*I've got a character concept that would be really cool here.*
*I’d love to see them. October was crazy busy for me and I’m pretty bummed I wasn’t able to do any October themed shenanigans here but I think I’m getting slightly less busy so I’ll try to be around more.*
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Helianth is continuing to wander the land, following and feasting on the sun's light just like old times.
Off in some dark lonely corner of the Autumn Country, you come across the yellowed skull of some long forgotten titan lies nestled between shadowy hills. A red glow shines from out of its mouth and thick black smoke rises out of its eye sockets. The heavy pounding of a metal against metal sounds from inside the skull like a scream choking out of its long dead throat.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
Helianth is continuing to wander the land, following and feasting on the sun's light just like old times.
Off in some dark lonely corner of the Autumn Country, you come across the yellowed skull of some long forgotten titan lies nestled between shadowy hills. A red glow shines from out of its mouth and thick black smoke rises out of its eye sockets. The heavy pounding of a metal against metal sounds from inside the skull like a scream choking out of its long dead throat.
The crooked sunflower looks over at the skull, and begins shambling over to investigate.
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)
*I've got a character concept that would be really cool here.*
*I’d love to see them. October was crazy busy for me and I’m pretty bummed I wasn’t able to do any October themed shenanigans here but I think I’m getting slightly less busy so I’ll try to be around more.*
*Gonna copy-paste my description from Lord's Rest:*
*They were originally a young Strugel architect and inventor from a very rich family, but through some backstory stuff relating to the fair folk, they wound up with their consciousness stuck in the Dream World.*
*They created their own little domain under the guidance of the court that stole him away, a big hotel with yellow wallpaper. However, their hunger in the material world grew, unable to be sated while he was stuck in eternal slumber. They began to eat all the dream food they could, trying to sate themselves as they kept building out and out, using their own heart as the boiler for the place.*
*Their hunger was only quenched after he ate one of the fey, roasted after a gas explosion. He liked it a lot.*
*There aren't many dreamy little fey beings in his domain anymore, but there are a lot of robots designed to hunt and cook them.*
*In the material world, his body has given out, now built into the foundations of a certain oversized hotel. But his mind lives on in the dark corners of others' thoughts.*
*You could call him a hungry ghost, in a way. One with a staggering IQ and all the resources it could need.*
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
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)
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
*I've got a character concept that would be really cool here.*
*I’d love to see them. October was crazy busy for me and I’m pretty bummed I wasn’t able to do any October themed shenanigans here but I think I’m getting slightly less busy so I’ll try to be around more.*
*Gonna copy-paste my description from Lord's Rest:*
*They were originally a young Strugel architect and inventor from a very rich family, but through some backstory stuff relating to the fair folk, they wound up with their consciousness stuck in the Dream World.*
*They created their own little domain under the guidance of the court that stole him away, a big hotel with yellow wallpaper. However, their hunger in the material world grew, unable to be sated while he was stuck in eternal slumber. They began to eat all the dream food they could, trying to sate themselves as they kept building out and out, using their own heart as the boiler for the place.*
*Their hunger was only quenched after he ate one of the fey, roasted after a gas explosion. He liked it a lot.*
*There aren't many dreamy little fey beings in his domain anymore, but there are a lot of robots designed to hunt and cook them.*
*In the material world, his body has given out, now built into the foundations of a certain oversized hotel. But his mind lives on in the dark corners of others' thoughts.*
*You could call him a hungry ghost, in a way. One with a staggering IQ and all the resources it could need.*
*Ooh that sounds very interesting. That definitely would fit in here. Plenty of fey here to satisfy your hunger.*
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
The husk of a plant creeps over a bit, watching the blisteringly hot blade with the same sort of look as a dog staring down a cut of steak. It doesn't get too close to the smith, remaining outside of melee reach.
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)
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
The husk of a plant creeps over a bit, watching the blisteringly hot blade with the same sort of look as a dog staring down a cut of steak. It doesn't get too close to the smith, remaining outside of melee reach.
