I went in and updated Tapatalk to the newest version, so it works again now! 8D

For those not in the know, Tapatalk is an app that makes browsing SotE on mobile a million times easier. (It even automatically saves your posts as drafts so you don't have to worry about your phone eating those posts.)

It's totally optional of course, but if you post via your phone a lot, check it out!

Let me know if you encounter any bugs, of course. But so far it seems to be working as intended!

Yoooooo!

So. Hi. I’m back. >_>

Sorry for the long unexpected hiatus. Basically, life and covid and ADHD put me into a huge funk and it sucked. But! I’m back and wanna pick this shit up again!

I’ll be editing this later to put some characters up for grabs and such, but in the meantime, feel free to hit me up for plots! Got a character you’re itching to use or a plot bunny scratching at your brain meats? I’m happy to get that ball rolling; I’m happy to make a new character for it, or pick a character I already have that I think would work for it. See a character of mine you like? Let’s thread!

And if I haven’t responded to one of the many threads I already have going and you’d like to continue them, let me know! I’m not sure who’s still here or not, but I’d be happy to continue them all if you’re still interested! If not, we can always start new stuff too. <3

FREE CHARACTERS

Emery
She’s a mage-hunter in Connlaoth. Basically, a defected Mordecai who acts as a bounty hunter. She’ll catch any mage for the right price.

Simonea
A dream Fae! She has magic involving the dream world, which she can enter and manipulate, and she uses this ability to combat the demons that prowl that world and prey on the vulnerable. She’s still learning, but has goals to be a demon slayer.

Frost
A slave in Essyrn. Frost is valued for her blood and its magic-amplifying abilities. She has no master currently, so she’s up for grabs.

Katxiel
A priestess in a tiny Kishahni kingdom who is destined for sacrifice by the end of the year. But it’s okay, she’s cool with that! Really! Has power to influence the weather and lives a rather pampered life, being a goddess’s avatar and all.

Sorry everyone that I owe posts to! I kind of...vanished into the abyss there. Basically, the pandemic and all the BS that comes with it has been kicking my ass with depression (yay!) so my creativity has been a big black void of nothing. But this week, I'm gonna start picking away at posts and taking my creative life back! >_</)

Thanks everyone for being patient, and I hope everyone is doing as well as they can! <3 Things are a mess right now; take care of your mental health and your physical health as best as you can. We will get through this!

Hey everyone!

Friday, May 1st, through Sunday, May 3rd, we will be hosting a POSTATHON! Basically, it's just a voluntary event where we aim to get as many people on as possible and post as much as we can! We'll be hosting a few of these, and see if we can beat our record each time. Many of us are struggling during these uncertain times, so the aim of this is just to unite for a weekend, destress, and have some fun posting all the things! See how much you can write! It is basically a contest with yourself!

Happy writing!* <3

* Sign-off shamelessly stolen from GoblinFae >:D

This wasn't Taima's scene.

Not at all.

His mouth was dry and his hands were clammy as he slipped into the tavern, eyes stinging from the thick smoke permeating the space. To say he was nervous was an understatement, because this tavern had a reputation--which was why he needed to be here, but didn't necessarily want to.

He was just out of options, and out of his league.

He had learned through the grapevine that this was a popular spot for rough sorts to visit. People who weren't afraid of getting their hands filthy for the right price. Not just petty thieves, but the dangerous folk--the ones with the connections and the money to make people disappear at a price.

Or, he hoped, make someone appear.

Most of the patrons ignored him as he edged inside, though a few threw him a cursory glance before going back to their business, whether that be booze or quiet conversation. No one looked particularly evil, as he pictured murderers and sellswords and guild bosses to look. It didn't even look much different from any other tavern he'd been to. Now how the hell was he supposed to do this? Just...act natural and strike up a conversation with someone? Ask the barkeep for a rundown on who was who? How did one go about hiring someone for this sort of thing, or even find out who was good for the job and who wasn't?

Beneath his coat, Taima touched the coin purse hidden there as though to assure himself it was still there. It was his entire life's savings--his family's life savings. Not much, but far more than he had ever dared to hold at once. Hopefully it would be enough to buy someone's time.

As he approached the bar, the barkeep arched an eyebrow but said nothing. He didn't have to. Taima knew he looked as out of place as he felt, clean cut, smelling faintly of livestock, and skittish among a crowd that looked like they ate puppies for breakfast. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders back. Alright. Well. Here went nothing. He had to do this, so may as well just jump in with both feet.

He leaned both arms on the counter. "Hey. What all can you tell me about the folk here?" he said, and hated the slight accent that marked him as "backwoods". It never bothered him before; everyone in his village sounded like him. But here it just felt...glaring. He cleared his throat again, because the first time didn't feel good enough. "Meaning like...who's good at, uh...finding?" Was there a better word for it? "As in, people?"

The barkeep said nothing. Simply stared as though waiting on something.

Taima stared back. Maybe he was dumb or deaf? Or wait. What was it they always said? Money talks?

He was hesitant to part with any coin so soon, but after a pause he slipped a coin out and placed it on the counter. Then added another when the silence stretched, and one more when the barkeep nodded him on. Finally, the man scooped the coins away and shrugged. "Most here are in the opposite business," he said. "Maybe try that guy. Ain't seen him before, so who knows? He might know something about all that."

So very helpful.

"...Thanks for your time," Taima said slowly, biting down against the irritation--and the sting of loss. Just be polite. This was about the worst place to make enemies. Stiffly, he turned toward the man the barkeep had indicated and took a deep breath. This was so fucking awkward, but he had no choice. Just do it. Yank it out like a splinter and get it over with.

Desperation did make things at least a little easier.

Heading to the man's table, he paused just a moment, unsure how to proceed, before he pulled the chair out and took a seat across from him. He felt out of place, and standing made him feel even more noticeable. Hopefully this would be quick, because he felt like a fool.

"So. This is awkward," he said, not looking at him. "But, uh, I was just wondering. What do you...do?"

...Shit. Not quite how he meant to break the ice.

