Malintzin

I really enjoyed reading his discussion laws of magic. I know in terms of WoT he did the last two books so maybe I'll get there (some day) and take interest in his other series. <.>

It's going to take me an eternity to finish the first Wheel of Time book. I've been warned about it's pace so I'm also not in a hurry to finish it, but also about Francesco has sent me a dozen other series to read first. I have the whole series, they sit pretty on my shelf. But I just don't know that I will ever get to through that first book. I also think because I've heard countless times if you don't read XYZ authors you're not a true fantasy fan and it's like...well great, that toxic attitude just makes me lose interest before I even begin. The one I hear the most consistently is Brandon Sanderson. I will probably never in my life read any of his books because I've been on the receiving end of the toxic spectrum of his fanbase.

5/27 - Updated w/artwork.

Artamese Prewitt Scrivener | Archaeologist | Sorceress I own this art, please do not steal or use without permission or I'll smite you Artemese was born on Terran soil in Blairville, where she spent most of her childhood and teen life. Her father Ansel Prewitt was a respected merchant and budding scholar hailing from Mageside city. Her mother, Jezabel Antigone studied and often times taught lecture between the six Libraries of Metaphysics before relocating to Blairville where she pursued a career in the mystical arts upon discovering a latent talent for sorcery and alchemy. She has two sisters, the eldest being Jona Prewitt—who went on to pursue a career as a well-known herbalist who turned to Gaian Faith, and Onaria Descani (nee Prewitt) who became the youngest Artificer recruited by the Chapel Alliance. Prewitt's parents valued the mystical arts and education and encouraged Artamese and her two sisters to pursue both. Her education concluded upon dropping out from the Gaian Academy to study abroad at Bronte, Academy of the Arcane in Umbra City, Genesaris. After displaying no obvious war affinity and a fateful encounter with a Hell Hound, she discovered her ability to analyze magic in real time; able to dissect and study various branches presented to her. Analyzing the abilities of others was the extent of her talent, which proved fruitless for a lucrative career as the position was highly coveted and competitive among Genesaris' military forces. After several job rejections Artamese relocated to Patia where she took on work as a librarian assistant, research analyst and linguist. Upon hearing of her analytical skills, the Chapel Alliance recruited Artemese into becoming a Scrivener—one who records current events in the magical world, including the discovery of new branches of magic. While she excelled in this line of work, she found it mundane and boring--a position that didn’t take her as far in life as she wanted to go. Following the idea that the past gives birth to understanding the present and future, she began to use her ability to study ancient sorcery. Despite testing the patience and ethics of her peers, Artamese pursued her dream career as a Scrivener who studied the past, doing her best not to fell prey to becoming a pawn to the ambitions of the Chapel Alliance, who have their own agenda. Having become acquainted through a mutual friend with the Empress Raveena, the Psionic Sorceress recognized that someone had intentionally invaded Artamese's mind with the Scrivener none the wiser. Knowing the reputation of the Chapel Alliance, Raveena employed Artamese into her services as a skilled Artificer for the Empire while granting her the freedom to conduct her archaeological research so that she could keep a protective eye for the young sorceress. Birth Name: Artamese Prewitt Alias(es): The Blue Scholar Age: 31 Date of Birth: 561 WTA Lineage: Blairville, Lagrimosa Class: Sorceress -- Sub Class: Archaeologist Occupation: Scrivener for the Chapel Alliance | Imperial Artificer of Khaiperion | Professor at the Devonshire Institute of Magitechnology Alignment: Chaotic Good Marital Status: Single Nationality: Terran Citizen of: Khaiperion, Genesaris Eye Color: Grey Hair Color: Chestnut Brown Height: 5’6” Stature: Lean Familiar: Hell Hound - Simon Personal Effects: Enchanted Glasses | Scrivener's Codex Adventure Tracker Will be updated regularly, so stay tuned Time Stone Acquiesce - Antigone Island, The Rising West, Genesaris | Currently Ongoing Building Imradel - Khaiperion, The Rising West, Genesaris | Currently Ongoing The Enoteca: Wine and Workshop - Port Kyros, The Rising West, Genesaris | Open Hub

;-; My favorite knight out there helpin' people.

Very gouda. Rae personally poked around in his noodle to help soothe that Whispernight PTSD so naturally he popped into my head first.

