Don't have an account yet? 
Forum Search
I'm Feeling Lucky
Searching for: Posts from Immortes.|
Immortes ONLINE   Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Sat, 13/01/2024 20:01 (3 Months ago) |
|
♥ Character Name | Dezerae Circinus ♥ Aliases | The Songbird | 鸣禽 ♥ Age | 26 ♥ Gender | Female ♥ Pronouns | she/her ♥ Sexuality | Demisexual/Lesbian ♥ Appearance ♥ (x) ♥ Personality ♥ ENTP-A | 4w3 | True Neutral | Libra + insightful, charismatic, driven, light-hearted, punctual - opportunistic, artful, possessive, beguiling, evasive ♥ Sin ♥ ( Guile: Deceit ) CW : emotional self-neglect, gaslighting A songbird on the stage is a performer first and foremost, and Dezerae lives for the spotlight. Literally. In her trip to stardom, she's learned to keep what happens behind the stage under covers. Seeking to capture the audience at every turn, she creates a new image, a new perception of herself like a new coat. Under the spotlight, the songbird has a taste of perfection — that forbidden fruit that comes with being loved and desired. It's an addiction to love itself, the more she devours, the more she wants and gets. Easier to smile and laugh than to confess to the loneliness and anguish behind closed doors. Nobody wants a songbird with a song of woe or bitterness, and Dezerae learned the only way to lie was to believe it. Within years, she mastered her performances and her words are as disingenuous as her saccharine songs. And few know her, not truly, as she dances a solitary waltz in a ballroom empty. ♥ Additional Info ♥ ♥ A managerial agent of Illusion Studios eight models, Dezerae works closely with both the top echelon of Illusion Studios' employed and the models themselves to punch out a schedule, one week at a time. Though she's fond of public appearances and social gatherings, Dezerae keeps a low profile in public and avoids garnering attention and press. Much of her tasks involve basic supervision, timekeeping, and the occasional shoulder to cry on. If anyone asks why the Songbird is suddenly so prone to introversion, she merely shrugs and replies that the models are adults and should be responsible for their own devices. Those who are able to read through the lines will find her hidden in the shadows whenever possible, glad to catch a brief break from the invasive pressure of cameras, reporters, and over-enthusiastic fans. ♥ Can be caught singing, humming, or trilling under her breathe occasionally. Her notes never actually line up with any one tune, and instead just serve as a way to pass the time. 🤍 [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Mon, 20/11/2023 05:25 (5 Months ago) |
 She tapped the table while she pondered what to say back. Ray was more than familiar with the bond between the Regrator and the Doctor, a personalized dynamic with countless years of experience. This was not to say that she found the Doctor's company to be any less forbidding. All of Snezhnaya's ice stuffed into a person, and a tongue more poisonous than a snake's. There was a bond to be found between those of intellectual genius, one Ray could respect as a woman of sweetened tongue. It wasn't as if their cruelties could be measured - one cut people apart with needles and knives, whereas Pantalone could rip someone apart with words and lies. The playful exasperation evident in Pantalone's voice did not go unnoticed by her, and Ray chuckled dryly. As much as the Harbingers tried to keep their distance from their peers to save face and hide their intentions, sometimes intimacy lurked below the ice. "Give the good Doctor my regards as well." Ray said calmly as she made some notes on a piece of paper. She read over the script for the meeting, written in Snezhnayan script. "I'm sure he has his own reason for sending you greetings in his notoriously busy schedule, but maybe you could take a leaf out of his book and get out more." Ray let her playful chide hang in the air expectantly, having long learned that a little bit of emptiness could tease out even the most curt responses. She returned to her room, tipping back the glass of water as she made some last preparations for her visitor. Even the finest of details in practice could mean the difference. Ray noted Pantalone's more reserved speaking pattern with a curious "hm." Though notoriously introverted and confined office, there is a clear difference between privacy...and caution. Curious, was Pantalone worried they would be overheard? Pantalone's use of warm sobriquets elicited a fond laugh from Ray, and perhaps her blush was equally obvious. Dearest Ray... "Yes, I thought as much, Pantalone." Ray chuckled. She turned her head towards the door as if expecting the knob to turn any second. "We're going to have a very entertaining evening, and I do think that this information could serve you well. Comes with the region. I'll fill you in on what you missed when you get here." Ray sat her desk, folding her hands patiently as she listened to the telltale sounds of Pantalone's office activities from the comm. One minute or another the knock would come. [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Fri, 17/11/2023 05:05 (5 Months ago) |
