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    1. ouTland01 5 yrs ago

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5 yrs ago
everyone thinks the mothman is pretty sexy

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Gotcha. I thought you meant like ancient, the-first-ever dragon rider lmao

Prejudice against a half-elf isn't really an issue in this world?
"They have existed, although most weren't able to have children of their own. As for whether any exist now; let's just say that if they do, they would have become very, very skilled at blending in with whatever race (elves or humans) they had chosen to live among."

and

"Angela might be half-elven, as she is apparently older than she looks and is respected by elves."

Edit:
I don't think that race is an issue, especially not one to be such a driving factor for your character. Whatever killed both of her parents or locked her up, though, definitely would.
Silently, Ivaran watches the half-elf.
Korrevene adjusts herself, dark green head emerging from under the blanket. One studying her closely might notice the clear, glass-like spines along the sagittal crest of her spine and skull. Merely glancing at her, though, would be distracted by the way the edges of her scales seem to shimmer as light hits them.
Because I am small, and busy. As such, I needed sleep. The little reptile says this gracefully, matter-of-factly.
She swam in the water and tired herself out, Ivaran translates. Korrevene glares at him.
Sharp green eyes follow the key, then make steady contact with Bellamy's own gaze. His expression is amused, almost, if not slightly quizzical.
first? how so?
Ignoring the fuss from the half-elf, Ivaran smiles – if such an expression could be called a “smile” rather than a “smirk”. He blinks slowly, assuredly, body language communicating ease and relaxedness to the other feline as he scans the others in the room. He looks back at Bellamy, unhurried. “Ah,– yes. I believe so. You are all to be fellow students, I take it?” In his bag, Korrevene shifts.
I don’t know if it’s geographically accurate, but I didn’t have a map to go off of for the island, so I went with what first came to mind. Here’s a visual for the first paragraph.
Ivaran steps out of the boat, tying it to a cypress tree on the edge of the water. Sure of the waterproofness of his boots, he walks decisively through the thin patch of trees, long coat sweeping through the shallow water. A deep green dragon follows him, excitedly splashing and stirring up mud. She snaps at a fleeing salamander. As the water slopes up and loses depth, he picks her up out of the water and tucks her into his bag. A moment later, they break through the tree line.
The man shades his eyes and sighs. Here we are. He grimaces, just a little. All’s well that ends well. We made better time than I had expected. I just would have hoped to come under the cover of night.
And I, the cover of palm leaves. The little dragon might have rolled her eyes, had they functioned like a humanoid’s. We are here. No point complaining. She curls up, worming herself under a blanket, and chirps lightly.
-
He given directions to a room and begins his way up a staircase. As he nears the room, his nose, although dulled by taking human form, picks up the scent of another werecat. He knocks on the worn oak door, and waits.
Do I want to? Sorta. But it wouldn't really be fair. I don't know why he's offline, and it's none of my business, but it might as well be a very valid reason.

There's mine. [redacted bc oh sike you already did]
Llewelyn Baines, son of Hades, god of death, had not expected to drop everything in his grasp when a sudden vision overcame him.
Though if he had, he wouldn’t have been holding a priceless paleontological artifact, he supposed.
Ah, well. If fifty-eight million years of weathering and climate hadn’t been able to destroy this fossilized dorsal vertebra of Titanoboa, how could a little gravity hope to measure up? He came to his senses on the ground by the projector screen, head in his hands. He looked over at the vertebra, up at the concerned faces of thirty established and publicized scientists, and said, “Uh. . . It’s fine?
From behind him, his boyfriend scoffed. “Forget the rock, genius. You don’t normally black out in the middle of a lecture, even if you are hopelessly excited. What happened?
Llewellyn frowned, curling onto his side and pulling himself up with Joshua’s help. “It’s a fossil, not a rock, and no, I’m not going to “forget it,”” He knelt down, carefully picking the backbone up, and dusted it off. “I’m fine. I just have to go make a call.
To your doctor? Cool. Excellent idea.
He turned around and made a face. “No, not to my – to a friend. Something’s going on.
Joshua’s face lit up with understanding, or some semblance of it. “Go. I’ll wrap things up and chase these old losers out.
Llewellyn shook his head violently, immediately regretting it as a wave of dizziness crashed into him. “Shit. Whatever. I’ll let you know what’s going on as soon as I do.
Outside of the conference room, he pulled his hair up and out of his face. From the bottom of his bag, he pulled out an old flip phone. He pressed a number, triggering speed dial, and held it up to his ear.
Ivy? Ivy? It’s Lyn. I think something bad just happened.

