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The Hummingbird

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The Hummingbird last won the day on April 28 2018

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About The Hummingbird

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    Penguin Overlord

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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. Pouring forth from both sides, the trickle of wolves had become a wave. Open jaws lined with razor teeth, ripping claws, and glowing, savage eyes were everywhere now, running through the camp like arteries through a body. In the darkness of the encroaching night they had transformed from simple animals to bloodthirsty monsters. But this was not the worst of it. Rysorian’s eyes swept through the battlefield, and saw what would spell the doom of many a human, demon, or whatever race that had joined this foolhardy quest. The two packs had begun to cooperate. Whatever war for territory and prey they were at, was forestalled as they came to an unspoken treaty in order to kill the strange humans, demons, and others that had disturbed their grounds. Two wolves with different markings amongst their shaggy fur broke apart and charged one unlucky girl. Sashara was sixteen, training to be a warrior of skill and valor for only a few months. She had been working among the demons in their farms, hoping to learn their ways and culture to enrich her personal experience, when Skacharm came. His handsome appearance and natural charisma lured her on the search for the queen. She was sure she could be of help; she could cook, she could track, and she could fight. Now her bravery and wildly swinging sword proved of no use against the two monsters who fell on her. The warrior was turned into prey and screaming victim as the wolves snapped and claws at her, tearing away bits of armor to expose her young body. Their teeth latched onto her flesh and tore it away, devouring her even before she died. Rysorian threw down his knives. As the blades buried themselves in the earth, he charged the wolves. They looked up and snarled. Was he suicidal, another victim, a willing victim? One might blink, perhaps look to the wolves then back again. It was hard to tell. But suddenly in place of him there was a beast, a massive streak of silver fur and black spots, large even for his species – a jaguar at its prime perhaps – throwing itself at the wolves, now made woefully small in comparison. One wolf was knocked aside by a wicked paw lined with shining claws. The other wolf was pinned beneath the weight of the new foe. One vicious bite was all it took, tearing away the wolves throat. The giant snow leopard straightened and screamed at the wolves, many of whom were already staggered by Skacharm’s magical shout. The wolves began to run, and Rysorian chased away the few stragglers until finally all of them had been routed and were fleeing. One blink and Rysorian returned to human form. He yanked his knives from the ground, still snarling to himself.
  2. Once on the lift, Destas set about to pacing as much as he could back and forth on the tight space. Normally, he would simply take flight and glide up to the little floating island where Elkar made his home – indeed, when one had wings taking the lift seemed rather preposterous to him – but Destas was curious about Vohamanah-Shaym, Mozart, and even Reval Freer. Here was a once in a lifetime chance to get to know people who seemed so cool! When Mozart made the mistake of talking, Destas turned to him, his eyes popping. “You… whoa! You’re a monster hunter? That’s so… so… sooooo…” He almost choked. “That’s so fucking amazing! Wow, I’ve never met a monster hunter before. I dunno, man, but I bet Elkar can help you find something to kill. Hnnh… dammit! If only you guys had wings, we’d get there faster. In fact… catch ya there!” Destas leaped onto the edge of the lift’s railing. He spread his arms out with the majestic length of his wings, simply falling forward into space. Perhaps some might call Destas a little too energetic. Maybe some might even call him annoying or, gods forbid, even worse. But none of it mattered when he flew, for he was absolutely beautiful in the skies, and few knew aerobatics as well as Destas. His wings caught a wayward draft easily, and up he went, spiraling smoothly upward with an ironic control many envied. He laughed as he left the others well behind, shooting past the lip of Elkar’s island. He turned sharply then, and a barrel roll, somersault, and half a cartwheel later he landed soundlessly on the ground once more. He waited as patiently as he could manage as the lift creaked upward. When it finally reached him, he cupped his hands to his mouth. “ELKAAARRRRR!”
  3. Only when I drink a lot of the milk ~_^
  4. I drink a lot when I get home. It's starting to become a problem. For instance, a glass of orange juice, a glass of water, and sometimes a glass of milk, refilled as needed. Its just a lot of dirty glasses to wash.
  5. It's interesting, I've met some who say 4e is the worst of the worst, for whatever reason. I have a thing for Monopoly. Scrabble. Magic the Gathering. Solitaire ;-; Does Pictionary count?
  6. Nothing spoils a waning appetite more than an inexperienced seductress. Already bored and disinterested, Rysorian cast her a contemptuous glance with eyes that seemed to glow against his black hair. Yet even as his eyes began to turn back towards his neglected meal, her scent washed over him, driven forward by the draft from the doorway. And what a strange odor it was. All humans had their own unique scent, picked up from the many different lands they traveled, other people they dallied with, and the various things they attached to. But they all shared a certain odor; a human would smell like a human, just as an animal would smell like an animal, and a simple inanimate object would smell like an object. To Rysorian, the variance was easy to see – to smell, rather – and simple to pick up. This woman, from her bright red hair down to her feet, wasn’t entirely the human she seemed to be. While she smelled almost human, the scent wasn’t completely that. It was a strange, uncommon smell he’d never encountered before, and it put him on edge. He was about to tell her to get lost when her bag dropped. By pure reflex rather than eager kindness, his hand snatched out and caught it before it touched the ground. It was heavy – what was in there, rocks? – but he was strong, and lifted it easily with the one hand even as he resisted the urge to give it a good kick across the tavern. His suspicion of her quickly evaporated then as he offered the bag back to her. Someone so clumsy and inept couldn’t possibly be any danger. His eyes swiveled over to the other person, the man, the “friend.” He analyzed the air carefully, and found it about as engaging as the toad he held. Naturally the toad was more exciting. “Sit if you please, but I’m not falling for that smile,” he said evenly. “The food tastes like shit, and as for your last request… yes, actually. Out the door.”
