[ Naama's Bar&Grill ] and other things too.

by **Naama** on December 3rd, 2011, 10:11 am

Fine I'll do my own TO-DO list.

Naama:
Thread with anyone and everyone in Alvadas.
Vic/Seven/Caelum/Laszlo/Kamalia.
Am I forgetting people?

Daeva:
Thread with people in Nyka. Anyone want to do that with me? Haha.

Mao:
Yeahhh popping that baby out.

Murmur:
Must. Write. Solos.
Also Crucible.
Murder/shopping thread with Sahiri.
Thread with Aello <-- NOT FORGETTING.

by **Ronan** on December 3rd, 2011, 11:22 am

Daeva: My PC Kassan is in Nyka, and I'd be more than happy to thread with you

Just send me a PM if you have any ideas!

by **Naama** on December 5th, 2011, 1:33 am

Gladly Ronan! You're on the list.

On a side note, when you're feeling down, just dance.

by **Growl** on December 5th, 2011, 2:02 am

You forgetted me? *Sniffles*

by **Naama** on December 5th, 2011, 3:43 am

NO Aello! I did not forget you dammit! Don't you guilt trip me, woman. <3

by **Growl** on December 5th, 2011, 2:59 pm

Me sorries. *sniffles*

*Hands Naama cookie as peace offering*

by **Naama** on December 6th, 2011, 2:29 am

My friend sent me this test a while back and I never got around to doing it until now. It's actually pretty interesting. Well, I got my results. I was literally one point away from being a Chaotic Neutral. Aha.

You Are A:

True Neutral Human Bard/Sorcerer (1st/1st Level)

Ability Scores:
Strength- 11
Dexterity- 17
Constitution- 12
Intelligence- 12
Wisdom- 13
Charisma- 14

Alignment:
True Neutral- A true neutral character does what seems to be a good idea. He doesn't feel strongly one way or the other when it comes to good vs. evil or law vs. chaos. Most true neutral characters exhibit a lack of conviction or bias rather than a commitment to neutrality. Such a character thinks of good as better than evil after all, he would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones. Still, he's not personally committed to upholding good in any abstract or universal way. Some true neutral characters, on the other hand, commit themselves philosophically to neutrality. They see good, evil, law, and chaos as prejudices and dangerous extremes. They advocate the middle way of neutrality as the best, most balanced road in the long run. True neutral is the best alignment you can be because it means you act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion. However, true neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it represents apathy, indifference, and a lack of conviction.

Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.

Primary Class:
Bards- Bards often serve as negotiators, messengers, scouts, and spies. They love to accompany heroes (and villains) to witness heroic (or villainous) deeds firsthand, since a bard who can tell a story from personal experience earns renown among his fellows. A bard casts arcane spells without any advance preparation, much like a sorcerer. Bards also share some specialized skills with rogues, and their knowledge of item lore is nearly unmatched. A high Charisma score allows a bard to cast high-level spells.

Secondary Class:
Sorcerers- Sorcerers are arcane spellcasters who manipulate magic energy with imagination and talent rather than studious discipline. They have no books, no mentors, no theories just raw power that they direct at will. Sorcerers know fewer spells than wizards do and acquire them more slowly, but they can cast individual spells more often and have no need to prepare their incantations ahead of time. Also unlike wizards, sorcerers cannot specialize in a school of magic. Since sorcerers gain their powers without undergoing the years of rigorous study that wizards go through, they have more time to learn fighting skills and are proficient with simple weapons. Charisma is very important for sorcerers; the higher their value in this ability, the higher the spell level they can cast.

Detailed Result :

by **Naama** on December 6th, 2011, 3:49 am

I need to get this off my chest. Sorry for the cussing, it's just the way I vent.

Secret :

by **Naama** on December 11th, 2011, 5:15 am

DON'T LOOK IF YOU DON'T ENJOY SEEING HALF A PENIS. THANKS.

To any who are interested, I do take commissions, $15 generally for a fullbody sketch without color. I also do art trades. Drop me a PM for additional information!

(I think Miz gallery makes my drawings shitty quality, any way to fix this?)

Laszlo with vanilla pudding :

by **Naama** on December 15th, 2011, 3:53 am

This is just a blurb, and not canon. Just a "what if" scenario that I decided to write about because I'm weird sometimes.

The air smelled of acrid smoke. It filled her eyes and her nose and her mouth, wispy fingers of poisonous fumes that wrapped around her throat, constricting. The flames licked the sides of buildings, rotted timbers crumbling to the cobblestone streets in a vicious crash, sending sparks scattering across the alleys. The fires roared all around her, flashes of silver through veils of ash, the sounds of clashing metal and battle cries. The city was in chaos, every which way she turned there was man fighting man, their life blood spilling onto the streets in a macabre sea of red.