The dreamscape wasn't so different from the real world--mainly because it was influenced by dreamers, and most dreams, while often wild, were made up of elements that the dreamer had encountered in their life. That, and it was influenced by the dreamwalkers themselves; everyone perceived the dreamscape, and the dreams occupying it, differently. For Simonea, it was a dusky forest filled with many strands of silver threads like spidersilk, and each thread was a dream. It was beautiful to her, and yet it always had an eerie, ethereal quality to it.

That night felt especially unsettling to Simonea as she walked through a dream forest, following the silver threads of various dreams, plucking at them lightly to get a glimpse of them. Not all were peaceful; some were nightmares, taut and pulsing a sort of dark, restless energy, their silver tarnished, and she paused over those ones and gently stroked them, hoping to calm them and imbue peace. When the threads relaxed, no longer tight with tension and anxiety, she moved on.

She didn't have much time tonight to do more than that. Tonight was different. Tonight was a test, her first test, for tonight she was to cast away a demon.

It wasn't the first time she had battled a demon. She had dealt with her share of vampiric incubi. But this one was different. Stronger. It wasn't an incubus, but something else, something that lulled its victims to sleep before feeding on their blood--usually to the point of death. It didn't even bother to give its victim pleasant dreams, but instead riddled them with nightmares, relishing in the "flavor" the fear and adrenaline lent the blood. She could track it through the distinct "signature" its nightmares carried--a distinct sort of delight and perverse excitement--and attack it through those nightmares, once she found them. The demon was linked to the dreamscape by those nightmares, and thus vulnerable. If she played her cards right, she could seriously wound it, even kill it, as she had done with several incubi before it.

Of course, tonight might be a fluke. Maybe it wouldn't show up tonight. But there had been several unexplained deaths in the village she was staying in already, each victim drained of blood even though their bodies had no marks. She had to be close to solving this case!

And that was when she saw one nearby thread twitch and dull, and Simonea turned sharply and reached out to touch it--and let out a hissed gasp at the pain that seared through her fingers, burning her fae skin like iron. The thread writhed, and Simonea forced herself to grab it, gritting her teeth through the pain, and focused on the nightmare.

It was Annabel's nightmare, a young girl in a home right next to the inn Simonea was staying in. And as she delved deeper into the nightmare, one filled with more blood and gore than any child should know about, she knew the images didn't belong to the girl--especially as she felt the demonic delight radiating off them. The demon didn't discriminate when it came to its victims.

Fear clutched her heart, fear for the girl, and she knew she had to act fast; a child had far less blood than an adult. Reaching deep and ignoring the pain, she stepped into the nightmare even as every instinct screamed for her to flee. Instantly, she was surrounded by a horrorscape, some awful dream about rogues burning and slaughtering the entire village, and there were bodies and limbs everywhere, the smell of fire and offal so real Simonea gagged. And nearly vomited when she realized she was standing in a puddle of congealing blood.

It's not real, she reminded herself, not wanting to get swept up into the nightmare; it was too easy to lose oneself and fall asleep, whisked away by a dream, if one wasn't careful. And so she focused hard and looked around, searching for the cord that belonged to the demon--the one that linked its life to this world.

A dream-marauder with an axe swung it at her head, and with a thought, Simonea sent him sprawling across the ground. She imagined herself as being surrounded by a shield of light, and when another dream-bandit swung a cudgel at her, it bounced off the shield. Right then. That took care of those distractions.

Focus, Simonea.

Swallowing hard, she walked through the burning dreamscape with her head held high, keeping calm as she could. Her panic would only influence the dream, and influence it negatively. The cord could be anywhere. It could be disguised as an element of the dream itself. It could be--

And then she saw a red, shining cord on the ground, leading inside a dilapidated home. Picking up her pace, and dreaming a sword into her hands, she followed after it even as it slithered inside the home like a snake. Lunging for it as it tried to snake its way up the crumbling stairs within that dark home, she grabbed it in one hand to hold it steady even as she lifted the sword and prepared to strike--

Only for the rest of it to coil abruptly around her feet and yank, pulling her off balance. Before she could recover, another length of it shot around the hand that held the sword, and before she knew it, it had wrapped around her like a python even as she struggled.

She tried to scream, but it came out raspy from the pressure on her chest. And then, from the top of the stairs, a creature that may have once been a man emerged from the shadows and smiled a smile with far too many teeth. "Gotcha."



Simonea woke with a choked scream, eyes snapping open--and when they adjusted, she abruptly realized she was no longer in her room at the inn, but outside in the woods. Heart pounding, she jerked to sit up, but couldn't; her hands, she realized with a jolt of panic, were bound behind her back, and her legs were also bound.

Heart in her throat, hardly able to breathe, she turned her head--and found herself staring straight into the eyes of the demon where he sat not feet from her, grinning like a cat that got the canary. "Scream more," he purred. "They taste delicious."

It was a trap, Simonea realized as dread made her stomach churn like she'd eaten something rotten. The demon had felt her getting closer, had known she was onto it and tracking it.

And it had trapped her before she could trap it.

This wasn't how this day was supposed to go.

And yet, here she was.

Stranded out in the bay, atop a tiny island. If it could even be called an island. It was more like a big rock jutting above the water, large enough to fit maybe a small hut on, with each wall hugging the edge. Tiny, but a lifesaver, because while Koi had been out surfing before sunrise she'd had an encounter with a tiger shark that had become way more friendly than she ever wanted from a shark.

She sighed, looking down at the ruined board at her feet. Thankfully, the shark had taken a chunk of that instead of her, but it had been too close for comfort!

Koi crept closer to the edge, which was only a couple feet above the water. A dark shape moved beneath the surface, nearly twenty feet long at least, and she knew her friend was still there and took a step back. Sharks didn't usually worry her; most didn't seem to care much about people, and even the people that had been bitten remarked that they seemed almost disinterested after that first bite. The biggest danger was the wound, not the shark going back for seconds, and if the shark was truly hunting then there wouldn't be survivors. But tiger sharks? Those were the ones that worried her.

No way was she going back in the water until she was sure it was gone!