|
"If they were tricked by their hearts, they were reckless. If they were tricked by their mind, they were foolish. If they were tricked by their abilities, they were overconfident. And a predator that can be tricked...won't fall for the same trick twice. But a predator that can be tricked...can be beaten." Generally, Ray hated feeling drunk, especially if it was not Snezhnayan whiskey. It set her apart from the average Mondstatian, who enjoyed wasting their late afternoons under a drunken haze. Mondstat had none of Snezhanya's brisk pacing, and the summer afternoon weighed heavy on her skin, luring her into a soft haze. Her mouth swam with the pungent taste lingering on her mouth as she imbibed drinks with reluctance at parties, shuddering in distaste. Snezhnaya may be known for their brand of drunken revels, but they were never quite...tame. Fatui parties had an innate sense of danger. Having those senses dulled in Mondstat made Ray's head spin worse than an early morning hangover. Far too accustomed to the cold of a winter morning, a Mondstat summer was almost smothering. Hard to breathe, harder to think. The festivities? Unbearable. The grand doors of the party beckoned her to the deep night beyond, and Ray longed to answer. She bid a polite goodbye and a mild excuse of getting some fresh air before she separated from her little knot of Mondstat nobles, leaving them to chatter and revel among each other. She pointedly ignored their lurid gazes on her figure, telling herself that their desires were merely fatalistic flaws. No one in the Fatui would admit to wanting something unless they knew they could follow up on it. However, the Mondstatians could not agree. Already feeling the telltale beckons of alcohol on her mind, Ray went for a gulp of fresh air and some water before she could start swaying on her step. She would never hear the end of it from Pantalone if he saw her thoroughly intoxicated. The Regrator would only shake his head and give her a lecture about "keeping one's wits about them" and "alcohol swaying the mind." It was a warning every Fatui should heed, and every Harbinger would have it down by heart. No better way to loosen the tongue and fog the mind than a few stiff drinks. As if every man expected Ray to be filled with lustful and passionate urges that weakened her knees and made her body bloom with flame. The notion that any Harbinger would catch her swaying on her damn feet outside of headquarters was appalling. There was no better definition of being "blindsided," and if it was not the threat of a laugh from Pierro and Arlecchino back at dinnertime that kept Ray from drinking her night away, it was the thought that she had lost the person she had been tracking since last week. Sarcastic insults, saccharine smiles, and honeyed pickup lines that could throw a Mondstat man on his back traded for information on tap. Hands wandered lower and suddenly the man was like liquid gold...their eyes glazed over and their breaths hot and panting with lust. A lead to a particular Liyuen representative set to appear tonight at a ball thrown in their favor. To commemorate a union, said the glasses lofted in the trembling air. Easy enough to anticipate a visit when the offer of a "good time" appeared. Maybe in a few hours...maybe in a few minutes, the knock would come. Ray had to make sure she had a clear head before the meeting. Childe was right. Mondstat was softening her, rendering her unaware in its stagnant air. Track first and complain later. Ray drew a glass of water from the sink and threw it back like a shot while she waited for the fog in her mind to finish clearing up. Looking down, she ensured the listening device was still attached to her neckline, far from where a man's wandering hands or kiss would accidentally crush its petite surface. She was drawing another when she pressed a button to open the communication with Pantalone. Static soon gave way to an unmistakable hum, and she said into the expectant silence, letting the sink run over her voice. "Mondstats brings the luxuries with none of the Fatui's raw fire." Ray kept her voice low and respectful as she called to mind the stately older Harbinger, "Even winter nights here are much too warm for my liking, let alone the summer ones we have now. I expect our guest to be here in a few hours...you know how punctual Liyuens are. And you? Surely you've found more excitement with the other Harbingers than just in your office, no?" [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Thu, 26/10/2023 03:33 (6 Months ago) |
