… no mouthfeel. No thankyou. I prefer something a bit more refined.” He retrieves a pouch the size of a coin purse, gives it a whiff, and slings it to Myrrine who catches it between her hand and her abdomen. She inquisitively lifts it to her own nose and sniffs it herself. Her ears seem to perk up a little. “What is this!?,” she asks intently. “That, deary, is Sabra’s Zeal.” “Sabra’s Zeal!?” She sniffs it again. “Alright, yes, we’re definitely smoking this first!” He laughs at her and beckons for the pouch back with a lift of his hand. Myrrine holds it close to her chest. “Do you really want to owe him one?,” I laughed. She quickly sends it back his way. Albeit, reluctantly. “...Parting is such sweet sorrow…,”she mutters with a playfully solemn tone. “Come on over kid, I’ll light some up before we head out,” says Zeke. Myrrine exclaims excitedly and saunters over to Zeke and his horse. While the two of them begin packing their pipes with their beloved Zeal, I give my steed’s saddle a pat and make for Auer at the kiosk window. The quartermaster had set a few of the items before Auer already and was in the process of naming them off. “Now, that’s five Satyr furs, one iron cleaver, four standard fare Marshal cold clime regalias, two whiteboar quivers with Everglass tipped arrows, and pound of Tulian Mince,” he said, placing the Mince atop it all. “Oh, and this,” I said. I slid the parcel claim across the kiosk countertop with my index and middle fingers until it was about halfway between the two of us. He pulled it the rest of the way, unfolded it, read it, and took his time doing so. His lips mouthed a few words and then finally my name at the bottom of the claim. He shot me a steady nod. “It’s a rather large one,” he says. “I’ll be back in a moment.” “Thankyou,” I said. He stamped the claim ticket and once more disappeared into the item storage. It took me a moment to realize that Auer had been staring at me with a look of both intrigue and a yearning for details. He was half smiling and a brow was just a bit higher than the other. “...What?,” I chuckled. “Just who is this parcel from, anyway? And what in Eveicha’s name is it?” “From a fan, of course,” I joked. “Left an impression on someone, did you?” “Not the kind you’re implying.” He laughed and flicked his wrist at me in forfeit. “If it’s what I think it is, though…,” I started, “... then it’s a gift from someone we’ve helped before. Years ago. No one of dire import, but someone I’ve not yet forgotten.” “Nor they, you,” he said in retort as he nudged my left arm with his boulder-sized knuckles. I opened my mouth to answer back, but was silenced by the reemergence of the Quartermaster. He carried before him a parcel long and thin, spanning at least five feet in length, bound in layers of parchment and twine. He set it on the countertop gently. I placed my right palm atop it softly before curiously gripping and flipping it over in both hands. It was obviously of metal make, but was significantly lighter than anticipated. “A weapon?,” asked Auer, to which I only nodded in response. “There’s a letter as well,” said the Quartermaster, presenting it where the parcel had been only moments before. I passed Auer the parcel and scooped up the letter. It was a small water stained envelope, yellowed and a bit worn. But on the front, at its center, was “RHEA”, still legible and hastily written in thin calligraphy. “Will that be all?,” asks the Quartermaster. I looked up from the envelope and smiled at him. “Indeed it will be. Many thanks.” He bowed his head and gave the countertop a couple of gentle pats and a brushing from one end to the other; a gesture similar to people smacking their hands together after finishing hard work, I’d reckon. “Safe travels,” he said, as Auer and I made for the horses and our squadmates. My steed huffed as I neared. Auer carried the bulk of the supplies on his shoulder, holding them steadily with a sling from the sack they were in. My parcel rested atop his opposite shoulder. Redmarshal steeds were typically fully covered in Sect barding and various armors to prevent any and all contact with their Redmarshal passengers. They donned their own version of the red cowl from the base of their necks to their tails, and this was bordered along the bottom in white trim that was adorned with intricate gold threaded designs that added a very unnecessary posh feel. Their reigns were fastened to iron visor-like helms that still allowed for them to have full visibility while looking both noble and threatening. Whenever we took to riding, it was recommended we wear riding gloves for added safety. But riding in itself was not always a luxury we were granted. Steeds were considered a supply, and thus only given when the higher ups deemed that a mission required them. Despite that, though, we still had our favorites. If your favorite was available, you could make a request via the Quartermaster. Mine was one such request. His name was Baxley, and he was usually always available; he was a bit smaller than others and thus couldn’t carry as large of a load. But he was fiercely loyal and responsive. So responsive that it was like he could see the future. He made the burden of traveling almost non-existent. For an Espen, though, things were a bit more