DistantCryptid

The boreal druid heard the screaming.. "Run" they were told, they grasped their shield and rose it above their head and Sonna's their right ear drum pierced by the sound of a broken kingdom would spill crimson upon their helm onto the plate, hurried footsteps and wails of pure grief were heard by them. Boreal had lost their sense of touch as adrenaline filled their frame, stupored, numb and frazzled, they reach the vale with the sullen fox, they wept alongside their sister as they knew Zolvan even before he was one with the druidic kin, they watched that man grow from a bronze-plated tyrant to a loving husband and caring father. But now he was gone, the realization hit them once they held the inconsolable widow in a bear hug, misery leaking into their mind as their nose and ears bled, tears wiping grime off of their face as they cried alongside Sonna. A part of their past was gone, now they had to once more be the rock for those to hold onto within the turbulent tides of grief.

"Ait." Was all the Boreal druid had to speak for themselves, they did not give a flying f**k about any of this, but the writing was good for an afternoon in the frigid north, their isolation was a goddamned blessing, it seems, anyways, they rip the missive in half and use it to start a fire, being warm was their priority for the moment as the blizzard had began laying its wrath against the cave they decided to make their own.

Boreal was the second one to arrive, alongside James Madron. They were the one to cut the man down from where he hung, to feel his dead body weigh against their own as the last groan left the cold carcass's airways due to the movement. John Warrick was a Coworker, a friend and someone they had fought alongside. Yet their grief was silent, they had past the point of nerves, of panic or hysteria, they seemed calm, collected as they handed the body to the comrade by their side, they would not share the same sun, not anymore.

it's here.

A particularly pale snaga, upon hearing the attempt on one of their kin's life felt the blood coursing through their veins come to a boil, they released huff after huff as their caramel eyes took on a deep crimson hue, nature surrounding the druid growing terse with the pulse-pounding wrath burning inside their soul, birds fly away from trees, the hounds around them howl and snap their maws along with their fury, the undead crossed a territory that the elf would fight for, so they reach for their spear and their staff, shield and armor. For nature is not kind when one invokes it's wrath, and neither is Boreal.

Y e s

Boreal had made their choice, taking their tools made by themselves, their suit of armor and their bag, they were ready. Out of the cave they called home, with the scorpion branded to their arm healing, they bid goodbye to their companions and walked into the lazy morning set out to scout the land, clattering of plate and shuffling of tools marking their uneven pace across the roads, the task given to them by lioness was nothing otherworldly, an act of survival, warriorship or reclamation. The albino had finally come across something they could do, ridding themselves of the burden of plate and placing their lighter apron, they reach the outer gates of the forgotten and abandoned city of Freeport, with swift motions, they brought their sledge hammer above their shoulders and struck the weathered pavement… With a violent “crack” the arid soil was exposed, once suffocated by the stony prison it lied within for so long, Boreal huffed, wiping at their forehead as sweat began running its familiar race across their visage that was the first one of many blows they would deliver, their axe sharp and sturdy was used to lob off beams of wood and collect the local saplings, acacia, juniper and cacti were the main ones present upon the unyielding desert. Along with algae from the ocean below, they swam upon the crystalline waters and tore the piers limb by limb, leaving the salted waters exhausted yet determined to push on the next day. Their hands calloused and their muscles ached as they returned to the bounds of krugmar, they pushed through, cooking, cleaning and serving so they may one day be considered one of their own, they yearned to continue their tasks as they ate, repairing their tools upon the scalding forge they were kindly allowed to use by the kin of krug. Boreal followed up the next days, weeks and months, destroying descendant’s creations and quickening the spread of those from the aspects, fauna seemed to return to the place it once called home, hawks, lizards and dry octopus lazily resting and living in a place where descendant-kind had rushed it away… They were not close to being done, not yet, they decided to tackle the bigger buildings next, wooden chips flying out of doors and pebbles out of forts would be repurposed by the druid. The wood turned into mulch for the land, and the rocks knapped into spears and scattered across the arid sands to give home to critters, they set a fire to the bigger structures, forcing them to the ground with little more than a hammer, rope and determination. Once they finished such things off, they ripped the glass from windows, metal from bars, doors and hinges, all turned into something new. The tattooed elf had exhausted themselves in the heat, using their gifts to encourage flora to develop they collapsed to the ground, dirt in their mouth that they spat out soon afterwards, their skin was burnt by the sun, however, as soon as they looked up from their stupor, they saw something beautiful… They saw their work had paid off, the shrieking of hawks, the chitter of meerkats and many other critters filled their ears, they grin, painstakingly getting up from where they lied and lighting a cigarette, sitting down under a juniper tree as they merely murmured. “Ash to ash and dust to dust… Nature has reclaimed it all.”

