faderift | MOD PLOT ↠ SECRET STEEP'D ROOTS

Entry tags:

MOD PLOT ↠ SECRET STEEP'D ROOTS

WHO: Open
WHAT: Trapped! Trapped in a jungle!
WHEN: Bloomingtide 9:46
WHERE: Unknown
NOTES: OOC post! The three starters in the comments can have multiple threads, and feel free to ask us on the OOC post if you have any "what will happen if I x" questions.

When the eluvian shatters, there's a stutter in the flow of the fight. The eight Venatori nearly all freeze in place for a moment when the glass cracks, watching their way out and their plan crumble, and afterwards they never quite manage to get their rhythm back. But they don't quit, either. In the end, they all go down fighting.

Riftwatch takes no casualties, and the four members of Riftwatch who were taken captive are all alive, accounted for, and mostly unharmed.

That's the end of the good news.

The massive, shattered eluvian was set within a ruin carved and built out of a steep embankment, now almost entirely reclaimed by the jungle. All that's left are the remains of walls—some full height, others crumbling where vines have pushed between the stones or spreading tree roots have disrupted the ground. But with daylight fading and several injuries that need attending to before anyone can move, the surviving walls and thick plant growth form the best shelter anyone can hope to find before nightfall.

When the sun rises and better stock can be taken of their position, the jungle in which everyone finds themselves is still not immediately recognizable. It's hot compared to Kirkwall at this time of year, with temperatures hovering around 75-80F and kept relatively consistent between day and night by the high humidity and non-existent breeze. It rains with some frequency—light showers that are little more than mist by the time they reach ground-level or torrential downpours that start with little warning and drop several inches of rain in an hour before disappearing as abruptly as they'd arrived.

Most of the ruins extending up or out from the embankment are little more than chunks of moss-covered stone buried in the undergrowth. Searching around them will find them a stream running through the remains of a carved stone channel, fast enough to be safe to drink, and they can follow that a short ways out of the ruins to where it joins a much larger river. They won't see any traffic along it except for a variety of river creatures that would be happy to eat them. Judging by the position of the sun and moons, the river leads south.

There is one half-sunken portion of the ruin complex that's more intact, but after exploring it confirms there is no back-up eluvian on offer, there's little choice but to set out into the dense growth of the jungle. Huge trees create a canopy far overhead, and the floor is soft and springy with dead matter. Giant ferns, vines of every variety, and flowers of every conceivable color crowd them at every turn, making travel slow and damp. Overhead, and all around, are the sounds of other creatures moving through the same space. Birdsong, monkey screeches, the constant buzz and chitter of insects. The fauna in the jungle is a mix of the usual sorts of beasts one would expect in such a climate: parrots, monkeys, snakes, absurdly large insects, the rare big cat, whatever other weird animals walk around a jungle.

The walk south along the river will be a long and difficult slog through dense jungle with no real respite from the environment along the way—and no real certainty about their destination. They'll have to make a new camp each night as best they can and push on the next morning, hiking through seemingly-endless forest. At first, they will have the benefit of a path, a trail south alongside the river that appears to have been cut less than a month ago. It will lead to a second set of ruins where signs of Venatori presence will be obvious. They will make camp here for a couple days while they explore more thoroughly for clues about where they are and what the Venatori were up to.

Beyond that point it will be necessary to cut their own trail, an exhausting process that means even slower going and tired arms for everyone who takes a shift at the front of the line. The only break will come when the jungle abruptly gives way to a deep gorge, the river taking a hard west-ward turn and dropping down a series of magnificent waterfalls to what looks like a very large lake at the bottom. They can either find a way down the falls and hike west around the lake, or cross the river via a narrow rock bridge over the falls and continue south back into the jungle. They'll stop here and make camp among the rocks for another couple days to try to identify the lake or the falls before they go any further and risk walking miles in the wrong direction.

