Storythread

...

Hey I'm a fresh DM with a lot of Dnd stories if anyone would like to hear a few I got some. High Fantasy, low fantasy, hardcore campaigns, you name it.

So would this be a place to share things I've written to flesh out character background and such?

And if so, should I green text it or post a link to a pastebin?

Either one is fine.

(cont.)
The Foxwoods aren’t so much a “woods” as they are a full-blown forest, but the name’s been around since antiquity, when they still were. Then again, originally the name was in Elvan.

Some of the trees touch the clouds, and it’s said that the most ancient were planted in the Bronze Age. Thick trunks support a seemingly infinite number of branches high in the sky, with wood and foliage filtering the sunlight above to create a kaleidoscope of light and shadow upon the ground. Every so often leaves would depart from the branches and gently float down, their reddish tint a sign of the season’s passing. But animals still carried on, preparing for the impending frost. Squirrels skittered across the grass on the forest floor, collecting nuts fallen from the trees they called home. Birds also gathered food, along with molted feathers and animal skins to line their nests with, for the sake of both their health and the warmth of their eggs. Occasionally we’d see a fox, the more curious coming to greet their visitors and traveling with our horses for some time, before darting off to another corner of their forest to finish their business.

We took a break among the trees. At around noon we left the well-trodden dirt road through the forest and headed towards the nearby river. We sat in a little clearing, started a small fire, and had ourselves a leisurely lunch. We’d made good progress towards Fieldsport in the past four days; we’d leave the forest in the morning and arrive at the city by noon tomorrow, so why not take our time?

Janah left to refill our waterskins at the river as we finished our meals. On her way back she was attacked by three bandits; Alcance picked up that there was trouble, and from twenty meters nailed the halfling bandit’s hand to a tree with her bow. Vidt charged one of the two human men with his shield and knocked him flat on the ground, and Janah grappled and disarmed the other.(1/9)

I checked to see if they had any hidden weapons, but found none. We cleaned and wrapped the halfling’s wound, bound their hands and feet, then asked them some questions. Although the humans were annoyingly chatty, we learned nothing interesting; they told us that they thought Janah was a lone, unarmed, and easy target, even if she was a brawny half-orc. They said that the halfling would have snuck up and cut the tendons in her legs, then the two humans would rush in and everyone would stab her ‘til she died. A simple plan, but one that works.

Then Vidt found three carved pieces of wood while searching their packs. The markings were unfamiliar, but without a doubt they were ID tokens. The halfling took a glance at the sticks and sneered.

Earlier Janah, sweet and compassionate as she is, talked us into letting them go free. That wasn’t an option any more; if we let them go, they could run back to their camp and come after us again, with friends. The four of us, especially Janah, didn’t want to kill them, either. And none of us wanted to bring the three of them along with us for a day to turn them in at Fieldsport, so we had to leave them here.

I asked the party to help me tie them to a tree, then to go check our maps for any places where the rest may be camping. I told them that I’d continue the questioning alone. There were raised eyebrows and stares all around. I smiled and assured them that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt the bandits, which got them to leave. Alcance gave me a quick glare after the other two had left.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

I smiled to myself. Trying to do this on such short notice was already stupid. Never mind that I had to do so the nice way. (2/9)

I took a seat near our fire pit, about six meters away from the bandits, and started going through my bag. I pulled out a compact metal kettle, a palm-sized jar, and a small paper package. “Would you like some tea?” I asked as I restarted the fire. “I’m sure you’re thirsty after all of this.”

They were silent, so I just started boiling water. While waiting I wiped off the cups the party used earlier with some cloth, and started preparing tea leaves for the four of us.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” I asked while holding a finished cup in my hands. “I’ve even added honey to it.” Before taking a sip I stirred a bit more into mine, then cleaned the spoon and jar with a handkerchief. Aruze tea may be best pure, but it’s always nice.

I assumed they found Janah while they were about to take their own lunch by the river, and therefore hadn’t eaten anything yet when we caught them. Combined with the tea's naturally strong aroma and a bit of exaggerated enjoyment on my part, the two men drank some.

“Water.” Ordered the halfling, staring at the waterskin on my back. I raised my eyebrow but complied, pouring her tea into my own before wiping the cup with a handkerchief.

She finished it quickly. They had all finished their drinks as I poured myself another cup. “Nice, is isn't it?” I searched through my bag again and pulled out another jar, widening my eyes with fear as I held it in my hand.

I began violently rifling through my things, to the surprise of the bandits. After finding an amber bottle I quickly opened it and took three large swigs, panting as I pulled it away from me.

“What was that?” Asked the halfling, as they struggled to contain their laughter. Breathing heavily, I held up both jars.
“This is a jar of Elven Hachitum honey,” I said, showing them the second. “And this is a jar of Lizargon poison, which I confused it with.” (3/9)

“Did you just say Lizargon?” Asked one man.
“Those snake-faced freaks that live in the far west?” Asked the other.
“It’s very nasty stuff. A single drop is as deadly as a pint of giant spider venom."
“Stop joking around.” Said the first man, beginning to sweat.
“And the symptoms are horrifying. First is an unexplained feeling of weariness, which comes with an inability to sleep. Next is the increased heartbeat — victims can hear it pounding in their ears, and it eventually deafens them. Afterward there’s a constant feeling of dread, making victims paranoid at everything around them.” The color was rapidly draining from the two men’s faces.

“But that’s not what makes it deadly. The really horrible changes happen after around the fourth day. By then, victims become delirious and start seeing terrifying visions. Some attack their own friends while screaming in horror. And a great hunger develops, an insatiable craving for meat. Already unhinged from the sleep deprivation and the visions, they start tearing away at their own flesh, only to find that their bodies can no longer tolerate food or drink and immediately pass it, in bloody piss and pitch-black liquid shit. Victims die a week after being poisoned, with their minds broken and with their bodies torn apart at their own hands.”

“If one doesn’t take the antidote within the first day,” I picked up the amber bottle, “they can't be cured.”

The halfling laughed morbidly.

“How much of a dumbass do you have to be to mix up a jar of scalebones poison with fucking honey! You may have tricked these chumps, but I knew you were pulling something! I guess I’ll give you some credit for having the balls to drink so much of it yourself. But I’m not sure whether you’re crazy or just stupid.” She had a satisfied, shit-eating grin on her face. I looked directly into her eyes as I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket. (4/9)

“I used this to clean the poison spoon and the jar, before using it to wipe your cup.”