difficult. Because they tended to be so large and heavy, they needed a sturdier mount than your average steed. Dire Mares were trained and raised as the solution: cousins to the normal breed of steeds, these were nearly twice as large and packed to the brim with heft and muscle. They were difficult to break and usually had half a mind to buck off any rider that they were not familiar with. So, as Redmarshals chose their steed, Dire Mares chose their rider, and would ride with no other for the rest of their lives. Auer’s was a black she-mare. He had dubbed her Winter. He began loading her up with some of the supplies, much to her chagrin, which she was quick to voice. Auer patted her helm. “Nothing you can’t handle, girl,” he reassured. He fastened what he could to her saddle and walked the rest over to the three of us. “Your Mince,” he said, handing Myrrine the small, loosely packed sack of her special order. She took it, sniffed it, and cinched it to her belt all too happily. He continued to hand her things; this time, hardware: a crossbow and quiver full of Everglass arrows. She passed them onto Zeke who immediately practiced taking aim with the crossbow and giving the trigger a squeeze. He seemed pleased enough with the result and slung it over his back, tightly securing the strap across his chest. “It’s always nice to get a few new toys,” said Zeke. “But it’s got me a bit… worried, I guess you could say.” “Yah? Why’s that?,” I asked. “Well,” he started, “usually means that the Sect is expecting trouble; trouble not of the usual sort. Take a gander: two crossbows, upwards of sixty bolts, an Espasi war-axe, and a handful of lesser blades and survival trinkets.” “I think that they are suspecting trouble of a different sort,” I replied. “But I don’t think they even know what sort.” “Agreed,” said Auer. “The mission is vague. That much is clear. We know very little, and that which we do know only raises more questions,” I said. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose,” said Zeke. “Just pray that our presence and our curse will be enough, for the most part.” He stuck the tail end of a pipe quickly to his mouth and began to coax the bowl with a match. He and Myrrine had been at the Zeal while Auer and I had been at the kiosk. There were numerous plants across Tethys that could be dried, cured, and smoked by Redmarshals via pipe. Since we could not lose ourselves to fermented brews or wines, these plants were often our saving grace. They were our means of entering into a drunken stupor. The effects were nearly identical: loss of perception, a dumbing down of the senses, and when done in excess, a marvelous morning-after of vomit and reeling headaches. Myrrine leaned back against the flank of her horse, tail of her own pipe between pursed lips. She gave Zeke a proud nod as smoke rose up before their faces and spiraled beautifully upwards into a single collective cloud. Myrrine withdrew hers, blew smoke in two different directions from both corners of her mouth, and tilted the tail encouragingly in my direction. The hot smoldering glow from within the pipe gave me a quick uncompromising reminder of the woman from the mine: of her charred body crumpling to pieces at my feet.“I think I’ve had enough of burning things,” I said. In a last minute attempt to keep it light hearted, I gave her a soft smile and a shrug, “Maybe once we’re on the road for a while.”She returned my demeanor, mimicking it almost perfectly with a soft smile of her own. She undoubtedly understood my reasoning and moved on. “I’ll save you some,” she said, turning back about to Zeke to resume smoking. Whether or not it was intentional on her part to hide it from me, I was thankful for it.I patted Baxley on his flank and took hold of the shoehorn at the forefront of the saddle. With a step up off of the stirrups, I swept my leg over and mounted him. Auer approached, patting Baxley. “You going to open this thing?,” he asked, parcel in hand with one end resting on the ground. “Is it your gift, or mine?,” I joked, taking it firmly from him. I unsheathed my dagger, cut the twine loose, and proceeded to tear away at the parchment. “Yours, by all accounts,” he retorts. “I just want to see the reward that your services garnered.” I laughed and tugged the last bit of parchment off, balled it up in my lap and flung it right at Auer’s smug face. He tried to bite at it and catch it in his mouth, but it hit his muzzle and fell to the ground. It was a spear. Though, far from the ordinary. The haft and the blade were both constructed of metal and welded seamlessly into one solid, beautiful instrument of reaping. A good three foot portion at its center was bound in fine, dark leather, with a sling attached for carrying over the shoulder or upon the back. It felt solid and light in my hands and the subtle hint of blue in the steel when exposed to sunlight told me that it was of western make; by the hand of a skilled Ivaldi Ironseer. The only type of blacksmith that could successfully forge the harsh Ivaldi metals. The head jutted out of the mouth of an intricate double sided wolf head shaped langet, jaws agape as if it were going in for the kill on unsuspecting prey. The sun gleamed off of it, flooding my face with silver light. I smiled wide