Current
Seeing TikTok being banned tonight reminds me of how you banned me from your life. I miss you… tell your mom I said hi
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2 mos ago
If you use ChatGPT you’re kind of a loser
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2 mos ago
Apparently they kick you out the mall if you give Santa spiked eggnog
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2 mos ago
MUSTARDDDDDDDDD
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3 mos ago
Or don't
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Bio
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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.
[Location] Near the outskirts of Landow, Estren [Time] Sunday, 06:00 - 07:00 [Interactions] N/A
The aromatic scent of freshly ground coffee beans sprinkled through the air, finally making their way into the nasal passages of Castaño. It was a luxury often forgotten for him to wake up to a scalding hot cup of tinto. It caressed his face, pawed at the blankets, pulling the curtains astrew to let little rays of light dance upon his eyelids.
“Ya lo se, es el hora para levantar” to whom he was expressing his annoyance, no one could know. Instinctively, his body rose and cajoled his mind into finally cracking up his lids to take in his childhood room that had not changed much. A poster of a Castralian singer whose hips didn’t lie was faded and had been covered by a religious illustration of Ultima, his mother’s doing no doubt. His toes dancing and spreading on the cold limestone floor granted him dexterity for the toll the push off his bed would ultimately take on his rapidly declining muscular strength. Walking down the short hallway to the dining room he was greeted with a basket of freshly bought bread, a myriad of selection, his favorite being the pan de bono. A bread made from cassava starch, cheese, and egg. His jaw ached in anticipation of housing three in the matter of seconds, only tempered by the swirling spoon and sound of metal on porcelain that rounded the corner in the hand of his mother.
“Buenos días mama, cómo amaneciste?”
“Bien hijo, tranquilo, siéntese para comer”
His mother always babied him, probably because he was the only son in his family. That’s right, where was his other family? They all should have been up before him. Castaño sat down and began to drink his coffee, but when he drank it was ice cold despite the heat clearly emanating plumes of steam. Disoriented, he looked to his mother who had been talking, yet there was no noise leaving her mouth. Just as he was about to ask her to repeat a group of suits busted through the doors and windows, guns drawn, taking aim to fire at him and his mother. Castaño rushed up to shield her, a bit too late as the bullet bore deep into both of them.
Castaño awoke gasping for air, expecting to be in a cold sweat with a puddle formed around his mattress, instead he was cold to the touch. Short gasps for air only left his throat burned and an icy breath with each huff. In the darkness before dawn, he rushed to the thermostat to confirm his psychosis. 26 degrees celsius, Shiva’s way of telling him or rather ordaining him to respond to her needs just as well. Then it came back to him, his purpose, why he was in the outskirts of Landow, The Festival of Lights. At this point he begged for a dream with Shiva over the laborious nightmares that plagued him. And so, with no coffee and nothing more than a half full water bottle, Castaño began getting ready to stalk this so-called festival.
It didn’t take long for Castaño to make his way into the festival grounds, getting lost in a sea of disciples and believers in nothing more than simple garb made him practically invisible. Attention by security detail was reserved for the regalia in attendance, kind of counterproductive in his mind. Once the main detail began to break off into separate locations, Castaño found himself sliding in shadowed alleyways and on the outside of the central commerce which was teeming with food stands beginning the opening of their fervently anticipated money maker event. He kept his eyes on the more renowned regalia in the likes of Laura Genevieve, a name too big for her britches. Despite his desire for anonymity, Shiva’s pull on his body to partake in the festivities was standing in the way of just that. It was hard being the regalia of a dominant so opulent and powerful and not being able to represent that. She would get her stage, just not until the pieces were set.
[Location] Downtown ➙ Food Stands
[Time] Sunday, 07:30 AM [Interactions] N/A
The half an hour that passed felt like an eternity, the smell of fish and meat tore into the aching of his empty stomach. Close to insanity the festivities finally broke when the appearance of a meteor crashed through the sky. Clouds parted and shot away in rapid speed to avoid the nefarious rock making its entrance through an otherwise scenic sky on the heels of a breaking dawn.
“Marica mira eso”
Whatever Castaño and Shiva anticipated that day had been quickly dashed with the emergence of this world altering event. Perhaps all of his nightmares were a warning of what was happening today and why he was sent here amidst the other regalia. Either way, his belly would be satiated on the sustenance this newfound chaos administered to him. Castaño pressed the advantage of the ensuing despair in the crowd to cloak his movements. A watchful eye was kept transfixed on Laura and another largely built man as they served to direct the traffic of people in disarray. Preventing unnecessary injuries and bycatch on civilians while they dealt with the meteor was smart. Perhaps they were worthy of the ilk bestowed on them by their dominant, only time would tell.
Normally Castaño would have helped, however he needed to remain invisible until he was sure that releasing himself to Shiva was absolutely necessary and didn’t infatuate the masses with residue. Castaño swam in the crowd marking those who weren’t quick to panic, most likely regalia, and those who were tasked in protecting and evacuating them in terms of military personnel. He waited for all the dominoes to fall, waiting for his role in this event, but not before procuring a random skewer from a small tent and leaving a singular coin.
P R E S E N C ECastaño is a husk in a sense or at least how he sees himself. The proud, hot blooded Castralian he once was with the sense of pride that could not be extinguished even by the coldest winters was gone. His heart and soul that made him a man of the earth had been replaced with a sense of purpose that would only be quenched with vengeance regardless if it was a sentiment worthy of the chase. Castaño had not lost himself in obsession or hate, in his eyes as it seemed. In his outward disposition he wore no hint of emotion nor a mask that served as a faux perception for people. Not many got the privilege of seeing his face anyways and if they did the only description would be an air of grievous seriousness with a tinge of sorrow. He exuded an aura of chilliness, whether that was his doing or Shiva’s he did not know. An aura that made masses steer clear of him when he walked through crowded spaces or resided in the corner of a bar or pub.
Castaño is very meticulous, orderly, and precise about how he approaches everything, down to folding his clothes into his bag a certain way. He reacts to the world around him with a plan, everything had a plan and every plan had a series of back up plans for when things went tits up. He isn’t one for talking, despite constantly talking to himself because he believes he and Shiva share a bond strong enough that she hears him and humors him with a conversation. Dreams and visions are the only time that she is actually speaking to him, but Castaño still acts otherwise. Castaño hasn’t been unable to shed his ability to only process the world and the decisions necessary to navigate through it in a military/spec-ops lens. Every interaction is meaningful and filled with purpose otherwise he wouldn’t engage with waste.
Multilingual from his profession, he speaks in almost every language. Despite that he utilizes english the most even when talking at Shiva. His mother tongue only comes out when envenomated. Normally he feels unworthy of speaking it on a day to day due to his excommunication with his country.
C H R O N I C L ECastaño grew up in the less than lavish parts of Castral, that’s not to say that it was worth any less than the cityscape. No, you see in his eyes the jewel of Castral existed in the countryside. Where people were direct descendants of the soil, the lifeblood of the country that worked under the harsh sun and greenery that covered land to mountains like a warm rug. He grew up poor as did many Castralians, but that didn’t deter them from being one of the happiest countries to exist in their very crowded planet. Castaño was blessed enough to have a healthy family, a house over his head, and the ability to seek out an education. He often tended to the finca his family owned, where he learned how to fish, raise cattle and other livestock, and take from the earth to create but also provide for the earth as to not cheat their relationship.
Eventually he would finish his time in upper secondary and apply for universities in Monterrey, the capital city. He finished his degree in Ciencia Política, following his mandatory service in the military for his country. Castaño surpassed any expectation held for him during his service and offered the ability to join Castral’s special forces, known as the Brigada de Fuerzas Especiales. There were four sectors of special forces in Monterrey. However, of the four the BFE were experts in jungle warfare and direct action missions, not only internally, but abroad just as well. The BFE was the natural enemy of the FARM-EP, Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionaria de Monterrey-Ejército del Pueblo. A guerilla group that specialized in kidnapping, assassinations, extortion, and control of the drug trade in the mountains. Their goal being the redistribution of wealth as well as opposing influence from foreign governments and corporations.
Years of conflict and planned out assassinations had hardened Castaño, multiple bodies of his countrymen piling up behind him by his hands, while the rest of the country was blind to it all with their faith in the Dominants. Castaño would later be scheduled on his most intimate mission yet, becoming a spy and informant for the Monterrey Government and live as a FARM-EP member for the next few years. If he was compromised he would be tortured and made an example to the government and most likely end up dismembered and sent to the National Capitol. Saying goodbye to his family and erasing the rest of his presence, every being born and anything that connected him, he adopted a new identity and joined the revolutionary army. It didn’t take much for him to become a trusted peer with how expansive his skill set was.
He climbed the ranks and participated in the barbarism he had once fought to get rid of. Pieces of him shed and discarded until he was able to stomach his acts of heresy. He greased palms and was mostly silent unless his voice was needed. He advised and planned until he was introduced to the closer circle. They were able to stay afloat in operations by donations from other sympathetic paramilitary forces and governments that had special interests in their success in overtaking Castral. And that is where Castaño first learned of what power resided in crystals. He had been exposed to them before in the BFE but with a clearance too low to use them he had only heard through whisperers of their spectacle. They trusted Castaño with their supply, their secrets, their plans to create weapons that rivaled those of the government.
It was then he realized he had all that he needed to complete his mission and return home. That was until they released a secret that even Castaño could not stomach. The Castral government had been lying to Castaño, FARM wasn’t being supplied by the corporations at all nor were they killing innocent civilians. The Castral government had been turning into a puppet country with the president dealing intimately with the corporations at large to earn his place in their CEO’s inner circle. They had been collecting crystals and influence in order to bring a dominant under their control. Civilians were being silently sent to undisclosed caves to excavate materials to summon one, amassing bodies after bodies. Disgusted by the revelation, Castaño swore fealty to the FARM-EP and returned as a spy for them.
