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KittyvonCupcake

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KittyvonCupcake last won the day on April 20 2015

KittyvonCupcake had the most liked content!

About KittyvonCupcake

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    Devotee
  • Birthday April 18

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  • Gender
    Lady
  • 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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    KittyvonCupcake#0467

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  1. KittyvonCupcake

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Silence fell like snow. Ioreth sank deeper into the cushions of her armchair and folded her hands in her lap. One finger rubbed the smooth metal of her ring. Another pressed itself into the point of her painted nail. “She always did have more heart than sense.” A flash of memory reared its head; young Mythandriel holding her breath in a field flowers as little white butterflies drifted by her on delicate and drowsy wings, how she once took an injured hare to Ioreth begging “Eighaes de thoil, Iory” until she knit together the wound in its leg and vomited up the contents of their breakfast from the strain, Ioreth on the edge of adolescence yet still clambering up trees like a squirrel after the mischievous fledging elf. They had both been stuck that night, each suddenly paralyzed from the height, and it was Draug that had catch them as they tumbled down. He shouted up to them that he had a thousand other things he would rather do than aid his foolish sister and infantile cousin, but he laughed when they were safe. Even then, his laughter was rare. She would have to take Myth away from here, to see what life was like outside of the forests, outside of the brutality of survival, now that the girl knew what it was like to have blood staining her soul and death haunting her dreams. The price. It all had a cost. “Her parents were murdered when she was a child. She did not take vengeance upon them in the name of our people, but of hers. Had either of us tried to stop her, I have little doubt that she would have managed to slip away.” There was a weight growing in her chest. Her heart flopped uselessly against bone. Ioreth thought she heard Mythandriel stir in her sleep, but it was only wind against the roof and a distant raven’s caw. She rose to her feet and struggled against the urge to pace along the limitations of her cabin’s floor. Had the air inside always been so difficult to breathe? Thick, ossified with the scent of tender meat and herbs and smoke. She shut the doorway of her bedroom and busied herself with finding a spoon and pouring mulled wine into a mug and ladling stew into a bowl, which she set on the low end table besides Viscerex. “Sit up,” she said softly, and she perched on the end of the sofa within his reach yet wrapped in her own private tenebrosity. “Pain is a lesson Myth will need to learn in exchange for the lives she took. You brought her back alive. That is what matters. You did not leave her alone.” And her heart, her stupid, accursed heart, beat its mangled wings and forced her to stare into the vast expanse that stretched endlessly before her. It pulled out five words and a name like a reticent prayer for a god unsung. “I had a daughter once. Her name was Uiliel.” Ioreth’s voice was an inaccessible dispassion, but her hands shook and she stared in horror at the widened maw of bleak emptiness that followed her confession. She told no one, she betrayed nothing. These were sacred lands, and every word that followed was a desecration she could not stop now that the doorway had opened. “There was a man. I thought he posed a threat—I...took care of it. Uiliel’s father was complex, he made enemies easily...” She blinked and shook her head. “It matters little now. His blood left a mark on me, and his kindred sniffed it out like a pack of wild dogs. We were separated when we settled in a village during a hard winter. I thought I was helping some wretched girl and left Uiliel behind. They locked her in a barn and set it alight.” Ioreth’s eyes vacant and dull. “He ran at the first opportunity.” There was no need to say his name. It would have turned to ash on her tongue. “You did not leave Mythandriel. Whatever happened to her, you were there. Even if you had not been able to save her, you were with her. Uiliel had no one. She crossed from our world to the next alone, when she still required a little rag doll I made to watch over her as she slept.” Before the doorway could close, before Ioreth could rip herself away from the desolation that snatched at her spirit, she turned to Viscerex and faintly asked, “Do you know how small a child’s grave is?”
  2. KittyvonCupcake

