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SALSA VERDE
SALSA VERDE

▅▅▅▅austin | ♏︎ | he/him | 28 | vegan

Hi, I’m Salsa Verde, arguably the best salsa and formally known as the writer, Syn. I’m a Wildlife Biologist traveling the country looking to work with the coolest: herps, mammals, birds, and invertebrates I can get my hands on. I also like plants, trees, and fungi specifically. I’ve been writing for about 13 years now and recently decided to get back into it. I enjoy anything from casual to high roleplay, 1x1, and arena. My main genres tend to be anime, SOL, and superhero but I’m really down to participate in anything. And yeah I like all that weeb shit.

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Most Recent Posts

Done




Interacting with: Queen of Parrench@Force and Fury
Opportunity: Eskand-aligned Players - Find Ulfhild unconscious on next cycle of posting

Event: Siege of Relouse | Skirmish with the Queen Location: Cape of Redame | Secluded area off the initial shore

Arvid & Haldor Ulven vs Eleanor of Perpignan


Eleanor of Perpignan had not been a warrior as a girl. She had been good and studious, devoted to the Pentad. She had spent hours in embroidery, poetry, the harp, and prayer to the Five.

War had come, though, and so had her Gift: of the *fifth* wheel, and the little duchess had been trained to wield her powers for the safety and salvation of her people. On her fourteenth birthday, she had been fitted for her first set of armour. Engraved with her family's crest and the glories of the Gods, how it had gleamed. The great shield had stood nearly as tall as the callow young girl whose forearm it had been strapped to. The sword had been beautiful, but not to her liking. A more 'feminine' weapon, she had been told. She had traded it for a massive war hammer that she could not have hoped to wield without the Gift.

Yet, as she lay about those around her, carving a swathe through the Eskandr, a strange sort of peace came over her. That lives were lost, she could not help. She would pray for them, wretched souls that they were, should she be blessed enough to survive the day. Eleanor had just finished battering a warlock into the water with her Force magic, drowning him, when a pair of bersekers who appeared so similar that they had to be brothers approached her, shouting challenges in their uncouth tongue. The Queen turned their way and raised her mighty shield. "Turn back now," she called out in that same language, "or I will send you to your deaths."

The brothers weren’t above fighting a woman nor a child, so when what seemed to be the first notable warrior to grace the field they reacted and did not fret over what lay between their legs. The appearance of the shield and hammer did nothing to sway them from their mission and the chance at furthering their glory. Spitting whatever blood pooled in their mouthes, foreign or native, they gripped the worn handle of their axes in defiance.

“Ha, you’d be doing us a favor then lady. Now lets see what your god has to say for you.”

The shield was the first hurdle they had to clear before they could really being to corner her, but too much focus on the shield would leave the hammer to crush their skulls. The two rushed forward but then branched off hoping to go for a classic pincer technique aiming to disarm her.

Then my conscience is clear, Eleanor told herself, but she put nothing else to words. They came at her in a pincer movement, from both sides, one the more skilled, but both of their attacks were sophomoric and predictable. It spoke to their exhaustion, perhaps, having been so long on this battlefield, or else their stupidity. The queen neither knew nor cared. Pulling directly from their bodies, tearing the energy from their few manas, she stole their motion and leapt back, expelling it in a massive shove that flattened both brothers. Eleanor first went to one, raising her hammer to strike, a merciless fury flaring in her eyes. She raised her shield above the other, prepare to bring it down in a grisly decapitation. "Yield!" she bellowed, voice amplified by Force magic, "And accept the might of the Pentad!"

If the two had not been aware of their limits before, they fully well knew now. Like peat from a fen, the two felt a sudden sapping of energy as if they were trekking through the deepest recesses of a wetland. The brothers weren’t strangers to the gift since their gods decided to bless their sister with it rather than them. Yet, even without it this woman was exactly the class of warrior they so desperately sought. Arvid now pinned to the ground was faced with the full wraith and contempt the knight had for the ‘heathens’. Gritting his teeth he turned to Haldor, “Make sure to make this count” he said, throwing one axe into the air and attempting to sink the other one into any exposed armor near her foot, in an attempt to anchor or wing clip the warrior queen.

As much as he wanted to forbid his brother from such foolishness, it was too late. With what little energy left within him, Haldor hoisted himself up aiming to push past the shield to either sink his own steel into her or get her into position for the axe to fall on its intended target.