Little did he know that the corporations had eyes everywhere despite how slick he believed himself to be. Birds brought whispers of wind to the central government and were made alert of his plans. Unaware Castaño feigned fealty and brought the information he deemed necessary to the attention of his government. They awarded him a medal for his service and sent him on one last mission. To Glasia where he would infiltrate the company behind the provision of crystals.
Upon arriving at the harsh tundra rife with wind, snow, and everlasting darkness he made his way to the location given to him. The corporation coordinates turned out to be a location for an ambush where Castaño was violently gunned down and left for dead with his pack and winter gear stolen from him so he would freeze even if the gun wounds were not fatal. Castaño laid in a warm pool of his own blood, the heat from the open wounds creating small vapors off his body as the heat rose into the atmosphere. Betrayed by his government and his country he lay choking on his blood wondering if this was all that was left. Eyelids began to draw weak and could no longer remain open. The last glimpse he would catch would be the stars that illuminated the night sky, at least he would die with a view.
At least that was what he thought, until he saw the silhouette of a woman in what he thought was a shawl of white bedazzled with crystals.
“Do you wish to live just yet?”
Castaño on the ropes of consciousness tried to respond to the voice that rang through his head instead of his ears.
“Who, who’s there”
A cold wind chill raised the hair on his skin, followed by an icy finger caressing the wounds on his body, freezing them shut.
“It matter not who I am. Only if you are willing to become my regalia”
Castaño now felt his body suddenly being embraced, his head felt coddled and rested on a bosom that was unfamiliar to him.
“Soy tuyo. Ahora y para siempre, en cuerpo y alma”
Castaño violently awoke, somewhere that had a fire stoking in a furnace. His hands flew out in front of him perfectly healthy with no wound nor hole on his body. Whatever happened to him before must have been a dream or so he thought. Time passed and Castaño learned later the truth of his resuscitation and what it meant to be in indentured servitude of a dominant. Not that he didn’t mean what he said that night, he was forever Shiva’s and together would bring vengeance to the world. They worked over the next few years in secret, crippling Castral, getting closer to the answers of the who and the where without his identity slipping. The two would continue to look for answers with a lead hidden in a festival.
H O M EThe land that is Castral is abundant and a house that encompasses a multitude of biota and landscapes. Castaño likes to believe it was the birthplace or the battleground for the Dominants during their initial inception into this world. The reason he believes in this personal fiction so much is because of the landscape that surrounds him. Castral is bisected in half by both snow covered volcanos and jagged peaks of mountains that act as a natural defense. The last time the volcanoes had erupted was about a century ago. The fear of magma and heated rock still loom over the heads of its peoples, but they learned to live with the imminent peril if the plumes were to erupt and spell their end. The Sande, is one of the longest mountain ranges that expand past Castral and encompasses glaciers, ancient ruins from past civilizations, and contain some of, if not the world's largest mineral deposit.
Beyond the Sande that erupts from the south into the west, lies opportunity for the north and east. In those cardinal directions exist exquisite tropical beaches, where the next two largest cities in Castral are nestled in. It makes for a popular tourist attraction with the amount of lush sands and waters lap at the edge of Castral. Just because they have beaches and mountains doesn’t mean they are excluded from being home to deserts just as well, the most reknown, La Guajira, being a department on the sea home to dunes, remote ranches, and villages of the indigenous Guayuu people. Beyond the harsh landscapes that are surprisingly home to a lot of tourism there is one final region in the country known as Los Solnalo, one of the world's richest tropical grasslands.
Lastly, geographically speaking, are two intertwined segments. The Castral Basin which is the second largest drainage basin that runs throughout Castral and provides the environment to create Castrals rain forest that extends to the countries immediately surrounding Castral. The biodiversity of fauna and flora are the mainstays of the forest that houses both endemic and extant species. Creating a very tropical and warm climate for Castral and its citizens.
Castral culturally has influence from many sources as its residents are a mix of several backgrounds. The indigenous tribes that were there before exploration, the Eastern settlers that ‘found’ Castral and the slaves they brought with them from multiple countries. This helps bolster the Castralians are a vibrant people who make a lot with what little they have. They’re known to be one of the happiest peoples in the world who focus on their antiquity which is represented in their exotic and fast paced dances, their traditional clothing and attire, the food which takes its most popular form in fish from their coasts, bread and bakeries, and range of meats. You would be hard pressed to find a Castralian who doesn’t emanate positivity, animated persona, and general cheerfulness.
The country's language is based on Spanish spoken in the Americas rather than that of European influence. Common language is barely spoken in Castral, only taught in primary and secondary education. Their religion is focused around the worship of Ultima and Gaia with their major show of devotion through a tradition known as the Novena. The novena tradition is where a family member or friend hosts the rest of the family and/or friends in their home to recite the prayers for nine days leading to the 24th of the 12th month. Between prayers there are folk songs to be sung by the group and small dishes of food to be shared. The host and location is changed each day until the celebration where they honor their dominants and then celebrate with gifts and dance until the sun comes up.
A brief history of Castral can be summed up pretty succinctly. Like most countries, it was colonized before it won its independence nearly two hundred years ago. A series of historically important battles took place to ensure its freedom. However it hasn’t been without its bumps. Multiple civil wars were fought until a republic was settled on as its major form of government. Drug trade ran rampant in the country to the point that iconic figures controlled the local police and some politicians with money and influence until he was finally assassinated. Narcotraficantes still plague the country but not nearly as much when it was at its peak. The most recent issue that has been raised is the presence and assembly of guerilla groups forming in direct opposition of the Castral government.
T R I V I A Likes:
The Sun
Tinto(coffee) with bread in the morning and at night
Dancing
Tanning at the beach
Agriculture and Foraging
Journaling to keep a record
Sketching
The comfort of alcohol
Dislikes:
Senseless violence
The cold
Shiva’s personal obsession with him
Being unable to go home
Castaño understands the role and governance of being a regalia in the world. And so he indulges in Shiva’s need to be worshipped and visibly seen even if that goes against and compromises everything the two have been working for. A part of him does enjoy the intimacy that exists when the two are one and he can unarm himself to imbibe in human interaction.
P R E S E N C ECastaño is a husk in a sense or at least how he sees himself. The proud, hot blooded Castralian he once was with the sense of pride that could not be extinguished even by the coldest winters was gone. His heart and soul that made him a man of the earth had been replaced with a sense of purpose that would only be quenched with vengeance regardless if it was a sentiment worthy of the chase. Castaño had not lost himself in obsession or hate, in his eyes as it seemed. In his outward disposition he wore no hint of emotion nor a mask that served as a faux perception for people. Not many got the privilege of seeing his face anyways and if they did the only description would be an air of grievous seriousness with a tinge of sorrow. He exuded an aura of chilliness, whether that was his doing or Shiva’s he did not know. An aura that made masses steer clear of him when he walked through crowded spaces or resided in the corner of a bar or pub.
Castaño is very meticulous, orderly, and precise about how he approaches everything, down to folding his clothes into his bag a certain way. He reacts to the world around him with a plan, everything had a plan and every plan had a series of back up plans for when things went tits up. He isn’t one for talking, despite constantly talking to himself because he believes he and Shiva share a bond strong enough that she hears him and humors him with a conversation. Dreams and visions are the only time that she is actually speaking to him, but Castaño still acts otherwise. Castaño hasn’t been unable to shed his ability to only process the world and the decisions necessary to navigate through it in a military/spec-ops lens. Every interaction is meaningful and filled with purpose otherwise he wouldn’t engage with waste.
Multilingual from his profession, he speaks in almost every language. Despite that he utilizes english the most even when talking at Shiva. His mother tongue only comes out when envenomated. Normally he feels unworthy of speaking it on a day to day due to his excommunication with his country.
C H R O N I C L ECastaño grew up in the less than lavish parts of Castral, that’s not to say that it was worth any less than the cityscape. No, you see in his eyes the jewel of Castral existed in the countryside. Where people were direct descendants of the soil, the lifeblood of the country that worked under the harsh sun and greenery that covered land to mountains like a warm rug. He grew up poor as did many Castralians, but that didn’t deter them from being one of the happiest countries to exist in their very crowded planet. Castaño was blessed enough to have a healthy family, a house over his head, and the ability to seek out an education. He often tended to the finca his family owned, where he learned how to fish, raise cattle and other livestock, and take from the earth to create but also provide for the earth as to not cheat their relationship.
Eventually he would finish his time in upper secondary and apply for universities in Monterrey, the capital city. He finished his degree in Ciencia Política, following his mandatory service in the military for his country. Castaño surpassed any expectation held for him during his service and offered the ability to join Castral’s special forces, known as the Brigada de Fuerzas Especiales. There were four sectors of special forces in Monterrey. However, of the four the BFE were experts in jungle warfare and direct action missions, not only internally, but abroad just as well. The BFE was the natural enemy of the FARM-EP, Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionaria de Monterrey-Ejército del Pueblo. A guerilla group that specialized in kidnapping, assassinations, extortion, and control of the drug trade in the mountains. Their goal being the redistribution of wealth as well as opposing influence from foreign governments and corporations.
Years of conflict and planned out assassinations had hardened Castaño, multiple bodies of his countrymen piling up behind him by his hands, while the rest of the country was blind to it all with their faith in the Dominants. Castaño would later be scheduled on his most intimate mission yet, becoming a spy and informant for the Monterrey Government and live as a FARM-EP member for the next few years. If he was compromised he would be tortured and made an example to the government and most likely end up dismembered and sent to the National Capitol. Saying goodbye to his family and erasing the rest of his presence, every being born and anything that connected him, he adopted a new identity and joined the revolutionary army. It didn’t take much for him to become a trusted peer with how expansive his skill set was.
