Art Sales

Omg, this story is so beautiful! [emoji=tundra star size=1] I love how well you managed to characterise both and you can see the trust starting to build between them. The interaction is so tender. I’m gonna cry lol. Having Glycol make tea from weeds is so in character, that’s probably my favourite aspect, but I love the work you did on Silt’s backstory too! It’s fantastic. Thank you so much <3 [center]--[/center] Coming back to give more glowing feedback now I'm at home and not reading this on my phone at the shopping centre haha. I have put the story into Glycol's profile and come to appreciate many more of the details as I went through to add formatting. I love the element of intrigue provided by the 'old coatl on the coast', the thought of young Glycol being introduced to the local plants on his travels is so cool. He would absolutely remember every single piece of knowledge he's ever been given about foods and their flavours haha The description of his desiccation magic is [i]fantastic[/i], it's almost exactly what I envisioned when I was writing his bio, with the exception of using his paws to cast the magic which I think is actually a great addition. I always vaguely saw it as just emanating from his body, but having it focused through a limb makes way more sense, and also makes it a more useful ability. Also, the detail of his mouth becoming dry when he does it is a great touch. The contrast between his excitement from successfully drying the tea and the loneliness when he realises he has nobody to drink it with is really compelling. You can still see he's an optimistic individual but his circumstances are weighing him down. I think that comes across really well! That's my second favourite part after the ending haha I love the descriptions of the items in Silt's sack, and how well they fit into the flight rising world, like a lantern for a nature dragon and mugs made for a pearlcatcher. I always struggled to envision what a forge might actually put out aside from functional weapons and tools, these were some really creative ideas! And finally the ending was awesome, the way Glycol addressed Silt formally made me laugh so much, it's exactly like him to clown around like that but also show her respect at the same time. Probably why she decided to stick around! Anyway, I had to come back and write more because I'm incredibly impressed with how you managed to write this story off only a couple of barebone bios, and somehow managed to include a reference to every single detail in said bios. That's some skill, man. Hats off. [emoji=fire rune size=1]

heya friend! hope youve been well. happy to find your shop open and with new excellent stories to read.

ive been itching to get more lore but im unsure of who to send your way next, would you happen to have a preference for any of the plotlines right now or a certain trope you're in the mood for? if it is the same to you ill roll a number to decide n_n

@Skadiv hullo! i've had thoughts rattling around for cyril and the vampires if you want to pick a pov from one of them :>

that sounds great! how do you feel about going with Pestis for this one?

@Skadiv sounds great :)