Eleanor spun away from the blow at her ankle and brought her hammer down. That was the last of the mortal world that Arvid knew before the Visitor's Table. Haldor, who'd been able to pull himself to his feet, met with better fortune, however, the Queen having focused on his brother. With a roar, he surged forward and slammed into her. His attack was easily blocked, but the one that Arvid had thrown, as his final living act, came down and struck true...

Only, Eleanor had felt it the moment that it struck. With preternatural reflexes, she pulled all of the Force from it and wrenched it from her pauldron. This, she discarded with a snarl, rolling her shoulder and grimacing. "So you have chosen death!" Drawing the heat from around her, she focused it into an arcane lance and fired this straight at Haldor.

Winner: Eleanor de Perpignan




Ulfhild Ulven vs Eleanor of Perpignan


Ulfhild had been busy or lack there of with biding her time seeking the perfect opportunity to disembark from the ships and out from under the shadow Hrothgar had been casting over her. Alas that perfection would never come. The desire to jump out and aid Kol in his push into the forest was one she was ready to commit to. Maybe this meant she would run into the old crew as they’d no doubt be alongside their King. Though, that option was thrown to the side when her eyes caught glimpse of a dazzling display of arcane reflecting off armor and piercing her brothers chest like a lance shattered in a joust. Her blood ran cold and her body limp. Despite knowing better, she couldn’t fight the urge to glance over to find Arvid. Her pupils dilated in what she could only make out to be her headless brother.

Her stomach pushed up bile and what small chunks of food were still left from this mornings feast. Hands and body both quaked in fear and anger. The time for grief and denial were to be saved for later, for now she would have to avenge her kin despite having finally been graced with the presence of the visitor. Ulfhild uncoiled the rope strap from her pouch and pulled out several tinctures. The corkscrews fell from each, taking their place between the webbings of her fingers. Inhaling several of the concoctions she stored within, the onset of the effects were quick. Her body became still and she felt and overpowering urge to let loose. She tossed the empty bottles to the side and almost robotically drew arrow after arrow from her quiver and let loose in the direction of the Queen.

Three arrows dipped in the blinding light of her arcane followed by three arrows ablaze at the tips right on the heels of the first wave of arrows. Her legs drew Ulfhild closer to site of her brothers murders.

No sooner had the second berserker's body dropped to the ground with a smoking hole through his chest, than Eleanor picked out a series of energies - both arcane and force - moving towards her. Too late, she realized that the first were intended to blind and, even as she pushed them away, she blinked furiously, stumbling back. Lashing out half-blindly with Force magic, she batted all but one out of the air. That single arrow, however, glanced off of her armour, scoring it and warping it from sheer heat. The scalding metal pressed into the Queen's side and she let out a yelp of pain. The culprit, a woman ranger, was fast headed towards her. Perhaps Eleanor might yet attack, but perhaps she should heal first. One was not reckless in combat or one was dead. The Queen called, then, upon the Gift of Oraphe and bound her wounds until she could scarce feel them. Her armour, warped and buckled in that spot, flexed outwards into an imperfect approximation of what it had been before. She turned to face her onrushing foe.

No thoughts that strayed her mind from formulating a battle plan as the tides of war progressed had could pass her brains impregnable defense. Everything she did was for an exact reason and would set her up for her next series of attacks and defense if needed. If she wasn’t going to rely on subterfuge this time she was going to press the knight with a reign of arrows unlike any other she had seen before. If Hrothgar’s shamans and mages didn’t make the sky black with their magic, Ulfhild would.

The attacks seemed to connect, but as she deduced from the cauterized hole through her brother, she was favored by the gift as well, not just that but classically trained in it. She would pay her the respects that were due, especially since she healed the damage that Ulfhild imparted. More arrows whizzed out from her bow, but with no augmentations. Instead they had little bottles attached behind the arrowhead. Had she knocked the arrows away or destroyed them, the bottles would shatter and scatter spores all around her. In the interim however, she had super heated the next line of arrows she had knocked on her bow and shot down at the Knights feet as she circled around at a distance.

Unlike Eleanor the floor was static and yielded nor dodged from a firefight. The schism between soil and sand made it a perfect opportunity to displace Eleanor’s footing. Once struck sand turned to crystal, one misstep and the earth would crack and slip. She readied more arrows. Palming less than a dozen arrows left, the rest were in her boat.

