< atton revisited > The information page for Atton has been fully revised and updated with the new map!
< updated calendar > The Fortuna calendar has been updated in the "Other" lore section! This includes a document which displays the calendar for you to see, making it much easier to understand.
< moving map > The first functional map has been released in the News section! This map is also interactive, allowing you to drag and drop between points in order to determine distances. This is the first iteration, and there's more and better to come!
< first annual awards > The results for the First Annual Fortuna Year-End Awards have been posted! Go and take a look at who the finalists were, and who took home the big prizes!
< new default skin > Our new skin has passed the beta test, and is now the new Default for the forums! If you have any issues with this skin, send a PM or Discord to Mellie.
< human lore update > Humans have been updated with TWENTY-FIVE subraces/subcultures which add numerous options, and a little extra lore and flavour.
< magic lore update > Magical Lore has been enhanced with the addition of a post on Magical Education. From Beginner to Expert, this is how you learn the spells.
< a change to member groups > Member groups are now based on storyline! You can change your displayed storyline by editing the settings in your profile.
Welcome to the world of Fortuna, a land of fantastic proportions. This is an original fantasy roleplay that takes place in a world developed over nearly a decade of work and collaboration. We aim to encourage all participants to have a hand in the stories of the characters here, and the world around them. Your choices are key - so make them with pride. You decide who wins the wars, you decide who becomes King, the world is ours, and together we will bring it to life!
but peace within a raging storm and the serendipity that can be found within the storm
Lianna is falling.
This is it, she has said, feigning bravery for what does she have left? She does not have it within her to beg; she is an embodiment, too proud to know better. Lianna is left wanting, hoping, wishing; but her dreams have long since been crushed and she knows what the world does to people with faith.
Forsaken and discarded, abandoned to wither and die.
No—it is better not to dream.
And so Lianna falls.
Cris looks up and their eyes meet—it is only now Lianna notices the pensive melody, wistful and somber—there is another pause, only a few seconds, but lasting a lifetime.
“You’ll miss me, bitch.”
That earns a laugh; edge of her lips curling upwards, head tilting, a knowing glint flickering in sterling eyes.
Of course she will.
Crissatha Pandora, an enigma unto herself. The girl who had too much fire for ice, the elf who truly should’ve been born an embodiment. Hair changing as much as Lianna’s skin, all biting tongue and promiscuity, merciless and dignified.
Crissatha Pandora, almost an echo of Lianna.
Almost, but not quite—better.
I’ll miss you.
There is something harsh in her eyes and Lianna blinks once, twice, letting silver roll to hide any hint of sorrow.
”If you say so, Panda,” she intones dryly, the smirk still on her lips; before she is able to continue she is interrupted, and for a moment, Lianna is grateful. It is a welcome distraction, a convenient lapse in conversation that allows herself to rebuild, steel herself against tears.
But when her eyes clear, all thoughts of gratitude evaporate into the midnight air; the wind stills, in sync as it always is to Lianna, and her eyes narrow at the intruder: a figure in black, shrouded in twilight. Eyes narrow even further when they lift their chin, allowing their hood to fall, eyes trained on the other, silver against silver—there is a shiver that crawls down Lianna’s spine but she refuses to shudder.
There is another pause; she realises she is waiting, expectant.
But for what?
“I’m not here to get involved, but he doesn’t blame you, so stop blaming yourself.”
The words are softly spoken, but the aftermath is violent. The winds are screaming but it is not under her control—it is not her, it is not her, but it feels so familiar, she knows this, deep routed beyond simple memory, she feels this within her, flowing through her veins like the ichor from the gods, feels this in a way only two people who have shared a womb can.
Elijah?
The air is stolen from her; she is breathless, stomach turning, twisting painfully, and a hand shoots up to grasp her chest—wild eyes darting everywhere, desperate to land on her mirror.
Where are you?
It is Cris who saves her.