Placer: Hului Progress: WIP 95% done

@Twitterpated Jinsoku, perhaps?

| The Entry - Heading for the Great Hall | He kissed her forehead with such reverence and love that she was briefly flustered. It was rare for them to be united as a family, and even still—Rowan was married to his job and to her, as when they had first met, she was his job. But monsters, as they did, sang to her the siren song of their humanity. It was a thing she valued and cherished and fostered. Now she could enjoy the fruits of her labor. Was this the Rowan of before? Raveena wondered. Before the agony. There was something to be said about watching a man be stripped of that which made him humane. It was far from pretty, but she had seen it, felt it, even. She remembered his memory when he first became the Chimera. Every mutated cell that set his blood on fire. Every loud crack of bones that broke queerly. The chitinous exoskeleton. Rowan had been reborn as something grotesque and hideous. A refined machine of murder and mayhem, if he so chose. Spliced to disguise the monster he could become beneath the thin veneer of what little humanity remained; the cold, calculating gaze of a precise killer and the charming smile of a man. It was like her to love a monster. She knew Rowan’s song. A song of emptiness and loneliness. A song of remorse and redemption. A longing of something foreign—was it love? And he sang so sweetly, that she listened and joined to harmonize. So gentle she was with his humanity, cupping it softly within her hands. She loved it so, and with time she learned about the Spider. She was unlike any ordinary assignment he had faced. Troublesome and stubborn—barely compliant, much to his chagrin. They would argue back and forth, neither ready to admit the other was right and they were wrong. She thrived on the danger that came with the fulfillment of protecting her people, and he feared the danger she put herself in. Rowan Knight was an infection, a disease. It spread across her skin in wild veins of respect and understanding. Spread deep to her bones and blood with unbridled affection. It took root in her heart and became love. They had never had a proper wedding, not with more refugees than they knew what to do with. The council wept after they went through so much trouble to arrange the courting dance to find her a proper suitor, only to acknowledge this man and his ilk as nobles of the court and then be denied the opulence of a wedding their Empress deserved. Perhaps, at the end of it all they would renew their vows and celebrate properly. There was something unmatched in this new Rowan, or perhaps he was not new—Raveena was still undecided. The Rowan of before, she never knew. Not in the true sense of the word. She felt him, and protected him, and coerced him to surface where she could. She knew it in the way he changed, slowly, over time. In the way her boys warmed up to him. In the way he seized his chance to be the father he couldn’t before. Rowan had always been an absent parent, but he loved his family none-the-less. Now, things were different, things were changed. His eldest son was to be married, to a poor woman perhaps too pregnant to enjoy the festivities in earnest. Grant was never the best at communication—to communicate he had found his heart’s own, that they were to be married—and, most importantly, they were expecting. To say that Raveena reacted gracefully to the news would be a lie. But the curl of Rowan’s smile and the genuine joy of seeing his family grow helped her warm up to the idea. Grant fell outside the rules of their imperial coil by the grace of his biological mother’s blood. Grant was considered illegitimate (Raveena hated that wretched word), but still retained the title of an Imperial Prince. He was free to go and love as he wanted to. Still, adult that he was, she couldn’t deny she was mildly hurt by his secrecy but respected the need for privacy. Her first grandchild! She would certainly spoil the newest member of their family. The children were thrilled, and it seemed that across Valucre, the continents were recovering from its own pockets of crisis one joyous occasion at a time. She met the eyes of Jinsoku, a brief, knowing smile flitting on her lips as she nodded. She had not seen him since the Battle of Last Chance, where she had gifted him Naga, the Naginata he teased and swore he’d inherit—and so he had that day on the battlefield. If James Eredas was the closest person to a father Jin had, Raveena was certainly the closest to a mother figure. Pride danced in her eyes, no longer fearing for his life. They were two Knights of the same Order that diverged. He continued his path as a Master Knight, having found his purpose. Raveena left Force Majeure, having found hers in her people. She would still burn the world down for him, and would give anything to hold onto the innocence she once adored in him. The Entryway took a moment to receive them all inside, for everyone wanted a glimpse at the newly wedded couple. To give their well-wishes and bestow their gifts. There was music and merrymaking in the Great Hall, the fragrant feasting in the Dining Hall. The dull roar of chattering—Raveena glanced back at her son, raising her voice above the rest, “We must find someplace comfortable for Lady Delphine!” She called to him. To Delphine she said, “Anything that you need Delphine, you let me know and it will be done, no questions asked.” She meant every word. "Be at ease, maa Khaiperion voĭn. Caution runs in our veins."Adá's attentiveness was typical of the Hului men. They were born and bred to be warriots. Adá was different and she appreciated this above all else. She proceeded to tell him the story of an invitation she received to a masquerade ball, the apprehension that it was a trap, and how she was the only lady to show in uniform and ready to fight. "Is ek srors vaa kiks raa'orm su ovraa'ceosa sra vo goblen sa kul'tuur rara." We must learn to appreciate the tapestries of culture here. She gently patted Adá's shoulder with affection. "And don't worry. We will find new and inventive ways to test his memory." She grinned wickedly. @The Hound @danzilla3 @L E V I A T H A N @Aleksei

Same as Tybutt, I've got it mostly typed up so I'll see if I can get it done.