“Th-there’s no way this isn’t a bluff. No-none of your pals wanted us dead — we even heard the bitch with butter-knives for ears tell you not to lay a finger on us.” The halfling said defiantly.
“Y-yeah!” Said the second man. “If it really was poison, what would stop us from just shouting and having them give us the antidote?” I continued to stare, pouring out more of the bottle’s contents in a narrow stream.

“The moment I hear you raise your voice, I empty this bottle on the ground. Then I go dump the poison jar and antidote bottle in the river. I'll bring the waterskin, cups, and spoon — I say I left to refill it and wash them after we had tea, and you started telling lies. It’s my word versus that of a bunch of bandits.”

I closed the bottle and walked up to them. Still staring, I cupped my hands around my mouth.
“Can you still hear me over your heartbeats?” I opened the bottle again, and silently started tilting it over.
“Y-yes.” Said the halfling, her voice barely a whisper. She spoke the second the first drop fell. Her face was paler than a sheet, and the men looked exactly the same. My lips curled into an evil grin.
“I hope you enjoyed your drinks. I have an offer for you.”

●●●

“Did you find anything?” I asked as I met up with the party.
“I’m not sure,” Alcance said, looking over a map. “There’s no big structures or caves where they'd likely be.” She pulled out an old book and flipped to a page she bookmarked.

“It’s about fifty years outdated, but this traveler’s guide has some older maps of the Foxwoods. There’s a toll house here, next to these crossroads. Both are missing from newer maps.”

“What about you? Did you get anything from them?” Asked Janah.
“Yeah. We heard some yelling.” Vidt followed up with a frown. I smiled, and started pulling things out of my bag. (5/9)

I smiled. and told them what happened.How I’d given the bandits Aruze tea, and tricked them into thinking that the Wine-Honey I added to it was poison. I said I’d made them think a bottle of Orcen Lovve wine was the antidote, and gave them quite a scare with the theatrics I used to sell the whole thing. “But they were back to their old mean selves after I ‘cured’ them.” I added. “I apologized and told them the truth afterward. The halfling sure knows some interesting swears. And multiple languages.”

Janah laughed in relief, and Vidt patted me on the back a bit too roughly. Alcance had a look of disappointment throughout the story, but even she seemed glad that nothing bad had happened.

“Anyway, Alcance’s guess is right. They said they were based at an old building near an overgrown stone road. Including the three we found, there’s thirty in total. Twenty-three men, seven women — fifteen human men and five women, the rest halflings.”

“That’s good to know.” Janah said.
“So we should be safe if we take a detour. Lass, what’s the best path to take?” Asked Vidt.
“Ah, well...” Alcance mumbled, pointing at the map as she traced paths with her fingers. We packed our things, including souvenirs from the bandits, and rode off.

“Wait, Bags. You used Aruze?” Alcance asked during the trip. She was reasonably disgusted; Aruze tea is best pure, after all.

●●●

We were all still a little on edge after that. To be safe we set up a watch schedule before setting up camp for the night, and I drew the short stick; I got stuck with the first shift. Janah kept saying she’d keep watch with me.

We all knew it was an excuse to justify why she was still up. It's understandable; I don’t think anyone ever forgets the first time someone tries to murder them.

“Janah, you need your rest. Attentiveness and alertness are an adventurer’s best weapons, and both are dulled by fatigue.” Admonished Alcance. (6/9)

“She’s right, little one. Take rest whenever you’re given the opportunity.” Vidt's scars and the way he carried himself made it plain that he’d seen a lot throughout his one hundred years of life. Although, for a dwarf, that's still young.

“I’ll sleep soon,” replied Janah. “Just let me, umm, clean my club.” True to her word she began to make good on the odd, adorable excuse. This was was the third one so far.

“Little one, would a story help you to go to sleep?” asked Vidt as she prepared to polish her armor next. She was silent, but the gleam in her eyes said all that was needed. Vidt smiled warmly.

“Well alrighty then. Make yourself comfortable. This here’s a tale dwarf parents tell their children as they tuck them in at night.”

“Long, long ago, during the golden age of magic, peace, and prosperity, there was a kingdom known as Ghraddenschint. It was the largest and most renowned in all of the Dwarven lands. For his coronation, the new king held a grand celebration at the royal palace, and sent invitations across the world. Men and women of all races and all kingdoms came to Ghraddenschint, and brought with them gifts of friendship. And out of the all the gifts he received, three stood out amongst the rest:”

“‘This is a magic staff, that can turn anything solid into gold.’ Said the human dignitary. The king was delighted — for, just like today, people in the days of old greatly coveted gold.”

“‘This is a magic barrel, that shall turn all water it is filled with into wine.’ Said the Elven dignitary. The king was overjoyed, because people of any age always find a friend in alcohol.”

“‘This is a magic pillow, that shall never fail to grant its user restful sleep.’ Said the Orcen dignitary. The king accepted the plain and modest pillow, along with all of his other gifts.” (7/9)

“Of all of the presents he received, the king used the magic pillow the most. While the magic staff could create untold riches, the age was already a time of prosperity, and Ghraddenschint was already one of the richest kingdoms in the world. And while the magic barrel made water into wine said to be matched only by the greatest vintages aged for millennia, a good king cannot shirk his responsibilities to constantly drink. But the magic pillow forever gave the king serene, refreshing sleep. No matter how little or in what circumstances he slept, it always made him rested. He brought it with him during all of his travels. During his daughter’s coronation , he passed it on as a gift to her. And she did so too for her child, who did so for their child, and so on.”

Janah fell asleep as soon as the fable ended, smiling contentedly. Vidt, too, was grinning, then turned to me. He had a serious look on his face.

“Lad, I know you meant well. But you could’ve easily taken that stunt with the bandits too far. I know you didn’t hurt them, but you can’t go around doing things like that to people you don’t like. Even if it’s for a good reason.” Vidt’s face softened and he placed an arm on your shoulder. “I trust you, you know. It’s why I let you go ahead with it. We haven’t known each other long, but I trust you.” He glanced over at Janah, then whispered the last part into my ear. “At the very least, keep these things a secret from her.”

With that, Vidt slept. I was left to mull over his words, while Alcance was busy organizing her things.

“He’s right, you know.” I nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Where in the wastes did you even learn to do something like that?” I grew quiet, turning my eyes away from her.

