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3 yrs ago
Current Shilling a good medieval fantasy: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
Don't mind me. Just shilling a thread: roleplayerguild.com/topics/…
3 yrs ago
So worried right now. My brother just got admitted to the hospital after swallowing six toy horses. Doctors say he's in stable condtion.
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3 yrs ago
Nice to meet you, Bored. I'm interested!
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3 yrs ago
Ugh. Someone literally stole the wheels off of my car. Gonna have to work tirelessly for justice.
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Bio

Oh gee! An age and a gender and interests and things. Yeah, I have those. Ain't no way I'm about to trigger an existential crisis by typing them all out, though. You can find out what a nerd I am on discord, okay?

Stay awesome, people.

Most Recent Posts

Keeping track of approvals in my first post.
Maybe delays if any are done when I am offline.

Changed House colours due to a suggestion.
Added Mage names and Powers.


This is honestly awesome and so useful. I've been living by it, so many thanks on that front. It's that same extra care and evidence that makes you a great Co-GM in Hourglass Order.
Hello, can anyone give me their input about these arts? I'm having a hard time determining whether these fit the high aesthetic anime or the character's digital art. I've got my concept down, just trying to see what image would work.



Thank you.


Honestly, they seem to fall under the header of 'high quality anime-style art' that the GM mentions. I think you should be good.
<Snipped quote by Force and Fury>

I love the idea of a person who can paint images to life, but this isn't that. lol

I do love the creativity, but this is almost identical to the bubble color wheel power you ran by me in DMs earlier. So the same thing applies to this gift. It'll get a few nerfs because I intentionally don't want a character that can just do sooo many different things. Even as a utility or supportive gift, balance is important.

From this powerset specifically, I'd probably only allow up to three. But essentially, in its current iteration, this is Forcefields, Teleporting, Containment Fields, Clairvoyance, Zero Friction thingy, and literally erasing things from existence. This is all a bit much for one character to have in a story where characters whose capabilities should be more limited or niche.

So yeah, all that to say, this character would need some nerfs before it could get approved. But I do love that your inspired creatively! :)


I tried to nerf him a good bit from that iteration (slower and more involved use, shorter duration, reagents), but imagined this could end up being the case. At the end of the day, I know it's more a matter of too much versatility and variety. No worries. That's why I have Melle. Maybe I'll save his essential idea for something else down the line.
Was feeling inspired, so have a PaintBoi. Not sure which of the two characters I like better. Any opinions (especially the GM's) would be appreciated!

@Force and Fury


Many thanks! Looks like AI hand disease struck again for lots of them. It's the posing with the cigarette, I think. 7 would be perfect were it not for the smoke being randomly behind her lol.
<Snipped quote by Deja>
Yeah, knowing the review is soon, currently resisting the urge to keep re-reading mine for better word choices and typos that don't exist.

Anyone else doing basically the same thing?


Guilty as charged.

First thing we need to do when all the characters are finalized is separate the characters based on House and see which team would win in a fight

It'll be Seraphine btw, this is just to formalize their superiority ;)


It's Hammertime, baby!

So, I couldn't resist subscribing to Midjourney again. And, I put Tessa into it along with some fashion prompts. Words can't describe how ICONIC this lady is already.



Anyway, my point is that I'm open to running anyone's character through Midjourney if you want to!


I will certainly not say 'no'.

<Snipped quote by Force and Fury>
God, I love that phrasing. Coffee-addicted witches with vaguely defined emotional states are also totally my vibe.


Many thanks. It may or may not describe multiple people I've known over the years.

Another gupoo friend for the list.


We are LEGION.
Attempt numero dos. Meet Melle.



You know that moment when you think you read all the other Character Sheets, miss one, and realize that it has almost the same power as your character when you're 95% finished making him? That's me right now. FML. Posting him anyways because This was six hours of my life lol and, even if it's wasted, it was still spent. Enjoy. :P






A L I G H T I N T H E D A R K N E S S ||


Present: Ayla Arslan @Ti, Evander Fino Synesti @RezonanceV, Tku Pictor @dragonpiece, Fiske Flachstrauch @jasbraq, and Zarina Al-Nader @YummyYummy, Desmond Catulus @Th3King0fChaos



They had taken his day’s wages because of Poto-Mits. Of course, they had taken hers too. Sazan-Betai sat coiled beside the table. “The girl was clumsy and that one incident set us back -”

“You know it was a setup, dear,” sighed Stela-Zomé.

