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1_Language_1

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About 1_Language_1

  • Rank
    Space Cowgirl
  • Birthday June 30

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Language#1688
  • Minecraft Username
    1_Language_1
  • Skype
    Fuuuuck if I remember.
  • Website
    Tumblr for my artwork coming soon!

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    Earth
  • Interests
    1: Ballet, Steam Powered Giraffe, They Might Be Giants, Simon & Garfunkel.
    2: Rocks & Minerals, Foreign Cultures, Genetics, Redstone, Colors.
    3: Ocean Creatures, Pitbulls, Reptiles.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Ibisoh Rutledge || Vihai
  • Character Race
    Human || Wood Elf

Recent Profile Visitors

14651 profile views
  1. They should just make a two block hole in the stomach with goofy decorations inside so you can just walk right through
  2. Bruh it's always been a rule ๐Ÿ’€
  3. โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ WASTED SUMMER DAYS โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฏ (Written by Alamo, aka tcs_tonsils_) โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ [OOC] Hey! I commissioned Alamo to write a fantastic poem for this PK post. Heโ€™s currently got a fund set up to self-publish his own book, Beyond The Tides! Help Alamo reach his goal by donating to the cause, and commissioning work from him! [Support Beyond The Tides now!] โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ [!] An old memory of Abraham, Aeldin's summer nights spent watching the shooting stars. โ•ญโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฎ Death outruns the fastest of men, Yet, there are some days I still pretend, That I shall go on living through lifetimes, I get wrapped up in those feelings sometimes. To be a Knight meant setting family aside, Days spent apart whilst joining siblings in stride. To fight to keep those monsters at bay. Yet so much has been wasted summer days. Oโ€™ how I long to see sparkling eyes, As I look down at the most innocent of lives How I have missed your tender voices Now, all that I hear are distant echoes. I was the one who stood, ever Faithful, Never allowing darkness to claim the light, and still, What honors did it ever bestow me? Except, by freezing every time it was snowing. And while St. Emma preserved everything I was, It is not enough for contentment, simply because I would give it all to see your smiles, And just talk with you for a little while. How I would steal the world just to be with you, To live the life that all families should Just to watch my children grow and play. And laugh with every passing day. I shall neโ€™er forgo my love of the Knights, But as I watch the stars scatter at night, My mind replays the seconds gone by, I wonder if my children look at the same sky. What good would all memory be, If I could not remember them with me, I am proud of all that they have become, Even if we cannot witness the rising of another sun. โ•ฐโ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ•ฏ [!] A memory of the sunrise under the red trees in Aeldin. โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ REQUIESCAT IN PACE SER ABRAHAM OTHAN RUTLEGE, โ€œTHE FAITHFULโ€ 21 SA - 158 SA (1817 FA - 1954 FA) RECIPIENT OF THE โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ [OOC] SCREENSHOTS I MANAGED TO FIND โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€ Thanks for letting me play Abraham with y'all. Iโ€™m sorry that I missed the chance to fully play him in his later years. [!] A depiction of Ser Abraham and Nugget.
  4. Vihai buys a botany book on Beardweed, hoping to help his friend's relatives regrow her hair! "I want to help repay their kindness to me."
