Jump to content

Heart_Spam

Diamond VIP
  • Posts

    80
  • Joined

  • Last visited

Reputation

313 Incredible

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Heart_Spam#6587
  • Minecraft Username
    Heart_Spam

Recent Profile Visitors

1184 profile views
  1. Ida Nightingale waved the missive in the dim interior of her workshop, inhaled the fresh ink, and began to prepare medical salves and ointments for- what was it all for, again?
  2. [!] Copies of the letter are spread across the heart of Aevos and to the east. They are tacked in nondescript locations, against clinic walls and nestled amongst military boards. Each is copied in a tight, shaking script, evidently written by a trembling hand that struggled to form the words it so desperately strives to put forth. ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ⚙⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ It is coming. It lingers just beneath the surface, rearing to strike when we least expect - for that is when it is most successful. Plague. Disease. Death. It comes again; it is on the brink. Some of you may remember the Great Rat Plague of Oren in Almaris, before the split of the Kingdom, or heard tales of it from your parents. Evil destitute that rampaged the land, marred the fields, and caused many to fall perilously ill and die from the vile diseases these creatures spread. They sank their teeth into every scrap they could find and carried off what little health the peasantry clung to. They penetrated every home, every haven, to gnaw their way through foodstocks meant for winter stores and render it all rotten. They soiled the fields so that new harvests could not be gathered and stole mobility from farmers and animals alike. The plagues disappeared for some time, only to recur in force amongst Veletz, here on Aevos in some recent years. Again, starvation, death, and disease ran rampant, leaving those not safely tucked away in their towers of stone and comfortable chairs scrambling for a stale morsel to eat or dirtied water to drink. Just enough to live to the next day. The rats came again, sensing the time of hopelessness and striking when Veletz was at its weakest. They desecrated the dead and spread death amongst the barely living. You remember. It is a harsh reality to face death by painful illness or death by starvation. A reality forgotten in this time of unity amongst the nations. I pray you will never feel its grasp. Let us not be complacent in this time of peace, comfort, and good health, but strike out the plague at its roots before it has time to grow and bring yet another city to its knees. I beseech you, tear up and destroy those creatures that seek to invade, for they will invade again, slowly at first, unawares. For once they have gotten a foothold, they will be impossible to stop, and we will see our cities fall to plague as did Oren and Veletz. Soldiers. Medics. Farmers. Lay out traps for the rats, that their diseases might be halted before they are spread. Store your wares and foodstuffs carefully, that they might not be able to steal and desecrate. Lay your sword against the talking mouse-creatures, who are but disguised ambassadors for the hordes of plague-bearers, meant to lull us all into security by associating good-will with their species. Prepare medicines in case of sickness, and fire in case of death. We cannot allow prosperity, now that it has been attained, to be torn free from our grasp. Take heed! Lest we fall unawares to their snare. ୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ⚙⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨ [!] No signature adorns the crumpled, aged parchment; only smudged fingerprints at the edges from the ink scrawled across the page.
  3. Heart_Spam