Eleanor had decided that to remain a moving target for an archer was folly. Gathering energy from waves, arrows, and other forces alike, she leapt into the sky, cleanly evading the hailstorm of projectiles and drawing from the Force that pulled her down to keep herself in the air. She landed mere feet from Ulfhild, eyes afire with magic. Her hammer swung in a horizontal arc for the ranger's head.

Fast, she was incredibly fast. Normally launching oneself in the air left you exposed, but just as quickly as she was in the air she was back to the ground, mere meters away from Ulfhild. Her massive hammer swung at her head hoping to lop it off and make that two Ulven’s with no head to accompany them in the next life. Every cell in her body had been screaming and alerted when her ears picked up the sound of the hammer whirling through the air. Ulfhild yanked her head back narrowly missing the kiss of death. Her unoccupied hand threw up a few vials from her pouch that followed the path of the hammer. Arcane magic exploded the bottles causing an eruption of fire hoping to stick to and engulf the knight, while Ulfhild drew some distance from them once more.

The flames boiled away and smoke faded, but the Queen was already bursting through them like some kind of demon from those old sagas of the Heksebog, the head of her massive war hammer glowing orange-hot. She closed the distance with inhuman speed and thrust forward with her shield, ready to bring her weapon arcing down on Ulfhild.

What were they feeding their soldiers? Ulfhild thought or tried to at least with what felt like a ferocious lion bursting through the smoke. Her arms went up in attempt at some defense, but the shield proved to be a weapon in its own right. Dazed and with little time to react she used the momentum of the shield blow to push her back to avoid the hammer. One hand pulled, taking the arrows she fired just before that missed, to curved their path back unto the back of the knight. While she flew back she created an illusion a few inches in front of her that would recover just a bit after Ulfhild actually recovered to serve as a guise so she could attack again.

The ranger recovered with almost abnormal speed. Usually, a smash like that would've broken bones and sent its victim sprawling. Instead, the Queen's Hammer tore a massive, smoking gouge out of the ground.

She overbalanced.

She overbalanced badly enough that she did not recover on time. Arrows came whistling back at her and she was not able to avoid them all. One skipped off of her shield and embedded its tip in her armour, drawing a stinging sensation and a trickle of blood. "Enough!" the Queen howled, reaching out with a fist of pure Force to grab this stubborn heathen with.

Whatever favor she gained from her gods was shining down upon her. She made easy work of her brothers and every Eskandr before them. Ulfhild, not untouched, still stood tall in the face of her enemy. Perhaps the gods would prevail over Eleanor’s. The force hand missed, but Ulfhild took the opportunity to run alongside the hand and throw out large clumps of sand she had picked up from her earlier dodge. With a snap of the fingers the sand clumps turned into a shower of small crystals as if it was hailing. Light refracted from one crystal to another until they form a type of birdcage of light around the Queen hoping to blind her better than her original entry into the fight. She shot 6 arrows all together right on top of each other to form a more concentrated and potent attack to move past these small victories. 2 arrows remained perched in her quiver.

She was fighting stupidly. This ranger was smart, quick, and slippery. Her tenacity had gotten to Eleanor, on some level, but also her humanity. This was another human being - a woman of an age as her - lovingly crafted in the hands of Aun-Oraphe, though she was as yet deaf and blind to the goddess' calling. They were here fighting, and one might very well die while, in another life, they may have been friends or peers. Another inventive attack aimed to blind her, but the Queen was growing wise to these types of tricks, by now. Drawing the light from the blinding arrows and grabbing the others with Force, she turned them on the archer and they sped at their target. Some energy, she kept behind, however, waiting for the right moment to use it.

Already an object in motion she found no force looking to stop her, this was to her disadvantage. Arrows she had directed at Eleanor had been wrought back onto her. Able to control the temperature of the arrows she extinguished the flames but was pierced in a few spots on her body, luckily nothing vital. Arrows were always a nuisance to get out. She dropped her bow and broke several of the arrows off of her leaving the meat of the arrow still inside of her. With a thunderous roar she uncharacteristically charged at the Queen attempting to propel herself off the the shield towards her brothers direction while throwing a superheated blade from her waste with a sprinkle of force.

The arrows struck true and part of Eleanor exulted while another part winced. "Why won't you retreat!?" she demanded, stalking forward. The ranger was breaking them off as she spoke. "You are beaten. I know that your gods mean much to you, but can you not see now that they are stories while the power, the purpose, and the *mercy* of the Pentad that fill me are very real!"

