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Songs used set a mood, lyrics may not reflect the views of my character. Please mind your speakers when clicking the links.
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Personal RP Limits
■ I will play mature content and themes (violence, sexuality, drug / alcohol use) as long as they're logical in a plot-driven encounter. Coarse and excessive language. Temporary injury and incapacitation. Temporary imprisonment. Most walk-up encounters.
■ Ask about long-term and/or permanent injury and disfigurement. Long-term captivity or imprisonment.
■ I won't play permanent character death or rape plots.
Disclaimer
■ If an aspect of RP makes you uncomfortable in a scene we're playing, please send me a /tell, letting me know. Communication is very important, more important than potentially keeping immersion.
Links Out
Links that lead off the wiki, but are technically relevant to the character.
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Time Zone/Server
■ Time Zone
■ Server
Credit
Thank you all for letting me use/alter your codes. If it weren't for you my wiki would not look how it does.
■ Mashing everything together like a mad scientist D'lyhhia Lhuil.
Please remember to proper credit when using this wiki. Thank you.
Pretty banner or quote here.
The Goblet is a locale that brings several vague concepts to mind: wealth, power, luxury, excess, and a dozen other well-earned words. However, no one would believe "superstitous" or "haunted" ranks so highly among them.
That is, unless you have the unfortunate luck to live there.
Residents pass on hushed rumours behind closed doors: whispers of a vile, voidsent-summoning witch; people going missing, later to be found exsanguinated at best and unrecognizable at worst, assuming they're found at all; demons invading their dreams while they sleep. They laugh about it, make light of it, maybe even boast their braveness in the face of such unbelievable spew, but not without a glint of nervousness flashing in their eyes or a deliberate glance towards their locked windows.
There's a reason for their fear, and a good one at that. Deep within some forgotten corner of the Sultana's Breath, an artist dips her brush in a vibrant red paint, her yellowed teeth on display as her cracked lips furl upwards in a smile. She's works in solitude, but the Miqo'te wants not for company, for They are with her always, whispering softly into her ear and further blackening her soul. She works with a supernatural speed, painting a canvas of freshly-flayed humanoid hide in so much crimson. Within moments, she's finished her piece: an immaculately detailed portrait of a white-haired, war-painted Miqo'te. It floats upwards with no apparent source of locomotion, joining the tens of dozens of its identical iterations.
There's a reason for their fear, but who would ever suspect a meek mouse like Jenny to be its explanation?