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1 yr ago
Current I have friends over this weekend so expect slow replies until Monday!
1 yr ago
I have been resurrected!
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4 yrs ago
I have decided today that I am a potato.


I'm a twenty eight year old American girl who loves a good cupcake!

Here's a link to my interest check and character bank. Shoot me a PM if anything tickles your fancy!

Most Recent Posts

@Nox Grimoire Aw, I loved your post! <3

@Heat Sorry you're having a hard time with your post, I'd offer to collaborate if I hadn't already put something up. :(

@Concept I agree, it'll be fun to see Gabriel's personality!


The sun had barely risen, the air was thick with swamp stink, and Antonia had never been happier in all her life.

“Stop smiling so much, it’s obscene,” Gundiberga grumbled from her spot next to the princess. The two companions and their small group of escorts had been on the road for five days now, and while Gundiberga’s mood had only blackened with each passing sunset, Antonia was thriving. Though the nights were frigid and her bedroll was less than comfortable, without the king’s oppressive aura and midnight shouting sessions she was thinking clearer than she had in years.

“It’s just that I’ve never been outside of the city before,” Antonia explained, before gasping and pointing at a dilapidated tree stump. “Look, a crow!”

“Of course it’s a fucking crow!” Gundiberga barked, causing her black gelding to pin his ears back apprehensively. “This place is infested with the damned things. Why do you think they call it ‘Crow Valley?’”

“Well I know that,” Antonia huffed, somewhat petulantly. “But that one big?”

Gundiberga stopped then, halting her horse and peering out through the marsh's haze to where her charge had pointed. Sure enough, perched atop the remains of an oak tree was a large black bird, so gigantic in fact that it appeared to be almost human in size. Immediately the warrior held up her fist to signal for the group to stop and the bird chose that moment to twist its head in their direction, its eyes snapping open and glowing with a sickly green light. “That’s no crow,” the blonde started, tightening her grip on her halberd. “It’s a--,”

“Night Bird!” one of the guards behind them screeched in warning, prompting the monster to shriek and beat its giant wings to take flight.

“Back the way you came, little fox,” Gundiberga ordered, swatting the flank of the princess’s dappled grey mare before the redhead could argue. “Stay back until I call for you!” she yelled as the horse whinnied and took off, racing away from the oversized crow and passing the soldiers as they were readying their weapons. Once she was sure Antonia was out of range the shield maiden turned to the men and shouted over the crow’s wailing, “Mind its claws, boys!”

The night bird let out another howl before descending on the group, its talons gleaming menacingly as it swooped in and raked them across the face of of an unlucky archer. The young man let out a gurgled sort of noise, an eye hanging out of its socket by a mere thread of gore as he slumped forward on his mount. “Establish a perimeter,” she continued, spurring her horse onwards. “Archers in the back, everyone else to the front. Keep the damned thing back so they can shoot it down!”

The group spread out and formed ranks seamlessly, the archers loosing arrow after arrow into the beast’s inky feathers while the others brandished their halberds when it got too close and sank their spear tips into whatever part they could manage. It was all going well and the night bird seemed destined for a swift death until it feinted a strike to the east side of the circle, but with a flap of it's great wings it had pulled a complete about-face and was barreling full speed toward Gundiberga. The warrior pulled back on her mount’s reins hard, causing him to rear back and shield her from the brunt of the attack. The gelding’s cry was piercing as the night bird drug its claws through the horse’s soft belly, entrails spilling out as he collapsed lifelessly to the ground. Gundiberga managed to bail off and roll away to avoid being crushed beneath his corpse, getting her halberd up right as the night bird started bearing down on her.

An arrow flew threw the air, burrowing deep into the side of the monster’s neck. The night bird shrieked again, pulling up at the last second and changing course for its new attacker. Gundiberga was able to roll again to avoid its talons, squinting when she stopped moving long enough to see where the beast was headed now. She cursed when she finally spotted what it was bound for.

Tied up at the base of an ash tree Antonia’s mare was prancing nervously, and halfway up said tree the princess had found a perch to shoot from. “Shoot it down!” Gundiberga shouted over the din, already on her feet and running for the tree. She watched as arrow after arrow missed its mark or sunk into a non vital area with increasing concern, only to be filled with relief when Antonia nocked her own arrow and fired the projectile directly into the night bird’s right eye. It gave a final cry as it folded in on itself, crumpling and falling towards the valley floor. In the midst of its violent descent the night bird managed to clip the branch Antonia was positioned on and the freckled girl gave a startled yelp as it gave way and sent her careening towards the ground as well.

