bloomtiara

Within the dim confines of her mother's manor, a pale and dead-eyed woman gazes in the direction of a bright fireplace. Her breaths catch on her throat and after the vision comes to pass, a sob rings into the empty space. She sunk back into the seat she often resided in, within that hollow living room. Her hands press along her ears, muttering softly to no one. "Something is coming for us ... How unfortunate."

I would like to ask a question about this part, because I am a bit tired to understand all of this fully, but is this a changed version from the previous lore?; being that they no longer have the ability to change their appearance/aesthetics, but now ALWAYS have some sort of nature affecting their appearance, and cannot look fully descendant like?

I thouroughly enjoy how the lore reads, though I'm not sure how I feel about a somewhat whole rewrite of the Character's personality due to the CA. While drawbacks are a given, and it makes sense for the CA for the obsession with nature being the reason Treelords are about, this heavy of a change in personality makes me wonder: - If they loose who they are before, it is not just that the character has been changed, but almost wholly rewritten, is what I understand, in a sense? And in the continuation, I understand the intense want to care for nature/plantlife/druidism(and is a point I enjoy), but if they tend to avoid descendants, semi-locked to speaking to only druids and really dislike people/non-druidic family/friends etc. in general and are no longer who they were before, the character(s) sound like they more or less become druidic event creatures played by regular players. They may as well be an event creature in that way, spoken to only rarely, if they never really want to interact with anyone else, or easily able to in any regard. I just think it'd be much more limiting in the playerbase than intended, both inside and outside the druidic community of players. I hope it could be ammended to be less tight on personality of being zoned out constantly and avoiding descendants as a whole, not that it doesn't make sense, but that it would be a boring character to play outside of when there are no events or situations of destruction of nature going on.

Also, while the attempt to spruce up old lore is very cool and all, I also don't understand this section either. The old lore is world lore, and is extremely freeform. So how would this be tracked and turned into a Feat, given how it stands now? How would they begin this? There's little to no way to track it other than going through however many people's logs, unless we're grandfathering world lore or something along those lines. It's very freeform to begin with, restricted only by people's storytelling imagination, and I don't think should be restrained like this. If people are breaking the old redlines, then they should be reported for it.

i heavily dislike this, from multiple things, but more or less ^^^ this part. it takes away some emotional freedom from characters using it, as in my opinion, you can know yourself and still be over the top. it's an inner emotional thing, not an outer thing or showcase of stoic-ness. I also dislike it because it's essentially pushing people away from the freedom that it was, and all characters that have it being morally strict and less emotional. knowing yourself doesn't mean you should be less emotional because of it, people vary greatly, and making all characters with this the "sage" kind of stoic archetype, even if freeform, doesn't sit well with me.

CLAAAYYYYYY

Despite the deep fright of being crushed by someone falling from a tree canopy, Alphonse smiled upon reading the missive. He was just glad his cousin he caught turned out alright after all, and began to cook something sweet to deliver to her.

The druid of Morning sat with her head in her hands, alchemicals spilled all over the counter after the vision came across her. The woman then raised her head, shortly afterwards heading outside, and gazing at the western night sky. What was happening now?

Wooooo! (another A name map eh) this is exciting! the landscape looks awesome! Hell yeah

Some simple creature watched his pacing from far above. Voices sung out in opera, mists swirling around his feet. Something unseen bore witness, as he gained the path he was to take from thereon.

An injured Barclay lad raises a fist high after the battle, muttering the lyrics to the tune in pride as he laid in recovery. "GOTT EST GUTTE!"

Wandering around Karosgrad was a young man. Meredith's very own twin, at that, standing slumped and pale, with fresh scars bracing against the Northern wind. Mourning the witnessed torture and death of his aunt not even a whole saint's day before, did the young man's mind only further fall from grace with the news that his twin sister's corpse had been discovered. "You were the most important person in the world to me. I've never said it before, but it's true, and I want you to know it. You were myself, and yet not myself, a very special kind of double. My very own sister." There were many words he'd never been able to tell his sibling, as she was scarcely seen, always adventuring, wandering places he could never convince himself to go. Never able to motivate himself to follow her footsteps, her courage, her daring acts. And he paid the price for his cowardice. He would never get the chance, never again.

Dear @subatomic: People don't call me Tiara! I found that pretty funny. I wish you a Merry Christmas and hope someone gifts you what you desire! Thank you on the congrats! Have a happy Holidays to everyone else who may read this, and thank you very much once again @Werew0lf!

And so the Lord said unto John "Come forth; and receive eternal life" But John came fifth and won a toaster.

have a good one Rilath thanks for the heart attacks

A singular phantasmal being remained in the air, floating inches above the stone behind Ilaria. It's gaze was unwavering, blinking naught once, in pleading wait for their brother to return. He had to come back. He must come back. He will.

