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About deadcasketburied

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  1. it is a marvel shirt! it just says marvel and has wolverine, spider man, venom, the hulk on it : D
  2. UGH MY WEAKNESSS...SNAPCHAT FILTERS! much funner than just normal:
  3. Camila blinked, surprised by the sudden end to their march and the serious tone adopted by Ezekiel to verbally paint a very dangerous picture that was sure to meet them up ahead. She exercised her ability to remain focused as she listened to every word, her dark eyes narrowed into pensive slits and her little mouth pushed out into a curious pout. Though she wavered here and there, she understood the scope of the situation, but was not the least bit concerned by the danger that resided within the steep and cold mountain. She was aware of the existence of monsters, knew of their wickedness and treachery, and was conscious enough to realize she would not be immune to their dark energy. Nevertheless, she was not truly afraid, partly due to three parts her naiveté, the warmth of her spirits, and Ezekiel’s massive presence. “Is that what it is up there? They told me,” she said as she passed a hand over the air, touching an invisible force, “that this could help many people, if it can be brought back. I am….different,” she added after a moment, “But I can help others. My father thinks it is worthless, what I can do.” A sadness covered her little voice as she allowed Ezekiel to pull his hand away, both by the topic at hand at his actions. “I thought perhaps if I can show him—that what I can do is useful—he will relent and let me return home and help others, as I once did. It is silly, is it not? To go to such lengths…” It was a rare thing for Camila to linger on the negative reaction her father had towards her abilities; rather, she often preferred to concentrate on the immensely grand love the del Valle patriarch felt for his youngest daughter. She was the apple of his eye, the true keeper of his heart, the only thing that he treasured above all else. But she had been born strange, Camila had once heard him say, and it was difficult for him to let the world see that his precious daughter was the carrier of some magical disease that made her different from everyone else. So he kept her away, surrounded only by love and comfort, where the whispers of others would not disturb her and ruin her happy demeanor. He prayed, fervently to all and any deity out there, to one day see his daughter outgrow her strange habits of talking to herds of spirits, moving small objects just with her thoughts, and living in another mental dimension. So far, all prayers had gone unanswered, and out of fear of social repercussion at her latest stunt, he’d stowed her away in another city, never once imagining he had potentially sent her to her doom. Camila shook her head lightly, dispersing the memory of her family from her thoughts and regaining the easy smile she had acquired through a happy childhood. “I will follow you…uhm….” She titled her head to the side as she listened to a bit of information from one of her friends, her lips pushed out into that pout she often wore whenever she tried to keep her mind firmly planted on the earthly plane. “Ezekiel, is it? My name is Camila Alma Mariana Tuerva del Valle,” she introduced herself, completely forgetting he had used her name numerous times already. “I will keep up with you, be sure of it. And look! I can help too.” To demonstrate she meant her words, she pointed at a small rock that resided near his feet, and with her eyes fixed on it, made it move up near his shoulder. It was not much, she admitted to herself, but it certainly proved she had many other (underdeveloped) skills.
  5. Atticus’ stance instantly shifted from one of caution to one of joy, as the approaching man’s features revealed him to be none other than Christian. They had met a while back, while he and Charmaine traveled back to Muhir and, as it often occurred with the two of them, lost their way and ended up stuck in a city perpetually afflicted by pouring rain. Christian had helped them out, brought them to the safety of a cozy tavern and had offered his services as a temporary guide. There had been something about Christian, Atticus remembered as he skipped and yapped over to the seemingly astonished man that was very similar to Charmaine—or rather, to the sword that clung to her waist and beckoned both of them forward in a journey without a clear purpose. Atticus had never enjoyed the company of others, and hated anyone who dared to use his filthy eyes to scan over his lovely master, but Christian had been different, and had easily won over the small lion’s trust and affection. As he reached him, Atticus circled Christian happily, rolling over his boots and passing between his legs all the while yipping and yapping. Once he was certain that it was indeed Christian that stood before them, the small creature hurried back to Charmaine, sure that his presence would dry her tears and bring back her lovely smile. Still on the ground, with streaks of tears and dirt marring her cheeks, Charmaine was astonished by Atticus’ reaction to the newcomer. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sun, and slowly began to recognize him as an old friend, who had entered and left her life in too brief of a moment. Regardless of their short time together, she had fond memories of the traveling gentleman, who cared for her in her time of need. There had been something of a familiarity between them, a shared secret that neither of them had been able to explore due to the sudden circumstances that had caused their separation. The closer he got, the more Charmaine could feel her heart beat in her chest, fast and strong and suddenly full of hope. He called something out to her, but her ears were deaf to his words as she sprang up with such might that the dirt around her kicked up in a short little whirlpool as she dashed forward towards him. “Christian!” She shouted as she reached him and threw her arms around his neck and buried her face against his throat. He was much taller than her, so she was forced to cling to him on her toes, with the hilt of Joyeuse uncomfortably pressing between the two of them. She bore the discomfort as she wept on him, all of her emotions pouring out of her. She lost all sense of decency, and refused to abandon his hold on him. “Is it really you? Are you really here?” She looked up to meet his shielded eyes, desperate for an answer. All the while, Atticus stood by them, wiggling his little tail with excitement, as he was sure that finally things might start to make sense for them.