  5. username change to itdidmatta for the time on mod time
  6. Oust them! Pugsying them may get me banned, but it's worth it.
  7. WHAT IS LOST IS FOUND "Mom-killer." "Womb-Wrecker." These were the words that Grigoryi grew up with, words that would become as commonplace as greetings. There wasn't a day in his childhood that he went without these words. If only his father Ailred had known, maybe he would have stopped Grigoryi and Boris from being bullied by their older siblings; it's not like they asked their mother to die in childbirth. Those words came from Rhys, Stefaniya, and basically all of his siblings except Angelika. Yet, everything was Grigoryi's fault. He was expected to apologize for everything but never once received an apology for those years of unrelenting torment. The young Ruthern grew more estranged from his family daily, often sitting on remote rooftops just to have a moment alone. Yet, Boris fell in line. Somehow, he wasn't weighed down by all the trash thrown onto him from birth; one twin was successful while the other walked the low road. There was only one thing he looked forward to as he grew a little older: a glimpse at his first crush. Vasilia was so.. real. He tried to socialize with her for once, no matter how distant or cold he was. Unfortunately, nothing could happen there. Grigoryi discovered they were direct cousins, so his hopes were dashed harder than shattered glass. She got married and was shamed by many for what life threw at her, yet he was happy she found love. Grigoryi was always outside Vidaus or locked away in his room. He hated being there; he hated that no one was stepping in. Childhood was flying fast, and Boris had joined the BSK. Grigoryi went the other route, going so far as to drop an egg on the top of the Lord Marshal's head and pose as Boris; it didn't succeed very well, but at least Grigoryi could outrun the guards. He was an enjoyer of chaos, as clichรฉ as it would sound for a hated child. The young boy even helped smuggle alcohol out to other kids, though he knew better not to get hooked too; that's how he met Vasilia. She managed to stop those young kids from drinking alcohol. The boy nearly ate gravel with how hard common sense smacked him. Though no longer a troublemaker, Grigoryi continued to grow up cold and distant. He was always watching, always listening. "NO! VY ARE LYING!" Angelika screamed at Grigoryi before her blonde locks sought safety in Rhys' embrace. "What in Godan's name are vy doing?" Rhys scowled at his younger brother, his hand patting the top of the blonde's head to calm the crying child. "Ea was telling Angelika ve truth, Rhys. Vy pretend to be ve loving big borsa, ag yet what did vy do just now when her mamej died? Ea heard vy two by Madalene's casket, calling her a [wench], saying that vy were happy she died." Grigoryi clenched his fists, upset that he couldn't get Angelika to see the truth, that this family was a horrible one she should not get attached to. A family of backstabbers, smiling snakes. Ever since Fenika passed, they seemed to hold this bitterness. "..Vy were hoping she would niet make it to be Seven Skies to be with papej." "Don't lie. Vy hated Madalene!" Grig spat out, knowing he was telling the truth. Rhys scowled, his brows furrowing in disdain as the funeral wrapped up outside. "Everyone back to ve keep, except Grigoryi." Grigoryi threw down his gloves in anger when they exited the palace. Fenika's death had affected Ailred so badly, yet his eldest children could not see how much Madalene loved him and how much she helped him. Years passed, and Grigoryi found his success in doll-making in Urguan. Due to the war in the area, the cold young man took on a pseudonym: Greg Ruthers (unaware of the history behind the name 'Ruthers'). The dwarves loved his dolls, as crazy as that might sound. They often requested dolls made of Yemekar or dolls of themselves to give to their kids, though he didn't question it. He was a success until he lost everything. Grigoryi tried to be useful as a Ruthern. Even if he disagreed, he would marry a noblewoman, though his heart was already hardened. The noble bloodlines of Haense were too intertwined, diluted, and inbred. Grig could contribute the muddled bloodline as the cause of the temper and arrogance of half the nobles he met. He decided to search for nobles in allied nations, starting in Elysium. The night started rocky. Grigoryi could not find a suitable noblewoman, and some of the commoner women were unhappy with him despite his attempts to make it right. He stood on the balcony that overlooked the rest of the masquerade until he felt a graceful pair of hands on his back before finding himself shoved over the railing. A few servants carried the injured man to the clinic, pressing the rag against