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CaffeinatedCrow

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  1. One remaining gold eye would be left staring into a bucket after cleaning what had been left behind. A disfigured head all that was left behind for her whilst the other was brought elsewhere. The wood had been burned, the chain tucked elsewhere, and the blood cleaned away. 'How much blood will be spilt?' The woman questioned, 'Perhaps a lake-full', a voice would answer in the crevices of her mind, a strange nervous squeaking heard after. Though with that, the disfigured head would be taken outside, the maggots and crawlers free to dig in as flesh and blood became one with dirt and stone. The skull, in time, free to be seen. Time may only tell what becomes of the masses...
  2. Merry (3 days before) Christmas ya animals- Bless your mornings, afternoons, and/or evenings. 

  3. Finally- I've gotten to the point I am not playing mineman at 10 fps- 

  4. A Ranaleth of dark hair and amber hues gazes upon the missive with a soft look of understanding. Soon uttering to herself in the confines of a simple room, "I do not blame them for this resignation from us, then again I did not know them personally... let's see what my family shall think on the matter..."
  5. Pale amber hues gaze upon the missive, and in the comforts of some place far from conflict, a dark haired elfess takes a breath and utters to no one but herself, "Let's hope they take this peace, otherwise- I fear the amount of elven blood that must be spilt..."
  6. An adunian finds these writings in Krugmar- of all places to find a writing about five lord'd Gods. She merely looks them over with dulled green eyes, her age visible upon her visage as she merely shakes her head after. "Reminds me of the ramblings of a man I once knew..." She mumbles out, yet soon her attention is caught by another- her focus shifting from the page.
  7. There is suppressed giggles as Liriel just- avoids the manor for the time being. Allowing her family member to calm down for the time being.
  8. “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” The month prior had been filled with so much joy, so much care. A gentleness that made everything so soft. Ambrosine felt like things were going to turn around for her- one way or another. A hope in her heart that she hadn’t felt in a long-long time. That hope would not last long… Blood and screams filled the air in Celia’lin that fateful evening. The sound of horse-hooves clambering upon stone, the sound of flesh being met with a blade- everything had turned so wrong so quickly. An uttered phrase of “Igne’Sae” was made, yet barely did that flame begin to alight. That warmth died just as a new warmth had spread upon her left shoulder. The smell of iron filled the air, the smell of rot as well- no… not rot… Sulfur. It was a suffocating smell- and it carried with her as she had heard the last few words of her Haelun- something she tried to hold onto. “Try and stay alive oem’ii…” Tears couldn’t bring the amount of pleads she wanted to share, how she had thought- “No- please- not again. Not again. Anything but this.” But she was not so fortunate, not like the times before. No comfort would soothe her anymore- not this time, not even the uttered apologies of one of her captors. “Please… live…” She thought to herself, but as she kept her teary eyes shut- she could only remember the faces of those she knew… Aiyeis, her Haelun Erendriel, a trusted friend Elarhil, a longtime llir Seth Calith, a Maln figure Soris, someone she aided and thought of as a friend Alistair, someone she cared too much about Ser Artel, a trusted Alchemy buddy Kendall Cooper, a momentary llir Mare, her teacher and llir Kyl’lian, an old fiance- a man who had her heart Valazaer, even in death- she could never have hated him Her birth Haelun Her birth father Her sister… There were many more, but soon her mind was plagued as the flames of a firepit licked at her skin- her screams filling the night air as her tears felt like boiling licks at her skin. Only did her nerves finally burn away- did her mind have a fragment of clarity- the cheery macabre sound of a woman cheering for her demise- as soon the elfess’ ashes had taken to the skies. A little lizard would watch in silence- now in the presence of someone new- someone darker. Nothing could be done, and nothing could be said. The only hope of a bright soul now burned away, only having a thought that she hoped she was remembered, and that she had finally found love… somewhere in the hearts she left behind. In the night sky- Ambrosine would fine three familiar faces- and she finally... finally, found home. Ambrosine Decebal- Made 535 Days and 22 Hours. Died; Age 132 Born; SA 22
  9. Why am I realizing that I've been on LOTC for nearly two years? How tf-? Where did the damn time go?