How long has it been? - = ˚ = - - = . = - What was it, that started it all? The death of his twin, or his father, Or maybe the bruises run amok over him and his cousin’s knuckles, after beating one another senseless in the name of a fight for ‘fun’, before they’d even become adults? Maybe the man, the one who took the place of the first, a father figure to teach him how to draw back a bow. He had skinny arms, not even able to draw the string back halfway; it was a whole foot taller after all. - An itch lingered in his mouth as he held back any semblance of words, grinding his teeth together. Before he knew it, his thin fist flew forward. Lines of silver curled over the skin of his palms like webs. A burst of light escaped his palms as his only eye shut tight, the thing’s gaze across from him glazing over. It drained away, that precious silver. Replaced with rot, the frame of his arm falling away with blackened marks engulfing it. - There were not many that he sat with, in quiet hours. Those he did, fell out of touch. His brother, sister, cousins and nieces and nephews.. It was good enough. Many silent nights he sat by himself, as well. Ticking away slowly at wooden carvings, or needles and thread stitching cloth through only candlelight. Days went by where he didn’t even peer at the sun. Those that he did, were a call out to battle. Training with the bow, spars, every time completed with the finale of a bugle played from a tower’s top. A fight, an argument, even between one of his dearest. Few words of common were ever spoken, since then. A rare occasion, startling those who hadn’t heard before. - “Restrain him!” A woman with an infant cradled close gazed upon the man. He was caught first by the legs, arms, wrapped up in a horrific beast’s grasp. Melded together into something most ungodly. The being in command leapt over the counter, staring upon him. Legs kicking with the last speck of energy remaining in some desperate attempt to cling to the life he’d so sworn at. It was called away. And this time, “Halt - Bring the axe.” Not a soul to help was around to hear. - = ˚ = - - = . = - First, it was his dearest sister. The ache in his throat after the cries of his niece was worse than any other pain. Not the burns from a pit of flames, nor the gash in his shoulders that he had sustained. Nothing was worse. Even harder than her own daughter had cried, the lone man sobbed and wailed, for after all, It was now only him remaining. His leader, someone akin to a father that he worried for time and time again, had left to death’s door but a decade or two later. His ribs ached, as following, was his dearest niece. She, unlike him, died before her time. Without a word, nor a sound. How long had it been, since he’d seen his twin? His youngest sister, or the second, Iduna? His nieces, his only nephew Calahan, his brother in law, Elias—Iduna’s husband. They all waited, too. Further over the years, falling out of fights, out of friendships. A few, he’d see occasionally. His friend, helmeted and never to show his face, a kind one of the lot. Calahan, likewise. A young man, full of pride and confidence. His sister’s husband, his brother truly, final and foremost, forever a friend. They kept him standing, for quite some time. The man’s skin grew paler, tighter over his bones. His limbs ached, heart throbbed, with a deep pain in his chest. He walked on, cane in hand. A bright smile was stark against his placid expression, in those final days. He hugged his brother tightly. One last time. “Come visit me soon. You’re my brother, after all.” - Eye to eye, they stared. Auden was forced to kneel, his joints cracking under the weight of the monster holding him there. A bone or two snap as he slouches, ever unwavering. A smile crosses his face, as do tears. To wish his cousin a final goodbye, and different muttered words to someone he wanted most. "I'm sorry, maam." and his head rolled. Blood soaked the floorboards, stark against a pale white shirt. A most vibrant color, his viridian eye was slid shut. His body was left to rest upon soft grass, found by his brother, one and only. A sapling of a tree curled around his rotting limb, and the ground saturated in a deep red. Buried within his bag of things, so many precious items, laid a Will. - So came the end of the useless man. One who cared only for his family, friends. Some he couldn’t see, that one last time. - How long has it been?

The woman went about her day as usual. Stretching her arms in preparation for using a needle and thread for her craft of the week. It was just like any other, and yet. Something was off. Maybe it was the wind, or the depths of her mind playing tricks. On that day, she did not leave her home. She spent the hours, weaving the most minuscule of things out of thread and yarn. Surely, it was a day unlike any other. A day where she wondered on the past, for a few minutes at least. Hours, at most. Maybe a relic would come before her eyes again, some day. A remnant, of some old thing. Some day.