“It was a setup,” echoed Juja.

Sazan regarded his wife evenly. His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “It might’ve been,” he admitted, picking at his stew as she plucked two of the bowls off of the table and refilled them from the large pot by the hearth. “Matzic, Loci! Food! Come get it or I give it to Glubu!” The little tusker’s ears perked up at the word ‘food’ and its name in association, and that was enough to make the kids hurry over. Matzic dropped the toy Sand-Sailor his father had carved for his sixth birthday and Loci, who’d been swinging, upside-down, from one of the joists, dropped with surprising grace and dashed after her brother.

“Still, when someone like Talo-Tecazan hires you…” he was tired. He slouched into his coils.

“When he hires you,” mumbled Matzic in support, already digging into his bowl.

“I know, sweetheart. You can’t refuse.” Stela came up and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He took her hands and squeezed them gently and she planted a small kiss near his temple.

Sweetheart echoed Loci, scrunching up her face as she glanced Matzic’s way. Her brother mirrored her expression for a moment before making kissy faces.

“Was work weawwy bad, daddy?” asked Juja, coming up beside him and offering a hug of her own. Appropriately shamed and not to be shown up, the pair of brats dropped their spoons and offered him two more hugs. Within moments, it became a full-family embrace. Sazan breathed in and out, letting the tension evaporate. Rent was high on their cottage - that was the price of being a sirui hé and not an escé - but he would take an extra shift before the month’s end and make up for it. All seven of his children clustered about him and their mother and he couldn’t help but wonder, sometimes, at how big they’d gotten. In two years, they’d start getting work of their own: simple tasks, of course, but work nonetheless. Involuntarily, his stomach clenched at the thought. It would be better for them. He would make sure of it. Those bright little personalities, crushed beneath the endless churn of mindless work. He couldn’t bear to conceive of it. Absently, he patted Zanca’s head. Anything for you, little one.

“Yes, work was… a lot. We had that big sandstorm, remember?” A chorus of affirmatives followed, and half-told stories of peril and wonder, as the children’s words climbed over each other. And… he began ominously, and they fell silent, some mumbling after him. “I was stuck with…Poto-Mits!”

“Oh no!,” shouted Matzic, mouth wide open, half in horror and half in mirth. There was a collective groan. Poto-Mits!? giggled Loci, “She’s literally the worst!

“What’d she do this time?” wondered Walan aloud.

“Oh, you know, just dropped a whole section of scaffolding and spilled blue paint all over Mr. Talo’s red wall, the big doofus.”

“He has a purple wall now!” exclaimed Lelix proudly, and Stela smiled. “Very good, Lelix. Red and blue together make purple.”

“Did it really make his wall purple!?” gasped Juja. Zanca leaned in beside her sister, biting her lower lip in anticipation, and nodded.

Sazan snorted. “Well, it did for a little while, until we had to clean it all off.” It had been a less-than-pleasant task, especially when the guildmaster’s wife, Zast-Wesca, had gone into histrionics. “Don’t you mean she had to clean it?” prodded Cili matter-of-factly. “Yeah,” agreed Matzic, brow furrowed, “it was her mistake.” There followed a chorus of affirmations toward this idea and Sazan shook his head. “Now, I know it feels like that’s the right thing to do, but anyone can make a mistake” In truth, he didn’t really believe his own words, but these were the sorts of things you were supposed to say to kids so they didn’t grow up without empathy. “and,” he continued.

“But it’s Poto-Mits, dad.” Loci rolled her eyes. “It’s Poto-Mits,” echoed Zanca. “She’s always dropping things, just like Aunt Caz but like-” “Even worse!” Lelix cut in eagerly, giggling “That’s what I was gonna say before you interrupted me!”