Ulfhild was already flying at her, though, and her blade, superheated, on its own. Feeling the deep, comforting power of Oraphe-Sept coursing through her, Eleanor breathed and called the energy from the weapon until it clattered to the ground at her feet. She placed her boot on it and, when the Eskandr had nearly reached her, pivoted deftly instead of blocking with her shield. This is why you shouldn't fight in close, ranger. Able to pick her shot, she slammed the semi-sharpened butt of her hammer into the woman's abdomen with extreme force and could feel things inside give way. The Eskandr crumpled to the ground and Eleanor loomed over her, hammer ready to strike if need be. "I will not judge you if you yield and nobody will know. You do not need to throw your life away. If your Gods demand it, then they are unjust." Her voice began forceful enough, but the last part was nearly a plea.

Like a tranquilized bear, the more wounds she sustained the less her alchemical mixtures could fend off the damage. Her gods weren’t merely a story, else wise they would not have the gift on their ‘heathen’ side. Perhaps Ulfhild was not meant to fell the Queen by her own sword despite not even realizing she was the queen. The connection of the hammer to her body shook her with a debilitating shockwave that crashed harder than any of the ones she rode in on. Her body felt like it had been stabbed with static electricity and she could see her bones rattling. She was right, close quarters combat was left to better warriors, she had just wanted to retriever her brothers axes as a way to attempt her own final blow, but her gods luck ran out.

Blood splattered across the ground. “I can’t retreat, you killed my brothers” she gurgled with another retching of blood exiting her mouth. An eye full of bitterness peaked out from behind her sopping wet hair, propping herself up on an elbow. “The gods will know…and I will know. Is your god never unjust?”

Eleanor took a step back, then, expression shifting. Her brothers. No wonder some ranger came at me like a mountain lion. "Then I grieve for their loss, truly, but know that I gave them the same opportunity as I now give you. They made their choice. They... died bravely, I suppose you would think." She shook her head, pained, the rain pelting off of her armour, wisps of steam rising around her and a light of the Arcane glowing dimly at her back as if in aura. "Why is it that you Eskandr cannot live in peace!?" She demanded. "Why do you invade our lands and kill our people? Why do you not allow the light of the Pentad into you lives?" she pleaded. "I do not understand it. Their ways are mysterious, truly, but they are never unjust. I believe that with all of my heart and soul."

What solace she was offered she had begrudgingly taken. It was a peace to her and her gods knowing her brothers died with honor. It wasn’t that Ulfhild wanted to die, she still had felt she had much left to do in this world, but if she were to meet her fate right now at least it was to some indomitable soul such as this. The touch of precipitation almost felt as if her gods or that of Eleanor’s faith was weeping in the face of this decision. “We do live in peace, but we cannot know peace with your kind until the debts are settled and you treat us more than just animals.” Ulfhild would be lying if she were to defend the merciless killing of civilians, but the chance of religious conversion and amnesty could be a possibility, just not in her lifetime. “That same light will only lead to darkness around everything I’ve known. I would no longer be accepted by either country, you know that well. Just show me your sympathies by killing me. One less heathen blessed with the gift.”

"So be it then, unnamed warrior. Would that we had met not as enemies." Had Eleanor not shown mercy? Had she not treated this one as more than an 'animal'? She did not know how deep the cultural wounds lay. In any case, the two of them had drifted some ways from the battle, fighting as they had on the slopes that became cliffs a short way to the south. "Know that the one who bested you this day was Eleanor de Perpignan, Queen of the Parrench. May you go to your gods well." With that, she swung her mighty weapon and, after a moment of blazing pain, the Eskandr knew only darkness.

For a moment, the Queen stood there in the rain, her armour battered and dented, her hair singed, and her cloak drenched and dirtied. It was all so senseless, war. All so brutal. The ranger slept before her. Eleanor had delivered only a knockout blow, not possessed of the heart to finish her off. Perhaps she might accept it, in time. Even if the woman did not, the Queen could not bear to strip a single family of three sons and daughters in the span of some fifteen minutes. She pressed her eyelids shut for a moment and breathed. Then, knowing her duty, she opened them and walked away.

