DISCLAIMER: This creature is only based off of the real life moth called Rosy Maple Hawk Moth. No facts on the Serikos are true to the real deal! This drawing is also dedicated to a friend of mine, please do not copy or post this because this is entirely my creature for some books of mine :]
See info and process of drawing below cut!👇
Wingspan: 28-44m (male) 32-55m (female)
Length: 28-44m (male) 32-55m (female)
Height: 10-12m (male) 13-16m (female)
Acer Serikos are pink and yellow, they can also be near colors to red or light green, their antennas and eyes can be darker or lighter than their body’s colors. They have four short arms that connect to their wings, and two hind legs. Their bodies stretch out to their short tails that feather out like a hawk’s tail.
Despite the cuteness of the Acer Serikos, they are often dangerous. Because of their small size, they are constantly moving in small packs called ‘flocks’. Due to their bright colors, they will be oftentimes avoided by predators and other Serikos. These specific Serikos are invasive because of their constant migration and feeding, they live inside nests on high and cluttered trees.
Acer’s feed from fleshy fruits like apples, peaches, pears, and other softer fruits, they also eat cambium which is the inner bark of a tree. Like any other Serikos, Acer’s use their antenna to smell, constantly searching for fruitful trees.
All Serikos go through metamorphosis, Acer’s specifically consume hundreds of pounds of leaves off of maple trees. When an Acer Serikos is first hatched, it is wingless and its skin slick, lined with light and dark vertical stripes head to tail. Their beaks and talons are dark orange, and have black horn-like studs at the top of their heads.
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16 years ago on April 6 2009, Sharon Irish and her husband Nero lived together in Kiratown, Kaiverse happily since after they got married. As days pass Irish got an idea; she decided to make an ai humanoid, that can show everyone around the place in Kaiverse. First, she made a concept of the three girls to Nero, as then she called them "The KAMAi triplets" or either "The KAMAi girls" and "The KAMAis." As then they started working on them, as they called their old friend Oliver Jessica helping them to make the girls. As then they first made the first lead of the KAMAis, they called her "B0NB0N." They think, it's perfect name for her.
Odette Tavelyen has spent all of her life along the Sword Coast in one of the most magically warded places in Faerun: Candlekeep Library Fortress. Due to this, she is largely untested in the ways of the world. While she may have plenty of knowledge learned from the books within the library, she's never seen the remnants of Mount Hotenow, hadn't breathed deep the spiced evening air of a Calimport bazaar, couldn't describe the glittering sunset over Waterdeep with anything more than pure imagination.
As a Scribe in Candlekeep Library, Odette knows her way around a book, be it magical or non-magical, fiction or historical, recipe book or a small collection of poems. She spends most of her days transcribing ancient texts or copying spell scrolls for those purchasing from the library's stores. Odette spends most of her time either in the House of the Binder, creating the aforementioned replicas, or assisting "Seekers" (those allowed to enter the Court of Air for study) with their research during their stay at Candlekeep.
The librarian is equipped with an enchanted quill, which requires no ink and can write in any color of her choice and will erase her writing if she brushes the feather across the inked surface. Odette also has an apprentice: a young acolyte tiefling named Irony. Despite stereotypical assumptions, Irony is bright, honest, never steals or lies, and hopes to one day become the Keeper of the Tomes. Odette and Irony have worked together for the last several months in harmony.
A lifetime of research, but wholly lacking in firsthand experience.
As with many of the librarians and Avowed of Candlekeep, Odette is not well-trained in the art of the Weave. In fact, she considers herself rather lousy with magic; in her early attempts with spellcasting, she had a Mending mishap and accidentally melted several pages of an ancient tome together (she's never been more mortified!). Since then, she's studied a bit to become less hazardous to the knowledge within Candlekeep's walls.
Odette knows spells such as Mage Hand, Silence, Prestidigitation, and Detect Languages, but these have little combat utility as she soon learns
Therefore, when Odette meets Gale, she's intrigued by his offer to help her connect to the Weave, to learn alongside him as he regains his own footing with magic (since the Orb had consumed his connection with the Weave, Gale had to relearn his magic without Mystra's guidance and is finally feeling like an adept again, but still a far cry from Mystra's Chosen abilities). But she knows she has to help the party more than writing quick spell scrolls for the others to use in combat - so she accepts his (several) offers. This leads them to the first "romance" scene with Gale - which I'll share in another post!
