Jump to content


  • Content Count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

About KittyvonCupcake

  • Rank
  • Birthday April 18

Profile Information

  • Gender
  • Location
    The Moon of Titan
  • Interests
    Hungry ghosts, the roar of the sea crystallized and shattered thrice for good luck, poorly recorded punk music.

Contact Methods

  • Discord

Recent Profile Visitors

8,881 profile views
  1. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Anvil Hymn [ OOC ]

    "Look just...if I do end up uh...not making it. There's a letter in my room at the Crocksford Inn, written just for Ioreth. Please make sure she gets it, all right?" 😭😭😭😭 Mah heart.
  2. KittyvonCupcake

    How many threads are you in right now?

    I'm in two active threads and three hub threads. (And I'm still behind on my active threads, oh god have mercy on me.) You know the glorious thing about hub threads? You can pop in and out of them as you please. #Hubs, son.
  3. KittyvonCupcake

    The Black Anvil Hymn [ Hub ]

    One city fell. Others would follow its footsteps into ruin, and new civilizations would claim their places. This was the natural order of things, although understanding this did not lessen the pain of losing one’s homeland. Or, in Ioreth’s case, an almost-homeland. Such a sudden severance to a prominent attachment left her with a groundless sensation. Winding through the underbelly of Hell’s Gate, she felt as though a dark wind was pushing her towards the edge of the world, and she noticed how easy it would be to follow it---to plunge onwards, to the north. To the endless snow, to glaciers more ancient than the entirety of her bloodline, to the icy ocean swirling at the apex of the globe. These were sights that she had never witnessed in a place that could swallow her whole. Yet it was not just exhaustion and a lack of suitably warm clothing that held her back from a northbound journey; there was the case of a blacksmith and an unusually small freshwater kraken. Night had fallen over Terrenus, yet the streets in this corner of Hell’s Gate were abloom with artificial light. Humming fluorescent glows illuminated seedy markets nestled into the shadows beneath monolithic towers of glass. For every self contained hive tucked away behind the walls of its massive living complex, a plethora of dive bars and magitech pawn shops lurked at the ground level. Ioreth felt like an ant picking its way along the forest floor in a dense glade filled with chrome plated trees. And everywhere, there was light. It was as though the men and women that dwelled here found a way to siphon off the essence of the sun and injected it into everything that they could touch. Holo-screens and neon trim on high collared coats, luminescent signs and street lamps like spotlights. Ghoulish shadows were cast along the contours of people’s faces. In the crowds, Ioreth’s prowler growled. It was quieter in Stello’s neighborhood. Patches of sky could be seen over slumbering businesses. Clouds of hazy gray drift over hidden stars. The sound of engine sliced through the stillness. There was a foreboding rumble lurking in its mechanical purr, an audible hint that the prowler had been pushed too far. Exposed to the chaotic magicks that consumed Ashville, its crystal based magitech core was in need of re-attunement. For now, though, Ioreth placed little concern in the whims of her machinery. Rest was what she desired. Weeks spent sleeping with one eye open in dusty settlements and offroad camps left her with aching joints and a semi permanent scowl. Even in throngs of displaced refugees, a tattooed elf carrying about a large stock pot with mysterious contents that was followed by a grotesque imp (Although Beans most certainly could have survived on his own, tenacious hellspawn that he was, he found traveling with perhaps the only individual on Valucre that found him adorable to be a more agreeable situation.) could not help but attract attention. Some of this momentary fascination was rooted in simple curiosity. Others, like the man that became well acquainted with Hanya’s wrench, had more ill intentions. When the familiar tempered metal of the Black Anvil’s door came into view, Ioreth Rhavon released a weary sigh and found an unobtrusive alleyway nearby to park. She yanked off her helmet and sneezed twice in rapid succession, shivering despite the temperate clime of a warm night. A clammy sheen clung to her forehead and cheekbones and unnaturally dark shadows swam beneath her violet eyes---two indications of a disease colloquially known as mana sickness. There are limitations to all forms of inner power. If a mage reaches these limits and pushes her spellcraft beyond them, the body then retaliates. For Ioreth, it manifested itself as a particularly stubborn cold after the magical transfer of books from Ashville to Draug's old shop in Blairville. Hoisting up the stock pot with care to ensure that no water sloshed out from beneath the lid, she tottered towards the Anvil. The sudden jerking motions caused Stephen to push up the lid and slip a questioning tentacle out, as though it were a snake’s tongue probing the air for unknown scents. Beans remained with her luggage, nestled comfortably in her black cloak atop a stack of tethered down books. Had anyone passed by at this late hour, they would have been accosted with the imp’s ear splitting screech and Hanya’s wrench. Bang---bang---BANG! went the door knocker, impatience seeping through each time metal made contact with metal. Ioreth deemed it polite to grant Stello at least fifteen minutes to rise up and open the door before she began to crack into his lock system. After all, he was a friend, and she felt it might be rather jarring to wake up in the middle of the night and see a mini kraken in his bathtub, an imp in his pantry, and an elf on his sofa. It was best to, at the very least, attempt to give him a warning that this is what would inevitably happen should he not come downstairs and take charge of the situation.
  4. KittyvonCupcake