The metal pounds with mind shattering force. Something deep inside of you squirms when you imagine the annihilation that would come to something between the hammer and the blade. Suddenly the earth rippling rhythm seems to change and shape into words that don’t just ring in your ears and in your mind but throughout your bones and flesh (or whatever the plant equivalent is.) “WHO ARE YOU TO COME TO MY FORGE?”
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
The husk of a plant creeps over a bit, watching the blisteringly hot blade with the same sort of look as a dog staring down a cut of steak. It doesn't get too close to the smith, remaining outside of melee reach.
The metal pounds with mind shattering force. Something deep inside of you squirms when you imagine the annihilation that would come to something between the hammer and the blade. Suddenly the earth rippling rhythm seems to change and shape into words that don’t just ring in your ears and in your mind but throughout your bones and flesh (or whatever the plant equivalent is.) “WHO ARE YOU TO COME TO MY FORGE?”
It doesn't seem particularly fazed. "I am a traveller, who was motivated solely be curiosity. What is this place?"
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)
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
The husk of a plant creeps over a bit, watching the blisteringly hot blade with the same sort of look as a dog staring down a cut of steak. It doesn't get too close to the smith, remaining outside of melee reach.
The metal pounds with mind shattering force. Something deep inside of you squirms when you imagine the annihilation that would come to something between the hammer and the blade. Suddenly the earth rippling rhythm seems to change and shape into words that don’t just ring in your ears and in your mind but throughout your bones and flesh (or whatever the plant equivalent is.) “WHO ARE YOU TO COME TO MY FORGE?”
It doesn't seem particularly fazed. "I am a traveller, who was motivated solely be curiosity. What is this place?"
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
"I see. So that glowing weapon is the Scarblade, then?" It approaches just a bit more, its flower heads absorbing the ambient light.
"IT IS." You see that the there are glowing web-like veins criss-crossing like frozen lightning bolts across the searing sword's surface, "SCARRED FLESH IS NOT TORN AGAIN AS EASILY. I'VE WIELDED THIS BLADE SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME AND CHALLENGED ENEMIES WHO'VE SHATTERED ITS STEAL. EACH TIME I REPAIR THE BLADE TO MAKE IT STRONGER AND PERHAPS ONE DAY IT WON'T EVER BE BROKEN AGAIN."
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
"I see. So that glowing weapon is the Scarblade, then?" It approaches just a bit more, its flower heads absorbing the ambient light.
"IT IS." You see that the there are glowing web-like veins criss-crossing like frozen lightning bolts across the searing sword's surface, "SCARRED FLESH IS NOT TORN AGAIN AS EASILY. I'VE WIELDED THIS BLADE SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME AND CHALLENGED ENEMIES WHO'VE SHATTERED ITS STEAL. EACH TIME I REPAIR THE BLADE TO MAKE IT STRONGER AND PERHAPS ONE DAY IT WON'T EVER BE BROKEN AGAIN."
"Impressive. It seems to be very strong indeed." Its other flowers continue siphoning light from the forge and the blade.
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)
"I see. So that glowing weapon is the Scarblade, then?" It approaches just a bit more, its flower heads absorbing the ambient light.
"IT IS." You see that the there are glowing web-like veins criss-crossing like frozen lightning bolts across the searing sword's surface, "SCARRED FLESH IS NOT TORN AGAIN AS EASILY. I'VE WIELDED THIS BLADE SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME AND CHALLENGED ENEMIES WHO'VE SHATTERED ITS STEAL. EACH TIME I REPAIR THE BLADE TO MAKE IT STRONGER AND PERHAPS ONE DAY IT WON'T EVER BE BROKEN AGAIN."
"Impressive. It seems to be very strong indeed." Its other flowers continue siphoning light from the forge and the blade.
"NOT STRONG ENOUGH. NOT YET." He raises his frilled head and looks at you. You see round lips that seem unused to forming speech and hard cliff face cheeks. Under the protruding horns are strange eyes that watch you. One seems to have absorbed all the searing heat of the furnaces it has looked into, trapping the blazing radiance in its ancient eye sockets. The other is an empty black pit and a pitch black tear stain streaks down from the eye.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
The Librarian is stalking through the library with his two bird eyes fluttering about him. He stops at every window that looks into his collection and mutters an eldritch incantation that mingles with the bird song that his sparrow eyes sing.