If you've read this far, I give you each a kiss on the forehead (only if you consent) for your interest in my little librarian!
Lyris has not always been Lyris. She hasn't always had black hair and brown skin, and certainly hasn't always been a knight.
When she was first created by an 8 year-old Ace for a playground game, she was Marie. Marie was, essentially, a Linksona of a child that didn't know what that even was. I understood 3 things at the time: 1) I liked LoZ; 2) I didn't like using my legal name while playing in any capacity; and 3) I wanted to have fun while feeling strong.
Marie perfectly allowed for all of that. She was fun to be, and a year later, when I felt the call to write an actual story for the first time, she was natural for me to write about. Her story came easily to me, but very little of who she was remains in who she has become. The same can be said for her world and the story itself. She's quite literally 15 years old(creation to this post approximately). It happens.
If you look, you can practically circle most of the remaining traits: a girl; long hair; green eyes; left-handed; a sword; tunic-like clothing; boots; and elf ears. That's where the similarities end.
Lyris makes a choice. Marie was called.
Lyris's evil extended family is a minor concern and a subplot at best. Marie's older sister was her main villain.
Lyris is a knight in service to the royal family. Marie's royal status was hidden from her.
Lyris doesn't really deal with horses. Marie's inciting incident involves a special horse.
Lyris has barely, if ever, seen a fairy as of the start of book 1. Marie has a fairy friend named Pixie.
Lyris's world is full of ghosts. Marie doesn't think ghosts exist.
Lyris is very "I can handle this, thanks." Marie is a bit more of a damsel in distress.
At the end of the day, they fit the stories they were written into. Changing Marie's name to Lyris sparked a ton of changes to her character because she was no longer a copy of anyone or anything. The story no longer fit who she'd been. It was time to grow and grow she did.
That doesn't change the fact that Lyris is, at her core, a hero of courage in her own right. She was based on Link eons ago. It only stands to reason there are pieces of him left within her. Origins affect us all, good or bad.
She isn't, however, Link. That stopped being the case when I started to write about her at 9 years old.
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Summary: Astarion is bored at camp. And his target for the night... is Ferelith. Through persistence and bribery, she indulges him in casual conversation.
Read here on Ao3.
Despite the three bedrolls she had placed next to the fire, Ferelith still found it difficult to gain any comfort. She rolled up one side, placed her pillows against, and even placed a rock behind them to prop them well enough to use as a backing. She sat upright, flipping through her book, sketching in magic symbols and making small notes. At her side was another set of smaller books, one she would thumb through on occasion to double check her accuracy. All was quiet other than the whispers from the fire, which was precisely what she had asked for. But then again, there was always one who was never too keen to listen to what she wanted.
"What are you doing?" he announced his presence, bending over her shoulder as he peered into her book.
Ferelith blinked disapprovingly, giving him a side glance from the corner of her eye.
"Ah, yes, you're quite right," he sighed. "I don't care... I'm bored."
Again, she said nothing, but he took her silence as an invitation. He stepped over the log onto her blanket, with his boots still on, making her cringe as the dirt made a subtle foot print. He sat next to her, propping himself on one of her pillows. It appeared it was not good enough. And he removed it, fluffing it to perfection before placing it behind him once more.
"That was accident," he winced at the wrinkled and dirtied mess he left in his wake.
Kicking his feet to the side, he straightened his corner and brushed the dirt off lightly. It mattered little, as she had already to planned to wash it the moment he placed his boots onto her finely stitched threads. Her annoyance was made quite clear with a loud sigh, her book slowly lowering to her lap.
"I suppose I'm the one lucky enough to oblige you tonight," her face was calm but he could feel the irritation burning into him. "What would you ask of me?"
"You could light someone on fire," he shrugged with his bottom lip sticking out.