    1. Samler

      Samler

      Time flies when you are having fun!

    2. Shiredom
  10. A scowl reaches pale lips, and milky green eyes look over the missive. "How did they...?" The question died upon the woman's lips, and she gave a heavy sigh as she raised a scarred hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "If I had known sooner..." With that she sets the missive aside and offers a small prayer for the safety of Sir Leopold's Family and his Wife.
  11. Milky green eyes awaken to a new day, and another missive. Slumped in a chair she picks up the parchment with scarred fingers. The other appendage rubbing at her dusty temple as she mulls over the intricacies of the missive. "Wonderful... more 'teethers' to look out for..." She utters in dull, exasperated tones. However, she is not distasteful of the idea to perhaps guide those who have found banishment from their homes. But there's a bitter resentment, and she can only hope this all does not end in one giant blood bath of cursed sanguine essence.
  12. Milky gray eyes looked over the missive, and there's a scowl written upon pallid features. "I told him he was stupid..." A baritone voice mutters to herself, before she tosses the missive into a nearby fire. "Ancestors help us, or help me not kill my son myself..."
  13. A familiar red-headed elfess would almost giggle a bit as she read the gazette, her violet eyes looking it over as her and her Pygmy Lizard- Devos- both read over the paper, "The Matchmaker section is highly amusing... I wonder if something will come out of it... Well- praise be the lucky ones." Ambros would muse lightly, her tone light and still filled with chuckles as she would soon gently move to rest her companion on her desk; her companion skittering off to hide in what little jewelry she had lying about next to her candles, before she moved to get ready for bed. A hum on her lips, and a smile to her face.
  14. Three Souls would mourn, Three Souls would ache in the loss of a man they each had known in different manners. An Adunian, carving away at a piece of oak she had in her scarred hands, seems to feel her soul have a moment of respite. Her tired eyes, and healing limbs seemed to ease their tension, as her eyelids shut and her shoulders sagged. There was no thought to this moment of repose, no real reason, but for that short time, a weight seemed to be lifted from her shoulders. It was a relief she had not felt in some time, and perhaps that made her all the more wary. She had let her eyes open, scanning throughout her room as if expecting some outside source of this unknown alleviation- but there was no one. With that, she turned her emerald hues back to her carving, and let her tension return as the oak shaped into the form of something familiar, something known. A Wolf, with a calm disposition, standing tall and almost foreboding. Deeper in the afterlife, someone old- someone long since passed- seemed to feel their soul have a relieved ache. It was the kind that seemed to either feel relief and sadness all the same. Glowing gold eyes seemed to look around her, a darkness that was never ending in her own Hell- her hair flailing about like flames as she inhaled a breathless wind. Nothing was around, as she had expected, and even then she was grateful in some odd way. The woman’s Hell was her own, and even if she had thought to see another soul, she was glad she didn’t. Her form shifted, never there but never gone, and she seemed to shut those eyes as she let that moment of reprieve flood through her soul- for that was all was left of her. Before she eased away into nothingness- like a flame snuffed out. A little red-headed Elfess seemed to go about her day, cleaning her home and sipping some tea. Perhaps even conjuring up some alchemical concoctions she had hopes to make. Though soon something bitter resided in her chest. A moment of aching sadness that she couldn’t quite place, it was odd- but not uncommon. Memories were not kind to her, but even then she caught herself remembering an old face, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. Such was the norm to her unfortunately, and she let out a somber sigh. Perhaps one day she’d meet that gruff figure, who had read her like an open book, but thus was wishful thinking. Her head too far into the clouds, and unaware of the passing of someone she had met twice before- each with different faces- each with different interactions. With her heart aching for faces she had hoped to see again, but never did, she continued her day. A little less of a skip in her step, and her ears down-turned in that melancholic way. (R.i.p. A real one.)
  15. A familiarly red-head Elfess, Ambrosine Decebal, seems to take the time to read over the paper. Enjoyment is plastered upon her features about the general gossip and information provided, yet it's mostly amusement with the occasional surprise. Albeit, a slight wince is made at the notion of a once dear friend, if not more at one point. She merely shakes her head before folding the paper carefully and continuing to sip at her tea in her home.
  16. I'm waking up at nearly 4 in the morning learning wtf is MRP, Why?
    Vampire the Masquerade is MRP: Mature Roleplay
    Pvp is damn Player vs Player-
    LEAVE IT !
    Thank you and have a good day/night y'all