Stela switched out bowls again, with Walan and Zanca starting to eat. “Well, the truth is that it’s pretty frustrating working with her.”

“Pretty frustrating,” came the affirmations, most stridently Cili’s.

“but it isn’t her fault they keep putting her on these jobs when she’s not very good at them.”

“Then why’s she on any jobs?” griped Matzic.

“Because you have to work, obviously,” retorted Lelix.

“But what if I don’t wanna?” suggested Loci, who was upside-down by now, coiled into a circle. “What if I’m not good at it?” questioned Zanca, trying - and failing - to imitate her sister.

“Then you’re useless,” confirmed Cili.

“Work can be very important,” their mother assured the kids, “But is it the only thing that’s important in life?”

A couple of them looked her way, blinking. Loci shook her head adamantly, but it was Walan who spoke, looking up from his stew. “Stuff like this is,” he said quietly and with tentative conviction, and Stela smiled at him. “You are exactly right, Walan.”

“Very much,” Sazan confirmed, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. Walan beamed as he went back to eating.

The evening carried on and, soon enough the group of seven-year-olds’ energy waned. They fell asleep in a big pile, as always, except for Loci, who dangled off the edge. Stela-Zomé was not long in throwing a shawl over her shoulders. Sazan-Betai tried not to shoot her a disapproving look, but it leaked through nonetheless. She smiled softly but not apologetically. “I won’t be very long, my love.”

“You shouldn’t be going there.” Sazan shook his head tightly and glanced down at the ground, tightening his fists. “It’s a risk,” he grated, “and you know it too.”

Stela paused at the doorway. It was dark outside now. She made her way back to him and enfolded her husband in a wordless embrace. “I do, which is why I, alone, go.” She pulled back to arms’ length, hands gently gripping his biceps. “Should I get caught, disavow me.”

“I could never -”

“But you must. She pressed a finger to his lips and he could feel the warmth of it - of her. “and you will - understand?”

He heaved a long, anxious sigh, head hung, and nodded, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “They will only bring ruin,” he wanted, hoping that his words were not true, but fearing that they were.

“Or freedom, Sazan!” Her voice rose a touch and both of them - parents - glanced over their shoulders anxiously to see if any of the children had woken. “You saw what happened today,” she continued, once it was clear they had not. “How they use you and keep you in debt, what they do to poor Mits.” She squeezed a bit tighter. “The mindless jobs they give Cazelui, brilliant, creative mind that she is!”

And you, he thought absently. Stela-Zomé: beautiful mind. “I don’t like it,” Sazan admitted, “but we have a king now who wants to change things. Maybe the best play is just to be good citizens. To work, to be respectful, to live normal lives and they will not see us as so very different from them soon!”

“Well, he says the right kinds of things,” Stela admitted, “but words are easy. Actions aren’t and, even then, if he’s genuine, there are a lot of his own people who’ll be working against him.” She shook her head. “Husband, I love you, but I don’t agree with you - not completely. We can’t just keep bowing our heads meekly and hoping that, one day, they’ll wake up, change centuries worth of their thinking, and see us as equals. Maybe it’ll happen, but I wouldn't bank on it and I think, deep down, you wouldn’t either.” She stroked his cheek gently and he leaned into it. “Don’t worry. I won’t be long. I won’t get caught.” With that, they broke apart. She flipped her cloak up over her pretty head and disappeared through the doorway into the cold night air.






It was also well after dark when a different group arrived outside of An Zenui. The city slept in its valley, cliffs and walls pulled about it like a child’s blankets. Tku was first to alight from Ayla, who’d taken care to stay out of sight behind a hill and some hoodoos. He helped the doddering old Mr. Jascuan down and then they stood there for a moment as a cool nighttime breeze stirred the dunes. Naxos whined about getting off for a moment, suggesting that they just ride their giant human right into the city, but his conscience was pricked by the old man and he let out a sigh. “Okay, okay. I give. We’ll walk.”

