Cave_Creature

the crimson chin

he's a good old boy.

(▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

Faeinn reads through the missive five times over. "Wait... this doesn't seem right..." she finally remarks, putting away her coinpurse.

The Isles of Axios are so hopeless it makes me think @AGiantPie might have a promising future.

baller

Faeinn clutched a handful of pennycress. She fingered through the sabre-shaped leaves, the frilly flower spears. As she brought the herb to her teeth and tasted the bitter earth in her mouth, she eyed the little flowers, pollinated and laden with seed.

The woman hung her bundles of wild plants out on a string, tightly tied, to dry in the shade. Before her daily training session, she moved along the houses and defenses of her city, scattering flower heads of a variety of plants in the foundations and in the cracks in stone. Carefully, seeds were sown in the structure.

daddy

I would hope so, to catch somone. I would also hope if they abused this power, that they would be punished.

And then they are properly and fittingly punished - and then they go back to their job.

You guys all think a police officer has never went over the speed limit before?

Faeinn strokes the bloodied beak of a red tail hawk perched on her gloved forearm. She eyes covetously the torn squirrel in its talons, tatters of steaming red meat hanging from a mass of fur and claw just beneath the bird's feathers. The hawk pecks and tears at the flesh as calmly as anything, and the ravenous beast inside of the elven adolescent grows to become a part of her. She imagines herself with a beak, rending meat - food - and swallowing it down with pleasure. It's her birds' catch, however. She must content herself to watch, and indulge in merely the scent. Starvation is part of nature. She feels more close to the world's energies than ever.

-Humanoid albinism

-Red eyes

???

A child gasped and writhed in the soaked sheets of her bed. A fifteen-year-old elven girl gripped the soft, tender reality of pillows and blankets and felt the corporeal bone, flesh, sinew and skin that surrounded her. She was secure, and healthy and whole, but she felt cold and distanced from herself, her shuddering limbs moving on their own accord. She found her eyes and discovered her lips, the shape of her nostrils as they quivered. She felt new, like a broken sword remade with fresh steel. There was something of a higher caliber between the cartilage of her joints, lubricating the muscles in her body and filling a void. Something new ran through her spine and her lungs, and replaced the liquid in her eyes and her veins. 

The dream had left her. The memory of it was washed away, and the remaining silt was the emotions pounding in her heart. Residual fear, and hope and delirium, the anger and terror and animalistic senses that come when faced with death. There was still adrenaline and excitement in her sleepy, lazy muscles. She lay there in an uncomfortable position of thrilled and lethargic, staring at the ceiling above her head. She felt that somehow, overnight, she'd grown to hate the protection of shingles. The nails in the clean-cut wood made her livid, somewhere in her bubbling, overflowing mind. 

A man pushed open the bedroom door. He gazed down at her, a hint of worry in the creased wrinkles around his wearied eyes and mouth. She could feel the lines in his palms and the calloused skin on his fingers as they ran across the soft, unmarred skin of her cheek. He brushed a large thumb across her lips and leaned over her, blocking out the moonlight with his silhouette, and laid a ginger kiss on her forehead. The warmth  eased the cold in her bones, and soothed and grounded her to her world, and to herself.

She let her lids fall closed once more, and she felt her father's stare for some time afterwards before she slipped back into sleep to dream of similarly unsettling things.

Faeinn hums thoughtfully, drawing a black tower on a sheet of paper.

The Hae'lunor OSHA inspectors are horrified and prepare their lawsuit.

Faeinn almost giggles with delight at hearing the song - but then again, she is a child.

Krimpchikr languishes in the znaga's home in the Uzg. As she applies a salve to the seared-black brand on her delicate white skin, she can only think of how her people have betrayed themselves.

Faeinn, in her wartime rancor, wonders if her father will spare any dribbling, weeping enemy of his people just because they're too afraid to face the consequence of rebellion.

Curses don't improve or add opportunities for roleplay, they just offer reasons to make the races unique. The curse lore is outdated and should be replaced by other 'genesis stories' for the four races, because there's plenty unique about them barring the curses themselves.

Ever roleplayed with me once when I was a brand new player and his blue tag scared the hell out of me. +1

While Faeinn is left to wonder at how they made a quill that could withstand molten gold, she sets about finding a dress to take her father to the ball.

Turgid.

The child had little in the way of possessions, but she had things that she cared about more than she now, having read the most recently discovered piece of wisdom, knew that she should. Faeinn took the shoes from her trunk, the dolls from her bed, and the hairclips from her thick red curls and she carried them all in her baggy pants' pockets. She needed no soles but her own to connect with the earth, she needed no toys or effigies of her mother to play with when the world was beckoning her to enjoy it. The wind may pull her hair across her face and sweep it back from her cheeks as it wills. The child stood by the island coast, and she threw, one-by-one, her possessions into the sea, and she felt lighter each time.

Man, how am I supposed to remember the first memorable thing that happened to my characters. I can't even remember what clothes I wore yesterday!

Don't stop! You honestly have really beautiful coloring and shading.