and apparently with more endearment than I’d noticed, as Auer chimed in… yet again. Ever witty. “No offering of flesh is worth that level of craftsmanship.” I slung it over my back, tightened the sling, and coaxed Baxley to turn about and shove Auer with his thigh. “If you’re quite finished,” I started, smirking over my shoulder at him, “Take a moment to recall the tale you told Gerno at the Redtavern; about Fort Erlamar.”He laughed, brushed off the bump from Baxley, and patted him on the flank. Then he looked up at me inquisitively. “What about it?,” he asked. “A humble smithy and his family,” I said. “Do you recall?” Auer takes a moment to think, his eyes flourishing dramatically, as if he expected the answer to be physically in front of him. And then it dons him, at last. “The family that was held hostage,” he nods. “Ivaldi folk.” He grins in a sly show of amusement. “... The smithy was smitten with you.” “Hardly of import,” I countered. “He had a spouse and bore her two children. Let’s also not forget, he was no Redmarshal. A lost cause, even if he tried.”He startled me with a sudden fit of laughter. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t fall prey to the thought.” He points at me with his large clawed index finger, as if he was revealing some veiled truth. “Nor you! Were your flesh not cursed, it’d be pressed to his!”Embarrassing. But not completely wrong. There was a reciprocated attraction. Fate, however, had different plans. “You grasp at ghosts,” I laughed. “Regardless, therein lies the answer to my mysterious benefactor’s identity. It’s just a gift of appreciation; for saving him and his family.”He chuckled and waved me off. “And for looking so desirable while you did so, I’m sure!” There was an almost singsong sarcasm to his words “To be fair, I can’t help the way I look.” “Indeed,” he tittered. “It’s enough to inspire a man to hammer away for three long years, apparently. So, let’s not waste his passion to impress; let’s make for Shiozh. Mayhap you can stick a Magi or two with it.” I nodded. “I’ll meet you at the gates. And I’ll try not to woo anyone else along the way. ...But no promises.” I gently nudge Baxley on the flanks with my legs to get him to start prancing down the road. “Right behind you,” says Myrrine, pulling herself up on her own steed. She bites her pipe stem to the right of her mouth, baring her teeth as she gives me a nod to reiterate that she was, in fact, riding along. “Don’t take too long, boys,” she says, her words strung together and loose as she spat them from behind her tautened jaw. “And don’t finish that Zeal!,” she tacked on as she and I made our way along the cobblestone pavement, around the bend, and out of sight....

Mature Content

Featured 1
Poetry General
Portrait Photography
rachel1879 by ashfallenstudios
rachel1275 by ashfallenstudios
rachel by ashfallenstudios
Mask by Metal-Bender
Black and White
Pouring by Metal-Bender
075 by BlancaAmane
Our Tired Souls by Metal-Bender
073 by BlancaAmane
Conversation Art
The Attic Reflections by agevla77
at the attic window by agevla77
Polaroid 80's by agevla77
Whisper in the night . . by agevla77
Beautiful Sunset
051 by BlancaAmane
24.08.2010 01 | Sunset Storm by FromInsideMyHead
30.7.2010 03 by FromInsideMyHead
Saturday Evening by agevla77
p e r c e p t i o n . . by agevla77
Don't Neglect the babyIt was a cold winter night when our story began. I was just a young lass not yet passed ten. My parents were out drinking the night away, leaving me to look after my little brother Jacob. But of course, I was too young for such responsibility, so I just sat in the living room watching cartoons on the old tv content to watch the night away till I fall asleep. My plan was working perfectly; the baby hadn't made a peep since my parents left, and everything was at peace. Still, I heard the ominous chiming of the clock. Which I thought was odd for my parents to tell me that the clock broke the day my brother was born. But due to my youthful nature, I just shouted with glee, "My brother is magical!" For the first time that night, I decided to check with my brother to celebrate. Racing to his crib and knocking over stuff as I went, I'd later wish I watched where I was going; maybe I would have had a warning. Yet knowing me, I wouldn't have paid any mind I'd just have added it to my overflowing imagination.  Foolish child nightmares aren't always a fantasy. Once I got to my parent's bedroom where my little brother slept, I peeked in the door and said, "bubba, you awake?" Silence returned my call, which sent a chill down my spine. Before I could turn to flee as any smart child would my curiosity got the better of me. Slowly but surely, I went inside the room and approached the crib, I expected to find my little brother in silent slumber, but when I peered inside, he wasn't there. My eyes went wide in fright, and I cried out, "Wh-who's there? Where's my bubba! Bring him back, please!""I don't want to get in trouble!" I cried out to anyone who could hear. When I again get no reply, I proceeded to search the entire house and torn it apart bit by bit a prolonged process being only a kid. After a few hours of searching tired and scared, I walked to the only place I hadn't explored yet. The Basement. I hesitated at the steps