“Well, that’s fucking cryptic,” she mutters, and Lianna finds her anchor—the winds are no longer screaming, were never screaming, and she shuts her eyes, wounds ripped once and left to rot once more.
It is just a coincidence.
Her brother is dead.
The dead do not come back.
“Wow, you just look so fucking cool delivering that message and then riding off into the metaphorical sunset.”
She is still recovering; eyes glance up to settle on the stranger, this dramatic fucking stranger, and she feels herself start to burn, deep inside, anger taking its toll and presenting itself as a jolt of electricity that she sends into the air: a warning shot.
”You’ve got the wrong people,” she spits out, tasting venom in her mouth—just leave. She regards the elf, back turned against them. Don’t turn around.
”Crazy bitch.”
And so Lianna continues to fall.
724 sry i didn't rly give u a lot to work with inner angst n all dat
MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOX 2.0
Last Edit: Mar 17, 2017 12:16:25 GMT -7 by Deleted
[attr="class","solpost"] The faintest of glances at the elven woman to her left stirred a challenging response; two sculpted brows jetted upward in a half-mocking shortage of restraint, eyes lidded and casual.
She believed herself to be more powerful than the meager throng, this child of the fay, and she may have been right.
But, Solana had learned, so few were right.
And Solana Heiralei was not amongst the meager throng.
Gilded eyes were back on the shifting girl on her right, now blue, now opaque, now dusky grey, a constant whirl; a reflection of the grief in her eyes, battling so valiantly with Solana’s dear friend apathy.
A young elf, it seemed. A child to the ways of the world. No grief touched Solana now.
A sullen child.
Grey eyes narrowed; leery.
Solana spoke her words, mind whirring; why am I doing this?
Her edges were sharper than mine, even then, he mused, even identical twins aren’t always exact.
Did I ask? Came the clipped mental counter, followed, quickly (no need for him to mistake that question for one that warranted an answer) with Are we done here? I’m no messenger for the dead. I’m a succubus.
But she was turning away already, horse quick to respond to the command that might mean food and shelter.
Not quite yet, knowing my sister...
And sure enough, to the vampire’s great irritation, came the chattering of testy adolescent fay.
”Well that’s fucking cryptic”
She almost smiled at that – it was something she’d be thinking – but didn't turn.
Yet.
”Wow, you just look so fucking cool delivering that message and then riding off into the metaphorical sunset,”
Words were quick to shear through the frigid air;
“I was going for ‘sexy’, but I’ll take what I can get.”
But still the bronzed chin did not tuck over a shoulder to look back at the two girls, still no searching sterling eyes found those so eerily similar, still she had found nothing to lift the hand guiding her stallion’s progress, nothing to fear from these fretful infants.
Yet.
Li.... He whispered, torment twitching in his voice.
And then there was the distant rumble of thunder followed by the too-near crash of staggering lightning, which blinded the area with the glare of a sudden glow, gone as soon as it flashed into sight.
”You’ve got the wrong people, crazy bitch.”
Her voice was venom, her words a concussion: the harsh jar of metal against itself, and a hand lifted, halting the midnight horse, a chin turned, hitching on a flawless shoulder.
She was the very air of nonplussed, granite eyes hiding the flash of pleasant surprise.
Perhaps they had been right...
Her eyes were on the other, then, the one who had hastily hidden her guitar in it’s case, like a secret well-kept. A brow arched, in conversation.
“Well. I’ll have to find the other girl with a dead twin brother wandering around the frozen shitland of Aissic.”
And she returned her gaze to the daughter of the storm, who refused to face her, then; or maybe the truth.
“Or maybe I’m just a crazy bitch with a voice in her head that calls you Li.”
It seemed she was invested, likely. It seemed she had interest in the boy in her head, in what happened to him; in the place he died, the place she avoided, guilt a weight on slender ankles rooting her here, or just far from there, maybe, desperate for some kind of escape.
But Solana Heiralei cared little for that.