“That’s a long story,” I answered after a while, fiddling with an old harmonica in my pocket. “I’ll tell it some other time. For now, you should rest.”(8/9)

Alcance furrowed her brow and frowned, then turned to glare at me. She usually did that whenever she felt it wasn't worth the effort to keep up her wise, placid facade in front of me.

I took a deep sigh.

“Listen. I hate telling stories about myself. And we both know we’ll never be great friends, which makes me even less eager to do so. But that also means you won’t let things like that go, and so I’ll owe you explanations to maintain your trust. So I’ll tell you. Just not now.”

“Please.” I added. She looked at me.
“Vidt trusts you. Janah trusts you. I guess I’ll trust you too. For now.” Alcance said after a brief, heavy silence.
“Thanks.”
“You still owe me an explanation. Some other time.” She began to meditate right after the words left her mouth.

JOURNAL END

P.S. Check libraries on dwarven fables and find out if Vidt changed the ambassadors’ races. (9/9)

That's it for this thread. If you have the time, I'd greatly appreciate feedback. Especially negative because I like being able to hear what I suck at so I can try improving. I think this'll be a long-running pet project of mine, so hopefully I can make it feel like it's worth the time it takes to read.

Also, fucked up post 5 . Should be
>“I used this to clean the poison spoon and the jar, before using it to wipe your cup.” That made her pause for a moment.
and should end at
>Vidt followed up with a frown.

On with my show then.

*****

"Once upon a time there was a little girl. She wasn't very different from other little girls, though she had bright red hair and couldn't play outside in the sun for long or her very pale skin would burn and blister. Because of it she couldn't play with the other children for long, and many of them made fun of her.

She was very young, and could only barely remember a time when her mother and father didn't always argue and yell. She thought all mommies and daddies were like that; so she stayed away from the other mommies and daddies because it made her sad when they yelled.

She prayed to Tria to make her mommy and daddy love each other again. But they only kept yelling. So she stopped praying to Tria.

As she got older her parents fought less, but when they did it was louder, and sometimes things got broken. One night her heart broke with grief from the angry yelling, and instead of hiding she walked in on them crying and begged them to stop. Her daddy hit her mommy so hard she bounced off the wall and slumped to the floor.

The little girl was frozen with terror as her daddy turned to her and raised his hand. She couldn't remember what happened when she woke up later; but the whole side of her head ached. She tried to sit up in her bed but it made her sick. Her mommy fed her broth later, and after a while she felt better; but she noticed her mommy was having trouble moving right.

When her parents started yelling again she tried to hide. She prayed to Silestra for protection. But sometimes her daddy would still come and find her. He'd drag the little girl in front of her mother and hit the little girl again. One night he twisted her arm very hard and she heard something inside break and it hurt worse than anything else ever. She stopped praying to Silestra.

Her mommy told the healer that the little girl had fallen out of a tree. The healer looked like he was nice, but something deep inside of the little girl told her he was a bad man; and she was afraid of him. The healer wanted money but her mother didn't have any. They went into another room and made sounds. Her mommy screamed.

The man came back into the room alone and set the little girl's arm. He was very unkind about it, and had a cruel smile when his treatment left the little girl in tears. When he left the little girl went to the room her mommy was still in and found her crying. Through the tears her mother tried to tell the little girl that everything was going to be okay. She didn't believe it.

She heard her father scream in pain. Then her mother screamed in pain, again and again, until finally her voice was cut off like a door being closed. She tried to hide. But there was nowhere in the little house that was out of her father's reach.

She tried to run away, but he caught her. She saw he was bleeding from his belly. She saw the still body of her mommy on the floor, laying in a pool of blood. She was thrown into a dark chest and locked inside; left for so long she ended up peeing on herself.

She prayed to Lii to get her father for killing her mother. When the chest was opened a strange man with dark skin and an ugly beard pulled her out. Her father had sold her to him and she was taken far away. She didn't pray to Lii again.

She didn't know the language. The man with the dark skin and ugly beard turned her over to an older woman with beautifully braided hair who taught her and spoke the little girl's language. The little girl was told the rules. If she disobeyed she would be beaten. If she tried to run away, one of the other girls would be killed.

She was dressed in clothes made of fabric that was barely there, that covered just enough to preserve her modesty. She brought drinks and food to the older men and women. She took care of the guests needs, bringing them whatever they wanted and passing messages. She helped in the kitchen and did whatever menial labor was expected of her.

She was naive and it was some time until she understood what was going on. Even then it had to be explained to her by the older woman with the beautiful braids. Men and women came to the place and exchanged money or valuable goods for pleasures of the flesh. Sometimes they even bought one of the other girls.

Nothing was fair. Nothing was right. Her father beat her and her mother and no one raised a hand to help them. The man who came to heal her arm did something terrible to her mother, and no one helped her. Her father killed her mother, and no one stopped him. She had been sold into slavery by her father, and there was no one to help her. Not even the gods moved to correct such injustice.

And her rage was finally born. It began as a little thing, a tiny grain in her bosom. But she held it close, and fed it, and it grew.

Years passed, and eventually all she knew was the smoldering hate for the world around her. Only the threat of violence against the other girls kept her where she was. But not only her heart changed. Her body had too. She was no longer a little girl, she was growing into womanhood.

One morning she woke up bleeding; and the woman with the beautiful braids told her what was happening. The little girl, now a young woman didn't understand why the older woman sounded so sad. Her old clothes were taken from her and what she received in their place was made of fabric that could easily be seen through. It was the same sort of thing the working women wore. The horror of what it meant finally dawned on her.

Terror gripped her heart. It left her mind and body numb. She didn't even realize what was happening until she found herself inside one of the working rooms with a man who's countenance she could only interpret as "hungry". Something in her broke and the young woman screamed when she attacked the man.

For a moment it seemed like she might get away with it. But she only pressed him back by virtue of the surprise he'd felt. He wrestled with her, and though the young woman bit and snarled and squirmed her fight was ultimately useless. He choked her into unconsciousness.

When she awoke she was beaten for her disobedience and thrown in a cage. The next day, the young woman refused to work. She was beaten again. The cycle continued for a week. Then things changed. Instead of the young woman being beaten another woman was brought in and beaten in her place.

She agreed to work the next day. That night she prayed to Sithaa to take her life. She woke up anyway, and never prayed to Sithaa again. The thing inside of her that had broken shattered and fell out of her heart.