as I recalled my friend's stories of monsters in the basement. But I feared my parents more than any beast. For what they would have done if they found my brother missing... I'd wish I was dead. So trembling legs, I walked down the steps to the basement door, and while the lights began to flicker, I opened the door, closing it with a loud crash. I entered into complete darkness and felt the wall for the light switch, forgetting that my parents purposefully put it above my reach. Yet, that never kept me from trying after all stubbornness was my specialty, so I reached up to where I knew the light switched is, but instead of the switch's edge, I felt something sticky running down my arms, it smelled like death.I screamed in fright and fell back, hitting my head against a metal rail as my vision began to go black. I heard laughter surrounding me gradually fading out as everything went dark. A few days passed before I woke up covered in snow deep within the forest a few miles away from my house, but I didn't know that. All I knew was that I was cold, hungry, and my throat was dry, so in a spur of child brilliance, I began to eat the snow still I couldn't anymore. Finally, I ate myself free, but I wasn't free.For when I tried to get to my feet, I face planted back into the snow. My legs were numb and stiff as cardboard I had to crawl luckily I knew how to army crawl or I'd of frozen or worse. So I crawled through the snow following the smell of smoke. For where there's fire, there are people as my young mind rationalized. Of course, that's not always the case, but few ten-year-olds watched the news. As time went, I began to tire, and I grew desperate to survive. So despite the dangers, I shouted, "Help me!"No response.It was then that my ten-year-old brain thought something no ten-year-old should ever have to think, "Am I going to die here? Will I see my brother again?" I began to regret all those times I despised my brother for taking what little attention my parents gave away from me. I began to realize I should have spent more time with my brother. This realization filled me with determination to find my brother even if I had to crawl to get to him. That would be, of course, if I weren't already too late.  I tried to forget the blood.Many hours went by; still, I found the source of the smoke a campfire in the valley below. But how to get down there I didn't know. For my body was weak neigh to death. The snow having provided only enough nutrients to quench my thirst, not to give energy to the rest of my body.  I heard the laughter again, seemingly taunting me in the trees. I almost gave up then and there on the hillside looking over the fire fair. But then I heard a voice feminine and youthful in nature calling to me, "Are you lost too?"I looked up in the trees at the girl staring down at me. She must have realized my condition for she scurried down the tree and prop me up against a rock and began to feed me sweet blueberries to help me gain my strength. But though her gesture was nice, all I could think about was if she was the one laughing at me. I voiced those thoughts, but all she said was, "You heard them too. We should get going." She lift me up like one would do a baby and began to drag me away towards water.  I don't remember much else of that night. I must have blacked out for the next thing I remember is crawling out of a makeshift tent made of sticks and leaves. The sun was beaming down at me and a blood trail leading back into the woods. The girl was nowhere to be seen. But I didn't worry about her for surely if she made this she'll be fine. The blood was probably from a wounded animal. Why would anyone hurt a human anyway? Only monsters do that, and humans aren't monsters. At least that what I was always told.I got to my feet, shifting my weight testingly. Once I found that I could walk, I began to run back to the hill that looked over the campfire. But I got lost after the second turn finding myself near a frozen waterfall. I found that strange my parents said the nearest waterfall was out of the town. So as any kid, I started to inspect it, figuring it might give me some clue of sorts. Instead, I found a human-shaped hole with a bag full of blueberries laying to the side at the bottom of the waterfall.Before I could look in the hole to see if I could help her break free, the ice started creaking beneath my feet. I took a shaky step back, but it was too late. The ice gave way underneath my feet. Before I could go under, I felt a set of hands grab me by the shirt. Their nails were digging into my skin. I was dragged down into the valley where the fire still roared.  It was then that I saw my baby brother in a crib underneath an overhang looking too scared to cry. They placed me nearby.When I further evaluated my brother, I noticed to my horror that he had bruises all over his face. But before I could speak, a rag was shoved in my mouth, and we're left still night fell. The last thing I heard was, "they'll please the gods well. It ain't like they have parents to come home to." I cried for the rest of the day after that with my brother. We were scared and alone, except for each other.  When the night finally came, we were untied and lead to the fire. Before we were harmed, we woke up together.