Lightening surged in the girl’s fingertips; the storm in the heat of her fury.
And she needed an avalanche.
[attr="class","solnotes"]W O R D S 607
T A G @crissatha
N O T E S Btw, if I am portraying Elijah wrong in any way, smack me.
[attr="class","solbreak"]
[attr="class","solfooter"]TEETH
[attr="class","solbreak"]
[attr="class","solpic"]
[attr="class","solcredit"]MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0
They do not speak of emotions. They never have. They do not let the tide draw them into hugs and tearful farewells. They barely let a smile twist and make it a happy moment. No, instead they’re all witty comments, and a curse or two. It could be their biography title some day. They do not get emotional, Cris at the very least is not good at it. They do not try to promise they’ll find each other again—they both know that they will. If it’s meant to be, Cris will find this one again, keep that safe in her heart and prepare for that moment. [break][break] Instead it’s almost a smile. Though the words don’t match, it doesn’t matter. They match to her. If she says so? Of course she says so. But it doesn’t last long. [break][break] This little moment, this pause in time, it couldn’t last long. [break][break] No, because someone else steps in. The best laid plans, and all that. She’s elite in her own attitude but that doesn’t stop Cris from arching a brow. Besides, a girl like her can always tell when she’s met another. That’s not the point, the point is that her words stir up something that is best left sitting down at the bottom of a lake, though Cris doesn’t know it. She and Li aren’t like that. She knows Li’s had tragedy and that’s always been enough. And she’s about to learn just how much, how much they keep bottled away from each other. [break][break] But for a moment, all that matters is that she better put away her guitar if she doesn’t want it hurt. And if it gets hurt, well… Let’s just not. [break][break] Crissatha Pandora’s best friend is a living storm. Ages ago, she’s come to terms with this. It’s easier to do so, easier to just accept it and let it go. They balance well in that regard. Cris is all ice and snow and Li is all lightning and whipping winds. [break][break] Cris has long ago come to terms that if her music is her tell for how she feels, than the wind is Li’s and it’s turning tornado. She knows better than to react though. To react is to feed the fuel, to distract always is better. So instead she mutters. Instead she says what she’s feeling because dammit Cris hates cryptic more than anything else. Keep your prophetic bullshit to yourself, always. She also needs to speak. She can’t not. She doesn’t know what’s going on but fuck, Li’s one of the few people she doesn’t ice off. [break][break] At least, not completely. [break][break] The answer though, that makes her snort despite herself. She shouldn’t, but she does. It’s an answer she can appreciate as she leans back, but now more in the sense to be ready to jump up if needed. Oh please let it not be needed. She’s so not getting into a brawl here. ”Yeah well, you’re a few dramatic hair tosses short” she can’t help but reply. Can’t help but be a little bit amused buried deep down under her bitchy comment. [break][break] She’s just glad she’s used to Li and her stupid lightning. She rolls her eyes instead to shrug off the reaction part of her feels. Because, dammit, her reaction is entirely for the words the other woman says. She pauses, a moment, two. She knows Li has tragedy in her background but dead twin brother stops her in her tracks. What the actual fuck, Li she mutters, softly. What the actual fuck indeed. Holy fuck. That’s not tragedy that’s just… damn. Cris can’t imagine losing her sisters, let alone a twin. [break][break] She’s glad she put away her guitar. [break][break] Dead brother and voice… okay, well, that’s where this chick is coming from. That’s good to know but instead her focus goes back to Li, afraid of the storm that might brew. ”Don’t you fucking explode she says, her voice icy, trying to be a distraction. But she’s bad at that. Bad at being a shoulder to lean on or whatever the fuck it is. ”It’d be nice if someone would fucking explain what the fuck is going on” she says instead. Okay, so no more rules about not telling each other shit. Obviously. [break][break] Goddess above there was a reason she didn’t stay around people much. She was going to become a guitar playing hermit after this one. One who got sex, obviously. But a guitar playing hermit.
