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About KittyvonCupcake

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  • Birthday April 18

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

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  1. KittyvonCupcake

    Church On The Hill

    [Coth: the Tavern, after sunset] The mightier Odille’s unwelcome visitation from the past attempted to sound, the harder Ioreth had to grapple with the urge to laugh. It was one thing to be called a heathen—an accurate assessment, truly, in god’s chosen village—but to be compared to a goat? She rose to her feet and allowed the barrier to drop, granting the man one sidelong glance before she readjusted the furs around her shoulders. “Many of us here are liars and thieves, boy, myself included.” Once more, the red headed man was dismissed as she turned to address the tavern’s patrons, each onlooker illustrating varying portraits of concern and bafflement. “The good Father has granted us forgiveness, though, has he not?” Her question coaxed a few nods and murmurs of assent. She smiled her cold, sharp smile at Billy. “Yet here you are, harassing one of god’s people and twisting god’s word to suit your own delusions. I made a pledge to the Father to record and protect your god’s message. Nowhere have I heard mention of the superiority of mankind over elvish folk, unless you claim to know something more than god’s chosen.” Grumbles of disdain rumbled in the room, the remnants of confusion shifting towards displeasure. Ioreth’s hand drifted to the small of her back and grasped the handle of a hunting dagger she kept sheathed at her belt, her thoughts shifting from hares to goats. “The good Father may forgive you for terrorizing a member of his parish and for using the word of god in a perverse manner, but he is not here.” With a flash of silver and a movement like a viper striking prey, Ioreth sliced off a fistful of Billy’s copper hair and returned her dagger to its resting place. “I am here, instead, and it is not my duty to forgive.” Strands of red peeked out from the grasp of her slender fingers. She held up her hand to idly study the way the sheen of his hair seized and reflected the nearby candlelight’s glow. Touch me, hissed the arch of her back and the tilt of her head, and you shall burn. “Odille,” she purred, “can you show me where the kitchen is?” Billy’s hair was stashed away in one of her belt’s pouches, settling in with spare nibs for her pen and an engraved ring. Her journal and tome were gathered up and nestled into the crook of her arm, and she leaned in towards the subject of her enmity to softly snarl, “It would be wise to leave now.” @LikelyMissFortune
  2. KittyvonCupcake

    The Reverie Ball (Open Hub)