  Forename: Isadora | Meaning: Gift of the goddess | Title: Circinus, Number 10 of the Fatui Harbingers | Meaning: Compass Needle Nicknames: Little Needle [ 鸣禽 - The Songbird ] "I see you wanted to speak to me. Well, in that case please, don't be shy. I want to hear all that you have to say. It can be hard to find someone to talk to in the frozen north. So, don't mistake me, dear. I'm here to listen to your worries." Voice — Elizabeth Olsen (Wanda Maximoff) She/her DOB: June 24th | Zodiac: Gemini ✧ physical appearance Mask : Red Fox | Canis Vulpes ✧ a kindness...a gentleness...soft eyes and honey-touched lips an old soul in a young body...ancient yet youthful ✧ history one . . . a fatal time loop...cataclysm...rebirth ✧ her work for the fatui is thankless. there are no parties held in her honor, no accolades or gifts to thank her for her continued service. the people of teyvat might know her face, but they would never know her name. yet, despite all of this...she still chooses to stay. not only because of the connections she'd lose...but also because she loves the fatui. she chose to be a harbinger...and she loves them for what they did for her. rite of blood taskforce alpha...and recovery ✧ relationships one . . . regrator (pantalone) . . . a fatherly dynamic ... [ playlist ] Mockingbird - Eminem Me and The Devil - Soap&Skin Money Money Money - ABBA Dream - Priscilla Ann Pacifico - Ugly Cassanova Bad Reputation - Taylor Swift Bad Apple - Jubyphonic RAT - Penelope Scott Darkside - Neoni Vem kan segla förutan vind - Barnkammarboken [ voicelines ] about the harbingers: "The Harbingers...what to say about them? They are a complicated bunch to be sure. But I can see that every single one of them has their own struggles and pain inside. They each have their own secrets and their own dreams. And while we all may be from different backgrounds and we might disagree on certain things, I can say that I do care about each of them in my own way. They are a broken family, but they are my family all the same." about the fatui "The Fatui...a complicated organization for sure. They have their own goals and their own methods. They are very protective of their secrets and they don't really trust outsiders. But I also know that there are many good people within the Fatui, people who genuinely care for those around them. And despite there being many rumors and speculation surrounding the Fatui, I have seen that they are a group that is very dedicated to doing their job. They are very important to our world, even if they are often misunderstood." about pantalone "Pantalone is so many different things to me...he is my father and my friend, and he is also the one who taught me so much... He is a strong and wise man, but he is also kind and compassionate. He is willing to listen and to understand, even if we disagree on certain things. Pantalone is someone that I can always feel safe and protected with. There are no words to describe how grateful I am to have him in my life, and I hope to always have him by my side. ♥ Sin ♥ ( Guile: Deceit ) CW : emotional self-neglect, gaslighting A songbird on the stage is a performer first and foremost, and Dezerae lives for the spotlight. Literally. In her trip to stardom, she's learned to keep what happens behind the stage under covers. Seeking to capture the audience at every turn, she creates a new image, a new perception of herself like a new coat. Under the spotlight, the songbird has a taste of perfection — that forbidden fruit that comes with being loved and desired. It's an addiction to love itself, the more she devours, the more she wants and gets. Easier to smile and laugh than to confess to the loneliness and anguish behind closed doors. Nobody wants a songbird with a song of woe or bitterness, and Dezerae learned the only way to lie was to believe it. Within years, she mastered her performances and her words are as disingenuous as her saccharine songs. And few know her, not truly, as she dances a solitary waltz in a ballroom empty. [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Sun, 24/09/2023 18:40 (7 Months ago) |
|
and another character [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Tue, 12/09/2023 13:00 (7 Months ago) |
|
Username: Immortes Character reference: boop Art type: TBOI Inspired YCH (the chibi one) payment: 150k PD password: the boi's theme anything else?: for a friend!!!!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Mon, 11/09/2023 12:00 (7 Months ago) |
|
Username: Immortes Bloopem: PJ bloopem Password: p4n Payment method: PD + grass gems [ 45k in total ] Tip: 10k Other: So cute thank you!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Fri, 08/09/2023 00:54 (7 Months ago) |
|
Character: Calverus - friend's OC :) Reference/pose: ref by me! :) no posing requests, but cal is known for his argumentative and fierce nature, so take that into account. FB/HB/HS: HB Lined/Flat/Shaded: Shaded please Payment: 60k PD? Tip? 10k PD Other: thanks in advance :3 [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Wed, 30/08/2023 16:49 (7 Months ago) |
|
bump bump bump [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 22:36 (8 Months ago) |
 image manip by me [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Fri, 25/08/2023 05:09 (8 Months ago) |
|
