Apotolofo

But like very artificial grape. I imagine it's like fruity/candy flavors but its soooo artificial that it could be medicine.

It was that time again. Her skin began to wrinkle, and bags formed beneath her eyes. She felt her hunger, her thirst grow. It was a time she always dreaded. She had never taken blood from someone unwilling. And yet, drinking it always had the same awful, wicked feeling that she couldn’t shake. Each time it only grew more and more painful, increasingly difficult- a strain on her mental well being. And yet she fed, as often as she could, to ensure she did not fall into a rage. . . . But Henna was getting tired. She thought to herself, ‘this is the last time I feed. I promise.’ She knew what it meant. And she was ready for it. A year went by, and she lived as she normally did. She served tea, she smiled, she laughed, and played music for all to hear. She began to feel the hunger gnawing at her gut. . . But she ignored it. Another year passed, and it was starting to get bad. Every exposed bit of flesh she saw, she could feel her teeth aching to sink into something- and she hated it. Every mirror she looked within, she saw her face gaunt, and ugly. Her vanity had kept her a vampire, after all- how foolish she was, to think that this vanity would keep her sane. That it would be enough. How selfish was she to allow it to go on. But it was too late, now. She tidied up the teahouse, left a note for the owner. She smiled to the neighbors, and went into the forest. Deep into the woods did she go, until she could no longer hear the voices of civilization. Until nary a trace of smoke was seen upon the sky. She walked, her hunger and thirst growing with every step. How she longed to taste the metallic sting, to put an end to this suffering! Yet she knew it would only bring her more anguish. Days went by, and still she walked. She was near the brink of insanity, she knew. It had gotten to the point where her arm was riddle with punctures- both from her extended talons, scratching at her own flesh- or her teeth, from trying to drink her own blood. Nothing worked. She was frail, she had not eaten in weeks- the berries and vegetation she had consumed when she first entered the forest no longer appealed to her. Soon, she collapsed to the ground, shaking- trembling. Her skin sickly, hair falling out- her beautiful face was disfigured. Her greatest pride and joy, destroyed by the folly of her own vanity. And so, Henna prepared to face starvation- she could hardly move as it was. . . Lying on her back, she gazed at the stars, admiring the full moon for one last time. Then. . . She heard a song. It was a beautiful song, more alluring and enchanting than any melody she could have ever hoped to play. Somehow, Henna found the strength to rise, and drift towards the source of the sound. She was met by a sight of beauty. A beauty that reached beyond appearances. It beckoned her, drew her near- a luminescent cherry blossom tree, its bark smooth and pearly. Its flowers of pale and vibrant pink floated around her, tickling at her skin. She reached its trunk, a hand going out to touch the mystical plant. Sleep. It whispered. Henna could only nod, her bloodstained and barbaric body curling up beneath the tree’s branches, resting in its roots. ‘Yes, let me embrace beauty one last time, before it all ends. One more time. . .’ And so, she fell into a deep slumber. Unbeknownst to Henna, its roots creaked and twisted, wrapping her in a casket. . . or perhaps, a cocoon. It was the end of her life. And perhaps, the start of another…

"How lovely!" Aveline chimes, excited to perform as Lorena! She quickly writes an RSVP! Dear Host, I would be most honored to attend the ball! Lest the world be turned upside down, I shall be there! Much love and excitement, Lady Aveline Kazimira Kortrevich

". . . Oh!" Aveline wondered to herself, tapping her chin as she read the missive. "I had never thought about that. . . I suppose, that means there is twice as much love to go around, right?" She mused, casting a glance towards her peers. "What a beautiful thing. . ." @Ewdrawings @Cheese @AuJy

From within a dark catacomb, The Fallen Princess began to cackle. "Oh THIS will be FUN!"

The so proclaimed daughter of warmth shuddered, her eyes opening once more. So many visions. . . So many rumors. What did the future bring?

Somewhere in the world, a farseer slowly opens her eyes. The vision meant little to her- but for one detail. The Crown.

Even in death, Scrisa points and laughs.

Water evocation is already a weak magic imo, compared to other evos at least. This rewrite debuffs it even further, unless you take on the second slot. But then, with the second slot, it feels overpowered. It's a really cool idea, and I think the new spells would be dope. But the two slot thing isn't really working for me. Great writing though!

If a corpse could apologize, Scrisa would. She just wasn't fast enough.