the crack in his head. The masquerade continued into the night without him. It would be almost a week before the injured man could step outside the clinic, but something was different about him; it was weird to see such a negative guy smile. The man giggled aloud, his laughs interrupted by the grimaces of pain as he held his bandaged head. He gazed down at the Mondblume, who was walking the man around Elysium. She pursed her lips, stopping the amnesiac to look him over. "I know you remember nothing, but you need a name." She gently patted his shoulder. "Your eyes are so blue. They remind me of water.. so I'll call you Lev." The woman smiled wide before taking out a small, leather-bound journal and handing it to him. This moment was special. Lev had never received a gift, at least not one he could remember. "Ea canniet decide what Ea love more, ve gift or mea new name!" The man smiled, holding the journal close to his chest as Amelia departed. Daily, he doodled in the journal things that haunted his dreams to make sense of them. [Missing Poster - FOUND MAN] Lev gently knocked on the minister's office. Minister Aylin de Astrea was such a nice lady. This motherly figure had almost adopted the Ruthern ever since he lost his memories. Lady Aylin was pouring over paperwork before looking up at him. "..Is there any-" "No.." She interrupted, not wanting his disappointment to last much longer. "I'm sorry, we keep contacting the kingdoms and their nearby nobles, but.. no one has reported a missing family member." Lev quietly nodded afterward. He didn't understand. He wondered if he had family or if his family would rather he stayed a cold case; maybe the minister was looking in the wrong kingdom. Lev worked away, sweeping the tavern in his spare time. He'd been left in Elysium so long that he gave up every hope. The nobleman was finding it hard to make a living in Elysium, given all the raids and killings at the hands of the orcs and ferrymen. He was sweeping the entrance to the tavern when a horse stopped in front of his path. The strong woman looked down at him, examining his features. "Who are vy? Ea would recognize those features from anywhere. Vy are a Ruthern, nie?" Tavisha dismounted her horse, looking over the bewildered man; he thought this day would never come. Lev quickly set his broom aside, beckoning the dame to his small house. "Do vy recognize any of these, balyzm.. Ea dream about them many nights, but they are never clear." Lev would carefully set down somewhat abstract paintings. It was the crude recreation of their family portrait used to hang in the duke's throne room and a crude painting of the red keep surrounded by the harsh snow. Tavisha looked over them, her suspicions growing stronger that she was right. He could finally go home. Lev stood by the funeral pyre. Though he had no idea who died, he wanted to pay respects. When all was said and done, and the Haensers returned to their day, the man noticed a woman alone. Though never a fan of blondes in his youth, her presence caused his heart to pang. Lev took off his coat, offering it on the freezing shoulders of the beautiful woman. "Vy aren't from around here, are vy?" He grinned before dipping his head to her. "Non, was it that obvious?" Sylvie pulled the heavy coat around her tightly, shielding herself from the harsh winter. "It was a long walk from Balian." Lev put his arm out. "Ea hate this cold too. If vy like.. Ea could escort vy back to Balian. Being alone on ve roads with all ve bandits is very dangerous." Sylvie took his arm, unaware that this was the man she was betrothed to marry all those years ago. Grigoryi clenched his fists softly, looking up at Rhys. Grig was trying hard to remain calm, but his expression faltered, upset, confused. "Ea waited for years, lost in the west, hoping that Ea had a family that would come for me. Why did niebody come?" "Vy were an adult, Grigoryi. Adults sort themselves out." Rhys scowled, beginning to depart. Rhys was old, reduced to using a cane; perhaps karma had come around. Grigoryi's heart sank. No matter what he said, Rhys remained silent. "Mea memories are gone, everything I knew is gone. Vy are ve only one left alive, tell me who Ea am! Why do vy have niething but silence?!" The old duke shook his head, and that knowledge remained with him to the grave and seven skies. The pair wanted to marry and fix up Sylvie's old family manor to the east. There was just one thing to do though, and that was to confront the new patriarch of Ruthern; Rhy's son. Mikhail quietly looked down at the two of them, Sylvie and Grigoryi. The young duke rubbed his chin. "Vyr past does niet matter, aedypapej. Vy are here now, ag whatever happened between vy and mea papej is forgiven now." He looked between the two adults standing