Recent Statuses

16 Jan 2017 15:02
Current The Tales of Berseria demo is like the perfect summation of why those games are ass. Prolly still gonna play it tho cuz I'm also ass.
1 like
7 Jan 2017 2:56
Ariana Grande is gonna be in a Final Fantasy mobile game and still she won't beat Songstress Yuna in Best Pop Performance.
1 like
6 Jan 2017 1:59
OMG the birthday wishes from the RP fam-fam today have been just what I needed. Love ya all.
27 Dec 2016 18:10
Fucking shit 2016 just fucking end
16 Dec 2016 18:33
Holy shit, Rogue One has the single best setpiece of the entire fucking Star Wars franchise holy shit


Look, I got lost on the way to getting some jajangmyeon and it'd be foolish to leave now.

Most Recent Posts

What it do, what it do.

You know what this gang was missing?

Another Asian lady!

No that's not me being snarky or shit I'm just sayin, one more on the pile, cuz.

@lovely complex@Universorum@Silent Observer

In The Worldwalker 16 Jan 2017 14:53 Forum: Casual Roleplay

This Wren had been watching her for weeks now. There was nothing unknown at this point, other than when the right time to strike was. The problem with people who had rigid schedules was it took something major for a break in the routine. Every morning she woke and had a breakfast of beans and bread and goat's milk - on weeks end the addition of pork fat sausage makes the breakfast more palatable but no less depressing a reminder of poverty. After breakfast is the market but nothing is purchased, merely perused and mentally noted for later. Later never comes. From the market she arrives. She works at a brothel, a trade managed by the Merchant's Guild. People assume the Merchant's Guild deals only in trade and products like food, spices, poltices, and the like but This Wren knows all too well that the sale of human flesh, the sale of false company is far more profitable than food and goods.

This Wren has been watching her for weeks now. The brothel where she worked was not meant for high class customers. The current Guildmaster has no secrets about his love of working women. It is only frowned upon by those who assume the workers are forced into it. The brothel where she worked was not for the conventionally pretty folk. She had burns all along the side of her face, burns that extended down past her bust on the left side of her body. Her skin was marred and though she put on a smile This Wren knew it was a false one. Few customers wanted to waste their coppers and coins on a whore with rough skin, not when they could get one with a pimpled face but plump attributes. The Madame of this establishment was fat on her own excess and cared little for the men and women that sold their bodies for barely enough to keep living. Between the kickbacks to the Merchant's Guild and the Madame, it was a wonder the workers made anything at all.

This Wren wanted nothing more than to turn her Talons onto the Madame but that was not permitted. It was not This Wren's decision who lived and who died. But the more This Wren watched her, the more This Wren felt sympathies. Who would want this girl dead? A question like that was dangerous. Songbirds didn't question, especially not a Wren. It wasn't love that This Wren felt, just sympathy. The girl, even with that which some would call a 'flaw' made trips to the market every morning and night not to buy or even to consider buying, but to turn her gaze to the produce vendor's son. A strapping lad with broad shoulders and a smile that made up for a shocking lack of business acumen. The whore, such as she was known to This Wren, was in love with someone who would never notice. And for that, it seemed, she had to die.

It would happen tonight. This Wren waited, as she always did, from the shadows, from the rafters, from the front. The brothel didn't pick up business until the day carried on; it was the fiend that bought sex before the sun was high in the sky. But even as the sun grew heavy and the clients came in for their reward after a long day's work, still The Girl was attracting little attention. The meek, burned girl swept the floors. Poured and served the swill. Wore her negligee that couldn't hide the burns as well as it hid her curves. This place had no class. In a dark corner a tavern boy was with a stout man and This Wren was not sure money was exchanged. From behind the fake silken curtains were the sounds of aggression being worked out on people who just worked there. This Wren was not surprised when the working women often showed up with new bruises. This Wren hated it. But The Girl was a bright spot on an otherwise blight of a location. But it would happen tonight.

Every night The Girl would clean rooms after they had served their use. A girl not 'working' was a girl who had to keep things moving for those who were. It would be simple. This Wren would follow into the empty room and draw her Talon across the neck. None within the walls of this establishment would care much. None would cry except, of course, for This Wren. Someone had to mourn the girl who did nothing wrong, who dared to love, who tried to see the best of her unenviable situation. Someone had to care.

The Girl disappeared behind the curtain and This Wren followed. The room was empty. The bed was messed and there was spilled drink in the corner...oh how The Girl hoped it was drink...but the room wasn't empty. The Girl looked into the brown eyes of another woman. This Wren said nothing, how could she when she had given up her voice long ago. The Girl saw something in those eyes, behind their deadly intent. She saw regret. Sorrow. And she understood. She closed her eyes and waited for the warm feeling of her neck being cut and her blood adding to the mess of the room. She thought of Corwin, the produce seller and his beautiful face. She smiled even at the end. But no warmth came. Her eyes opened and the room was empty.

She was alive.


Wren had her hands gripped around her Talon but when she slashed for the neck the only thing she cut was air. What? That wasn't supposed to happen. Wren had never missed a target, had never let one who was supposed to Her eyes adjusted and she realized that this wasn't the brothel. She was standing underneath some sort of arch with unfamiliar masonry and even more unfamiliar layout. Then came the voices. The voice of the robed man. The voices of the strangers that Wren couldn't really parse. Her leather boots stepped along the brick and greenery towards the chair, the coffin, the crowd.

Questions. She had so many of them, but she could not ask them. All she could do was look. Look at the ones that had been here, wonder where they had come from, where they even were, and how she had gotten here. Her confusion was such that she hadn't even remembered that her hand was still clutching her Talon, a dagger poised and ready to strike. All she needed was a reason. All she could do was listen.
So, I'm here and I've a question.

Actually I'll PM the GMs I just wanted to say sup.
In The Worldwalker 15 Jan 2017 20:57 Forum: Casual Roleplay
Wren'll be up tomorrow since it's a day off work and I can do things
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