He climbed the ranks and participated in the barbarism he had once fought to get rid of. Pieces of him shed and discarded until he was able to stomach his acts of heresy. He greased palms and was mostly silent unless his voice was needed. He advised and planned until he was introduced to the closer circle. They were able to stay afloat in operations by donations from other sympathetic paramilitary forces and governments that had special interests in their success in overtaking Castral. And that is where Castaño first learned of what power resided in crystals. He had been exposed to them before in the BFE but with a clearance too low to use them he had only heard through whisperers of their spectacle. They trusted Castaño with their supply, their secrets, their plans to create weapons that rivaled those of the government.
It was then he realized he had all that he needed to complete his mission and return home. That was until they released a secret that even Castaño could not stomach. The Castral government had been lying to Castaño, FARM wasn’t being supplied by the corporations at all nor were they killing innocent civilians. The Castral government had been turning into a puppet country with the president dealing intimately with the corporations at large to earn his place in their CEO’s inner circle. They had been collecting crystals and influence in order to bring a dominant under their control. Civilians were being silently sent to undisclosed caves to excavate materials to summon one, amassing bodies after bodies. Disgusted by the revelation, Castaño swore fealty to the FARM-EP and returned as a spy for them.
Little did he know that the corporations had eyes everywhere despite how slick he believed himself to be. Birds brought whispers of wind to the central government and were made alert of his plans. Unaware Castaño feigned fealty and brought the information he deemed necessary to the attention of his government. They awarded him a medal for his service and sent him on one last mission. To Glasia where he would infiltrate the company behind the provision of crystals.
Upon arriving at the harsh tundra rife with wind, snow, and everlasting darkness he made his way to the location given to him. The corporation coordinates turned out to be a location for an ambush where Castaño was violently gunned down and left for dead with his pack and winter gear stolen from him so he would freeze even if the gun wounds were not fatal. Castaño laid in a warm pool of his own blood, the heat from the open wounds creating small vapors off his body as the heat rose into the atmosphere. Betrayed by his government and his country he lay choking on his blood wondering if this was all that was left. Eyelids began to draw weak and could no longer remain open. The last glimpse he would catch would be the stars that illuminated the night sky, at least he would die with a view.
At least that was what he thought, until he saw the silhouette of a woman in what he thought was a shawl of white bedazzled with crystals.
“Do you wish to live just yet?”
Castaño on the ropes of consciousness tried to respond to the voice that rang through his head instead of his ears.
“Who, who’s there”
A cold wind chill raised the hair on his skin, followed by an icy finger caressing the wounds on his body, freezing them shut.
“It matter not who I am. Only if you are willing to become my regalia”
Castaño now felt his body suddenly being embraced, his head felt coddled and rested on a bosom that was unfamiliar to him.
“Soy tuyo. Ahora y para siempre, en cuerpo y alma”
Castaño violently awoke, somewhere that had a fire stoking in a furnace. His hands flew out in front of him perfectly healthy with no wound nor hole on his body. Whatever happened to him before must have been a dream or so he thought. Time passed and Castaño learned later the truth of his resuscitation and what it meant to be in indentured servitude of a dominant. Not that he didn’t mean what he said that night, he was forever Shiva’s and together would bring vengeance to the world. They worked over the next few years in secret, crippling Castral, getting closer to the answers of the who and the where without his identity slipping. The two would continue to look for answers with a lead hidden in a festival.
H O M EThe land that is Castral is abundant and a house that encompasses a multitude of biota and landscapes. Castaño likes to believe it was the birthplace or the battleground for the Dominants during their initial inception into this world. The reason he believes in this personal fiction so much is because of the landscape that surrounds him. Castral is bisected in half by both snow covered volcanos and jagged peaks of mountains that act as a natural defense. The last time the volcanoes had erupted was about a century ago. The fear of magma and heated rock still loom over the heads of its peoples, but they learned to live with the imminent peril if the plumes were to erupt and spell their end. The Sande, is one of the longest mountain ranges that expand past Castral and encompasses glaciers, ancient ruins from past civilizations, and contain some of, if not the world's largest mineral deposit.
Beyond the Sande that erupts from the south into the west, lies opportunity for the north and east. In those cardinal directions exist exquisite tropical beaches, where the next two largest cities in Castral are nestled in. It makes for a popular tourist attraction with the amount of lush sands and waters lap at the edge of Castral. Just because they have beaches and mountains doesn’t mean they are excluded from being home to deserts just as well, the most reknown, La Guajira, being a department on the sea home to dunes, remote ranches, and villages of the indigenous Guayuu people. Beyond the harsh landscapes that are surprisingly home to a lot of tourism there is one final region in the country known as Los Solnalo, one of the world's richest tropical grasslands.
Lastly, geographically speaking, are two intertwined segments. The Castral Basin which is the second largest drainage basin that runs throughout Castral and provides the environment to create Castrals rain forest that extends to the countries immediately surrounding Castral. The biodiversity of fauna and flora are the mainstays of the forest that houses both endemic and extant species. Creating a very tropical and warm climate for Castral and its citizens.
Castral culturally has influence from many sources as its residents are a mix of several backgrounds. The indigenous tribes that were there before exploration, the Eastern settlers that ‘found’ Castral and the slaves they brought with them from multiple countries. This helps bolster the Castralians are a vibrant people who make a lot with what little they have. They’re known to be one of the happiest peoples in the world who focus on their antiquity which is represented in their exotic and fast paced dances, their traditional clothing and attire, the food which takes its most popular form in fish from their coasts, bread and bakeries, and range of meats. You would be hard pressed to find a Castralian who doesn’t emanate positivity, animated persona, and general cheerfulness.
The country's language is based on Spanish spoken in the Americas rather than that of European influence. Common language is barely spoken in Castral, only taught in primary and secondary education. Their religion is focused around the worship of Ultima and Gaia with their major show of devotion through a tradition known as the Novena. The novena tradition is where a family member or friend hosts the rest of the family and/or friends in their home to recite the prayers for nine days leading to the 24th of the 12th month. Between prayers there are folk songs to be sung by the group and small dishes of food to be shared. The host and location is changed each day until the celebration where they honor their dominants and then celebrate with gifts and dance until the sun comes up.
A brief history of Castral can be summed up pretty succinctly. Like most countries, it was colonized before it won its independence nearly two hundred years ago. A series of historically important battles took place to ensure its freedom. However it hasn’t been without its bumps. Multiple civil wars were fought until a republic was settled on as its major form of government. Drug trade ran rampant in the country to the point that iconic figures controlled the local police and some politicians with money and influence until he was finally assassinated. Narcotraficantes still plague the country but not nearly as much when it was at its peak. The most recent issue that has been raised is the presence and assembly of guerilla groups forming in direct opposition of the Castral government.
T R I V I ALikes:
The Sun
Tinto(coffee) with bread in the morning and at night
Dancing
Tanning at the beach
Agriculture and Foraging
Journaling to keep a record
Sketching
The comfort of alcohol
Dislikes:
Senseless violence
The cold
Shiva’s personal obsession with him
Being unable to go home
Castaño understands the role and governance of being a regalia in the world. And so he indulges in Shiva’s need to be worshipped and visibly seen even if that goes against and compromises everything the two have been working for. A part of him does enjoy the intimacy that exists when the two are one and he can unarm himself to imbibe in human interaction.
It was that time already? Moving through dirty tiled floor and half dead florescent lights buzzing with exhaustion by trying to cast full brightness, led into the darkened patio room of the barracks where a lonely Anastasia could be found. Her jumpsuit had been unzipped from the nape and hung snugly at her waist. A wifebeater, stained yellow at the edges of her armpits and collar, was slowly becoming darker with each bead of sweat soaked inside the arrogant cotton. The humid rain did something to alleviate Anastasia’s ability to overthink or worse, reminisce. Luckily, there was an immediate call to action for Nemesis team to mobilize into an Osprey ASAP. The lightning illuminated the window, only catching the half of her body that was burnt cadaver.
Anastasia walked in a daze really, finding her way somehow in the foldable seat on the aerodynamic aircraft she had stepped on so many times she had lost count. The others were quick to fall asleep or left to their own devices, but she never really slept more than three or four hours, let alone on mission time. She fingered her pockets fishing for her cigarettes, first meeting the band of her tactical eyepatch then finding the plastic wrapped paper instead. If aliens were real, it would be better for them to see her wear her weakness, not run from it with alloy and leather. She tapped the top of the carton, packing the cigarettes to her liking. Fire flickered to life at the flick of her zippo, clearly worn down to bits from seeing as much action as she had, adding to the flashing lights that broke the darkness that enveloped the cargo bay.
Deep pulls dragged the life from the cigarette, expelling cumulus clouds of smoke. There was a peaceful ambience to the quiet before the deployment. She looked around, eyeing the rest of the operatives aboard. Some were so young they should have been wet behind the ears still, while others looked more like her age simply from spying their mileage, stress had a funny way of aging us faster than intended. And so, hours passed as she idly glared at the shine of her boots and rotated one cigarette out for another, ashing the stick on the gap between her and some mousey faced man, with a jaw weaker than the weapons they provided for loadout. If she had her way, she’d smuggle in an AK-74U no problem.
Her quite peace was broken by a noisy gnat that clawed at her ear. “блядь!”, She quickly fished the earpiece from her canal and turned it off, smashing it between her fingers and palms. The little ill-fated jewelry piece found it’s way into one of her tactical pockets of her vest where it would stay until she had to link with her squadron. By now everyone was awake and looking blankly into space, no doubt listening to the orders of whatever commander was in charge. Remembering she was given the earpiece and an optical gadget; Anastasia retrieved it from her accoutrement. Unintentionally, she managed to affix it to her face in unison with the others. Technology never ceased to amaze her; it was a wonder wars were still being fought.