But it had been a couple hours now...shit.

Well. Guess it's gonna be a bit, she thought as she stared down into the water, frowning. The sun would be rising soon, and she had really been hoping she could be out and back in time to take care of her chores before anyone noticed she was gone and accused her of ditching! This time she wasn't intending to ditch!

Really!

She supposed if anyone accused her of it, though, she could just show them her board--shit!

Of course, as luck (or whatever) would have it, it was at that moment that she shifted her feet and bumped her board harder than she intended--and it tipped toward the water. With a yelp, she grabbed for it, but too late; it splashed into the water out of reach, and that dark, familiar shape twisted toward it and soon bumped against the board, investigating it. Through the water, Koi could just make out the shape of its head, and see one black eye staring up.

With a start, as though it could leap up and bite her, Koi jerked back, hands pressed to her chest.

...Well.

This sucks.

Got a batch of characters and threads that are looking for a threads and fun and drama!

Simonea
She's a dream faerie in training! She is still learning the ropes, but she fights against, and protects folk from, entities that use dreams as a means of preying on people. (Like, for example, incubi and succubi.) But aside from fighting demons, she also does mercy work, like guiding souls to the Otherworld/Underworld/Afterlife. She is open for all manner of adventures and shenanigans! 8D

Noor
A tomb raider. Ahem, I mean, archaeologist. >_> Noor is an adventurous workaholic always looking for the next great challenge and the next legendary artifact to grab and sell! She is open to all sorts of adventures!

Tikaani
A selkie that is on a quest to find her people! She even already has a thread up for grabs here: Splish Splash! But if you like I could always make a different one that would work better for whatever you have in mind! Help her, sabotage her, it's all good! 8D

Tatiana
A member of a resistance group in Connlaoth that helps mages! Helps them cross into Serendipity, rescues imprisoned ones, the whole shebang. She already has a thread up here (linky linky) but I'm also happy to create a new one that would work better for whatever we wanna do. 8D

Tiaret
A blind lion-shifter and healer! Tiaret is the daughter of Chephirah, the leader of a pride of all female lion-shifters. If anyone would like to make a shifter who is part of their pride, that would be awesome! 8D There can be adventures and shenanigans! Otherwise, I'd love Tiaret to go on an adventure of some sort and come into her own and grow!

Frost
A slave in Essyrn! She was born with the passive ability to amplify another mage's magic. Also, her blood is magical! She has no master currently, but could be of use to anyone who wants their own personal magic amplifier. 8D

Faris
She has an open thread here! if you're interested in it! Or we can do something else. 8D Either way, she's a law-abiding do-gooder paladin sort who makes bad life choices. I'm up for anything! And I love the idea of some sort of rivalry, too, if you play any criminal characters! >8D Those are fun!

This wasn't going to be easy.

Evening light cast the town square in a rosy glow, but to Tatiana the color was more a hint of things to come, of blood and fire. Around her, the thick crowd gossiped in excitement as a small group of soldiers piled wood and hay around a wooden pole mounted to a low, makeshift stage, and checked that all was secure and sturdy. It was almost time for the execution; all they were waiting on was the night.

Couldn't have a proper burning without the drama of the darkness to make the flames brighter and the shadows longer.

Tatiana took a deep breath and for the dozenth time went over the plan. It wasn't foolproof. It was downright crazy and risky as hell. There were soldiers everywhere--but there was also the crowd and the dark. Several of her friends were spread out among the crowd so they could help divert attention and cause distractions during the escape, because the risk didn't all lie in the soldiers; the crowd could also turn against her. She was hoping they would freeze up instead, as so many bystanders did, but she couldn't count on it. They had to plan for the worst, and hope for the best.

Whatever the case, for better or for worse, she was not going to stand idle while an innocent kid died.

Vultures, all of them. All these people here just for the entertainment of it all, telling themselves they were good people. They would watch a child scream in agony and burn to ash, and they would do nothing about it--many would even enjoy it. And then they would go home, kiss their children good night, make love to their partners, and go about their daily lives, all the while believing they were good people.

It was sick. Connlaoth was ill.

Tatiana took a deep breath. Calm down. She just needed to wait and focus. She couldn't waste her energy on anger. She needed to set up.

She had planned her route days ago, and she broke off from the crowd then, slipping off into an alley. There was a tavern right behind where the stake was set up, and she navigated her way down the alleys she'd memorized days before until she found the building, and used a discarded keg as a step-stool to climb onto the roof.

By then, the sun had set entirely, helping to hide her in her dark clothing. Still she moved slowly, careful of the places where the roof was weak or slippery but also not wanting to draw attention. She kept herself low, almost flat against the roof, and carefully drew her short bow.

As darkness settled, the chatter of the crowd turned excited, then gave way to angry shouts as, finally, the young mage was escorted into the square by a Mordecai. He couldn't have been older than eleven, bruised and dirty, his filthy face streaked with tears. And then he saw the stake surrounded by kindling and he blanched, stumbled, and went limp. One of the Mordecai caught him and delivered a sharp slap to his face, jolting him awake, but they still had to drag him the rest of the way as he sobbed and begged, his words swallowed by the clamor of the crowd.

Monsters.

Tatiana's hands tightened around her bow, knuckles white, but she couldn't act yet, as awful as it was. She bit her cheek and waited, waited as the soldiers tied him to the post, as they piled more tinder and straw up to his knees, and soon a priest stepped forward to give him his last rites.

Fuck Ansgar.

It was done. The Mordecai took up a torch and dipped it into the straw. When it burst into hungry flames, the soldiers stepped back and pushed the rest of the crowd back, urging them to move a safe distance even as the mage's terrified screams filled the air.

It was time.

Nocking an arrow, she let it fly while the townsfolk were distracted, hitting the Mordecai in the neck. No one noticed at first, with all the noise and bright flames, and she let another arrow fly, and another, downing the two closest soldiers before they had figured out what was happening. Then she was dropping from the roof and rushing for the stake, knives sliding out of their sheaths as she leapt up onto the stage. The heat was incredible, flames licking at her boots, but she ignored the pain as she sliced through the ropes binding the boy and yanked him down off the stage.