  6. LOL GTFO!!!!!!!!!!!!
  7. I am 100% made of salt. I am the saltiest.
  8. RIGHT!? It is I who curves you mom, when you call me and I don't feel like talking about how I am still without children and that at this rate you will never be a grandma and how I looked thinner last month! The nerve of this woman to deny me my gossip of the week from back home.
  9. You ever get legit upset when your mom doesn't answer your call? Seriously, mom? I am your oldest and brightest, and it is Sunday, where you at! >___<
  10. Due to her eccentricities, Camila had spent the majority of her time surrounded only by those that deeply cared for her, and often failed to note her behavior was undeniably inappropriate, particularly for a girl of her status. She had remained just as close to the stranger as before, her vibrant eyes fixated on his intense dark ones for what surely beyond what most would consider normal. Her youth and limited socializing had not curved her ability to detect attractive features, and she felt the flutter of a young girl’s heart as she studied his sharp nose, prominent jaw and thick (lolnigga) lips. Camila listened to Ezekiel describe how he was able to discern the presence of her friends, and was only slightly disappointed that he was not like her. “Oh, so I see,” she said as she finally turned her eyes up to the road ahead, where the threatening mountain stood proud and tall, arrogantly waiting for the next fools to attempt their climb up its icy domain. “Then we are different, but even so, I am happy that somebody else can at least feel them.” She glanced up to him again, all purity and joy. Camila continued along Ezekiel, seemingly unperturbed by their eventual destination. Accustomed to acting without a second thought to consequences, the young girl had exited the comfort and protection of her guardian’s home following the call of her friends, who assured her something magnificent awaited anyone brave enough to make it to the top of the monstrous mountain. At first, she had only meant to go take a look see, perhaps communicate with the spirits inhabiting the base of the mountain, who could inform her if this something of worth truly existed. It was, without a doubt, a foolish thing to do, but Camila had not even bothered to think about her actions or the aftermath of her doings, as most things in her life often resolved themselves without her doing much of anything about them. For now, she was more than happy to trot along next to Ezekiel, who continuously kept her occupied and mentally present by making comments and asking questions. “A medium, you say?” Camila’s shoulders rose up a bit with a shrug, her mouth pushed out in a pensive pout. Her father had forbidden anyone in his household to investigate the nature of his daughter’s powers, not even to give them a proper name; he preferred to think they did not exist, and refused to let the matter be discussed. Ezekiel’s comments about the friendly nature of her spirits sent them all into a joyful flutter around the two of them, their playful antics causing Camila to let out a vivacious laugh. “They like you.” The imposing mountain grew that much more menacing with each step, the end of the city just a couple of feet away. At the mention of her family, a beaming smile bloomed all over her pretty little mouth. “They love me as I am,” she answered, though she did not quite realize she had not truly addressed his question. Before she could think of more to say, her friends wildly bristled all around her, causing her to abandon Ezekiel’s side and sprint up ahead. “Oh! Look! Do you see?” She said as she glanced back and darted back towards him, “That is it! It is there, you know, my friends told me. Are you coming too?” Just as she had done before, forgetting all of her manners (that she truly never even learned), she breached his personal space and took his hand with both of her own, tugging his forward. “You are going for it, are you not?”