No doubt they would reach the LZ within a few minutes if the higher up rang in. Finally, this old gal would be able to stretch her old bones once again. Amidst her stretch the mousey one finally broke the silence. “девочка, I remember you from somewhere, no?” reaching across her personal space to shake hands with the squeaky one was brazen and unsettled her, an urge rose in her to grab the hand before it could make contact, but she was not as dexterous as she once was. She turned to the boy, “ha! You look like you would break easily if you were not so far away little мышь” scoffing with her thick Belarusian accent.
Anastasia’s physique is a shell of what it once was, poetic in a sense, since shells were the vehicle of her disfigurement. Anastasia stands quite tall amidst her compatriots or perhaps it’s her titillating and domineering personality that gives her a few more inches in the eyes of others. Unkempt carrot colored curls slicked back with strands hang in juxtaposition with her completely shaven neighbors. Regardless if she agrees with her hairstyle matters not in the inability for hair to grow out her left cranial without looking like splotchy patches of orange grass. One eye has a spring green to its luster while the other has had the light robbed from it, leaving it glassy and opaque. In an attempt to draw more attention to it, she’s adorned with an eyebrow piercing snuggly on the ridge of her eye socket.
Scars and piercings make up the sum of her facial property, extending down into her left side. Her arm from shoulder to fingertip is a mix of failed skin grafts and severely burned epidermis, losing severity as it reaches down her leg. A body that was once prized for its sinew, has now softened in shape and hardened with every theater of war. Her personal style revolves around casual military wear. Boots whether chelsea’s or combat are worn, with corduroy pants or slacks and a mix of colored button ups unbuttoned as to not take away from the snug turtlenecks and military jackets.
Psychological Assessment of Sokolov, Anastasia. Patient is exhibiting signs of Exposure to consecutive campaigns hasPatient has shown remarkable signs of retention of peers through charismatic disposition, has absorbed training like a sponge. In good consciousness I cannot approve Yet in my professional opinion and as a servant to the Motherland, I clear Agent Sokolov for the continued defense and indentured servitude of Mother Russia. Я не награждаю вас никакими баллами, и пусть Бог помилует вашу душу.
The life of Anastasia prior to her decorated military service beginning at the ripe age of 18 holds no real value or any significance. Her inception was right around the time that the collapse of the Soviet Union transpired and the day before that, the independence of Belarus. Growing up in a post war country under an axis power was rather rough for her parents, but they found a way to make a living in honest positions that would allow them to peacefully welcome a child into the world. Anatasia grew up shadowing her parents and learning all sorts of blue collar skills that otherwise would be taboo or rather looked down upon for a woman to inherit. Higher education was the norm pushed onto women in Belarus while men did their compulsory service and then took up a majority of the labor force.
Higher education never appealed to the young tomboy, most of her time in education was spent either in suspension or continued absence. A headache for her parents until they gave in and trusted she would find her own way. And that she did, with her barely scraping through her final years of education she pivoted into joining military ranks and serving her country, even if that meant to further her opportunities she would become a puppet for the oppressive motherland.
____________________________________________________________________________ SERVICE RECORD
-Second Chechen War | Special Battalions Vostok and Zapad. -Russo-Georgian War | Spetsnaz GRU -Russo-Ukrainian War | Spetsnaz GRU/Little Green Men -Syrian Civil War | Spetsnaz GRU -Classified Engagements
-Earned the operative name 'Angel Dust' from her proclivities towards explosive devices and death. -Became burned, blind, and disfigured from proximity to an IED in the Syrian Civil War. Lost two of her platoon to the eye of the blast. -Chain smokes like it's going out of style. -Выше нас только звёзды
Anastasia’s physique is a shell of what it once was, poetic in a sense, since shells were the vehicle of her disfigurement. Anastasia stands quite tall amidst her compatriots or perhaps it’s her titillating and domineering personality that gives her a few more inches in the eyes of others. Unkempt carrot colored curls slicked back with strands hang in juxtaposition with her completely shaven neighbors. Regardless if she agrees with her hairstyle matters not in the inability for hair to grow out her left cranial without looking like splotchy patches of orange grass. One eye has a spring green to its luster while the other has had the light robbed from it, leaving it glassy and opaque. In an attempt to draw more attention to it, she’s adorned with an eyebrow piercing snuggly on the ridge of her eye socket.
Scars and piercings make up the sum of her facial property, extending down into her left side. Her arm from shoulder to fingertip is a mix of failed skin grafts and severely burned epidermis, losing severity as it reaches down her leg. A body that was once prized for its sinew, has now softened in shape and hardened with every theater of war. Her personal style revolves around casual military wear. Boots whether chelsea’s or combat are worn, with corduroy pants or slacks and a mix of colored button ups unbuttoned as to not take away from the snug turtlenecks and military jackets.
Psychological Assessment of Sokolov, Anastasia. Patient is exhibiting signs of Exposure to consecutive campaigns hasPatient has shown remarkable signs of retention of peers through charismatic disposition, has absorbed training like a sponge. In good consciousness I cannot approve Yet in my professional opinion and as a servant to the Motherland, I clear Agent Sokolov for the continued defense and indentured servitude of Mother Russia. Я не награждаю вас никакими баллами, и пусть Бог помилует вашу душу.
The life of Anastasia prior to her decorated military service beginning at the ripe age of 18 holds no real value or any significance. Her inception was right around the time that the collapse of the Soviet Union transpired and the day before that, the independence of Belarus. Growing up in a post war country under an axis power was rather rough for her parents, but they found a way to make a living in honest positions that would allow them to peacefully welcome a child into the world. Anatasia grew up shadowing her parents and learning all sorts of blue collar skills that otherwise would be taboo or rather looked down upon for a woman to inherit. Higher education was the norm pushed onto women in Belarus while men did their compulsory service and then took up a majority of the labor force.
Higher education never appealed to the young tomboy, most of her time in education was spent either in suspension or continued absence. A headache for her parents until they gave in and trusted she would find her own way. And that she did, with her barely scraping through her final years of education she pivoted into joining military ranks and serving her country, even if that meant to further her opportunities she would become a puppet for the oppressive motherland.
____________________________________________________________________________ SERVICE RECORD
-Second Chechen War | Special Battalions Vostok and Zapad. -Russo-Georgian War | Spetsnaz GRU -Russo-Ukrainian War | Spetsnaz GRU/Little Green Men -Syrian Civil War | Spetsnaz GRU -Classified Engagements
-Earned the operative name 'Angel Dust' from her proclivities towards explosive devices and death. -Became burned, blind, and disfigured from proximity to an IED in the Syrian Civil War. Lost two of her platoon to the eye of the blast. -Chain smokes like it's going out of style. -Выше нас только звёзды
Dropping off at the farmstead was a stop she hadn’t foreseen but had no ability to pass up. Both rider and dragon had been sorely exhausted at this point and by no means had it in them to storm Wesca’s abode. It wasn’t long before Zarina, albeit apprehensive, was able to fall asleep in the company of the psychotic girl. The attendance of a massive golem and her always near dragon also served as a deterrent and steadfast security. Yansee waited around a bit, staring at the moonlight wondering if she’d be able to sleep in the bales of hay. Pauppaup would eventually find his way back to his finger, it beginning to shuffle in her pocket. Unaware of its placement she could feel a constant motion in her pocket before thumbing through it and finding a rather discolored finger.
His silhouette appeared in the confines of the door frame, hanging high in the backdrop. Yansee, elated to say the least, rushed over with finger riding her shoulder to hug the walking corpse. Like an inch worm the finger work its way down Pauppaups arm and back onto his hand. A few crunches and it was back in place. ”Pauppaup!” realizing waking up a dragon was a bad omen, her teeth gritted and her shoulders loosened. ”Pauppaup” she said in a hushed tone. ”We best be going now love, it won’t be long before Wesca sicks a third party on us”. Yansee nodded and the two took off in the twilight hours of night leaving the dragon and warrior behind, they would meet again.
Yansee arrived back in An Zenui waiting at the gates where the guards had inhibited her approach to Wesca’s estate once more.
The sun was just below the horizon, still a glow waiting to break over it, but there were already people moving about on the vast and incongruously lush estate of Talo-Tecazan-Mostix-Cazui and Zast-Wesca-fa-Bantarsca. The guards were out and they were unusually insistent on barring Yansee, who was - after all - known to them, or should've been. She had an ace int he hole in the form of Pauppaup, however. While he had taken a different and stealthier route, his finger was in her pocket, tapping along in the secret code they had developed. Yansee may have been in the process of being informed that she would have to wait for another hour and half, but he was, this very moment, telling her that there was something down the side lane, in an area blocked from sight by the mansion's lush gardens, that she had to see. The question was: could she do so without arousing further suspicion, and... was it worth it?
“Coom off et then” she patronized the guards vehemently against her entering, they paid her no heed or replied in any kind of body inflection. They were worse than zombies and that was saying a lot for the queen of the rotten flesh herself. “Ryt then, fook yuuuu” she said with emphasis as well as putting both her middle fingers, webbing and all, up at both guards. Just as she was about to powerhouse her way through, she felt the finger of Pauppaup sending her a message. As to not rouse suspicion she decided to relent and walk past the estate. Luckily, they were blind to her, allowing her to slip through the side lane of both estates. Passing the lush gardens which drank up all the valuable water the people could use, Yansee spotted a queer image. There was an unmarked carriage foreign to her or Talo and Wesca’s possession. She cocked her head seeing a person residing inside. She stealthily approached, pulling Pauppaups ear, ”Oo yu think tha es?” Yansee’s eyes plastered to the cart.