“Go!” she urged as she gave him a push toward the crowd, where one of her friends, Caspian, had shoved his way to the front. Dazed and weak, he hesitated, but she gave him another shove and he stumbled into Caspian’s grasp.

He would take it from there. There was safety in numbers and chaos, and safety I. splitting up. Her group knew how to capitalize on the ruckus, and knew how to hide a child. She just had to trust them to do their job.

She’d done hers.

Now she just had to get out alive.

Turning on her heel, she ran the opposite way, ducking into an alley, the footsteps of pursuing soldiers loud in her ears.

It was worth it.

It always was.

All Katxiel wanted was some fresh air, free of all the fussing of her servants.

And so she had slipped out of the temple when they weren't looking, well familiar with their habits and routines, and headed out into the jungle where she could be alone. She knew better than to go too far; it was dangerous out there, and all too easy to get lost. But she felt confident that her goddess would keep Her avatar safe, so what was the worst that could happen?

That was Katxiel's thought an hour ago.

Turns out, a lot could happen in an hour.

Like losing herself in her thoughts, and not watching her feet, and stepping on what she thought was solid land and plant matter--but that turned out to be a hole covered by leaves.

In the fall she'd twisted her ankle, of course, and now she was stuck at the muddy bottom of a pit, mud covering her legs clear to mid-shin. She couldn't climb out despite how she'd tried; the sides were too sheer, too soft, and she couldn't gain purchase. And even if she could, her ankle was already swollen and bruised and not much use when it couldn't support her weight.

After an hour of trying and failing, all she could do was lean against the pit wall, supported awkwardly on one leg, and shout for help.

And hope the hunters that set the trap would come by soon, and that they hadn't already checked the traps that day.

If they had...

She could be here all night.

"Hello! Anyone! Please, if you're out there, help!" she called, miserable in her coating of mud.

Hopefully the priests and servants would notice her absence. Hopefully they'd come looking for her.  And soon. She couldn't stay here all night, in the mud and filth! What would she eat? And how...how would she take care of other functions?! She couldn't hold her bladder all day and night!

Oh, she had wanted some alone time. But this wasn't what she'd had in mind!

This was so boring.

So, so boring.

Einin didn't know why she had to come with her parents on this trip. Well, actually, that was a lie; she knew exactly why. Ever since that whole...kidnapping business...they had hardly let her out of their sight. They worried about her, and fussed over her, and she got it but she also hated it. She didn't want to be fussed over. She didn't want to be looked at like...like that. Like a girl that had gone through a trauma. She had. She still had nightmares she woke screaming from. But she didn't like the pity, or the worry, or how careful everyone was around her now. Somehow, it made it all worse].

She just wanted to forget. Forget everything. And forget everything that came right after, the pain of Rufus's confession, the stupid, sickening mistakes she'd made when she'd been trying to prove to herself that she was better.

Just forget it all. Was that so much to ask?

She had poured all her energy into training when she could get away with it, and that helped a little. It was a distraction, and she needed as many of those as she could get. She had been hoping that with her parents gone on this business trip, that she would have time to herself, but...then they'd decided they couldn't bear to leave her.

So here she was, at the Ashspire residence in Darken Vei, sitting at the dinner table listening to her parents discuss politics and other boring (but admittedly important) nonsense with them. Her pink hair was plated and pinned, her bodice was tight enough that she couldn't slouch and breathe, and all in all, she just wanted to be anywhere but here right now.

Sighing, she pushed her food around on her plate idly. There was roast boar, and she refused to touch it; couldn't stand pork after...uh...everything that had happened. She'd eaten most everything else, though her appetite was less than it used to be.

Her mother noticed her poking at the meat and cleared her throat, whispering under her breath. "Einin."

"What?"

"Manners."

"I wasn't doing anyth--" Oh. She hadn't even noticed she was doing it.

Pushing her plate away, she sat back in her seat with another sigh and looked across the table. The Ashspire girl was there, too, a girl who looked around her age and had been introduced as Raisa. She was beautiful, too--a real lady, a girl who looked and seemed born and bred for this life. She hadn't tried to make much conversation with her; noble women always wanted to talk about things she wasn't interested in and though she could act, she had lately felt too drained to try. But maybe it would at least be better than this.

"I think I need to powder my nose," she said at last, rising from her seat and tugging uncomfortably at her bodice where the boning dug into her sides. Her mother shot her a look, eyebrow raised. She knew she was full of it. "Raisa, dear, would you like to join me?"

Are you like me?

The seals down south looked different from the ones up north, but Tikaani still found herself asking that of every one she came across, hoping, praying, that maybe she'd encounter her southern kin. If she at least found another of her kind, maybe they would have heard something about her people. But every answer was a silent no. Those big brown eyes were far too wild to be selkie, and whenever they investigated her, curious but guarded, there was no familiarity there. Just a sense of otherness, that she was different and foreign and lost, the poor thing.

No selkies. Just seals.

Tikaani didn't spend too much time in the water, though. The seas were too unfamiliar here, and full of new dangers. There were many old dangers--orcas and sharks, of course, but the warmer waters bred creatures she had never before seen, long, knife-toothed serpents and a creature she wasn't sure was whale or shark. She didn't get close enough to find out, and hoped never to see it again.

It was a frightening new world, but what few clues she gleaned pointed to her people being brought this way. Somewhere...

And that was all she knew. The trail had gone cold. Had been cold for weeks.

Tikaani wove between ropes of kelp and the legs of the pier, munching on a snack of fish as she burned off some of her frustration. What did you do when you had no leads to follow? Maybe she had come too far south. Or...maybe she had to go further inland.

Inland. Shudder. She couldn't fathom the thought of being so far from the sea, but...maybe that was exactly why she needed to go there. Whoever caught her people probably had the same thought: keep them away from the sea, and they were forever theirs.

Swallowing down a final bite of fish, she jetted to the surface with an easy flip of her flippers. She gulped in air, then headed for the shore.