She thought about the girl that would be killed if she tried to escape. She felt no guilt. She wasn't the one holding the blade. It was not her burden to bear. She was not responsible. The one who actually performed the killing stroke was; the people who allowed a place like this to exist were responsible.

She was a victim, that would be so no longer. Even if she died she would die free and unafraid. There was nothing left to lose.

The young woman couldn't recall how she got ahold of the knife, but it looked like it belonged to the dead man on the bed. She would always remember how it felt to kill him though. The memory would always bring her warm feelings.

She disappeared up the chimney and fortune smiled on her long enough to allow her to escape down the roof, down the side of the building, and into the streets. She stowed away on board a ship. She ate rats and discarded food and escaped into another city under cover of night.

The young woman grew without a home, family, or friends. She survived on streets that seemed bent to the sole purpose of breaking her. She learned that the only thing that mattered was strength because the only person that would look out for her was herself.

One day the young woman was caught stealing by a dwarven blacksmith. Instead of turning her in he gave her his coat and the money in his pockets. She didn't know what to do except to take them and run.

It was not long before she returned to the blacksmith. His behavior had been so incongruous with all her experience that her curiosity simply wouldn't let it be. In time they grew close, or as close as the young woman would allow anyone to be to her. He taught her to wield a hammer as a weapon. He made a suit of mail to protect her. If she had not been as hard as his anvil she would have known he was smitten.

Of course, all good things must end. While the young woman was making a gift for the smith; the only gift she'd ever made or considered giving; he was killed by men with greed and extortion in their hearts. Whatever had been left in the young woman's heart that might have known mercy, empathy, or well wishes for her fellow man died with him.

The woman took up work as a mercenary; and to this day she'll kill anything or anyone for money without a question or a care."

And that was the last time anyone in the mercenary company of The Devil Tigers ever asked Daisy to tell a story by the fire.

The only thing I could nitpick is that birds don't breed in autumn (least not any birds I know of, unless you count emperor penguins, but this is a forest, not the antarctic). Babies hatching when there is little food is a bad way to perpetuate the species, fantasy world or not. So I found that setting detail jarring.

I'd give you better feedback on things like pacing and such, but I'm not much good at it, and honestly, nothing jumped out at me as "bad".

As character and relationship developement go, it's not bad. Thanks for sharing.

"Cannaryth."
"Yes?"
"What is it like knowing that so many people you know will die within the span of your lifetime?"

A burst of icy mist is ejected from the blue dragon's nostrils. Even among the chilly heights of these mountains, there was something far colder.
"What nonsense are you thinking about now, Vaeril?" The dragon's tone felt akin to that of a doting father to the elf in charge of him.
"It's been something I've worried about since we came back from the war," Vaeril mentioned while busying himself by cleaning his sword. "I know we've been through a few, but...well, the old captain's retiring. I've known him for decades now, and already he looks so old. Don't know if he'll be around to see his grandkids grow up and all."
Again, Cannaryth puffs. "And how does this relate to me."
"I'm getting there, hold on, bossy boots!" Vaeril continued, "Well, you're a dragon. You can effectively live forever. Weather means nothing to you, age becomes just a number, and you can heal yourself pretty fast. But then you have me. Elves live a long time, don't get me wrong, but... Compared to you, I feel like a speck of time. Will you even remember me hundreds of years down the line, when you get assigned to some other elf? Do you remember everyone who rode you?"

Sometimes it exasperated the dragon how many questions this child had. Even for someone who's supposedly lived for three hundred years, there were so many simple things that bothered him. He had no idea how one got to this sort of curiosity. "The things you think up..."
"So?"
"Does it really matter?" Seeing that elf's excited eyes bothered him, they always looked right at whatever he wanted but never what he needed to look at. He sighed in exasperation. "Impetuous whelp... Fine. If it will satisfy your curiosity, but before I do, I should ask how you feel knowing that you will outlast all of your human friends."
"Humans, huh..." Vaeril pondered.

Go on?

>It has been a long time since I've posted/had anything worth posting. This is wip of a short story that fits within a larger universe. One of the problems is that it does fit within a larger universe, explaining certain things outright wouldn't make a lick of sense (I will put some contextual author's notes in spoilers) But here we go...

Lairn slumped down onto a gnarled, moss-covered root that creeped out from the base of a twisted tree. He'd be trekking for the better part of the day and needed a break. Looking above he tried to discern a pattern to the tangles of branches that wove through each other. He found none, almost as if the tree were fighting itself constantly. Despite the bitterly embroiled limbs of the tree, patches of sunlight beamed through. The shafts of yellow air were fuzzy with tiny buzzing insects and the dizzy dance of pollen, spores and floating seeds. It was a wild sight, reminding him of his employer.

Lairn had taken a contract with an eccentric wizard who, upon first meeting, had raved and ranted about the practical uses of enchanted hammers that pounded on the closest pound-able object. And then, like a switch, the crackpot had turned back to his workbench completely absorbed in a vial of pink, glittering fluid and had muttered something about the Root of the Quake Tree being an immensely powerful ingredient. Lairn had asked if that was what he wanted him to retrieve. A small twitch was all he’d gotten in return. He then had asked where one would find such an ingredient and was met with a withering stare that heavily implied he was a complete imbecile. A sarcastic reply came his way, “the Deep Grove you floundering freelancer. It's completely common knowledge, even a child would know it.”

Contemplating the weirdest contract he'd taken he stretched out on his seat. As he lay back against the gentle slope of the root, he took in more of the forest that surrounded him. The hum and buzz of insects mingled with the tweets and chirps of air-fowl. Occasionally, the white noise was broken by the wailing of a larger creature in the distance. “Predator or not, it sounded big,” thought Lairn. And the smell, oh the smell; Lairn’s nose was constantly bombarded with a wet, earthy scent that clung to everything. Sometimes the cloying, sweet smell of flowers and nectars would mingle with the rest of the scents. It was always a welcome reprieve. Despite this, Lairn concluded that this forest smelled distinctly ‘alive’.

Knowing he was going to be here for more than a few moments, Lairn began to familiarize himself with the rest of his surroundings. He was looking for ways his safety might be compromised. Across the way, a clutch of massive, towering trees that were surrounded by a veritable army of barely luminescent mushrooms would allow a would-be attacker to get within close proximity whilst remaining undetected. To his left and right, the game trail he was following was rather open and anyone would be hardpressed to stealth such a path. Dotted amongst his radius sight were small copses of arching fronds and spindly flowers framed by mosses and grasses. “Nothing to worry about from them,” he thought shifting forward. It reminded him that his back was comfortably protect by the dominant, twisting mass of tree he currently rested upon. It's spiderweb of wall-like roots spanned tens of plates* in all directions. Glancing back to either side of the root he sat upon, he noticed a shadowy meadow of dark flowers, leafy fronds, hanging succulents and black pools of water. Each area between the large roots was a unique garden.