    New Friends and New Adventures

    Viscerex was not the only hunter. Two hours after Mythandriel departed, Ioreth stared face to face with the man she killed. In the bulging terror of his glassy eyes lie a lifeless plea for help. He had been granted one small mercy: Ioreth sliced the grotesque decoration from its chosen branch and tossed the head to join its body, stiff with rigor mortis, revoking his status as a warning from a child’s fairytale. He was now left as empty and severed shell, feed for the hungry foxes prowling for easy prey during the lean Winter season. When Spring reclaimed her grip, insects would claim what remained after the ravens and rats stripped meat from the bones. A man attacked her. He is dead. Shadows stirred and Ioreth returned to her cabin, to Mythandriel’s garden and her white elk that was no doubt hungry and missed the touch of her mistress. What had Mythandriel found in those pockets, in that discarded boot? What had caused her to leave behind Dorian, her companion since childhood? The questions bore no fruit. They whispered and hissed and dragged themselves like a dying man tied by his feet through her mind, and Ioreth pursued solace through keeping her hands busy. One day passed. She tidied Mythandriel’s cot and arranged her collection of apothic wares along a shelf dedicated to her little cousin’s collection of items. She placed a large seashell there, nestled in the rows of glittering glass jars filled with salves and potions. She checked Myth’s drying herbs and the plants she had growing within the cabin. She paced, then teased out strands of Myth’s hair from her comb and placed them in a bottle. Any venture made outside the cabin had traces of Mythandriel’s presence drifting along besides her. Ioreth walked to the seamstress and arranged for a new dress to be sewn in exchange for the buck Viscerex left behind, one with hidden pockets that she knew Myth would find useful. She fed and brushed Dorian’s white coat, she tended Mythandriel’s resting garden. She did not sleep the first day. She waited for night to fall, yet no one came. The sun rose, yet it offered no sight of a little elf and a tall barbarian emerging from the forest, only empty pathways and carrion birds circling over the trees. She scrubbed her floors, she boiled water for Mythandriel’s bean juice, she retrieved an herbalist’s grimoire from her bedroom, recently tidied after her cousin’s prompting, and placed it atop Myth’s cot. Before the noon sun climbed further in the sky, she fed Dorian and considered gathering further ingredients for a tracking spell. She gathered mushrooms, instead, to add to the venison stew Mythandriel liked, so long as Ioreth did not disclose what meat simmered in the hearty broth. It was this that Viscerex and Mythandriel would return home to: the savory scent of “Iory stew” bubbling over the fire, a warm cabin, and a she-elf vibrating with a near frantic desire for action to cover the jagged teeth of worry. When she opened the door and saw Mythandriel clinging to Viscerex’s back, her clothes torn and bloodied, her exposed skin ravaged and raw, the sound of a thousand small things crumpling caught in her throat and escaped with a broken gasp. “Come lay her down on my bed.” There was something missing in Ioreth’s voice. No sonorous purr, no dry humor, no seething irritation or soft whispers stirring from the dark. It was as empty as the vacant mask that clung to her. A raven settled on the fence post of her cabin’s garden, its black feathers sharp against the heavy snow. Ioreth shut the door and led Viscerex to her bedroom. Her small sanctuary was a place that contained both wilderness and woman. Vines with softly glowing blooms encircled the ceiling and slithered along the walls like resting pythons. A full length mirror leaned in one corner, partially obscured by her silk blue robe draped over its gilded frame. Above it was the second rack of antlers she kept from one of the offerings Viscerex hammered into her door. Gems and curios kept her journals, now stacked in piles and placed in a bookshelf, company. Her staff stood by the doorway with her rucksack, packed and ready to leave at a moment’s notice. He would have recognized her dagger still nestled in the expanse quilts and furs that covered her large mattress, always kept within arm’s reach as she slumbered. When Myth was placed gently on her stomach, Ioreth began to inspect the damage done to her back. As she had done with Constans in the tomb many months ago, the pale violet light that pulsed from her hands sang sweetly to the persistent ache of Mythandriel’s wounds, soundless melodies of quiet, of sleep, of a place without pain. “Viscerex, did you bandage these?” Sensation slinked back to her, the tumult of heartache cascading with relief, anger and gratitude, a choking sob that threatened to reveal itself should Ioreth continue to speak. “You did well.” You returned her to me. She leaned forward to brush Mythandriel’s hair out of her face and murmured, ”You rest, and then we will speak. There is much I wish to discuss with you. I’m near if you need me.” Ioreth walked away from the side of the bed with tense shoulders and a dark expression. Though her fingertips that came to rest on Viscerex’s arm as she led him out into the main room were light and cool, her jaw was taunt and clenched. “Come sit with me,” she said, gesturing for Viscerex to go to the sofa she would often lounge on during late night discussions with Constans as she settled into the armchair the priest preferred. He looked tired, God’s other chosen one, even if she could not see his face. It was in the way he carried himself; still proud, still strong, yet with a diminishing light. Still, she did not release him from the intensity of her gaze that read the bloodstains on his clothing. She lifted her chin, tossed back her hair, and stated flatly, “I need to know what happened to her, and I trust you to tell me the truth.” The sharp snarl of a laugh that interjected itself glittered like a blade. “And I trust that whoever hurt her is now dead. Where did she go, what did she do, and why?”
  3. Thank you for all the likes, King! ❤