She hated the shoreline here. At home, it was all ice, and easy for her to maneuver on. The seals here moved differently from her own people; these ones used their whole body to move, but her people walked with their front flippers, claws digging into the ice to drag their bodies along. It felt fine on the ice; it felt awful on the rocks and sand, and the sand offered no purchase. With a sigh, she scraped her belly along the sand, grunting and struggling to at least get to shallower waters so changing would be easier. And then, when she felt settled, the waves lapping around her, she started to wriggle free of her skin, peeling it off like a wet suit.

She had just gotten free of it, and was about to rise and head for the cliffs where she stored her clothing, but a wave crashed against her then, unexpectedly larger, and she went under with a sputter.

...And when she came back up, sand and seaweed in her hair, her skin was gone.

"No!"

She splashed into the water after it as the waves carried it away, but though she was a strong swimmer in both forms, her seal form was stronger; her human form couldn't compete with the tide.

"No! Come back!" she cried, as though the sea both understood her and cared, and soon she was swimming after it as the waves tossed it, the thick blubber keeping it afloat.

And then another wave crashed over her and she went down hard, spinning and tumbling beneath the surface, water rushing up her nose and choking her, and when she resurfaced, coughing, she was a lot further out than she had realized--

With no skin in sight.

The nights were chilly in Connlaoth, and Rook's threadbare clothes and skinny body offered little protection. As soon as the sun dipped down over the horizon, she was shivering, and she shifted her focus from finding a meal to finding shelter. With hardly a coin to her name save what she'd pilfered, and what money she had going toward food that didn't come from a rubbish heap, she couldn't buy a room somewhere, and city streets were dangerous at night, some areas only marginally better than others. Her options were slim and generally involved sleeping with one eye open.

She paused between two buildings, sheltering against the chill breeze, rubbing her arms with hands that were ice inside their gloves to try to generate at least some heat. Where to go, where to go. It was either sleep on the streets again and hope she wasn't intruding on someone's space (thieves, as it turned out, could be quite territorial, which newbies like herself had to learn the hard way), or maybe...hmm. She peered around the corner, hand going up to keep her wide-brimmed hat on her head (a new find from a rubbish pile, freshly discarded and floppy from use and abuse). There was a tavern down the road; she could faintly hear the sounds of minstrel music and boisterous voices.

She wasn't really fond of taverns--too many unsavory, rowdy men--but they were warm, and usually open rather late, and noisy, with lots of distractions. Most of the time, no one paid her any mind so she could loiter until they closed, and sometimes she could even sneak a drink of someone's half-finished ale, or pick food from an unfinished plate.

And they were full of drunk people.

Drunk people were stupid. They dropped their coin, or left them unattended altogether, or just didn't notice when she bumped them and cut their purse strings. It was risky, but risk was sort of in her job description. Her life had been risky from birth.

Rook took a deep breath. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and maybe tonight she'd come away with more than just warm hands.

Pulling her hat down low to shadow her face, she headed for the tavern and slipped inside. It was a full house--excellent--and blissfully warm from the fire and body heat. The serving women had their hands full dodging the advances of drunken men while keeping their trays from tipping (true skill, right there), and the barkeep was equally occupied. No one really paid attention to a new young man entering, much less one as scrappy and bedraggled as she looked. Even her scar drew no more than a brief, sympathetic look from the few men that noticed her enter. With the war dragging on, there had been no shortage of scarred, bedraggled people.

Rook lingered near the door where it was easy to bolt, warming herself and watching and trying not to fidget. Being around so many people always made her stomach twist queasily and palms dampen, but she reminded herself that she was no one, and that no one would pay her any mind unless she drew attention in the first place. Everyone was caught up in their own problems, drowning it out with ale--and how many times had she done this already, without being caught? This was far lower risk than some of her previous endeavors.

You've got this. You've done this before. Taverns are nothing. What's some drunkard gonna do even if he does catch you? You're fast. He'll be slow and clumsy. It's fine. Look at that one over there! Face in his booze, back to you, purse hanging out there. Easy mark. Just do it, go, and find another shelter. Simple.

A deep breath in, a slow breath out. Steady nerves, steady hands. Her aching belly certainly helped motivate her. So after taking a moment to scope the place out, locate potential marks, steady her breathing, and plan her route, she made her move.

She squeezed between two full tables on her way to the bar, pretending to grab the table for balance while swiping a coin left there carelessly--probably to pay one of the barmaids. Sorry, but I need it more. She sneaked a piece of cheese from one man's plate when he wasn't looking and slipped it and the coin into her own measly purse, then paused at the bar and leaned her elbows onto it.

"What's your house brew gonna run me?" she asked, keeping her voice low and hoarse--which wasn't difficult to fake, because it had been a while since she had spoken.

The barkeep looked up from where he was tapping a fresh barrel and called his answer, but Rook was hardly paying attention to the price. It didn't matter. What mattered was the act.

She shook her head ruefully. "Ah, shame. Place down the road's got it much cheaper. Thanks anyway, mate," she said, and pushed off the counter, ignoring his affronted grumbling. Turning on her heel, she made to head for the door but took a different route, heading for the lone man with the exposed purse. With a quick, practiced flourish, she drew her small, plain knife from its sheath at her hip and with a quick snip, cut the strings as she passed and caught it as it fell.

Just keep walking, keep walking. Just a little further and she would be out the door and in the clear without anyone the wiser!

__________________QUICK STATS
Name
Doctor Kaspar
Age
Unknown!
Gender
Unknown!
Species
Presumably human
Ethnicity
Connlaothian?
Height
5'7"
Occupation
Plague Doctor
Residence
Wherever they are needed.

__________________IN-DEPTH STUFF

Physical Description
They're a plague doctor! And wear the whole plague doctor getup, complete with the beak stuffed with herbs and spices!

They don't make a habit of removing their mask when in company, as they like to keep their private life and professional life separate. The people who have seen them out of the plague doctor getup have never seen them in it, and visa versa, and if they do see them out of costume, or in costume, they wouldn't necessarily know they were the same person. They try to be careful about crossing the streams. And they also tend not to piss where they sleep, which is to say they don't work near their home.

