DragonofTaters

A merry laugh. The brightest of grins. Crystal blue eyes flecked with gold danced with delight. The young mal moved down the street with energy and purpose, his eyes set on the brick home where his best friend, the one he loved, lived. A crunch underfoot. He’d pause, looking down to the cobbled pathway. Familiar, brightly colored sticks of wax, now broken and crumbled, littered the stones. The man’s face fell. Never had he seen Hui discard those crayons. Renewed purpose, now urgent, carried him forwards once more. Up the steps and into the home. Locked or not, he’d make his way in. Even if it meant the destruction of the door or a nearby window. Inside, emptiness. Hollow. Nothing met his senses save old dusty air and silence. The pitiful and neglected chickens, the dead butterflies… No tears, not yet. Then he’d look to the familiar tree. That plant which bloomed with Hui’s favorite blossoms. His heart sank. Never would Hui neglect it. Never would Hui abandon what they loved. Not willingly… In the streets of Vortice, the man crumpled. Hands pressed to his face. Shoulders shook. Ahir wept for a love now lost. For a friend taken too soon. An ache left in his soul where there had been warmth and happiness. Hours later, a cutting from the wisteria in one hand and the neglected chickens in the other, he started off. A certain orange furred cat trailed behind, pausing every so often to look over its shoulder. Hui might be gone, but that which they loved would not be forgotten.

To add on to what OhDeerLord said, there was a group in Elvenesse earlier this map. It didn't get along with the politics that went down. Druids, no matter how they might try, never end up mixing well with whatever nation they've hunkered down it. The same was seen in Arcas, and Atlas with the Naelurir. There's a reason the druid group left the city and moved out on their own. The Father Circle started up the Vale of Nevaehlen because of that struggle. It doesn't work out well irp or oocly, and for the sake of players and characters, the druids try their best to remain a separate entity from nations.

Since when can Druids control smog? That’s not in their department. But seriously dude, I think you need to take a step back or move on. I’ve seen you shitting on Druids for a while now. You’re Lock’s friend so it’s whatever, but dude you need to chill. Hard to get into a community when you go off like this about them. Druid, void, azdrazi, necro…none of the groups appreciate rants about how non inclusive they are because someone didn’t get their way immediately. Most folks who have those Magics work at getting them for a year or more through steady rp. Do some get them from friends? Sure. I’ve seen it. But most don’t. Most do the work and put in the time. Complaining and whining in game, in discord, or on the forums though…This, this is not the way.

A large woman trudged through the stump. She paused a moment to glance at the odd note, smiling at the sight of the flowers. "Aedrie eh? Hope she's enjoyin' her wanderin's. Can't wait t' see her." Her mood lifted, the 'ker left the hollow stump whistling cheerily to go about her day.

A smoldering set of armor, charred and warped, was tossed aside. Soot stained and voice hoarse from smoke, a man strode to the edge of a cliff. Hazel eyes turned to gaze on the soft glow and pitch black smoke that rose from further up the coats. The Titan had fled, his remnants destroyed by things unknown, and here the elf stood in utter confusion. "Why've lizards gotta be so bloody annoying?"

"I used to think dragons were cool." A one legged 'Fenn muttered grimly, grabbing a sword that leaned against the wall. "I guess we will have to bring the ice and death of the North Winds to this one. Damnit, now I have to go talk to my cousin..."

“Funny this lot. Claiming to have belonged to the Empire so long without complaint. Just a century past, you could not wander the streets of Oren without risking your ears. Liars and thieves, the most dishonorable of people.” A woman, bronze skin scarred and tattooed, hair shining beneath the sun as if aflame, leaned down to grab a handful of dirt. Supported by a staff of pure bone, the woman stepped forth and brought the dirt to the page. The fresh earth was smeared across the paper, dirtying it and covering much of the words. Eyes of blood glared at the papered signpost. ”They understand nothing of our ways. Nothing of our kin. Steal our words and beliefs without a thought to the pain and sacrifice they’re meant to recognize. The Wilds will hunt them. The Woods will destroy them. None of these imperial snakes will withstand the brutality of Winter’s Wrath.” The woman of fire and blood, Raithean of Summer, turned and left for the foothills of the northern mountains, leaving no trace of her presence save the now ruined paper.

"Since when is the presence of an elf bringing druid and voidal magics together? Shows how crazy the Canonists valah are. Pale is a much more fitting name for the white folks anyways. Can call themselves whatever they like, won't make them look like they ever saw a speck of sun in their life." A certain red woman muttered with an amused snort as sanguine eyes skimmed the post.