She was left with a set of clothes for when she shrank and advised to stay out of sight. Then, with a grim sort of determination, Jascuan led them… around the main gate and up to a small shed. “I can’t remember shit anymore,” he joked through Naxos’ translation, “but I remember this place.” The door was locked, or appeared so until he grabbed the handle roughly and, with surprising strength, lifted. The weathered old wood creaked, thumped, and came open. “Through here,” he croaked in a self-satisfied voice. “Hidden entrance for us independent merchants. Avoid the gate taxes.” There was a long tunnel through the cliff and Naxos summoned a bit of feeble light to help them find their way through. “Oh goodie,” he griped. “I Just love small dark spaces.”

An Zenui by night was a different place. While the rich and their exhausted servants and slaves slumbered up in the Bantarsca district and the day’s bustling markets were empty and quiet, the streets took on a different kind of life. Stray cats, dogs, and lizards scampered about, sometimes fighting loudly in alleyways or leaping up onto sheds, water catchments, and rooftops. Their eyes flashed eerie shades of gold, orange, and acid green, reflective under the moonlight.

They weren’t the only eyes about, however. A handful of cazenax could be seen, moving from one place to another, for whatever reasons they had. They were few, though. Far greater was the number of stuzé - who the humans knew as ‘sirrahi’. Nocturnal either by choice or employment, dozens were encountered by the interlopers as they made their way through An Zenui.

“What are they up to?” Naxos wondered aloud, in both cazenax and, belatedly, avincian. “You haven’t been to the city for a while,” Jascuan observed. He shook his wizened head. “They work in shifts, you know. Some barely ever see daylight.” They carried on, towards where, only he could say. He seemed to at least have an idea, unlike the others. After a moment, he voiced it.

“They're headed for the tunnels," the old man rumbled. “Who'd have ever thought that keeping people as slaves and treating them like dirt would make them angry." Jascuan let out a derisive snort. “You know, it isn't often that I curse my age - I've lived a good long life - but if I was thirty years younger..." He shook his head and then, for a moment, self-doubt seemed to overcome him and he paused. “Naxos," he asked quietly, “You're happy?"

The imp seemed to consider. “...yeah, I guess so. You forgot to fluff my pillows last night and bring me my glass o' lemon water with three mint leaves and a -"

“You little ingrate," Jascuan snickered, and Naxos snickered with him. “You know you're my main man, pops. Ain't nobody gonna take our farm or hurt Maxi on my watch." He yawned and there was a faint hum of chemical magic. “If I can stay awake, that is."

“You'll have your fluffed pillows and lemon water soon, Naxos. Maxi knows the tunnels, though. I helped dig them, after all," he grumbled. “It's the least those stuzé owe me."

Then, they found themselves approaching an indent in the cliffs under a particularly reddish section. Great mansions and sprawling gardens perched atop it, some two hundred feet up, vines dangling down, an entire fold-out patio winched up for the night. Around the base were a series of sheds, storehouses, hovels, and a slaughterhouse. Voices seemed to be coming from the shed beside the slaughterhouse. Up above, on the cliffs, there was a flash of sonic magic and bright flashing lights that suddenly went dark.




Zarina, voluntarily left behind, had only Naxos and Classa to rely on, and the child soon became irritable and erratic, involuntarily signaling that it was time for her to sleep. Zox, all glowering ten feet of him, was placed in charge of the prisoners while Zarina ‘tucked’ the girl into bed.

It was an extended process. For all of her protestations that she wasn’t some ‘scaredly lil’ kid’ and was fine, Classa clearly was not. When she’d finally conked out, Zarina found her mind turning to the present problem. Tennaxi and two others - Ozuxsalan and Zamujazé - were cooperative, or at least seemed to be. The other prisoners were… a volatile mix. That brought her to the present problem: they would need to be kept somewhere while she questioned them, one at a time. They would, perhaps, even need to be restrained, physically or magically.