*A plate is a standard measurement set forth by the lesser god of Order, Borute Odax, in his personal shrine, the 8 Plates of Order. The shrines outlines standard units for all measurements using the plates themselves as the standards in many cases. For example the 3rd plate outlines standard lengths, its sides being exactly one plate in length and its thickness exactly one plete. A plate and plete are roughly analogous to a meter and decimeter, respectively
I know its retarded and semi-edgy, but I rather like stupid snippets of lore.

An echoing roar, distant but urgent, brought his attention back to his analysis of threats. He couldn’t rely on his ears either; the dull, droning of the forest shrunk his zone of hearing. His sense of smell was fairly useless as well, drowned out by the musk of the forest. “Not that it mattered,” Lairn thought, “this deep inside the ancient wood and the winds simply ceased to move.” Turning back to the only threat he saw, he looked closer. The larger fungus had caps a full arm span wide and were half again as tall as himself. A sparkling rain of spores and toxins constantly leached from their underside. Shorter, fat tube-shrooms throbbed as they sputtered out puffs of more spores and poisons. Other funguses sat as great shelves on the trees themselves. They were deep bowls that oozed potent slimes and ichor. Weeping trails of dead wood and moss flowed down the trees beneath the fungal leeches. Amongst the largest mushrooms, smaller versions filled in the gaps while the ground itself was a mess of corpuscular tendrils and black muck. The dull glow of all the fungus made the clouds of spores and vapours glimmer like rain on a moonlit night. It was an enchanting display for something so deadly. Looking deeper and seeing no end the the field of fungus amongst their shepherding trees, Lairn quickly decided that it was such a threat itself that none could come from it. “Safe,” he thought, “a bit of rest here and then onward to the Deep Grove.”

>I'll post more in a bit

The elves of these mountains have been allies of the humans downwind for generations, with interbreeding between the two even being possible. Even with that said though, the lifespans between the two were definitely not the same. The elves were a hardy and healthy lot, capable for living for hundreds of years - compared to that, humans were considered lucky to even live past one century. Vaeril in particular knew humans, but he was never very close to any.
"Not pulling any punches today, huh Cannaryth?" He chuckles at the dragons disappointed snarl. "I...can't say I know a lot of humans in that way. I meet a few every now and then, we leave for some adventure, and when we come back, I realize a few of them are gone. And...I feel a bit sorry but it's not like I can do anything for them but hope they lived happily."

The dragon snorted again. "What? Did I miss something?"
"And you wonder how I feel? I am over one thousand years old. I have seen hatchlings become adults, nations rise and fall, and over that time, three other elves have mounted on my back. Of them, only one of them has grown to old age."
Vaeril commented, "And you were close to them. Like best friends."
Cannaryth only snarled, "We are not friends, pup."
"We're something like that, yeah. We get along, we fight together, and sometimes with each other. But even with that considered, I know I can trust you with my life."
"Because apparently you can't take care of yourself without me around."
"Sure, you'd like that," the elf laughed as he slung his sword on his belt. "I don't think it was such a bad idea pairing us together."
"I don't like the fact that they have to use magic for it," the dragon reminded his rider by scratching on the brand on his chest. The mark, though impossible to feel, was one that tied the two together for life. "Every time they do it, it itches even worse and nobody understands."
Vaeril agreed. "Not like it's any better for me." He placed a hand on his chest.

>way to screw up consecutive post numbers...

Lairn’s supposed safety was shattered by the rustling of uncountable leaves, cracking of branches and, finally, an earthshaking boom as something struck the forest floor in front of him. As the cloud of dust and pollen settled, a massive figure was standing, wreathed by a falling rain of twigs, floating flowers and fluttering leaves. The scattered shafts of light that pierced through the canopy seemingly shrunk away, darkening the entire area and shading the visage of the mysterious intruder. And try to see Lairn did. Taking in the full scope of what stood before him, all he could see was the outline. It was a full two heads taller than him and far wider. The hulking beast’s outline was broken up by massive horns spiraling off in maddening directions, many splitting up multiple times. Several flat but wide tails fluttered in a wind only they could feel. Still unable to figure out was standing before him, it was undoubtedly hostile, evidenced by the massive war club in one of its monstrous paws. A great sucking of air proceeded as it reared it’s head to utter a warcry.
“Haven't seen a fay in these parts for sometime…”

A weathered, scarred face came into the light as the creature leaned down towards Lairn. “I figured I’d finally scared all you off,” the face said in a labored, guff baritone voice. Lairn was transfixed, out of fear or surprise, he didn’t know. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could barely think. Given the cragged and browned face inches away from his own, he was guessing he was face to face with an Earthen fay, a rare sight anywhere nowadays. Taking a risk and glancing around at the now visible fay, he could see what primal fear had mutated into evil implements of a monster. What once were twisted horns, revealed themselves to be twigs and brambles of trees and shrubs he'd never seen before. Misshapen lumps resolved into a breathtaking set of bronze armor gelded with the bark of ancient tree; moss, lichens and small mushrooms had long taken up residence. It spoke again with that deep breathy voice, “well, say something.”

so 'fay': the term for the base race inhabiting this world. Some are vastly different in appearance or mannerism. But they are all fay. Lairn is part of the Fair Fay, a very normal looking fay. Think human with just a dash of elf thrown in, ears with a slight point, lighter skin.

“Speak, boy. Or do you deign me not worthy of even addressing me,” the large fay accused Lairn, “it's clear to me you hold little respect for anything. Not me. Not the forest, either. I was upon you even after you looked right at me.” The earthen fay stepped back whilst plucking a shroom from one of his massive pauldrons and laid into Lairn again, “I knew of your intrusion the moment you set foot in my forest. I watched you walk as if you owned the place.” His voice rose, “Arrogant! Selfish! Your kind is not but pompous fools!” He slammed the giant warhammer into the dirt, throwing debris and leaf litter upwards, “~fair~ fay indeed! I was right to ward off trespassers!” The hammer swung back around coming down right next to Lairn, throwing up more debris and a glittering halo of water as the strike disturbed a silent pool in the root-garden. The perturbed fay rushed forward, his grisled face mere inches from Lairn’s once more, “what say you!”