beneath him. "Ea will let you live here, pick a farmhouse. Vy wanted a homestead? Vy can work ve fields." Grigoryi softly raised a finger when Mikhail finished. "There is.. one other thing. Ea would like to wed Lady Sylvie, vy are mea duke. Ea would need vy approval." The Ruthern quietly kissed Sylvie's forehead, looking down at the red infant in her embrace. Lev was amazed such a small bundle could bring such a multitude of feelings. "Eja, little one.." He quietly whispered, gently taking little Vasilia's hand around his finger; little Vasilia Louise vas Ruthern. She would be the first of three. Her two siblings would follow in the coming years: Juliyus Ailred and Cecilya Petra. โ€œSheโ€™s only just arrived, yet I can't wait for her to grow.โ€ Their family was complete, even if the farmhouse was a little cramped. After completing her walk of humility, Angelika arrived at Haense in her sack clothing. People lined up on the side like it was an event. They didn't care about the person, just that they got to throw all sorts of things. Grigoryi frowned, pushing his way between people to try and follow the procession. He felt guilty; she shouldn't be the only one up there. Grig was guilty of sleeping around before he was married, but he was too scared to walk the same path Angelika took; he was a coward and ashamed of it. Seeing her head as bald as an egg, Grigoryi followed suit that night. He took his path of shame and shaved his head in solidarity. Grigoryi threw the hay bales into the duke's storage. The work was hard, having to harvest, bale, and stack. It was tiring for his aging body, but deep down, he was happy to be useful. He could just undo whatever past he had. After all, no one who remembered his past remained alive by now, like a curse to keep him from knowing himself. At least he had a new past. This generation and the ones after it only had interacted with a sweet and nervous Grigoryi. In some sense, he had been reborn. The aging man opened the door to the small farmhouse, only occupied by his beloved. Vasilia started a new life in Balian, Juliyus was off sailing, and Cecilya was enjoying married life with her family. An empty nest, a sign of success, but a lonely sign nonetheless. Destruction and death were inevitable, but it was still a shock to the descendants as the Mori emerged. Their demands and their brutality never seemed to stop. They kept getting closer. First, it was Amathaea, and then it was like a domino effect; one by one, more lands fell. Grigoryi, despite all the memories in this decrepit farmhouse, left and took his wife into the city. He figured they would be safe from the Mori behind the impenetrable red walls that kept Karosgrad safe. What is the point of memories if you're not alive to cherish them? It was one of the smallest houses in Haense, but it was safely nestled deep within the city. This home was theirs, a private little hovel with what they needed to get through the difficult times. There was so much going on, and it was as if the world refused to slow down and take a breath. It refused, and yet amidst all the chaos, humanity had yet another war. Grigoryi couldn't believe it, Adrians and Haensers fighting. If the rumors were true, but the old man was unbelieving. How could two cousins of culture turn on each other like this? Perhaps it was meant to be a generational clash between Adria and Haense; it had been this way since the War of the Two Emperors when the Koeng allowed Adria to burn to the ground. However, he couldn't recall whether it was Marius I or II. With each hearsay and parchment he received, he used it as fuel to heat their small home. It was useless; humanity was only safe when united. That was the only good thing about the Mori. They united everyone. Grigoryi had grown sick, and eventually, his smiles couldn't hide his deterioration. The medics didn't know what was happening, but something was slowly destroying Grigoryi. Sleep eluded him, and pain ran rampant through his body. He tried changing his diet and following folklore and wives' tales, but there was no change. It overwhelmed him, and he could not travel far from their little house. It pained him greatly to miss Ceceliya's wedding, as he would have given anything to be there. He hated this, being unable to walk his daughter down the aisle; his privileges of being a dad slowly disappeared. He would find relief sometimes, but it normally came from the powdered drugs often sold in Karosgrad's sewer. The Mori's victory was inevitable. Humanity and their fellow descendants were uprooted from their homes once more. Grigoryi looked up at the red family keep, filled with sorrow. Even though his late brother might have been the last one with the key to Grig's identity, he hoped there might have been answers in that keep. The