TIME: 6th of the Empty Lanturn WORDS: 754 COMMENTS: omg sorry if this sucks @liannalux Solana Heiralei
By Reesa for the Ice B*tch
Last Edit: Mar 31, 2017 19:13:47 GMT -7 by Deleted
but peace within a raging storm and the serendipity that can be found within the storm
Time is slowing; shifting in sync to Lianna’s every inhale, exhale, the world coming to a still. As the woman retreats, the storm begins to settle, the last dying tendrils of wind toying around them, rustling amongst locks of hair, making itself known.
Her body is still rigid—joints locked into place, muscles tensed and ready, anger sinking into the skeletal ridges of her spine. I need to calm down. Her gaze stays focused on the back of the stranger, refusing to relax until she disappears into the midst of black.
Time is slowing; when the elf pauses, Lianna watches in shutter shock vision: a hand raising, hooves pausing, head turning.
Silver meets silver once more—apathy against rage.
“Well. I’ll have to find the other girl with a dead twin brother wandering around the frozen shitland of Aissic.”
Lianna is frozen; time is moving no more.
“Or maybe I’m just a crazy bitch with a voice in her head that calls you Li.”
Eli.
She is unmoving; looks at this stranger and thinks maybe she is her divine absolution. Eyes dart wildly once more and she longs for the sight of him, frantic to be reunited, because she is sure the woman said he was here, that he was wandering, lost, afraid—
Lianna abandoned him, left him to die in the wilderness but he came back, he came back, he came back for her, because that is what twins do, that is what family does, blood and flesh and kin do not leave those they love behind—
Where is he, where is Elijah, where is he—Lianna hungers for him; only the taste is wrong. Metallic, copper, heavy and sinister, it claws up her throat and remains at the back of her tongue until she thinks she might choke.
“What the actual fuck, Li,” Cris whispers, and Lianna thinks she might be dying.
She lets out a pained gasp, only now registering what has been said:
Dead twin brother.
Voice in her head.
The night sky darkens and thunder roars; lightning strikes and in the distance she hears it collide with the earth, crawling closer and closer to where the three sit.
And yet the wind is still.
Lianna is unmoving; frozen in memory.
A bloodied body cradled in shaking hands; mouth gasping, desperate for air, each breath halting, weakening; silver eyes pooling with tears, watching as its mirror loses its life.
How could she have thought he was back?
She has watched him die, held him in her own two hands and refused to let go until heart beat no more, held him even further still until his body grew cold and rigid, held him for so long they nearly buried her too.
Memories are vivid and Lianna flinches, releasing time from her grip; looks into the eyes of her dead brother one last time, eyes that say: you fool, you fool, you fool.
“Don’t you fucking explode.”
A hiss.
She ignores the warning, the heedless warning for what is there left of Lianna?
The embodiment feels weak; she has ran for twenty years, twenty long, painful years, and her guilt has finally caught up with her.
“It’d be nice if someone would fucking explain what the fuck is going on,” Cris continues, and Lianna finally moves, standing onto her feet, limbs numb, heart hardening.
”Necromancy,” she answers, a flicker of malice tainting her words, left over propaganda from her youth, ”the panacea for all my suffering, I suppose.”
Her voice is lilted, deadpan; there is no storm here, no strong winds and tornadoes.
[attr="class","solpost"] The elven girl said something snarky – a talent of hers, it seemed.
But the elven girl did not concern her.
This child of the wind, this murky embodiment had the power to give Solana what she craved; and Solana never cast aside such a pretty opportunity to purge her most potent sins.
”Don’t you fucking explode”
Explode, she prayed, silently, reverently, hurling the memory of Elijah – who ceased to be of use – to the darkest pits of her mind; to join her husband. To join her mother.
But the wind had stilled, it’s last caress catching the pointed tip of her ear, lifting a dark strand into its tender grip, trying, desperately, amorously, to pull the ebony wave with it as it swept away.