>let me know whatcha think, I've got several more posts-worth written up as well

He couldn't feel the binding mark either, but he felt that itch just as keenly. "You at least have scales and thick skin. I can't exactly get that sort of benefit."
"These marks don't fade." Cannaryth's tone was very somber. "I can still feel each of them even though they're gone, and it bothers me. I'm sure I'll be remembering your mark too a few hundred years down the line."
"Does that mean you miss them?"

The question had the blue dragon lower his head in contemplation. For a moment, Vaeril was worried that he might have asked a very sensitive question. "Hey, if I asked something really tough, I don't mind letting it go..."
"I do." The response startled the dragon rider. "I cared for them all in some way. Ettryan was like a little brother to me, and to see him cut down in his sleep is a shame I can never redeem. I tried to make that up with Lusha. I took so many blows to ensure that she was safe, risked so much. She lived, but she always felt guilty that she held me back from doing so much more. I tried again with Eliael to help him follow his dreams. He sacrificed himself to stop a chaos dragon from destroying a volcano."

The revelation left Vaeril speechless. Cannaryth never spoke about his previous riders so much before. He never even knew what they did before now. He had no idea there was so much his partner regretted. "Hey, I...well, I know we haven't done...any of that, but..."
"I'm not disappointed in you, Vaeril. You're annoying and always seem to make all sorts of pains for my tail, but you've been a good rider." He nudges the nervous elf. "I can't stop you from doing stupid things, but I don't need to. You're a crafty little runt. You know when to get serious."
His confidence restored, Vaeril pats his dragon a bit. "Aw, shucks."
"You're still an idiot."
"Yeah," he chuckles. "I wasn't much for book-learning anyways. I like the feeling of just figuring out things."
"A little too much, I fear." Cannaryth sighs.

Wrong kind of thread.

"But to answer your question, I do know loss. I have felt the loss of great allies, I have seen broodmates lost to their own vices. I have mourned the passing of many great things since then. I will no doubt experience these feelings more as time goes on."
"Did you...at least appreciate what you had with them?"
The dragon stared at the elf for asking that. "What kind of fool are you, thinking you can worry over me? Of course I did! I loved them like my own children!"
"So, what are you worried about then?" Asked the elf. "You've got a lot of stories, and you can tell those stories to the riders after me, and to my kids, and to their kids and so on. Just because you can't see them all doesn't mean they're gone." He pats Cannaryth, "Those stories are how they live on for years and years after they leave us!"
"You're so cocksure that I can remember them all."
Vaeril smiles, "Course I'm sure! I trust you with so much already. What's remembering me going to do that you don't already?"
"Brats sometimes," The dragon grunts.

Vaeril wrapped his arm a little around his dragon's neck. "Don't worry, pal. I've enjoyed being with you, even if you kinda don't."
Again, Cannaryth grumbled. "Impetuous youth." But this time, he smiled. That impetuous youth had a point. He'd be remembering everything, and even when Vareil was long since deceased, those memories would ever be gone.

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Back from a three day vacation and feeling the pretty great.

May I request a sweet, cute and heartwarming tale with pic related?

40K people will recognize this as An LCB pic

Maybe...I will try to come up with something, but not promising anything good...

Yeah, I didn't think that bird thing through far enough. I wanted to have the birds to be doing something, especially because in this setting seasons are the same regardless of hemisphere, but finding food and doing things to make winter more bearable would've been enough.

I'm glad that you liked it, or at least didn't find it terrible; I'd really hate to be a guy who takes up ~ten posts every thread posting something everyone else thinks is terrible. I'll work on making things more enjoyable/well thought out.

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I liked enough I'll read more.

That spoiler protected part? That would be VERY jarring to me because the way that works IRL sort of _has_ to be the way things work. Now if "The gods say it is so" that's cool, just be sure you explain that to the reader before or as they find out about it.

>Been lurking for a while, first time I've been motivated enough to actually write something in ages. No larger world or existing setting, I just felt like practicing writing dialogue.

>Probably shit, but hey.

‘All i’m saying is, if you hadn’t tried to rough up the innkeeper and let me sweet-talk the bargirl, we’d have the package already and we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

Tabs grunted. “Sweet-talkin’, that what you call it now? Might be sweet for you, sure, but that’s no way to get the job done. How was I supposed to know that fat bastard was keeping that crossbow under the bar?’

Sal rolled his eyes. ‘He’s an innkeep, Tabs. In Hardwell of all cities. Be glad the poor man merely drew on you, instead of letting the troll in the corner take care of things.’

‘Poor man?’ Tabs said incredulously. ‘Poor? Sometimes I think you’re too soft for this line of work. You’d be singing a different tune if he’d skewered me with that thing.’

‘Ah, but he didn’t did he now?’ Sal hoisted one arm over his friend’s meaty shoulder, staggering slightly. ‘You need to stop taking things so damn seriously.’

Tabs sighed, taking in the moonwashed street. Lights flickered in the windows of inns, bars and other establishments too ramshackle to qualify for either name. The problem wasn’t Sal’s way of doing things, per se. It was just inevitably Sal would get distracted by some piece of skirt and the whole plan would go on hold, without a single word of warning to inform him. Still, you play the hand you're given, and the diminutive thief’s silver tongue had gotten them out of as many sticky situations as it got them into. He just wished Sal would be a little more professional once in a while.

He snorted at the idea under his breath. Sal glanced up with a quizzical look that he batted back down with a wave.

>1/2

‘Nothing. Just caught myself thinking is all’.

‘I’ve warned you about that.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Thinking. It’s bad for you, you know.’

‘Fuck off.’

Sal recoiled in mock horror. ‘So offensive!’

‘Hey, if anything, overthinking things is your problem, not mine.’

Sal chuckled. ‘See, that’s the spirit! Come on, I know a place not too far where we can sit and forget about all this until the morning when we see the boss and explain how this really isn’t our fault.’

Tabs stopped dead in the street, a cold feeling running up his spine. ‘Aw, shite, the boss! He won’t buy it you know, not after last time.’

Sal gave him a sly grin. ‘You underestimate the powers of Salacious Gerstman, my friend. Leave worrying about tomorrow till tomorrow.’

Tabs, barely listened as he stared at nothing, stopped dead by the. ‘How in the bleeding world am I going to forget this pig of a job?’

