A little Strugel wrapped in furs (including a fur top hat) and a leather comedy mask fitted for such a creature slowly dances toward her on wooden clogs. He begins to shed layers, wrapping the coats of several animals around her. "I'm holding a bonfire tonight. Keep moving until then. It will keep you from freezing."
Her antennae twitch, and she looks over to see him even before she fully hears him. "T- Thank you." She stutters, clinging to the offered coats in addition to her quilted shawl. "I could help set up the bonfire, if you want."
"Have you made one before?" He asks. His melodic voice is gentle and vaguely affectionate. But she can tell that he doesn't belong here. Not in Fey country.
"I've made one before, yes. It was a long time ago, but I still know the basics." She answers. She notices this, but doesn't bring it up.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
Can you hug a mountain? Can you embrace the wind? Can you cling to a valley? Can you wrap your arms around a storm? Can you hold a moonbeam? Would it be right too? You don't know. You can't know. Not now. If the moon embraced the earth as they hurtled through the dark of space... it can't be spoken of. "But now we have work to do." He lifts his jack-o-lantern helm and fits it over his head. The jagged smile seems wider somehow. "There is much to do before peace will return." The wind picks up and his goose feather cloak thrashes in the air like wings beating at the sky, desperate to taste the sky.
He takes a step back, looking to the sky. His own personal Autumn breeze- a fraction of what is summoned by Augustus- whirls around him as well, blowing at his command and whistling a tune of hope and bravery.
“Of course- we have much to do-… I can start looking for Helianth, father-…”
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
“Please don’t eat the fire- it’s a hassle to collect the wood… I have some rations.”
"Apologies. It's an old habit of mine." They move a tiny bit away from the flames, though they still absorb a tiny bit of the warmth it emits that drifts their way. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
Can you hug a mountain? Can you embrace the wind? Can you cling to a valley? Can you wrap your arms around a storm? Can you hold a moonbeam? Would it be right too? You don't know. You can't know. Not now. If the moon embraced the earth as they hurtled through the dark of space... it can't be spoken of. "But now we have work to do." He lifts his jack-o-lantern helm and fits it over his head. The jagged smile seems wider somehow. "There is much to do before peace will return." The wind picks up and his goose feather cloak thrashes in the air like wings beating at the sky, desperate to taste the sky.
He takes a step back, looking to the sky. His own personal Autumn breeze- a fraction of what is summoned by Augustus- whirls around him as well, blowing at his command and whistling a tune of hope and bravery.
“Of course- we have much to do-… I can start looking for Helianth, father-…”
The Autumn King, your father, begins to step away. "Good. I must go." He looks over his shoulder at you through the angular eyes of the pumpkin mask, "But know that we will meet together soon." And suddenly, in a flash of downy feathers, his cloak is a pair of wings and the pumpkin-headed king streaks into the sky like a midnight phantom.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
“Please don’t eat the fire- it’s a hassle to collect the wood… I have some rations.”
"Apologies. It's an old habit of mine." They move a tiny bit away from the flames, though they still absorb a tiny bit of the warmth it emits that drifts their way. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."
"Have you made one before?" He asks. His melodic voice is gentle and vaguely affectionate. But she can tell that he doesn't belong here. Not in Fey country.
"I've made one before, yes. It was a long time ago, but I still know the basics." She answers. She notices this, but doesn't bring it up.
"Alright. I'll gather wood and tinder. You'll be tending the flames where it's already warm." He giggles. "You moths love fire, right? This should be enriching for you! Hey, do you know how to make it go in funny patterns and colors?" He does a little skip-dance despite the biting could that he must be experiencing.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"What is Autumn? Is it not the season of dying? What sort of Autumn King would I be if I was free from Death's touch? I would not be fit to represent the season of ends if I my story had no finish. The Sweeper leaves this domain to me for now, but I've seen the way he looks at me. His knowing smile. There will come a time, be it soon or a thousand years from now, but that time will come. And when it does, there needs to be another who will shepherd the land and harvest the fields."
He subtly wipes a tear of liquid flame from his eyes- playing it off as simply brushing his unruly hair out of his face. “Y-you’re right-…” he smiles slightly, though that doesn’t do much to mask his emotions. “I… just hope death gives you more time-glory… there’s so much I don’t know-… and I have spent so little time actually-“ he pauses, looking out to the Autumn Country, changing seasons for the first time in who knows how long. “-talking to you.”