A string pulls tight, followed by several more. The feeling to go, and to soar. - = ˚ = - - = . = - Without a word, the woman slipped out from her home to go on one of her daily walks. Yet, she continued going far past there; boots dragging through muck and dirt and mud and ash. Her mind was blank, only so much as that soft sing-song she'd come to know over many years filling her inner ears. It buzzed like static, the background tune to the beat that her heels hit the soft ground with. Sloshing through damper ground as she wandered, feeling endless as the very soles of her feet pulsed. When her head lifted up again, after minutes upon hours upon days on end, she was met with a forest lit in sunrise. Dew hung upon blades of grass, dripping from dozens of meters up from heavy hanging leaves. That moisture hung in the air like a mist, stagnant over top the river. - - - Each breath rasped from her maw like desert's air, harsh upon her inner throat. An attempted hum turned to a wheeze, a lingering crack in tone. Her head tilts ever further back, feeling each and every pop, leaving a resounding pain in her nape. It was a struggle to wipe her goggles clean with muddled gloves, until she eventually came to realize: the inner section of her goggles was simply fogged up. A finger wiggled in to clear it up, just as rain began to fall and petrichor filled the air. Rain beaded on the dark lenses as it came pouring down. All at once did they begin to cry, Wailing out in anxieties, screaming violences, With each and every thing that could've gone wrong on the adventure to nowhere, to the middle of nothing depths of forest soaked in morning. - A recount, Controlled breaths, whistling between grit teeth. Each one, almost in mimic of nature’s own tune. The same one that swirled in the shrubbery and aspens, and of fish that squirmed past her boots sunken in the river rocks below. It was cold. The tips of her fingers dragged through the water just along shore, clumps of algae slipping between the glove. A few clumps were dragged free, squeezing the water out of them to store away in a pocket of her bag; it was much to the displeasure of the automaton and feasle sitting inside, of which both squawked and squeaked back at her. - In that moment, it was but a soft feeling to start. A chill that washed over her, a realization of it all: that exact thing that her elder told her to. Listen, and listen close. It was.. Louder, louder than those voices, whether it was her or someone else, that hadn’t mattered. Her feet only carried her forward, a pocket full of moss, a palm filled with a wildflower bouquet; collecting as she goes. Bits and pieces, sticks and stones. - Eventually, the automaton avian crawled from the depths of her satchel, and the in-progress supplies of a cloak. It soared over her head, whisking through the misty air several meters above, and swerving between branches and trunks. The feasle squirming in her bag chattering happily, gifted a handful of berries from the side of the river’s path. The forests grew thicker and thicker, the river running to sea. Weaving through the trees, bigger than any building she’d ever seen, was the rustling of foliage and wind a sky length above her. Slinging a cloak over her mud-soaked form, she continued on. - = ˚ = - - = . = - Hours passed, and a chirruping followed close behind, clicking at her heels and amongst the grasses. Collapsing with exhaustion along a tree stump, and finally turning her head: a whole troop of Spined Feasles. Her own, squeaking in greeting. Taking a rest beneath the stars, the critters played all night long, leaping leagues and bounds in the shrubbery around them. - - - Fists collided against the stones, time after time, till her knuckles began to bleed. Strike after strike, clawing in vain against it. Her nails flaked, fingertips raw, as limestone piled upon dirt didn’t so much as budge. Turning from this needless violence, she comes to face Lilly. The red haired ‘ame, wide and teary eyed, guarded with Zae’s fists; each, scalded in crimson. Val, rested in her arms. Lilly’s arms, beaten and bruised. Anger, viewing needless destruction; to what end? Fearing, does the dark swallow her? No, she remains whole, and does not change. - The woman blinks; faced now with their fallen forms. Firstly, her fathers; her grandmother opposite, blade bared. An old man, green eyed and blonde, swearing out at her. Waterfalls swirl beneath her soles. She spins, her grandfather, soaked in violet, a fist sent to the center of her throat. - " How are you doing? Decent." "Even with hurting her yourself? That wasn't me." "You're sure? "And what if it is next time? You know I can't answer that." "To what end? "How long will you be this way? "How long until something worse occurs?" "How long until it's not you anymore? " - Wooden logs laid beneath her feet, flames licking her metal-wrapped shins as the iron bubbled. They all stand against her: those she hoped to see, those she missed, and dearer ones. A ‘ker with black eyes, his blade drawn and a man in green looming, glaring from behind him in faint fear. An ‘ame lad with a detesting look to his eye, a bow drawn from above. They each grew closer. Little red, an arrow she held pointing between the woman’s eyes. Behind her, a blade curls around her throat from the tavernkeep. Her teacher, laden in white, with a pole-arm’s edge pressed to her spine. A gray and white figure, strands of ‘hair’ extending to her heels with a scream extended out to charge. A cry, with command to kill from the pink eyed fellow, ginger locks hanging over his eyes, and green woven up and laying over his tattoos. A silver haired woman, a fork in hand, that sliced just inches from the flesh of her arm, a woman that reeked of the sea just like she did. Finally now a woman leapt down, a strike to end her. The short redhead, fierce, one she had fought side by side a few times, to save, or to injure by her own mistakes. - A gasp, How much more? She resigns herself, chest heaving. Her very soul, conflicted, each innards’ twist and turn. Taunting her. Her heart hardens, and with that, her eyes coil upward. Something new, not dark. Not light. Not in-between, but separate. - = ˚ = - - = . = - The fresh light of morning, as the creatures had long gone from their play. Her gloves gripped the damp grass and mud, clumping in her fists. She breathes in, and looks down. The berry-feasted feasle rested upon her satchel, the automaton in her lap, flapping its wings. Concern, in some form? Possibly. - Not to sleep again for the coming days, she carries on. On and on, maintaining her gait. Snatching a pant from its very roots, to stow away in the ropes over her shoulder, left to dry there. Mosses, shoved in jars next to algae. Reeds, crumpled and crushed, tied in strings, and strapped to her side. It became more like murky water the longer she walked, her vision swaying and faint inability to catch sight of her feet amidst the grass. Birds scattered as she crashed through brush and undergrowth, trampling the falling leaves. - With humming came laughter, silent jokes to her inner murmuring and mumbling. Aster chirped back as if it meant anything to her words, the automaton springing around her feet. Eventually, a path came to her eye. Skipping along it, till coming across a road. And once again, with the walls of civilization in sight, she searched for signs to lead the way home. After all, they could all not hurt her, the way her mind had imagined. After all, to what end should she misinterpret? No, there’s possibility, but she’s not most certain. After all, it was her one most true belief that they would not.