The October Hare is darting through the tall dry grass. He stops periodically to check his pocket watch before he dives down an open grave and disappears.
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
The Librarian is stalking through the library with his two bird eyes fluttering about him. He stops at every window that looks into his collection and mutters an eldritch incantation that mingles with the bird song that his sparrow eyes sing.
The October Hare is darting through the tall dry grass. He stops periodically to check his pocket watch before he dives down an open grave and disappears.
He encounters a small, fluffy figure. A plump strugel with golden markings, dressed in a snazzy waistcoat and dark, pinstriped suit. He's hunched over an issue of Modern Engineer, several other magazines lying to the side, already finished. The furball has golden eyes with many pupils in ornate irises, clearly different from Felix's pink spirals. He reads by the light of a flaming construct standing behind him, one that looks to be a replica of the October Hare, actually. It is clearly still alive and active, and the flames don't harm anything around it.
The Librarian is stalking through the library with his two bird eyes fluttering about him. He stops at every window that looks into his collection and mutters an eldritch incantation that mingles with the bird song that his sparrow eyes sing.
The October Hare is darting through the tall dry grass. He stops periodically to check his pocket watch before he dives down an open grave and disappears.
He encounters a small, fluffy figure. A plump strugel with golden markings, dressed in a snazzy waistcoat and dark, pinstriped suit. He's hunched over an issue of Modern Engineer, several other magazines lying to the side, already finished. The furball has golden eyes with many pupils in ornate irises, clearly different from Felix's pink spirals. He reads by the light of a flaming construct standing behind him, one that looks to be a replica of the October Hare, actually. It is clearly still alive and active, and the flames don't harm anything around it.
The Librarian pulls at the cuffs of his tweed suit with his spidery fingers and moves over to a nearby window. He taps at it with a single slender finger and speaks without looking in your direction. "You are a strugel, yes? I've seen your sort around more often. Have you come to this Library looking for anything in particular?"
Appreciator of all things Weird, Wondrous, and/or Yummy
In the Autumn Country, days end quickly, the gloaming hours linger, and the midnights pile one upon the other till the air is thick and flows like twilight syrup.
The Librarian is stalking through the library with his two bird eyes fluttering about him. He stops at every window that looks into his collection and mutters an eldritch incantation that mingles with the bird song that his sparrow eyes sing.
The October Hare is darting through the tall dry grass. He stops periodically to check his pocket watch before he dives down an open grave and disappears.
Helianth's wandering has led it once more to the Library, which it elects to enter again. As it does, it begins plucking books from their resting places with its roots, a different flower head reading each as it contorts its body to fit between the shelves.
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’d love to see them. October was crazy busy for me and I’m pretty bummed I wasn’t able to do any October themed shenanigans here but I think I’m getting slightly less busy so I’ll try to be around more.*
Off in some dark lonely corner of the Autumn Country, you come across the yellowed skull of some long forgotten titan lies nestled between shadowy hills. A red glow shines from out of its mouth and thick black smoke rises out of its eye sockets. The heavy pounding of a metal against metal sounds from inside the skull like a scream choking out of its long dead throat.
The crooked sunflower looks over at the skull, and begins shambling over to investigate.
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)
*Gonna copy-paste my description from Lord's Rest:*
*They were originally a young Strugel architect and inventor from a very rich family, but through some backstory stuff relating to the fair folk, they wound up with their consciousness stuck in the Dream World.*
*They created their own little domain under the guidance of the court that stole him away, a big hotel with yellow wallpaper. However, their hunger in the material world grew, unable to be sated while he was stuck in eternal slumber. They began to eat all the dream food they could, trying to sate themselves as they kept building out and out, using their own heart as the boiler for the place.*
*Their hunger was only quenched after he ate one of the fey, roasted after a gas explosion. He liked it a lot.*
*There aren't many dreamy little fey beings in his domain anymore, but there are a lot of robots designed to hunt and cook them.*
*In the material world, his body has given out, now built into the foundations of a certain oversized hotel. But his mind lives on in the dark corners of others' thoughts.*
*You could call him a hungry ghost, in a way. One with a staggering IQ and all the resources it could need.*
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
A dark shadow given off from something inside the skull’s mouth dances across the ground like a writhing tongue. The pounding crash of metal on metal resounds like a throbbing headache.