Their gender is impossible to make out, as the mask muffles and obscures their voice.

Has many pouches and pockets on their person, which holds various potions and powders. Some of them are, supposedly, remedies. Many of them are samples of various illnesses they've studied.

Personality
8D I'll figure this out as I go.

Very private! Goes by Doctor Kaspar; does not give out a first name. That may not even be their real last name.

Magic/Abilities
They have magic! Magic over infectious disease. They can make a sickness worse, or choose to cure it, and they can hasten its spread and multiplication. They can't create something out of nothing, however; they need a bit of the sickness to act as a source, and from there they can have their fun.

Relationships
TBD

History
It's a mystery, oOoOoOo~!

__________________THREAD TRACKER
Current Threads

Complete Threads

Naovi ran as fast as her legs could carry her, heart pounding and sweat slicking her skin. Oh, these people were nasty and persistent! And all over nothing! Who knew that a simple magic trick in a tavern would cause such a ruckus. And then they had the nerve to call her such terrible names, like witch and monster and whore--and oh, that last word was especially hilarious, considering the man who'd wielded it had been very eager to go upstairs with her...until she'd decided to show off with a parlor trick. Funny how that worked!

Humans! They had such short memories for such an intelligent, sentient species.

Hollering up a storm, cries of fear and cries of anger, they'd come for her, calling for the guard for aid, and for some Morde-something to come help. She didn't know what they were talking about, and it didn't matter. Foxes never went into a den without knowing where all the exits were, and though they'd blocked the door, she knew there were others. With the help of her illusions, she "vanished" into a cloud of smoke and cloaked herself in the mundane disguise of a serving wench, and by the time they figured out her smokescreen was fake (and thus killed the illusion completely, for they were only as strong as one's belief in them), she was already upstairs, through a room, and climbing out a window.

By then, the guardsmen had come--and for some reason, her magic had ceased to work.

She'd had no choice but to escape the good old fashioned way.

Running.

Good thing foxes were good at that.

She didn't know where she was going, or where to go, but she was nothing if not fast and she had the stamina to match. It was only when she heard horses behind her that she began to truly worry; this town was small, which meant there were no good places to hide, and she wasn't as familiar with town spaces as she was with the wilderness. But the land wasn't very good for hiding, either. There were no large forests near, save for copses here and there, and the land was so flat. But after hiding in an alley for a bit, listening for signs of her pursuers, she took her chances when the coast was clear and made a break for it.

She had been running ever since, pausing here and there to hide among bushes or clumps of trees--until a juicier target presented itself.

A lonely farmhouse in the distance.

It would provide better cover than out here, where she felt far too exposed. And so, panting, she bolted for it. The moon was high in the sky by that point, and she was exhausted and hungry and sore. It had been a long time since she'd had to do anything like this.

By the time she reached the farm, her feet were dragging, steps heavy. She'd lost her shoes somehow, and her feet were cut and bloody, her dress dirty and torn from snagging on bushes, leaves sticking up in her hair. And her tails--she didn't even want to think of the state they were in. Covered in burrs, if her dress was any indication.

Eugh...

There was a barn on the property, and she went for that instead of the house proper. No need to alert anyone to her presence. She could stay there for the night, and leave before anyone was any wiser.  It was beneath her, to be sleeping in a barn; by rights, the owners should let her into their home with open arms and lend her a bed! But she was too tired to barter or socialize, or deal with any potentially negative reactions, so barn it was.

Tiredly, Naovi circled the building, until she found that the owners had left one of the windows open, either intentionally or by mistake. Perfect. Jumping up, she grabbed the edge and hauled herself up and over, tumbling through the window and landing in a pile of hay with a grunt. Ow! "Roll in the hay", humans always said, referring to sexual acts. What a phrase! She certainly hoped no one actually mated in the hay, because it hurt, stabbing through her clothes and poking her bare skin. Grimacing, she rose from the hay and brushed herself off, then looked around for any spare blankets she could use to protect herself.

She found a few good, thick ones and laid them out over it, then crawled into her makeshift bed and curled up. Tired, achy, and thoroughly confused by the night's events, it wasn't long before she drifted off into a deep sleep, her three tails curled around her legs. They were, indeed, full of burrs, and she could feel them scratching against her skin, but right then she couldn't be assed to care.

She'd deal in the morning.

Fresh snow crunched under Teidra's hooves as she moved over the tundra, heading up a hill where a special flower was said to grow. It was called the Yyndris which, in the old language of her people, roughly translated to "blood in the snow".

It was called that because of its dark red petals that stood out stark against the white of snow, making it look like blood splatters from afar, especially when they grew in little clumps--and especially since it bore sharp, prickly thorns. A little ironic, considering the plant was used to heal--and heal it did, for it was a hearty plant with some strange qualities. It grew in the snow and thrived in winter, and died during the thaw. Still, it favored sunny hills, though Teidra knew there would be a lot of digging involved. After the recent snow, any flowers would be buried.

And with the way those dark approaching clouds looked, they would be buried even deeper soon.

Clutching her thick cloak to her body, Teidra pushed onward against the wind that had begun to pick up. The storm was going to be a big one, no doubt, but she had to find the flowers fast, and she wanted to kick herself for putting her assignment off for so long. She had had a week to do it! A week! But instead, she had procrastinated until she'd realized those clouds meant bad news, and that if she waited any longer, she would have missed her window at least until the thaw.

And then it might be too late, at least until next winter.

The snow began to come down harder as Teidra reached the hill's top, but she ignored it, shaking her head and flicking her ears to keep the snow off of her. Crouching down, she began to dig.

Matra had said she should look on this hill, but so far, no luck. With a grimace, Teidra tried another spot, cursing her stupidity, and then--

"Ow!"

Her hands found the thorns before she found the flower and she popped her torn finger in her mouth with a glower down at the snow. But there it was, the little frozen flower, and, moving more carefully, she started to dig around it so she could uproot it instead of pluck it.