    Animated works of all kind

    I adore this art style. A really fresh take on modern digital animation.
  5. @Ataraxy & @Csl, what do you think of a UM holiday that celebrates the end of the TK and the beginning of the Taen empire's rule? Have Roz throw some cake at the people. Titus can man the grill.
  6. Gonna attack Grub's crown with my boot. The empress has ordained it.
  7. @Witches Brew We're going to get a boot. Happy Birthday, Merida! Even funnier would be if they thought it was something important and it's literally just an enchanted boot.
  8. KittyvonCupcake

    Book|Ends [Hub]

    When Ioreth dedicated her attention to someone, they often felt as though they were standing knee deep in ocean water. The tide pulled the sand beneath their bare feet in one direction, and the waves pushed their body in another. It was possible that Stello warned him of this, though he may have left out how loose Ioreth’s tongue became when under the influence of alcohol, as he once witnessed during their time with the Banjari along the river camp. Before the employee had left their field of vision, Ioreth had already introduced Lexicus to the philosophical works of a spirit that went by the name of Spoon and, despite her arm linked with the sturdy smith’s, stumbled into an end table. Yet by the time they reached the books on magical theorem, she fell into a blessed silence. It was a serene quiet, heavy with hushed veneration. She settled into a plush window seat and tucked her feet beneath the tassled throw pillows, wriggling her toes into the velveteen material. With her circlet of amethyst askew atop her head and the gossamer darkness of her long skirt pooled around her reclined legs, she looked like an off duty high priestess, contentedly weary after a night of ritualistic chanting in the Dark Woods. At first, Archmage Serinthod’s name pulled a slight frown across her lips. Compendium Arcanium bounced in her memory, the words somersaulting until they lost meaning. It was not one that she had personally read, although it sounded familiar enough. It was only a mild exaggeration to state that they had enough compendiums of arcaniums to fill a tournament stadium. Upon her honor as tome retrievalist, she found it necessary to find out if they housed the book Lexicus desired. To admit that she did not know where it was at was to admit failure. There are many adjectives with which one can describe Ioreth, some less flattering than others, but “quitter” was never one of them. She swung herself off of the window seat and went to work, navigating along the shelves in the magical theorem section with a zealous concentration. Rather than scouring the titles and authors, she appeared to move based solely off of intuition. This thick tome bound in red felt adequate, yet the paper was too sleek, too modern. Archmages, as a general rule, preferred their pages raw, whether out of aesthetics or to keep publishing costs to a minimum. Similar texts were examined, then rejected, until her fingertips brushed against the remaining volumes of Archmage Serinthod’s work. Paired together with the books Lexicus already pulled from the shelves, her compendium was now complete. “What draws you to Serinthod?” she asked. “Most request Holeil or Yorke when they first get into the study of magic.” @Fennis Ursai “Blades for battle tend to be a standard steel, as it's rare for a Duende to cart around a forge, yet these”---he nodded towards a pair of twin daggers that glimmered with a similar icy sheen---“are fae crafted out of Moonwood. Whatever that metal is, it’s too damn brittle for continual use.” Before his answer had enough time to settle, there was an imp at the door and he was searching for Draug. Upon immediate examination of Barrett, one thing became clear: that was not one of Book|Ends’ imps. They did not speak, though they did often squawk like a macaw with a smoker’s cough, and they certainly did not wear the garb of a military officer. Barrett’s expression of half-query half-assumption found its elvish mirror on Draug’s face. “You found him. Are you Peacekeeper Commager’s representative?” Something within Draug shifted when he spoke to Barrett. His posture grew straighter, his voice rose out of growled low octaves into the clipped efficiency of a man that regularly wore a tie. While Draug had never actually donned a tie during the entire course of his long life, he made a highly believable impression of a man in charge. This, his squared shoulders and tailored trousers stated, was a man that knew how to write a sales ledger. It was a contrast with the weapons on the walls, which stated that this was a man who had questionable hobbies. “Did Commager debrief you on my proposal? I have a written statement of it, should you need something to review.” A sheet of paper, of the same cardstock as Michael’s letter, was pulled from a drawer of his desk and offered to Barrett with a careful bend at his waist. The note upon it was no more than a briefly explained list of the same offers that he had initially made, intentionally kept vague so that Barrett could supply his own suggestions. As they dealt with this matter, another knock was on the door. It was more tentative than the one from the small soldier, yet there was an undertone of urgency behind the soft rapping knuckles. The door knob rattled, and the woman in grey robes that Ioreth had accostated upstairs appeared in the threshold. Her arms were busy with balancing a stack of envelopes, a bottle of ink, a quill pen, and sheets of loose paper. Her brows were busy with a knitted grimace, and her mouth was busy with a hasty apology for intruding but could Mister Rhavon please know that his sister sent down the imp that was requested for a Mister Lavis and here are the supplies for his message? As quickly as the words tumbled forth, she deposited Stello’s writing supplies onto the small table wedged between the armchairs and gestured for the winged imp that was encircling her head to find a seat. This imp was Beans. While Barrett stood tall and proud, Beans hunched over his gray potbelly. One ear was bent into a perpetual angle and a scar ran over his face, causing one eye to remain shut. The other glittered with an unsettling gleam. He absorbed all in the room, and he judged the everloving hell out of each individual that stood there. Stello, he decided, was a pompous prince. Barrett, in his uniform, was an oversized traitor to their kind. He shifted the stained brown kilt that covered his impolite anatomy and snapped his spade tipped tail in a taunting challenge. Draug, he overheard from a credible source, was lazy in bed. Had he the capability of speaking Terran, he would have let everyone in earshot know. Instead, he settled with a snarling smile. It appeared that his tongue had been sliced away, perhaps by a sadistic letter receiver. In addition to these charms, Beans also smelled like four day old goat cheese. This unfortunate creature was Ioreth’s favorite imp. Draug let out a groan. “He knows the way to Hanya. Just…” A glance to Barrett put a halt to any anti-imp sentiments that begged to be uttered, and instead Draug grumbled, “...try not to spill any ink in here.” @LastLight @amenities
  9. @Ataraxy, SOLD. It's gonna be later on before I can dedicate my time to it, but SOLD SO HARD.
  10. My philosophy with artifact quests is that less is more. You can have an expansive doc filled with artifacts saved for your personal use, but it can be too overwhelming for the casual quester to read on a lore sheet. I know that when I first began on Valucre, I sometimes had choice anxiety when it came to the plethora of quests that were available. Speaking from experience, see how your initial quests go and then add things later on when more of the quests have been nabbed. This grants you the opportunity to witness how people work with your lore, and then you can gauge what was successful and what was not. That being said, I would laugh for years if you made a magic boot. Vesper would so get that magic boot. It can do fuck all and she would get that magic boot.
  11. That's one way to approach behavioral therapy, for sure. The crown is going to start telling Oscar to take some time for a guided meditation and to learn his wife's love language.
  12. Did you have any questions about the Smugglers? I completely forgot to ask you that lol