    1. King

      King

      You're very welcome.

  4. KittyvonCupcake

    Fairly tale ending ooc

    Watching all those food and travel shows have finally paid off. There's also the appeal of figuring out how Draug and Eldwine are going to talk in circles around each other, but like big fantasy crab legs tho
  5. KittyvonCupcake

    Fairly tale ending ooc

    I get to describe food. 💕
  6. KittyvonCupcake

    Fairly tale ending ooc

    Not at all! These typing fingers don't mind taking the lead with conversation. Besides, Eldwine strikes me as a more reactive than proactive kind of guy, it would be surprising if he suddenly became highly extroverted. I'm content with writing out dinner and a conversation if you are. Sounds quite fun to me!
  7. KittyvonCupcake

    Strangers in a Strange Land

    Even in Ursa Madeum’s winter season, it is a summer’s tumescent twilight that stretches endlessly here, like a suspension of duration; darkness glides across the sky with the silken slowness of an infinitely languid tide. As rain falls over Andelusia, distant streaks of lightning play over the city, splintering the encroaching night and flickering through the undersides of heavy clouds. It is the patter of rain against glass and the perpetual hum of noise that invade Ioreth’s rest. Ioreth rolled to her side, mouth drawn in a frown. The weight of her belt against her waist and the biting hilt of her dagger that dug into the soft curve of her hip lured her away from the deep slumber restorative magick required, but it was a flash of lightning and the sound of water slapping against skin that forced her to sit upright in bed, upturned eyes wide in the empty room. She thought she felt a presence. She turned, seeing nothing but her staff propped against the headboard of the bed frame. Its metal crescent moon gleamed in the light that trickled in from the open window. Bodies upon bodies were pressed atop each other in this city—perhaps that was what she felt. She attempted to convince herself that this was so, even as she slid silently to the balls of her feet. Tensed, ready to flee, yet held captive in the window’s circle of light as darkness ran around her. Viscerex’s blood still stained her cheek. Again, a quiet splash. She was here alone, was she not? Viscerex would have followed the stablelad to his own room, as she requested, for did she not state that she desired separate lodgings? Had she not made it clear that all she wanted for the night was a hot meal, a hot bath, and a soft place to lay down her head before continuing on their journey? She remained still and listened. Out the window, rooftops and chimney pots were an impressionistic blur in the fine sheets of precipitation. A wooden armoire stood sentry before the two beds, one in a state of disarray from Ioreth’s fitful catnap. Its tidy twin appeared untouched, spare the pair of pants draped over its side. Viscerex’s pants. Ioreth’s teeth sank into the fleshy inside of her cheek until she released an exasperated sigh. Wind scented with rain pushed a swollen curve in the curtains. They fluttered and tittered as Ioreth stalked past them to pick up the barbarian lord’s trousers before she pushed open the bathroom’s door. “Did they not give you your own room, then?” An innocent enough question, had it not been for the biting venom in her voice. She was tired, suddenly, a deep exhaustion that could be felt in her bones and she craved solitude like a drowning man gasped for air, but he was here, naked with broad scarred shoulders and trailing black hair and in her bath. “Or did your god decide it was acceptable for you to claim that, as well? I only wanted peace for one night. Have I not given enough of myself to you people?” She knew she should have stopped here, she knew she should have forced the raw frustrations teeming in her throat away, but the sheer absurdity of her day, of these weeks, of her life were causing talons to rattle at the bars of their cage and he was here. Ioreth shook her head and turned her back to him, granting him at least a small amount of privacy. His pants were tossed to the floor within his reach. “These are not the Wilds, even if you behave as such,” she scoffed. “You come and go as you please, even in a city you know nothing about and pick a fight with people you likely have never met, and you leave me to save you from bleeding out in some miserable tavern. Is that why you think your god wants me here with you? For you to charge off