A very fancy but totally unmarked carriage that you know doesn't belong to Talo or Wesca. They appear to have a visitor. The figure inside the carriage looks like a sirrahi. Yansee stretched her senses out further, sensing more cazenax in the house. Most are clearly servants, but one seems to be flanked to either side by a pair of large sirrahi.
The curiosity got the better of her even if it killed the cat and she brought it back, it was still a cat. Not a Schrödinger in sight. A heavy hand stretched out from the shadow, bigger in presence than size as it seized her shoulder, ”Now hold on, are you sure that’s what you want to do?” Pauppaup asked with slight apprehension. ”Ya, leets go” the Eeaiko made her way to the carriage still using the shadows of the side street to obscure her. She creeped and crawled to the carriage door without alerting the Sirrahi to her presence, not that they were invested in anything other than the cazenax help.
Alarmed at the unwelcomed guest the Sirrahi shifted to the defensive. Yansee jumped at the Sirrahi with uncontrollable rage, her first caustic chemical attack nearly grazes the tenant. Of little mind and reason just as Yansee, they chose to attack rather than call for reinforcements, a mistake she wouldn’t take lightly. A massive rebuke aimed to send her back to the water, but Pauppaup jumped in the carriage and saved Yansee from being fried fish. Rolling back to her feet she readied a dark blast that zapped the life out of the Sirrahi passenger. The sirrahi coachman, who was simply doing his job sitting there with the carriage, is murdered in cold blood. Craabs, eye don et eggen. Deedn meen to keel em” Pauppaup shook his head like a disappointed dad and began pilfering through the carriage, while his daughter resuscitated the corpse into a mindless entity.
Pauppaup found a number of things in the carriage: A shawl with a floral pattern of nezan blooms in gold and purple - royal colours. A small, locked chest. A pendant in the shape of a stylized eye that exudes powerful dark energies. And a second unlocked chest full of gardening supplies. Yansee came over with her new blithering zombie to find the exploits of their ambush. ”Well be taken em all” already forcing the new slave to lug the materials around. The chest is what she eyed the most, carefully enough she was able to pick the lock revealing several strange oddities. Three small, strange coins that seem to exude dark energy. A few damaged scraps of paper with strange writing on them. A vial of blood. A control rod for a demon. A small pouch of gold coins. She wasn’t sure what any of them led to, but the dark energies called out to her. ”Powerful trinkets, especially in this carriage. Better keep them for now and find out the use for them later. Shall we be leaving Yans-“ he could not finish his sentence, seeing as Yansee had already begun skulking towards the other two cazernax. With that, Pauppaup let out a sigh and followed after her.
Yansee elected to take to the roof to get a much stealthier approach, at least in her mind. There was three chimneys in front of her, one tiny one she could herself barely squeeze through, one directly adjacent to that that could fit comfortably and one in the farthest reaches that had enough room for two. She dismembered her new zombie and threw a hand down the first chimney, which had caused quite the stir downstairs. To which she was deaf to seeing as she had already plummeted down the chimney adjacent to the first. Pauppaup stayed above, seeing the lack of decorum. Yansee had chosen the unfortunate placement of the chimney directly in front of those she was trying to avoid. Caught red-handed, Yansee lands clumsily and is rather badly scalded by the fire. While it's not horrific or anything, some medical attention would be a good idea. Wesca's eyes widen. "Yansee Kensen!?" she exclaims, her bodyguard immediately taking up a position between her and the interloper. "Explain yourself immediately!"
Yansee was blowing on a burn from plopping down the chimney, the sensation of pain for a semiaquatic being was doubled. "Gaards woodent let me en"
"You stupid girl!" Wesca roared. "Did you not think there might have been a reason for that!?"
The other older woman with her shimmered and shifted and then she was striding forward. "Let us not jump to any conclusions here," she followed up dryly, "perhaps it is part of her culture."
Yansee had been caught red handed, both literally from the burns to figuratively. It was by the elderly ladies’ grace that Wesca had not sent her cazenax posse to dispose of her. Not that she would go down without a fight. Luckily, the older woman had provided her sanctity with the perception that perhaps this was how her people entered houses. Yansee sheepishly laughed, “Yu see, aur howses aur under watur, so wee gots too swem into em from the top” knowing the refined culture of the Eeaiko and what they truly did in the water was unknown to most, specifically those who were locked up in a desert capital. Her hands began to sweat a little bit, feeling the warmth budding on the outer ears from anxious anticipation if they would buy her bold-faced lie. The sweat only served to anger the pain from the fresh burn causing her to grit her teeth a bit.
The elderly lady ended up acquiescing her lie, whether she knew so or not. This caused Wesca to settle in with her attitude a bit more. Not out of virtue of Yansee’s made-up cultural norms, but out of respect and cajoling of the older woman. Yansee was bid an audience in the room with the two, having disarmed her guard a bit more under the careful watch of the elderly woman who revealed herself to be the dowager. A name and rank that was way out of the realm of understanding in the terms of her correlation to An Zenui and Wesca. Yansee understood and spoke better with the dead than the living. She was on her own mission which left her tunnel visioned most of the time. The thrill of chaos was more enticing than the politics that ran the world and the shadows behind them. Before matters could delve any deeper, Wesca immediately asked about the mission she had assigned Yansee just before.
Rifling through her persons’ she found the amulet that signified the family Cuitmits had come from and his untimely death or, so she was meant to believe. The amulet was sufficient evidence to corroborate her tale. What luck she was lacking in subterfuge entering the mansion, she was gaining back in conversation. The two prattled on, leaving Yansee to follow every other word and sit silently as if she were a child waiting for her mother to leave a friend or aunt’s house. The subject matter finally turned back to Yansee with another mission in tail. Yansee felt sick, due to acknowledging the fact she had already bonded herself to Zarina. If she didn’t want to become charred fish, courtesy of her dragon, then she had to play double agent for Wesca and the now dowager. Without much option, Yansee entertained Wesca’s bidding once more and quickly exited the mansion to make off with her spoils of war.
There was bound to be something of use or value in her plunder.
Zarina found herself not so much in a pit but within a massive pile of sand. She was at least thirty meters down and more was pouring down on top of her and alqasas at every moment. What was more was that it was heavy - unnaturally so. There were ten small alcoves surrounding the circular pit, and all but two were occupied by hard-bitten-looking cazenax. The remaining two were home to... a pair of eeaiko!?
“Eshi.” grunted Zarina, ass on a pile of sand with more unusually heavy sediments befalling her. Instinctively, she rolled down the cone to get closer to one of the alcoves, helm back on and quickly trying to not succumb to panic. The sand at least offered cover from the majority of the alcoves occupied by hostiles, but now she had to face those behind her, shield at a ready.
The dragon flailed in fear and rage. The sand was not going to keep it still for long as it immediate flapped its wings, causing a whirlwind of sand to cover the whole 'arena' while it tried to ascend. The sand, however, was immensely heavy and it was solidly half-buried. For all that froabases were large and impressive creatures, they were lightly built out of necessity for flying. Getting free would be a struggle. Much as Zarina tried to extricate herself and Alqasas thrashed with all of its might, the sands were hungry and closing in. Yet, it wasn't all natural. Someone was pushing against their efforts - someone strong and versed in magic. The struggle was desperate but - by the barest of margins - Alqasas broke free. Was it time to escape or time to fight? The assassin's darts strike true, piercing the gaps between the scales and puncturing the froabas' hide right in front of its wings. The magnificent beast cries out in pain and anger. “This is bullshit!” growled Zarina, doused in heavy sands and narrowly avoiding turning into a crispy afterthought to the assailants. There were ten enemies, four of which had shown themselves to be unusually dangerous. Meanwhile she was stuck in the middle of it with her dragon unable to take flight. “Alqasas!” she called for her wounded dragon, but it was no use. The beast was enraged and definitely confused. “Fuck.”
Desperate, Zarina dashed through the line of fire and straddled her flailing beast at her own peril. The Froabas never truly calmed, but the familiarity of its mother-figure did provide enough structure for it to consider its only viable option: Up. Withstanding the unnatural sands, the majestic creature clung to the stony surface and ascended. Many efforts were made to stop Zarina and her alpha steed’s escape, but ultimately the sheer power and speed of the animal were still formidable even when bound to the earth. With swift hops to freedom, the dragon pierced through and took to the sky.
“Oraff you sweet sweet dove!” celebrated the pumped up Virangish as Alqasas drilled into the air and picked up speeds that few creatures of such size could contest. The two girls circled the village from a “safe” altitude. “There goes the info. Eshit, that was a terrible idea.” she clenched one of the protruding back-scales of her dragon as she directed her to progressively create distance from the village. “Sorry, baby. This is all on me.” she peered at the beast’s wing and noticed the hurting it had taken. Guilt and responsibility filled her, prompting Zarina to call upon her knowledge of temporal magic and mend the damaged wing.
The motley crew of sorts were no match for the power of the dragon and its tamer. Yansee did not have the proper resources, bodies, to be able to tether the woman to her sandy grave. Tried as she might to stay on her tail, the gauntlet mercenary had slipped through her fingers and took flight. Her eye still set on the dragon as her bounty moved something within her that normally would have laid dormant. A sense of yearning for something other than her goal. Snapping her fingers, she pointed at the talented temporal cazenak, then gestured her finger upward. It didn’t take long for him to realize her strategy and acquiesce. In a blip, Yansee was in the air, hurtling towards the back of the dragon in her best chances and a bag of bones on the floor in her worst outcome. She could feel the presence of her dotting father boosting her mid-air alacrity, allowing her to land squarely behind Zarina on the back of her dragon.
