wounded. That’s exactly what I mean by saying that anon! I’m affiliated with Città-Alveare, but retain the ability (and the want) to interact with those outside of the group. Due to the nature of Città itself, I have a verse entire for interactions strictly within the group, but more often than not when interacting with independent blogs (of which the majority of my followers and roleplay partners are) then I will default my own original verse for starters, or just mold it into some mixture of both character’s verses; I call it being semi-independent because I still interact outside of the group on a regular basis, but I participate in the group as well. Just separate universes and such!
And honestly it’s more of a personal choice than any allowance of the group. I keep my blog affiliated but open, because there are people inside of the group and out that I want to interact with —— but I can’t just ignore the fact that I’m affiliated either, so I denote that by using the “semi” prefix. I know it sounds convoluted and I know that in the past there was an uproar over the term, but semi-independent is the best way to describe my blog, and you hit the nail on the head with your message!
There is no more effort wasted to gaze upon the other than is afforded for the slow blinking of steely eyne, beset by calm and unperturbed by demeanor and obtrusive staring alike —— there is naught uttered for there is naught which could bring her to vocalize discomfort; verily, ❜tis as if she were no more inconvenienced by the persistent gaze lain upon her than she is by the meagre weight of the sword strapped tightly against her hip. There is a silence of belikes an hour, though shared, ne❜er indulged in.
There’s nary a hitch in gait as she simply walks over him where he has fallen, paying no heed to any assistance he may require; just as he was capable of falling, he was capable of standing, as well.
There’s naught uttered —— nay, there’s utterly naught, for nary even a breeze interrupts the dismal hush now fall❜n. A pungent air (a quiddity of that gastral abomination) purloins lungs of their ability to absorb oxygen, every breath now tainted by that horrendous scent which coats her throat alike a vicious sludge, and despite all one may have thought, bile rises in her throat (verily, an anomaly in of itself; she walks amongst corpses as one may trek through a field of flowers, ne❜er deterred by the putrid stench of rot) and a hand forthwith clasps at a throat to inhibit the involuntary seizure wherein she is bent at the waist, gasping while tears prick at eyne so uncommonly expressive, façade rent asunder by that atrocious fume.
Ill-accustomed is she to any display of sentiment —— vitriolic, affectionate, or otherwise; a Warrior’s heart nary permits self-encumbrance of to mar conscious with its fickle afflictions, yet, ❜tis such notion which sires incredulity, thence borne upon quirked lips and arched brows.
♣ —— a fading memory.
Ylærnan spires of florid clay tower o❜er a lush landscape brimming vivacious in hues of viridian and variegated streaks of gold and carmine therewith; a valley of pulchritudinous splendour, Narcissus sweeping in fields of gently swaying yellow, vibrant, cheery they have not been stained by gore and positively radiating serenity. Swathes of grass bend to the breeze and sway, as gently as a Lady might curtsy to a Lord (her heart beating against her ribcage in a rapid thrum) —— the air breathes fresh and unblemished there is no effluvium of rot here for there is naught upon the wind save for the effervescent scent of Lily of the Valley, Dianthus, all assortment and plethora of voraciously blooming flora permeating the air with harmony and tranquility.
Such is the peace of her youth, a memory of a time quondam, tarnished and left abandoned in the vast stores of her recollections lain to dust; too long has she been bereaved of a home, of quiescence that reeks not of remorse but something more full and light-hearted despite unerring silence … the very vestiges of memory lie in waste, forgotten nigh in entirety save for the purity of scent and vibrant foliage of that Valley.
Uses this new weapon to maim a man who thereafter attempts to steal the cake from her (why they had any want of the dessert, she cannot fathom) and bows to the boy.
A worthy weapon, indeed.
♘ —— a memory of their sibling(s). ❥ —— a childhood memory.
(Oh —— sweet sister —— I beg thee not weep for me.)
So saith she, held in rigidity of form, bedecked by armaments of paladin ilk (Ha! What a loathsome lie; she is no Defender of Justice, no Servant of Truth, nay, she is the Child of an antiquated Boon spun surquedry by delegations of yore —— the teachings of Youth are ne❜er so easily forgotten, and she’s not the will to disregard them in their entirety). Tears trace threads of salty affection down cheeks flushed carmine, and she extends a leathern-clad thumb to partake of the excess, droplets of despair thereafter pricking like accusations, seeping through leather and flesh alike; sinew shirks and writhes in agony thusly imbibed, and a gaze aflame with guilt lowers so she need not stare at what toil and anguish her decision hath so wrought. Natheless, iron heart cloistered within Warrior’s breast is moved in no part by imploring murmurations fraught with desperation.
❝ Riacūri ná shalwn❜ní darlen. ❞
Hapless innocence coats lyre-sung tessitura, washed pale by premature grief as eyne brimming vitality and disseminating sorrow (collected neatly into separate droplets of sadness, dispersed upon a fleshy cheek alike a fine shower) stare directly into her own. She remains silent, unable to form a veritable apology for that which must be done: her duty. For what can be said to atone for the atrocity she hath already committed? Nary so is she cleft from the dealing of her own hand, so deft in deliberation and decisive in the action therein made; she, and she alone claims responsibility for the tears dripping from amber eyne in earnest, the tears of a sibling shed in fear of what may come. Gazing into reflection of her Self made by the bleary, dilapidated (defeated, forlorn, all manner of that which she had sworn to banish from Luiseach’s visage thence) gaze of a most beloved sister … How the wizened clutch or War could enshroud those meant to be wholly sheltered therefrom in its gnarled afflictions, and whisper insecurities alike promises ❜pon the wind. And oh, how ❜tis the bane of her very existence.