A sister of Dread came to peer upon one of these notes in her usual travels. Her heels came to a halt against the path, reading it for maybe what someone would consider a bit too long. . . and she nods, to what who'd know? In acknowledgement of the information? Or something else? Whatever it would be, that note was shoved deep into her pocket. Staggering steps continued onward with their life, whatever purpose drove her that particular day. Something to be kept in mind.

One foul being, quiet as she was, let free a dull grumble with a faint gaze pointed to the newly lit sky; of which had been darkened for decades. Unappreciated light, it appeared, with the gleam of her lantern gently overtaken by the sun. The once-was woman continued about her day after a several hour griping to nothing but crumbling walls far off somewhere. And then, she was gone to the depths of some dark hole, a gentle rusty jingling following behind. Further downward, passing through depths rarely touched by man, she gazed upon that Lord who stood tall, and offered him a soft clapping. Whether it was sarcastic or not was known naught but Godan.

A creature sat with its legs crossed, a tattered book with leather covers resting in their lap. It waited quietly, only to hear distant, familiar cries and wails. Chest rising with a fake breath, that same thing decided to keep it's place upon the ashen-dusted rug, and not travel just to see what had evicted those voices. And so, they had found within their mind after a few moments of considering, those were faces they would never lay eyes on again.

The man's bones creaked and groaned as silver scarred palms pressed over his remaining eye. In the midst of it all, his voice was so loud lately. How funny. His voice, Loud? It was his, right? Just a couple of them, or a few.. maybe several dozens? - - Now with the news of that little girl finally laying in her grave did the realization come. He had never been able to protect her, not once, no; not one singular time. Even as he had tried, he could only comfort, and to stand by her side. To stand by her father, and her mother, even as they abandoned them both one by one. So her uncle sat, with silver-warped palms twisting together tensely before him, tears leaking from a dulled green eye as his hands clasped together in prayer. Invocation for his sister to embrace Theodosia tighter than anyone ever had, to force the feeling of being loved back into that battered girl, to watch over her more than anyone else may. Pulling that same prayer from his nephew himself did he beg for her to drink and eat well in the endless Seven Skies, where one day, she may be able to name each of the best wines in turn with his own mother. Auden never was able to save his niece. She had been so close at hand just a short while ago, hugged as words were exchanged quietly; Calahan, and Theodosia; and their Uncle, Auden, seated soundlessly. Unlike most other days, there was no violence in those words between the cousins. Spat nor fight or seething remark. They sat, and had a few biscuits. Discussed some current ongoings, their happiness, some worries. Auden sipped from a cup of water. It was silent then, in that moment of stillness peaceful even, the last of those times to come. At least, for now. Who knew what really laid ahead? And yet this hopefulness could not cross him yet. He heaved out breaths so harsh his lungs drew out old pains, sorrow pulsing thickly behind his eye as tears poured endlessly over a hot cup of tea. He couldn't bare himself to drink it, it was wrong, it made him feel ill. That prayer continued for minutes, to hours, or days? Cups of tea pressed to the table before him, coated in dew from the dull heat of the room, where candles burned along the walls. She would rest well there. Sleep soundly, Theodosia.

What does this plugin mean for Automaton-crafted birds, or Housemagery-made birds? Will Automaton Birds no longer be usable for sending messages? Either way, this plugin seems very exciting!