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About Tea_Guzzler

  • Birthday 08/04/2001

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  1. MC NAME: Eambhaaling Name: Aiyeis Acal'Turrii Vote 1: Theveus Sythaerin Vote 2: Theveus Sythaerin
  2. A sigh of relief would leave the scarlet haired Arthalion, much akin to her father. She was a self admitted bisexual.
  3. A rather dirty and decrepit adunian would clutch the missive close to their face, olive hues narrowed to slits. Mouthing the words, a short laugh more akin to a wheeze would leave. One hand sifting about in her pocket, pausing upon an empty and light pouch. Perhaps no letters to be penned, or drinks to be had. She had laughed too quick. Throwing her chin up towards the sky Liadain would grumble before turning on heel and striding out. Her brief city venture quickly ended.
  4. :sniff: i smell rats

  5. Though she took no glee in the death of a king the adunian would laugh at the irony. Her father was right, they long outlived the lech. Perhaps the one to take their place will usher a greater era for the Balianites. Packing her bags, the Morrigan Arthalion would make to return home to Numendil.
  6. The silver haired mali'thill directed her attetnion unto the penguin that sat within her side yard. Grasping a sharpening stone and a dagger she'd prepare it's method of demise. The mother would serve her child penguin jerky for dinner.
  7. A smile would cross the freckled features of young Dianthe Py'lrie as she read over the missive. Such a joy brought to her that she let out a laugh, before exclaiming "We've been freed of war!" Placing the parchment upon the desk she'd been sitting at the, the 'aheral would make to stand. Ready to start her day without the threat of war looming over the cihi.
  8. ๐Ÿ˜ถ

    1. Acostrob


      i have no mouth and i must scream

    2. Tea_Guzzler



  9. Absolutely adore this random individualย 

  10. Sniff snoffย 

  11. The aformentioned mother would wail. The loss of her daughter a final nail to the tomb that would be her own mind. Clutching the corpse with one hand as her knees sought the ground. Sobs wracking that weakened form of hers. "Oh sweet child," She'd choke, words barely escaping as more than a croak. The drake that had once coiled about her shoulders, now seeking to rest atop the charred carcass. Only hours before had she said words to the youth, such falling upon deaf ears. No longer a mother was she, now that her final child had fallen. A horrid fate to live past ones own lineage. A child found, not made.
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