By the time she'd gotten it up by the roots, the snow was coming down in earnest, a white wall she couldn't see through, the wind pulling at her cloak and threatening to grow stronger. The storm had come on faster than she'd estimated.

And now, she was stuck.

To put it delicately, Corryn felt like shit.

Her body ached all over, down to her bones and especially in her joints. Even her jaw hurt to move, like it had been stretched too wide. Everything felt sensitive, and she swore--like she did every month--that she could feel it in her hair. Light hurt. Sound hurt. Breathing hurt. Her stomach rebelled, but there was (thankfully) nothing there to purge.

It was like a hangover without the fun.

Groaning, Corryn turned onto her back and squinted up through the leaves of the tree she lay chained beneath, and scowled when she saw that the light that had been assaulting her was only the moon, fat and bright but just a little less full. The moon. Spirits be damned, she'd slept all day? And she still felt like she'd been drop-kicked by a bull? It must have been a rough transformation this time, but at least the chain had held.

With a soft grunt, she sat up and gingerly touched the iron collar around her neck, wincing. It had rubbed her raw, her skin stinging and inflamed, but it had held, and that's what mattered. She had tried a lot of different methods to contain herself during the full moon, and while some worked--for a time--they all had a margin of error that she just couldn't afford. The cost was too high, the damage irreparable, and she still had nightmares about what she might have done (but would never know) from the few times things had gone wrong and she'd woken up with a full belly and blood in her mouth. But the poacher she'd bought this new chain from had seemed legit. It was enchanted so as to be unbreakable, he'd claimed, and enchanted to expand and contract to accommodate creatures that could alter their shape, so as not to strangle them--but also ensure they couldn't escape.

He'd tested it out for her. It had worked. And so she'd bought it despite the queasiness that came with giving money to a man with dragon scales sewn into his clothes.

What could she say? She was desperate.

Desperation had been fueling a lot of her choices, as of late.

Desperation was why she was in Connlaoth, of all places.



It was slow going, but Corryn managed to get unchained and dressed. The ground around her was a mess, claw marks scoring the earth and uprooting small plants, and even the tree she'd secured herself to was marked up and bleeding sap. Which would explain why she was sticky all over, with bits of dirt and grass smeared on her skin and in her hair and caked under her nails, fingers and toes alike. She let out a sigh, and scratched at a bug bite swelling on her arm. There were more of those where that came from. Go figure, having spent a day naked in the middle of nowhere, a veritable mosquito feast.

She was sure she looked as shitty as she felt.

She needed a drink, bad. And then she needed a bath. In that order. She should probably squeeze food somewhere in there, too.

Luckily, there was a town not far away, just a mile or so; she'd stopped by for a meal before she cloistered herself out in the wilds, and she really hoped they wouldn't remember her enough to ask awkward questions. But she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

With her haversack retrieved from where she'd stashed it (out of destroying range), her chain packed, her sword and baldric secured on her back, and herself as decent as she could manage, Corryn set off for town, feeling like an old man with creaky joints. But like always, the more she moved and stretched, the better she felt, and soon she was making good time.

And she knew she could make even better time if she cut through that graveyard over there. Disrespectful? Maybe. But the dead couldn't complain.

She had done it during the day, taking care not to step on any graves or disturb the earth, murmuring a prayer under her breath. (The dead might not care much, but she wasn't going to take that chance.) And as she cut through then, she murmured the same prayer, the same apology, and kept her steps light as she wove between headstones, some new, some old and rickety. But what she hadn't accounted for during the night was the open grave she'd noticed earlier, but had ignored.

Almost out of the cemetery, she stepped around a gravestone--and let out a yelp too late when instead of solid ground, all her weight went into open air. Down she went, tumbling into the grave, her curses cut off by a hard, wet thump and a pained groan.

Just a few characters I'm looking for plots for! Wanna thread with them? Hit me up!

1.) Yasmin
A gladiator in Essyrn! She and a gladiator friend/mentor caused a stir recently when her pal refused to kill her in a fight he won, thus causing some...issues. But instead of being executed themselves, the Shah executed their masters to send a message to other masters about training their slaves correctly.

She needs a new master. She's had two already and none of them have ended well. The first sold her to the Colosseum for disobedience, and the second, well...he's dead now. |: She's a tough fighter and survivor and is currently trying to navigate having been thrust into the middle of what became viewed as an act of rebellion. (And she kind of likes that, and is trying to feel things out and see if anyone else is willing to jump aboard the Uprising Train.) So yes! Anyone willing to buy her and get sucked into shenanigans? 8D

2.) Corryn
Corryn is a werewolf! She is also Adelan nobility, but she can't go back because it's...very complicated and messy. So now, she lives life as a wandering swordswoman, helping those who need help along the way and doing what she can to make a positive and heroic impact on the world!

During full moons, she transforms into a direwolf, and loses control of herself. Her method for dealing with this it so be very familiar with the phases of the moon, and chain herself to a tree out in the woods somewhere until it passes. |: She could use friends! Or people to rescue! Or a love interest!

3.) Tiaret
A blind lion-shifter and healer! Tiaret is the daughter of Chephirah, the leader of a pride of all female lion-shifters. If anyone would like to make a shifter who is part of their pride, that would be awesome! 8D There can be adventures and shenanigans! Otherwise, I'd love Tiaret to go on an adventure of some sort and come into her own and grow!

4.) Victoria
A Connlaothian fashionista! She is the daughter of the duke and duchess of Feirja, a bubbly socil butterfly who is rather naive and sheltered about the world at large. Her heart's in the right place, though she is spoiled and privileged. She is also probably a mage! (Still figuring out what kind. 8D) She doesn't know that yet though. Her parents are currently looking to secure a good match for her. She loves clothes, cookies, and long walks in the countryside.


And those are a few for now! 8D Hit me up!

[PM to join! <3]

The dreamscape wasn't so different from the real world--mainly because it was influenced by dreamers, and most dreams, while often wild, were made up of elements that the dreamer had encountered in their life. That, and it was influenced by the dreamwalkers themselves; everyone perceived the dreamscape, and the dreams occupying it, differently. For Simonea, it was a dusky forest filled with many strands of silver threads like spidersilk, and each thread was a dream. It was beautiful to her, and yet it always had an eerie, ethereal quality to it.