The spiral of hair dropped, as an unnatural hush fell over the three, even the snow hovering in mid-air, unsure if it should fall.
And yet the elf knew that she had this stormy girl; for despite her companion’s mewls for attention, silver eyes were locked with silver, and the smug began to show; so slowly, creeping, only in the sheen of her eyes and the barest tilt of one edge of maroon lips.
Until the mirror was shattered, apathetic eyes – oh, how Solana remembered donning the costume of indifference over her wounds – ripping from hers, turning to the other girl, the other elf, and in the brief of that look existed an agreement; to retreat, she thinks, or to attack; but she doubts that. Even her storm had left her now, the bitter one, the land soft and lifeless about them.
”I don’t care what you have to say. The dead don’t come back.”
She’s hurting, he whispered again.
I thought I got rid of you.
Solana let them think they could leave, setting a stunning profile against the glaring white of her frosty backdrop, but only for a moment, only until they were sure she would not call back for them; and then she did.
“He’s worried about you.” Conversational, almost, like catching up with an old friend. “Obnoxiously so, actually.”
And then the cruelty seeped like hot sugar; sweetly burning.
“But you’re running away.”
She paused. She whispered.
“Like you always do.”
And she preyed for the storm.
[attr="class","solnotes"]W O R D S 369
T A G @crissatha
N O T E S none
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[attr="class","solfooter"]TEETH
[attr="class","solbreak"]
[attr="class","solpic"]
[attr="class","solcredit"]MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0
Don’t you fucking explode she hisses at her closest companion though part of her wishes she would. Even the crashing of the thunder in the background seems too far, a distant crash of cymbals rather than the powerful boom of the drum. But, perhaps a lingering of her past self or perhaps the ice in her veins, she knows best to caution stillness. Even though many a time they had to leave a place because there are tales of frostbite after someone touched her when she growled to leave her be. Storms. They don’t need storms. But the crash of the storm would be more welcome than this eerie calm. [break][break] The part of her that is a showman, the one that grins and flirts, the part that plays a guitar for an audience rebels against being irrelevant in this talk, the other part knows better. She would rather not be at the other end of a reveal such as this. One she knows nothing about. So she hisses, she has no idea what goes on and thinks perhaps it’s time they dish that old rule of don’t bring up old wounds, you don’t need to know because she would be better prepared to help if she damn well knew. Not that Cris has any idea how to comfort another but… [break][break] Necromancy. She hisses. Cris is too uncaring of such things to hold on to prejudices, though she would never want the voices of the dead in her own skull. Oh no, leave her out of that thank you very much. She rolls her eyes. ”Well yeah, I have enough of a brain to know that she mutters with a grumble, not expecting to be heard, not caring if she is. There is something else going on here, some other power struggle that demands the attention and she, really, would rather be off playing her guitar. Perhaps she was better off on her own. Nevermind that if she thought that she’d be gone by now. [break][break] With the glance, she sighs. Well fine. That’s fine by her. Let’s leave the sassy elf behind, though part of her thinks that conversation with this one would be interesting. She sighs, as if it’s such a trial, and she stands. Li wants to go, well, that totally contradicts the words of before but fine. She doesn’t mind getting what she wanted, even if she suspects it’s just to the inn so they can get back to an earlier discussion of such things. Leave behind the pain. She gets that, certainly. Understands it better than most might, in her own humble opinion. [break][break] It is only when she has slung her guitar back onto her shoulder, only when they are steps away that the other elf speaks up. She can’t help the growl that rises in her throat. Cris doesn’t make friends. They’re too much work, you have to comfort them sometimes, you have to care what they want. It’s not really her thing. But Li has managed to do that, damn it. So that means that Cris will defend. What a bother. ”Says the woman who was steps away from leaving a moment ago? That’s fucking rich. How cute” she replies, rolling her eyes and arching a brow. Fuck off and stop trying to step on one of the four people in the world I give two shits about is simply kept inside her head.