and fight for no reason and for me to be dragged in to help clean up your mess, just like that night in Coth?” A hurt feral pride disseminated from her. “It had been my first night there, and all I wanted was to find peace.” There were more injuries unspoken that hung in the damp air between Ioreth and Viscerex, yet they were spared by a knock on the door. All her cold fury sank back beneath her skin when she opened the door and revealed a girl, scarcely fifteen and with wide brown eyes, dressed in stained garb. The folded parchment she held in her calloused fingers shook slightly. “I was told to give you this,” the girl said, “for the elvish lady. Not many elves come here so I thought…” Ioreth sliced off the rest of her trailing sentence with a single look and plucked the letter from her hands. It was read hastily thrice over and inspected for a seal or signature, although none was found. Knife eer You didnt hire many gards. A stupid choise. That tresure is for the tru Sons of Ursa Madum not a forenher like you. Leave now befor we make you “Do you know who sent this?” The contained calm of her tone encouraged the girl to find her voice. She plucked at the fraying hem of her sleeve and shrugged. “Just some man from outside. Wore a cloak, as many do.” “Is he still out there?” The girl nodded. Ioreth grimaced and fetched a pen from her belt to scrawl her response to his request at the bottom. Learn how to spell before you threaten me, she wrote. That was embarrassing. She folded it crisply in half and passed it back to the girl. “Bring a friend with you when you give this back. Do not wait for an answer from him. Whatever he says, you walk away from him. Do you understand?” Again, the girl nodded. Ioreth gave her a smile that did not reach her eyes and returned to the room, locking the door behind her. That was the issue with cities: far too many people were pressed together and they grew anxious in each other’s heat. There was a constant hunger lying beneath the current of constant din. These are the not the Wilds, she had said. She wished they were. The sooner the sun rose and her small team traveled to Taen, the better. She crossed her arms and sat on the bed, staring at the staff, silent in the darkness. Even sluggish air can feel glacial against hot and raging flesh. With little regard to where Viscerex may be (though the thought of him brought both the slightest twinge of regret at how she spoke to him and memory of how scars carved a map across the muscles of his back, each of which were impulsively shoved down), she removed her belt and yanked her stained gray tunic unceremoniously over her head. It was folded with the practiced speed of one used to living out of their own rucksack and replaced with a softly woven black shirt that fell to her hips. Thunder rumbled in the near distance. Rain fell like nails against the roof, a sound she found grating. Ioreth thought of stillness and scars, of the songs huntresses would sing when they returned to their caravans with fresh kill, of the mountains far in the north, far from these islands, and how she would like to stand at the peak of one, and she sharpened the blade of her knife as she imagined how far the horizon would stretch over the frozen range and the icy sea.
  8. KittyvonCupcake

    What emotion does your character most evoke in others?

    I love this question. Not only does it make you scratch your head and sort through memories of old roleplays, it grants an opportunity for someone else to chime in with how their character feels about your character, because you may be slightly off the mark with your own interpretations. Pats for Supes. Vesper Moontraveler seems to inspire one of two emotions: she is either a source of terror or makes one feel protected and safe. (Or, as often with Evienne Goldcourt, both.) @Witches Brew wrote that Vesper repels men and this has so far been very true. /Vesper flex/ There have only been a handful characters that get along with Draug, or at the very least tolerate him. (One is Eldwine. Pats for Supes.) Most tend to describe the big elf man as grouchy, threatening, arrogant, and grouchy. He irritates and intimidates many. This delights me to no end. Interactions with Ioreth never cease to amuse me. Characters either call her Lady Ioreth and become entangled in the idea of this graceful, magical, mysterious elf, or they see her as a crazy hobo elf and become concerned for both her and their own safety.
  9. KittyvonCupcake