Gundiberga got to her charge just a few seconds before the rest of her guard did, dark eyes searching for any obvious injuries. “Are you well?” the shield maiden finally asked as the other soldiers came to stand next to her, with the exception of two that had gone to behead the nightbird to be absolutely sure of its death.

Antonia’s mouth opened and closed once or twice as she tried and failed to take in any air, but eventually she was able to inhale with an explosive gasp. “Y-yes, I’m fine,” the blue eyed girl managed. “It just knocked the wind out of me, that’s all. Did I get it?”

“We all got it,” Gundiberga snorted, but the skin around her eyes had softened considerably now that she was certain the girl was fine. She extended an arm and yanked the younger woman up, rough hands brushing all the dust she could from the princess’s clothes. “Next time you disobey a direct order, I’ll skin you and make myself a nice new pair of gloves,” the warrior threatened, delivering a slap to the back of Antonia’s head to drive the point home. “Now go help the men get the horses ready to move, and I’ll go put that poor bastard out of his misery,” she said, jerking her pointed chin in the direction of the soldier moaning with his eyeball hanging out of his head.

“Are you certain he can’t be healed?” Antonia asked, sympathy bleeding into her features as she stared at the soldier who was folded listlessly over his own saddle.

Gundiberga shook her said. “No, little fox, the talons of the night bird are toxic. He wouldn’t make it through the night without the proper salves, and we are at least another two days from Udos.”

“Oh,” Antonia said simply, voice suddenly small. “I see. Well, I hope he goes with peace then.”

“I’ll make it quick,” Gundiberga conceded, shouldering her halberd and heading in his direction. “Help the men ready the horses, I want to be out of this stinking swamp before nightfall.”

When the dust had settled (literally and figuratively) all the merchants lay dead or dying and Black Lily were officially the owners of three shiny new carriages. Amara pushed her porcelain faceplate up until it was perched on the top of her head and let out a final, ragged exhale as her onyx eyes surveyed their spoils. The air was thick with the metallic scent of gore and the dirt road on which they now stood was slowly darkening with blood of the fallen. She actually found the smell comforting in a twisted way, as it reminded her of the long days she had once spent in her father’s morgue, watching as he tended the bodies of the recently deceased.

Giselle’s mare interrupted Amara’s musings, chomping at her bit and pawing the ground in an attempt to portray how impatient she was to get back to her master. “I hear you, girl,” the pale woman murmured, gloved hand coming down to pat the beast’s neck soothingly. The mare let out snort but seemed to settle after a moment, appeased for the time being. With a click of her tongue and an easy nudge of her heels the blonde’s mount started up at a trot towards the equipage that contained Giselle.

Once she had gotten close and the interior of the carriage came into view, Amara let out an appreciative whistle, both brows migrating towards her hairline. Giselle stood among the wreckage, her sable hair dappled in the dying evening light and the wooden floor around her littered with the corpses of all that had opposed her. Her sickle was still drawn, rivulets of blood dripping lazily from the curved blade and coupled with the wispy veils and her striking blue eyes she appeared more like a goddess of death rather than an ordinary woman. “You did a number on them,” Amara finally said when she found her voice again, her words taking on a timbre that was approaching reverent. She quickly cleared her throat, her tone returning to its typical silvery lilt as she continued. “I brought your horse back. Did you want to ride her or steer the carriage?”

As she spoke the blonde turned her coal colored gaze back towards the way they had come, catching sight of Wil riding her flighty stallion back up the main road. “Hey,” Amara called out when he was close enough to hear, the scarred side of her mouth quirking up into an easy half smile as she raised a hand and gave a subtle two fingered wave. “Good to see you’re not dead yet,” she commented as she looked him over, checking for any obvious injuries. The man appeared a little disheveled but mostly fine as far as she could tell, however his dark blonde hair seemed more brown than usual thanks to the bits of dirt still in it. Maybe he had fallen? That would explain why his own mount had gone missing. “Thanks for rescuing my horse,” she continued, nodding her chin down towards Acorn, who’s ears pinned back the moment he caught sight of her.

Amara scowled at the behavior, recalling how he’d thrown her earlier and how her body still ached from the impact of the fall. “I’m glad somebody found him useful, anyways,” she grumbled, chewing the inside of her cheek in obvious annoyance aimed solely at the buckskin.

"It's already dusk, damnit," she heard a voice curse from somewhere behind her, and the scarred woman turned her head just in time to see Gabriel climbing to the front of the carriage that he and Darian had overtaken together. He had taken to leading this particular job, so Amara listened silently as the green eyed man instructed them to ride out towards Braven and seek shelter for the night, lest they get caught out on the roads after dark. Amara couldn’t help but agree, she’d spent enough time in the Wildlands to know she didn’t want to be out in the open after sunfall.
Skadan Castle, Training Grounds

Once she had verified that her charge was tucked in safe and sound for the night, Gundiberga had gone to the training yard, passing the time by hurling her throwing knives at straw training dummies. Her aim was impeccable, as always, so she had taken to trying for more and more obscure spots, like the buttons on its shirt. The king’s shouting still cut through the air, his fury cackling like thunder in the cold, bleak night sky. While some people found it hard to sleep through, the blonde warrior believed the king's booming hatred for God to be reassuring most of the time.