“SCRISA! HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE DIED, BECAUSE OF THEM?! HOW MANY HAVE FELT THIS WAY, BECAUSE OF THEM?!” “I don’t give a f*ck.” Scrisa’s childhood, if you could call it that, was surrounded by chaos. And she liked it. For some cruel, twisted reason- she liked it. Her mother, Ruina Sweist, crime queen of a drug empire. Drugs and excitement entered her life before Scrisa had even left the womb. Her twin brother, Mal, equally as damaged- perhaps even more so. Her father was kind when he was around. Mika Anarion. She loved him, but in the end, it was not enough. He helped her find her path, without caring what that path was. From the docks of Lubba’s Keep, to the Fennic undercity, she was taught how to steal, play dirty, kill, and at the end of it all, survive. Then, Ando Alur, the fallen city- in the wreckage, Ruina was taken into the void. Young Scrisa, plagued by nightmares of a voidal monster, dove into the voidal arts in a desperate search for answers- and for her mother. Valindra took her under her wing, teaching her all that she knew of the world. Scrisa became a voidstalker, as the horror that plagued her mind claimed to be the mother she had lost. It chided her, insulted her, degraded her- yet never once did she doubt it was Ruina. Magic, madness, murder and mayhem- they froze her heart into a block of dry ice, cold enough to burn. For some cruel, twisted reason- she liked it. She ran a successful black market, she brought terror with her name, she killed and she tortured and she smiled all the while. That was, until Juniper. This girl that she had known since her teens. . . She saw her differently, for once. Her short brown hair, fair skin, and soft doe eyes. . . Delicate hands, a fiery disposition- yet little skill or power to back it. So fragile, so broken- yet, pure. Mine. She had thought. Mine to cherish, and mine to keep. At first, it was a matter of pride- but soon, she came to realize that her embrace was one filled with thorns. So she let her go. But she never stopped loving her. She cherished the children they adopted and raised together, and mourned the death of Verena- though she waved her off as a failure. The daughter of a voidstalker, seeking druidism? She was disgraced. Then, Dasyra- and oh, how she loved Dasyra. Raised her, cared for her, gave her gifts- even passed down the arcanium sword her own mother had given her. It was these two elfesses that opened her heart fully, thawed it out. She made allies, some acquaintances- and very few, but very strong friendships. The chaos never left her life, sure- but for once, she had some sort of stability. Even as her titles of Princess of Lurin were stripped, her Anarion name torn away, and her Catacombs caved in- she had them. She had her friends. She had Juniper. “You have just killed EVERYONE I LOVE!” Scrisa saw red. She tasted red. She was covered in it. The monsters and shadows that filled her vision laughing, mocking- as she could do nothing to silence them, or prevent the scene that unfolded before her. Lanre Cerusil, at first an enemy, then an ally- and a friend she cared for more than she would ever admit. Dead. Yera Silveira, the closest friend she’d ever had. Dead. Juniper Rose, her one true love, despite all they had been through. Dead. Even in her last moments, Scrisa’s heart sank like it did every time the Oyashi elfess entered her view. The weight of having what you so want in reach, but know better than to grab it. Knowing a butterfly’s wings are fragile, albeit beautiful. Her scarred flesh painted red, her brown hair damp with ichor, and her eyes lifeless. And her lips, calling for her son. Scrisa lay there, a sword through her shoulder, her leg shattered, and her lungs caved in. Blood splattered with every scream and sob, each word scraping through her throat, clawing out to call for those that could not reply. Her friends- no, family. The only family that had never betrayed her. And there they were. Dead on the ground, slaughtered like pigs. I don’t understand. The words were on repeat, flowing as quickly as her blood did. She was born into crime, into chaos and war- she was bred to fight, to kill, to survive. So how did she die so easily? How did she fail? Where was the strength that she had been born and raised to wield? As the sword entered her chest, and pierced her heart, thoughts flooded through her mind. Despair. Rage. Terror. A desperate urge to stay alive- though it would matter little. A hurricane of thoughts and feelings flooded the voidstalker’s already crowded mind. Too many emotions, too many people to wish well, too many to wish death upon. Yet in the center of that storm was the singular feeling that this could not be the end. In her last breath, she trained her gaze upon he who had betrayed her. And she cursed him. There were no letters. There was no will. For the Fallen Princess did not intend to die.

Scrisa raises her fist, shaking it to the air!

