TreeSmoothie

Balian is a red wine, Hohkmat is the alcoholic version of the Battery Acid you see people make on tiktok For famous characters specifically, Gashadokuro is a fruity cocktail but when you drink it, the alcohol is 99% rubbing alcohol and you die. Azdromoth is a tamarind whiskey sour, Xan is a stella in a fancy glass

"Art there not more pressing matters?" John gawked, staring through a looking glass at the undead war ravaging the south-western Aevos. Poor Sakuragakure had been reduced to ash and rubble.

only azdromoth is permitted to

yo!! Im looking for players, msg me on disc- user is Velkuzat

An aforementioned, ancient Orenian gave a lofty thumb's up to the missive. "Ave Orenia - may it one day return."

TO SERVE AND PROTECT – – WE MUST FIGHT – – TWO YEARS AGO, MY FAMILY WERE STOLEN. SLAIN. AND ROBBED OF THEIR PLACE IN THE SEVEN SKIES. TWO YEARS AGO, DIPLOMACY WAS ATTEMPTED. I have sat RESTLESS as these beasts pursued me – hunting me to wit’s end. I have borne my blade with pride: I have waited for you foul folk to, at last, kill me in battle. But there has been NOTHING. Sat idle in a place you thought unfindable, snickering behind the gate and wall. BUT WE HAVE FOUND YOU. To the Commander of the Pontifical Guard, Patriarch Villorik – to the Queen of Balian, Sybille I – to mi sobrino, Prince Xander – to mi sobrina, Princess Santana – to my friends, the brother Coyote & Dyonne – to my mentor and the greatest wizard to live, Sarah – and ALL OTHERS who seek GLORY, BATTLE, and WHAT-HAVE YOU: We must end the undead menace, once and for all. A united front: no more dis-jointed raids and threats backed only by quill and parchment. Before the beasts grow ever-stronger, we must strike. If not for the kin they have taken from us now, all the ones they have taken and will take in the future. Your mother. Your son, your daughter. Your husband, or wife. Hells, your dog. Let us not have a second Cloudbreaker – or a second Worm. Let us learn from our past mistakes. Ruthlessness is Mercy Upon Ourselves. Your humble servant, Justice-seeker, John Augustus Galbraith

The slayer of that Awaiti Sirame still lurked; holding onto that decayed body, somewhere, within the old relics she kept from her days of soul-weaving. Still, she had no idea of her victim's significance, and perhaps, never might learn. That wicked, old woman went back into her hibernation.

+1 this is rly cool

John began packing a pipebomb with a gleeful smile. "Orion!" the man called down the hall. "If anyone asks, I was here! Sleeping!" @Lapidary Pointing it away from himself, he pulled the string upon it, spraying confetti into the air. A pipe-confetti-bomb! "Congratulations to Segor d'Savoie."

"These hips don't lie," rattled some half-sentient necrolyte, awake just enough to see the blur of the poster - cackling, to herself. "Shrek-ira, Shrek-ira ..."

"If you can ever find someone that causes your heart to drum a thousand paces a second, brings a blaze of fire to your heart, brings rapture upon your mind from the sheer incomprehensibility of your love's depth," "You must never let them go, John." He was recovering from another bender, a hazy night and hazy morning of a spree of drugs and fine wine. If he could not think, he could not feel; what dreadful things the mind could think in substances' absence. He felt cold and hot all the same - nauseous but still - sick but starving. He teetered on the edge but never over, somehow. His livers should have given out; he knew that long ago. But he hadn't. And the reason itself was in his very being, that fae-thing that'd attached itself to him. For all the harm it did, it did so much good. But what was a Human, if it did not cause harm to all it touched, like those that slayed the druidic beast-shifters all those centuries ago? Having just sent off a rambling letter, he'd crawled back to his hiding place in the trees and drew forth his dagger to polish it. The second voice in his mind hissed - and then yelled - and then screamed. His softened mind could only comprehend it as he'd felt its vile edge pierce his glove and then his flesh, turning his blood black. Nothing at all. Silence, for the first time in years. He was still thinking about what had happened in Hohkmat. What was that feeling? Anger? Spite? Jealousy? And then there was the pain. So much substance he should never had thought of touching, filling the holes where human interaction would've sufficed. A conversation, even. The dedicant's shrieks filled the forest that night, weeping of a great loss and a worse, horrid pain both inside & out.

Real and true It's horrible trying to read thru ppl's Deep & Thought Provoking thesaurus spam and worse when it's philosophy that doesn't make sense. I miss villains that are villains for the kick of it

John whistled, carrying a suspiciously hammer-shaped bag. "I'd hate to have been that guy!"

John, a white powder dusting his nose, squinted at the flier. "wuh . . . This stuff ist illegal!?"

"Sobrino! Teu spelled my name wrong!" John hollered, scratching over the surname to respell it, 'Galbraith'.

John had been handed the missive in Balian's square by Prince Xander as they arrived back. The man had begun to cry, a hand fastened over his mouth in pure shock. "My husband - they aim to rescue him?" he spoke, hardly louder than a whisper. It took a moment, but the man slowly glanced back up at the pair, a nervous smile plastered on his face. "We march with them. We'll save Rhys, and return him to rest, where he ought to be. Where he needs to be." The last conversation they'd had was an argument. The man needed his parting words with the Ruthern.

*backflips in full plate as arrows bounce off my armor, decapitating you in one strike with my katana This is PEAK RP. haters will be EXECUTED.

John crept out of a tiny room some place in the Mage City - paper in hand and brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend the magi-lingo he was woefully unfamiliar with. The man popped in downstairs to show @Lapidary. "Ist he talking about Hohkmat's ... King? Mayor? Whichever they go by."

"Huzzah! Pride Club!" proclaimed one John Galbraith, gleefully clapping his hands. He re-read it a second time, now with a frown on his face. "Oh. Pride's Cub. Eugh. Lame."