    B|E: The Aspyn Chapter

    Michael Commager, [incl: blueprints of building plans, shipment invoices, estimated time of arrival for supplies] Not at all. It was a pleasure to meet Lieutenant Barrett. From what he has shown me, the lot has been selected well. Ahead of my arrival, I have sent a few of my trusted appraisers and the architect that designed these enclosed plans. My main requests were such: to find harmony with the natural setting and to create a space of quiet contemplation as efficiently as possible. For the sake of transparency, all records of transactions related to the future Book|Ends branch of Aspyn have been saved and copied. Draug Rhavon Humans and their love affair with sunshine. Michael may have been wearing a grin, but Draug had on a pair of round tinted glasses to protect his photosensitive eyes and a thin frown. His own clothing favored simplistic trends: a light linen shirt, slim fit pants of charcoal gray, a tailored jacket he was already beginning to regret due to the lack of easy movement in the shoulders and Biazo’s humid clime. As always, his ashen hair was swept upwards in a knot. The elvish man had no entourage, no assistants trailing behind him with notepads nor legal representatives or hired muscle. It was merely Draug, tall and tattooed and armed with a personal tome of his ledgers that bound in deep red leather. Those that traveled with him had been bade to remain behind, lest they pose a distraction. It was easier to gauge the character of a man when one was alone. On approaching the two military officers, he granted them a nod of the head. “Well met,” he said. “You must be Michael. What is it that you would like to discuss first?”
  10. KittyvonCupcake

    Abstruse Arcana

    It was beautiful. Not only the jewels, rich with a luster akin to captive galaxies, nor the clothing and its extrinsic weave, nor the scrolls or the figurines or the artifacts with names that could only be guessed at; it was the canorous call of prestidigitation, the sheer and vast feeling of it all. Magic and power interwoven together and then wreathed with an exotic mystery. Whatever she had to say, she held the words within. Nisnav’s offer to peruse at her leisure was accepted with a gracious nod and softly spoken thanks. Eyes glittering within the shadows beneath the brim of her dark hat, the scavenger-thief slipped away from Nisnav’s unburnt side and stepped into the thrumming folds of his collection. Illuminated by the white light of the portal, Ioreth was a wraithlike presence in black, blurred and spectral; a nebulous vulture circling the objects Nisnav hoarded at the top of his tower. She was careful to touch nothing. On occasion, her left hand would rise and her long fingers would hover above the article in question, but her fingertips would never quite meet the surface and mar it with a trace of herself. She thought of what he said: the preservation of knowledge through biogenic processes. The natural network. True life. What you do is nothing short of necromancy. Necromancy. The grotesquely carved face of one his animalistic figurines was locked in a perpetual scream. She tilted her head, blinked at it, and moved on to obsidian frame of the portal. It crackled with energy more alive than electricity, both more feral and more tame. Controlled, perhaps, by the formulas carved along the surface of the archway. How long would it take to unravel the symbols and sigils etched here? The gaps of her own collection, that of information and wisdom, were felt, and significantly so. Had her father not always cursed her impatience, her rushed concentration? “When you speak of preservation through biogenic processes,” she asked, glancing at Nisnav over her shoulder, “did you intend to create a simulation of natural thought for storing the knowledge you wish to keep? Or is it something less artificial than that? Either way, I am intrigued to see what your experiment entails.” At his leave, she would have once more taken his hand and walked forward into the unknown.
  11. KittyvonCupcake

    Mr. E General Discussion

    I'll also be watching you.
  12. KittyvonCupcake

    Mr. E General Discussion

    It's the true mystery. The riddles are mere distractions.
  13. KittyvonCupcake

    Mr. E General Discussion

    Deflect away. I'll be watching.
  14. KittyvonCupcake

    Mr. E General Discussion

    Or... It's you.
  15. KittyvonCupcake

    Mr. E General Discussion

    A few details that stood out to me: blue + red = Violet, the one who will not give up the key under torture. The phrase about most humans lacking blue blood. Blue blood is a reference to a nobility: a possible connection? Biazo is connected with UM via Supernal's bridge. If I were to further slice and dice the post, the quote about books could be a reference to the journal entry style of the post or (and here I am reaching with little confidence in my idea) a reference to Book|Ends, also on Biazo. Violet is possibly the one who leaked the first message in Death is Coming. We have two other characters, White & Green, that are most likely going to be revealed in the upcoming months.
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