  11. Charmaine peered out over the endless sea of sand before her, just as she had done before, many years ago. Back then, these empty and unforgiving lands had belonged to the kingdom of Rosinder, which despite its mighty and hardy people, had been absolutely annihilated by the might of Elendaron. The victory had devastated most of the population, and all the valiant warriors that had fought against the enemy were rumored to have been put to death in the most painful and gruesome of ways. Including him, she thought with a crushing sadness that burned her eyes and broke her heart, the knight that had protected and loved her during her time in the old lands of Rosinder. She could not know for sure he was dead, but suspected he had been the first in line to defend his country, which he cherished above all else. It had been so long now, without even the smallest of whispers of his survival, that Charmaine had been forced to admit he was gone, forever lost to her. So much time seemed to have passed, but she remained just as she had always been—useless, lost, and desperate for answers about the sword nestled against her hip. Charmaine gently rubbed her thumb against the hilt of the jeweled sword, just as she always did when reminded of the treasure that had driven her from her home and had exposed her to a myriad of adventures. She still knew so little about it all, she thought as she began to maneuver her way down the remains of what had likely been a hard-fought battle, about the “bringer of joy”, the magical sword Joyeuse. There was such power within the mysterious weapon that at times seemed to have a mind of its own, guiding Charmaine through a journey that seemed pointless and repetitive. She had lost track of time since the beginning of her travels, though not much had changed about her, as she was just the pretty, dark-haired girl with the slightly tanned skin she had been at the beginning of it all. She was sure Joyeuse had something to do with the retention of her youth, but that was one side-effect of her weapon that she did not mind to suffer. A little out of breath, Charmaine continued down her path as the harsh, hot wind scratched her face with tiny specks of sand that wound up getting tangled in her hair and eyes. Annoyed by it all, and trying her best to keep the memories of her fallen knight from stirring up her tears, she did not notice the small rock that laid dormant in her way and caused her to trip and fall down hard on one knee. With a curse, she flopped down on the burning sand, visible tears already falling from her eyes. “I hate this,” she murmured, her soft weeping turning into a sob. “Arthur, I hate this…” As she wept, the loyal companion that had joined her the day she discovered Joyeuse softly pawed at her side. He had been created out of fabric and magic, in the shape of a (mighty) lion, who was bound to serve whoever carried the burden of being the wielder of the mighty sword. He loved Charmaine beyond even his own comprehension, and was moved to his own version of tears by the display of emotion before him. Without hesitation, he jumped to her arms, where she welcomed him, hugging him close. “Atticus, poor you,” she said as she brought him up for a kiss on his cloth mane, “you are covered with dirt.” She glanced down at them both, let out a tiny laugh. “Well, we both are…” The small animal nipped and snuggled against his master, completely at a loss for how to best comfort her. Even if it meant seeing that man again, he thought with a small grumble, just to see her smile again, Atticus would allow that knight to be near his beloved master again. As he thought this, he sensed something, and quickly jumped out of Charmaine’s arms to assume a protective stance against whatever it was that was approaching. “Atticus?” Charmained called, glancing over the direction he was wildly roaring at. “Is someone there?”
  12. Camila blinked, startled by the unknown man’s proximity. Her features contorted with confusion and she stared at him, long and hard, with her big brown eyes. She had completely forgotten all about him the second she had handed him his food, much too preoccupied by the presence of the inhabitants of the supernatural world to remember she had initiated a conversation with him. Slowly, and through the aide of her friends who recounted the last minutes of her life to her, Camila remembered their exchange, and regained her smile. Her distraction from the world in general was nothing new for her; she had been born without a sense of time or space, always drifting here and there, one toe in reality and her whole body in another place of existence. For most of her life, her lack of self-awareness had been compensated by the presence of her Nana, who was used to her little girl’s cluelessness, and filled the gaps when needed. “There is no need to repay me at all. I am glad that you are feeling better now, yes?” She breezed through his observation about her noble background, forgetting that not all had been born into the luxury that allowed the fine dress she wore, and thus she could not think why such a detail about her person would matter. She kept her pace next to his, occasionally forgetting he was there as he munched on the (technically) stolen fruit and she chattered away in her mind with her inseparable companions since birth. When he questioned her about their presence, the girl took a whole step into reality, astonished. Aside from her beloved caretaker, who believed her little girl no matter what things she said, no one had ever mentioned the swirl of supernatural beings that always surrounded her. Forgetting all of her training as a lady of society, she entered his personal space and tilted her head as high as she could to stare intensely into his eyes. “You can see them, sir?” The idea that another person shared her “ability”, as her family called it, delighted her. She let her head fall back with a laugh, high and strong, a drastic change from her usually soft voice. “Since before I was born,” she answered, her eyes alive with happiness. “I have always had them with me. They will always be with me.”
  13. Camila had no concept of caution, and while most young girls would have shied away from the amber eyes and brief smile of a travel weary man, she did not hesitate to tilt her head slightly to the side and break her mouth open with a wide, generous smile. He made his way slowly down the same path she intended to follow, and without a hint of shyness, she fell into step beside him. She said nothing as she swept her honey-colored eyes over him, noted his disheveled appearance, and felt the threads of pity pulling her face down into a frown. She heard the faint rumble of hunger coming from his stomach, and adding that to his appearance, assumed he was a traveling man on his last leg, ready to collapse at a moment’s notice. “Are you all right?” Her voice was soft and sweet, barely above a whisper, as she was accustomed to speaking in hush tones with her spirits. Camila She was so much smaller than he, but his slow movements prevented her from having to hasten her steps to keep up with him. Sensitive to the suffering of the less fortunate, Camila sought to ease the man’s discomfort, and because she had grown up with everything presented to her in a silver platter, did not think to ask as she reached for a couple of pieces of fruit in a nearby stand, much to the surprise of the vendor standing behind it. Uh, excuse me miss— Camila turned to him, all innocence and smiles, and listened to one of her spirit friends reminding her of how the exchange of goods for coins was carried out in the real world. “Oh yes,” she began as the man tried to dart after them, “my guardian will reimburse you for your goods, however much it was. Tell him you were gracious enough to help out his ward, Camila del Valle.” For good measure, she took a couple of more edible items from the stand, and the man let her, as he quickly realized who she was. “Here.” She reached out to pull at one of his hands, placing the items she had taken into his palm. “You must be hungry.” A gust of wind danced wildly around her, and just like that, Camila became distracted by the sudden invasion of unfamiliar spirits, and all but forgot she was even walking next to an unknown man.