The journey will take a few weeks in total, with plenty of time and opportunity for a few people scouting ahead or foraging for food to find trouble (or fun) on their own. But the entire group will also encounter a few hazards together, including, in chronological order:

Shortly after leaving the elven ruins where they came through the eluvian, a flash flood will catch the camp one evening, despite its position on the best available high ground, sweeping away some supplies and ruining others. People outside of the camp, for whatever reason, will lack the high ground and might experience a more dangerous rush of water, and everyone will have to go to sleep damp and hungry.
A day after the group leaves the dwarven ruins, a swarm of dragonlings and several drakes will emerge from a mountain cave when the group passes too close, breathing fire and intent on chasing them away. Their high dragon won't appear for the fight, but several days later she will fly overhead, barely visible through the canopy but obviously very, very large.
A few days later, they'll come upon a hot spring that appears crystal-clear and fine for drinking and bathing, but will result in people developing minor, mostly auditory hallucinatory effects an hour or two after their exposure to it. The plants growing nearby will show to have an even stronger effect, if anyone is foolish enough to eat them to find out.
In a few areas, the river will cut gorges through the mountainous terrain, and following it will require either walking along narrow traversable paths on the cliffsides or holding supplies overhead and fording through the water. Watch out for dickfish.

Threaded | Flat

Hidden behind a curtain of vines is a door cut into the embankment. Stairs lead down into a sunken chamber, intact except for one corner where tree roots have eaten through the walls and ceiling and caused a partial cave-in.

The chamber walls first appear covered in moss, but on closer look have been covered with mosaics in a style familiar from other ancient elven ruins, depicting members of the elven pantheon, and the metal remnants of activity remain: candlesticks, coins, rusted pieces of armor and a broken sword that may still be valuable for its inlaid runes. But anything not made of metal, stone, or magic has decayed to nothing in the humidity.

The center of the floor is clear, and in fact appears to have been deliberately cleared fairly recently, judging by the state of the dust elsewhere. In the center is a large oval mosaic that clearly depicts the known continents of Thedas. There are no national borders and minimal detail—the coasts, for example, are mostly straight or gently curved lines, and no landmarks, geography, or cities are marked. The map is criss-crossed with lines of pale green tiles originating from the edges of the map.

Most of the lines are angled to cross or terminate in what is now the Anderfels or Nevarra, but while the group investigates the area, curiously, some of the tiles will flip and shift, slowly erasing the current lines and drawing new ones that terminate instead in Orlais or Ferelden.

Not far from the elven ruins housing the eluvian, Riftwatch discovers debris from recent human (or elven, or dwarven) activity and a trackable trail of footprints and hacked vines and branches leading away from the river. Following the trail brings them to the entrance to a thiag—a great stone doorway, the doors themselves rotted away, flanked by the blocky geometric stone carvings that mark dwarven architecture—set into the side of a mountain.

After a descent down wide carved stairs, through doorways and chambers that would prevent sunlight from ever reaching inside, is a ruined thaig. Abandoned in the ancient age, the only signs of more recent activity point straight to the Venatori. The floor is littered with deepstalker corpses that are only halfway to skeletonization, most of them clearly killed with magic. Lingering shimmering barriers block the only entrance to the Deep Roads, and while a genlock or two may wander into sight while Riftwatch explores, they will be unable to do more than stare through the shield of magic. The main platform is littered with debris from camping and cooking, and a few discarded scraps of notes written in Trade with touches of Tevene.

The notes aren't particularly helpful. One of the Tevinter researchers was trying to write a love poem, for example, and another was making a list of baby names, apparently, with some notes as to which belong to a dead relative and experiments in combining them into first and middle names in different orders. One is covered in repetitive spirals, stars, and flowers—absent-minded doodles, nothing creepy—as well as the word Amgarrak written twenty-odd times out of apparent adoration for how it looks in the doodler's careful script.

The only other points of interest are a series of large holes, surrounded by low stone walls, not unlike wells. Chains hang above most of them, but they've long rusted and broken. And the holes themselves are dark, empty, and—as far as anyone will be able to tell by looking, by throwing stones, or by being daring/stupid enough to attempt a descent—legitimately bottomless.

The camp they set above the falls is in some ways more pleasant than others: the rocks provide some respite from the constant claustrophobic damp of the jungle, offering a hint of a breeze and a glimpse of the stars overhead. But what they lack in creatures crawling about beneath your feet they make up for in aerial hazards. Strange creatures buzz about pecking at any supplies left unguarded or hair if there aren't any, steal any shiny odds and ends they can snag, and make bizarre noises at all hours of the day and night.