    Vesper Moontraveler ”There’s nothing else for you to see here. Head on back to the party.” With the guard’s back turned, a motion that would have been swiftly reprimanded should he have been in her militia, he failed to note the look of utter scorn directed towards him. “Is this how the Emperor’s men behave during a crisis on his own grounds?” She took two steps forward, her shoulders squared and her chin tilted, a regal taunt. The faint lines of a sneer twitched at her lips as she continued with a near lazy ease. “For what I see is the body of young injured lord, yet he is receiving no immediate medical care. What I do not see is his attacker, yet you turn your back on an unknown person the moment you dismiss my presence. In the span of time it took for me to walk from there to here, you could have had your throat slit." It was the voice of a woman that expected men to put themselves upon their swords unquestionably at her command, as calm as steel. The sneer shifted into a smile, an added sting. “And you sent two of your men after Oscar Uldwar, no doubt coming to the conclusion of him being guilty of this crime, without the approval of your superior. Two house guards after one of Ursa Madeum’s most noted warriors, a man capable of evading the Emperor’s magical defenses and attacking his own heir. Were you in my regiment, I would have you whipped as a reminder of how the lives of your comrades in arms are more valuable then a wild goose chase in the woods and ensure that you know how to attend to your own wounds so that you realize how quickly infection can set in should you find it suitable to leave an injured boy lying in the dirt. Now go on,” she said, stalking past the guard to kneel by Luis. “Head on back to your barracks and fetch me a proper aid kit so that I may clean the lord’s wound.” There was something...off, something that felt vaguely wrong permeating the scene. The blood against the moonlit grass, the gnarled and dying oak twisting from the earth; instincts were urging towards action, though instincts fail to communicate with the higher mind sufficiently. Whatever she felt, she could not explain. The creeping sensation of wrongness was placed aside as she swept off her cape, praying to the Uncanny Gods that Evienne would forgive her for soiling the velvet. “Open your eyes, boy.” A knife was pulled from her boot to slice off his sleeve and several generous swaths of fabric from the bottom of his robes, the strips used to wipe away excess blood before she applied pressure to his wound to staunch the bleeding and create a makeshift bandage. “Up on your feet.” She wrapped her cape around his thin shoulders with a brusque efficiency, careful to avoid any blood from smearing her suit. “Come now,” she said, rousing enough awareness from the boy to get him to stumble upwards. Her arm wrapped around Luis to keep him steady and her free hand maintained a grip on his elbow so that she could steer him towards the castle. “Our benevolent Emperor and his talented guardsmen must have a medic on hand. Let us find them and fix you up.” They walked together back to the castle’s side entrance, Vesper both supporting his weight and lifting him when his knees buckled as though he were a sack of potatoes that sprouted a pair of legs with wobbly knees. The haughty coldness had left Vesper’s voice as she spoke with him, replaced instead with a light humor she typically reserved for Merida. “Now what would your mother think? An Uldwar in a Dali original. Do you see the embroidery along the edges? A true work of art, hmm?” This uncharacteristic chatter had a purpose: to keep Louis awake and semi-coherent until they reached help. Yet the help they reached came in an unexpected form. She heard the traces of Evienne’s voice drift outside, her buoyant tone both tight with concern and rounded with a slight slur, before she saw three figures come down the path, each marked with their own sense of hurry. Evienne was noticeably tottering after an unknown lady, each wearing a mask of concern. Niko seemed to be the reluctant guardian, drifting behind them with a watchful eye. “Evienne,” she called out, coming to halt with Luis still in her protective grasp. “Is this Cassandra’s daughter? They need to leave, now. I can take them back to the estate and make arrangements for her other children. Luis has been attacked and Uldwar is missing. Where is Merida? Someone tell her to stay with the Mosgroves. Alistair’s parents will look after her.” An unspoken threat roiled beneath her words: that if anyone so much as mussed a single red hair on her head, they should need to pick a god and pray for mercy in the afterlife. “And get a servant to fetch our guards from the carriage. I am not impressed with the Emperor’s finest.” @LikelyMissFortune @vielle @Grubbistch
  3. KittyvonCupcake

    A fairy tale ending [closed]

    It appeared that they would not be sharing drinks, after all. The hopes of re-enacting a paperback spy thriller filled with cryptic messages that he once scooped up at an airship harbor dashed, Draug slipped the bottle of wine back into his bag wordlessly. Only a slightly raised brow expressed an indication of emotion, a hint of amusement intermingling with a question as to if Eldwine were always so brisk. Not that it bothered the elf by the slightest. If anything, immediately placing some of it upon a table was an appreciated break of protocol in the regular dealings with aristocratic tome collectors and long winded magical scholars. “Mullick,” he echoed, the taste of the name lingering on his tongue as he reached back into the catalogue of his memory. His voice had flattened to match Eldwine’s, the curve of his Duendaic accent mixed with a rumbling growl. “He had an interest in curses, as I recall. Chiefly Terran based, overly pedantic and too impressed with his choices of adverbs.” Draug’s hand reached down to scratch behind his wolfhound’s left ear. “I take it he’s a potential lead for the fable you’re searching for. What tale is that you seek?”
  4. No worries! (But not to put any pressure on you or anything but I already have a self-driven thread and several key plots for other future threads in mind should I be trusted with a magic water sword. *Rubs hands together in what is not scheming fashion*)
  5. YO Very cool swords. Applause for Wade. Now how does one go about claiming an oathblade?
  6. KittyvonCupcake

    The Invasion of the Cabbagefolk

    Barrryyyyy noooooooooooooo Viscerex kind of knocked the side door off its hinges, too, but Barry is definitely getting blamed for that.
  7. LastLight of my dreams! I have some future plots for Stello in mind.

