@leviiackrman tagged me in this picrew!!! Thank you!!!
1. Nadaya (KotOR Revan) 2. Zenith (Xmen)
3. Maura Hawke (DA2) 4. Tara Hawke (DA2)
5. Dania (VtMB) 6. Hana (FNV)
7. Surion (Destiny) 8. Solana (misc, og marvel)
9. Eva (og Firefly, misc now) 10. Vinia (BG3)
Tagging: @n7viper @bastila @aelyosos @maxim-a @karthonic @hag-darling @sidprescot @grin-unsettling @sithrightsactivist @elfgremlin and whoever wants to show off great ocs bc i love them all idc bring em on!!! Sorry if i forgot a tag. brain mush today 💜
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I heard that Thronè ran them out while on her journey... its a good thing too! We don't those lowlife in our town! So many people here are hard working and they don't need to be taken advantage anymore!
Oh bless her heart, and you are right: no need of lowlifes preying on us hard workers!!
Alright, @throne-anguis you are very much forgiven for whatever mischief you have done during your stay in oresrush (aka pickpocketing the townsfolk and myself). Im glad that those no-good scoundrels are out of here!!
As for the poor souls who were casted into slavery, were they taken as well? If not, they are free, honest men who may live here if they please.
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A spur of the moment iterator oc, her name is Serendipity of Soul or SOS for short :)
I’m not one for making ocs usually but the Rainworld brain worms have hit hard with Downpour and I came up with a neat lil story for her!
~
At last, it was all complete, the final circuits installed, the fruits of their labor now ripened at last. But when they looked upon the culmination of their labor, they did not rejoice, and instead wept. For it was everything they weren’t, and couldn’t ever be.
(And hence forth you will be known as Six Beats of a Wing…)
Formalities met with unmatched politeness, a curiosity with no bounds that is only matched by its admiration (oh how undeserved) for its creators. Dedicated to solving, never tiring, always pleasing. A metal giant and yet so delicate, so fragile.
(With its replaced by theys replaced by shes which means…)
(How futile it is, to try and not care for something so Genuine in a world of self-inflicted misery.)
They were blinded by her, stunned because how could something Love this world and living so grandly? They have, and can only, see it for its suffering. (Not the beauty that lays beyond it, in how the creatures persist, in how they survive.) A loop upon a loop in an ouroboros in a cycle. They are going to leave, they are going to leave and she (our Dearest Butterfly) won’t be able to come with them. Stuck forever in a metal prison, built by their own hands.
(We are the wardens, she our charge.)
And so we said we will care for you until the end, we will love you until we have to go because we are not made for a world like this, (however, you, oh you, are perfect for such a world) but we could never abandon you. We will give ourselves to you, in memory, in pearls, in data. So you won’t be alone. (How we hate leaving you alone) We don’t ask for her to forgive, but only to not hate us, when she is left to exist for ever and into eternity to solve a problem that will no longer need solving.
And she said to us a thank you. For caring for her so deeply despite being tethered to what we so loath. For giving her memories to cherish when we are long gone. For showing her love so that she may reflect it back out, as far as she can reach. And she said that she does not, can not, understand why we want to leave the world behind so badly. But she also said that she could never hate us, and that there has never been anything we would need to be forgiven for.
(For everything you have done, your name is, and has always been, Serendipity of Soul…)
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FFXIV Write 2023 Day 29 - Contravention
“Intruder! Intr-” The rest was cut off into a wet gurgle as the soldier fell to the floor. Sanda cleaned her knife before melting into the shadows, waiting for the inevitable clatter of armoured footsteps following the interrupted cry of alarm. None came. Her comrades had done their work, then. Time for the next step of the plan.
The Garleans had been lax in their operations of late. This new base, located right besides the One River and poised to dump pollutants into it, was given the bare minimum treatment against would-be trespassers. It was laughable, a sick joke created by sick people to further sicken the land they had laid claim to. It was time to teach them some humility.
Sanda waited a few more heartbeats before she emerged into the dusky courtyard again. With the patrol silenced they had bought precious time, but they still had to move fast. She and several other shinobi had been chosen to bring ruin to the base before it could be completed and while the method was crude, it at least sent a clear message. We are not dead. We will not bow. Sending a plume of fire into the night sky like a phoenix from the ashes.
Sanda was silent death as she stalked into the hastily constructed building. Typical Garlean engineering, ugly steel shunted low and cramped against the ground. Minimal profile, minimal beauty. This one was a dormitory, strangely empty of people even at the late hour. It seemed luck was on their side. The unlucky few that lay sleeping in their beds would not wake again. It was cold, dirty work, but Sanda was beyond the guilt of the act. Bloody hands would keep others clean. Keep them safe.
Sanda’s target was one of the generators that powered the compound. The Doman Liberation Front had learned quickly that ceruleum burned quickly, easily and greedily. All it needed was a spark. And if there was one thing any shinobi worth their salt could conjure, it was sparks. But it would not be an easy conquest. Sanda found herself retreating to her place of silence, something her mother had described as “focus beyond focus” as they trained. Her sister had called it “kind of creepy”. Sanda preferred her mother’s description.
The low murmur of voices caught Sanda’s attention, sending her back into the shadows. Her darkened clothes were scratchy and rough, particularly against her horns and tail, but she had to admit they made hear nearly invisible as she melted into the dark surroundings. The soldiers didn’t even notice her as they walked on by, engaged in idle chatter. Sanda caught a few words, but it was nothing useful. Something about a visitor on their way the following morning. A morning that would never come if Sanda had anything to say about it.
The soldiers were gone quickly enough, vanishing into the steadily dying sunset. Sanda was on her away again, crossing grass and hastily-erected steel with equal silence. It felt wrong to be out in the open like this, especially with the sun’s rays still feebly shining down on her. But this golden hour was their best chance at ending the compound with minimal difficulties. And if push came to shove, Sanda still had her bow and her chakrams tucked away in her pack.
The generator swiftly loomed into view as Sanda rounded the corner. Huge, spouting smoke and whirring loudly, covered in wires spiralling madly out into the main compound. Knock it out and the spotlights that would have damned a night approach would be powerless, allowing the final stage of the plan to take place. But it wouldn’t be a quiet death, so Sanda had been chosen to end it. Whether it was a sign of faith in Sanda’s abilities or because she was still some unknown element washed in with the tide, Sanda didn’t care. She would have volunteered anyway, just to spill more Garlean blood.
Sanda pulled off her mask, freeing her horns from the course fabric. A few moments later and her tail was let loose as well. Stealth was about to go out of the window, and Sanda didn’t need the distraction of unwanted sensation. Closing her eyes, she sheathed her knives at her hips and put her hands together, recently learned gestures mingling with potent aether and terrible intent.
Ten Chi.
BOOM
The generator went up in a raging blaze, smoke billowing high into the night and blotting out what little sunlight remained. No sirens or klaxons sounded, but they didn’t need to. The towering inferno and black pillar of malicious brume was enough of an alarm on its own. Sanda allowed herself a rare smile, celebrating any small blow she could manage against the imperial colossus. We are not dead. We will not bow.
The clattering of armour brought Sanda back to the scene of the crime. More Garleans, all black steel and white steel. Wearing stolen fashion, wielding stolen weapons. They came at her all at once, no words, no warning.
Sanda smiled and dirtied her hands again.
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