Practically ripping the door to his quarters off its hinges, Lysander stormed into the minimalistic area he was allowed. Tibon's mother had provided him with room and board in exchange for his service. It was more than many avians could ask for from their employers. Likely, her experience as a mother pained her to see another go without a roof over their head. Perhaps he would get her something if he was granted the chance to return here. Though, he thought bitterly, he was rarely ever so fortunate. He was a refugee, a runaway fleeing the endless onslaught of hateful whispers and stares, rumors and whispers. No matter how many hopeful gazes were leveled in his direction, he would never allow himself to grow close to an employer or his coworkers. All the better to leave quietly when no one suspected and no one had a chance to point a finger in his direction. Even if elves, in general, were kept in reasonably good standing, the council had too much power to be trusted with dealing with this matter lightly. Packing was a brief affair. Years of changing destinations without end had taught the avian to pack light. He carried few items of sentiment, only keeping that of necessity. Clothes and bedding, sundry household items, some food, important files of identification, and a suitcase for carrying luggage. Such austerity could be emotionally taxing, but it spoke volumes regarding convenience. Lysander kept his movements fluid and organized to hide the budding ache in his chest. But why? Indeed, this bohemian lifestyle was nothing new to him at this point. Getting sentimental was fighting against factors kept out of his control. For one reason or another, the working life would never be stable or settled, and thus, neither would he. Still, he would miss Tibon's kindness and the gentle gaze of his mother watching her son grow up. The innocence of the elven boy was a fleeting and fragile beauty, like morning dew or the ripe sweetness of fruits before they succumbed to rot. An old aphorism from his earlier teachings floated into his mind about how only faith in the sunshine's return could last through the night. It would be twilight now, then. Golden hour. Despite his earlier fury, Lysander was in no real hurry to leave. He hovered uncertainly on the cusp of the doorway, neither moving in nor out. Golden eyes captured every speck. Between the gentle sway of gossamer, sunlight illuminated the swell and ebb of dust as it rose and settled on the wood. The light pooled over every scratch on the floor until it shyly reached for his hand. Clenching his hand, he let it grasp at him like a child, begging for him not to leave. Lysander let it. He would probably never remember this place, and his forgetfulness bred regret. But a spoonful of sugar would help the medicine go down. Silently indulging himself one more minute, he left the shimmering dust behind. Keeping his pace brisk but unhurried to the stray passerby, Lysander exited the plaza. The ache dogged him with each step, but he leaned into the throb, knowing it would fade in time. It was a bit late for the growing pains. He felt the wind tease the stubborn set at his jaw with stray fingers, calling him to the sky. However ironic it sounded, Lysander was less familiar with the skies of Silverwood than the ground. Faintly, he remembered a name called the Silver Path - the stretch that separated rain-draped glades and silken boughs from the hallowed capital's golden touch. A city of splendor, yes, but also with many jagged edges and gold that lacked the sun's gentle glow. Someone called to him in low but stern tones. It took two tries before he recognized he was being addressed. Even from a distance, Lysander's eyes danced over the navy hues and velvet dressing of guild robes. It was unmistakably regal, lending a certain dignity to its dresser. The avian stiffened warily as he eyed them, wondering how hard they would push him if he refused. The strangers before him were wary themselves, but just beneath lingered a ponderous hostility. They asked if he had the letter. I do. There were only three elves and one driver. He could've just flown away, but he didn't. Lysander's eyes shuttered into brooding slits, and he shook his head at the proffered hand. "Just put my stuff in the trunk.." He muttered. The doors slammed shut, trapping him in shadow. Of all things to be first observed, the Council Halls were unmistakably solemn and ancient. Carved of a firm and unyielding stone, no sunlight could soften the furrows and cracks that ran down its side. Only a master's craftsmanship kept the walls from becoming too severe. Gold ran up gilded arches and ivory pillars, beaming proudly in the pre-noon light that cascaded amply from open windows. There was surgical cleanliness to the marbled stone with no roughness or sun-showered dust. Looking up at the architecture now, Lysander couldn't help but wonder if the inspiration behind these halls had been a palace, a cathedral, or a mix of both. Precise and pure, but cold all the same. Few lingered long enough to gawk at him. Many coughed and looked away, pretending to be occupied with the marble walls or their tasks. Heels slammed against the floor, and papers rustled. Still, his keen ears drew the whispers to his ears and along his spine like cobwebs. Lysander bound his arms tighter