“Don’t forget to tell them do not start singing about burning or axes!” A stern voice called from a bush.

A small woman, lithe of frame and light of heart, tread quietly into the hidden space. The chill air nipped her face, breath hanging before her in frozen mist. Rather than find this unpleasant, it brought a warm peace to her crimson gaze. She didn't seem able to keep back the grin that lifted her features as she gaze upon the depiction of the great beast. With light steps she crossed the room, wading through cold waters to reach the base of the icy carving. Murmured words, then silence, a woman bent low, simply existing in this space. This piece of tundra buried beneath tropical shores. Later, quiet would return. The red woman gone. Nothing to show she'd ever been, nothing disturbed....save a few small offerings. Carefully carved pieces of rock and bone, brought from a far away land. A far away cold. But here, in the quiet repose beneath the Mammoth's gaze, they found home.

A tender warmth found its way into a cold 'Fenn. The stiff woman, so often seen as cold as Wyrvun's ice and unforgiving as Thalassa's storms, spent hours with the Sylvaeri. Bringing comfort and reassurance to her young sister. Sending support to both Visenya and her partner, The Fox Prince. When at last the child arrived, the wheels in her mind were already turning. Defensive as she was of family, a fire burned deep within her. Fire of fierce love and protection. A promise was given then, of guardianship and love, to this child born of both sea and forest. Soon the woman would depart. A fork needed to be crafted for the baby, after all. Forks were always needed. The best of weapons...

bless you tech team <3

Going off the remark before mine, “female” skins made on a Steve model. It’s very difficult to find well made skins for a muscular woman char. I’d think dwarven and orc women might have the same trouble.

THE QUEEN!!!!! ;-; Toffee so glad you're doing good and happy you're enjoying just mucking about :D

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQcLIm-s75U ◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦ The woods are normally a place of peace and refuge. That small woman, pacing through the natural undergrowth would normally pause. Stopping to look overhead at the towering trees. Trying to spy a squirrel, a hawk, or some little creature hidden in the foliage. But not now. Now she strode onwards with a purpose. Eyes set straight ahead. Axe held in her hand. She’d walked many miles, tracking a party which had departed some time before. Luckily, she was quick on her feet, and knew the woods well. It would be a few hours before a distant sound interrupted the quiet tranquility of the woods. Metal meeting wood. Shouts of fear and direction. Her steps picked up. And then an anguished cry. A voice all too familiar. The woman ran. Breaking through the trees, she came upon a sight that sent her heart dropping to the depths of the Nether. A great corrupted Fae, terrible in its twisted nature, crushing her sister to the forest floor. Without thought of consequence, she ran ahead. That axe was lifted high. An arrow struck then, burning ichor being sent spilling over all those close by. Despite the pain, the woman moved ever forwards. The sharp edge of her axe was brought down in a brutal swing. Ironwood biting into corrupted Fae flesh. Her sister now virtually entombed by the abomination, dying before her eyes. She pulled the axe back for another swing….but it never fell. A twisted blade met twisted wood, and the Fae became something more. Something darker. Growing and twisting, it sent out deep roots into the soil. Blight filled the air, poisonous spores burning the lungs. Tanila was swept away, her screams echoing from the very tree itself. Knocked back by the sudden growth and now choking on noxious fumes, the woman made a choice. Others turned. They fled and ran, escaping the scene. But together with the Lion, the woman stepped up. Facing down that twisted tree, its maw agape, the visage of Tanila, now pale and twisted, evident within. Her eyes though, remained alive. Suffering, crying out in anguish. The woman began to climb. Using roots as leverage, she parkoured up, her lungs screaming for air which was no longer present. There was only moments to act. First the axe was sent flying for the roots impaling Tanila. The tree knocked it aside. A hand dipped into the woman’s pocket. A last effort, as her lungs felt about to burst. She withdrew a rock and leaped from the roots towards her sister. That special stone, carried for years, meant to end Tanila’s suffering. But the blow never came. ◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦ Her mind was already filled with the screeching agony of nature. The blight filled area caused so much pain. The anguish from her sister only struck her ever deeper. It seemed impossible that there could be any greater pain. Any further harm. Then the roots struck. Sent forth from the twisted form of Tanila, they shoved their way into her body. Twisting and writhing, taking over what was once a descendent form. Now her voice, previously unused, arose in an unearthly shriek as the Paletree invaded her very being. She thought she had known pain. She thought she knew suffering. She was wrong. Branches twisted inside her, forcing organs to work when they wanted to fail. Every choice was ripped from her, not even able to control her own breathing. Those alien vines forced her lungs to breathe in that poison. A searing pain settling deep inside with every desperate intake of air. But this would offer no relief. Anyone else would die from such. But that cursed tree… It healed to only destroy. It built up so the body could break down anew. A twisted, vicious cycle of unending pain and agony. No relief, no respite. No rest, no sleep. Breaths of poison and pain. No food, but no starvation. No air, but no suffocation. Her body bombarded with agony beyond comprehension, one would think that would be the end. But now she was forced to stare across at her sister, knowing she was enduring this same cursed fate. Trapped and dying, but never fully dead. The heart of the elder sister breaks then. Knowing she had failed. Her baby sister, the little one she had loved and cared for, now condemned to a living hell. Nature cried out as the blight spread. At the sheer wrongness of everything about this tree and what surrounded it. Nature’s screams filled the natural world, taking over any peaceful song and twisting it into a mind numbing, unbearable horror. For the woman, there was no peace. Her soul was connected to nature. In her mind all she heard was this constant wail of affliction. To her ears, the howls of her sister. To her heart, the pain of being helpless. How long can one survive such a fate? Is it truly surviving? The tree forced their bodies to remain alive and intact…. But the mind…. Who knew if it was mere hours, or days, or months. Time was a funny thing for a woman completely trapped in living death. She fought to be free. She fought to choose. She failed. There was no freedom, there was no choice. Eventually, she fell silent. Her eyes drifted shut. Acceptance, the only sort possible. She gave up. The tree would do as it willed. She would fight no longer. The body remained….but the mind was lost. Nenar drifted away.