That night felt especially unsettling to Simonea as she walked through a dream forest, following the silver threads of various dreams, plucking at them lightly to get a glimpse of them. Not all were peaceful; some were nightmares, taut and pulsing a sort of dark, restless energy, their silver tarnished, and she paused over those ones and gently stroked them, hoping to calm them and imbue peace. When the threads relaxed, no longer tight with tension and anxiety, she moved on.

She didn't have much time tonight to do more than that. Tonight was different. Tonight was a test, her first test, for tonight she was to cast away a demon.

It wasn't the first time she had battled a demon. She had dealt with her share of vampiric incubi. But this one was different. Stronger. It wasn't an incubus, but something else, something that lulled its victims to sleep before feeding on their blood--usually to the point of death. It didn't even bother to give its victim pleasant dreams, but instead riddled them with nightmares, relishing in the "flavor" the fear and adrenaline lent the blood. She could track it through the distinct "signature" its nightmares carried--a distinct sort of delight and perverse excitement--and attack it through those nightmares, once she found them. The demon was linked to the dreamscape by those nightmares, and thus vulnerable. If she played her cards right, she could seriously wound it, even kill it, as she had done with several incubi before it.

Of course, tonight might be a fluke. Maybe it wouldn't show up tonight. But there had been several unexplained deaths in the village she was staying in already, each victim drained of blood even though their bodies had no marks. She had to be close to solving this case!

And that was when she saw one nearby thread twitch and dull, and Simonea turned sharply and reached out to touch it--and let out a hissed gasp at the pain that seared through her fingers, burning her fae skin like iron. The thread writhed, and Simonea forced herself to grab it, gritting her teeth through the pain, and focused on the nightmare.

It was Annabel's nightmare, a young girl in a home right next to the inn Simonea was staying in. And as she delved deeper into the nightmare, one filled with more blood and gore than any child should know about, she knew the images didn't belong to the girl--especially as she felt the demonic delight radiating off them. The demon didn't discriminate when it came to its victims.

Fear clutched her heart, fear for the girl, and she knew she had to act fast; a child had far less blood than an adult. Reaching deep and ignoring the pain, she stepped into the nightmare even as every instinct screamed for her to flee. Instantly, she was surrounded by a horrorscape, some awful dream about rogues burning and slaughtering the entire village, and there were bodies and limbs everywhere, the smell of fire and offal so real Simonea gagged. And nearly vomited when she realized she was standing in a puddle of congealing blood.

It's not real, she reminded herself, not wanting to get swept up into the nightmare; it was too easy to lose oneself and fall asleep, whisked away by a dream, if one wasn't careful. And so she focused hard and looked around, searching for the cord that belonged to the demon--the one that linked its life to this world.

A dream-marauder with an axe swung it at her head, and with a thought, Simonea sent him sprawling across the ground. She imagined herself as being surrounded by a shield of light, and when another dream-bandit swung a cudgel at her, it bounced off the shield. Right then. That took care of those distractions.

Focus, Simonea.

Swallowing hard, she walked through the burning dreamscape with her head held high, keeping calm as she could. Her panic would only influence the dream, and influence it negatively. The cord could be anywhere. It could be disguised as an element of the dream itself. It could be--

And then she saw a red, shining cord on the ground, leading inside a dilapidated home. Picking up her pace, and dreaming a sword into her hands, she followed after it even as it slithered inside the home like a snake. Lunging for it as it tried to snake its way up the crumbling stairs within that dark home, she grabbed it in one hand to hold it steady even as she lifted the sword and prepared to strike--

Only for the rest of it to coil abruptly around her feet and yank, pulling her off balance. Before she could recover, another length of it shot around the hand that held the sword, and before she knew it, it had wrapped around her like a python even as she struggled.

She tried to scream, but it came out raspy from the pressure on her chest. And then, from the top of the stairs, a creature that may have once been a man emerged from the shadows and smiled a smile with far too many teeth. "Gotcha."



Simonea woke with a choked scream, eyes snapping open--and when they adjusted, she abruptly realized she was no longer in her room at the inn, but outside in the woods. Heart pounding, she jerked to sit up, but couldn't; her hands, she realized with a jolt of panic, were bound behind her back, and her legs were also bound.

Heart in her throat, hardly able to breathe, she turned her head--and found herself staring straight into the eyes of the demon where he sat not feet from her, grinning like a cat that got the canary. "Scream more," he purred. "They taste delicious."

It was a trap, Simonea realized as dread made her stomach churn like she'd eaten something rotten. The demon had felt her getting closer, had known she was onto it and tracking it.

And it had trapped her before she could trap it.

By the time the baby started to wail, Juniper was already out the window and melting into the night. But it hardly mattered if the child cried. The parents would rush into the room not to an empty cradle, but to another child, identical only in looks--a child that they may never realize wasn't theirs. A child they may never realize was fae.

The swap was complete. The human child was hers.

It had been an easy mark. Juniper had spotted the couple in town earlier the previous day, the mother carrying an infant swaddled against her chest. From the shadows she had watched, observed, and followed them about their business, followed them to their home. She had watched them through the night, and the following day, learning their routines--and seeing they were as predictable as most other humans'. With her target locked, she had gone back to the fae realm to be given a fae child to exchange, and then it had just been a simple matter of slipping in and out of the home while the family slept, happy and unaware. Her duty was done. Her people would be satisfied for now--until they came calling for more.

They would always want more.

Moving fast through the night, away from her target's home and melting into the dark alleys, Juniper frowned down at the baby she cradled in her arms. It wouldn't stop crying, no matter how she hushed it, and that could make things problematic while she was trying to be stealthy. With a sigh, she paused and adjusted the baby, placing it against her shoulder and stroking its back.

"Shhh, shhh," she murmured while it hiccuped and sobbed, her voice sweet but her expression distant. "Be quiet, sweetling. You're going to a better place. Trust me."