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      Vote for Valucre [February]   02/02/2017

      Voting for the month of February is open on TopRPSites! Vote for Valucre daily and help new members searching for a place to roleplay discover the same joys you have in Valucre. You can vote daily, so make voting for Valucre a habit. Discussion thread

The Hummingbird

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About The Hummingbird

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    Genesaris Board Leader
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    Writing, drawing, reading, sleeping
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    Expert Charcoal Wielder, Conte Crayon Adept, Surveyor of Acrylics

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  1. I work a lot this week. I usually only work part-time, they've got me full-time this week. My work is labor-intensive so I'm gonna be wiped. But at least I can get work caught up and my check next week will be good. I was poking fun at my manager the other day, called him a slavedriver. Apparently I made him feel guilty; he told my other supervisor about it and she thought it was great. I'm seriously considering buying him a whip and presenting it to him with a "certificate" - Slavedriver of the Year 2017.
  2. How small and fragile she looked, held against his body. Ryzerus smiled at Gabriela as she trembled in his grasp, her eyes glittering with frightened, unshed tears. She was so pale, so delicate, so fearful of him – and why shouldn’t she be? He remembered their time in that accursed church, and recalled how he had educated her on pain and shame and how to beg. The memory it brought a flush of dark pleasure to his face, and he thought how very cute she looked, terrified and alone. “Let me up.” “In a moment,” he said, waiting until she gave up. She was beautiful, in that tight dress. His eyes roamed over her again, and his free hand traced below her breasts, over the slick red fabric, drawing up her ribs, over her bosom. He grabbed one breast, squeezing briefly. “I pledged myself to you,” he whispered. “Don’t make me regret it.” Letting go, his hand reached up. into the air, seizing hold of an invisible string. With a slow, graceful downward motion, he manipulated the air, forming heat and cold, giving life to the image in his mind, transforming emotion and thought into reality. He wove the necessary elements in his being and in this dark chamber together, and when he was done, a rose appeared in his hand. The conjuration had taken less than instant. The rose he had her wear in Lo’Bre was white, with exactly three thorns that would prick at her scalp when she moved. This one was bereft of anything that might to do her harm. And its color was in stark contrast to before; its petals were black as midnight, smooth as silk and elegant as Gabriela herself. There was a shuffling, growing near, that of soft feet. Ryzerus twirled the rose once and fixed it to her hair. “If you ever need me, use the rose.” “M’lady!” Ryzerus’ head turned, in time to see a strange creature into the throne room, clearly the source of the footsteps. She was quite a sight, this newcomer – perhaps, he theorized, a half-elf merged with some other rare race he had not seen. She was not uncomely – just strange to his eyes, and he grinned as her tone turned steely, obviously intent on ensuring Gabriela’s safety. She had no idea what he could do. But, this little, barefooted creature was obviously in the service of the Crimson Queen, and he was her pledged friend now. He relaxed his hold on Gabriela, letting her stand and move from him. He stood as well, and bowed to Gabriela’s servant. “A pleasure to meet you…” he said, letting his voice trail off, pausing for the creature’s name. “Fear not, your lady is in no danger with me.”
  3. Hi guys.
  4. Sorry my board is apparently lacking in lore. Terrenus has always been the most active board so if you're looking for a board based on activity level you might want to stick around there.
  5. Such pretty words. Ryzerus listened to the Crimson Queen – at the least, he appeared to listen – with head tilted to one side and a smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms loosely, fingers tapping on the opposite arm, waiting patiently as she spoke of silly things. Things like effort, faith, and hope. Things like happiness and friendship. He wondered how she could speak of such things to him. He, who had violated her on holy grounds. By time she was finished, the smirk had faded and in its place was something very close to a scowl. His beautiful golden eyes glared at her, the silver flecks in them gleaming with restrained violence. His arms uncrossed and settled on the throne’s armrests, and his fingers gouged at the stone, leaving shallow trenches with an earsplitting screech. A long moment of silence. Then, “Yessss,” he hissed, leaning forward. “I understand, queen. But I also understand what you do not. Effort begets nothing. Faith begets folly. And hope begets despair. I have watched you mortals from my mountains for countless generations. I have seen wars and peace and wars again. I have seen life and death, each in their turn in endless cycles. If you had seen what I have seen, you would understand that effort, faith, and hope are meaningless. In the end, it is meaningless.” He paused, and leaned back once more into the throne. “They are beautiful things, Gabriela, but some beautiful things are nothing more than fantasy.” Ryzerus closed his eyes, sighing. “I will admit, though, that I have not seen my kin so happy in all my life. It is refreshing, and it will be crushing when they discover the relief does not last.” His eyes opened in slits, regarding Gabriela standing in the darkness, so close, so far away. “Do you know why I like roses?” he asked suddenly. “When I came to Terrenus for the first time, it was to wage war. An emissary came to me, offered me a bouquet. It was a gesture of contempt and sarcasm, certainly, but I had never seen such roses before. I had spent all my lives in the mountains, where nothing grows. Imagine it, seeing beauty for the first time.” His eyes opened fully, focusing on her with startling intensity. “Yes, I am lonely. But I do not need you, Gabriela.” He smiled then. “As long as we understand that… why, yes. I accept your proposal.” He stood abruptly and his hand snatched out, seizing her by the wrist. He dragged her to him, and seated himself once again, with her on his lap. One arm held her in a tight embrace about the waist, ensuring that she could not escape. He whispered his next words close to her ear. “But first we must make sure of our loyalties, must we not?” His smile grew boarder as, holding her chin, forced her face around so that their features filled each other’s eyes. A moment of silence, of stillness, passed. He kissed her. It was a deep kiss, full of passion and lust. His hand held her head, forcing her to endure. His tongue slipped in and out her mouth before he finally released her. “There,” he breathed. “Now our friendship is sealed. Is there anything I can do for you now, my dear?”