together, fighting against a swell of self-conscious nervousness. He marched with stiff legs and an expression of cold restraint. This was the same scrutiny he'd endured all his life, only with more civilized trappings. Different people, same ideologies. I thought I had escaped it. But that was how the law in Aeloria worked. It was the whispering scholars, the escort, removed and curt: all fair but unempathetic and professionally distant. An electric shiver surged from head to wingtip as the doors creaked open, bidding him enter. The light was blinding. He stepped into a flood of silent memories. It was the same as giving a confession all those years ago. High-sloped windows yielded a shower of golden light to bathe the council members above him, illuminating their faraway faces and the stiffness of their bodies. They were tense, and rightly so, for a stranger stood before them, known only in rumor. He craned his neck to stare at Serafina, bedecked in dark navy blue, and the Inquisitor with the eyes of the hawk on the podium. Hunger in one gaze, an undecipherable mix in the other. Gazes flicked between each other, weighing him. In contrast to his alabaster surroundings, Lysander's ebony form and cold visage stood out awkwardly. Was I what you were expecting? He didn't dare look away from them. Golden eyes fixated on the strange beings before him, dragging at every detail. Much like outside, he found no torn edges or smoky drapes in their faces, only a brusque, storm-weathered beauty as crisp as marbled stone. [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Thu, 24/08/2023 21:56 (8 Months ago) |
|
❥ Preferred Name: Immortes/Immy ❥ Pronouns: she/her ❥ Timezone: EST ❥ How long have you been roleplaying for?: Since 2018 ❥ How would you describe the literacy, length, and style of your posts?: Literate to advanced literate. 3+ paragraphs always. ❥ What themes, topics, or genres are you most interested in?: Fandoms/topics are listed here My favorite topics involve themes of self-discovery, hurt/comfort and most importantly character studies. I would love to focus on writing sympathetic villains/antiheroes that make us think introspectively about ourselves/the world around us. Grey morality is always a very well-received trope with me. I love to develop OCs inside and out, and RPing is the best way to go about. ❥ Whilst keeping to site rules, how would you rate the maturity boundaries of your roleplays?: Within site rules, I'm willing to go PG-13+, but will stay within comfort zones of my partner. Writing the darker parts in the prose/subtle references is probably my favorite way to go about this. The only thing that turns me off are themes of body horror (with exceptions) and heavy gore. ❥ If someone were to want to contact you about a roleplay, what would be the best method for you?: PP/PM ❥ Why did you decide to join us here?: To meet more RPers and to put all of my writing gibberish in one area. ❥ Examples of your roleplay posts (optional.): x | x | x [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Thu, 24/08/2023 00:20 (8 Months ago) |
|
I didn't know if event points were a normal drop from the gifts or if they were meant to be something else. Thank you in advance!! [Read more] |
|
Immortes ONLINE Forum Posts: 692 |
Posted: Mon, 21/08/2023 05:57 (8 Months ago) |
|
CH. 1 Child of the Desert silver-wood | the nouveau table A loud rattling sound to his left snapped Lysander out of his daze. Five seconds of brief confusion at the origin of such a disruptive sound yielded the answer: the pot at his cooking station. Giant bubbles were popping above the surface, accompanied by a thick foam layer. Cursing under his breath in at least three different languages, the avian yanked the pot off the stovetop and turned the heat down. The lid rattled dangerously with his abrupt motions, and some of the soup spilled onto his sleeves and arms. Burning pain erupted in his arms, but he stifled his cries to a low hiss. Slamming the pot down none-too-gently onto the table, Lysander put his hands on the lid and tried to force his frazzled nerves into stillness. He slowed his breathing, allowing his heart rate to settle. Moments later, he felt a telltale chill ripple from his fingers. Ice, to bind the agitation of fire and sing it to sleep. Once he was confident that the pot was no longer boiling, he ripped the lid off to see the damage. Vegetables cooked for too long turned soft and dissolved in the soup, while meat dried up and shriveled under the assault of the intense heat. Of course, the stillness of his hands was only temporary. Outside the frenzied havoc of the kitchen, there were customers to wait on and dishes to serve. There was no respite and no rest. The kitchen was blazing hot and foggy with steam, not to mention the constant risk of setting his feathers on fire every time he got near the stove. No sooner had one dish been retrieved than five new orders poured in. Anyone with his sense of mind should’ve resented being in such a chaotic and disorderly environment. It was not one of the avian’s strengths to