    The Cursed

    Hello. I play a cursed child. One born cursed, if it makes a difference. The loss of Templarism further hinders the possibility for cursed children to find redemption, if they seek it, and pushes devils into the “all devils should be evil” niche. Templarism has been accessible to cursed children for years and I find it odd that only now, with irp strife surrounding cursed children (involving the naz, the Canonist church, the KOS decrees, etc) that its compatibility has been removed. I agree with many things Hakiki said in the original post and will elaborate with my own perspective. “Malchediael fights demons.” Yes. But, not to sound like a broken record, devils aren’t demons. Cursed children, by lore, are descendants with physical mutations. The only difference is the stain on their soul. This stain, by lore, is removed if the devil is connected to another deity. After its removal, they are literally just descendants who look a little different. Inferi are demons, their purpose is to climb the ranks. Cursed children are not. They can climb the ranks if they choose, and it makes sense that Malchediael would reject those. It does not make sense that Malchediael would reject those who sincerely seek redemption. Why not spit in Ixris’ face? “Just don’t play the magic.” This one genuinely confuses me. I agree with this: magic does not define a character. It shouldn’t. However, if the rp is put in, if magic is in LOTC for incentives and character development, to add to your character, then why not seek one out? Everyone and their mother holds some sort of magic. Templarism has some excellent rp virtues, boons, and banes to explore through character development. Yes, cursed children could just follow the tenants without actually holding the magic, but then where is the incentive? Follow the order only to still be rejected on death and sent to the High Hells? No cursed child seeking redemption is going to take on such a hopeless struggle. To keep the option open for devils to become templars is to facilitate some excellent options for redemption and for cursed children to not just use the deity as an escape from the High Hells, but to foster a hope and a way to fight against the naztherak that cursed them. It offers an option for purpose outside of the narrow ring devils are typically looped into. I, personally, have rped internal struggles, the desire to combat the inherent “evil” cursed children are structured towards, and storylines based on turning the curse into a blessing. I do not have templarism on this character, but I had hoped my character would one day prove themselves worthy enough of receiving it as the final step towards redemption.
  4. An old tinkerer, distraught and at her wits' end by the recent happenings in Hyspia, wrung her hands and voiced sincere gratitude for the young men's diligence.
  5. Sound of Silence (Common | T3) Background/Description Those things one can see, one can touch and feel; they have texture. Rough. Smooth. Warm. Cold. Light. Dark. Not so with Sound. It is an ambiance created by surrounding things: crowds, oceans, gusts of wind, the lull of a melody, yet it cannot be seen. This is not to say it is not alive. As much a part of the natural material world as any other. To seek to capture Sound may seem a daunting task, for it is born on the wind, hushed by a whisper, thrown forth in an explosion. Erratic, strange, whimsical. A torrent bearing many things unheard, unable to be contained in its mighty waves. Or can it? Craftsmen and artisans alike often seek to capture that which is intangible. Painters swathe brushes across canvas, musicians let notes fly with their instruments, tinkerers build from leftover bits of metal to create something new. They often seek to learn, to enhance, to capture, so that their works might become a better representation of the intangible. To capture Sound and to imbue it into a work of art, after much experimentation and failure, is an artisan’s next step towards the creation of their Greatest Piece. Recipe Base: Oil Mundane: Sound x3 Mundane: Connection x2 Air: Clarity x1 Air: Balance x2 Creation • Reagents must be ground into powders using the Mundane method and Symbols must be separately extracted • Sound and Connection are mixed into oil, which must then be brought to a boil • The oil’s steam must be captured and allowed to condensate into a glass vial, at which point the powder containing Clarity is added • NOTE: the vial can be stoppered until the next step; however, the next step must begin within the next 15 OOC minutes or the potion will fail • The concoction must then be left open to the air containing the ambiance one desires to record; ex. The sea, a crowd’s murmur, birdsong, etc. for exactly one narrative hour. • Too soon, and the Sound will fade as it hasn’t had time to properly set. Too late, and the Sound will become a tumult of air that shatters the vial and escapes. • After this, the air within the bottle will begin to froth a grayish hue and vague depictions of the captured sound can be heard escaping • Add Balance and cork the bottle. The frothing will settle into a clear vapor, as if the bottle is empty To imbue on an object: • Both the object and the potion must be placed in a glass, airtight container, after which the potion must be opened to allow the Sound to escape. An effective method found is by tying a string to the cork and pulling it free. • Although there is no visual evidence, one might be able to hear the faintest murmurings of their captured sound through the glass. As long as the object and escaped Sound remain enclosed for the duration of 5 emotes, the object will become imbued with the sound. Effects If opened: the captured ambient Sound will first release from the bottle in a muted, jumbled hiss of air, then escape over a series of 3 emotes, fading with each emote. Imbued: the object will constantly carry a muted version of the initial captured Sound. Ex. a softer ambiance of waves crashing on the shore, or a quieter version of thunderclaps. Redlines • This potion can be represented by a player-signed object after adequate roleplay • The alchemist must be silent during the potion’s creation (no speech, minimal noise of movement) • Can NOT drown out other noises • The effect is purely aesthetic and can NOT be used for harm • Can NOT record specific words or phrases • Can NOT be used to record teachings on any feats, magics, or lore • Can only be applied to objects that can be held with two hands or smaller (ex. no imbuing CAs or becoming a walking jukebox…) OOC Purpose References