Her eyes shifted upward in thought of the idea. "I could. But I'm afraid I'm not so amused by your form of entertainment."
"You would be if you'd let me show you," he raised a brow.
Much to his disappointment, the only reply she gave was yet another one of her famous blank stares. He wondered where she went sometimes when she looked at him like that. Any normal person would have thoughts filled with disgust, though that was only humorous and much to his liking. But Ferelith was different than most. The look was usually empty. It was only until recently he noticed her eyes would often widen and her lip would curl upward at one corner. At least he knew he got some kind of rise from her.
"Where did you get those books?" he asked when he noticed he was losing her attention.
Ferelith was not easily distracted. When she was focused, there was nothing that could tear her eyes away. He had discovered this, unfortunately, through a series of trial and error in an attempt to know her true nature. Most things ended in eye rolls, rarely out of annoyance, but mostly with sarcasm. There were also multiple occasions where he was completely ignored. Which he found rude, but reasonable. It was actually a bit of a surprise she was speaking to him, now.
"A bookshop," she replied, tilting the book back up.
"Not an ordinary bookshop."
Her eyes flicked in his direction.
"Let's see," he picked a few of them up, many no bigger than a pocket book. "Arcane, Illusion, Mystic Runes... my, my... these look handwritten for personal use."
"Put those back where you found them, please," she commanded without so much as a glance.
"These look like spell books," he began to flip through the pages of one. "If I had to guess, anyway. I'm usually decent at guessing, though."
"You know if you look through the grimoire of another without permission, you'll gain the hex of that grimoire."
He suddenly dropped all three. Ferelith smiled wildly, her eyes still scanning the runes in her larger book. He hadn't noticed before, but while she was writing with one hand, the other held a book in place, often darting to another to scour through it's pages. It was like they had to separate minds of their own. The hand writing or sketching was moving very fast, but her penmanship was impeccable. He leaned over - careful not to disturb her- and saw she was copying whatever she was scanning from the other, smaller books.
"These are your grimoires?"
"No," she replied.
"So how is it you are able to look at them?"
"I have permission."
"I don't understand how someone so straightforward can have so much mystery about them," he shrugged. "It's somehow both annoying and attractive."
"That's precisely the impression I aim for," she smiled again, smaller and sweeter this time.
The sigh that came from him was intentionally loud enough for Ferelith to look up from her work. She observed her companion pull himself onto his feet, placing his hands on his hips next to her bedrolls. He looked about the camp when suddenly, he had a reasonably good idea. She had hoped his walking away would mean he had given up. On the contrary, however, she watched him walk over to Gale's things and begin to rummage through them. Suddenly, Ferelith was intrigued with the rogue. More than likely, she was interested to see if he got caught. Unfortunately, he did not. Instead, he came waltzing back across the camp with a rather large pep to his step, a large bottle in one hand and a goblet in the other.
Careful not to defile her blankets a second time, he seated himself next to her, closer than before. He fought with the cork inside the bottle for a moment, but sent it sailing into the air with a loud pop with the edge of his knife. He poured himself a glass, brought it to his nose, and inhaled it deeply followed by a satisfying exhale. He looked to Ferelith, who had regretfully not been able to look away. He had to admit, he won half the battle. But as he held up the wine as an offering, he felt there was more of a fight to be had. Ferelith rolled her eyes. Reached over to a flat stone next to her blankets. And grabbed her empty goblet. She reluctantly held it out as he poured the contents into her cup. There was no hesitance as she brought it to her lips, her eyes dropping back down into the book without any further acknowledgement to Astarion.
"I don't even get a thank you," he complained.
"Thank you," she said before looking into the goblet a second time. "This is actually... quite nice."
"I hear the words, but I don't really feel the gratitude."
Ferelith looked up, finally giving him the contact he craved. There was always something unsettling he found looking into her eyes. They were yellow. But not like fire or the sun... no. Her eyes were pale. Like that of a once green plant craving attention; something to hydrate it, nutrients from the soil, or even just love.
"Fine," she said, tapping the ink to make sure it was dry before snapping the book shut. "I will indulge you."
"Words I've been waiting for all night," he shook his head and leaned forward.