Helianth continues into the maw of the skull, basking in the red glow coming from within.
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)
Blazing fire light scorches the air and tinges the inside of the skull various shades of blood red. Black smoke coils against the dome of the skull like vaporous brains wracked by nightmares. A hulking shape toils at a makeshift forge, banging at a white hot blade with a massive hammer and filling the air with solid sound. Bare, scaled arms bound tight by eons of muscles wield the tools with titanic might. Atop the mountainous shoulders is a strange visage. The face is vaguely humanoid but its nose curls out into a sharp horn and two more long straight horns jut from its brow and casts its eyes in bubbling shadow. The frill of a ceratopsian rises regally from the back of its head. It seems to not have noticed your arrival or if it did it doesn’t care.
*Ooh that sounds very interesting. That definitely would fit in here. Plenty of fey here to satisfy your hunger.*
The husk of a plant creeps over a bit, watching the blisteringly hot blade with the same sort of look as a dog staring down a cut of steak. It doesn't get too close to the smith, remaining outside of melee reach.
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 metal pounds with mind shattering force. Something deep inside of you squirms when you imagine the annihilation that would come to something between the hammer and the blade. Suddenly the earth rippling rhythm seems to change and shape into words that don’t just ring in your ears and in your mind but throughout your bones and flesh (or whatever the plant equivalent is.) “WHO ARE YOU TO COME TO MY FORGE?”
It doesn't seem particularly fazed. "I am a traveller, who was motivated solely be curiosity. What is this place?"
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)
"A MERE TEMPORARY FORGE TO REPAIR MY SCARBLADE."
"I see. So that glowing weapon is the Scarblade, then?" It approaches just a bit more, its flower heads absorbing the ambient light.
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)
"IT IS." You see that the there are glowing web-like veins criss-crossing like frozen lightning bolts across the searing sword's surface, "SCARRED FLESH IS NOT TORN AGAIN AS EASILY. I'VE WIELDED THIS BLADE SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME AND CHALLENGED ENEMIES WHO'VE SHATTERED ITS STEAL. EACH TIME I REPAIR THE BLADE TO MAKE IT STRONGER AND PERHAPS ONE DAY IT WON'T EVER BE BROKEN AGAIN."
"Impressive. It seems to be very strong indeed." Its other flowers continue siphoning light from the forge and the blade.
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)
"NOT STRONG ENOUGH. NOT YET." He raises his frilled head and looks at you. You see round lips that seem unused to forming speech and hard cliff face cheeks. Under the protruding horns are strange eyes that watch you. One seems to have absorbed all the searing heat of the furnaces it has looked into, trapping the blazing radiance in its ancient eye sockets. The other is an empty black pit and a pitch black tear stain streaks down from the eye.
The Librarian is stalking through the library with his two bird eyes fluttering about him. He stops at every window that looks into his collection and mutters an eldritch incantation that mingles with the bird song that his sparrow eyes sing.
The October Hare is darting through the tall dry grass. He stops periodically to check his pocket watch before he dives down an open grave and disappears.
He encounters a small, fluffy figure. A plump strugel with golden markings, dressed in a snazzy waistcoat and dark, pinstriped suit. He's hunched over an issue of Modern Engineer, several other magazines lying to the side, already finished. The furball has golden eyes with many pupils in ornate irises, clearly different from Felix's pink spirals. He reads by the light of a flaming construct standing behind him, one that looks to be a replica of the October Hare, actually. It is clearly still alive and active, and the flames don't harm anything around it.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
The Librarian pulls at the cuffs of his tweed suit with his spidery fingers and moves over to a nearby window. He taps at it with a single slender finger and speaks without looking in your direction. "You are a strugel, yes? I've seen your sort around more often. Have you come to this Library looking for anything in particular?"
Helianth's wandering has led it once more to the Library, which it elects to enter again. As it does, it begins plucking books from their resting places with its roots, a different flower head reading each as it contorts its body to fit between the shelves.
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)