Man, i really like how descriptive you went, good job. +1

As if Boreal needed more reason to stay the f*ck away from Oren they read this missive, gilded gaze reading through the words and then closing, they drew in a calming breath, to no avail, the discourse of their mind leaked into their communion as they sat on their home, a terse drumming akin to the galloping of livestock, intense anger, followed by harrowing silence before the sing-song nature turned to normality, they worked for the palace, a simple gardener, a medic in the hospital and friend to some. They did not weep, they were not frightened, their way of life had been threatened many times by those who thought themselves above them, their missing limbs and scarred visage were prove of such... Yet much like nature they served and protected... Boreal does not hold back when provoked.

Boreal, once laying their gilded gaze upon this missive, took their staff into their right four-fingered hand, their left broken arm a hindrance from battle for now, yet this physical injury was temporary, their wrath would be not. The sounds of nature surrounding them grew terse for a moment, prey animals would flee the proximity of their home as shrills and the rush of battle echoed throughout the druid's communion, a visceral thrum that was so familiar yet so alien... Time to hunt.

Really cute!

Boreal was notified of the death of their nephew by his mother, Uzra, they were not really open about their emotions, but there was still grief in their eyes, they remember small altercations between them and Llokir that they would come to treasure further onto the future, they lay down by a familiar grave, the grass well kept and overgrown, and they pray, voice low as a lullaby, for the grasp of death to be kind to him, for the spider to cradle the child now that they couldn't.

Boreal, hearing from yet another death from a coworker, they stopped cradling the eggs they carried so gleefully, covering their face and rubbing their eyes, stress overtaking them as they shook in place, there was no sadness left in them to mourn, they were too tired, tired of death, tragedy, yet they were not hopeless, they knew that the grasp of the spider that is death would be kind to him, they knew of the seven skies that awaited, and that brought some energy back for them to go forth.

Boreal was not in battle to see Earnest pass, although upon coming back into Oren from their duties, the sight of his grave took the breath away from the druid, they cover their mouth as to not make a scene, muttering and muttering... "You may rest now, old friend" a rumbling voice hitched out... "you tried, god knows you did" they pace the graveyard, uneven pace muffled by the grass below their feet. "I wish i could see the day you would be happy, but i hoped it would come from your mouth, not your Eulogy."

Boreal was not nearly as close to Asamel as those surrounding them, yet they were still struck with grief upon seeing the well kept headstone, they didn't know what had happened, why did they cease to share the same sky as her so suddenly? The Lass that had drawn them without them knowing and showed them her art, yet refused to show her face, they remember lending their hat to her to aid maintain her face hidden as she pleased, they were fond of her, even though not close, she would be missed.

i like the lore, beautiful writing and overall nice concept! The dragon's a teenager with a superiority complex, of course she's gonna do that because she can. +1 from me chief.

gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib gib +1

Boreal, upon noticing the obvious eldritch show from one of their travels they stop mid way through, the butterflies that usually swarmed them fluttered to take shelter inside the many pockets of their cloak, some even flying way as the druid merely seethed in place, they didn't want to have to fight once more, memories of the voidal tear crisis flooded their mind as they took in a shaky breath, brushing some hair out of their pale face and closing their eyes "F**k" was all they uttered.

That is not allowed my guy, whomever did so shouldn't have their whitelist accepted in the first place. Okay buddy.

It's not about how believable something would be, it's about if it's allowed or not, and at the time, firearms are not allowed due to the techlock. Also, if you wanna counter a mage, just punch their nose in, it's even easier than loading a crossbow, you can also grab a rock and throw it.

"that was fast" The boreal Druid mumbled under their breath as they came across yet another missive, pocketing it much like the previous one, they were then hit with an idea, shaking their head some they then proceed onward through the woods, humming an old tune.

A particular Druid read over the declaration, some consideration passing through their usually aloof gaze before they sigh, taking their staff into their hands and folding the missive over their leg a few times, pocketing it for later use, then Boreal moved on with their day, there was no fear left in them to quiver, exhausted and jaded, the Mali watched over the fields surrounding providence, before departing deeper into the wilderness. "I am coming home"

((IGN)): DistantCryptid ((DISCORD)): DistantCryptid#2662 NAME: Boreal AGE: 163 NOBLE HOUSE (if applicable): N/A OFFICE/S APPLYING FOR: Household, Arts. POSITION PREFERENCE 1: Overall servant/Handyman, also Gardener. POSITION PREFERENCE 2: Artisan.

Boreal, having been absolutely bodied by a ghostly bear, after trying to convince people not to attack, they were tired, distracted, the beasts they had just had a visceral conversation with were slaughtered, yet they were not angered at the agents, having delivered one of the killing blows to the poor bear's skull, they knew there was not much to do in that case, yet it still pained them, they felt the bear's pain as life drained from their form once more.

Boreal read over the poster, a slurry of cussing coming from them, for they do not know anything about politics, their day was ruined and their mood was turned sour, taking their staff into their grasp and jumping over a random table with a huff and flooring it towards anywhere that wasn't there.