Ferelith sat her work beside her, pulling her knees up and turning to her side. Her robe was of black lace and didn't do anything to add to comfort or practicality. But if there was one thing the traveling band of misfits learned about the warlock, it was that she wasn't always about the practical use of an item. She was very fond of beautiful things. And as she considered Astarion, she was inclined to admit the she was fond of his beauty as well. He knew this, using it to his advantage and tempted her at every chance he received. Ferelith was fully aware of the predicament she had somehow placed herself into. Which gave her more reason to ignore him. And as obvious as she made it, that did not prevent him from trying. Relentlessly.
"Tell me about the books," he said, propping his arm onto the rock they were leaning on.
"They were the last of a collection I was working on in the city."
"Anything interesting?"
"Just old spells and runes. Nothing anyone uses anymore. I've been transcribing them. They're spell books of old witches: long forgotten, tossed aside, half rotten old books."
"Witches you say?" he recoiled.
"Oh, yes. I believe there are a few useful things in here for banishments of the undead. If you're interested."
"Gods, no," he laughed, taking a sip of his wine. "But tell me more."
"I have one necromancy tome," she rolled over onto her knees. "And it's interesting. Not what I'm looking for, but interesting," she began to fan out her collection on the blankets.
Astarion leaned forward to examine them further.
"My job at the bookshop was to take these old grimoires and write them down into the bigger blank tomes. The ones that I found useful, I kept for myself. This is what is left of my findings. And the remains of my last project."
"What did you mean by 'what you were looking for'? Is there a certain spell you're seeking?"
"Not necessarily a spell. Just a translation."
"Have you had any luck?"
"A few words here and there."
"May I see the book you're translating?"
"Absolutely not," her eyes felt as cold as her reply.
"Ah, I see I'm reaching my limit for the night," he said with a tone of disappointment.
Astarion had grown accustomed to his interactions with his warlock companion being cut short. Rather it was her own doing or the work of another, he found their conversations always disrupted. It was a shame, truly, as he assumed Ferelith was the type to hold secrets. Even some that did not belong to her. The woman had been alive for quite sometime, though not nearly as long as he had. But he imagine there was something worth telling within the few lifetimes she had lived.
"Not necessarily," she replied lightheartedly. "After all, you've found this lovely bottle of wine."
"Humoring me for the sake of the wine, then?" a brow went up in confidence.
"I doubt I'd humor you for little else," her smirk was mocking his excitement.
"Remind to thank Gale in the morning, then," his mood went undisturbed. "I'd like to know how it is you intend to humor me now that books are off the table."
"Is that all you think I talk about?"
"I don't know," he shook his head, knowing she took the bait. "I've never heard you have a full conversation. With anyone."
"I converse very well, thank you," she took a sip of her wine. "I've just been lacking good company."
"You wound me," he lowered his gaze, but the tone was of sarcasm and he watched the corner of Ferelith's mouth turn upward.
Success.
"What is it you wish to discuss?"
"Discuss? I've no taste for lectures, my darling. I require something a bit more refined, something provocative. Tell me something interesting."
"Something interesting?" she appeared to be offended, her voice raising in pitch. "Well for one, when you strike a conversation with a person of interest, it's usually polite not to demand it from them."
"Very well," he rolled his eyes. "Tell me something interesting, please. I know you've got something just waiting to be told."
"If you're looking for exciting tales, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong colleague."
"No? Nothing, say, of your youth?"
"I assure my you, my early years are beyond dull."
"Surely not," he tilted his head down. "You have nothing? Dangerous spells? A jilted lover? A need for vengeance? Everyone has a decent vengeance story."
This time Ferelith laughed, tilting her head to the side away from him. But the sight of the smile caused him to straighten where he sat, leaning forward to see it fully. She rose a hand a to cover her mouth, but it was not enough for him to go without noticing... she was embarrassed.
"No vengeance here, I'm afraid," she looked back to him, her eyes meeting his. "But I suppose if you're interested in a horrible love story, I could tell you of my stay in Neverwinter..."
"Horrible as in tragic... or horrible as in just bad."