Winner: Eleanor de Perpignan





<Snipped quote by Prisk>

Some days I think about my old username too . Even to the point where I think about going back to good ole, reliable Altered Tundra (without the space because the Guild's coding around usernames is weird). But at the same time, I feel like I've become fully comfortable in my new identity.

But thank you for all the kind things you said! I go through my own days where I doubt that I hold a candle to some of the writers I write with. Or maybe my language isn't as good as some others, but it's nice to hear it every once in a while. :)


You’ll always be tundy to me
First
Interest
@Prisk

Shadow Hunter!
Ulfhild Ulven


Interacting with: Self @Salsa Verde
Opportunity: Eskand-aligned Players - Potential travellers that have shared the same boat for the siege. And those of Parrench looking to battle NPC’s

Event: Siege of Relouse Location: Cape of Redame

It was true that the previous nights feast and talk with Hrothgar put her anxious spirits to rest, she had no semblance of a reason to be so adamant about the battle seeing as she was neither seerer nor gifted by the vision of the raven. Kol’s presence may have been what reassured her soul the most however. Sharing the hall had made it feel like ages had passed since she had last seen him and for that matter Hildr and Vali as well. A slight tinge of quaint memories flooded her head, mostly at the notion of how they all had met, specifically that lout of a ranger Vali. Between his towering stature and confident personality she knew that had she stuck with him from the boats to the start of the battle she would have nothing to fear, save for the loss of Parrench bodies to Vali and Kol in their numbers game.

When the waves broke and the initial ships were not obscured or cloaked by the army of shamans and magic men of the like, Eskandr’s would gaze upon the Cape. The slight modicum of fear beat roughly against her chest in unison with the cacophonous beat of the war drams heavy on her heels. There was a trill of excitement, bloodlust, and anxiety stuck in her throat that made her want to cough and herald out a frog that seemingly sat in the back of her mouth. The landscape and sheer force on either side was what launched her from warrior to champion as her raids were small and dismal in comparison from the lands in which she hailed. Her breath heavy, puffing out clouds of hot air, finally broke into a laugh she could no longer hold back. It was reassuring to feel as though Hrothgar was smiling under his heavy helmet as well.

All sound was sucked from the surrounding space as if a vacuum has appeared. Only broken by the crashing of stones and boulders launched from catapults, laced with the sting of arrows fastened onto ballista. The waters thrashed from the shockwaves, capsizing some boats and rocking other vigorously. Hrothgar’s boat and those ships that sailed beside him moved only slightly but had enough of a push to throw Ulfhild from her position before relocating herself with some stability. The roar of the sea, projectiles, and men wailing as boats became to crumble all began to muddle together. Despite their best efforts, between magic and the grave waiting below the waves, the army of Eskand was unwavering, unflinching, an daunting in number that a ship was easily replaced by another.

Through the detritus of it all, they began their counter attack. Arrows, flames, all the elements began wizzing and singing past her ears. It was pure carnage both on sea and even more so on land. Her knuckles began to grow white as she had one hand gripped hard on her bow and the other twitching with an inch to snatch an arrow of her quiver and plant it in the defenders of the shore. She had wondered how her brothers were fairing.

Just then the two brothers howled in elation when the mast halted and the inertia of the shore stopped their ships. Behind the aid of a Thunder Warlock the few preliminary ships tasked with being the first waves made ground fall. Axes jumped into both hands appearing as if the brothers were one and had embodied four arms with four axes in hand. While the others were no warriors and more akin to farmers and the geriatric these two were spry with life and the glory of being the first force wouldn’t slip past them, for they wanted to set a tempo that could leave the following waves into an ease of capture. Arvid knelt down, Haldor approaching from behind before using his brother as a stump to catapult himself into a wave of Parrench soldiers. Arvid was quick to follow plunging his axes deep into the armor of Parrench making it crunch under the weight of his strikes.

The two carved a path through the defenders who met them, constantly tossing and catching their axes by different positions to deal a flurry of strikes. Both Ulven’s made it back to one another where they pushed their back together ensuring neither had a blind spot exposed. Some men were hesitant to attack, others waited for braver soldiers to initiate an attack, and others led the charge. Yet it didn’t matter for each of these men all died the same and without their god smiling kindly upon them. Their axes need not be retrieved immediately fore they disarmed the men in front of them and plunged their own iron and steel into their bodies. While the two brothers did have shields painted in the color of their banner they need not for its use, there would be no shield wall only the fury of their metal. Just as the bear Ulfhild had slain these two snarled in battle and tore flesh from the soldiers faces through prying teeth alone. The blood smeared along with their paint giving the natives their validation that these men were indeed heathens.