Bloody Hell, I actually forgot about this. <.>

Against her better judgement, Artamese stubbornly made her way to the tree line of the coast. Simon fetched her a walking stick and—with a great deal of grit—painstakingly maneuvered through the sand dunes to sturdier ground. Enormous tree palms loomed overhead, inviting a sort of savage beauty—as if testing her mettle to explore what was beyond the beach. And so, she went. It was for shade and cover—and rest, perhaps. Arty knew she had been in the sun for far too long. Even with her slow, awkward lumbering, humidity clung to her like a stifling veil of fuckery she wanted no part of. The island life was often lauded as being a perfect get away. There was no denying it was lovely-looking in theory, but she was convinced the only safe place was the sanctity of her shop and the Lore Spire of Patia. Her skin was hot to the touch, likely burned from however long was she was—yet not so long that she hadn’t died of her injuries. Greenery swam into view everywhere. There was no clear path—no way to see anything without being smacked in the face by the local flora. She paused once, to rest by a tree—she was certain it took longer to put herself in a comfortable position to be unseen—yet not so uncomfortable that she couldn’t move faster than her Gran would if needed. Simon was quiet in her wake, which always made her nervous. It’s not that he was talkative—far from it. More often than naught, Simon whined and complained the way a dog would. That he was quiet meant he was serious—and that always made the Artificer wary. After so long with working with a Hell Hound with an interesting personality (one that would not—could not, be described as ‘serious’), seriousness posed a certain risk. It wasn’t that Artamese didn’t take the acquisition of the Time Stone seriously (she was, in truth, very much against anyone having it), but that the seriousness of their situation was cresting on her harder than the tsunami wave that stranded them here. She had been resting, perhaps dreaming—dreaming of the crystal sun and its ethereal corona. It’s faceted beauty and its pale, silvery light. This time, it flickered; teetering on the brink of exposing more of its mystery to her. Artamese felt something but was invested—she wanted to know more! Her dream had always been the same for years, always! And now, finally, something was happening and—. Simon’s piercing bark startled her awake. She felt it then; A strangeness on her skin that made her skin crawl and her breathing hitched. She was covered with ants. She felt them on her face, in her hair. Reason abandoned her, and she shrieked wildly. They bit into her viciously as she swatted them off, squashing them as viciously as she could. Adrenaline had a funny way of drowning out pain as she came to kneel and pushed herself to stand. She was stripping parts of her uniform off and beating it against a tree to knock ant of them off. She hoped they’d die a thousand deaths! She cursed them with pox and rot, she cursed them to the pits of Hell (no offense to Simon, of course). They trekked parallel to the shore. She was tired, hungry, injured. Her ant bites were itching fiercely. Stick in hand, dog to lead the way, they traversed through the jungle foliage. There was a time, when the itching was so unbearable, Artamese felt no choice but to stop. This time, she thought to choose more wisely and found instead a giant rock that jutted out of the ground. It was mossy and far from cool, but she hovered near it and saw no more of the vicious ant pets. Taking the time to inspect her wound further through the magic of her glasses, the injury was certainly irritated by the bites. She scratched and they bled while the itched. Artamese finally sprawled with her back on the rock and exhaled slowly. Simon attempted magic but very little came of it. She pondered, then, if Antigone functioned like Kadia with its prejudice against magic and the awesome suppressors she had seen utilized. Exhausting pestered her—it pestered and badgered and swatted at her until she gave in and slept. There was no room for caution and reason—only the body’s need to rest. When she woke to find a snake leisurely making its way across her chest—she was certain Simon had trapped her in some Hell. Had she forgotten to feed him? Brush his coat? Was he bored? Certainly, she had offended her companion in such a way as to end up in this situation. Every nerve was intense, every fear of dying in the jungle mounting as the serpent slithered. It was large around as she was tall, as her mother would say, and easily twice her size. Artamese knew nothing about snakes and whether it was poisonous or the kind that would eat wild animals. She didn’t want to find out. When it vanished into the underbrush, Artamese collected stick, dog and wits and began to make way back to the coast. Some unfortunate part of her had hoped it’d be safer on the outskirts of the island. And yet, in the past however long they had been there, some creature tried to eat her. Back to the same rough sand. Back to the same agony and heat of a relentless sun. They wandered up the coast, aimless and hopeless before shapes appeared on the horizon. Something large made its way for her. Simon was preoccupied with a crab, huffing and digging after it as it tried to escape him. “Simon…” Artamese murmured a warning, her eyes on the fixed on the stranger approaching. There was more, she realized, as she saw beyond. A whole encampment?! The stranger who came closer was growing larger—and it became clear it was certainly not human. Simon was digging furiously now, clearly districted, “S-Simon.” She pressed urgently, before she—as he had earlier—practically barked at him, “SIMON!” She snapped. His head whipped up to see the approaching orc. He made no move, nor a sound. Artamese was too scared to. The orc was more mountain than person. Was something else going to try and eat her today? “The fancy man is in the tent recovering.” That was it? That was all? Artamese felt the air rushing from her lungs that she hadn’t realized she was holding. She was staring, of course—and it was hard not to. He moved to pet Simon but she interjected, “I-I wouldn’t. He’s…he’s crankier than I am—ah!” She hissed at the pain in her foot, and he instead came to her assistance—another shocking turn of events from the day’s schedule of murder, terror and agony. Magical beings attracted other magical creatures. It was natural to want to pet Simon. She wasn’t sure that Simon returned the sentiment, but he had been known to surprise her. He seemed neither bothered nor aggressive towards the orc. “Some guard dog…” She muttered as she allowed the stranger to assist her to camp. There was no doubt she looked utterly pitiful. Wild, frizzy hair in a bun utterly disheveled. Sun burnt, bitten, bloody and limping. “...fancy man…” She couldn’t help but chuckle. That was definitely Xartia.