  6. A Mutual Benefit [!] One copy of the contract is given to each party. -=-=-=-=-=-=- Mutual Benefit: a contract or agreement in which both parties gain some type of advantage or value. This agreement signifies the beginning of a mutually beneficial trade agreement between Sheikh Abdur al-Mona and his people, and Ida Nightingale. This agreement is purely of the trade outlined below and can not be taken to reflect any support of either party on other matters. For the part of Sheikh Abdur al-Mona: provisions of hunters, their skillsets, and their knowledge of the land, for recovery of specific reagents requested by Ida Nightingale; in return for the services provided by said Ida Nightingale. For the part of Ida Nightingale: provisions of medical and alchemical assistance; skilled labor in machinery and woodworking; in return for the services of the hunters provided by Sheikh Abdur al-Mona. Signed, SHEIKH, Abdur Razzeeq al-Mona Sheikh of Al-Fahkri and The Banu Mona, Sword of Allah, Defender of the Qalasheen Ida Nightingale
  7. MC Name: Heart_Spam Discord: heart_spam Image: 50eb7aec-0ff0-429a-bdc4-b1c927180c5d.tif Description of Image: coat of arms Dimensions: 1x1
  8. Gentle water lapped against the sand rising from its depths, carrying the call of the sea into the little cove. The overhang carved from stone and dripping with cool, damp moss trapped the wind pulling in, settling the air with its chill. Thäna shuddered. The sound of the waves was mocking in its serenity. Calling out in that sweet, deceitful voice not to worry: only to come crashing in, beating over the shore at the first hint of a storm. The Child hated everything about it. The blue. The gentle whispers of the waves. The foreboding depths that would stretch on and on, beyond sight. The terrible storms with their crashing rain and oppressive torrents. But she wasn’t here for that - to bask in fear. The Matriarch’s words struck her once more, turned over in her mind. One day, perhaps, she could take ownership of the sea. She was here to learn, to observe, to seek the answers for the quest set upon her. Thäna scooted back in her seat on the sand, tucking her feet beneath her. The waves had lapped a little too close and wet the hem of her skirt; it irritated her, and she picked at the sand now stuck to it with long, black claws that itched for action past observance. It was impossible to count the number of days Thäna sat there, in the same spot tucked just inside the cove, watching the waves’ rhythm with an anguish that ached for them to change their symphony. She could have chosen anywhere to watch; the forest, perhaps, with its ever-changing shadows and weird noises lurking just out of sight. There was a thrill in the forest. An adventure. Or the mountain tucked beyond the birch forest - the one she’d once clawed her way up. It had taken every ounce of strength and many rests, clinging to the mountainside. To fall would likely have meant death. There were birds, rabbits. Uninteresting and timid. It was all for the Search. Which brought her, more often than not, back to the cove, back to the water. Crimson expression twisted in disgust every time the salt spray hit her nostrils. Silver eyes mirrored the shimmering reflections the sun cast on the water; but where the view before Thäna seemed inherently peaceful, the Child’s own look bore one of lingering apprehension. Most days, there was nothing but the occasional bird - great herons swooping down, or eagles circling high above, mere black specks against the sky - or the floods of fish that would make tracks just beneath the surface, winding and swimming and bumping into each other. Sometimes, a deer or a fox would trot down from the forests. But they were skittish, and would dart or slink away the moment the Child realized they were there. There had been a dolphin, once, come to pay a visit. The creature was a welcome change to the mundane. Its form leapt and danced in a glistening, majestic glide, breaking the water and plunging seamlessly under the surface once more. Effortless. Thäna watched, observing intently; wondering if her cursed form could bear that same effortlessness. That same admirable amount of control. Standing, Thäna brushed long, inky locks of loose hair back from her face and tied it with a thin string at the nape of her neck. Silver gaze never wavered from its intense watch on the unassuming dolphin’s movements, not until it had turned and fully disappeared beneath the gentle, shimmering waves. The Child toed the sand, pushing the shells around with a shoe, then took a few steps back. Remaining well away from the water’s edge, Thäna jumped, attempting to mimic the dolphin’s graceful leap through the air. Awkward, clumsy, and bound by gravity, she landed poorly and stumbled. Again. She leapt again, with little other success. It was some time before Thäna paused, panting, sweaty and tired. Hands placed on her knees as she stared at the sand, feet half-buried and hair falling past her shoulders in tangled curtains. What good was jumping if that was all? Jumping would not help in a fight, except to confuse her enemy into thinking she was a fool, perhaps. Lips twisted down into a frown, clawed hands fiddled and clacked against one another with irritation. Slowly, she withdrew a dagger from its sheath carefully tucked away at her side. A small, delicate dagger, a gift from her aunt. The Child turned it over in her hands, watching the light’s reflective glimmer and contemplating its spectrum of destruction. She tossed it upwards - it twisted in the air and plunged right back into the sand. She plucked it from the earth and threw it. The dagger whistled, plopping to the ground just a few short feet away - the throw had been awkward, half-intentional, and scarcely carried the distance Thäna had desired. As she trotted across the sand to retrieve it, she wondered. To throw the dagger, to make it leap as the dolphin had, would fulfill that one goal - but in addition, it would leave her defenseless. She would be throwing out her defense. Turning to cast silver gaze back on the sea’s mirrored