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. Ataraxy


      I'm so down for you to involve that character! And to write the lore! I love it when little tidbits of mine find interest with players and suddenly blow up into a full blown storyline lol

      And I'm here if you have any questions! Probably more often than I should be lmao

      Also, considering the profile sheet liked. I'm all out of reactions but I'll go back to it tomorrow

    3. KittyvonCupcake


      Thank you for entrusting your lore in my kitty hands. (Paws?)

      When I get a draft for the lore worked out, I'll send it your way. Along with the basic details, I'm thinking of including statements from those that were smuggled out of UM and the relatives of those that did not survive the trip. Now, were they referred to a particular name?

    4. Ataraxy


      Um, kind of? This is the only lore I have for them to date:


      There are rumors, however, that human smugglers found a way to help refugees escape from Ursa Madeum. But the process relies on an extremely rare material found only in Ursa Madeum. Despite the method being rarely seen and extremely difficult to execute, it was possible thanks to the Suujali (Terrenus Coyotes/ smugglers) who worked tirelessly trying to save the people of UM. Unfortunately, many of them died before Taen freed Ursa Madeum from the Tyrant King.


  13. Vesper would make a great candidate for the fancy crown. Your true ruler will now be a scary magical pirate lesbian. Real talk, though, I like those horns.
  14. KittyvonCupcake

    New to Valucre but not RP

    I am delicious. Welcome to Valucre!