‘With me, these two sweetlings I know and several mugs of pale at the Absent Hand off of Thirdman street?’

‘The Absent Hand? What happened to the hand and why did some sap name his pub after it?’

Sal rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t know, Tabs. If we knew what happened, it wouldn’t be absent now, would it?’

Tabs tried to work his way through Sal’s catastrophic logic and failed. He grunted. ‘And what else might we find at this….place of yours?

‘All manner of fine wine, music, poetry…’

‘If I wanted to listen to poetry, i’d stop by the old gaolhouse and listen to the drunks caterwaul,’ Tabs grumbled. ‘It’s cheaper, and I don’t have to listen to no pisspoor bard singing about their lady problems.’

‘Come on now, if I hadn’t picked you up, where would you be now? Down in the old quarter, quaffing that swinewater they call ale and fighting drunks for pennies? No, my friend,’ Sal said, poking Tabs in the stomach. ‘You, my friend, you stick with me and we’re destined for greatness.’
>2/3

Tabs raised an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Does greatness always mean being freezing cold in the street with an empty purse and a disappointing payoff at the end of it all? Because if so, i’m feeling pretty damn great right now’.

Sal smiled. ‘Well now you mention it -’

Whatever he was going to say was lost to the wind as a lithe woman dived out of a window clutching a small package, narrowly followed by a hail of crossbow bolts, a few rocks and what looked like several large drinking tankards.

Tabs let out a sharp laugh. ‘Looks like Mel’s having a fun night.’
‘Hey Tabs,’ Sal started uncertainly. ‘Correct me if i’m wrong, but that thing she’s holding isn’t the package from our job, is it...?’

Tabs squinted. ‘Nah...Can’t be, right?’

The duo stopped dead as a slim figure draped in rags slipped out of an shaded alleyway, wrenched the parcel out from under Mel’s arm and sprinted off into the darkness.

‘My dear Tabs,’ Sal smiled. ‘Looks like the job’s back on.’

>3/3

>That's all, hopefully it wasn't too awful and the formatting is OK. Critique is extremely welcome.

This is pretty good, mang. Dialogue flows nicely, both characters have distinct voices, and you manage to mostly stick to showing and not telling to describe the scenario. Keep at it.

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Holy shit.
I want to maintain her armor for her and give her a hot bath.

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Isn't that Constantine?

No idea. Also, I think the point of the thread is kinda that you tell us.

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Yes.

>And we're back

“I-I’m Lairn,” he shakily managed to get out, “-give me… I-I mean, please, forgive me.” Lairn saw the other’s face twitch, a slight arching of an eyebrow. A bit more confidence came to his voice, “forgive me if my wonderment and amazement seemed to you as arrogance. It was all too easy to abandon one's wits and wander from one wonder to the next. Before you came upon me, I had sat down to rest and had to forced myself to check my surroundings for my own safety. Even still, I could not help but see the beauty in what I saw. This forest is amazing and i daresay you are its steward.” The old fay stepped back again, realizing he still held the mushroom he'd picked. Taking a bite and savoring the deep earthy taste a smile came to his face for the first time. It made it all the more pitted and craggy. He spoke between bites, “you are correct. This wood holds many secrets and wonders, each as breathtaking as the next. I am its shepherd, the Arboreal.” He was wandering around munching the shroom and checking the trees. His expression turned sour, “however, it will take more than silver words and buttery compliments to change the stone-set mind of earthen fay. Tell me your purpose here. Confirm what I already know. You are not some humble tourist. You want something.” Lairn mumbled something while turning his head downward. Footsteps thundered towards Lairn, “what was that.”

“I came seeking the root of one of the great Quake Trees,” Lairn mumbled again. The Arboreal stopped dead in his tracks, even his mouth refused to continue to chew. “Tell me I misheard… ‘'cause it sounded like you want a piece of one of the trees of the Deep Grove,” the Arboreal ground out barely managing to control his growing ire. Lairn withered where he sat cowed into uncontrolled silence once more. The giant earthen fay erupted into jittered, controlled anger. His massive warhammer carved wide divots into the forest floor throwing up plumes of black dirt then made the air grow even hazier. “Where does a spoilt, moronic fair fay get off demanding something from the most sacred wood of the forest!?! All you whelps from that prissy Kineveldt spend your lives suckling the queen's and your mother's fat tits and then when you tire of that, you think the rest of the world owes you!” the Arboreal was shouting now, jabbing his rocky finger into Lairn’s chest for more emphasis. It was definitely not needed to get the message across. The frustrated fay continued to vent, “fair fay, gods-damned some of you are no better than the Twisted ones! Thinking you're even worthy enough to see the Deep Grove, you're not even worthy enough to set foot in my forest!”
>1/2

The Arboreal had since tossed his hammer away, by accident or purposefully, Lairn didn't know. The spurned fay was resorting to hammering his hardened, gnarled fists into the soft ground. Lairn did notice that even when it looked like he was going to take his impressive anger out on a tree, be it root or trunk, he always change his strike or pulled it. His tirade had brought the Arboreal back towards him. The angry stomps were sinking holes in bare dirt, compacting greenery elsewhere. All the while his breathing had grown so rough, almost haggard, that it was mixing in with his speech, which was now just vexed muttering. “Fair fay...gods-damned fair...fair fay…” Lairn’s fear had fermented into anger as well; the liberal use of the term 'fair fay’ had seen to that. The Arboreal neared and Lairn’s legs pistoned him upwards. His forehead ground to a halt against the knobby, tough skin of the other fay’s head. If the Arboreal was surprised, he didn't show it. Lairn grunted out through gritted teeth, “I. Am. Not. Fair. Fay.”
>2/2

The Arboreal softened just a little bit, taking pleasure in seeing some gumption in what he had assumed was an otherwise worthless fay. “Oh?! Explain then. Indulge me! Because in this place, if it looks, smells and feels like a wharl tree, it sure isn't a skyflower.” Lairn refused to budge his head, even pressing harded. His eye glowed with passionate fire, “you think I had it so easy! Well, I've got news for you! I'm a Lone-borne! No mother! No father. No memories. The fair fay don't treat me like one of their own! I may call the Kineveldt home but I'm just as much an outsider there as I am here!” Lairn was frantic and breathing hard. He'd quit the deadlock and started pacing. It wasn't everyday that he divulged such personal information. It was like the dam had broken and he was helpless to stop it. The Arboreal had retrieved his warhammer and was leaning on it, staring at the fay. Anger had seemingly turned to a weird mix of curiosity, mirth and pity, “no memories?” Lairn looked upwards at the forest guardian showing that his face was flush and tear-streaked. Defeated, Lairn unceremoniously dumped himself down to the dirt path where he stood. The leaf litter crackled and the ring of dust settled just as quickly as he had. Lairn paid it no mind, “every time I try to remember things like that it turns gray. Empty. Like I'm trying to remember a dream. I don't know how the others deal with it…”

>thats all I've got written up for now. If there's interest, I'm more than happy to start hammering away again, else I'll just work on it at my leisure.