At first they just seem like unusual birds, but closer examination will reveal them to be something even more unlikely: hybrid creatures in the manner of griffons, but varying wildly in size and make-up. The most common have the heads and wings of colorful hummingbirds, parrots, or toucans, with the bodies of various small jungle mammals or the occasional lizard, snake, or spider. Once you know to look, other hybrids can be spotted all around the area. The largest of the winged type are big enough for a single rider (assuming one could be tamed enough to permit it at all), with the bodies of creatures like panthers, giant anteaters, gurguts, or even a bronto.

Those interested can track many of them coming and going from nests and caves in the cliff-face, and in the process stumble upon a narrow, treacherous path down the cliff to a particularly large cavern-opening. At the back of the cave are signs of Deep Roads-style architecture, and a tunnel leading furhter underground. It eventually opens onto a dome-shaped cavern that might be more intimidating if the top hadn't cracked to let in streams of bright light. Bats both hybrid and not are living in the shadowed crevices, spiders and snakes and deepstalkers (or combinations of the three) scurrying in the dark, but in the brighter areas birdlike creatures swoop in through the collapsed ceiling to nest wherever they can find purchase. A sprawling family of creatures with the bodies of monkeys and the heads and personalities of bat-eared foxes swing through the invading vines to catch and eat insects, followed by a slow-moving sloth with the lower body of some kind of large bird.

From the center of the ceiling an ancient rusted chain suspends a metal base with jagged pieces of lyrium attached like teeth. The ground beneath it is recessed, filled with murky water and decaying plant matter, where rain has fallen through the cracked stone ceiling. Throughout the chamber, shattered pieces of raw lyrium—inadvisable to handle, unless you're a dwarf—glow through the detritus forming on the floor, where they scattered when whatever used to hang above the room exploded.

[ There have always been two main types of Scouting: the sort that maps terrain and tracks movements through it, and the sort that follows people about and learns what they know. While her predecessor might have excelled at the first sort, Yseult has always been very focused on the second. Normal camping while traveling is nothing new, but tramping through the forest long-term and unprepared like this is not at all her natural environment and though she won't be caught publicly complaining, even her normally unshakeable poise is tested by the conditions.

She's not about to pull rank to avoid getting her hands dirty (dirtier), pitching in with all manner of tasks that are alien at first and quickly become depressingly routine, like constructing rudimentary shelters out of fronds and vines, beating the underbrush to drive snakes out of a prospective campsite, hiking out from the pack to hunt and forage or find higher ground, skinning and skewering all manner of things for the fire, or taking a turn hacking away at the dense growth ahead to clear a trail. Even during breaks in the heat of the afternoon she's more likely to be found active than not, but it will be possible every now and again to catch her cat-napping in the shade, or catching her breath while watching a sloth creep slowly across a flowering vine.

She's almost always one of the first awake in the mornings, either climbing the likeliest tree nearby to try to get a look at the terrain ahead, or making a valiant attempt at laundry in the safest pocket of river. And she'll take her turns on watch at night, too, and can otherwise be regularly found on the edge of a campfire somewhere, often in discreet conversation with her fellow division heads or others, keeping track of supplies, of injuries, of morale problems, of new information, new theories on how to get out of here, or alone scratching notes with a stub of pencil in a tiny, water-stained notebook in the dim. ]

Edited 2020-05-05 19:58 (UTC)

i. Glamping

Arguably the most upsetting thing about this whole experience is they weren't able to follow the little heretic cows back to their herd. She fancies it would have been quite the merry slaughter, but given the state of the rest of her company, Poesia elects not to share that opinion. Still, the jungle is very lovely and there's something terribly romantic about being stranded with little hope of being rescued.

"It's all very novel," she says, outloud to no one in particular and then pats the shoulder of whoever happens to be on hand and looking particularly glum, adding helpfully, "At least we're not being beset by enemies or some horrible manner of beast. I imagine that would be very terrible."

She sounds suspiciously excited for the possibility of it.

ii. Bring It On: the Musical, Thedas Edition

The draklings and drakes stir rather complicated feelings in her. The primary of which, of course, is death. Devotion follows swiftly behind, with jealousy on it's heels. Who are these children? Who do they belong to? Who tended their eggs and fed them succulent, bloody meats while their Lady rested, resplendent in her glory? How dare they show themselves to her, how dare they threaten her cohorts, how dare they show her everything she has lost and make the blood sing in her veins how dare they how dare-

ii a.
At some point, they either escape or win, it's difficult to say. But either way, their company has moved on and Poesia is sticky with the blood of a Lady's children. She does not lick it away, nor does she wash it when they pass a stream.