TIME: 6th of the Empty Lanturn WORDS: 573 COMMENTS: weird post is weird? xD @liannalux Solana Heiralei
but peace within a raging storm and the serendipity that can be found within the storm
It is a storm they crave.
This burning desire, this hateful curiosity that toys with sin. She can almost sense it, the desperate wanting, a flicker of malicious hope smothered deep within—filters out through their very pores in violent vibrations.
And Lianna feels them all.
She has turned her back, though she is adamant that it is not out of cowardice; doesn’t even bother to look to see if Cris is following suit, knows that loyalty will pull the girl to her feet. Instead she focuses on the snowy canvas that she is ruining with every step, trying, struggling, to recover from these fresh wounds.
She is bleeding, she is hurting—wants to swallow herself whole and simply forget.
“He’s worried about you. Obnoxiously so, actually.”
It slithers towards her, carried by her own affinity, wrapping itself around her neck. Another wound, but Lianna continues to walk, eyes glazed over—she is far too aware that her restraint is slipping, fingers already aching to be released.
“But you’re running away.”
A pause—foot raised, hanging lifeless in the air.
“Like you always do.”
It hurts.
Lianna is vaguely aware that Cris has replied, that she is defending her, can almost see the frost forming, but she is simply too far gone.
The wind is still—too still.
The embodiment turns, expressionless, one hand raising, angled towards the elf: points fingers towards her and allows them to curl inwards, forming a fist.
The wind is still—the snowflakes hover, hung in mid-air, before they begin to shudder around the bronzed stranger and drop to the floor, called by gravity. The air is thinning, rapidly so, cleansing her lungs, removing itself from within, expelling outwards towards its maker: a light breeze announces its completion, rustling dark locks around the embodiment.
It is a storm they crave, but they will soon know what it is they should truly fear.
Lianna watches as the last few breaths are stolen from her.
[attr="class","solpost"] ”Says the woman who was steps away from leaving a moment ago? That’s fucking rich. How cute”
But her eyes only flicked to the elf, just for the barest moment, because Solana had her, now, the embodiment’s foot hovering in midair, as if on an invisible step.
The wind was in her ears, foreboding.
Forewarning.
And then it wasn’t, eerily calm.
She fought the threatening smile.
And she waited.
There was temptation in the air, just as immobile as the suspended snowflakes, drifting spectrally from the embodiment, and a part of her understood that it was this temptation that called her to feed on lifeblood, though it was not lifeblood she was called to, now, but the magical essence that seeped from the girl’s pores, congregated about her, akin to a moth’s fatal attraction to flame.
And yet it answered her call; Solana raised a hand, transfixed with her own silent instinct, as the energy leeched from the frozen girl, necromantic magnetism draining the magical energy as easily as it could drain physical energy; and something in her mind clicked at that moment, so seeming to stay suspended in time.
She had used this spell, before, a rough hand on a man’s forearm, or clutched around his throat – she pulled the power from them, but humans were frail creatures, and she found she could barely feel the surge of stolen energy before their disappointing lives slipped from flat eyes.
Not so, now – the embodiment’s power thrummed in her chest, and the girl hardly noticed the stolen magic.
A smirk tore across dark lips.
And then, almost too natural to be noticed, the wind picked up again, the miniscule frozen flakes stirred, in the wrong direction, it seemed, before falling faster than gravity generally allowed, as if moving through something with less friction than air; but what could possibly –
Her lungs seized, shuttering in a heavy breath, entirely without her bidding; and yet they were met with an irregular shiver, as if still hungry, and she gasped again, features a mess of panic and confusion; but only for one, brief moment...
There it is, all about her, hovering in the air; invisible but plain, shimmering like light against water, and simultaneously entirely translucent; the embodiment’s magic is pulling the oxygen from the cylinder of space around the dark elf, thinning the air dangerously.
Solana cannot breath.