    1. LastLight


      🤩 oh ya? Drop em on me wherever you like. Including discord 

  8. KittyvonCupcake

    Church On The Hill

    [Coth: The Tavern, after sunset] “We are people, just like they are. Equally good, equally bad?” Another illuminating statement on the bard’s concept of herself was tucked away with another mote of concern. Did she ever once consider herself to be a person? Yet before Ioreth could grant her an affirmation and tease more information from Odille, the atmosphere in the tavern tightened with tension. Conversion and the clatter of spoons scraping against bowls and mugs slamming down on the table vanished. In the vacuum of sudden silence, Mark’s confrontation with the newcomer fills the void. A snarl---”creature?”---, a shove, and she observed with a gaze like stone as the young man staggered backwards, his hood revealing the coppery tint of his hair. It was as if something within Odille shattered at the sight of his scarlet hair. She moved with the instinct of a frightened animal, clawing its way out of danger’s grasp though all Ioreth saw was an arrogant man in a serf’s hooded cloak approaching them with a sneer of hatred. How easy it is to snap a hare’s neck. Ioreth thought of a hunt in Coth's forests, of the way a hare’s heart clattered against its frail ribs, its muscles twitching beneath its red tinged pelt, ensnared in a trap, the unspoken prayer she recited when life left its lungs. At least a hare earned her gratitude. This man, though? The moment he pushed past her to grab Odille’s arm as though he were claiming the girl he earned her disgust. Without touching the red headed man, Ioreth inserted herself between Odille and his grasping hands after the girl’s thrashing caused him to stumble back and knelt in the thrush, hay and dirt staining her knees. Shadows pulsed around her and twisted into a smoky haze of a barrier that sliced off the man’s access to Odille. Ioreth ignored him entirely; ignored his outcries, his warnings, and his demands. As far as she was concerned, he was nothing but dust beneath her heel. The poor girl’s wailings did nothing to assuage that opinion. “What did he do to you, little bird?” she murmured in her own tongue, the question lilting like a lullaby. A cool hand was lightly placed upon Odille’s forehead, her thumb pressing gently on the space between her eyes with the hum of violet-white light. Wake up, it said, a spell meant to soothe the pain of Odille’s racing heart. There is no trap. You are not caught. “Odille, focus. Should I take you to the back of the inn?” @LikelyMissFortune
  9. KittyvonCupcake

    How old are your characters?

    I never gave my elvish characters proper ages and instead ran off of apparent ages. (35-40ish, 25-30ish, and 19ish for Draug, Ioreth, and Faerin.) They have all aged as the years have gone by. Faerin's description went from "appears 17" to "appears 19" and Draug's physical description often includes little jokes about how he's going to soon hit a midlife crisis. Vesper is technically the youngest at 27. So with the eldest being approximately over 150 years old and the youngest being 27, the median would be I-don't-know-because-I'm-terrible-at-math.
  10. KittyvonCupcake

    The Invasion of the Cabbagefolk

    I think this was all accidentally my idea and I still have no idea what is happening, but I am here for it. Have fun and let your inner warrior cabbage fly.
  11. House Singlance wants to drag us kicking and screaming into the modern age.
  12. I told them Hali Dali ain't no fool. The amount of my involvement in this thread depends on what time it's launched. I've reached my rp capacity and have one large quest on hold due to the Reverie ball's whirlwind, but you can always have Vesper mentioned in the background until it's time to bring her in full force.
  13. KittyvonCupcake

    The Invasion of the Cabbagefolk

    It's a difficult task to not crack or sputter like a sideways horse (as I may or may not have done), but I have faith in you.
  14. I've come here to admire the glory of your profile picture. 👐

    1. amenities


      Thanks! It was time for a change