surface, she sought the dolphin for guidance, but it had long since vanished, leaving the young one to her own devices. But then what? She preferred too much to remain still and silent than to leap out with grand movements like the dolphin’s. Thäna flung her arms wide, gifted dagger falling from a clawed hand to plunge into the sand, and the Child’s arms dropped back to her sides as she slumped back to her seat. No, no, leaping and dancing in a fight would not do. So open and carefree. Thäna was far too cautious; her instincts to hide and her aunt’s teachings would never allow a style so exposed. The day was muddy, the sky clouded with thick rolls of dark cotton. There was no wind; the air was so thick and oppressive that even the sound of the Child’s breathing was swallowed whole and lost in the air. The water in the cove sat still and glassy with a formidable silence that threatened a storm. A black and red and grey form knifed across the beach, desperate to return to shelter before the first large drops could fall. Movement caught Thäna’s eye and she halted. Perhaps the rain would hold for a moment more. A thin, waving line streaked through the water, almost imperceptibly breaking its smooth surface. The movement darted towards a frog resting on a stone by the shoreline, not ten feet from where Thäna stood. Suddenly the silvery streak rent through the water disappeared and a dark, diamond head popped up to take its place, watching the frog. Thäna had seen it too; had earlier tried to mimic with her knife the way the amphibian’s tongue snapped out and caught a fly. Now she froze, breath caught and shallow in her throat as a stark silver gaze leveled on the water snake stalking the frog. Suddenly, it attacked, striking out with a swiftness that could scarcely be watched. Then it was gone, disappeared with its prey. The Child blinked, stiff with wonder - and then the first great drops of rain pattered from the angry heavens. She ran to escape them. Back within the safe walls of the Ranaleth home, the Cursed One paced. Shoes padded back and forth against the wooden floor, carrying her in a thin waving line across the room before she’d turn and retrace it. Stealthy, quiet as possible, practicing the Unseen. Clawed fingers scrubbed water from the twisted horns perched jauntily atop her head and squeezed clear rivulets from her hair, rivulets that would turn to crimson puddles when a strand broke. Silver eyes flashed and slitted with morbid frustration, intent in thought on finding the Answer. No - she would not find it. She’d make it. That was it.
  9. · • -- ٠ ✤ ٠ -- • · The breath’s journey began with the cry of a newborn. A rowdy, tousle-haired baby finding its voice during its first moments in this world. Over the days, the cry morphed to laughter - a rousing ringing echoing through the halls. The breath continued, accompanied by pattering feet down long hallways, shifting into a myriad of questions and jest. Like a wild rose bush, the breath grew; wild, tangled with a thousand emotions, everchanging. Short, harried, sweet, tense, a long exhale of peace. A sigh lifted on the wings of the wind. A lingering voice faded into quiet laughter. The breath danced along the winding path, light and airy, cheerful, darting through the shadows that attempted to snuff it out and slipping through the grasp of overgrown brush seeking to ensnare. The path wound backwards and forwards, crested deep chasms and climbed over grassy hillsides until it bore the breath at last to a wide, green valley, filled with an emerald carpet of forest. A valley where the breath floated carefree, a leaf beckoned by the breeze, until it morphed into one last, cheerful laugh as it danced upwards into the sky. There, at last, it dissipated, only the lingering memory of the breath’s long journey remaining in the one left behind. · • -- ٠ ✤ ٠ -- • · The sun shone high above two figures resting in a field patterned with vibrant hues - reds, yellows, blues and purples - woven into the grassy carpet. They sought shade beneath a large oak tree, one that was more than happy to spread its leafy branches over the two gathered at its roots. The first - taller, strong, and bound with stoicism - helped the second - a wan, frail lady who looked upon the world with undiminished vigor - to sit and lean against the welcoming trunk despite the latter’s stubborn admonitions. A knowing look displayed on the frail one’s face, a visage wrinkled with age and curtained by wispy, silvery tufts of wild hair. There was no fear there, only peace, as she chattered thoroughly and gesticulated with a veiny hand when sparse breaths did not allow her to articulate. A thousand stories, a thousand memories, all merged and unified and knitted into a conversation between the two companions, softening into a woven, lingering smile. Weary emerald eyes drooped shut, kissed by the sun filtering through the oak tree’s canopy overhead. A hand rested over that of her friend’s, the one who sat with her, talked with her, had walked through so much of life with her. With one last smile, a whispered ‘thank you,’ a last exhale danced with the lady’s spirit hand in hand into the heavens. Though death now caressed the wrinkled, gentle face, Nisreen’s shine was none the less bright. · • -- ٠ ✤ ٠ -- • ·
  10. Some days had passed before Ida, now the last remaining Nightingale, braved the stench (and her brother's wrath) of Kendrick's quarters. She'd thought it was an infestation - either of mice or mold - and stood unmoving as the door creaked open to reveal such was not the case. After a moment, Ida straightened, hands twitched, as she reached for her medical bag. She thought him dead once and he had returned - surely, he would do the same again. But all efforts were in vain; not even the most skilled herbalist could combat Death's final judgement. Surrounded by medicines, herbs, and bandages strewn in disarray, Ida slumped to the floor in the corner, arms wrapped about her knees. Only her incoherent mumblings broke the heavy silence as she rocked back and forth, keeping vigil in hopes Kendrick would wake.
  11. Zahra bint Hakim al-Hattan welcomed her dear cousin (who had quite surpassed her in the longevity department-) into Jannah with her signature bright smile and open arms.
  12. AHHHH the memories T.T - awesome video!!
×
×
  • Create New...