S̡̡̫̹̣̫̦̫̭̫͙͉̱͕̦͍͕̰͚͇̰͘͞o̰͖̫͚̣̼̦̮̭̺̖̩̦̭͘͞ͅm̵̨̠̜̭͚͕̹͕̮̪͕͖̕ͅẹ̷͚̳̞̼͖̦͔̗̗͙͚͈̣̻͈̘́̕͝w͕̹̬͇̲͟͟h͜͏͓̥̝͈̯̳̪́e̵̝͚̹͓̠̝͖̟͎̙͢͝͡r͏̧̞̻̟͉̘̖̱͠͠͝ͅḛ̴̣̦̟͢ ̷̴̨̡͇̬͙̯̝͎̫̥̖̮͙̳̭͈͉͡n҉̧̕͏͇͇̬͙̮̞͕̞̟̬̣̹̮̳̮ę͙̞̬̭̥̬̤̯̼͕̗̟͕̹̀͢ͅì̜͉̠͔̹̟̝̼̪̹̯̀̕t̮͖̱̹̬̤̣̼̫̤̰͠h̸̙̻̤̱̹͓̪͕̰̥͎̭̝͇̦͕͞e̸̹̻̙͍͕͕̱̪̜̙̬͇̺͙͙̻͙͇̤͟͞͠͠r͠͏̳̗͍̲̖̞̥ ͏̬͙̬̺̘̺̺̫̪̘͟d̝̮̘̭̱͚̼̰̜͚͇̻͖̖͙͉͓̪͟ͅa҉̵̡҉͍̻̖̹̦̰̹̙̗̙͕̻̰̥̙̮̻̞̼͞r̡̨̻͇̤̠͓͢͡ͅͅk̛̠̮̫̬̝͙̦͎̯͇͔̼̘̠̲͓͞͝ ͏̴͕̲͚̟̘͇̩̝̥̤̪͕̫̪ͅn͏̕͏̡̧̰͇̻̫̩̩̬̺͎̬̼̖͓̺o͚̮̱̻̻̱͚̮̟͔̭͉͟͝ͅr͏̴̸̳͈̪̤̳͘͜ ̸̧̢̙̫͢͡ͅͅb̶̞̘̠̟̖̟̩͙͓̬̀͝͡r̵̢͟͏̷̮̳̰̩į̵̼̟̪̝̦̙͢ͅg̶͍̪̱̬͙̻̩͔̭̀h̡̗̱͈̟̲̪͚̞̠̕t͙̲̫̣̰̖̦͓̟͍͎̀͝,̬̩̙̩̖͎͎̱̮̳̯̝͇̠̤̩̀͟ͅ ̶͜͏̵̜͕̯̝͈̰̼̤̯͚̬͙͙̱͎͘ͅͅn̦̣͇̹̠͜͝ȩ̼̙̝̮̺̭̀́͟ͅi̷͟͏̸̱͙̮͚͝ͅț̲͎̝̀͡h̷͠҉͍̩̮̯͇͈͙̬̹͓͙̜͖̼͚̺̳͖e̸̡̧̬̘͓͕͚̜͈͉̕r̴̷͇̗͈͕͎̺̫̬̞͕̀ ͉͍̦̭̤̟̪̗͖̬͓͇̮͖̩̲̀͞ͅh̹̭͔̼͇̕̕͟͢ͅǫ͖̦̼̥̘̮̳̱̮̣͈̥̻͘͝͞ͅt̡͘҉̯̖̰̙̖̖̗̟̭͍̗̝͉͔ ̛͎͈̮͓̠͢n̢͟͏̷̟̪̬̬͕̤̹̖̰̩̭̣̙̝̮͉ǫ̷̡͉̤͚̰̲̥̭̣̯̠͔̺̭͘ŕ̶̥͍̜͓̺̞̠͓̲̭̱͖̕ ̸̸̦̞̹͙̳̕͜͞ç̧̗̱͇͉͎̗͇̙͈̹̕ờ̴̷̞̫̬̫̮̺͇̫̟̬͙͓̩̭̟̰̥l̵̴̹͈̫͘͟d̵̮͉̮͖̜͘͝ͅ,҉̡̫͙̣̯͔̦̀͞ ̨̨̰̫̗͓̜̪͟ͅǹ̵҉̛̖͓̼̣͓͍̙͇ę̕͠҉̵͙̳̥̬̻̬̳̺̱͓̳i̴͏̸̛̪̲̯̹̼̮̞̹̦̣͡t̵͏̡̢̭̟̩͉̺̹̟̲̝̩̝͔̘̖͚h̛͏̤͈̠̣͙͚̠̹̠̗̹͈̖ͅé̛͝҉̬̠͖̣̱̮͚̦̩̮͕ͅͅŕ̶͖̹̟̲́͡ ͢͞҉̜̟̱̭̟̩̲̞͙̠͖̰̪̤̙r̷̵͕͉̜͈̦̤̬̬͖̭͇̞̟͟͞ͅe͏̤̜̪̬̭͇͕̯͍̗͓͇͝͝a̷̦̦̘̫̣̠̭̰̣͚̖̱͚͝l̛̳̖͉̻̰̮͉͔̜͡ ̨̧̙̳̟͚̺̫̯͎̯̱̬̰̞̱̫̜͢͝ǹ̘̯̗͍̮͙̼̥̭̟̲̮̭͚͜͟ơ͙͙̬͍̭͖̝̞̬͙͙̗̦͜͠ͅͅr̕͜͞͏̩̤̭̺̪̝̳͕͖̫̼̹͕̜̘̪ͅ ̢̖͈̝̲̲̗͕̳̗̟͉̦̘͎͙͔̗̕͜͡͠i̸̶̢̡̳͇̰͉̘͖͈͢m̸̫͓̩̘̮͕̹̺͢͝a̷̸͓̖̫͇̙̣̭͇̱̣̞͢͝g̀̀͘͠҉̩̙̩̰̩̠̩̩̣͕͍̳̭ͅi͏̸̖͇̤̙̥͉̙̱̫̙͈̠͎̮ͅǹ̴̢̧̯̻͈͈̝̲͇͓̟̙͠ͅą̺͓͖͔̮̺͚͚̺͖͟͝ͅr̵̶̸̨͔̼̞̟̗̹̱̝̙͔̖̠͘y͉̻̮̟̘͇̱̘̭̙͔̰̥͠,͞͠҉͓̹͖͚̩̱̲͚͠ ̶̶̡̲̮̥͚͎̤̜͇̪̳̦̹̮̙̕t̴̵̤͓͓̟͎̙͓̦͜͠h͉̖̻̝̀̀͜è̴̢͉̝͔̙̤̝̯̙͢͝ ͘͏̡̛͏̹̪̤̼̭̰͉s̴̸̺͇̣̣͍̱̣͙̻͈̹͕̲̲̲̱̜̤̜͝a̷͇͉͖͇̳̠̝̝̫̙͓͕͞ǹ̬̝͉̳̙͝d͏̤̠̺̩̹̫̝̹̪̭̪̳́͡ ̱̼̲̹̼̼̗̟̮̬̕͝͞b̷̸̲̼̯̩̗͖̖̥̹̺̺̜̻͓̮̀͠ȩ̶̤̱̫͇̩͉̭́͟g̡̧̢̛͍͍̙̩̜̱̗̰͔̗̼̺̱̣͠į̷̝͔͓̜͍̰͈͚͍͔̰͉͖͇͎̫̳͢͝ͅń̷̝̙̭ͅş̷̵̷̠̜̰̟͙̞͚̳̝͓̻͓̱̯͎̜ ̶̡͏̰̺͎͖̟͇̣͈̖̕͞t̛͏̸̟̠̥͉͙̟̠̜̜͉̯͢ǫ̶̝͎̟̩̱̻̮̤̩̱͖̕͟ ̖͙̘̜̘̘͚͔͔̤͖̙̠̬̜̀͟ś̸͉̜̖͔͈̕͜ḩ̩̲̗̯̜͘ì̧͚̬̥̺̼̘̣̙̻͉̩̟̰͙̜̳̪f̴̡̤͍̲͔͓̳̣̙͎͕̕͢͝t̡͕̲̱͈͚̫̲̼̲͍͕̮͈̮̘́͢ͅ.͏̸̧̻̻̞͉̗͇̭̱͚̦̳̱̺̮̺̝͔̼͘
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