She does growl when someone approaches her, a low animalistic sound.

ii b.

The Lady herself emerges and Poesia is transfixed. She stops where she is and watches the path of the high dragon's flight, muscles tensed. Her eyes stay fixed on the spot where the Lady vanishes, hidden from sight by the massive trees.

"Isn't she glorious," Poeisa says to no one in particular, tone raw and venomous, caught between adoration and hatred.

[ Open & closed starters below, wildcards welcome, or hit me up for plans. ]

[ open & closed starters below, wildcards welcome, hmu for plotting etc. ]

I. Shelter Before he was a Templar, Barrow was a farm boy. He knows how to construct a shed, although often the raw materials have already been prepared by a carpenter or, at the very least, a woodsman; in this case, they'll have to just make do with what they can find. None of these trees are coming down easily.

His shirt is off not long after his armor, because for one thing it's warm, and for the other it's time for some manual labor, which he performs cheerfully enough despite the circumstances. He's able to secure some vines spanning between two trees, and sets to work weaving large fronds together with more vines in a very slow but seemingly competent draping situation. He welcomes help, and is equally happy to teach others how to do the same.
They'll still be sleeping on the ground, and getting rained on while in progress, but it's a step in the right direction. Too bad they'll have to do it every time they stop somewhere new.

II. Flash Flood

Though he's within the camp when the rain comes, the alarmed shouts of people outside it spur Barrow to go looking for them. He's tall and broad, which he has come to learn means he's automatically part of any rescue party that requires carrying people out of a hazardous situation.
People whom he reaches in time may find themselves carried like a princess or slung over his shoulder, depending on their preference or lack thereof.
He is wearing a shirt, for their comfort and convenience, but it is of course as soaked as everything else.

III. Singing

In the evenings it's time to sit around the fire, or where the fire would be if it weren't pissing rain or otherwise completely damp and inhospitable, and sing Barrow's favorite drinking songs to keep himself and everyone else from going mad. He has a nice voice, is always happy to teach the chorus to anyone who wants to join in, and is equally willing to cede the floor to another performer.
They're going to have a theme song when this is all over, he'll see to that.

I. Day One

The Tevinter captors had a lot more on their minds than brutalizing their captives, but the forced march alone was its own form of brutality. Adrenaline kept Colin going for a long time, but eventually even it ran out and that is why he has scraping and bruising on one side of his face. Around his neck is a ring of red skin rubbed raw by an iron collar that prevented him from casting. The moment Athessa has it off, he goes to work.

There are people who need healing, who came all this way chasing after him and the others. He is not the only one shaken and exhausted, but he is the only spirit healer in Riftwatch. He loots the bodies of his dead captors for the goods they took off him--herbs, coin, medicines, and his earring--and quickly sets up a station, helping to triage wounds and focus his magic on the most urgent cases.

II. Hot spring

Whether or not Colin bathed in these springs himself is immaterial (he didn't, but only because it's too hot). Once their effects and those of the surrounding plants is known, however, he can be seen going about taking small samples of the water and soil with empty flasks, exhaustion still written on his face. Afterward, he stores the samples and hikes well away from the springs, only to get struck from behind with something. He turns to look, but sees nothing. When he turns back to keep walking, someone might note a very large flying insect playing piggy-back with him.

III. River gorge

Far, far more welcome than a hot spring right now is the cool river water--once it's clear it's not too deep. By this point, Colin has become rather scruffier on his face and has found a way of keeping his hair in a slipshod bun it stays off his neck. He strips off most of his clothes and wraps them around the supplies he's carrying before wading in, holding the bundle out of the water.

On the other side, after all have crossed and camp is made, he can be found sitting apart, having utterly lost all sense of time and existence while staring at nothing.

IV. Closed to Sonia

One night, he quietly approaches the lady and sits beside her with an apologetic look.

"You doing all right, Milady?"

V. Wildcard

Edited 2020-05-06 04:43 (UTC)

[same as everyone, open and closed starters under here. please reach out to me to plot! ♥]

[ open & closed starters below. hmu on

runawayballista for plotting! ]

The work is hard, the day is hot, and the fun has worn out from this little expedition.
Barrow has taken the lead in their little party, walking ahead with a methodical swish-swish of his sword as he more smacks the foliage aside than actually cuts it, making do with what he has under the circumstances.
He feels something damp slap onto the back of his neck, above the folded collar of his linen undershirt, and is in the process of reaching to swat it back off when he instead, over the course of about fifteen seconds, loses control of his limbs and crumples to the ground. His eyes go wide in silent alarm as he finds himself unable to move his lips enough to articulate a warning, let alone clear the intruder off his skin.