Tapping her on the shoulder, she sheepishly asked, “Eye theenk wee cood tawck aubew this”
A temporal ripple was sensed - Zarina knew what was coming. Behind her! The poor Eeaiko barely had time to make her introduction before eating the back of Zarina's helm to the face. Nothing too hard, but enough to have the fish-girl recoil back near the tail. When Yansee would come to, there would be a cannon's barrel trained right at her face, protruding out of the dragonhead-shaped shield. “What in Shune's asshole could cause a fish to stray into a fucking desert?” the Virangish inquired. “You've got three seconds to jump.”
Stars and darkness plagued her vision, the pain and force jostling her backwards. Her hands reactively brought themselves up to her nose as comfort, but quickly went back down to the dragons back to keep her aboard the meat vehicle.
“That’s okay Dear, don’t let her hit you though! Try again”
“Gaut eet pauppaup” opening her eyes again, she saw her second dragon head with a cannon birthing from it’s mouth, pointed straight at her, “Whut wazzat fou? Uu no uu ain vury nyce. Um eer four dis eer dwaagun an uu. Eym eer four cleen up”
Zarina squinted. What was this moonspeak? “What? Ears for a dragon, me and clean up?” patience ran thin when she had to think in such dire situations. It made her trigger finger all the more itchy. “One.” The dragon took exception to having extra load on its back, especially if it was unknown to her. The reptile undulated its body in an attempt to expel what was on its back, while the dragon rider could just take to the air if she became collateral.
Nothing was really going her way, and the armored woman had little in regard to defragmenting what Yansee was trying to say. Again, the dragon shook attempting to whip the Eeaiko off the back of it. Yansee, not as nimble in the air as she was in the sea, lost her footing and ended up even closer to the back of the tail. With one second left, she searched for what word could get her to halt. “Weescaa”
Meanwhile, her father below searched for the temporal mage prepping him to either send him up or rally them to attack the dragon.
“Eh?” more nonsense. Certainly not enough for the threat to go away, but enough for Zarina to think. “What the Eshit is a Weescaa?”
“qeemets baus”
The dragon's swift movements allow it to take advantage of Zarina's temporal dilation and swiftly poise itself for a dive. Its target: The biggest threat of the group. The colossal attack creates an absolute inferno below and the cazenax sorceror eats the brunt of it. However, he emerges from the middle, scalded, his hair and top burnt away, but otherwise undamaged. As she watches, the hair regrows itself. He tilts her head and glares up at her.
“The boss?” Zarina growled, her attention now oriented to the incoming attacks. A prime opportunity for Yansee if she wanted to claim two nice prizes. “Where is that Weescaa, then?” It was at around that moment that, in the direction of nearby dunes, that a horse and rider appeared, or... something like that anyhow. They were quickly sighted by the cazenax, though no moves had been made as of yet.
“Foe me too no an uu too fine owt, eef uu caan cach me” waving the girl bye after meagerly surviving the onslaught of the cazenax. Like a slick slug, she threw her weight to the side, propelling her off the side of the dragon leaving her to free fall. Her father, realizing what must have happened up top began to position himself to catch his daughter in her descent.
After a moment, however, three of the ambushers peeled off from the rest and made a beeline for what turned out to be Classa and... Tennaxi?
Zarina scoffed but didn't do much to protest the escape. Alqasas could intercept, but not without the risk of killing a useful source of information. One that stood out from the usual crowd, too. Instead, she sought to re-enforce her armour via binding the increasing sand clouds in the air and fastening this craggy layer of armour.
Cuimits, however, had not yet shown himself.
"Exi!" The bowman shouted. "Exi!" He was quick to shoot at the little centaur girl, but he underestimated both her speed and - most crucially - her agility, which was shockingly high. She was upon him in moments, Tennaxi swinging off of her back and landing awkwardly - but unharmed - in the sand.
The child reared up and delivered a kick right into his chest. It crushed his breastplate and sent him sprawling backwards, coughing up blood. He lay there, badly wounded. “Yeah, that's right!” Classa taunted. “You... you stay away from my friends!”
Then, however, there were more serious threats.
An arcane lance leapt from a second attacker's hands to skewer her, but such was the girl's agility that she dodged it almost cleanly, only her tail getting singed. She continued to charge forward. "Exi!" came the shouts. “Exi!” The third attacker, however, did not target Classa, but rather her ally, who was sitting up in the sand, trying to dissuade the girl from doing anything stupid. A colossal gravitational smash came out of nowhere, and Tennaxi simply did not have the capacity to resist it. She found herself instantly flattened, multiple bones broken, and on the edge of unconsciousness. She let out a hissed shriek of pain. Others were attacking Zarina as well - five of them.
Classa's berserker charge continues and the eyes of one of the cazenax widen.
The cazenax tries to dodge, but Classa is simply too agile. She adjusts, midstep, and plows a kinetically enhanced punch straight through the man's visor. It shatters on impact, along with his nose and the orbital of one of his eyes. Already wounded from earlier, he staggers backwards and collapses. Classa rears up to stamp on him and deliver a finisher.
Only the timely intervention of the second ambusher saves him, and her kinetic bash sends the girl sprawling away. She is in a full-on rage at this point. "You killed Tennaxi!" she wails.
Zarina leapt from her dragon and landed a few meters before Tennaxi. Her massive shield-turned-gauntlet smashed into the sand and earth, expelling a large kinetic wave in the direction of the remaining assailant that struck the two little ones.
However, safe as that Cazenax may feel, they fail to notice the dragon landing right on top of it.
Buffeted backwards, the cazenax landed awkwardly, clutching her wrist and hissing in pain.
A combination of some chemical lubrication and a distracting arrow from the nearby bowman are enough for the dragon's target to slip away with only minor injuries. She was, however, not looking very good. ("Why are you here!?") she screamed in her native tongue. ("Why have you come to our village to kill our people and ruin our way of life!?") This was the vilest of evils and they were all firmly resolved to fight it. They did not appear to have any other realistic option. This outsider had come from nowhere and seemed determined to not only interfere in their gods-given right to self-determination, but to kill them all for the sport of it.
Pauppaup searches for Cuimits Yansee had been reluctant to join the fray of battle after being received by her father. Her plan had been foiled and now she knew not of who’s allegiance to take. Not one to seek to kill she sat on the sidelines in her original instruction to simply serve as clean up. She had fulfilled her task of retrieving or executing Cuimits seeing as he was still MIA. The entry of two new participants, one specifically, had caught her eye. The ability to reanimate the centaur girl would be an invaluable addition to her compendium of soldiers. Only proven upon her absolutely decimating the skull and chest of the cazenax in front of her. After the onslaught, against her better judgement, Yansee used her binding magics to grievously heal the cazenax back to full health. “Fysti that wun aye?”
He blinked and nodded grimly. "I'm in your debt for the heal, but what are you doing here, fish-girl?" He shook his head now. "You're no fighter and this isn't your fight. That dragon which is gonna kill you along with all of us, you know. She came out of nowhere just to attack us."
"Biyin time too fine nein fingurs, wee leaf aftur" taking solace in how respectful and caring the cazanax was.
"The boss is the target," her ally replied. "The dragon bitch wants him most of all." He shook his head. "I don't think he's coming out, not unless he's stupid."
The dragon folds its wings about itself protectively as gravity itself comes crashing in, hurling it into the ground. It tumbles in the sand, kicking up a fantastic amount. It lets out a groan and shakes itself off, favoring one wing slightly, but is otherwise unharmed by an attack that, by all rights, likely should've killed it.
The other cazenax, rising in the sand besdie Yansee, tries to launch a series of sharp blood magic needles at Classa. They scream through the air, arcing and twisting after the girl, but she leaps three and cleanly dodges the last one.
Classa came to a stop and backed up a few steps nervously. She had just seen a man completely erased. People were trying to kill her. They had killed Tennaxi and even hurt Zarina's big dragon. She shook her head, stunned, on the precipice of losing her nerve.
The dragon, face-to-face with the Cazenax Warlock, opted to simply obliterate the enemy by spewing flames.
The flames, however, were cleanly drawn away and absorbed by his quick thinking.
Classa recovered her nerve at just that moment, coming hurtling in at the warlock. He took all of the flame he had absorbed from the dragon and redirected it at the girl.
She sprung away and darted to the side, skidding in the sand, unharmed by virtue of quick reflexes. Tennaxi to regain consciousness.
The magic that tethered Yansee to her father had allowed her to discover that he had not found Cuimits yet. Seeing the Cazenax fight back and just knock Tennaxi unconscious, the odds were beginning to go toward the favor of the hired band. Time was essential for her to continue her search, perhaps if she found Cuimits and could talk down Zarina she could have her cake and eat it too. And so, the “fish”-girl ran over to the injured girl and completely healed her keeping her unconscious.
His attempt to surprise her from behind was thwarted, for such was the child's speed and jumpiness.
"Why are you here!?" he screamed. "Why are you doing this!?" Of course, it was all in cazenax and none of it was understood.
His protests, however, were cut off by the dragon. It ripped him from the ground and tore him to pieces. Another one of these people who dared to oppose its master dead.
Tennaxi managed to come to, shaking the sand out of her hair. She beheld the devastation around her, and her eyes widened. “Wh-what happened here?” She scooted back a few 'steps'.
“Hmmm?” Zarina flinched. Tennaxi was healed? “You're fine.” she remarked, shield still up and protecting both her and the legless Cazenax. “Good.” no time to think of the why, there was still work to do.