"Both," she nodded a finger to him.
"Even better!" he seemed overjoyed.
"Fine, fine. But I'll need a refill," she said passing her goblet to him.
Like the gentleman he was, he poured it for her. A bit too close to the edge, but he was eager for her to start the story to notice. She took a long drink, letting the contents give her the courage she needed. This was a bit of a defeat for her, but she was willing to let it go for the sake of his amusement. It was something to catch her attention, but to make her laugh was a feat of it's own. There was a sliver of a thought that perhaps she had misjudged him.
"This story is so humiliating. I can't believe I'm telling you," she shifted in her seat.
"Get on with it, then," he urged her to continue.
"Mind you, I had never been to a city before. Not even close to one. And I had just gotten a taste of what it felt like to wield magic. I found myself in the streets of Neverwinter in search for more knowledge. But I had no idea how to survive. There were so many others like me, just a crowd of beggers looking for work."
"Yes, I am aware. There are plenty of people swimming the streets looking for a better life in the city. A plague on society. Honestly."
"Indeed," Ferelith sighed, recalling the annoyance of the people who tormented her for those years of her life. "I offered my services. But found little coin in it. No one took my work seriously and no one was willing to give me the chance. I found myself resorting to other means of earning an income. Means that required a certain charisma."
"The vagueness of your statements is dramatic, but do go on."
"I acted as a smuggler," the bluntness returned. "It gave me good coin and the jobs I was hired to perform often involved a change of wardrobe. I was no good with the actual act of stealing or sneaking. A sleight of hand on occasion, but never anything that tactful. I was only a cover for whatever it was that I was charged with moving. It eventually earned me enough to rent a loft where I proceeded with my studies and transcribing work."
"Just a moment," he held out a hand to pause her. "The coin from working jobs like that... I don't believe that's enough for what had acquired."
"You are aware there are other ways of obtaining what is needed," the complacency in her tone was met with a guiltless stare. "Seduction."
"I'm starting to believe this woman you speak of is no longer with us," he teased with an exaggerated smile. "This talk of charisma and seduction, I've yet to see it."
"It's not for you to see," the wrinkle of frustration set on her brow and she turned her head, taking another long drink of wine. "I was young. And equally ignorant."
A long pause fell across Ferelith as she looked down into her cup. She could feel the affects and wished it would make the rest of the story a bit easier to tell. It was only a reminder of her failures. She wondered why she chose this to tell of all things. A jilted lover was not worth what she lost. With a deep breath holding back her hesitancy, she pressed on.
"There was a man who requested my services. He was a young human noble from a prosperous family of wizards. Nothing to himself, really, but he had access to the city. The fool that I was decided he was an easy way out of the slums. I charmed him, convincing him he was infatuated with me. And when it wore off, he was too polite to deny that he had invited me out for dinner."
"Commendable, if not a questionable choice," Astarion hid his surprise.
"The idea was to charm him at least in the beginning. And it worked," she shrugged. "I had charmed him enough times that he had fallen in love with me. Not entirely on his own, but still... it was his decision to place a ring on my hand."
"A ring?" he nearly choked on his wine. "You were betrothed?"
Ferelith slowly shook her head.
"You were married?"
"I was," her reply was far too calm for his liking.
An image flashed into his head. A memory he had once borrowed from her. He recalled the face of a young elven. Handsome. Proper. Filled with joy. But the way she spoke of him did not reflect the feeling he had felt when she looked at him that night. Then again, it was a human she had wed.
"Well," he cleared his throat. "I've dealt with this sort of thing in the past, but I don't think I've-"
"Astarion," she cut him off, causing him to look at her. "He's dead."
"He won't be a threat, then. Good," his face lightened. "Not that I was worried. But his death makes things much easier."
The sweet smile of hers came back onto resisting lips. The flirtatious advancements were completely unnecessary, as she was already glowing with a buzz from the wine. She blamed that rather than admitting she was getting any sort of feelings from Astarion at all. His confidence told him otherwise and he refused to be wrong. The more straightforward he was about it, the further it would take him.
"You didn't kill him, did you?"