It hops unceremoniously to the ground and pauses to think froggy thoughts, perhaps pleased by the rapidity with which it made its descent from such a height.

Edited 2020-05-11 07:30 (UTC)

i- chores.
To begin with: the massive, shattered eluvian was all Matthias' fault.

No one has said anything to him about it. The precise source of its destruction has (as far as he can tell) gone unnoticed, marked down as an unfortunate casualty of their battle with the Vints. If they only knew, is the thought that keeps chasing itself around and and around Matthias' head, if they only knew what an idiot you are, a stupid kid what can't keep control of his magic or anything.

Guilt drives him to manic helpfulness from the start of their jungle adventure. Determined to keep his shame to himself, he has decided to do his acts of penance without explanation. Chores just get done when he's around. Wood gets chopped, and carried back to wherever they've made camp. The floor of their camp gets pushed clean of debris, rocks that might stick in the back or stray leaves--all done suspiciously magic-free, at first, until a few days into the journey when at last he feels assured that there are no more eluvians around to burst apart.

Fire? Easy. If it starts to go out, and you're sitting too close on one night--a sudden flare might catch you by surprise, as the fire raises its head with enthusiasm. Maybe it nearly sets your foot on fire, if you're too close. Matthias gives a grin, and a quick, "Er, sorry."

Water gets collected and fetched back. If there's no spring or creek nearby that can be found, Matthias is adamant that some sort of tarp get staked out, taut, so moisture can collect overnight. An old trick, he confides, like someone four times his age.

When it comes time to make camp, he is equally helpful. Almost too helpful, maybe--always underfoot, always grabbing for whatever task you might be setting your hand to--cheerful, almost desperate, ready to be the most useful of the useful.

ii- foraging.
"I saw a river just up here!"

Matthias' curls have gone limp with sweat, and he's stripped down to shirtsleeves and breeches, both hacked off short in deference to the thick heat of the day. The dense canopy has prevented him from getting the terrible sunburn he might have suffered in another climate, out under open sun. He shoves his makeshift bag (stitched, crudely, from another shirt) over his shoulder and points ahead.

The path he means is little more than one trod by animals. Narrow and marked by broken-back leaves and flattened plants, it winds and disappears into the emerald green of the jungle. Anything could be out there, but Matthias turns and plunges in without hesitation, yelling back over his shoulder, "It wasn't even that far--c'mon, keep up--there's loads of fish in it, and water, and all--might even be decent space nearby for a camp, if we can convince everyone to move over here--but they ought to, really, only I s'ppose where there's water, other things might come along as well, right--like predators, and all--"

iii- sleeping.
Or, not. Matthias is too wound up to sleep most nights. Without anyplace to direct his frenetic energy, he spends his hours feeding the fire--sticks, plants, bits of fabric torn off of his increasingly ragged clothes. Sometimes with magic, even, coaxing the heads of the flames up and letting them waver and dance under his hand. He lets the flames lick at his fingers without flinching, but he'll knock that off right quick if anyone comes around and looks at him doing it. Not here for an audience, for once in his life.

Sometimes it's just him and whoever might be up on watch. Sometimes it's the whole camp asleep--then, if he catches the glint of someone's eyes in the firelight as they wake, he'll give a guilty smile.

"Sorry. Are you--awake? Sorry. You are now."

It was pretty, at first. Blue moss! And not just blue because she can't see green, but actually blue-ish to normally visioned people! Wow.

But then the soles of her feet start to itch, and her trousers are disintegrating at the ankles.

"Hey uh, this stuff is kinda itchy, innit?"

They caught fish. Which is absolutely fucking wild considering the three people in this little foraging crew and the number of times one or two of them had fallen in the river. But fuck it, whatever, they caught some fuckin' fish. Hells yeah.

Jenny Lou's actually feeling pretty good about the day. Her clothes are only kinda damp still and she didn't get bit by anything. So it doesn't actually hit her that it might be a bad thing when she sees the two bundles of fluff tumbling towards them.