She walked back around the rambling farmstead, the cold glow of the moons lighting her way. In the distance, dewsails fluttered gently, ethereal in the desert night. Out of absent habit, the Virangishwoman reached out with her senses to sweep the surrounding areas. Zox wasn’t there. She swept again, her pace quickening from a brisk walk into a jog. Again, there was no sign of the massive golem. Instead, there was motion and magic use from the shed where the prisoners were being temporarily kept. There was noise! She ran, enhancing it with kinetic magic. From the opposite direction, near the innermost dewsails, she saw Zox rushing over as well.

They arrived and busted open the door. Inside was carnage. Ozuxsalan and Zamujazé - two of her three most cooperative leads - lay dead: bloody and battered. A third prisoner - Cuimits, who’d tried to stab her earlier - was cowering, wounded, from… Tennaxi. Covered in others’ blood, she released him immediately and held her hands up before her. “Co an benam zel an!” (It’s not how it looks!) Her eyes darted about and Zarina could see that there were scratches and bruises on her that had not been there before. “Cé yamui!” (I swear!)

“Toala!” (Monster!) shrieked Cuimits, glaring Tennaxi’s way. His eyes flicked in the direction of Cozesteo as the big man hesitated. “An oiscané ya!” (She attacked him!) he accused after a moment, leveling a trembling finger her way and glancing back at Cuimits. “Anx zoané ya! zicui zoan ya!” (She tried to kill me!) He clutched at his ribs and looked up at Zarina beseechingly.

Tennaxi’s eyes were wide and haunted. She closed them and hammered both open palms into the sides of her head, trembling. “Ya’ax Cé!” (I didn’t do it!) she whimpered, hands covered in other people’s blood, tears streaming down her face. “Ya’ax Cé…” (I didn’t do it…)






In temporary exile outside of the city, Ayla had time to do… more or less whatever she liked. The problem was that there wasn’t very much to do and she needed to stay hidden. It was size shaming, to be perfectly frank, and she strained under that particular yoke. Then, as she was watching a sand scorpion skitter about on the dunes, grateful that she was a few hundred times bigger than the oversized bug, she felt a familiar pinch.

She braced herself for the pain but, when it came, it was far less than it had been the first time. That’s not to say that it still didn’t hurt like hell. Sitting there in the sands within a tent of her own giant clothes, she quickly retrieved the smaller set Tku had made for her slipped into them. She’d been able to keep her wits a bit and the transformation… it stank of Dark Magic and… in addition to Binding or Blood, perhaps some other kind she couldn’t place.

Emerging into the cool night air, she wrapped her arms around herself and gathered both the faint arcane energy that she could for warming and the deep and powerful but subtle kinetic motion of the shifting sands for movement. Effortlessly, she leapt up onto the great reddish cliffs, over a wall, and found herself in a land of vast silent gardens and sleeping mansions.

Only the buzz of their wings to mark their presence, a handful of small, fairylike people fluttered about, eyes or wings glowing faint and ethereal in the shimmering darkness. Nightflowers pulsed and gleamed under the starlight, curling and drooping from trellises and here, in the desert, that rarest and most valuable of commodities - water - flowed freely in ponds, fountains, and artificial streams. A couple of the little people looked her way - she had never seen anything like them and perhaps they had never seen anything like her - but then they carried on with their business, paying her little heed after those initial curious glances.

There were others about too, she noticed, and was startled to find that they were sirrahi, or whatever they were referred to as over here. Even at this hour, closing in on midnight, they continued to sweep sand from the previous morning’s storm from rooftops, balconies, gardens, and paths. In a few places, there was scaffolding still: evidence of construction or repair work. Then, there came voices. “Why use this language is we?” the first one was female, cultured, and thickly accented. “Speaks it, nobody does. Whatever I like, I can say.” The response was similar, but distinctly masculine and lacking the tentativeness of the first.

“The stuzé know.”

“To them, nobody listen. On our side, some even. Now, tracks cover are your?”

“Cover: cad jici ya?” (cover: what does it mean?)

There was a quick response in what Ayla could only assume was their native tongue. “Now, have we protect our…alizoshti?” (benefactor)

“And now you don’t know a word!” There was a long pause. “I don’t see that could know anyone. Drink it that stupid cooking girl. Unsick was she.” There was a second pause and the female voice came back, pleading. “Talo, this shouldn’t we do.”