A laugh burst from her, nearly causing her to spill her wine. "By the Hells, no. It's been nearly twenty years since his death, Astarion."
"I'm only making sure," he shrugged, a victorious grin spreading. "One can never be too careful."
"I take it your life has been threatened by other lovers of your past?"
"Other lovers?" he snapped his head, his brow lowering and his eyes watching her reaction deviously. "Are you considering yourself as a lover?"
Ferelith opened up her mouth to object. But her thoughts had halted her from answering. She did, in fact, word her previous sentence to include herself. Deciding there was no way around, she stared at him blinking unapologetically.
"I'm going to take that as a yes."
"No," she found herself unable to hold back.
"It's too late, I've already taken the first answer into consideration. And I'm very pleased to accept. You can't take it back, darling."
He took a sip of his wine, quite satisfied with the outcome and himself. Ferelith was not finished. However, the night had seemed rather pleasant and she felt genuine joy from their conversation. She allowed him to have his victory, if for anything, for making her laugh. It would be nice to have at least one good thing to remember him by if there ever came another time she considering slitting his throat.
"You'll have to tell me about them," she swirled her goblet.
"They're not important," he waved a hand casually. "Besides, you still haven't finished your tale."
"It's nothing, really," she looked down, not wanting to go into further detail."I lived the luxurious life of a noble for sometime. But it wasn't enough for me. I was greedy, stealing from the hands that were already willing to give."
"Naughty girl," his eyes widened.
Again, Ferelith smiled. "I was eventually discovered with nothing to blame but my own pride. I left behind everything. All my work, gone. Everything I cherished, gone. All my beautiful things... gone."
"Do I sense a bit of regret?"
The smile faded into a disgusted frown, a crease forming at the bridge of her nose. "The only thing I regret is allowing another man to become involved. If it wasn't for him, I would have likely inherited my own estate."
"And so the plot is revealed," Astarion tilted his goblet. "Alas, the husband was not the jilted lover after all."
"No. Just an impatient fool."
"So... you did intend to kill the husband."
"For purposes I'd like to remain unknown, I refuse to acknowledge you," Ferelith sat down her empty goblet. "But I feel no guilt for him. Either of them. I am only convicted with my own stupidity for allowing myself to lose everything that I had worked so hard for."
"It's a shame to lose such status... but still, there's nothing wrong with a fresh start," he replied flatly.
"Sometimes," she said with a sigh, "you must be stripped of everything before you can know true power."
Astarion looked at her with a cause for concern, noting the kindness in her voice. He seemed surprised and even somewhat shaken, lacking a voice for a response. But he quickly recovered and the usual smirk crept onto his face.
"If that's a way to say you'd like to remove my clothes, then I'd love to know your true power."
"Alright," Ferelith placed her hands across her lap. "I believe I've had enough for one evening."
"Already?" he whined. "We haven't finished the bottle."
"You are more than welcome to finish it... alone."
"No, no," he sat it down beside her. "You'll be up all night working. Take the bottle and relax. You've earned it."
"I'm flattered," she took the bottle by the neck. "Good night, Astarion."
The elf rose to his feet, dusting off his knees, leaving behind the empty goblet he brought with him. He gave one final bow to his companion.
I am Zoraaknius Primus, my name might sound familiar considering that I got the idea of ‘Primus’ from the Cybertronian god Primus, but you can call me Zack for short—I also go by Zoraaknia—this is my alternate blog used for non-transformer related works like for example, my creature designs and plant drawings.
Hey, so just to put this out there, if you’ve came from my @hot-motor-oil-online blog, then you should know me. But I’ll give a scrip anyways…
Name: Zoraaknius(a) Primus(a)/Zack
Age: 20
Pronouns: She/He/Whichever you like
Relationship(s): Nonexistent (Bisexual)
Favorite Artist(s): Alex Milne, reader-from-nowhere, classjezter, tf-ruh, madamadamiu, nnalyart, etc.
Favorite Singer(s)/Band(s): 11 Acorn Lane, Tokyo Machine, Throttle, Parry Gripp, Bad Computer, Dion Timmer, etc.