"Aaaaw, fuck, lookit these tiny little dudes!"

1. Scouting Attempts, pt 1

Cool thing about a jungle: lots of animals. Lots of animals that aren't super skittish around people, so it's not that hard for her to pat a monkey on the head a couple times and feel the shape of it settle in her bones.

Nice.

Changing into a shape the first time is always a little gross and anyone near by who's watched the odd interaction is now in for a show: Jenny Lou hunches over, bones popping softly as muscles change and shrink and a thick fur begins to grow from her skin. Blink and it's over, Jenny Lou replaced by a little monkey. The monkey looks around as if to orient itself and then waves when it sees someone looking at it.

Hey, buddy.

1b. Monkey Business

So. The thing about being an animal is she's like... an animal. Like her brain is there and it's definitely her, but also right now? She's very much a monkey. And monkeys get curious about shit.

Like bags. With shiny shiny buckles and strange smells. That are sitting right there. And there's nothing in her monkey brain telling her there's danger nearby.

So. She's gonna rifle through that bag.

2. Jumanji

Sleeping on the ground kinda sucks. And as far as Jenny Lou can tell, there's not really a time limit on how long she can stay in a shape... So... Tree naps sounds like a solid fuckin' idea.

And it is.

Until she wakes up and realizes a) she's a person again and b) she's not actually sure how to get out of this tree. "Uuhh... Fuck... Hey! Hello?!"

3. Scouting Attempts, pt 2 (closed to Flint and Thranduil)

Several days and hallucinogenic berries later, Jenny Lou's back on her feet and looking for Flint and Thranduil.

"Hey, I'm sober," she says without much preamble when she finds one or the other, "You got a bird for me?"

[open and closed starts; wildcards welcome; hmu if you want something in particular.]

Well, shit.

[ Says Nell, knee-deep in quicksand and visibly sinking. ]

Could either of you reach a vine or something with my staff? I'm too far.

I'm alright, [ Rusty wheezes, pushing back up onto all-shaking-fours. ]

What happened? Did that-- did that fish shoot lightning at me? Did I imagine that?

The terrain is not unfamiliar. The sticky heat and buzz of insects and the endless stretch of indistinguishable green call to mind a different island and a different, equally miserable march. The indignity of being abducted yet again has faded into a simmering irritation that he's yet again in a position where he's trudging almost aimlessly towards Kirkwall.

The meandering conversation around the fires have faded into low murmurs by the time John spreads his coat across the ground and eases himself down onto it. Flint's face is heavily shadowed by the banked fire. Their unspoken trade off has held for the past few days, trading off shifts in the night to watch for whatever might come lurching out of the bushes. So far it's nothing but alternate bird cries and the low hum of conversation from their fellows further off in the clearing. John laces his fingers over his stomach with a sigh.

"Throw a rock into those bushes, would you?" He asks after a moment. It wouldn't solve the problem of birds for very long, but John would take a few minutes of relative silence before some ominous twig crunching woke him again.

“Don’t. Move.”

The butterfly landed on Colin’s nose, and all the fucking Audrey Twos turned to face them, unseeing but intent. Lino has one hand frozen in mid-air halfway to his spear, eyes locked on the nearest and biggest plant. This isn’t going to be easy.

He moves his hand almost imperceptibly. He just needs to reach the spear before the butterfly takes off.

[ Wow, what a view. It is important to admire the beauty of the Maker's creations, even when clinging to a sheer cliff face in pursuit of an omelette. ]

I hope to find some thé glacé in this nest alongside the eggs.

[ In other words, acquiring the eggs is sweaty work. Hence: the lack of shirt. ]

For a place so teeming with life it's difficult to put your foot down without stepping on something, there's remarkably little to eat in the jungle. Or, remarkably little that they know is safe to eat, considering how little any of them know for certain about this particular jungle. Some of the water may be poison, many of the plants certainly are, and that leaves a diet mostly composed of animals that are as difficult to catch as they are numerous and varied.

Which may make it a bit of a problem when, in the middle of lunch, an awkward torpedo of white feathers and fluff launches itself through the underbrush to snatch whatever Kostos is eating directly out of his hands.

Or attempt to, at any rate. Quite possibly, most of it ends up in the dirt along with the bird.

Threaded | Flat

ELVEN RUINS

LOST THAIG

MOUNTAIN CHAMBER

throughout | open

Poesia

bastien.