❛The Road to Hell is paved with Good Intentions❜, how Truth reigns in ev❜ry suspiring notion therewith made —— damnable Truth!, tinctured raw by curt imprecation of all that was and all held dear; nay, if only that she had stayed. Mayhaps, then, her sister, the Blessing of her world, may not be buried underfoot, clad in dirt and ripped from Life so prematurely, with no remorse for her tender soul. Would that Caelan had knelt in pious orison for her sister, and nary the opposite.
Polished armaments and garb therewith donned are officious and tensile; the armour of one forged for war in all its harrowing straits and blood-stained reality. Proudly doth reinforced pauldrons of paladin ilk hail, wrought from toil and strife, tempered by blood and gore. Eyne, irises shining alike the lustrous rondels which secure cloak to armour thence, narrow ❜pon mirrored visage, nary failing to perceive the tincture of dubiety which colours oration sown. Naught is bequeathed unto the stranger, save for cool gaze and canted umber crown. ❜Tis difficult to comprehend from whence the confusion so asserted had came —— she was dressed the Warrior —— a concept as candidly displayed and self-evident as the blade hanging along her side. Wherefore such critical sentiment is made regarding her (befitting!) appearance is a judgement she’d no hope of ascertaining, and thus regards him in equal measure.
wounded. oh my gosh NO it’s not that strange tbh. Okay so I’m assuming, since you’re asking, that you’re wanting to join Città yourself? To be frank, you don’t actually put your application anywhere in the masterlist or submit it to the main blog in any fashion (this was something that I, myself, was originally confused with, so fret not, dear Anon) —— as it’s not strictly for the Moderators to see, but other RP’ers, whether they be Independent or affiliated with Città, et cœtera, et cœtera. Your application page is as much an ❛About❜ page, as it is an ❛Application❜, if that makes sense? Allow me to elaborate.
You type up your application separately, as per the stipulations that the Masterlist specifies (the applications have different criteria depending on whether you’re an Original Character (like moi) or a character of Canonical derivation) and once you have completely fulfilled all of the information, you put it up as a separate page on your blog (if you don’t know how to do this, go to your ❛ customize theme❜ section, scroll down to the bottom, click ❛ add a page❜, give it a url (in this case /application would be recommended) ), fill it in and voila! You now have your application for Città completely done.
When you message the masterlist, you do not put your application in the submit box;
rather, you inform them of your character’s name, what fandom they are from (or if they are an OC), and give them the ❛ /URLOFYOURAPPHERE ❜ so that they can go to your blog, read it, and accept you into the Hive.
However, like I stated prior, it’s also an ❛About❜ page and not strictly an application, so the other roleplayers will more than likely look at it if they are interested in roleplaying with you. That being said, once your initial application has been looked over and you have been approved / admitted to Città, then you may feel free to separate your application into separate pages, exempli gratia:
— An entire page on the personality of your character.
— An entire page on the backstory / history of your character.
— Just further expand on the information that you had originally
provided in your application.
The application is there as a reference for others to better familiarize themselves with your character, but you can pretty much do with it as you will after you have been accepted. I tried to touch on every area that you might have needed help with, so feel free to ask me if you have any more questions, Nonnie!
Judging by the lonesome quirk of a brow, she may actually be infinitesimally impressed.
Though, that’s not to say that she does not appreciate it.
It’s probably best that you do so.
Now, she has border-line taken offense!
To insinuate that they’d need of isolation … asinine.
What greater isolation is there than the expanse of
the Molymnias Forest? None, for there can be no equal.
wounded. I legitimately don’t have the words to express how warm and fluffy this made me feel inside, especially since a lot of bad things have happened today (basically; deer suck and now my car is completely totaled) BUT I CAME HOME TO THIS AND ——— lemme talk about you for a minute.
It’s people like you, who are so kind, and cute, and caring, who reach out and say things like this to others, that make this whole community beautiful. It’s people like you who make others smile, make me smile, make others laugh, and you’re just as deserving of praise as anyone else! Thank you so much for being so kind and amazing, and keep being you alright??? MUCH LOVE FROM ME ALKDSFNLKNSF I CAN’T DEAL YOU’RE TOO CUTE so I’m gonna go crawl in a pit and blush for the rest of eternityISH
Send me シ for my character’s reaction to yours running up and hugging them.
Surprise burgeons across a mien renowned for its perpetual impassivity, brows knitting and rising in tandem whilst arms jerks upwards and lips quirk agape, utterly awed —— appalled! —— that the Golden King would deign to sully himself by making such intimate contact with his servant, so much as to twine his arms ❜round her frame gone rigid in the wake of perplexity and shock thereafter afflicted. She halts, the time belikes a span of several minutes, afore there is ever so much as a response; a murmured guffaw, fumbled ❜pon a tongue turned to lead by the sheer weight of stupefication. A maelstrom of conflicting sentiments pass through her mind; some fissure of disbelief, an eddie of gratification, a modicum of discomfort, (and insult, on his behalf! That he had to touch her, of all unfavorable things!)a disparaging wail is elicited and imparted by lips twinged roseate by utter mortification.
Natheless of guttural invokings, there’s not a word spoken, though, p❜rhaps not by any lack of want —— she’s simply been struck dumb.