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Hello Chronicler, thanks for the inclusion of my story that's part of my setting from last week. Though I just want to let you know or remind you that the story I made last week, the Twin Refugees as you titled it, is actually directly from the story: Gemini Rising:

>1d4chan.org/wiki/File:Twincest.png

Perhaps you should outhgta include or mention that Twin Refugees is directly from Gemini Rising and that I decided to incorporate it in my setting. Thanks.

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First timer, I'd like some feedback on a story idea I had. It's basically meant to be an RPG, but I'm pretty sure it could also be made into a single player story otherwise.

The setting is nothing special with some magic and some lesser monsters to keep it simple. First advancements to new technologies such as dynamite can be seen, but it's very new so not that many know about. Whole setting is basically for the sake of making writting easier.

A young man arrives at a region to visit his grandfather. He's never been there alone, plus the last time was more than 10 years ago with his parents. Still, he decided to pay his grandpa a visit and travelled alone.

Shortly after he arrives, a merchants asks for help to escort him to the city to where he agrees, being introduced to the region. From there on the player can freely roam the region and do quests. He can even go to his destination and finish the game, but each quest would alter the fate of the people in the region a bit. The catch is, every single quest puts the people closer to misery. For example:

The protagonist meets a girl in the city who plans to secretly meet her close friend in a forest across the plains in front of the city. She asks you to escort her to that forest. Meanwhile in that forest are a stranded spy who plans to assassinate the king of the country and that female friend. Now there are multiple endings for that quest.

1/2

Before you escort the girl to the forest, you can give the assassin a nearby sword, which has been dropped by a royal knight. Shortly after he will meet the friend of the girl, who will recognize the sword, calling him a bandit. As he's scared of failing his mission, he silences her. Either by killing, or just catching her. In this scenario he'd probably not assassinate the king as he doesn't have the equipment to travel alone unrecognized. He'd probably rape the girl's friend and/or sell her on the black market

If the player picks up the royal sword and returns it to the knights, the assassin would just kill the king.
If the player still helps the two girls afterwards, they'd go into the forest alone to pick rare flowers/have some romantic sex/whatever. However, during that, they accidentally set the forest on fire, dying in the process

If the player meets him during the escort, the girl would pressure him to help the stranded man, who would later kill/rape/kidnap the girl and her friend and then set out to kill the king.

That's the general gist of the sidequest. Other ideas are digging for treasure near an important body of water, but the protagonist just finds oil, poisoning the water around him. He may also trigger a war.

It'd be nice if I could hide some of the results. By sealing of the forest for example. I would still give hints, like having the mother of the girl worry about her daughter. She'd just assume she's with a man though.

At the end of the story, the grandfather, living on a cliff, would reveal that he could see everything (if the player did any questing of course) For that he can see anything in his field of vision as if it's in front of him. He can also show it others through touch. So he'd show the young man the results of his visit, like rape, poisoning, hordes of monsters, whatever comes to mind really. During this conversation the young man is becomes mostly silent, just letting it in to have a greater impact on the player.

Finally the old man would ask the young man/player if he noticed the results of his actions. And if he can truly be condemned for them, since he doesn't know the result beforehand. Just because he brought ruin to the people the last ten times, doesn't mean he'll do the same next time, much like a coin that showed heads ten times in a row. As his final line, he would ask the young man "So, will you do me a favour?"

To emulate the time aspect a bit, I would make each quest let the world progress one step. In the example above, the assassin needs "three steps" to reach the city and kill the king. In other words: After helping the assassin, he'll kill the king after the player completes three other quests (or reaches the grandfather's house). This would make it easier to mask result of each quest.

Might want to reread the OP, the storythread might not be the best place to ask this. If DnD, /5eg/ maybe?

I wasn't sure, this was the closest thing I was looking for. The idea was for a video game, but as I said, it could also be played as a single player PnP

I get that, but this still really isn't the right place for it. Try making your own new thread for it.

Well we don't have to be that strict. I mean yeah, technically it's not exactly what we're looking for, but it's within the ballpark. This thread is fundamentally here to help writers with whatever they're working on. The only reason I got more specific with the requirements in the OP was because people would often mistake this thread for an 'epic campaign greentexts' thread.

picture unrelated.

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bump..I am out of pics

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Been a quiet day.

Don't die, thread, I'm in the middle of writing something.

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There pictures have a similar theme, must resist writing anything related to that....

Do it potential author. DOOO EEEEIIITT! Write story about a loving human husband and his dragon-girl wife being happy about their soon-to-be-born child. Or the pretty royal looking lady who's praying to the god(s) that her baby boy or girl will be a good one and that her husbando is well

Well first one wouldn't far shot from what I usually write (After all I had dwarf and, for lack of better term, drider getting along, while raising kobold tribe together with a whitedragoness)

As for second one...Well I do have something similar, but there is no king, only necromancer that loves the queen he saved long ago....

Go on, you know you want to. Not that I'm encouraging smut, but there's no actual rule against it.

Don't worry I tend to avoid that

Well I wish you luck potential author. While I'm leaning for the human and his pregnant dragon-girl spouse, I don't mind the preggers royal woman who's wishing to the gos her husbando is A-OKAY.

Excuse me Chronicler, I don't mean to be nosy. But I just want you to see And let you know that my last week's story, Twin Refugees:

>1d4chan.org/images/f/fd/Twin_Refugees.png

Is based on another story written by another writefag, which is Gemini Rising. (Pic related)

And maybe you could make a minor edit that says Twin Refugees would be my continuation of Gemini Rising and that I decided to incorporate it in my setting. Thank you.

Hmmm, I might think of something out of this picture aswell, but maybe later or tommorrow.

But as a guy who likes LCB too, I hop this guys -> Also comes up with something 40K with this pic too.

I have a rogue trader and her sanctioned mekboy left over from my last silly story

Who said that royal has a husband?