Still, it was hard to sleep through such a thing, especially when all the king's magic ever made her want to do was slaughter the religious. For the next knife she imagined the dummy was a priest and the corners of her mouth quirked up into a wide, snarling sort of grin as the weapon flew through the air and imbedded itself right where the left eye should have been.

“Good throw”, a voice remarked from the shadows at the yard’s edge, followed by a knife that flew past her, plunging into the dummy’s coarse simulacrum of a pair of legs. A large dark stain broke away from the penumbra, gradually taking shape as a human figure as it moved into the torchlight. Its features were half-obscured in the leaping, inconstant light, but the glinting of a blade under its cloak gave away its identity clearly enough. Even in Skadania, only one person went about with an unsheathed knife all day long.

Ratechi stopped at a brief distance from her and squinted in the dummies’ direction. “Pity we don’t have enough proper targets in here, but the elder wouldn’t stand us wasting people like this. And the king, either.” He made as if to throw a glance at the greater tower, but his left eye remained half-closed and fixated on his interlocutor.

“Hm,” the blonde hummed in agreement, admiring the other’s perfect aim before she turned to face the man with a blade for an arm. The weapon in question seemed to take on an ominous glow in the low light of the moon, but was still mostly obscured by the guard’s cloak. “Hello Ratechi,” Gundiberga greeted, tilting her head up to meet the stare of the eye that was still on her. “Strange to see you out and about without the king’s soothsayer. To what do I owe this honor?”

The Farigai nodded and gestured with his one hand by way of salutation. “It’s he that sends me on this errand, so we're not far in intent.” He turned back to face the woman as he spoke. “I, and we all, know that your devotion and hatred of the Enemy are exemplary,” he continued, “And we know also that Dalgiserius trusts you and your charge greatly in his scheme for Udos. It wouldn't be my place to question our king, but it's my duty -” he fingered the Locust-head effigy hanging on his chest “- to make sure his trust is not misplaced.” His arm-blade flashed as he twitched it under its draping. “Can the King of all Lamperts rely on you, Gundiberga?”

She returned the question with a blank look at first, a neat crease forming between her brows as she drew them together. Her ink black eyes drifted to Locust-head at the center of him, then shifted to the sword-arm shuddering beneath his onyx mantle, before they finally settled on his face again. Gudiberga moved her head in a slow, deliberate, owl-like tilt as her pale lips quirked up into a deranged and toothy grin. “Always,” the blonde answered, the wild look that was so common to the warrior back in her eyes once again. “I am at the king’s full disposal. He may always depend on me to carry out his commands diligently.”

“Good.” Ratechi nodded, his stump coming to rest. “Then what I say shouldn't be any trouble. We don't doubt your good will, but the king’s ward…” His eyes narrowed again, either in focus or disgust. “She may be too feeble to carry the fate of us all on her shoulders. We will follow to ensure she doesn't stray from the path our liege set for her. If she tries to hide anything, or if we must intervene,” he raised his blade into view, pointing it at the shieldmaiden, “we’d like to know we can count on you to do what's necessary.”

At this bit of news Gundiberga frowned deeply. “The little fox is loyal,” she stated in a tone that was starting to sound frustrated. “...and not as weak as she first appears.” The shield maiden couldn't really blame Ratechi for the assumption as Antonia was too skinny and gangly for her own good, but in the three years she'd been under Gundiberga's guard the girl had been nothing but faithful to their king. Plus the princess's archery skills were getting quite impressive and had surpassed the blonde’s long ago.

Of course, Antonia was still shit at hand-to-hand combat and she had never once bashed a skull in, but with Gundiberga as her tutor it was only a matter of time.

“But if she strays, I’ll gut her myself,” she finished, her tone never wavering. “I do not abide by traitors.”

“I think the king would prefer her alive.” The blade was lowered, but the man’s gaze and words were still laden with a shade of distaste. “Certain of it, in fact. Whatever happens, do not be rash. Nor too quick to trust in the faith of a witch-spawn.” Ratechi spat over his right shoulder in superstitious haste before continuing. “Your fox has unclean blood in her veins. But I’m glad to hear you’ll keep it in check.” What passed for his left arm disappeared under his cloak once more. Without its gleam, his figure grew all the more similar to a shapeless mass of shadow. “She must not know, of course. Let her never be aware that she’s being watched for a misstep on this journey, not by us, not by you.”

