#sailingtempest

Simon raised his eyebrows at her implication, then tipped his head back and laughed heartily.  “Oh, darling,” he tittered, “no, no, I want nothing of the sort from you.  I’m not of that persuasion, if you know what I mean.”  Perhaps, that did not make him sound like any less of a dirty old man, but it was the truth.  He wanted nothing of the sort from her.  He was, for once in his life, merely trying to perform a good deed.

“If you don’t trust it, I understand.  It’s wise not to.”

He didn’t have much of a reason for stopping near her, just that he liked meeting new people, and it seemed like a good opportunity to do so.

The grove was saved, and while Dronia had to admit, it felt good, she mainly did it for the sake of the tieflings. She didn't like the wanton loss of lives, but the druids had basically sentenced the tieflings to death with their rite. Saving the refugees was what mattered most to her. But the group managed to stop the goblin camp and their leaders from causing a bigger loss of life, and that's what mattered. She had spent most of the celebration nursing the goblet in her hand, her heart still heavy and not into the idea of celebrating.

Send in ‘🥚’ to give my muse an egg in this trying time.

& @sailingtempest ! Substory unlocked: HOLIDAY FOR LOVE

"Such intricate machinery... what do you -- ehh-- call this?"

mothica lyrics sentence starter || accepting [🏹]

|| @sailingtempest | teresa

Was it so simple? Who could really determine what had to be done? Before all this the only creatures she killed were the beasts of the Spiderhaunt or any other hunting grounds she found herself in. An expert marksman, her aim true. And then there were the vampire spawns, the few she managed to take down that one horrible night. That was in defense, they were murdering everyone in sight. But now? She's killed humans, elves, half-elves, dwarves all manner of humanoids in the name of self-preservation and she didn't like it one bit.

✧ What hc about my muse you want to know more about? ║ @sailingtempest ✧

"Really, dinner?" Revenelan tilted her head at her companion. "You have a mage in your debt, and yet you're asking for my cooking as repayment?" The idea triggered a wave of panic in Revenelan. Admitting her culinary shortcomings was not an option. Still, she found herself in a tight spot, unable to refuse Teresa's request. Teresa, who had generously overlooked the financial consequences of Revenelan's poor card skills, had, in return, asked for anything of her choosing — a fact Revenelan had realized only now and had, perhaps too hastily, agreed to.

"You know, most people would jump at the chance for something... more extravagant. Such as, I don't know, transfiguring an ex-lover into a toad, or requesting a love potion?" Neither of which, to Revenelan's knowledge, was magically possible, and even if they were, they seemed much less riskier than her cooking.