His shoulders sag, causing his goose feather cloak to sink closer to the ground, "I have been absent... haven't I? My royal duties are no excuse for neglecting my heir." He shakes his shaggy head with the sound of a forest rustling, "For neglecting my son." He raises his head and locks eyes with you, "I promise that no matter how much more time I have left, I will spend it with you."
“-…thank you, father-…” his voice falters, the wind stills around him, and he just looks into Augustus’ eyes for a few heartbeats. A gentle flame of warmth burns just below the skin of the Jack O’ Lantern lord, the Crown Prince of Autumn. “When we have-… when we’ve- returned our home to a state of peace-… I would love nothing more than that.” He takes a step closer on cloven hooves, as if he were about to hug Augustus- but pauses, unsure if that would be an acceptable gesture.
Can you hug a mountain? Can you embrace the wind? Can you cling to a valley? Can you wrap your arms around a storm? Can you hold a moonbeam? Would it be right too? You don't know. You can't know. Not now. If the moon embraced the earth as they hurtled through the dark of space... it can't be spoken of. "But now we have work to do." He lifts his jack-o-lantern helm and fits it over his head. The jagged smile seems wider somehow. "There is much to do before peace will return." The wind picks up and his goose feather cloak thrashes in the air like wings beating at the sky, desperate to taste the sky.
He takes a step back, looking to the sky. His own personal Autumn breeze- a fraction of what is summoned by Augustus- whirls around him as well, blowing at his command and whistling a tune of hope and bravery.
“Of course- we have much to do-… I can start looking for Helianth, father-…”
The Autumn King, your father, begins to step away. "Good. I must go." He looks over his shoulder at you through the angular eyes of the pumpkin mask, "But know that we will meet together soon." And suddenly, in a flash of downy feathers, his cloak is a pair of wings and the pumpkin-headed king streaks into the sky like a midnight phantom.
Julius sighs, the wind rustling the fields of wheat surrounding him- a mimic of the king’s own breath- before he leaps into the air, carried away by the wind, in search of Helianth. His eyes and his open mouth glow with candlelight, illuminating his form against the clouded night sky.
Mother moth descends from the tree on scaled, Lepidopteran wings, which quickly retreat back into her layers of silken clothes as she lands. She does not approach him, staying at least fifty feet away.
”…tell me…” she says, soft as a pillow. “What haunts you?…”
His huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"Have you made one before?" He asks. His melodic voice is gentle and vaguely affectionate. But she can tell that he doesn't belong here. Not in Fey country.
"I've made one before, yes. It was a long time ago, but I still know the basics." She answers. She notices this, but doesn't bring it up.
"Alright. I'll gather wood and tinder. You'll be tending the flames where it's already warm." He giggles. "You moths love fire, right? This should be enriching for you! Hey, do you know how to make it go in funny patterns and colors?" He does a little skip-dance despite the biting could that he must be experiencing.
"Yeah, we love it- well, how it looks. Not so much how it feels." She shudders at an old memory- or maybe it's because of the cold. "I don't know much about patterns, but I know how to change the flames' colors." She adds, a smile on her face as she thinks about how the bonfire will look. It's been ages since she's seen a good bonfire.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
Mother moth descends from the tree on scaled, Lepidopteran wings, which quickly retreat back into her layers of silken clothes as she lands. She does not approach him, staying at least fifty feet away.
”…tell me…” she says, soft as a pillow. “What haunts you?…”
His huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
“They hurt you.” She decides, examining the meenlock corpse from afar. “The sugarplum court. And you want to make them hurt back.”
"Alright. I'll gather wood and tinder. You'll be tending the flames where it's already warm." He giggles. "You moths love fire, right? This should be enriching for you! Hey, do you know how to make it go in funny patterns and colors?" He does a little skip-dance despite the biting cold that he must be experiencing.
"Yeah, we love it- well, how it looks. Not so much how it feels." She shudders at an old memory- or maybe it's because of the cold. "I don't know much about patterns, but I know how to change the flames' colors." She adds, a smile on her face as she thinks about how the bonfire will look. It's been ages since she's seen a good bonfire.
He grins, revealing his gleaming teeth beneath his mask. "There's a smile. We should get started soon. I don't have magic, so I need to use a saw to bring down the trees. It's going to snow soon, and a heavier tree is a less predictable tree."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
His eyes flicker from the ghoul, to the fire, and back to the ghoul. “Not hungry for food, though, I’m guessing?” They say, taking a sip of their hot chocolate. It starts to snow a bit harder, but the fire persists.