These men were simply fodder, reject knights that failed to climb up the nobility in terms of status or skill. While there was pride for killing them there was no glory in killing lowly foot soldiers as there was in stripping a prominent knight of his life. They looked high and low through the clamor and clanging of swords in search of someone(s) worthy of their hunt. Hopefully someone would take notice of them and face them in their own territory.

Back to Ulfhild she waited for Hrothgar’s orders while the mist held fast around them, the element of surprise was surely in their favor, the only thing that could have made this siege any better was the roar from father’s hammer in the sky with rain falling aggressively behind it. Kol had already landed and began his own mark and raze of Parrench forces leaving her to wait in the boat in his leave. Wait, you must wait, she told herself knowing that she would be saved for the third and final group hidden in wait of their own task. All she could do was look on in horror to those who were not granted a swift nor easy death. A mix of the two factions had men riddled on the shore with ample injuries. Some struggled to release themselves from the clasp of shock when they realized they no longer had limbs. Others had been gutted and pointlessly begun stuffing their innards back inside of them hoping to survive.

There was wailing, gurgles, final breaths and the clang of might and magic. The stench of blood and burnt hair and flesh was almost overpowering to a sensitive nose like hers. Necks were slit others fully decapitate. Heads and bodies were crushed under rocks, some unfortunate enough to have simply a part trapped underneath eager to free themselves. Some were floating on the wood of a ballista snaring them into the sky while others were riddled with normal arrows with an uncanny resemblance to a pin cushion or archery target. This continued in what felt like a folk tale length of all the ways a man could die in battle. Ulfhild had resided to not having the opportunity to perish in battle at least not this one. She hoped Systir, Bróðir, and Faðir may watch over the safety of her brothers.
I actually played the shit out of Lost Ark.

I refuse to have this on the 3rd page, so double post incoming. Let's go through combat scenes.

The image of The Spirits Within combat that I've had in my head has finally found a great example that I can show you. This video is a class showcase of a game mode in Lost Ark. Combat scenes in the roleplay follows the same formula for enemies: Big bads that lead a ton of cannon fodder enemies. The speed and flashiness of the player character is all in there as well. The blood splatter, explosions from spirit energy, all of it is what I've wanted to convey but haven't so far.



The second part to combat is the 'game' aspect of it, which you don't have to actively take part in if you don't want to. The details of it can be found in the Codex-thread. There is a bunch of 'icons' that you attach to your combat post, which will influence how things turn out. However, main point of this post was to show the 'style' of the combat, so that the vision is uniform in all of us here.






Finally scarfing down of what remained of her danishes or rather what didn’t she was finally able to both breathe and witness all that was going on around her. Wiping any excess glaze or cheese off her face she made herself presentable once more. Just in time too, seeing as the students one by one began pouring into the room. There was one more familiar student she saw from where she knew Albrecht from as well. The two seemed way more regal and eloquent than she, but she also supposed that came with the territory of being royalty and not limited to dukedom. She wondered just how the two of them were adjusting to being in the monastery. She stood to join the conversation that was undergoing until she saw another member slip themselves into the medley.

Knowing nothing of whom nor where she was from, Aileas was fascinated by the wildfire that was her hair. It was somewhat akin to the color of Ezekial’s but a more orange flame. Either way she took the wave from Ezekial as an invitation to discourse rather than a formality. Making her way down the stairs she couldn’t help but overhear the on going’s of the conversation from the new student. She was apparently of the same country and allegiance as Ezekial. The idea of tea did sound good as her mouth was a bit parched from the amount of sugar and dough she had just consumed.

Entering the fray she bid her hat in as well, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance just as well Clarissa, I’m Aileas Hyland Dominic, of House Dominic. Hello Albrecht and Ezekial I’m glad to see a few familiar faces” she said a bit dryly. As much as she felt more comfortable with a lance than with a dress she still had socialites and manners imprinted on her in large part due to her mother. Still clueless to why the class was called so early, Aileas was eager for it to begin. “Why do you think class is starting so early?” She said hoping someone would acquiesce her invitation for conversation.
i like that conversation has turned to the time capsule and its contents, makes for a good segue when i get the 'official starting post' out


I’ll take my award now
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