  14. Camila sat beneath a lovely maple tree, its wide all-encompassing branches perfectly protecting the girl’s small, slightly round face from the damaging rays of the high noon sun. Her wide-set brown eyes were half open, her mouth pulled back into a soft smile as she patiently listened to the many stories and complaints of the spirits that drifted all around her. Some of them, the more playful ones, used the passing wind to lift her wavy hair up and down, causing the girl to break out into fits of childish giggles. Her caretaker since birth, a shriveled up woman simply called Nana, did not react to the shifting hair and random giggles, as she was accustomed to the peculiarities that had accompanied her little girl since she had been a babe and knew them to be harmless. Their hosts, however, were horrified by the display of sorcery and dismayed to learn that indeed the rumors that painted the girl as a strange creature with some sort of occult power were all true. Nevertheless, they were obliged to obey Camila’s father, a powerful man with a terrible penchant for dispatching those who refused him in the most brutal of ways. So they left the young girl and her servant remain in their home, and provided for them as best they could, but they remained far away from them both and shared loudly with anyone that listened that they did not mingle with the youngest del Valle daughter. Camila, oblivious to the stares and gossip that had surrounded her ever since she began exhibiting signs of possessing some sort of power, had lived a relatively happy life. Her father’s status had protected her from their society’s scorn, and her mother and siblings’ love had kept her heart light with joy. As the youngest, she was undeniably spoiled, spared punishments and permitted to avoid learning any sort of skill that would make her a suitable wife for a man of a similar status as her own. It would be impossible, her father had surmised, to find her a match in their home of Ashville, so there was no need to bother the girl, who was often lost in thought anyway, to learn anything beyond the basics of a formal education. Along the way, Camila picked up on the family’s traditional healing remedies, all contained in an old tome that had served as their ancestors’ claim to fame when their name was young and unpraised. She was unnaturally gifted with her healing experiments, which gained fame with the destitute in Ashville, who soon flocked to the girl in hopes of being cured of their ailments. Camila’s success only spurred others to come, until it was impossible to receive them all out in the street. It had been then that Camila and her Nana had decided to receive them in the great hall of the del Valle’s home, where the girl cured hundreds of souls until her father, furious to learn that she received the poor and sick out in his backyard, forbade her from continuing and sent her off to stay with an acquaintance in Blairville, until all the commotion of his daughter’s increasingly strange abilities died down. The city of Blairville was full of magical nonsense, so perhaps it was a place better suited for her daughter’s eccentricities. So now there she was, separated from the life she had known and all those she had loved, save for her beloved and loyal Nana. Still, she was quick to make friends with the spirits that inhabited this particular region, and learned so much about them and those they surrounded she soon felt at ease in her foster home. Still, the ban placed upon her abilities, enforced by her father’s friends, had left a gray spot in her heart, and had caused Camila to question her role in the world. Surely, she shared with her invisible friends, there was a purpose to her life, something she was meant to do? The spirits stirred all around her, practically mad with the need to share with her the very important thing that would fulfill all of her dreams. “Wait, what?” Camila said out loud, seemingly to no one. “Could it be?” “Are you sure?” Cami’s suddenly overly erratic behavior, even for her, caught the attention of her hosts, who happened to be watching her on this fine sunny day, alarmed them enough to cautiously approach her, for they fear the consequences of her father’s wrath if they did at least attempt to make sense of the girl’s problem. “Camila, dear? Are you all right? You are speaking to no one?” The hostess began, looking around to confirm the presence of no one. Caught off guard by the excitement of her friends’ tales, and unaccustomed to being approached by her temporary hosts, Camila shot up from her seat, causing the two others to fall back with a muffled shriek. “Forgive me,” the young girl began as she darted pass them and out towards the gate of their home, “I must visit this man. I shall return soon!” She took off into a sprint, before her hosts could react or her Nana could block her path. She was out in the city, physically alone, but accompanied by a thousand rustling spirits. Something of worth was nearby, they had told her, she just had to follow them.