"Not normally. Though as of recently, material foods have been able to nourish me just fine." It shudders slightly, shaking off the snow that's been piling on its leaves and roots and the giant bones it's coiled around and within. "What's your name?"
He sees that the crooked ghoul seems cold and produces a couple more branches to add to the fire, inviting Ghoulianth closer. “Vanilla. Vanilla De Meringue. Though that sounds really formal, doesn’t it? Vanilla. Do you want something to eat?”
The ghoul does inch a bit closer to the flames, but not too close. "Pleased to meet you, Vanilla. I am Helianth." One of its hands- the one holding that grim-looking fork made of fused materials- reaches towards the flames for a moment, but it stops itself.
“Please don’t eat the fire- it’s a hassle to collect the wood… I have some rations.”
"Apologies. It's an old habit of mine." They move a tiny bit away from the flames, though they still absorb a tiny bit of the warmth it emits that drifts their way. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."
He frowns. ”why’s that?”
"Eternal hunger, I'm afraid. It's not as all-consuming as before, but it can't really be sated. Nothing could be enough... well, maybe a black hole or something of the sort, but that's not something I can get my hands on at the moment."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
His huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
“They hurt you.” She decides, examining the meenlock corpse from afar. “The sugarplum court. And you want to make them hurt back.”
"Simple pain wouldn't create an anger this deep, I don't think. I believe it was a contributing factor, though. Perhaps I was very young when they did whatever they did. Children are easy to wound for life. They should be protected. Wouldn't you agree... Duchess?" He takes a sharp inhale. "Duchess of what?"
"Alright. I'll gather wood and tinder. You'll be tending the flames where it's already warm." He giggles. "You moths love fire, right? This should be enriching for you! Hey, do you know how to make it go in funny patterns and colors?" He does a little skip-dance despite the biting cold that he must be experiencing.
"Yeah, we love it- well, how it looks. Not so much how it feels." She shudders at an old memory- or maybe it's because of the cold. "I don't know much about patterns, but I know how to change the flames' colors." She adds, a smile on her face as she thinks about how the bonfire will look. It's been ages since she's seen a good bonfire.
He grins, revealing his gleaming teeth beneath his mask. "There's a smile. We should get started soon. I don't have magic, so I need to use a saw to bring down the trees. It's going to snow soon, and a heavier tree is a less predictable tree."
Her smile grows a touch wider, showing her slightly sharper than normal teeth. "I have some magic, but not the tree-chopping kind. I'm sure there's some other way I can help with that, though."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He grins, revealing his gleaming teeth beneath his mask. "There's a smile. We should get started soon. I don't have magic, so I need to use a saw to bring down the trees. It's going to snow soon, and a heavier tree is a less predictable tree."
Her smile grows a touch wider, showing her slightly sharper than normal teeth. "I have some magic, but not the tree-chopping kind. I'm sure there's some other way I can help with that, though."
He thinks for a moment. "You're not a full fey. You can handle my cold iron saw blades, I think. Would you be able to sharpen them? Given proper equipment, I mean. Wood dulls metal faster than anything else."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
His huge, coin-like eyes shine and focus on her, set into their shadowy pits as they are. "Given the evidence before you... what would you deduce?" He stands to his feet. "Sometimes I wonder too... what would drive someone like me? What don't I know about myself? Why can't I forgive and cut my ties with the Courts?" His tones aren't hostile, but they sound like a broken machine clinking and scraping.
“They hurt you.” She decides, examining the meenlock corpse from afar. “The sugarplum court. And you want to make them hurt back.”
"Simple pain wouldn't create an anger this deep, I don't think. I believe it was a contributing factor, though. Perhaps I was very young when they did whatever they did. Children are easy to wound for life. They should be protected. Wouldn't you agree... Duchess?" He takes a sharp inhale. "Duchess of what?"
She doesn’t respond for a few moments- as if that question was not one she had a full answer to. “Duchess-… of the silken sanctuary… Duchess Calpe Belinapter-… yes… children- they are all such fragile things…” she takes a sharp breath as well, slightly on edge.
He grins, revealing his gleaming teeth beneath his mask. "There's a smile. We should get started soon. I don't have magic, so I need to use a saw to bring down the trees. It's going to snow soon, and a heavier tree is a less predictable tree."