  7. *crosses arctic off the list of places to travel to*
  8. When playing The Witcher 3, when Geralt finally finds Ciri. No spoilers but thats my favorite scene. And its a reward itself.
  9. Elkar! One eyebrow arched as a rather odd combination of excitement and apprehension passed across Destas’ face. Destas wasn’t afraid of most things, and often though that the stranger those things were, the better. He loved mysteries and secrets, and absolutely adored the Tree of Memory for possibly holding those very things. But Elkar… Elkar was little intimidating to him. Destas had only seen him a few times, and spoken with him only once to offer a passive greeting, and never found reason to talk with the man again. But there was an air about Elkar – of wisdom and power – that Destas found unnerving. Naturally, he took the idea of making a business call to the man a challenge. A challenge! Destas loved challenges. “Maybe…” the strange, hooded man muttered. The curiosity combine with his bundle of nerves and energy was too much. “Maybe what?!” Destas almost screamed. “You’re coming with us, then? Man, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got hidden under that hood! Come on, come on!” He practically danced in place as Reval Freer exited first, and practically shoved Vohamanah-Shaym out after her. He bounced after them, his wings half-spread and shivering with barely contained vigor.
  10. Honestly, Seinaru Forven sounds beautiful, peaceful, and magical. I'd love to see the Tree of Memory.
  11. Done. If I need to edit, I'll do so, just let me know.
  12. Kill them! Drive them out! Kill them! Rising in ferocity and savagery, the howl of the wolves echoed through the woods. Their message was clear, repeated over and over, the same for both packs. Unbeknownst to the search party until now, they had stepped into a war zone, and they would be the first casualties. While true the wolves were focused on killing their opposing kindred, they would just as willingly slaughter anyone in their way, including the humans, elves, and demonfolk who dared step into their territory. The assassins and warriors among the search part snapped orders back and forth, splitting up their forces to deal with both sides of the attacking wolves. Already the forms of the beasts could be seen by Rsyorian, streaking graceful and savage through the trees, leaping over and crashing through undergrowth and rocks and jutting roots, snarling and howling. KILL THEM! Two bolts downed two wolves. Their bodies lurched and rolled as Rysorian reloaded his crossbow, firing a third that sank into the shoulder of a third wolf. It didn’t stop the beast, and suddenly the forest was filled with the wolves, assaulting the humans and each other with gleaming fangs and claws. Rysorian dropped the crossbow, drawing his knives. He delved into the fray. He was fast, focused, and free. His knives swept and arced and glittered as they slashed through air and then through flesh, slicing through muscle and cutting against bone. Whatever path he took he left a whimpering wolf behind, and he did not stop to gloat or check his work. Blood streamed across the ground. A wolf leaped upon a demon girl, pinning her to the ground. Its jaws opened to bite into her neck. Then it shrieked as Rysorian crashed into hit, ramming his knife into its side, then again and again. The wolf rolled away, twitched once, and was dead. “Bitch,” Rysorian growled as he turned away.
  13. One incident springs to mind. So this person invited me to a group rp. Everything is well and dandy, and my character intends to offer his/her character an appropriate gift. I spend like an hour writing my post up, making sure it's absolutely perfect. I'm excited; he/she's a good writer and I love interaction. He/she completely, blatantly ignores it. And if there's anything I hate, it's when I put heart and soul into something and it gets ignored like that. I don't need the spotlight, but I do like some kind of acknowledgment. Also there was this one time that made me flat out quit rp T1 battles for good. X could write. Damn could X write. And the battle was just one continuous chain of interrupts that ignored my posts and didn't let me do anything. Not. One. Damn. Thing. I gave X the win, and then left to think about my RP life choices. One last one; I spend a LONG time writing out this brilliant post. It was good, even for me. I was waiting for the go from a person who specifically asked me to play a character. I wait, I'm excited, I put real effort into this post. He PMs me, letting me know they decided to pick another person and leave me out. Gee, thanks for that. Fortunately, I've had more good experiences than bad ones. Water under the bridge, so I just keep on going.
  14. It was a nice enough place, the Basic Blues Bar. Patrons of all sorts and stations of life sat at clean tables with carefully arranged chairs, or along the walls in booths carved from the oaken walls. Fresh smells of cooked meat, vegetables, and other types of food wafted from the kitchens behind a wooden counter stocked with wine and ale, filling the air the tavern and inciting the appetites of those who gathered here to bide their time. Floating about also was the soft, mournful tune of instruments of singing bards playing classic signature songs, the kind of music that gave the bar its name. Sitting alone at one table, Rysorian stared down at the woodgrains running along the surface. He’d grown so tired of the world, all its trivialities and loathsome, if petty, sins. All the pathetic people, all the same; gluttonous, selfish fools who lied and cheated their way through life. From Genesaris to Renovatio, all the way through even the magical lands of Seinaru Forven – there was nothing to gain but the realization that everyone was damned to hell. With a shy smile the waitress serving him dropped off his dinner, a plate of roasted lamb with a side of rice, seasonal vegetables and fruit, and a cup of plain ice water. It smelled and even looked delicious – the chef was an artist too – but Rysorian looked at it with no appreciation. He muttered a thanks, dismissing the disappointed waitress with nary a glance. Food was food, serving only one purpose; keeping the body alive. It had been a month, perhaps two, since the search for the stupid queen who had gotten herself lost. Rysorian had benefited financially from the quest, but otherwise felt no satisfaction, no joy from it. He’d left that area soon afterwards, escaping the idiots there, only to find himself here, with new stupidity surrounding him in the form of gamblers, cheapskates, whores, and drunken fools. Was there no end to any of it? He picked up the leg of lamb and bit into it. Much like life, it was tasteless.
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