Photography City
This Way by AnthonyPresley
Painting and drawing
Sunset Dolphin  by MyLoveForYouEternity
Painting and drawing 2
Night Scream Melody... by agevla77
Flowers and Animals
Digital Art
... or something else? (Yours Truly) by Corvus-monedula93
Dark Art

Mature Content

jealousy by jei6x
French Poetry
Snowing in Helsinki (animation) by agevla77
Fan fiction
Something as Simple (RotTMNT)
With a sigh Splinter stared at the Lou Jitsu poster. He looked dashing and heroic and everything Splinter wasn’t anymore.He looked down at his mutant hands. The last few years were a hectic blur that had somehow led to him being turned to a rat and taking care of four turtles. Turtles who were being way too quiet.“Boys?” he looked back over the living room. But they weren’t there. He searched the lair, checking every room, gaze sweeping over every hiding spot, running faster and more frantic the longer he went without finding them. “Boys?!”A crash came from the kitchen.He ran in to find two of his kids on the counter either side of the stove, a flaming pot between them. Red tried to blow out the fire, Blue splashed water on it, Purple sat on the floor frantically flipping through a cookbook while Orange hid behind him.Flicking his tail Splinter tossed a pan lid off the rack. He ran across the room, grabbing the lid from the air and sliding it over the pot to kill the flame.The turtles lined up beside him worried.After a sigh of relief he turned to them angry. “What were you doing?!”Blue pointed at Purple, earning a death glare from him.“We just,” Red tapped two fingers together nervously, “wanted to make you some hot soup for Father’s Day.”“For what?” He looked surprised.“Father’s Day, that’s a real holiday right?”“Even if it isn’t,” Orange’s eyes lit up but the worry didn’t fade, “we just wanted to show you we love you.”Splinter’s eyes widened, almost teary. Somehow between keeping four kids fed and making sure his enemies didn’t find them he hadn’t put together that he could do something as simple as celebrate Father’s Day with his sons. Looking down at them he realized they looked almost scared. He kneeled to be more on their level. “The stove can be dangerous, you can’t use it without my supervision; so why don’t we cook the soup together?”They perked up.As Purple read off the ingredients the other turtles brought them to Splinter who handled the chopping.He picked each turtle up one by one, giving them a turn to drop something into the pot.Soon the five were sitting around the table eating soup.Looking around at his sons and how happy they were Splinter smiled. His life hadn’t turned out the way he planned and there were some things he’d always miss, but some things had turned out even better.
Motors Photography
The brave (II). by Phototubby
Sky and Ocean
Ocean Dream by Metal-Bender
Miscellaneaous Photography
Forever Running by Rebel-for-a-Cause
Street Art
...were looking for O D C by agevla77
Conceptual Photography
6th Avenue Heartache by Metal-Bender

Mature Content

067 by BlancaAmane
Nature Photography and Poetry
071 by BlancaAmane
Characters settings
Scheherezade by untuox
SDP Thunder - Comic Strip by SquirrelHsieh
Finnois poetry


Add a Comment:
xPrincessLili Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2018
Thx for accept me guys c:
(1 Reply)
MichelxPuabi Featured By Owner Edited Sep 17, 2018  Professional Writer
Alors. Et maintenant, vous ne repondez pas a mes mots. Cela montre votre culpabilite et votre honte! Triste!
(1 Reply)
MichelxPuabi Featured By Owner Sep 13, 2018  Professional Writer
Ils ont banni Michel; et ainsi, vous avez exilé Michel de votre groupe. Juste?

mrdtron Featured By Owner Jul 8, 2018
(1 Reply)
MJHeijster Featured By Owner Mar 24, 2018  Hobbyist Writer
So, why are the graphic assets being added here? It seems like it really doesn't fit this group to be honest..
(4 Replies)
BlackBloodyRose56 Featured By Owner Jul 27, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
I love this group, i have no idea how to join, since I'm on my phone?
(3 Replies)
Hemhet Featured By Owner Jan 11, 2017
Thank you for the invitation :)
(1 Reply)
62dingos Featured By Owner Oct 23, 2016
Thanks so much for putting my photo in the featured albumLove 
(3 Replies)
Agent36496 Featured By Owner Sep 15, 2016   Writer
Thoughts from anyone?
LasmejaLora Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the invitation!
(1 Reply)
Add a Comment: