- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- Multiple posts per week
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Female
- Nonbinary
- Genres
- Fantasy, High fantasy
This city of white stone, its emerald glass and golden roofs, standing throughout the eons as a bastion for civility. Faaria recalled how her people once dwelled within this labyrinth of structures long before their plunge from grace. The malice willed to her by the Beastkin, while nettlesome, wasn't devoid of provocation. Her father's generation dispersion of avarice and cruelty had sown the seed of discord, and while some humans harbored disdain, the olive-skinned beauty saw it as penitence. Having spent her days on the road as an entertainer, following a mirthful band of fellow practitioners of the arts. Those eyes of honey beheld the brutality of their world. Yet, she was gifted with the kindness that somehow abided through it all.
The life of an artist was often romanticized, thought of as idyllic and liberating. But the devotedness and labor poured into a single production far exceeded the duration of the spectacle. Faaria did what she could to attract the masses, dancing, acrobatics, juggling, swallowing swords, acting, singing, and fortune-telling. Anything to entice the common rabble to part with a few coins, just so her family could scrape by some semblance of a living. Taking her share of the profits, investing it into perfumes, clothing, and even jewelry to further add to the air of mystery. Some might think of it as self-indulgence, but the allure was a vital facet for any entertainer. The roving bohemians, bringing their carts and preparing to set up their venues.
Her people's displacement, having little influence over their imaginative souls. This merry and diverse family of minstrels never had a home to call their own, and so the fallout of the empire's collapse impacted them far less than those individuals with roots planted into the granule soil. Home, a sense of belonging, wasn't a location, but it was a state of thought and being in this actress's mind. And ideals, while impossible to hold, were impervious to the sword and caster gun. Emerald City had served as their next stop, as those carts had long since strolled within its borders. The caravan was toiling with zeal as they prepared to assemble the intricate stage. With her duties for the day completed and having four days till the illustrious show, the raven-haired acrobat was permitted some free time.
Rummaging through her trunk tucked within the juggler's mobile abode, she'd eventually embellish her voluptuous figure with her favorite traveling attire. The garb consisted of pure black silk, a jacket top with an orange stripe running up the parted center's edges, leaving cleavage exhibited as sexual prowess like any tool had its place in her trade. The bottom half and midriff were covered in straps of leather, held together by buckles clasped onto her top. A flowing floral embroidered dress, only shielding her bottom from wanting gaze. Fingerless gloves to limit callous from formulating on those dainty digits. Dark translucent leggings, matching sleeves, and a pair of black and orange heels. Once her outfit was donned, a light misting of warm floral fragrance consisting of jasmine, freesia, and rose perfume.
With her quaint home secured, the illusionist gaited down the serpentine streets, zig-zagging between the residents. The appalled yet snooping eyes of the citizens hard to elude notice. However, Faaria would take it all in stride. She received more than her wanted share of pejorative terms, as that deck continuously was shuffled between nimble fingers. Those thigh-high heels resonating, as the seemingly harmless beauty was kissed by the gentle approach of a crisp breeze. Locks of raven hair blowing before cascading downward as the exquisite concoction of her redolence whisked downwind.
The bazaar was bustling, nestled within the gaped gullet of an entryway, as no matter her efforts; the peddlers seemed disinterested in entertaining her business. Yet, despite wicked utterances, Faaria always aimed to turn the other cheek. She was offering each contemptuous merchant a bow of reverence before endeavoring to broker a deal elsewhere. Resentment only begets more malice, and of course, wrinkles. And neither of those two things suited the actress. Her wrist and digits were desisting their movements as she abruptly froze in place. A passing Jackal humanoid was bumping his shoulder into her as a cold sweat trailed down those soft to behold features. What was this feeling? Such extensile dread inspired by the unknown, as instinctively her eyes sailed toward the Binary suns floating in the firmament.
Faaria found herself in quite a dilemma, uncertain whether she should retreat or approach? A sluggish gulp was rolling down her throat, as the fortune teller hadn't felt such a presence since that elderly man accosted her within this very metropolis alleyways. She was done running if this perceived omen was somehow connected by that eerie specter often spotted in her peripherals. No, someone depended on her, and no matter what, this crafty woman would not fail the child. Stepping forward, the dark dress wrapped around her sides and back swayed faultlessly with the rocking of those hips.
"Greetings, my name is Faaria Quil'Kovesh. I am but a humble traveling performer who arrived with the caravan but a week ago. It seems no one here will accept my coin, however, perhaps my misfortune may change? I am looking to purchase medicine, one of the children within our group is sick, and I need some nightshade to alleviate her pain so she may get some much-deprived rest."
The hands resuming the shuffling of the deck, the bosom swelling as an exhale pervaded from those beeswax coated lips. Faaria considered this a possibly vain venture, but it would only be after persuing nearly every avenue of approach before she accepted failure. The peddler appeared unamused, giving her a moderately indifferent posture, as those eyes took time to note her well-shaped figure. The Alchemist turned his back toward the caramel woman as the clattering of glass was sorted reverberated outward.
"One less human in this world is one less pest to squash tomorrow. How about this, you behave like a good little chimp, bang some cymbals for our amusement, but fuck off till summoned you wretched cur!"
The Jackal added ever so coldly as his undead thrall labored with beautifying the stall. An elven man, leaning against a nearby column, puffed away at his pipe. The young Mer was chortling as he seemed to find something humorous about Faaria's impasse. The entrepreneurial smoker, pushing himself free as the predators encircled the woman, his eyes lustfully examined the flesh, as he smirked venomously. The hand was stretching forward, running calloused digits across her face. All the while, the entertainer retorted with a rather fierce glare.
"Such fire, unlike my partner, I am relatively merciful. For if I weren't, that scowl would result in you being beaten. And since you are unblemished and not bleeding, I consider that a gesture of my restraint human."
The thumb flicking her bottom lip as Faaria pushed his squalid paw away before rolling her eyes as this aggression only emboldened the stranger. The elf raised his back palm and struck the vermin for having the gall to refute his advances. The actress turned her head, as strike leaving a red mark, as it seemed it would be one of those days.
The Jackal dealer was joining his friend along with his shambling undead thrall. Faaria knew the city watch wouldn't risk a scene for a human, given their status within the current hierarchy.
The stall owner grinning as the dancer tried to think of the best way to retreat without causing a ruckus. While she could fight, any such hostilities may result in her family suffering the consequences of brash decisions.
The life of an artist was often romanticized, thought of as idyllic and liberating. But the devotedness and labor poured into a single production far exceeded the duration of the spectacle. Faaria did what she could to attract the masses, dancing, acrobatics, juggling, swallowing swords, acting, singing, and fortune-telling. Anything to entice the common rabble to part with a few coins, just so her family could scrape by some semblance of a living. Taking her share of the profits, investing it into perfumes, clothing, and even jewelry to further add to the air of mystery. Some might think of it as self-indulgence, but the allure was a vital facet for any entertainer. The roving bohemians, bringing their carts and preparing to set up their venues.
Her people's displacement, having little influence over their imaginative souls. This merry and diverse family of minstrels never had a home to call their own, and so the fallout of the empire's collapse impacted them far less than those individuals with roots planted into the granule soil. Home, a sense of belonging, wasn't a location, but it was a state of thought and being in this actress's mind. And ideals, while impossible to hold, were impervious to the sword and caster gun. Emerald City had served as their next stop, as those carts had long since strolled within its borders. The caravan was toiling with zeal as they prepared to assemble the intricate stage. With her duties for the day completed and having four days till the illustrious show, the raven-haired acrobat was permitted some free time.
Rummaging through her trunk tucked within the juggler's mobile abode, she'd eventually embellish her voluptuous figure with her favorite traveling attire. The garb consisted of pure black silk, a jacket top with an orange stripe running up the parted center's edges, leaving cleavage exhibited as sexual prowess like any tool had its place in her trade. The bottom half and midriff were covered in straps of leather, held together by buckles clasped onto her top. A flowing floral embroidered dress, only shielding her bottom from wanting gaze. Fingerless gloves to limit callous from formulating on those dainty digits. Dark translucent leggings, matching sleeves, and a pair of black and orange heels. Once her outfit was donned, a light misting of warm floral fragrance consisting of jasmine, freesia, and rose perfume.
With her quaint home secured, the illusionist gaited down the serpentine streets, zig-zagging between the residents. The appalled yet snooping eyes of the citizens hard to elude notice. However, Faaria would take it all in stride. She received more than her wanted share of pejorative terms, as that deck continuously was shuffled between nimble fingers. Those thigh-high heels resonating, as the seemingly harmless beauty was kissed by the gentle approach of a crisp breeze. Locks of raven hair blowing before cascading downward as the exquisite concoction of her redolence whisked downwind.
The bazaar was bustling, nestled within the gaped gullet of an entryway, as no matter her efforts; the peddlers seemed disinterested in entertaining her business. Yet, despite wicked utterances, Faaria always aimed to turn the other cheek. She was offering each contemptuous merchant a bow of reverence before endeavoring to broker a deal elsewhere. Resentment only begets more malice, and of course, wrinkles. And neither of those two things suited the actress. Her wrist and digits were desisting their movements as she abruptly froze in place. A passing Jackal humanoid was bumping his shoulder into her as a cold sweat trailed down those soft to behold features. What was this feeling? Such extensile dread inspired by the unknown, as instinctively her eyes sailed toward the Binary suns floating in the firmament.
Faaria found herself in quite a dilemma, uncertain whether she should retreat or approach? A sluggish gulp was rolling down her throat, as the fortune teller hadn't felt such a presence since that elderly man accosted her within this very metropolis alleyways. She was done running if this perceived omen was somehow connected by that eerie specter often spotted in her peripherals. No, someone depended on her, and no matter what, this crafty woman would not fail the child. Stepping forward, the dark dress wrapped around her sides and back swayed faultlessly with the rocking of those hips.
"Greetings, my name is Faaria Quil'Kovesh. I am but a humble traveling performer who arrived with the caravan but a week ago. It seems no one here will accept my coin, however, perhaps my misfortune may change? I am looking to purchase medicine, one of the children within our group is sick, and I need some nightshade to alleviate her pain so she may get some much-deprived rest."
The hands resuming the shuffling of the deck, the bosom swelling as an exhale pervaded from those beeswax coated lips. Faaria considered this a possibly vain venture, but it would only be after persuing nearly every avenue of approach before she accepted failure. The peddler appeared unamused, giving her a moderately indifferent posture, as those eyes took time to note her well-shaped figure. The Alchemist turned his back toward the caramel woman as the clattering of glass was sorted reverberated outward.
"One less human in this world is one less pest to squash tomorrow. How about this, you behave like a good little chimp, bang some cymbals for our amusement, but fuck off till summoned you wretched cur!"
The Jackal added ever so coldly as his undead thrall labored with beautifying the stall. An elven man, leaning against a nearby column, puffed away at his pipe. The young Mer was chortling as he seemed to find something humorous about Faaria's impasse. The entrepreneurial smoker, pushing himself free as the predators encircled the woman, his eyes lustfully examined the flesh, as he smirked venomously. The hand was stretching forward, running calloused digits across her face. All the while, the entertainer retorted with a rather fierce glare.
"Such fire, unlike my partner, I am relatively merciful. For if I weren't, that scowl would result in you being beaten. And since you are unblemished and not bleeding, I consider that a gesture of my restraint human."
The thumb flicking her bottom lip as Faaria pushed his squalid paw away before rolling her eyes as this aggression only emboldened the stranger. The elf raised his back palm and struck the vermin for having the gall to refute his advances. The actress turned her head, as strike leaving a red mark, as it seemed it would be one of those days.
The Jackal dealer was joining his friend along with his shambling undead thrall. Faaria knew the city watch wouldn't risk a scene for a human, given their status within the current hierarchy.
The stall owner grinning as the dancer tried to think of the best way to retreat without causing a ruckus. While she could fight, any such hostilities may result in her family suffering the consequences of brash decisions.