@Skadiv [b]Pestis & the veilspun[/b]: [quote=Can you tread lightly in the shadows?] The veilspun’s keening wail faded, then smothered to silence as Leshrac bore the tiny thing away. First turning corners, then closing doors behind him. Pestis stood in the hallway, listening, listening, her ears straining to catch the faint scuff of the chacma’s feet against the carpet until she could do so no more. She held herself very still. Slowly, slowly, the shadows on the walls retreated. Their shifting, grasping hands weakened, then curled and crumbled. Pestis felt their easing, their—[i]her[/i]—loosening on the world. But butterflies still fluttered beneath the skin of her throat, almost ticklish against her jaw. Too close. Too, too close. She was shaking when she turned, turned to face her beloved. Trembling with rage. Her foolish, [i]foolish[/i] beloved. “Barovia—” she hissed, and her voice broke. Her fellow vampire swept forward, the air stirring from her opening her wings. To embrace Pestis? To shrug helplessly? “My darling,” Barovia purred, soothingly, and Pestis recoiled. She flung her wing out; Barovia narrowly halted in time to not get slapped. “Don’t pretend apology to me,” she snapped. “Very well, I won’t,” Barovia snapped right back. Pestis growled, turning away and folding her wing back in with a sharp flick. She paced down the long tiled aisle of the kitchen. Her feathered tail tip flicked from side to side, letting her know Barovia had unloaded her many things for traveling on almost every horizontal surface. Most were familiar: the silk canopy for a tent, separate canteens for wine and blood, a rucksack crammed full and overflowing with travel logs and notes, knick-knacks and trinkets that felt like jewelry or timepieces or whatever shiny things caught—if not the vampire’s own, [i]someone’s[/i] eyes. “This was important,” Barovia implored behind her. But one item was new: a thin volume bound in sleek leather. Pestis nearly paused. Instead, an unsteady laugh jittered out of her. It disturbed the butterflies in her throat and Pestis cut it off abruptly as she swung around. “Important,” she hissed. “Enough so to break my sanctuary? To not even, even warn me, ahead of your arrival, that you would be bringing a—a— guest? Or did you want this? You wanted that veilspun to die and you brought her here to do so in the worst manner possible!” Barovia stamped her foot. “I did [i]not[/i],” she said crossly. “She isn’t dead and she [i]wouldn’t[/i] have died even if I had wanted her to. You don’t do that.” Hysteria wrung her voice to a higher pitch. “Don’t I? Don’t I?!” And suddenly Pestis was back in front of Barovia. The air jolted uneasily at her appearance. She grabbed Barovia’s forefoot and, overlooking protests, pressed her claws up just underneath her jaw. “[i]Feel it[/i],” she hissed. Her throat bulged and rippled from the movement of dozens of tiny bodies writhing beneath the skin, disliking the contact and threatening to spill. Barovia’s objections fell away and she quieted, unwillingly tracing her claws up and down Pestis’ thin fur in gentling strokes. Slowly, the butterflies settled, with only the odd twitch here and there. Fretful, resenting, but subservient. For now. Too close. For a moment, Pestis leaned into her partner’s touch, letting Barovia cradle her head. Barovia bent down; Pestis felt her breath on her cheek. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a, visitor,” she murmured. “I thought it was—I thought I might—but, I nearly. I nearly—” “Don’t,” Barovia breathed out harshly, claws tightening to grasp Pestis’ jaw firmly. She dropped her head to press brow against brow. “Don’t doubt yourself. It was my fault, my haste, not yours. I thought she may actually be immune.” Pestis withdrew, pulling out of Barovia’s grip. “Explain.” Barovia huffed. “Not like this! Look at us, filthy—me—and bedraggled—still me, but you as well. When was the last time you took care of yourself?” “I’m fine,” Pestis objected, but Barovia was all over her, poking and tugging at her wings and feathers with sounds of skeptic disapproval. “Off! Off! Off to the baths with you! I’ll join you shortly. And then we can [i]groom[/i] and we can [i]eat[/i], and then settle down in the library to discuss everything.” That . . . admittedly did sound nice. Very nice. Pestis sagged a little, only now realizing how exhausted she was after her authority’s flare. At Barovia’s urging, she trailed out of the kitchen, with the warning, “Make it quick.” Barovia scoffed, and Pestis smiled faintly in return. Despite [i]how[/i] she’d arrived, it was good to have her home. ~ “But she clearly isn’t immune,” Pestis repeated, to be clear, to [i]ensure[/i] Barovia kept this part of their conversation, if nothing else, firmly in her head. They were curled up in a nest together, Barovia tucked under Pestis’ wing and Barovia’s head resting atop her shoulder. The sun was well and truly risen now, its beams shining through the library windows softened and diffused by thick curtains so the room filled with warm yet unfocused maroon light. Barovia waved a glib wing. “[i]Resistant[/i], then. Or something. Something to do with those wings of hers—ah, you’ve never seen them.” Pestis listened to her description of the stone-carved wings as she trailed her clawtips over the leather cover of the new book Barovia had brought her. Two curiosities that, by Barovia’s account, connected to the Shade, magic resistances and disruptions, and the Wood. Details Barovia had uncovered from the veilspun’s companion, not the veilspun herself, whose mind she was not so easily able to penetrate—it had taken all her focus merely to keep the veilspun asleep while traveling to the castle. This was important, indeed. Pestis combed her claws through Barovia’s feather crest and murmured, “I think. I think I need to speak with her.” Barovia didn’t contradict her, so Pestis knew that’s what she had been thinking all along. “I would act as your in-between, but . . .” “She hates and distrusts you,” Pestis finished, and Barovia nodded against her shoulder. She sighed. “At least all she knows of me is my ability to drive madness into the center of her being.” Barovia scoffed and poked her in the belly. “Hey! Ow!” “Practice kindness with yourself,” she reminded Pestis. “Fine,” Pestis grumbled, and at a second poke, “I said fine! Fine, fine, I’m getting up.” She shifted to stand and Barovia caught at her wing. “Nooooooo don’t leave I’m sorryyyy come baaaaack—” Pestis disentangled herself with short huffs of laughter, using her wing to rebuff further grabbing attacks before she could hop out of the nest entirely. “I’ll return shortly. I’ll check with Leshrac first to see if she’s recovered.” She was careful in her search for the chacma, as he’d promised to stay near the veilspun’s room. Accidentally stumbling upon the veilspun’s quarters and causing yet another fit of insanity was not ideal. Leshrac assured her yes, the veilspun had slept and woken again, if not touched the breakfast platter he’d left for her. The last he’d checked, she was reading a book. A good sign, Pestis told herself, nervous as she approached the exterior door. She clenched her jaw hard, straining to curtail her authority to its smallest range, as tightly about herself as possible. Like drawing a cloak in and preventing it from swirling—no matter how freeing and natural the sensation felt. She scraped her claws lightly against the doorpost to announce herself, then, before the veilspun could move any closer, slid a scroll of parchment and pen beneath the door and hurriedly backed away. A safe distance down the hall, she sat, and waited. The parchment gave her greetings in the most formal and respectful form Pestis knew, as well as her remorse and apologies for the manner by which the veilspun had been brought to her estate. Then, a question Pestis dearly hoped the veilspun would answer, after Barovia’s attempts to uncover it had failed. [i]Pray tell, how might I address thee?[/i] [/quote] here you be! ty kindly for your patience in waiting for this piece :') anything you'd like changed, lemme know

this is brilliant! the way youve portrayed her authority makes me feel giddy, the characterization is expertly done and the plot progression is exciting. what is the shade cooking??

please do not worry about the wait, I am in no rush and its always a sweet surprise when i get notified for your stories. hope that all is going well on your end!

@Skadiv ah! authority! i forgot that was the word. would you like me to edit that in place of "power"?

oh sure!! i didn't make a distinction between power and authority in my mind as i read it but we might as well ahahaha thank you!

@Skadiv done!