Name: Raveena Barolome-Senaria, Empress of Khaiperion Personality: Welcoming and attentive. Deals with coin, public service acts and occasionally tavern "tea". Coin can be exchanged into local currency and discussed on a case by case basis. If you don't have coin, you can expect to run an errand or two for the Empress. And if nothing else there's always tavern "tea"--rumors--that float around from local and abroad. Rumors should be based on actual happenings throughout Valucre. Service Provided: Healing: Specializes in mental and emotional trauma; Herbal remedies for hexes and superficial wounds in the form of tea. Smithing: Specializes in repairing mundane and spelled weapons and light armor Proficiency: S Level Shop Names: The Sadira Amar, Tea and Tavern; The Crucible Shop Location: The Rising West, Genesaris By day, the Sadira Amar is a quaint tea house, serving weary travelers who need repairs to their weapons while recovering with a light meal and tea. The workshop is underground adjoining the cellar—endearingly named The Crucible after her late husband's old shop, with the Sadira Amar on top as the main floor, and an inn as the second story. By night, the tea house is rearranged to accommodate the rowdier tavern crowds. Meals, drinking, gambling and entertainment keeps the staff busy. Patrons pick up orders for custom weaponry soul-forged by the Queen herself, or prepare for their next adventure while getting a feel for the local life. Above all else, no one goes without a warm meal and a full cup. List of Available Services: Level I Therapy - Treatment of mundane illnesses - Headaches, nightmares, illnesses Level II Therapy - Treatment of hexes and curses - non life-threatening Level III Therapy - Treatment of hexes and curses - life-threatening Level IV Therapy - Therapy sessions to explore trauma (great for character development) Level I Smithing - Jewelry and trinkets, magic and mundane > Materials TBD Level II Smithing – Personal tools and weapons, low magic > Materials TBD Level III Smithing - Blueprint Building* > moderate magic > Materials TBD Level IV Smithing - Artifact Repair > high magic > Materials TBD List of Available Resources: A List of Teas Note - All Tea effects last through the duration of the stay in the Sadira Amar until healed or the severity is lessened. When had outside of the Sadira Amar, effects last the duration of the thread until healed, or the severity is lessened. Quest and Requirements: Tea Therapy: This requires a preexisting condition or circumstances. These are treated more as ways to advance some character development than a quest and as much detail as possible about the affliction should be made presentable. Smithing: These require a separate quest that fall under Khaiperion's Quest Guidelines: Level I and II : Class B (Medium): 1+ players. 2+ page. Level III and IV: Class C (Hard) 2+ player. 1+ Storyteller (optional). 3+ pages. *blueprints are exclusively identified as a Khaiperion Treasure-level quest reward. Like all rewards, they are chosen at random and are often blueprints of magitech, not excluding new kinds of airships and artifacts. You can choose to keep or discard your blueprint. If you wish to build your blueprint, notify me ahead of time so that we can discuss materials and iron out requirements. There are no additional rewards for completing a blueprint quest, as the reward is the item being built. You must provide "proof of purchase" that I awarded you a blueprint. Hoping to score more blueprints to be traded in? Pop on over to the Quest Center This art belongs to me. Do not steal it or claim it as your own or I will smite you!