She glanced at the sky, only to find her vision obscured by the screen of smoke, her vision blotched by the embers. Yet when she glanced down, there was only the blood on her leather vest, the sleeves on her blouse torn and ragged, her leather leggings and boots smeared in soot. A man stumbled towards her, garbed in boiled leather and metal plates, his greatsword lifted high above his head. Instinctively, the hook swords caught the blade between them, held in a grip that shook the myrian's hands with the concentration she needed to maintain it. With a furious kick to his knees she forced the man down, twisting his greatsword out of his grip with a jerk of her weapons. The blade clattered to the ground, and with another sweep of her swords he lay dying in a puddle of blood gushing from his throat.

There were more. There were always more. They came like crows to a carcass, sending swords and shields against her as she danced and danced away, laughing into the chill breeze that swept the ash into the air.

This is the lilting song I sway to. The chorus of War. The chant of Death.

She didn't know how long they'd been separated, but as she moved through the crowd like an agile serpent through a sea of men they paid her no heed, their own bloodlusts consuming them in the thrall of battle, yet she, too, could feel the pull of her Myrian roots, the call of the Goddess-Queen for victory. Then she saw him; the glimpse of his furred cloak and battered shield, engaged in a fight with three men brandishing swords. He moved as brutally and efficiently as she'd ever seen him. A terror weilding an axe, with a crazed grin on his bloodied lips.

She meant to move toward him, but men and corpses and fire obscured the path and blocked her from attending him. Then a shadow great and terrible emerged from parted flames, a tall man, armored in plates as black as obsidian, his face obscured by a helmet forged into the likeness of a beast. He wielded a greatsword nearly as long as he was and as dark as his armor. Naama was stricken by fear.

I can feel it. He is no mortal man.

There was a laughter that rumbled through the plated helm, decidedly wicked. Then he was upon her, alarmingly quick, even despite his armor. She only had enough time to jump away from his sweeping sword before it sent sparks scattering as it scraped against the cobblestone.

"A monster come to dance, is that it?" Her voice shook. Her body felt cold, slick with blood and sweat. But where her mortality reared its ugly head the Druvin acknowledged it with another attempt at her life. They swerved and stepped amongst the ash that coated ground and people alike. She avoided his sword swings with agility and speed, but neither could she attempt a counterattack. She was the rabbit fleeing from the direwolf, her fleetness the only thing that kept her from the bared fangs.

You cannot flee, little bird.

Her boot caught on a fallen corpse, and she met the hard ground. Where she lay the sky was a swirl of smoke and embers, a morbid, yet beautiful display of colors. And then the shadow was upon her, the darkness blocking her vision, a gauntlet reached forth to clasp hard, cold fingers around her throat. He lifted her as effortlessly as child, but she couldn't breathe. He constricted her throat, but he did not crush it, and she clung and pulled at his wrist to avoid strangulation. The gasps came from her lips, desperate, tears stung her eyes and trailed down her soot-covered cheeks.

To fall for a shadow of a god. Such folly. Your mortal desires, you and the rest, it will be your demise.

"You only wish you could feel the same," She gasped. He struck her viciously across the cheek, splitting her lip and tearing the skin across the right half of her face. The cold blade kissed the tip of her abdomen, right over the small bump of her belly. The fear gripped her almost as hard as the merciless fingers around her neck.

What is a mortal without fear? Nothing but an empty shell.

The blade tore through her stomach, piercing out her back. It was cold. Cold like the touch of ice in the frosty reaches of Taldera. But the blood that pulsed from her body was warm; the warmth that seeped from her bones. His fingers released his hold from her, and she collapsed onto the ashen ground. Her strength betrayed her. She could not move her legs, nor her arms, nor her head. Paralyzed, was she, with the raw, gaping hole that left a pool of blood beneath her.

She is gone. She is gone again, and I will soon be gone, as well.
The shock subsided, and trembling hands rose to touch the edges of the jagged wound. A cry tore from her throat, fresh tears trailing down a marred cheek. The pain arrived almost as quickly, as the ash fell and the blood sprayed from more clashing blades, and the flames continued to devour whatever it touched.

I have failed you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

The tears would not pause, nor would the blood. It pulsed in waves down the curves of her body, even as she attempted to move. But the spasms of pain was too much, and she collapsed over and over, crying out in frustration until the only strength she had left escaped her, and her body lay propped up against a blackened wall. She could see him, defending his own cause, battling his own demons, and yet she still could not burden him with love. It was loyalty that she fought for. Loyalty and revenge, not the hope of a new future, or the prospect of joy at the end of a long hardship.

I had known my own fate before Lhex began to weave it. So why did I allow myself to love?

Then a shadow loomed over her once again. Reminiscent of the beast of the dark god. It was hooded, his face indecipherable, but his gloved hand reached forward and touched the wounded Myrian between her eyes. There was a spark of black stars, clawing through her mind and her thoughts, warping them, inciting loathing, breeding fury and raw bloodlust.

No! She shrieked. But the tendrils of darkness swallowed her. And everything, the good, the bad, the sorrows, the joy, the warmth of his touch, everything vanished in the wicked threads of chaos until nothing but a hallow thing remained.