“You see how we live, Wesca?” the male voice snapped condescendingly.

“...yes, but -”

“No ‘yes but!’ All end will this if get his way he. No power will have the guild. Ruined will be we.” There was another pause. “Beside, powerful support have we.”

“Yes! Too powerful! If go wrong things, in trouble we, not she - her!

“My love,” began the male voice, but then, one of the fairylike people pulsed a bright red along his wings and the pair stopped abruptly. There was rapidfire conversation in cazenax and then more, awkwardly, a continuation in avincian. “Well, then lose we. Take risks I like.”

“...lose I not like.”

“Just a game is it, honey.” There was nervous laughter. “Find out winner next… Victendis will we.”

Ayla reached out with her senses. There were at least four of the small flying people closing in on her, glow blacked out, and a couple of sirrahi too.




Cazelui had spent the past hour and a half playing with dyes she’d found and she was far too much of a nervous wreck to go back to the bunkhouse and sleep. She’d lost Pan and the human girl. She’d followed the other three humans here. They’d gotten into the paténasca (safehouse) and taken the key with them. The Sahuitix (chain breakers) would be furious. They were meeting tonight. She could run away and play innocent, but she’d been seen in the area, they already didn’t like her, and word would travel. The twenty-two-year-old groaned.

Tentatively, sweeping first with her unpracticed energy sense, she opened the shed door just a crack and peered out into the quiet, nighttime streets. The usual creatures skittered about, and the usual people too. She still knew most of the patterns, even though she hadn’t been on nights for almost two years. It was right about then that the lock on the hidden door behind her jiggled. Cazelui nearly jumped out of her skin, but she put her dyes away as it opened and one of the humans - the tall blonde one - popped his head out.

“Finally!” she exclaimed. “I’m rescued!” She blinked, looking him up and down for a moment as he emerged more fully. “I… oh. Um, is everyone okay? Did you catch Potés-Palix? Did you learn anything?” The questions came tumbling out and she blushed. Evander This one’s name was ‘Evander’, she remembered.

Then, however, just as she was checking if there were more squeezing through behind him, just as she noticed a second, Desmond, there came quiet sounds of movement outside - stuzé movement. “They are coming,” she warned, “The Sahuitix - um… chain breakers. This is their space we are in and they are about to have a meeting.” The stuzé knitted and unknitted her fingers anxiously as she glanced at the small door. “I am not sure how welcoming they will be. You are not cazenax, but you are not stuzé either, and Potés-Palix…” She trailed off, worried.

It was too late. The door opened and a pair of stuzéts appeared. Both were women: one of perhaps around thirty and the other perhaps a shade older. They paused in the doorway at the sight of Cazelui, and a moment of recognition flashed between the daydreamer and one of them. The door was allowed to close and it was crowded inside the shed, suddenly. The new arrivals regarded the pair of humans. “Azaba?” (Sister?) remarked one incredulously, eyes searching the two unfamiliar faces as she spoke, “Who are these and what are they - and you - doing here?”



Yet, this was not the only entrance to the extensive network of tunnels and paténascats beneath and around An Zenui. From at least three others, they worked their way in: dozens of stuzéts, many if not all members of the sahuitix. Potés-Palix straightened, eyes darting around. She scooted back in bed to find the human who had been suspicious of her - Fiske? - gone, perhaps invisible again as he often was. There was movement in the tunnel and then in the large room. The back of her neck prickled in warning. Then came a voice from the next room, low and growling in Avincian. “I smell cazenax. Find it and remove. Make sure it can’t say anything.





Part of me just wants to make a 'burninator' if I go the elementalist route: someone who does one thing very well, to an almost cartoonish degree in dedication and perhaps ability, to the detriment of most other things. I'd like to have a niche case who gets his/her one crowning moment of awesome at some point or is situationally very useful and struggles to find purpose when pushed outside of that niche. Not sure, but also want to have them play authentically 'young'. Would I be stepping on anyone's toes with either of my concepts?
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