Her smile grows a touch wider, showing her slightly sharper than normal teeth. "I have some magic, but not the tree-chopping kind. I'm sure there's some other way I can help with that, though."
He thinks for a moment. "You're not a full fey. You can handle my cold iron saw blades, I think. Would you be able to sharpen them? Given proper equipment, I mean. Wood dulls metal faster than anything else."
"Yeah, not quite yet, so I should be able to sharpen them." She responds. Her smile drops the faintest bit for a second, but she quickly resumes her previous enthusiasm for the bonfire.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
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"I've made one before, yes. It was a long time ago, but I still know the basics." She answers. She notices this, but doesn't bring it up.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He takes a step back, looking to the sky. His own personal Autumn breeze- a fraction of what is summoned by Augustus- whirls around him as well, blowing at his command and whistling a tune of hope and bravery.
“Of course- we have much to do-… I can start looking for Helianth, father-…”
"Apologies. It's an old habit of mine." They move a tiny bit away from the flames, though they still absorb a tiny bit of the warmth it emits that drifts their way. "I appreciate the offer, but I must decline."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
The Autumn King, your father, begins to step away. "Good. I must go." He looks over his shoulder at you through the angular eyes of the pumpkin mask, "But know that we will meet together soon." And suddenly, in a flash of downy feathers, his cloak is a pair of wings and the pumpkin-headed king streaks into the sky like a midnight phantom.
He frowns. ”why’s that?”
"Alright. I'll gather wood and tinder. You'll be tending the flames where it's already warm." He giggles. "You moths love fire, right? This should be enriching for you! Hey, do you know how to make it go in funny patterns and colors?" He does a little skip-dance despite the biting could that he must be experiencing.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Julius sighs, the wind rustling the fields of wheat surrounding him- a mimic of the king’s own breath- before he leaps into the air, carried away by the wind, in search of Helianth. His eyes and his open mouth glow with candlelight, illuminating his form against the clouded night sky.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
*I have to leave. Thanks for the epic roleplaying! Keep up the pure awesomeness!*
*Thank you, Dark!*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"Yeah, we love it- well, how it looks. Not so much how it feels." She shudders at an old memory- or maybe it's because of the cold. "I don't know much about patterns, but I know how to change the flames' colors." She adds, a smile on her face as she thinks about how the bonfire will look. It's been ages since she's seen a good bonfire.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
“They hurt you.” She decides, examining the meenlock corpse from afar. “The sugarplum court. And you want to make them hurt back.”
*Farewell for now, friend! Until we meet again some sunny day!*
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He grins, revealing his gleaming teeth beneath his mask. "There's a smile. We should get started soon. I don't have magic, so I need to use a saw to bring down the trees. It's going to snow soon, and a heavier tree is a less predictable tree."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
"Eternal hunger, I'm afraid. It's not as all-consuming as before, but it can't really be sated. Nothing could be enough... well, maybe a black hole or something of the sort, but that's not something I can get my hands on at the moment."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
"Simple pain wouldn't create an anger this deep, I don't think. I believe it was a contributing factor, though. Perhaps I was very young when they did whatever they did. Children are easy to wound for life. They should be protected. Wouldn't you agree... Duchess?" He takes a sharp inhale. "Duchess of what?"
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
Her smile grows a touch wider, showing her slightly sharper than normal teeth. "I have some magic, but not the tree-chopping kind. I'm sure there's some other way I can help with that, though."
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)
He thinks for a moment. "You're not a full fey. You can handle my cold iron saw blades, I think. Would you be able to sharpen them? Given proper equipment, I mean. Wood dulls metal faster than anything else."
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
May each word that I speak be backed by each of my teeth.
She doesn’t respond for a few moments- as if that question was not one she had a full answer to. “Duchess-… of the silken sanctuary… Duchess Calpe Belinapter-… yes… children- they are all such fragile things…” she takes a sharp breath as well, slightly on edge.
"Yeah, not quite yet, so I should be able to sharpen them." She responds. Her smile drops the faintest bit for a second, but she quickly resumes her previous enthusiasm for the bonfire.
Former Spider Queen of the Spider Guild, and friendly neighborhood scheming creature.
"Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders."
My pronouns are she/her.
Web Weaver of Everlasting Narrative! (title bestowed by Drummer)