Inktober day 4: murky
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Inktober day 4: murky

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Masayoshi Fujita | Tears of Unicorn
SOCIĂTĂ | Fables de La Fontaine : apprĂ©ciĂ©es par le public, dĂ©prĂ©ciĂ©es par les critiques ? ✠https://j.mp/3aDeb9b Si le public plĂ©biscita les Fables dĂšs la parution du premier recueil en 1668, critiques et historiens de la littĂ©rature furent longtemps peu soucieux d'admirer dans les apologues de La Fontaine la vertu d'enseigner des vĂ©ritĂ©s morales associĂ©e aux dons d'un peintre de la vie, et l'invention d'un genre oĂč les trouvailles du sĂ©duisant metteur en scĂšne enrichissent celles de l'habile poĂšte didactique qui eut pour alliĂ©e Madame de SĂ©vignĂ© fustigeant les « pĂ©dants d'esprit infirme, incapables d'apprĂ©cier ces artistes ingĂ©nieux »
The Days of Glory
Thavnair, 12 years prior | Vibes
It is a special day in Hannish lands. Their City is in heat, front gates spread like the legs of a harlot welcoming all with coin in hand and debauchery on the mind. The price of a visit, whether traveler or local, merchant or merchandise is undoubtedly your soul, but the thrills are unlike anything else the imagination can conjure. Â
Voices clamber for dominance throughout the streets attempting to sell their wares both living and otherwise, and the air is ripe with the stench of sweat and warm bodies shuffled too close to be acceptable anywhere else but a pillowhouse. Yet the main event that attracts people en mass can not be found on the outskirts in these stalls, but at the center of all that was prosperous. One need only follow the clash of ringing steel to the arena where men fight for entertainment, and their lives beneath the jeering of a hostile crowd all too eager for blood to fall.
The chamber walls of the hypogeum tremble violently beneath the weight of stomping feet, as cascading sand shakes loose and lands in the wild mane of a virgin gladiator and though he knows none of the excitement is for him, the slave considers it the closest thing to a lullaby he has. He knows before the bell is through, those cheers will be for him and if they were not? Well, he would not be able to care for the outcome. Feline ears twitch to the sound of a terrified scream cut short. Another one bites the dust.Â
One fighter presumably falls to the other causing the volume of the audience to swell tremendously. Praise and disappointment both intermingle to create a cacophonous reward for the champion. To the victor goes the spoils, so itâs said. Itâs an empowering sound, even when not the target of such excitement. With head bowed, a warriorâs prayer is whispered slowly upon his breath, recited from the sacred annals of ancestors he might yet come to meet, and the throats of captured brothers and sisters he might never meet again.Â
Masayoshi Fujita | Beautiful Shimmer

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What was their worst encounter with another person?
TW beneath the cut - death, child death, graphic implications.
âToo many to count out and pick the âworstâ.â The bearded lionâs words are formed slowly as he pushes a hand back through his long hair. There is a wryness in his voice that carries no warmth for exception as he continues. âOver time Iâve come to realize that people are born to fuckinâ suck. When given the opportunity, the freedom, most choose cruelty and I have seen the most vile of creatures hiding behind the faces of âmenâ.âÂ
The strong form of the former Hellion pushes forward, until his weight rests upon powerful forearms and towards his inquirer. Their space was his space now, and his long teeth cage together in a vicious sneer. âI could tell you of things that would make your stomach turn, so where should I start?â What is initially dark amusement, fades into something sober as the question impresses itself upon the lionâs mind, bringing up memories the Hrothgar did not but could not help to reflect upon. Slowly, Halcyon pushes out a long breath, steadying himself before he indulges the question.Â
âWhen I stayed in Ishgard for a time, I would earn my keep as a champion for trials. It made solid gil, and I didnât particularly care who I represented. Most were naturally, walking shit shows but at the end of the day, it paid well. Living as a sellsword, you donât get picky when it comes to jobs. I knew a woman there though. This whore from the Brume named Delphine.â He smiles fondly at the name. âSheâd patch me up after my fights and in return, I would provide her with gil. She had a newborn on the way and I wanted to see her off the streets. I admit I was sweet on her, and even meant to be a father to her unborn child though nothingâŠever truly sparked between us.â
@snowbound-brewsâ
Nothing fancy, but I hope it fits your needs. Merry Starlight, ya' cunt.Â
  ~H.
A note given alongside a bundled package. Revealed, it appears to be a fresh alchemist's satchel. As stated, there's nothing over the top about it but it bears a unique pattern of colorfully stitched string, webbed in a circle with beaded feathers hanging from the flap.
There's a good weight to it too, and when sides are unclasped the bag unfurls into a full display kit. It appears to be fully stocked with a variety of essentials one might need for an expedition and while compact, seems to hold quite a bit:Â
Among the supplies are empty vials, suture needles, mortar and pestle, some dry herbs already bundled and stocked for health, fortitude, and stamina. Thereâs a small notepad and charcoal box for sketches, an adjustable looking piece for better observation of fine details in a specimen and a nifty alchemical guide to some of the regions more exotic plants and their uses.
It's a last minute decision, but one Halcyon was determined to see through. For much of the morning and even late day, the lion hunted. Not for prey, but for parts, seeking rare metals, and stones before scouring the beach for his final details. The rest of his time is spent at the forge, and though he's out of practice with more intricate detailing, determination sees him prevail in enough time for him to slip into Hotaru's room and leave behind a small gift.Â
 The box itself was elongated and a deep brown, reminiscent of the male's fur and laced with a golden satin ribbon that slipped undone at the lightest touch. It weighed hardly anything but one got the sense they should handle it with care. With cover removed what lay within was a pendant hanging on delicate gold chain. The pendent itself was a tiny anchor forged of wrought iron.Â
At the shank of the miniature anchor, the chain was connected and slipped through a colorful seashell just large enough to house the pendent against a opalescent background which shimmered as ocean scales in the sun.Â
 A more perceptive eye might notice the styled 'H' engraved upon the crown of the anchor. Cleverly left for the owner to decide if it stood for their name..or his?
The note attached simple yet cheeky, âHappy Starlight, hun. Might be more later. Tisâ the season of giving and receiving after all.â
@hotaruffxiv