  6. To say that he was shocked would be a gross understatement. Sivoy stood frozen between wolf and man, held in place by the lethal blades at his throat and back. The Great Wolf behind him growled, the blade betwixt her teeth gleaming just as the fresh blood seeping from August’s hand reflected the light of the setting sun. There was no interruption as August stated all that he was not, the source of his strength, and the purpose for which he could not submit to the hunter. “A draw?” For a fleeting instant, anger passed across Sivoy’s eyes. Then it was gone. A twitch of a strange, half-smile touched the corner of his lips, and when he spoke, it was with something new, something August never had heard from him before – respect. “I think not… August,” Sivoy said softly. One hand released the blunt end of the spear, letting it fall to the ground before carefully placing the tips of his fingers over the blade held at this throat, tilting the tip a safer distance away from his skin. By then, they were surrounded by a sizable group of the Kethlerin hunters; men, women and children alike stood watching them with amazed awe. Even the most seasoned hunter among them had never seen such a battle as this. Sivoys other hand came up, and held what was left of the broken spear horizontal to the ground. He let that fall too, and the long blade clattered to the torn earth. “No, you’re not like me. And I am not like you. Nevertheless, I admit defeat.” His eyes shifted over to Shakarri. Her hands were to her mouth, her own pale eyes focused solely on August. Sivoy turned back to August and grinned ruefully. He leaned just a bit closer to August, his voice lowering to a whisper, like that of a confidential friend. “Father is ailing as of late. He wants to speak to us – you, me, and Shakarri. At your convenience, of course. Don’t worry, he’s not going to drop dead soon. My sincerest thanks for your time, Wolfhunter.” With a few quick strides, Sivoy returned to his horse. Once astride its back he rode off, barking an order that quickly dispersed the murmuring crowd. All that was left then was August, Shakarri, and the Kethlerin healer, the last of who was looking very irritated. Shakarri walked up to August. She stared jhard at him for a few seconds before her hand collided with his face in a hard slap. “Fool!” she cried. “He was baiting you. When will your pride let you learn to say no?”
  7. I don't like Transival. But if everyone else likes it it's not my place to say anything.
  8. Finished Witcher 3, at last. Oh, my heart.
  9. Certainly! As long as it's not too big or world-destroying, you're welcome to create your own little storm.
  10. I suppose it is possible, but not likely. To create an artficial magestorm would require an immense source of energy, and even then the result would not be quite the same as a natural, real Magestorm. Magestorms hail from the Arcane East's mountain range and rage throughout the entire land from east to west and north and south, and register as a unique magic that doesn't fit in with any elemental, traditional magic (air, water, fire, etc.) They may or may not affect living and unliving creatures and things in random ways, and interact with other magic in random ways as well. These things would be impossible to replicate perfectly with a artificial magestorm.
  11. Got called in to work early. Apparently my co-worker has a fever so I'm covering for her. Ugh, I hate the morning shifts, and I still have to work closing time too. On the bright side my strictest manager said I'm the most reliable worker in my department aside from like one other person.
  12. They were subtle, slight signs, it was true – the faint expression of fear lingering under that of hatred and rage – but it was there, and Ryzerus did not fail to see it. His mocking smile broadened as he noted the tension in her petite body, the way she straightened in defiance, the way she resisted spitting upon his face. His eyes flitted up and down her body, resting on her breasts for a scant second before returning to her eyes. Molten gold eyes, like his, glared back at him. Again, he smiled. When he spoke, the very chastising tone and low volume was that of an insult. “Come now, Gabriela. You know better than that. I was there. I’ve been with you ever since the masquerade. What, did you think you could escape from me, even for a moment? Please.” Taking slow strides, he circled around her, his eyes wandering over the throne room, taking in the high ceiling, the walls, the great columns and, lastly, the throne of the Fiend himself. The throne itself was quite a sight, a sinister centerpiece of the ominous chamber. Twin arches rose to either side of the stone seat, thick iron chains attached to them as if holding in place a great beast. The throne was intricately carved, displaying thorns and spikes and something resembling the skull of a dragon or other mythical beast above the headrest. Ryzerus found the throne interesting enough to approach it, tapping the cold stone carvings with his fingers, humming to himself before paying Gabriela’s words any mind. “Now you’re just being silly, my dear. Oh, it would have been entertaining, certainly, to withhold the truth of your son’s crimes, but what would I have gained? Nothing.” He shrugged even as he stared up into the blank eyes of the crude skull. One hand reached up and caressed it, as if pampering a beloved pet. “Hmmm… not so unlike our own thrones, this. Well. Hideous and lonely, am I? Thank you. I will take that as a very high compliment. Unlike you, I hold no delusions about myself or my nature,” he stated flatly. He turned and smirked at the Crimson Queen, and then performed a most treacherous feat that in no uncertain terms displayed his contempt for Roen… and for her. Falling backwards, he came to land on the throne of the Devil. Sitting there in that seat of monarchy, elbows resting on the armrests with his hands hanging over the sides, he leaned into the arching stone back, crossing one leg over the other. He tilted his head at the queen, daring her to speak n protest, or to act in some unseemly way. “What do I want? Didn’t I already tell you? Even with all your self-loathing and maddening childish acts, you are slightly intriguing. I’m interested in seeing how far you make it before you fall.” Leaning forward, he rested his chin on one upturned palm. For a moment, his eyes were distant. “Hm. Lonely? Perhaps I am. But you even more so, little queen.” He settled back again, perfectly comfortable.
  13. I like bows, but they're kind of a pain in the ass.