old Ruthern had only seen his family's portrait so far, as he couldn't walk deeper into its walls to discover more. Still, now he was truly going to lose it all. Any clue to who he used to be, any clue on what his family was like, he had to abandon it. He sent his wife along with the first evacuation party, as he wanted to grab a few of the family's memories to take with them. Savoy was so crowded. No matter how long he looked, he couldn't find his wife. He found his granddaughter, though, deciding to stick beside her to try and keep her calm during this chaos. Grigoryi salvaged a few materials, and soon enough, he was knitting a small doll for her made of various patches of fabric. It wasn't as pretty as the Haeseni Girl doll, but it was made special. โ€œHere, nie girl is complete without a little faithful friend by her side.โ€ The man handed the patchy doll over. He remained beside the campfire for as long as he could- but his dose of sewer drug was running out. Grigoryi could feel the pain creeping up his body like a hive of ants overtaking him. The old man wished his wife was here to show her what a spitting image her granddaughter was. They came with the storm, the Mori. Not even Savoy could keep the descendants safe for long. The ground broke open, the storm beginning to rage on as they attacked. People fled below ground, no matter what the depths brought. Grigoryi ran towards the opening, but he was stopped short by a sharp pain ripping into his back. The Ruthern looked down, his hand trailing over the bolt that stuck out of his stomach. The silence was deafening, his ears roaring as the screams gradually flooded back in. Everything happened too quickly. Grigoryi woke with a small gasp, glancing around the makeshift clinic. His pain was mostly gone, probably subdued by what little medicine the medics had left. The man reached down to look at his stomach, stitched up, and wrapped it with improvised bandages. The bolt was gone, but not everything was healed. Grigoryi felt himself slowly worsening as the days passed. It was an internal bleed but so slow that it hadn't been caught. He released himself from the clinic and nearly jumped to follow everyone to the new world. The descendants emerged from their blue refuge, overflowing into Aevos like a broken dam. Many people never realized how much they would miss the little things until they lost everything. Birds were just birds, but to hear them sing once more- their song was unlike any other. The sky was still the sky- but today, the sky had never been more beautiful. GRIGORYI DEMITRIUS VAR RUTHERN 1833 - 1927 (SA 37 - SA 131)
  8. Ser Abraham silently cackles to himself as he pets his new tamed beaver pup. "It's kind of like a puppy wanting to be pet." He'd rock in his chair at home.
  9. Ser Abraham begins to prepare treats, eager to be a mischievous old man and feed the beavers so they multiply. "Can't let the kids cause the beavers to go extinct.."
  10. . Ser Abraham lofts a brow at his nearest neighbor, beginning to suspect them as vampyres.. "Their borscht looked more awfully red than normal.."
  11. . Ser Abraham whistles as he pays his taxes like a good citizen. "If I don't pay my taxes, then how are the soldiers going to get paid for keeping us safe?" He was attempting to guilt trip the people who weren't playing their taxes.
  12. it's time to grief in the wastelands more
  13. Sadeeq, who had been travelling between his normal sanctuary and Ghaestenwald within Klara's skunk plushie, wiggled his way inside the keep as soon as he'd heard of Jakob's demise. "Klara?" He glanced around, his plush shell slumming to the floor as the specter unpossessed it; leaving it sat by the door with the other pair of boots. He'd never seen the keep so quiet before, so still. Sadeeq hovered through the halls, poking his head into every room. "Klara?" No luck there, the specter headed on up to the rooms; much to his despair. Specters weren't supposed to cry, but the blue ectoplasm started to drip and trickle down the old ghost's face as soon as he saw her still form; reabsorbing back into his form before it could hit the ground. He hovered closer, the old ghost taking his place down near her. At least, Klara got what she wanted; eternal peace, having died with a silent joy on her face. Sadeeq, formerly known as Antanios, took a heavy sigh. "You did well, it was an honor to be by your side all these years. The Seven Skies are yours for the taking.." Antanios looked around for a final time before he glanced back down at the peaceful widow. He served his purpose, and began to fade away. Anyone who visited the library now, would find that the 'magic' stopped. The books no longer sorted themselves, and the flowers became still.
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