The temporal mage could see the writing on the wall. They had been overconfident. They had burned with rage and vengeance, trying to rid the world of this evil that had come to destroy them instead of being satisfied with causing it to run. How they should have followed the creed! You survive, first and foremost. That is paramount. They would all die because of this in that monster's hands. They would and he knew it. He reached out for the threads of space and time...
It was not enough. He could not bring them back. He could not rewind it until before the mistake had been made. Instead, he created a small portal. "I have failed you, my people. I am sorry." He hung his head. "My love, into the breach!" His wife, who had stood dutifully by his side this fight, who had been wounded multiple times, "This fish is no ally of ours anyhow. Look how she abuses the VOID." He and the remaining cazenax attempted to flee through the portal.
Zarina did not, the dragon was about to come until she whistled it down.
With that, they disappeared through the portal. "It tried, my love, but we have made it."
He collapsed in the sand, some miles away. "I am so very sorry. We should have laid low." He shook his head. "Fear not. Our day will come." Cuimits, meanwhile, were being pursued by multiple parties now. He was not so foolish as to believe that any were allies. He turned and launched a dark bolt at once.
Cuimits go down to the ground, thrashign, flailing, and shouting expletives. He is closing in on his home. Two small heads peer cautiously out the window. However, daddy will not be coming home today, or ever again.
Classa catches up. Zarina catches up.
“Oi.” hollered Zarina to the Cuimits hunters. “What are you doing with him?” the dragon hovered over them, casting a massive shadow and dousing the earthlings with constant gusts of air.
Yansee also made it there, though she'd lost control of the zombie for a moment, and it fell somewhat behind.
Cuimits' two children had run over as well. "Zag!" cried Cazan. "Zag, cixist molmo zoan ax!" wept Cazéa. They hung around just outside of range, radiating fear, watching with wide eyes. Cuimits turned to Yansee. “Well then, what are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Do it.” Even bound as he was in Pauppaup's arms, he managed to straighten.
Classa's eyes dart over to the other, younger, children. It's clear that the world has just become a far more frightening and complex place to her young mind than it was but a day earlier. This man - their father - tried to kill her. But they're so small, and so sad. And she does not know how to feel. Unbidden, the girl begins crying. Tennaxi to intervene, she does not. By the narrowest of margins, Yansee's attempt to execute Cuimits was thwarted. Pauppaup's teeth rattle and chomp. He's physically wrenched free, though, a look of disappointment evident on his reanimated face. Cuimits shout at his children in cazenax and they cry. Hesitantly, they start to back up. He shouts again. They turn and run. He glares at Zarina. “I guess you have me,” he admits, free of Pauppaup's grasp. “You know everyone in this village is dead if I speak.” His eyes are unflinching. “Congratulations. Looks like you followed through on your threat.” For Yansee, he has no words. She is one of Wesca's playthings and a dark mage at that.
Zarina regarded Cuimits after evicting the Eeaiko. Or at least part of it. It took a second for her to realize she was holding the man's head. Mortified, she tossed the moving and talking head in a panic. “From what sore of Eshiran's blazing asshole did you fucks all sprout from?!” the body was kicked off to join the head that had rolled a good few yards away.
Cuimits were free and defeated. There was no need to pin such a man anymore. A panting Zarina regarded him and leaned forward, hands on her knees. She was so tired. No sleep. Constantly on the move. This was taking a toll on this chronic insomniac. “Not-” she exhaled and cleared her throat. “Not if I get these shitheads first.” she retorted confidently. A suspicious eye peered toward the direction of her dragon and the other Eeaiko, likely the author of these dreadful corpse that moved. “Weescaa, or whatever. Your boss. “Is that the person you’re afraid of?” she straightened herself after taking a few breaths, guarded and ready for any surprises.
He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “Ah!” The head bandit ran his hands down his face in desperate exasperation. “Ahaha! Aha... Oh Gods, so we're already dead.” It was tinged with hints of madness. He was coming apart at the edges and seemed to resign himself, then. “It's not her. It's her boss, and you'll kill me before I say a thing. My children are Nax, like their ancestors before them. They will struggle without me, but they will survive, as I did.”
Try as she might, her and her newly rectified super zombie were unable to prevent the attempts of the dragon rider and crew to prevent her from accomplishing her task. Perhaps it was in her better interest to allow the girl to die from the aid of her once cazenax allegiance. Pauppaup’s head was thrown in the air like a ball in some game with nets. Yansee yelled and serpentine back and forth in anticipation of catching her father’s head. He safely landed in her embrace and so she pressed his detached head to her cheek and rubbed lovingly, “Aw pau wen foor a lil ryde u deed”. Pauppaup's corpse had propped itself up and by magnetic compulsion trekked back to the head. Cuitmits on the other hand was beginning to turn on her in defiance to death.
A bit annoyed, she scoffed and tucked Pauppaup’s head under her arm and headed over to the girl with the giant gauntlet. “Tieurd? Eye gots the same enfo as im. Leet me keel im an eye geev uu whut uu waana know.” Pauppaup cleared his throat, “Right on Keelee, but perhaps let Pauppaup speak to these ones, my tongue is more familiar to theirs”
Meanwhile, Cuimits buried his face in his hands. His chest heaved and he swallowed.
Zarina frowned at the burst of laughter from Cuimits. He stood his ground, and yet had given some information she could work with. The boss of the boss. And from what the corpse-gatherer was saying, this Wesca had multiple people in her pockets.
“What's the point of exacting an assassination for someone I'm about to close the walls on, hmm?” she regarded the Eeaiko still, but then focused back onto Cuimits. “I get it.” then, her eyes went to Classa, and the kids that raw away. “Take your family and friends, and leave. Things are going to get messy very soon. And now I have a name.” she sighed.
Alqasas did not budge as a barrier between her mistress and the perceived threats. In more than one instance did she unleash a steaming roar that nearly lifted those close enough off their feet.
”At least give us something off his persons to give to Wesca, like a tooth or an eyeball” Pauppaup chipped in. There wasn’t much foot to stand on against a husking dragon and the three others facing them.
“Eight fingers as a new identity. Heh.”
He stood, then, swaying. He shook his head. “What a cactus' hug,” he coughed, swallowing once more. “It's too late. Take whatever you like. The children are doomed anyhow. You have...” He swayed again, dramatically. “have no... idea what you're up against.” He staggered to the side and collapsed. His eyes were fast turning bloodshot. He foamed at the mouth.
“Oh fuck no.” Zarina reached out for Cuimits' shoulder to get the inter chem going faster. “Not when you got a family, asshole.”
"Bit saad ain et Pauppaup?" "Aye, a father would do anything for his kids. Including me" "Aww. Wee bee kneedin tha fynga"
Cuimits simply lay there in the sand, waiting for death. It did not come. It would, of course, arrive at the hands of the mastermind. He knew it, though these outsiders did not understand. They had only doomed his family even more. His children raced out to his side. "Molmo!" they shouted. "Molmo!" He groaned. “I thought I told you to stay back!” That blasted dark mage was closing in on him. Something sparked inside of him, then: anger. Hadn't they taken enough, these outsiders? Now this one wanted a finger as if it was something to just be given away? He stood and sneered. Morning was well underway and the desert wind blew hot and sandy. He stroked Cazan's and Cazéa's heads, one with each hand. “Papa will be fine,” he assured them. Then, to Yansee: “Come on, then, you wicked thing. Come take from me what your master has ordered.”
He began to draw the latent heat of the desert.
There was, on Cuimits' person, precisely one valuable item: a gympsum pendant, rare and precious, carved with the crest of his house - ancient but poor. Yansee had been around the cazenax long enough to recognize it for what it was. The head of each household generally had one - or at least each noble household.
As much as she wanted the finger, she knew the dragon and the woman would do everything in their way to prevent her from causing any bodily harm to the nihilistic cazenax. Gritting her teeth and the prospect of ending up having to return with nothing to show for it was gnawing at her. That is when she noticed the gympsum pendant. “Tell em pauppaup” she barked, “Miss, if you’re not going to let us take something off of him, why not let us walk away with that pendant he’s got on him?”
“I'm right here...” Cuimits remarked, regarding Yansee.
An unimpressed Zarina pivoted to the side to let these two parties discuss it. She was going to arbitrate violence and murder, but non-living things were another matter she cared little for.
There was a surge of VOID energy behind them and, for a moment, their attention may have been drawn. Tennaxi appeared behind them, then, walking on...legs. They were pitch black and translucent and seemed to bleed darkness into the air around her, but they were... functional. She was, in any event, actually somewhat tall for a cazenax.
With the eeaiko not so much as even acknowledging him or his words, Cuimits turned to leave.
”Oi wear yu think yur gooin? Eef yur dead aneeway, tha peendeent wheel buy yu time ore yur life” shouting at the cazenax who had turned his back and began to walk. Pauppaup’s body grabbed his head from Yansee’s grip and placed it back on his neck snapping it into place. She’s right you know. The significance of that pendant would do well to make sure she doesn’t come back to find you or enough time for us to sort this out if that’s what this woman wants. Think of your children as I know you do. Father to father.”
Cuimits twisted as he walked. He shook his head, about to respond with his pride. Then, however, he let out a deep sigh, ripped the necklace and its chain free of his neck, and tossed it into the shifting sands. This, then, was the creed. This was what he had to do and it would likely end in an even more horrible death for him and his loved ones, but perhaps - just maybe - it gave them a chance.
Meanwhile, as things had seemingly cooled off, Zarina walked over to the sniffling Classa, extended a careful arm toward the poor girl and levelled with her. “You saved me, you know that?” she flashed a smile at the distressed child. “I'm sorry you had to see more of that ugliness. I really didn't want to bring anyone else into this.”