A little figure darts about the Garden of Souls. Their footsteps light, almost silent in the lush grass of this area. They move swiftly towards a certain marker. A familiar crook resting atop it. There they sit, back to the stone, murmuring quietly to a friend now past. Squirrels come and go, bringing little gifts which are left by the rock. Time would pass, and the figure leaves. Those gifts pile up over the years. The squirrels know this to be a safe place to gather food now, and come to visit often. They're frequently accompanied by that same figure. Always with a gentle word and smile, a light story to share with the Lost Lamb. Until, one day, it stopped. The squirrels remained frequent visitors. But that little friend wasn't seen for months. Their fluffy friends took to standing guard over the marker, watching out for the Lamb. Waiting Wicker's return with a new tale to tell.

From the depths of the woods, buried beneath white bark and twisted wood, a woman screams.... The sound of pure, unending agony fills the clearing, and the world beyond. Nature's anguish matched the voice, rising to a crashing crescendo that would strike the mind, ears, and heart of any there.

Name: Rhae Race: Snelf Age: Rude Gender: The good one [[OOC]] Username: DragonofTaters Discord: DragonofTaters#5574 Timezone: CST

Let’s gooooooooo dragon lads Totally don’t want to become a rebellious teenager on my child of Druids and fight with mom and dad…. Nope, definitely not….

Skin Name: Summer Sheer Skinner's Username: mercymaine Discord: DragonofTaters#5574 Bid: $5 Skin Name: Bundle of Two Knights Skinner's Username: Spoon Discord: Same as above Bid: $10 Skin Name: The Mandalorian Skinner's Username: Spoon Discord: See above Bid: $5

A ‘ker collects a really big hammer....

A well worn boot, leather cracked and marred by many steps taken over rough terrain, sailed through the air. It headed over the heads of Vytrek and Aldred. There was only one that boot would strike, and strike it did. Right in Arevthor’s back. Accompanied by a gruff yet familiar shout. “You still owe me a lesson Uncle! You don’t get to return and remake our people without holding true to your word!” A niece would have her reckoning... @Trekwars

It's so good seeing a resurgence of the snow elves! I've missed having my Tathvir in her icy home. You guys did amazing work and it's going to be a pleasure to rp with this new, revamped snow elven stuff! :D

Discord: TaterofInsanity#5574 IGN: DragonofTaters Skins: [Mewliet, Auburn, 450] @Isolde

Around the continent one might catch sight of a redhaired woman. Darting in and out of bushes, dashing from one place to the next. Never sitting still. It's a wonder she didn't end up falling off a cliff on one of her weird adventures. But no matter how far her feet took her, she always made her way back. Back to the grove, back to the tree. And she'd smile at the sight of the pair together. A note would be left, to be found perhaps days, perhaps years, in the future. Three little words... "I told you..."