multitask. But in the rhythm of his work, Lysander found a strange absence from his worries, his thoughts. Counterintuitively, the work became its own distraction, funneling his attention into the focus of a lens instead of letting it wander free. He cast a quick glance around, deliberating avoiding eye contact. But for once, he was not met with gazes poisoned by scrutiny or prejudice. Everyone was busy with their dishes or chatting with someone else to notice his fluttering anxiety. No cruel reprimand came. Satisfied, Lysander busied himself with plating, throwing into four bowls a ladle-and-a-half of fluffy rice and a generous helping of curry. He tried not to grimace at the sight of the mango fruit, stomach twisting. Outside of Black Sun territory, he was beginning to see that mango vendors were, in fact, increasingly commonplace. The fruit was not as taboo as the cult made it to be. However, his old reflexes remained ingrained. Too many nights to count, his stomach yielded its contents to the fruit’s sinful temptation. Setting the bowls aside, Lysander was just moving to retrieve a tray when the bell rang outside. “Lys, get your ass out here, pronto! Leave whatever you’re cooking!” Tibon barked from outside the main cooking area. “Guild’s sent a letter right for you!” The guild. Or more specifically, the ruling council of Aeloria. Dread slithered down his back. They couldn’t know what happened last time. I didn’t leave any trace - I couldn’t have. But how do they know? In his haste to exit the kitchen, Lysander nearly tripped over the step and reflexes alone prevented him from stumbling into Tibon. He loitered at the entrance, shifting from foot to foot like a scolded child. Furrows edged the younger elf’s youthful face and his arms were rigid with tension. A single snow-white envelope was clutched in a grip so tight it creased the paper. Forcing down his nerves, Lysander extended his hand, reaching for the mail.“May I see it?” After a few moments hesitation, the elf dropped it into his grip and backed away two paces, as if expecting the letter to morph into some raging flesh-eating beast. The avian took a moment to examine the carmine-red seal before tearing the letter open with a smooth flourish of talons. One look at the parchment script - the first two lines at least - and his stomach dropped. xxxxx𝐿𝑦𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑉𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑣𝑎, 𝐸𝑛𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑎. 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑢𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑙 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦. 𝐼𝑛 𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝐺𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑎. 𝐵𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟. 𝐴𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑦. xxxxxxxxxx𝑅𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠, xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx- 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑰𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪 What a welcome surprise. A growl trilled low in his throat before morphing into a cynical laugh. They actually had the bloody dignity to send a letter this time. Lysander felt his talons tighten upon the parchment, threatening to rip it apart at the slightest gesture. One glance at the younger elf’s stiffened form indicated that this was not the reaction he was expecting. He couldn't blame his friend's wariness; guild matters, political affairs, such things were not made for the descendants of folk hated for their very existence. With the events of the Northern War leaving lasting effects on the Aelorian people, their allegiances would not be easily forgotten. Where fear once set in claws, hatred and resentment oozed like blood to poison the very atmosphere where he lived. It made Tibon's mother's generosity all the more precarious. As his previous employer put it: anybody could take risks for an avian, but not when the benefits were outweighed by costs. With business already unpredictable... This could be his last day at the restaurant. The same thought had clearly occurred to Tibon. "'S it bad?" He asked hesitantly. Lysander sighed heavily. He put the letter back in the envelope. "Not terrible." He lied stonily. Anger threatened to overwhelm him — anger that once again for factors outside of his control, his right, his chance at a normal life was taken from him. Lysander took a deep breathe. "Tell the others that I've gone to deliver food for a customer in person. Don't tell her about the letter. I might be away for several hours, but I may be back by tonight." He wouldn't. "Have Claudia —" one of the younger elf chefs at the establishment — "Carry on with my dishes. The curry should be bout ready now. I've plated already. Just get it on a tray." Not waiting to see if his temper could hold out another minute, Lysander stalked towards his quarters the next door over, seething all the while [Read more] |