“So it shall be,” Gundiberga nodded abruptly, crossing over to the training dummy and pulling the daggers from it's straw body. She came back to Ratechi and extended a sinewy arm, holding his knife out towards him hilt first. “I’ll wait for your people to find me and report on what I know once we’re inside Udos. The princess will stay the course or we’ll bring her back to our king together.”

The proffered knife was swallowed by the blackness with but a slight tug to mark its passing. “We will see to all in its due time.” Ratechi began to withdraw towards the denser dim of the walls. When he became little more than a rustle amid distant cries and a half-guessed movement, he paused. “Until then, be well. God is dead.” And, with nary a sound more, he was gone.
Collaboration with Narcotic Dollie and @Oraculum

Such a bop. <3
Its udders are filled to the brim.


Lowering its horned head, the beast takes a voracious gulp of its own udders… before spewing out a bolt of transparent milk at the King.


That should not be a lethal attack, nevertheless Cauroman felt he should steer clear regardless.

Good assumption, King Cauromam, I too would avoid being sprayed by demonic goat milk! This whole post was a journey and I 100% approve of these shenanigans.
When Amara had agreed to robbing this merchant caravan blind she hadn’t imagined it’d end up like this. Yet here she was, careening down a dirt road while her marks hurled magical explosives at her.

“Tch,” the blonde hissed through clenched teeth as the dirt kicked up from the horses stung her eyes, the bone white face plate she’d chosen to mask her identity doing nothing to protect her vision. Her mount, a buckskin called Acorn, wasn’t doing her any favors either. The stable she’d purchased him from had assured her that he was a tried and true warhorse, but the way he was jumping and pulling away from the carriage told Amara that the stable master was a fucking liar. She nocked another arrow and pulled it back, only for Acorn to lurch to the side for no apparent reason at the very second she released it. As a result her aim was comically off, the arrow missing the carriage completely and imbedding itself uselessly in the ground.

The man she had intended to hit even had the audacity to laugh at her before he lobbed another bomb her way. Amara jerked the reins towards the left in an effort to dodge the electrical energy and while she managed to miss it by the skin of her teeth, Acorn decided right then and there that he was done. The horse stopped so fast the he almost sent the woman over his head and then gave her no time at all to recover before he began bucking like an unbroken yearling. Amara tried to hang on but quickly realized that it was a lost cause. She had no choice but to let go and hurl herself away from him, rolling to the edge of the road to avoid him stomping her in his frenzy. The moment his rider was free of him Acorn turned tail and headed back the way they came and away from the chaos.

Good. Amara hoped that he would be eaten by a chimera.

Amara got to her feet right as Giselle, who had slowed her horse down considerably, was coming up alongside her. Realizing what the other woman meant for her to do the blonde jogged along side them and grabbed the saddlehorn before she hoisted herself up, bringing her leg over to successfully mount the beast behind the raven haired beauty. “Thank you,” Amara exhaled heavily as the other spurred the horse onward to make up the distance they had lost. Her bow had survived the fall by some miracle and she wasted no time nocking a second arrow, pulling it back, and firing it into the caravan. This one hit right where she was aiming, the projectile piercing through the skin just below the laughing man’s adam's apple and driving all the way through to the back of his neck. He made a sickly gurgled sound as he tried to yank the arrow out but in the end he only succeeded in keeling over and falling from the wagon.

Amara grinned from behind her faceplate but quickly realized that the kill was far from a victory, as the rest of the guards on their side of the caravan had wised up and taken to tossing their bombs from behind crates, preventing the archer from getting a clear shot. “I don't think I can hit them anymore,” Amara admitted into the other woman’s ear, speaking loud enough that she could hear over the wind. “Let me have the reins, Giselle,” she said quickly, her hands reaching around the woman’s slender waist and hovering just above the reins, waiting for the other to agree. “We both know you’ve got a better shot at hitting them up close then I do,” she explained, as it wasn't a secret that Amara’s weakness was close combat. She was meant for arrows through the eyes, stealthy daggers to the heart, or slipping something insidious inside a mug of mead and had no business trying to take out anyone up close who could see her coming.

But she knew Giselle was wicked with that sickle of hers, so she was the obvious choice in this situation. “I'll mind the bombs and get you close enough, you just focus on getting them to stop all this magic. We're going to attract every feral creature in The Wildlands if they keep this up!”

@Rockette I just wanted to tell you that Giselle's profile is a work of art! It's so gorgeous that I keep going back so I can look at it some more. XD I love her aesthetic!
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