    1. Samler

      Samler

      The internet agrees with Vampire the Masquerade.

  17. The adunian, now standing upon the docks of Celia'nor where the funeral took place, seemed to give a heavy sigh. She watched the ship that held Fritjof's body drift out in a burning inferno. A cross in one hand, and a letter in another. There was still a heavy somberness, yet she soon smiled as tears finally wept when the docks had been cleared. "May you finally find rest now...fy nghariad digyfyngiad..." With those last words muttered, she would slowly move off from the docks. Her heart heavy, yet her mind clear in knowing the man she had cared for was now at peace.
  18. Green hues would stare in silent horror at the missive, the memories going through her mind as her lips started to quiver. The rush of tears going to her eyes as she starts to crumble the missive in her armored fingers. There's a deep sadness in her, and the memory of Fritjof and her sitting by a window- wishing the safety of one another. The memories of when she first met him, the Confession, it all goes to her mind. A sob breaks through her lips, and she pulls the missive close to herself as she sobs. The sadness of the woman who had already lost a lot, now losing another. It makes her hands shake, it makes her heart ache, and her eyes flooding with tears. She soon screams, the sound deep, painful and in agony- much like the scream she had emitted for Ailsa, much like the pain she felt when she had thought she had sent Fritjof to his death. Only this time, he was really gone. The adunian of ashen hair, and scarred hands, cried out to the sky as she kneels with that missive pulled to her chest. Her tears falling to the earth as she lets the pain out. "Please- Please! No....not another...please....spirits....ancestors...please.....no...." Her words go unheard, and she could only cry and hold the missive close, a deep hole in her chest as she sobs and soon bends herself down to the earth, her forehead resting there as she sobs heavily- her shoulders shaking with that deep pain of another loss. Another life, another Friend, gone.
  19. Aren't you tired of being nice? Don't you want to go ape Sh*t?
    -Some Warmonger to a Pacifist somewhere.

    1. Neviah
    2. Laeonathan

      Laeonathan

      No I'm always nice you pile of trash.

       

      (I'm evil muhahhahaha)

    3. rukio
  20. Gift Slip Name: Ambrosine Decebal Username: CaffienatedCrow
  21. Upon the note arriving, Basha was simply carving a piece of dark wood. A task she found comfort in despite the many small cuts along her fingers she had gained. There was only a discernible look of sorrow upon her face as she read the otherwise simple message. To how many she would lose, she could not discern, but it still broke her heart nonetheless. "I remember...when you were just a boy...may you find rest Alucard, and I'm sorry we could not share one last talk..." With that said, she continued her carving- only one tear shed for a boy she saw grow up far too fast- and fall far too soon.
  22. With another successful herb trip, Ambrosine did not expect to witness such an announcement. The elfess' brow furrowing as she read the missive, before softly sighing and shaking her head. The redhead merely returning to her home.
  23. For once- A bright smile would fade. Heavy tears taking hold upon the face of Basha, who had only known Plume as the sweet little Epiphyte who had a heart of gold. The gray-haired woman would find herself in tears, kneeling upon the floor and crying for the loss of someone she cared for dearly. A hand clutched to her heart as silent sobs fell past her lips. She stayed there for a long while- just mourning the loss of a dear friend- HER Best Friend.
  24. A soft sigh was made at the missive, violet eyes looking over the description one more time. "What did you get yourself into..." Ambrosine would mutter underneath her breath. However, she would have to deal with such matters at a later date- she was too far gone in her travels to find the closest aviary and send a message.
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