Pauppaup breathed a sigh of relief, not that he needed to breathe since he was dead. Yansee grinned as well, not bothering to utter another word letting Cuimits leave with his back turned to all that had happened there. She shuffled past the dragon who gave her a weary look and scooped the pendant off the static sands. She admired the radiance it had and quickly tucked it in her pocket. Her mission met it's parameters and now she could go on about her life once more. That was unless the dragonknight had any thing to say about it. "Eym leevin now, tha awlrite with yu? Deez liips aur seeled! Unless yu got sumtin fo me?"
Classa sniffed and tried to make a brave face. She wrung her hands awkwardly, looking down at her hooves before looking back up. Then, the kid shrugged. “I know you didn't it's just...” She trailed off and sniffed again - a big one where you could really hear the boogers, where you could feel them. “I kind of wish none of it had happened, you know?” She glanced over at Zarina guiltily before hastily amending her statement. “I'm glad you're okay, though.” She twisted to regard to Tennaxi, who was striding up behind. “And you too.” She turned on her rears and darted over, enfolding the cazenax in a hug. “I thought you were dead, you know. You looked dead!”
Tennaxi laughed faintly. “Felt like it too.” She scratched at the back of her head and cast about, finding Classa to translate, and that seemed to perk the kid up. “Looks like I owe you again,” she addressed Zarina through her interpreter. “Thanks for healing me.” She shook her head. “Someday, I swear I won't be such a snarling fox.”
Zarina really wanted to hold the kid, but her crispy and bloodied armour wasn't prime hug material. Instead, she ruffled Classa's hair. The helm came off, letting Zazzy's sweaty hair breath out of the confinement they were frequently trapped into the last few days. Then Tennaxi and her demon legs was addressed, and her unlikely survival underlined by the centaur. “Heh, it was nothing, but-” at first she confused protecting with healing. But it eventually hit her. “I didn't heal you, though. They were suppressing me hard trying to shoot you down.” the Virangish knight confessed.
Attention fell onto Keelee. “Wait.” if Zarina's call wasn't answered, the dragon wasn't exactly keen on letting prey get away so easily. The only reason the massive reptile didn't pounce was the silent gesturing of her mother. “What is your deal? You try to mog me with these people, and then try to talk, and then help them again, and then help me, only to try and kill your associate here. With strange company, no less.” A glare was shot at the 'fresh' zombie. She opened her arms in an exaggerated shrug, head shaking in clear confusion. “What in Dami's righteous judgement drives you here?”
”Hey! I’m no strange company I’m her father I’ll have you know” her father remarked, ”The absolute nerve of some people. No manners at all.” Yansee moved her fingers, shutting her father’s mouth for just a moment. A bunch of muffled groans could be heard behind inaudible speech. ”Eye wus sen on a mishon to cleen up. Mayke me puppets with potenshell four a zombie dragoon. Et wus yu or em, eym not a killa, so eye elped yu bof” trying her best to enunciate.
The man spoke eloquently enough. Unsettling as he was, his ability to talk was value. Then came the living fish-girl's answer, which prompted a scowl from the dragonknight. “You wanted to kill and use my girl, huh?” she took a step forward to close the gap between the Eeaiko and herself. “You're not quite well up there, aren't you?” Yansee's personal bubble was invaded, although they weren't at nose-touching distance quite yet. “Hmph. I guess I owe you for helping Tennaxi, at least. So tell me about this Wesca person.” she crossed her arms under her chest and sighed. “And then you'll show me where to find that person.”
”Up wear?” pointing to her skull, ”Up ere? Eye think tha deepends on oo yu ask” laughing a bit, but covering her mouth as the dragonknight drew very close to her. Yu smell noice, Eye dun talk to er much. She gots erself ay fancee hoosban. Lives en a fancee haus. Danegerus, powaaful, rich. Wha eye get ef eye show yu? Sides my lyfe?”
Zarina stood her ground, but showed visible discomfort when sniffed. She was holding back on just flicking the girl. “One of these elites the others were talking about.” she muttered. Her long, metal claws protruding out of her massive gauntlet drummed over the platinum scales on her bicep. “Your life, and I don't burn him.” she pointed right at the daddy with her chin. “If shit hits the fan, you can take the rich people garbage they have laying around.” then, she paused, having learned something from today's mess. “Not before I find my friends, though. So, we'll just be scouting. I assume these rich cunts are in An Zenui?”
There was little negotiation room and a very slim chance the hulking monster clad in armor would allow Yansee to leave without suffering great loss. Yansee sighed and let out an annoyed growl after stomping her feet a bit. ”Aur all off yu this relentlyss?”. Her pauppaup winced in fear and covered his face and some of his body, but mostly his face. Fyn fyn jus gib me an pauppaup a ryd ther an we show yu. Let me tawk tu er firs, so eye can get me reward an gib er this pendan for im or yu want to see im die?” Aye An Zenui be the wun.”
“Only the competent ones.” chuckled a somewhat amused Zarina. “You report everything you saw, barring Cuimits being alive or details about me. As far as they know, the village was attacked and they pushed back the invader.” the pointer claw tapped rapidly over the metal plate. There was something she was still trying to figure out. “Hmmm. I'll compensate you for gathering information on their home, entourage, and all things relevant if I'd want a face-to-face. Do you accept?” the big, bad set of claws extended itself for a shake - an arm that seemingly morphed from a big ass shield to this thing. Was there really a human hand in there somewhere? “Oh, and the toll for riding the dragon is helping me heal its wounds.”
The dead-eyed dragon did not cease in its intense glaring of the Eeaiko duo that had gotten far too close to the mistress. Still, it knew its place and the accumulated wounds on its body encouraged temperance from the beast.
Yansee stood there stoic and silent weighing everything that was said to her by Zarina. She more or less knew that the topic of Zarina and the escape of Cuimits was to be redacted from her summary of the events that transpired in the village. Finally, the topic of compensation was brought up, Yansee thought her gluttony would have to be satiated by the mere pendant. A coy smile began to etch itself on her face, as if she was pulling strings on the skin of her cheeks. ”Deel” full of glee and effervescence. The girl threw her hand into the amalgamation of what was assumed to be a hand and swiftly shook on it. She peered to the side of Zarina and saw the temperamental dragon hesitant to be touched, ”Sally ouver thair? Shore”.
There wasn't much shaking going on with that hunk of metal. Yansee just clenched it and the deal was done. Now, what the compensation was going to be remained purposefully vague. So vague it was never mentioned! Zarina nodded. “Yeah, that's her. Just ... Do it from afar. If you wanna ride her afterwards-” a long, silver claw pointed at the questionably living second eeaiko. “He doesn't come on. He can go on foot with Classa.” she solemnly decided before making her way to her dragon.
Ever the dominant alpha, Alqasas growled even to her mistress. And once Zarina was close enough, she unleashed a rude roar with all its might to challenge her mother. “Hey.” she retorted dryly. Tensions were in the air with an animal that could probably bite the teen's torso with little effort. And yet, it took a hard flick to the snout from the gauntlet, prompting it to recoil and growl louder. No more roars. And soon enough, the 'all bark' facet became clear when Zazzy patted the injured animal's scales. “You're a big, grumpy girl, eh? Grr grr.” she cackled. “Mom loves you too.” the healing could commence.
with the horse girl. He understood the reluctance of having someone of his nature on the dragon, so he silently shook his hand and waved off his daughter. Yansee nodded and furrowed her brows in strength before turning back to the dragon being coddled by this mysterious woman. She stretched her hands out as they began to glow and soothe the damage inflicted by the cazenax. With her fully healed, she followed promptly to the back of the dragon and hauled herself on.
The dragon's scales sprouted out of the rapidly healing wounds. It was now flight-ready. Once Zarina had straddled the beast, it seemed more docile to the notion of being ridden by a stranger. Still, the Eeaiko had to be careful.
The initial destionation was An Zenui, where most of her friends had gone and Wesca was said to live. But the rider began to falter soon after all the intensity had died down. And eventually she lay asleep on her dragon. It had been over sixty hours since she had any rest.
Distressed, the dragon changed its course for a familiar destination: The Farmstead.
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[sub][h1][color=222222]▅[/color][color=1c1c1c][b] SALSA VERDE
[color=222222]▅[/color][color=050505]SALSA VERDE[/color][/b][/color][/h1][/sub]
[sup][color=222222]▅▅▅▅[/color][color=0d0d0d][b]austin[/b] | ♏︎ | he/him | 28 | vegan[/color][/sup]
[indent][indent][indent][sub][color=gray]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.[/color][/sub][/indent][/indent][/indent][/cell][cell][right][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/969433228094103562/austin_bio.png[/img]
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<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><font color="#222222">-</font><br><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><div class="table-responsive"><table class="bb-table table"><thead class="bb-thead"><tr class="bb-tr"><font color="#222222"><sup><div class="bb-h3"><span class="bb-b">▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅<div class="bb-right">▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅</div></span></div></sup></font></tr></thead><tr class=" bb-tr"><td class=" bb-td"><font color="#222222">▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅</font><br><br><font color="#222222">-</font><br><font color="#222222">-</font><br><sub><div class="bb-h1"><font color="#222222">▅</font><font color="#1c1c1c"><span class="bb-b"> SALSA VERDE<br><font color="#222222">▅</font><font color="#050505">SALSA VERDE</font></span></font></div></sub><br><sup><font color="#222222">▅▅▅▅</font><font color="#0d0d0d"><span class="bb-b">austin</span> | ♏︎ | he/him | 28 | vegan</font></sup><br><br><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><div class="bb-indent"><sub><font color="gray">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.</font></sub></div></div></div></td><td class=" bb-td"><div class="bb-right"><img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/969433228094103562/austin_bio.png" /><br><font color="#222222">▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅</font></div></td></tr></table></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
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