Name: Hera Race: high elf Type(s) of Shaman: Farseer, animist Teacher(s): Ember Munnel, Ar-Borok

[!] A missive is pinned at each of humanity's capitals! Hail, to those who read this! My name is Hera, and I am a highly practiced doctor, alchemist, and healer of the shaman variety. Should you or a loved one fall ill or injured, I am but one bird away. I have noticed a cough arising within Haense and what was Veletz, and in light of such I found it prudent to make my services known. I will take payments of any size, anything that you are able to pay. From a handful of minas, to a basket of herbs, or simply a trinket- I consider them donations, and not necessary for treatment. Though I am primarily a nomad, my home, located in Kaethul also serves as my clinic. I am also looking for those willing to travel with me, and assist me in my treatment. If any clues as to what caused this cough arises, I would greatly appreciate the knowledge. Doctors and healers of Aevos, let us halt this sickness before it spreads! Remember to WASH YOUR HANDS, and UTILIZE AIR PURIFIERS! Signed, The Hearth Alchemist, Daughter of the Healing Flame, Protector of children, Traveling Healer, Farseer Shaman

Hera, protector of children, felt her heart plummet in her chest. She did not know why, until much later. . . I'm sorry, Johanne, Laurelie. I couldn't protect your descendants.

The Kazimira Collection The year 165, of The Amber Cold Release The Theme: Nature’s Blessings The Necklace Silver Morning Dew A dazzling necklace sits delicately in one's hand, the strands of silver chains so thin one might mistake them for spider's silk. A mixture of diamonds, moonstone, and seed pearls are hung upon the web of chains, connecting them in some places. Tiny beads of diamond rest along the fine chains, perfectly spacing out each pendant with at least three jewels. In the glittering light of the sun, or the moon, the necklace resembled a silver spider's web, balancing dewdrops on its shimmering strands. A truly gorgeous piece. The Bracelet The Fruits of Her Labor A succulent and nearly seductive bracelet graces your eyes, inviting you to feed upon the plump and shining seeds of garnet and ruby. It seemed to have been made right from Persephone’s tears. The gems have been perfectly smoothed and polished to resemble a pomegranate seed, many of the gems specifically chosen with impurities within, to represent the seed within the tart fruit’s flesh. Each teardrop shaped gem is hung from a silver chain, at least thirty of them bunched together. Garnet and ruby, both representing passion and luck, work together to bring love and romance into one’s life. Wearing this bracelet may signify a desire for a relationship, while receiving it as a gift could have a much more scandalous meaning. . . The Headpiece The Polyp’s Gift A both strange and fascinating piece, this hairstick consists of two sterling silver prongs as the base, sturdy wire of the same material tying the vibrant coral branches to a circular mount. The sprig of gem-quality coral split into several branches, those branches splitting into yet more. Multiple smaller twigs extend from its natural pattern, mimicking a tree found upon the surface. Though polished to a shine, the pinkish-red gem’s original shape had been left untouched. Gem quality coral is not easy to come upon, though it may be received through trade with local polyp populations. Thus, coral is said to represent friendship, and diplomacy. The Fan Birds of a Feather Luxurious cream lace makes up the leaf of this delicate fan, with pastel embroidery decorating the front of such. A sparse field of pastel pink roses, lavender sprigs, pale violets, and white daisies are scattered along where the leaf meets the sticks. A small blue jay flies above the flowerbed, a shimmering green hummingbird feeds from a violet. A butterfly of pure white sits upon a daisy, its friend the red dragonfly hovering on a nearby rose. The ribs, guards and sticks of the fan are hewn from a simple birch wood, polished to a shine. Where to find them All of these pieces can be found at The Kazimira Collection’s stall in Kaethul, located just beyond the city's gate. But hurry! Only three of each design are created.

Hera wonders if this is a psychotic break, or just normal Jenny.

Scrisa smiles at that fallen chandelier- blowing smoke off her fingers. . .

Aveline Kazimira wonders. . . and signs up!

Aveline Kazimira lets out a scandalized gasp at the drama!

I feel like there should be an alchemical potion or sm that allows you to like become immune to the effects for x amount of emotes, in exchange of not being able to use any of your abilities. Or, allow the body/soul to mimic what's normal. I think that would provide a way to like- escape meta ig? But also make it necessary to do the alchemy rp, get the potion signed, have it on you, etcetera. Idk, I think it would balance it out.