But she can absorb the magic heavy in the air, as very visible silver spots twinkle in her vision, block it out entirely –
With an unceremonious flump of fresh snow, the body of Solana Heiralei falls, lifeless, to the ground.
And, somehow, she sees it happen.
It takes a long moment of careful puzzlement for her to whisper (unnecessarily) under her breath, “Astral Projection.”
It was a feat she managed nightly, when her soul lent itself to stranger’s dreams, but had only successfully performed once before when not meditating, and it had been in the care of the mentor of her youth, in her years of training.
Silver eyes travelled to the embodiment, smiling, now; sure she’s vanquished the threat that is this mysterious elf, then back to her own body, her dark hair splayed in an ebony halo about her soft olive features, littered, already, with a dozen frozen white flakes.
Solana was a powerful mage, she knew this much – Ichabod certainly wouldn’t take her seriously if she was some flighty spellcaster who knew a few mummer’s tricks – but she doubted she would have been able to attempt Astral Projection on the brink of fainting without the added magical steroid of the embodiment’s stolen power, which still thrummed somewhere in her semiopaque body, and, again, her eyes floated to Lianna.
“Sleep,” She murmured, a command, and watched as the embodiment, too, crumbled to the ground.
- the power surged within her, exhilarating, maddening -
- her mentor had told her it was only rumored, a necromancer’s ability to induce sleep with a look -
- But it was familiar, slipping into Liana’s unconscious mind, appearing in her dreamscape; even feeling oddly numb in the extremities, alarmingly distant from her physical form lying in the snow, it was like spinning on ice after a long summer, the well-practiced magic of dreamwalking came back to her swiftly. Soon, the two creatures stood in the dreamscape, flexible to Lianna’s every whim, but, naturally, unable to touch it’s fay master.
“So,” Purred Solana, sitting, unperturbed, in a regal chair, and crossing one leg lazily over the other, “dish.”
[attr="class","solnotes"]W O R D S 752
T A G @crissatha
N O T E S If anything doesn’t make sense, let me know. I was explaining a lot of complicated magic there, lol
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[attr="class","solfooter"]TEETH
[attr="class","solbreak"]
[attr="class","solpic"]
[attr="class","solcredit"]MADE BY VEL OF GS + ADOXOGRAPHY 2.0
Cris knew her attempts to defend, well, they were not her very best. Please. It wasn’t what she did for a living here, she was not the sort to hold hands and sing songs around the camp fire. But she had not realized what was likely to happen. It is only when she feels the snow stop, when everything goes so utterly still, that realization dawns as she has certainly felt something… similar before. She growls under her breath even as she feels her own core temperature dive down a degree or ten to go along with her cool air that is no longer writhing around her body. This is bad. [break][break] And oh does she know it. [break][break] She is decidedly ignoring all the magic that occurs. Because denial is a land and Cris is queen of it. She is very good at pretending other than what her eyes might tell her because it has helped her survive. She is absolutely aware that she is, in that moment, about to leave. She is not the necessary component here and if Li won’t listen to her, than there is no cause for her to stand around. She’s not that loyal. Has never been that loyal. Until the elf falls. [break][break] And Cris rolls her eyes. ”Well then, are you happy, Bug?” she asks, without turning to look at her friend, as she has not truly been looking at either. She is too busy debating leaving. But, ah, then Li drops too. And Cris groans. Why the fuck is she stuck here in this utter nonsense? [break][break] But, ah, see…. There must be something like loyalty in her bones because, well, now that it is Li that has dropped, she sighs and picks her way over to her, to check a pulse. And, finding it, sit herself down and pull out her guitar once more. If she gets a few odd looks, well, she has no problems grinning at them until it is they who are uncomfortable, rather than she. [break][break] And so she plays.
TIME: 6th of the Empty Lanturn WORDS: 334 COMMENTS: Sorry for the boring post, not much more for her to do xD @liannalux Solana Heiralei
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